Part 23 (2/2)

”That's unfair, Sue. I wouldn't make light of the professor's pain.”

”But that's their intention, isn't it? To make it appear as an accident. It wasn't. It was murder. If you stick around for long you'll come to realize they like the convenience of car accidents to cover their tracks.”

The image of Myles Shepherd's car burning on the Second Street off-ramp flashed in my mind.

”In the Middle Ages they used forests a lot. A person wanders in and is never seen again. The ocean was popular for a time. Sailors get lost at sea. Their methods adapt with the times.”

For one insane moment I found myself contemplating what she was saying as though it was true.

Her cell phone rang. She answered it. Looking at me, she said, ”Yeah, he's here.” She flipped shut her phone. ”Jana's on her way.”

We both sipped our coffee.

I said, ”While I'm sympathetic to the professor's loss, and please believe me, I am. It's just that . . . well, here's the thing . . .” Clasping my hands together, I leaned forward. She met me halfway with intelligent, defensive eyes. ”You see, when I write history, I interview people who witnessed the event. And from these eyewitness accounts I'm able to piece together what most likely happened. If I were to interview the witnesses at the scene of the accident where the professor's family was killed, how many of them would tell me that they saw or even suspected that the accident had anything to do with angels?”

”All right,” she said, playing along. ”If you happened to come across an eyewitness account of angels . . . you're saying you'd believe it?”

I thought I knew where she was going with this. Admittedly, my grin was condescending. ”While the professor is an honorable man, given the circ.u.mstances, I wouldn't consider him a credible witness. You have to take into account his emotional state at the time of the accident.”

”I'm not talking about the accident now,” she replied. ”If you were to come across a bona fide eyewitness account of angels, would you believe it?”

Why did I feel like I was being set up?

When I hesitated, she said, ”Unless you prejudge the people you interview. You know, root out those who will give testimony contrary to your preconceived conclusions.”

”That's bias. It's unprofessional.”

”So then, as a professional, one who values eyewitness accounts, if you were to come across an eyewitness account about angels, you'd believe it?”

I sighed. She was relentless. I could think of only one way to find out what she was getting at, and that was to step into her trap. ”If the source was credible . . . yes.”

Sue Ling reached into her bag and pulled out a manila file folder. Inside it was a slim ma.n.u.script. I recognized the formatting instantly. She turned the pages so they were facing me. ”This is an eyewitness account of a war in heaven.”

”Heaven.”

”It's a narrative history of the events of a war that started before the creation of earth and time. You wanted an eyewitness account, here it is. Abdiel, a veteran of the war, has been recounting the events to the professor.”

I picked up the papers and looked at them suspiciously. ”White paper?” I said. ”I would have expected golden tablets.”

She didn't laugh. I thought it was funny.

The professor had attached a note to the front page. I lifted it to look at the text. I scanned the first couple of paragraphs.

Before the clock of cosmic time was wound, In heaven, fresh made, there dwelt a holy race.

Conceived in light for wors.h.i.+p we were cast To walk in l.u.s.ter and eternal grace.

Until a fatal wickedness was found . . .

How do I, Abdiel, Seraph of the heavens, describe to humans clothed in flesh the horrors of celestial war?

How do I explain countless dimensions to beings entombed in time? How do I narrate the tales of eternity, of heaven's enduring villains, to a people who cannot conceive of life without a past, present, or future?

And what of war itself and angel death?

Of battle's din and hills alive with celestial tribes . . .

I looked up. ”The professor's not serious, is he?” I asked.

I saw what was happening. I'd accused him of hiding, of letting other men take the heat of publis.h.i.+ng while he contented himself with doing research from the sidelines. I must have hit a sore spot and now the professor wanted me to help him get published.

I closed the manila folder and pushed it back across the table at her. ”This isn't history. It's fantasy fiction. Taking one's personal theological beliefs and attempting to bring them to life with fictional characters is fantasy. While I have to give the professor an A for creative writing, if I showed this to any credible historian, he'd laugh in my face.”

”You haven't read it,” Sue said testily.

”I've read enough.”

Sue Ling s.n.a.t.c.hed the folder off the table and stuffed it back in her bag just as Jana Torres was walking by. She wore a dress skirt that swished just above her knees and black high heels.

Before I could say anything, Sue was gone. She and Jana pa.s.sed each other at the door. They exchanged words. Sue left and a none-too-pleased Jana joined me.

”What did you say to her?” she cried. ”I've never seen her so angry.”

Jana sat down in Sue Ling's seat and began clearing Sue's things away, wadding up the napkin and corralling the crumbs into a neat pile.

”She wanted me to look at Professor Forsythe's ma.n.u.script,” I told her.

”Is it bad?”

”It's not that it's bad . . . it's not my thing. It's fiction.”

”You mean it's about angels.”

For some reason the revelation that Jana knew of the professor's fascination with angels took me by surprise. To me, it's one of those things you don't talk about with other people. Like personal finances. A person's beliefs about angels and miracles and other biblical stuff is personal. ”Sue has told you about the professor's angels,” I said.

”We're friends. We talk about everything.”

The comment was made as a casual remark, but it sat uneasily with me. It shouldn't have surprised me. Sue Ling had already berated me based on Jana's version of our high school dating experience.

Jana was looking at the refrigerated display cases.

”Would you like something?”

I got her an orange juice and a low-cal oatmeal bar. As I set them in front of her I continued our conversation. ”It doesn't bother you that Sue Ling believes in angels?” I asked.

”She calls them EDs.”

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