

## Breakwater Harbor Books

### Presents:

## The Messenger

## Sammael's Lost Memory

### By

### Mindy Haig

Copyright © 2013 by Mindy Haig

Cover Art by Delaney Haig

Angel image is Public Domain {PD-old}

All Rights Reserved

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DRAG.N, by Eli Constant

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Christian

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**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

PREFACE: SUDAN, JULY 27, 1962

CHAPTER 1: ALBANY, GEORGIA – JULY 10, 1962

CHAPTER 2: ALBANY, GEORGIA – JULY 11, 1962

CHAPTER 3: ALBANY, GEORGIA – JULY 12, 1962

CHAPTER 4: ALBANY, GEORGIA/ATLANTA, GEORGIA – JULY 13, 1962

CHAPTER 5: ALBANY, GEORGIA – JULY 19 - 21, 1962

CHAPTER 6: ALBANY, GEORGIA – JULY 23 - 24, 1962

AFTERWARD: SUDAN, JULY 27, 1962

AUTHOR INFORMATION:

### THE MESSENGER

**PREFACE: SUDAN, JULY 27, 1962**

I flew a very long way.

The trip was a number of nights and I'd expended even the strength I'd stolen in my rage and grief. I longed for the solitude of this place I came to for shelter between my false lives and the time to forget.

I considered remaining a raven for a while longer, there was far less conscious thought, far less pain, in that form. There was mainly instinct. I might have even enjoyed the escape from my self-loathing had exhaustion not been a greater priority.

I approached my door under the dense black cover of a moonless night where I took my loathsome earthly form and entered, but immediately I knew I was not alone.

"Why are you here?" I asked the darkness.

"She asked me to check on you. She did not think you would want to tell her about it."

"I had hoped she did not see this time." I sighed.

Raphael laughed. "Evangeline sees all when it comes to you, Brother. Do you wish to tell me what happened?"

"No. My anger is too deep. I came to rest and to hide again until it is time to take on my next guise."

"You know my strength, perhaps I can help you."

"I ask for nothing." I answered sharply, turning away.

"I know. Yet I would give what I have freely," he answered gently, which only inflamed my bitterness.

"Do you not see, Raphael?" I said angrily, spinning back to him. "I would wish more than anything to destroy the bond between you and our father, make you bitter as I am. I wish his ending and the destruction of all things. I wish nothing but hate upon all creation." I said venomously.

"What happened?"

"He destroyed that which I wished to save. He took redemption from me with no mercy even as I tried to help his messenger. I wish with every ounce of the spirit within me to annihilate him."

"That is not your wish, Sammael. I know you. You are an Angel, the last son of the Glory of the Father. You wish to return to him, to our home. You wish to return to Evangeline," he reprimanded. But then he looked at me appraisingly. "You are the taker of souls, and yet you do not take them indiscriminately, nor even consistently. I should think if you felt nothing but hate you would be much more devious and perhaps more vicious. I suspect someone touched you this time. You made a connection," he said laying his hand upon me.

I did not answer him.

"Sammael, I remember what it was like. I am sure my brief experience was far different from all you have done and seen, but I remember what it was like to care for someone. Come, tell me what has befallen you," Raphael whispered as his warmth spread though my overtaxed body and my will to hold on to my pain drained away leaving me exposed and riddled with guilt.

But my desolate soul spilled its tale to him:

**CHAPTER 1: ALBANY, GEORGIA – JULY 10, 1962**

"Who are you?" A woman's voice asked close to my ear as I stood watching the good Reverend deliver his message with the passion and fervor of an Easter Sunday sermon. "Are you from the government? Are you aiming to shut him down, end his speech? You'll likely cause a riot, you know. Tempers are hard to control here."

Thunderous applause punctuated every sentence the man spoke at his podium. The crowd was thick with bodies. Men dressed in their Sunday best, women in church dresses and hats showed their respect as though listening to words directly from the mouth of the Father.

"No answer? Not even acknowledgement that you're being spoken to? I thought the white schools insisted on better manners than that. Maybe you think speaking to woman of mixed racial heritage is beneath you?" she said with a sharp sting in her words.

I looked at her then. The disapproval in her voice caught my attention, though up until that moment it hadn't actually registered that she was speaking to me. "I beg your pardon, Madame. I meant no offense. I was simply listening to his message and I hadn't realized your commentary was meant for my ears."

She glared at me for a moment but then laughed genuinely as my words rang true to her.

"You might have tapped my shoulder or perhaps stepped into my line of vision if you wanted my consideration." I said with a raised eyebrow and a hint of jest.

"You are rather liberal for a wealthy white man. Aren't I already overstepping my boundaries just looking you in eyes and speaking my mind?"

This time I laughed. "A wealthy white man? Overstepping your boundaries? Is that what you think?" I asked. "Are we not in America, the Land of the Free, the Home of the Brave?"

"Freedom has different rules for different people here, Sir," she replied poignantly. "I assume you are not American then?"

"No, I am not. This is only the first time I have ventured to this part of the world," I said looking at her. The mixed racial heritage she spoke of was obvious. She had skin the color of fine parchment. Her hair was dark, but long and silky. There was a certain something about her mouth and the shape of her face that made her akin to those gathered to listen, but her eyes were the color of a shiny copper penny. She wore a modest but well cut dress, white kidskin gloves and a pill box hat. Clearly she was from a wealthy family herself and yet for all her refinement, there was a distinct awkwardness.

