This is the 80th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.
The Last Living Saint, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 19th February 2013
Word count: 997
“Anything I do for you would cost me my soul, contact or no contract, ” Danny said.
“There’s no need to be melodramatic,” the gentleman said, “I have billions of souls, I haven’t come here for a single paltry. No, I just need you to carry a message for me.”
“I’m not really in a fit state to be messenger, if I was so much inclined,” Danny said.
“Your current state is what brings me here, you’ll be dead soon, so just pass a message on,” the dark figure said pressing his palm against the prostate form of Danny who was trapped beneath the wreckage of a car. “This means war,” the he whispered.
Suddenly Danny awoke in a cold metal box, draped in a sheet. He pulled the sheet from his head and tried to get his bearings. The box was small, he couldn’t sit up. After several experiments he found some kind of switch and a door beyond his feet popped open, he crawled out naked and cold. He wandered around and eventually found a changing room with ill fitting clothes in it, so he got dressed. It was quiet, he guessed through the fog that haunted his mind that it was night.
He exited the morgue only to discover two orderlies outside.
“Hey aren’t they your clothes,” one pointed out to the other.
“Shit,” the other exclaimed, “Oi, you bum, where do you think your going with my stuff.” Both men approached angrily. A shadow swooped over and both men immediately passed out.
Something ahead landed, Danny tried to see, but the world was momentarily black. Then standing immediately in front of him, with his head cocked to one side analysing Danny.
“Your not much,” It said.
The fog was starting to lift from Danny’s mind, he remembered the accident, and the devil.
“Your not the devil,” Danny observed, knowing instinctively this was something else evil.
“My master does not deal with pretty beings,” the suited creature observed. “I was just here in case the others did something daft, and lo it has come to pass. You should have just gone to your grave monkey.”
“So I was dead?”
“That’s what your worried about? Don’t, I think it’s time we made your death permanent and dragged you down to hell,” the creature cackled as it transformed, it’s loose human form giving way to that of a hideous shadow of some kind of bird.
Danny stepped back, suddenly knowing fear and loathing in his heart and his soul. The feelings were so palpable they hurt.
Suddenly the area files with a bright light, and the creature screamed in pain and terror, then shot straight up into the air trying to get away from the light that followed it.
“Making friends?” an old man asked approaching, a glowing rock dying down to a mild glow as he finally reached Danny.
“Apparently, if trying to kill you is a demons way of saying hi friend,” Danny said, sarcasm breaking through his shock.
The old man laughed, “Well you’re an improvement on the last one,” he observed.
“Last what? I was kind of expecting to be dead not long ago, burning in hell since the devil came to me,” Danny said demandingly.
“I’ve got a lot to tell you,” the old man said, “But for starters my name is Obadiah Smith, and I’ve been picked to help you.”
“Picked by who, and to help me with what?” Danny asked as confused as ever.
“Let’s go get a drink,” the old man said, dragging Danny by the sleeve while looking up at the night sky warily.
They went to a late night cafe and settled down.
“Okay, this is going to freak you out a bit,” Obadiah said staring into his coffee.
“Maybe we should have gotten alcohol,” Danny observed, feeling unprepared for whatever came up, but knowing full well it wasn’t going to be normal. He’d just woke up in a morgue, he remembered dying, but he was breathing, thinking, he was alive.
“I can’t imbibe alcohol,” Obadiah observed, “I am Nephilim.”
“Neffer-what?” Danny asked.
“The offspring of Angels and human females,” Obadiah said, “Though it was many many generations ago, we Nephilim maintain our connection with the divine, whether we want to or not. The divine led me to you, to help you, as I once did your predocessor ninety years before when I was a young man.”
“The last Last Living Saint,” Obadiah said, “And before you act all incredulous, let me explain how you came to be.
“You died, a pure enough soul to go to heaven. This is good, you’ve led a good life overall. However something stopped the divine from accepting you, and he refused to cast you down below. So, usually that leaves purgatory. but the divine made a different choice. He has sent you back to Earth to perform a deed, to uphold his laws, and guide humanity in ways Angels can’t, and the devil can only dream of.”
“Heh,” was all the noise Danny could make.
“I know, it’s hard to take in,” Obadiah said between long sips on his tea.
“So what is this deed?” Danny asked, he could hardly believe it, but didn’t feel he could afford not to. He had died, he had met the devil, and he had returned from the dead. Throw in the demon like creature, and a white light that drove it off, and he was at least ready to play this hand out. The worst that could happen would be he woke up in a mental institution, which might actually be preferable.
“I can’t tell you what the deed is, the divine is never that specific. Until then, you need to learn, and there is much to be done that can help the world and defeat the devil,” Obidiah said.
The dark shadowy figure from the crash stood outside, and listened. “Enjoy your moment Danny, I have another truth for you yet.”