ARC: Seeds of Calamity

CHAPTER OF THE PAGES - XII - Wrong side of Heaven, Righteous side of Hell (Five)

“Right Grace, how’ve you been feeling lately?” The woman asked.

She was in her thirties, wore an elegant plain white shirt, with black trousers. It was comfortably warm in her office, so she had her black jacket hung on a hook behind the door. She had dark white skin, light brown eyes, that changed in the light to a lovely and soft and bright greenish brown. The woman wasn’t tall, but wasn’t short either, just a bit above the average. Her hair fit her like a beautiful frame to a painting, and despite the small bags under her eyes, that showed how many hardly slept nights she spent on work, the woman was lit as a light.

Elleanore was beautiful in a way that attracted both men and women, but still, she was a single mother.

Ella, as she preferred to be called by her very few friends, chose to live life for her daughter and for work, because there weren’t many men who could really handle her and her beliefs in life.

Therefore, there she was, attending a woman like any other, in a therapy session like any other.

The woman, Grace, softly replied.

“I’m doing fine, ma’am. Haven’t cried in the last few days, and when I remember her, it doesn’t hurt as much. Even though I still miss her so, so much...” And despite Grace’s efforts, she couldn’t help but break into tears.

She was a woman in her mid forties, with red hair and dark green eyes. Her skin was slightly dark too, and her body was thinly athletic, as if she had been part of the track team in highschool.

Her full lips made her smile look bright, sexy and vivid, with the help of her eyes. even though she wasn’t smiling at the moment 

“There, there Grace.” Elleanore said, handing her a tissue. “It’s only natural that you still feel it this deep. She was your daughter, and you’ll never stop loving her and cherishing her memory. Grief is a hard and slow process. It’s okay to cry whenever you feel like it. Crying helps clear negative emotions, and letting go of them is essential for the process of healing.”

“I know... I know Ella... It’s just that... Whenever I have to go through the day without showing how devastated I still am inside, it shreds me in a million pieces. I don’t know how much longer I can hold it back.”

Elleanor kept silent, just listening to her patient.

“I just know she’s still alive somewhere, Ella! I know it!”

And seeing how Grace was on the verge of breaking down, as the skilled therapist Elleanor was, she ably intervened just in the right moment.

“You know I have a daughter too, and as a mother, I know what you mean. We have this feeling deep inside us, that connects us to our children, no matter how mad we are at them, or how far they might be. And I know the cops might not believe in it, but I do. Although, we have to be realistic here, Grace... You know, deep inside you, that even if Becca might still be alive, she might too have a very strong and valid reason to not come home, don’t you think?”

She tried to make her voice sound as soft as possible, but still had to make the speech as solid and realistic as possible. That was the only way she would be able to help Grace through her grief.

And even though this girl, Becca, was still alive, the pain and grief caused by her disappearance had to be dealt with.

That was why she worked with it.

Because she understood trauma, pain and grief like very few did.

Therefore, she chose to distance herself as much as she could, to look at the whole situation from a cold perspective, and came to a conclusion. However, before she could put it into words, Grace said something rather unexpected.

“You’re right, but Donnovan is still away, and he sent me this message a few days ago. That’s why I don’t know how long I can hold it back...”

Grace showed her phone screen to Elleanor. Her last message to him was How long will it take you to come home? I miss Becca and she promised to cook for us next time. I’m eager to see what she’s gonna make for us tonight.

Becca was that kind of girl, lovely, helpful, always wanted to make the best of her time with her family, and this was the greatest reason why Elleanore wanted to help Grace. She didn’t have any motivation for running away, nor was she the victim of abuse or anything like that. It looked more like a crime than anything else.

But if it was indeed a crime, an abduction or, God forbid, something worse, then there were only bigger reasons for Grace to deal with grief.

But the last message left the therapist utterly speechless.

I met a detective, and I think he got what it takes to find out what really happened to Becca. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible, but don’t you worry, sis. I’m feeling something’s gonna get just right.

Why’s this fool giving Grace hope? Ella asked herself with a bit of exasperation.