"You still haven't told me who you are or what your purpose here is," she started again. "You might be wise to be very wary. The Reverend preaches love and tolerance, but when he gets on about all men being equal, well some of the men feel the injustice of the world so deeply they can hardly hear the message for their anger at the white men," she warned.

I thought about her questions for a moment as I listened to her warning. "I am Carlo Ambrosi." The name just came out. It was a back up plan, not a name I'd ever intended to use, but I hadn't planned to be out in the world again this soon either. I was looking at her quite intensely as I considered my premature return to civilization. I was rather uncomfortable with it actually, but the buzz surrounding this preacher could not be ignored. The only logical conclusion was that my father was once again attempting to sow his message of brotherhood and love, but upon this new modern world.

"Carlowe," she repeated with her southern drawl. "And why are you here, Carlowe?"

That was difficult question to which I had no satisfactory answer. "I am not sure what my purpose here is of yet. I came to feel the strength of his spirit. I came to see if his words came from his soul," I admitted as I reached out with my own spirit to feel this woman who spoke boldly to me but cowered in this crowd of her countrymen. And there within her, I felt something familiar, a rending that I had felt just once before. I stood still gazing at her wondering if she possessed that very soul but she spoke again.

"What do you see, Sir?" she asked as she shifted her feet nervously.

"I see a very lovely woman. I would very much like to know more about you but you haven't even told me what I may call you."

She pursed her lips as she considered. "What you may call me is directly tied to your intentions, Mr. Ambrosi."

"How so?"

"If you intend to do mischief here, I have no interest whatsoever in giving you my name," she quipped with a satisfied shake of her head.

Her wit was engaging. I began to laugh.

"Your eyes are a very pretty color when you laugh, Carlowe. How do you make them change like that?" she asked me as she took my chin in her hand and peered into my eyes curiously.

I was surprised how at ease she was just touching me when I was a total stranger to her. And to my amazement I found myself honestly answering all of her questions. "I do not consciously make them change. It is something like an affliction. The traitorous colors betray my thoughts as well as my intentions. I give you my word that I have not come to make trouble today."

She narrowed her eyes just a little and watched mine intensely. "Are you a man of your word?"

"I will be today," I answered with a smile.

And whatever she saw in the color of my eyes was enough of an answer. "Very well. My name is Delilah Emerson. If you are looking for an acquaintance to give you some background on this civil rights movement and the reverend's message, you may call me Ms. Emerson. If you are looking for a friend who is an outsider as you are, you may call me Delilah. If you are looking for what most wealthy white men are looking for from young black women around here, don't call me at all," she answered frankly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Might I call you for dinner?"

"No. I don't know you well enough."

"How might I get to know you if you will not even consider a private engagement?" I teased.

"You have a curious way about you, Sir. There are many questions I would like to ask you, Carlowe Ambrosi," she said as she glanced past me and stiffened just slightly. "There is a fine Tea House over on Alabaster Street. I will be passing by that area at eleven in the morning. Perhaps if two acquaintances were to meet on the street, they might stop for tea and conversation."

"I shall be pacing the block in anticipation."

She looked at me closely again. "I think now you are telling me a lie, though your eyes have not betrayed you this time. Eleven in the morning. Be prompt. You should be wary now Carlowe, trouble is coming," she said and she walked away from me.

Within moments, the police were raising a ruckus attempting to arrest the Reverend.

I left the scene undisturbed.

I was a well-dressed light skinned man; they had no issue with me.

* * *

Naturally, I was under prepared for such circumstances. I hadn't considered lingering. I'd come to meet the reverend. I'd come to see if this was another futile effort like the one upon the Mount of Olives. I wanted to hear the message from the mouth of the man. And I wanted to see if I could feel my Father's hand at work. I told myself, whatever the situation; I would not linger to see his plan come to its brutal ending like the last time. I did not want to know whom his sacrificial lamb was going to be or if he planned to make another martyr. I could have walked away from the woman, but she left so many tantalizing strings dangling that I was compelled to get some answers. So I checked myself in to a room for the evening and thought about all the things I wished to ask her.

But as I lay at rest a memory took me.

The Beginning:

I could feel her before I ever saw her.

I could hear her voice before I even became aware.

It could only have been a moment from the time she came into being until I joined her, but she stood anxious and anguished as all of the Angels in Heaven sang her praise.

They stood in pairs singing their joy at the Glory of creation.

But she turned back to the Father. "I am alone," she said softly.

" _You are not alone, Daughter," he answered stroking her cheek and in that moment I became came to be._

She looked at me and there bloomed upon her face an expression of pure joy and wonder. It was a look that was beyond happiness, it sang of completion.

That look was love.

I was not given the capacity to return that look.

But I did not know that then. I did not know I was an abomination.

The Father joined our hands. He named us and he bound us to each other for all of time.

She was given the name Evangeline. I can hardly think the name without her image filling my mind. She is and will always be the crowning jewel of the Kingdom of Heaven. She is the most beautiful creation ever brought into existence. She is the embodiment of all goodness. She is the closest thing to perfection that shall ever be. The others sang for joy and she glowed.

I was given the name Sammael.

There was complete silence for the briefest moment. I should have known in that instant that something was amiss. I looked like all the rest. I had no reason to think that my father created an aberration. I did not know I was made defective. I was given beauty to compliment Evangeline, but beauty is a deceptive gift. The other qualities he imbued within me were none that belonged in that place.

