A Deafening Silence In Heaven by Thomas E. Sniegoski Page B

the Physician.”
    The dog hesitated only a moment before tossing back its mangy head with a woof and heading back the way it had come. Francis did as he was told and followed.
    At the end of the alleyway, the dog turned right and trotted through three city blocks before stopping in front of yet another dilapidated tenement building, only this one had a former angel of Heaven sitting on its cracked front stoop, sipping from a bottle of cheap whiskey.
    “Fraciel,” the Denizen acknowledged.
    The dog continued on its way, occasionally pissing on random objects that littered the deserted streets.
    “I’d ask if I could have a sip,” Francis said, nodding toward the bottle, “but I’m in a hurry.”
    “I told you I didn’t want to ever see you again.”
    “I thought you were joking. What would a life truly be without a little me every now and then?”
    “Whenever you come calling, trouble follows like a bad smell.” The Physician was going to take another swig from the bottle but stopped and locked his dark gaze upon Francis. “What do you want?” he demanded.
    “I need your skills.”
    “My skills?” Darnell asked, then laughed. “The last time you needed my skills, you had a hole in your stomach so big I could put my whole hand into it. You don’t look hurt to me now.”
    “It’s not me; it’s a friend.”
    “A friend?” he asked incredulously. “I didn’t think you were the type.”
    “Not something I’d like to get out,” Francis said. “Will you help?”
    Darnell seemed to consider the question, while Francis thought of options in case he refused.
    “What’s in it for me?” Darnell finally asked.
    “Let’s just say a nice thank-you card might be showing up in your mailbox. Do they even still deliver mail around here?”
    The fallen angel shook his head. “Stopped the same week they cut the power and water.”
    “Bet the rent is good,” Francis said. He studied the front of the tenement, noticing ghostly faces in some of the windows, peering out at them.
    “Can’t complain.”
    “Will you come with me?”
    “How bad?” Darnell asked as he slowly screwed the cover back on his whiskey bottle.
    “Bad enough that this could be a waste of both our time.”
    •   •   •
    The demon dog pressed down upon him with all its monstrous weight.
    “Who. The fuck. Are you?” he growled, the stink of his breath like a slaughterhouse on the hottest day in August.
    “I’m who I say I am,” Remy told the beast firmly, looking directly into his large dark eyes. “But at the same time—I’m not.” There, he’d said it—the cat was out of the bag.
    “Bullshit!” the dog roared, plunging his enormous head down and sinking his teeth into Remy’s shoulder.
    Remy cried out, thrashing beneath the immobilizing weight, and he felt something stir within him, something that had been dormant up until now.
    Something that moved with a yawn and a languid, catlike stretch. Something that he had not felt since awakening in this strange, twisted world.
    The essence of the Seraphim still existed inside of him, though he could feel that it had changed. It felt weaker—tired.
    He had no idea what could have happened to weaken it so—weaken
him
so—but at that moment, it was awake.
    Aware.
    And angry.
    Remy felt the power react to the sudden pain, consuming it, using the searing agony as fuel. He felt it upon his flesh, the mysterious sigils coming alive as his angelic birthright began to flow through them.
    “Get off!” he bellowed as a blast of sheer power exploded from the markings on his flesh, propelling the great animal backward and giving him a moment to collect himself.
    Remy scrambled to his feet, the pain from the bite in his shoulder excruciating. He watched the dog as he majestically rose to all fours, the musculature of his body rippling beneath the tight black fur.
    “You’re going to tell me who you are—what you are—and it doesn’t matter to me if you’re doing it sliding