But she kept cool on the outside, and tried to make amends with the situation towards Grace.

“There’s hope then...” She started, with a smile as real as her fake smile could get. “But remember, Grace. For your own well-being, don’t cling too much on this hope, or else you might fall even harder to any possible bad news that might come your way. Because possibilities must always be considered, okay?”

Grace wiped her tears with the tissue Elleanor gave her, nodded her head, and spoke as firmly as she could between sobs.

“Yes, I know. But I don’t wanna believe it, even though I know I should. Look... I promise I’ll give my best to not give in to it, okay Ella?”

Elleanore looked seriously at Grace’s eyes, and seeing the determination to not let go of the certainty that Becca was still alive, she gave up.

People are people after all, they have to see it for themselves to really learn.

“Okay, Grace. I hope to see you next week, and I also hope that you’re feeling better by then. Good luck to you and Donnovan.”

Elleanor then dismissed Grace, sat down with a long, deeply weary sigh, and buried her face in her hands.

What the fuck is wrong with people...? She asked herself.

***

Purson felt something vastly unknown to him, while Nezariel kept him inside her hug. It felt as if even him being one of the most powerful demon kings of Hell wasn’t one of the worst things in existence, through the eyes of that angel.

The demon king had a secret, and he hid it buried deep within his essence, just so no one knew what kind of being he really was.

But ever since he met Nezariel, and decided to protect her as her uncle, a, ever so slight crack appeared in the wall of his essence, threatening to set this secret free.

And it showed through the moment of connection he and Nezariel shared in that hug.

Purson felt tears streaming down his face, and tried his best to suppress them, but sooner than he was prepared to, the Nezariel broke the contact, and he was forced to stand back up again.

Purson looked straight at Nezariel’s face with completely dry eyes, as if nothing happened but a very deep emotional connection. However, Bertrand who was inconspicuously observing the whole scene, noticed a few wet marks on the concrete floor.

So... We’re human after all, aren’t we? Bertrand thought to himself, letting a slight smile escape from his lips.

“So... Let’s start from the beginning.” Nezariel started speaking before Purson could say anything. “My name isn’t Becca, yours isn’t Donnovan, and my mom... Is one of the strongest demon kings in Hell, just like you...”

Her words didn’t sound stern, nor angry. She just sounded a bit hollow. A bit sceptical, even. Her words felt as if she was willing to accept the truth, but also felt a bit sad.

And Purson could perceive the reason behind the slight sadness in her voice.

It was because everything she held dear turned out to be nothing but a sweet lie. And he understood this feeling more than anyone else between Heaven and Hell.

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it all up.” The demon king answered, but followed right after, before the Ophanim could retort in any manner. “But also no. Because I was Donnovan, and my sister was Grace way before we found you. I mean, of course we weren’t born on the Haled and shit, but we came here for a reason. And the reason didn’t have anything to do with Lucifer’s plan, or the page you carry.

Very much on the contrary, actually. We wanted to get away from all the quarrels between your brothers and sisters from the attic, and us from the basement...”

Nezariel sat down, her jaw slightly dropped. Bertrand carried an expression of pure disbelief on his face.

What did Purson mean by getting away from the quarrels between Heaven and Hell?

He was a demon, and a demon king after all. He was supposedly one of the most wicked and foul creatures to ever exist.

Nezariel knew about the existence of the scales of Good and Evil, that figurative term that described the whole system of Absolute Good and Absolute Evil. It was more like a wall that divided them, making every single action, choice, and thought be divided between Good and Evil.

It meant that anything that was born in Eden was automatically cast into the Good side, and all else that was born or cast into the Sheol, belonged to Evil.

However, it was too much of black and white. And ever since Nezariel arrived on Earth, and recovered her memories, she started asking herself What about the humans? How do they fit into this system?

But it seemed that not only the humans created by her Father, were caught in this great dilemma.

“Yeah, it sounds ridiculous, I know.” Purson kept going on. “But I’ll tell you a story that’ll make everything make sense, and soon you’ll understand why your life with us wasn’t a lie. It all started right after Eden’s first great civil war...”