But I was innocent. I did not know the others could not question. I did not know they could not feel the sting of pride or the deep ache of guilt. Every question I posed, every puzzle I strove to decipher was met with blank stares or worse, sympathy and whispering. That disapproval, real or imagined pained me. I wanted only to be like all the rest but my questions could never be answered. My curiosity turned to anger. The whispers stung. Evangeline spent all her time trying to be a balm to my raw wounds, but her love was not enough because though I could see it upon her, I could neither feel it nor return it.

And then I found out why there was silence. Sammael. He named me his poison. He named me destruction. I could not understand why he would create such a creature as I was made to be.

Many times I went to my father and asked him why I was made different.

" _You are what I have made you, Sammael" was always his only response._

That was not an explanation. It was a platitude. I begged him to fix me. I pleaded my dearest desire to be like the rest and know joy and peace. I implored my wish to feel love, to be able to love Evangeline as she loved me. Always he answered with his same heartless cliché and turned his back on me.

I could not understand how one who placed such value on this concept of love could deny me so callously and show my sorrow such contempt. Each refusal to answer fueled my hatred. I refused to obey him. I refused to acknowledge his creation. I stood rigid with pride.

Evangeline begged me to do his will, but I could not.

For that, I was banished.

**CHAPTER 2: ALBANY, GEORGIA – JULY 11, 1962**

Eleven o'clock seemed to arrive very slowly. I stood casually on the sidewalk eagerly hoping she would come. Why I wished to see her so vehemently, I could not say but I found that I was reaching out to see if I could feel her approaching.

And suddenly, I could feel her.

She rounded the corner in a finely fitted summer dress, with modest heels and sunglasses. Her hair was conservatively styled with the long length of it tied loosely at the nape of her delicate neck, but pulled over her shoulder in a very feminine way.

"Why Mr. Ambrosi, how nice to make your acquaintance again," Delilah started with a smile as she extended her white-gloved hand to me.

"Miss Emerson," I started before I paused to kiss her hand. "The pleasure is all mine."

"Not all yours, Carlowe!" she laughed. "Tea?"

"Would it be a faux pas to order coffee? I am not much of a tea drinker," I teased.

"Oh you!" she exclaimed as she tucked her arm into mine. "I can tell by your eyes that you are making fun. They have lovely sandwiches and I am sure you can have your coffee, but you might consider a cool drink on this warm day."

"I defer to your wisdom, my lady. I am delighted to see you again, Delilah. Our conversation was far too short yesterday, there are so many things you said in passing that have piqued my curiosity."

Delilah looked deep into my eyes and she smiled. "Honesty is a pretty color. Come inside, Carlowe, let's have a nice lunch and perhaps I can satisfy that curiosity of yours," she said very softly, close to my ear as she drew me along with her.

"I suppose you heard what happened after we parted ways yesterday," she started as soon as we had been seated.

"Forgive me, I've heard nothing of the local news. I took your warning and left the street. I checked into a room for the evening, took some dinner and went to my rest."

"Why, the police came in force, as usual," she said with a sad shake of her head as she removed her gloves and laid them delicately in her lap. "Blundering fools started hitting men who were doing nothing but standing listening. They called it an illegal assembly. Arrested the Reverend on some older charges, they did. He refused bail too, stubborn fool. Said he'd stay right where he were until some changes be made."

"He's a man of principle."

"Maybe, but what good is principle when people are getting beaten to death in the street? They don't need his bull-headed principles, they need his leadership."

"Why is this crusade so meaningful to you, Delilah? Clearly you are a woman of means. Why do you not just leave this turmoil behind and go where there is equality and acceptance?"

"Is there such a place, Carlowe? Do you come from such a place?"

"No, perhaps there is not such a place," I answered as the waitress came to take our order.

"Where are you from, Carlowe?"

"I have lived in many places. Some are welcoming; some are filled with doubt and mistrust. The last place I spent a significant amount of time would have no tolerance for a heritage such as yours."

"Where was that?"

"Berlin."

"Berlin? I am sure I would have figured you were from Italy or maybe Spain with a name like Ambrosi. Were you there during the war?" she gasped covering her mouth delicately with her hand and looking at me with fear and trepidation in her copper colored eyes.

"Yes, I was." I said bluntly.

"You must have seen terrible things. This must seem childish in comparison," she said laying her hand on mine upon the table.

"I saw many things I would like to forget. I wished for the ending of the world with that war. I thought surely this world could not survive such atrocities."

"Don't think of it, Carlowe. I must be a foolish girl because I simply made my predicament the worst situation I could imagine. But clearly there is much worse."

"I don't want to belittle your life. Perhaps what you have seen has been equally devastating; perhaps your assessment is just. Would you tell me?"

"It's a long story. Are you sure you wish to hear?"

"I am sure, Delilah. Please."

"What does that color mean, Carlowe? It looks both sad and eager. It makes me think you are looking for some affirmation or redemption."

"I would like both of those things, but I do not dare to wish for them."

"Not me. I don't need any confirmation of what I am, I just want acceptance. I want to fit in somewhere and not be looked at with disgust or worse, sympathy."

"I do not understand. You're quite beautiful, who could feel aversion looking at you?"

"Carlowe, you are a different kind of man. I will tell you my story. I wonder what color your eyes will be in the end," she smiled, withdrawing her hand from mine. "My grandmother married my granddaddy when she was seventeen years old. She was a chambermaid in a nice hotel and he worked in a market. They had three children. My mama was the oldest of them. Mama was very different from the other children and the whole family, excepting her daddy, treated her like she was flawed. My grandmother's sister Dorothy told my mama a story about a white man coercing my grandmother into having relations with him in his hotel room when she was working. She asked her parents if that were true. Her mama said nothing. But her daddy covered her ears. He said, 'don't you be listening to no tales, Cora. The good Lord gave me a daughter and I am grateful, you hear me?' So she never asked again, but every time she looked in a mirror and saw her light skin, every time someone make a comment about the color of her eyes, she knew it was the truth.

My grandmother took her secret to the grave, she never admitted what happened to her." Delilah sighed, she took a long sip of her iced tea and watched the condensation run down the side of the glass but she avoided looking at me.

At last she started again. "My mama had a steady boyfriend when she was seventeen. His name was James Foster and all the family was expecting them to get married. He was from a good solid family and they knew each other from church. He would tell her all the time how beautiful she was, but then he would say other things to let her know he was doing her a favor seeing a woman whose daddy ain't really her daddy. And anytime he was with my mama and there was a white man around he'd make comments. If it were an older man, he'd say things like 'maybe he's your real daddy' and if it were a young man he'd be crazy with jealousy. My mama was afraid of him, too afraid to just end the relationship.

She got a good job working in the house of an important lawyer. His name was Clayton Emerson. Mr. Emerson worked so many hours she never even saw him until she worked in his home for more than two months. But she went home one night and James was waiting at her daddy's house. He was crazy with rage that she was working in a white man's home. He said all kinds of things to her daddy about how could he allow it seeing as what happened to his own wife. James made my granddaddy mad and he forbid them from ever seeing each other again."

I was watching her very intensely though I hadn't said a word.

"What are you thinking, Carlowe?"

"I am thinking that when something is forbidden, the desire for it becomes much greater, insatiable even. I am thinking your story is not one with a happy ending."

"No, not happy per se. You don't have to hear it. I told you, I am not looking for sympathy by telling you," she said firmly.

"I will not pity you. Clearly you have been raised well. You are educated and refined. What befell you weighs on you and I wish to understand that because it is that circumstance that you hold on to I think, that makes you an outcast more so than your skin color or your parentage."

"Perhaps you are right, Carlowe. I have never thought about it exactly that way. Do you want me to continue?"

I nodded and she smiled at me.

"I wish I could see your thoughts right this moment. I wish I could know what made your eyes turn that shade of purple. It's unnatural, Carlowe, but it's beautiful."

I began to laugh and the color must have changed again. "Are you beginning to like me, Delilah? I might ask you to dinner if there is a chance you won't turn me down again."

"You are a jester, Mr. Ambrosi! I will maintain that I most certainly do not like you!" she laughed.

"Miss Emerson, you have crushed my spirit."

"Oh you!" she laughed, shaking her head but running her fingers over mine once again upon the table. "I will tell you though, I had every intention of heading back to Atlanta this morning. But I told an acquaintance that I might be available for tea."

"Atlanta. I assumed this was your home."

"No, Sir. My daddy is an attorney in the Capitol. I came here just to hear the speech. Now I am curious how it will turn out for the Reverend. I might even stay long enough to be available for dinner tomorrow evening."

"Are you toying with me?" I asked with a wry lift of my brow.

"Perhaps. But perhaps not."

She paused for a short time as we enjoyed the lunch. At last she pressed the napkin to her lips, inhaled a long breath and began her tale once again. "My mama was relieved when her daddy told James not to come around anymore. She wasn't involved with Mr. Emerson then, Carlowe, in fact she hardly even knew him yet. She was just too afraid of James' anger. But it was not too long after that Mr. Emerson wrapped up a big case. And he came home to stay for a good while. That was when he took notice of her. He didn't say anything to her, he just looked at her and he smiled. And he knew he was in love. That's what he told me. He treated all his employees nicely, but she was special to him and he would put flowers on the counter in the morning before she got there. It was a little thing he did just for her. He was very bold as a lawyer, but he was a gentle man and she started to love him, but she was reluctant to let him know that. She still had some fear of the white man because of who she was, you understand."

"Yes, I understand."

Delilah licked her lips and dabbed her face with her napkin for a moment and when she spoke again, her voice cracked a little. "She was walking to work one morning and James caught up with her. She just ignored his cruel words and kept walking but he wouldn't have it. He grabbed her by the arm and he start yelling terrible things about her and Mr. Emerson. She didn't say a word because she's too afraid and he just got so angry that he started hitting her. Another one of the employees heard the commotion and saw James. She ran and got Mr. Emerson. He came with his gun and he told James to go away or he'd make him go away. Then he scoop my mama up off the ground and carried her to his home. He told her, _'Cora, I don't want you to go back to that life. Stay here_ _with me. I will keep you safe. This will be your home.'_ But she was hurt and embarrassed and she didn't really know what he meant or what his intention was. She told him there was shame in being a white man's mistress. He said: _'I don't recall asking you to be my mistress. If all I wanted was a mistress I would have one already. I want to make a life with you. You are hurt right now, so I won't pressure you. Rest and when you are well perhaps you will see me differently.'_

Mr. Emerson went to her daddy and told him what happened and her daddy came to see her. 'Cora, you are sensitive about the color of your skin because folks have always made it matter to you _. But that don't matter to all people. A red rose is just as beautiful as a white rose or a yellow rose and it smells just as sweet. Mr. Emerson he sees only the rose. Maybe his eyes are better than all those other people because he see the most important thing. Now he asked me for my permission for you to stay. He says you got a home inside his heart and he is hoping sometime you might have feelings for him too. I told him it was your decision, and I meant that, girl. If you don't feel those feelings for him, then you come on home to me. But if maybe you do and you just a little afraid to say so, give him some time, give him a chance. You only know what it feels like to be afraid of a man who supposed to love you. James done a bad thing and I was foolish not to see it sooner. This man, he knows respect. He spoke to me with respect, and I believe his words.'_ He hugged his daughter and he went away. My mama stayed. But was a long time before she was able to say her feelings to Mr. Emerson.

"He sounds like a fine man. Your grandfather was right about him."

"Yes, my father is a very fine man."

"Did your parents marry?" I asked her.

Delilah pressed her lips together. "No, Carlowe, they never married. He took her on lovely dates. They went on vacations. He hated being apart from her so he took her wherever he traveled. He even bought her a lovely ring and asked her to be his wife but she said no."

"Why?"

"She told him, ' _Clayton, I can wear a beautiful dress and speak like a lady when I step out on your arm. But people will shake their heads and whisper that this relationship is unnatural. They warn me on the street that loving you is a crime against God. They tell me I am a sinner. And I don't care if I am a sinner. I don't think when my time comes and I stand before the gates of Heaven that the Lord is going to turn me away because I loved a man, a good man. But if I go into his house to speak my vows to you and the Preacher says this is wrong in the eyes of God and condemns me, then what? My soul will never know Glory. My soul will never find yours again. I offer you my love, Clayton. I will honor and respect you. Wearing your ring is enough for me.'_

"She was a strong woman."

"Or she was extremely weak," Delilah corrected bitterly.

Clearly that weakness stung her. "Are they still together?" I asked softly.

She shook her head. It was a few moments before she could speak. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"You needn't tell me. I don't want to ruin this day."

"I must tell you. It's the most important part of the story I think. They were together as a couple for a number of years before my mama gave birth to me. My daddy was a proud father. Never did I think there was anything disgraceful about our family or our lives. I was just a little girl with a mama and a daddy like all the other children I saw. It never occurred to me that I was different. When I was three years old, one day in the summertime my mama took me with her to the market. She was dressed pretty right down to her shoes and she always made sure I was dressed properly too. My mama considered me a white girl. I was more white than Negro and she wanted me to believe I was like the white children. Anyway, we came out of the market. Mama was holding my hand and carrying her shopping bag. We were walking down the street talking to each other minding our business, when a man stopped and looked at my mama then he went crazy. He started yelling terrible things at her. _'Run back to the store, child!'_ she told me. But I couldn't run, Carlowe. I backed away a little ways, but that man started beating my mama right there in the street." Delilah whispered as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I heard her say _'don't do this, James.'_ And those were the last words I ever heard her speak. People passed right by them and they did nothing. I stood there crying, calling _'mama, mama'_ , but not a single person looked at me. He left her there bloody and unconscious in the street and he walked over to me. There was evil in his eyes and I thought he was going to hit me like he hit my mama." Delilah shook her head. "All he did was spit on me and he walked away. I sat in the street with my mama and I cried. Until a policeman came and he thought he saw a white child. He came over and when he looked at us he wrinkled his nose. I asked him, _'Sir, can you call my daddy? That man hit my mama and she won't move.'_ He started to say no, but I told him my daddy was Mr. Clayton Emerson and his eyes got real big around. He went back to his car and in moments there was all kinds of police and an ambulance, but they were too late."

"Delilah, I am so sorry. How horrible to have witnessed such brutality."

"We are the same, aren't we Carlowe? Both haunted by things we've seen."

"We are similar. You are innocent, a victim of circumstances."

"And you aren't?"

"No. I heard a terrible message and I wanted this terrible world to end so I did what I thought..."

"Don't you say such things. You must have a story. Your eyes could not show so much feeling if you were not a man who could feel. I saw evil in the eyes of the man who killed my mama. I will not believe that there is evil behind eyes that look like yours, Carlowe."

I wanted to believe her. But I knew what I was. Perhaps evil was not exactly the right term. I was capable of goodness. I was capable of mercy. I chose discord to spite my father and to avenge myself upon this prison. My desire to go back to the home I was banished from and the others of my kind was still so strong that I never asked myself at what point this place would actually be my home. Of course, my immediate stubborn response would be: never. And yet, I was sitting here with a woman who was kinder to me than any of my kindred save Evangeline, and though my appearance in this time had me awkward and uncomfortable, I suddenly wanted to stay. "Is that the end of the story, Delilah?"

"Oh, it is a story that could take days to tell. My daddy came to the police station. I heard him come in yelling. _'Where's my daughter? Where is my baby?'_ He was frantic. None of those police even talked to me the whole time I waited. But I ran to my daddy and he picked me up and held me tight in his arms. He said, _'did you see the man, Delilah?'_ I nodded. I told him what my mama said. _'Did that man touch you?'_ he asked me. I shook my head and I started to cry. I'd never seen my daddy as mad as was when I told him that man spit on me. But I told him everything. I told him how the policeman wrinkled his nose and started to walk away from me until I told him my daddy's name. _'Which policeman was it?'_ he asked me calmly. I pointed. He set me down and we walked over to an office. He sat me up in the big chair behind the desk. _'Delilah, you listen to me, you saw too much for one little girl to ever have to see. Now I have to talk to those men and I am going to be very stern. I'm a lawyer, my job is to be very stern, so you should not be afraid if you hear my voice loud, ok? But don't you leave this room. No matter who comes in or what they say you be stern too. You tell them your daddy, Clayton Emerson told you to sit right there.'_ Yes, Sir. I told him. And he went out there and raised Cain. I covered my ears and closed my eyes tight, but tears still came, Carlowe. On the way home I asked him where mama was. He stroked my hair and said _'Mama had to go home to the angels. But don't you worry, Delilah, the Lord is welcoming her and he will give her beautiful wings because she was a beautiful person.'_ And my daddy cried."

In that moment, I was glad I was not a man. I know that was hypocritical considering the things I promoted in the last lifetime. But I never saw their faces. I never looked them in the eyes as they were torn from their homes and marched to their cruel ending. I only wished for the sound of gunfire and the stench of death because I wanted to go home. Suddenly I felt cold.

"Carlowe? What is it? Are you thinking about the war?"

"There are many things I can't forget, Delilah, many battles, many losses and many disappointments. But nothing compared to what you witnessed. You are a very strong woman."

There was a certain lift to her chin and pride in her eyes that sent my mind back to the place I came from, but many lifetimes ago. But the way Delilah smiled, made my hurt evaporate away.

"Thank you, Carlowe," she said looking deeply into my eyes.

"For what?"

"You said there would be no pity, and there was none. For a moment, I saw fire in your eyes, and that gave my spirit a boost. I don't tell many people my secrets, but I look at you and I just want to keep on looking," she laughed. "Oh my word, I did not realize how late in the day it was! I must be getting back. If I don't call my daddy soon, he'll be thinking the worst."

"Delilah, would you dine with me tomorrow evening? I would very much like you to. Of course I will have to extend my stay and perhaps find a place to enhance my wardrobe."

"Enhance your wardrobe! I do love to listen to you, Carlowe. You make me laugh. So you need to go shopping?"

"I truly did only intend to stay the one day."

"You came all the way from Germany to the United States to stay for one day?" she asked, taken aback, as she took my hand in her own.

"No, I came from Sudan. I left Germany years ago." I told her, but suddenly, her eyes changed. It was almost as though a different woman was looking out at me through them. And a voice that seemed to come from within her more so than from her lips, spoke to me. _"Sudan? Tell me where?"_

"A tract of land near a bend in the Nile River."

" _Along a trade route."_

"Yes." I said watching her eagerly. But in a flash, the look was gone.

"Sudan? I guess you can't just run on home and pick up a few things."

"No."

"Where are you staying, Carlowe?"

"A boarding house a few block south of here."

"The Bluebell House?"

"Yes."

"I will pick you up at eleven in the morning, we'll enhance your wardrobe," she said as we walked outside. She kissed my cheek, but I had an overwhelming urge to pull her tight to me and kiss her passionately.

And my traitorous eyes must have told her that because she blushed a bit but her smile glowed. Then without another word she turned and walked away.

* * *

I wanted to know more about this man who preached my father's words to the masses. I asked casually at the Boarding House that evening. I thought my status as a foreigner would garner me some information, but it seemed such was not the case. Answers varied widely depending on whom I asked and what their station happened to be. Those I thought would answer most honestly were most reluctant to speak to me, so while the Negroes felt discriminated against by the white people, they seemed to reciprocate the prejudices of that place quite handily.

The proprietor's wife seemed most willing to give me information. Whether she was just accommodating my curiosity or she found that same fascination in my curious eyes that Delilah found I could not say. According to the lady, the Reverend was following in the footsteps of his father and continued to preach in the church of his father. He was well educated, going so far as to receive a doctorate degree. He was married with small children whom he took pains to protect. He traveled quite extensively in the south with his message of equality among all men. Separate but Equal was a fallacy, there was no equality in segregation. He staged various sit-ins and peaceful protests wherein the people of color made it clear that they were not going to accept their designation as a lower class; they were tired of giving in to the rules of the white people. But passive protests rarely remained such. Police inevitable came and stirred the pot. Arrests were made. The cries of injustice spread.

My hostess shook her head.

"Why do you roll your eyes so?" I asked her.

"Mr. Ambrosi, politicians can be great fools. Clearly they have never been mothers," she laughed.

"Nor have I, might you explain?"

"Sir, when my child wants a cookie and throws a tantrum, I don't meet his demands and give it to him. I don't get down on my knees and comfort him. And I certainly don't come with a paddle and tan his backside publicly. I treat a petulant child like a petulant child. Best thing to do is shake your head sadly and walk away. If you want the behavior to stop, you have to give it a blind eye, let that child know there is no reward for that sort of conduct. Now the police here, they think they are being clever arresting the Reverend for some old charge that probably had no standing in the first place. They go and pull a stunt like they did yesterday and the whole world is going to feel sympathy for these poor people just listening to their preacher and getting beaten in the street. You see how that looks bad on all of us folks here?"

"Yes. I see."

"Now if they just let those people listen to the word and go back to their homes peacefully, then nobody else be looking at the foolishness here. If they really need to arrest the Reverend than do so under cover of night when he's alone with his private circle. When nobody is looking, nothing happens," she paused. "Mr. Ambrosi, how many men do you think feel they have the right to beat their wives or their children?"

"Hopefully not many, good woman." I answered in surprise.

"Hopefully, but you know there are men like that. Now if a man decides that is his right and he does it in the privacy of his home, nobody going to interfere. He do that in the street, and it becomes a crime. What our good officers did yesterday was a crime as much as if they went into the house of God and dragged people out for hearing the Lord's Prayer. We don't want the eyes of the nation looking at us like we are all demons. We don't need to pour gasoline on the Reverend's fire," she sighed.

"So you would like his message to go unheard?" I asked.

"No. He's a good man. They are good people. I have had a number of them under my roof and they don't cause trouble. I have never been treated with disrespect by any guest here. They work hard just like everybody else, maybe even harder because they get treated badly in many places. They have families and they want a better future for their children just like everyone else. It's a good message, maybe it is even the will of God as he says, but there are many good people in Albany too and now the world is looking at us like we are all oppressors and slave drivers. The Reverend, he tries very hard to keep his public appearances peaceful, I think. But still, he needs the police to act the fool and further his cause so I can't say how pure his motives are."

"The man is sitting in a jail cell refusing bail to try to make things better for others." I told her.

"Now that's just foolishness. He's just drawing attention to a matter that is within his control. He knows he could spend a lifetime refusing his bail, but that's not going to do his cause any good. They need a leader or they'll find a new one."

"Have you met him?"

"No Sir, I have not. I have stood on the street and listened to him though. I think he would be a fine man to converse with. He is well spoken and he has a kind smile."

I laughed at that last assessment. I thanked her kindly and I went to my room.

* * *

I knew there would be no sleep for me that evening, dreams of a time long past were sure to haunt me and I was not prepared to entertain them.

Delilah's copper eyes seemed burnt into my memory. I could not say for sure if they were a memory or if I just wished them to be, but I lay in bed thinking of her and of all the things she told me. I was not one to get involved in personal relationships. Immediately upon meeting her I reached out to feel her soul. She was quite lovely; I would have seduced her without remorse. I would have taken her Glory in that moment of pleasure. But there was something within her that gave me pause, something I had known before. Never in all my lifetimes had I encountered a familiar soul. Never had I given any thought to the possibility of such an encounter.

But she hated me vehemently last time.

And for some curious reason, I did not want her to hate me again.

**CHAPTER 3: ALBANY, GEORGIA – JULY 12, 1962**

Delilah arrived at my room prematurely. I had gone to the dining room quite early for breakfast and I lingered over the newspaper believing there was ample time before our eleven o'clock engagement. Therefore I was just stepping out of the shower when the knock came at my door.

"A moment please," I called from within.

"Am I catching you at a bad time, Carlowe?" she laughed.

"I was not expecting you this quickly, I am just out of the shower." I admitted as I pulled my trousers on and grabbed a shirt from the wardrobe."

"Oh if only I had a key! I am missing my chance to see a man made in the Lord's own image!" Delilah giggled.

"Why do you say that?" I asked as I abruptly opened the door.

"Say what?" she teased raising her brow at me.

"What you just said about the Lord's image."

"Did I say something like that?" she asked feigning innocence and delicately pressing her hand to her chest.

"You are starting to fancy me, I think."

Delilah breathed in a long slow breath as she looked at me. "I most certainly am not," she laughed. "But I like the way your eyes looked when you said that, Carlowe!"

"So not even just a tiny bit?" I asked.

"Perhaps a tiny bit. But not more," she smiled. "Are you ready to go? I have a whole lot of things I want to do today."

"A whole lot? I thought there would be some awkward shopping and a lovely dinner."

"There are a lot of hours between those two events, Carlowe!"

"Well, I shall commit myself to you for the entirety of the day, my Lady." I said with a small bow.

Shopping was not an activity that I enjoyed. I was rather used to having my clothing tailored. And shopping with a woman was an experience better forgotten as far as I was concerned. Delilah wanted me to go into the fitting room and try the garments on so she could see them. She wanted me to purchase casual articles and shorts.

"Shorts? You can't be serious," I complained. For someone who was trying awfully hard to capture this woman's affection, I was behaving quite poorly.

"It is summer in Georgia, Carlowe. We got nothing but heat and humidity here! What are you hiding under those pants that you don't want anyone to see?" she laughed. "You got skinny legs?"

"No. My legs are perfectly fine. Perhaps a bit pale, we do not wear shorts in Sudan."

"I suppose not, but you are not in Sudan, Carlowe, and you must know the old saying: When in Rome..."

...do as the Romans do." I finished and in my head I could see the arena. I could hear the crowd. I could feel the gladius in my hand. That was so many lifetimes ago, so many disappointments ago. But I took the shorts from her extended hand and retreated to the fitting room.

A short while later, I found myself dressed more casually than I would have ever imagined myself in this current century, sitting on a picnic blanket on a grassy hill looking over a small lake. The lush greenness of it was a balm to my years in the hot sand. But the trees and summer foliage taunted me with memories of a paradise that I might have found undeniably beautiful at this age, but loathed beyond all things when I was forced to survive there. Time surely has a way of turning even the most accursed memories nostalgic.

"Delilah," I started, "Would you tell me about the Reverend?"

"What do you wish to know, Carlowe?"

"Is he a good man? Do you think he truly feels his words as a calling or is he looking for some sort of notoriety?"

"I think he speaks with his heart. There is a passion to his words that must come from a greater source. I think all people are self-serving to some extent. I think that is part of the design flaw of humanity, but I think in his heart he cares more about making a better world than he does about the recognition his work brings him."

"You believe that?"

"I honestly do. But I have spoken to him a great number of times. I have looked into his eyes and seen what is inside the man. I have seen him play with his children. That does not mean I am above calling him a stubborn fool for sitting in the jail," she laughed. "What does his message mean to you? You said you came to feel the strength of his spirit, to see if his words came from his soul, what did you mean?"

"His is a message that has been heard before, a number of times, but to different ends each time. Those ends have very much to do with the speaker. There was another preacher who came with a similar message for his time. He promoted the message that all men were equal in the eyes of the Father. He told them we are all entitled to everlasting life. He forgave those who sinned, even against him. It was a message of love, peace and brotherhood. He was trying to make a better world. But his ideas of equality were not well received; in fact for a gentle man he probably spread more fear through the lands than he did tolerance. But he believed his message came from the Father. And he endured many hardships to spread his word."

"Are you equating the Reverend to the Lord Jesus, Carlowe?"

"I am not saying this man is the Son of a God if that is what you are wondering, I merely wish to know if he feels that sort of conviction. I wish to know if he has a spirit strong enough to carry this message forth."

"Why does it matter to you?"

"That is a difficult question, Delilah. The one called Jesus had a soul so strong that though they killed the mortal body he proved there was life everlasting and his message remained. But there are many whose motives are not as pure. Many a king has tried to expand his kingdom to erase the pride of nationality. Some thought that when all races blended into one there would be no more jealousies, no more need for war."

Even in Berlin there was a message that was not so different. The distinction comes from within the man who speaks it to the people. The Furor was very convincing. He wanted to force equality by making a pure race and expelling or eradicating all that did not fit his idea. But he was not a man who had any Glory within him. His vision was made solely to promote himself and those like him to an elite ideal; it was not the hand of the Father upon him. As such his plan was carried out with pain and death," I paused. "I came to see if this man spoke with his soul or with pain and greed."

"Would you thwart him if you thought he was abusing his power?" she asked.

"I don't know. I only came to see if the message was worth hearing."

"I think you would find that his heart is in his quest, Carlowe. He does not speak for the sake of speaking. He tries hard to get his followers to be passive in the face of confrontation. He speaks out against war and senseless violence. I believe in his words and I want to see his actions come to their fruition."

We ate the lunch she packed as I pondered her words.

Delilah was lying on her side beside me leaning casually on her elbow as she gazed at me. "Tell me something about yourself, Carlowe."

"I enjoy hearing you say my name," I replied instantly. The words just slipped out.

She tipped her head back and laughed. "That is not what I meant! Tell me something personal. Tell me about your family or where you took your schooling."

That was a more difficult question than she could possibly know. "Greece. I had a private teacher in Greece."

"Are you Greek?"

"No."

"Truly you are a man of the world, aren't you?" she smiled. I can only imagine what it would be like to live in another country, and learn another language and culture. You must speak a number of different languages."

"Yes, I do."

She looked at me expectantly, waiting.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You are not very forthcoming with information! I thought you would tell me what languages!" she laughed. "Tell me about school in Greece, Carlowe. I mean, why Greece? Was that where your family lived? Did you have friends there?"

"I did not have family there. It was more of a boarding school so to speak. I made a very fine friend, we were very similar, both seeking the approval of our fathers, both striving to make a good impression upon our teacher. I freely admit he was a much better student than I was. I had, perhaps still have to be fair, a tendency to debate quite rigorously." I smiled. "He followed our teacher's lessons as though they were religion to him."

"You speak as though you cared very deeply for him."

"He was the closest thing to having kin that I have known."

"Was? You parted ways?" she asked carefully.

"No. He was killed."

"I am sorry, Carlowe..."

"We were both strangers in that place, our teacher was a good man, a brilliant man, but he regarded all non-Greeks as sort of barbarians. I think he thought kindly of us, but his words, his phrasing sometimes hurt my friend. He asked me if I though our teacher meant us when he spoke like that. I did not like to see him hurt. I told him I did not think our teacher would take pupils whom he thought of as less than worthy." I paused looking at her for a long moment. "Do not take this badly, I think he was rather like you, his parents were different nationalities and unwed. He felt penalized for what he was all his life. He wanted to make a better world. He died trying and I think there is some Glory in that."

"Yes. Yes, there is Glory in standing on your principles," Delilah smiled. "What was his name?"

"Alexander."

"Alexander," she repeated wistfully. "I was also privately taught," she said rolling onto her back and looking away into the distance. "My father enrolled me in a very good school when I was the proper age. I dressed like the other children, I spoke like the other children, but they looked at me like I was the Boogey Man. To the white children I was a Negro girl and they did not want me in their school. And it wasn't just the student, the parents were equally as cruel."

"Was that the first time you felt that sort of bias?" I asked her.

"No!" she answered with a sort of resignation in her laugh. "The first time I felt different, the first time it mattered to me, it was something my Father's sister said."

"You don't have to tell me, Delilah."

"There are many things I don't have to do, Carlowe, and there are many things I would like to do. Sometimes I do things I don't wish to do and I am too timid to do those things I dream about. This time I am going to say and do as I please if you don't mind."

"I don't mind," I answered quietly.

"My daddy was very involved in prosecuting my mama's killer. He was afraid for me because he actively spoke out against the violence in the street and the intolerance and the police ignoring the crime. He sent me to live with his sister and her family for a time. My older cousin Vivienne took one look at me and said, _'what is she, Mama?'_ My Auntie said: _'she is your cousin Delilah and she is a guest in our home.'_ My uncle didn't like it any better. I heard them arguing about me one night when I should have been sleeping. My Uncle was saying that my daddy was a disgrace and I had no business pretending to be a white child and some other things that I didn't understand at three years old. My Auntie said: _'For Heaven's sake, Daniel, she's just a child. She can't help being what they made her. You should pity her instead of berating her, she has to live with what they done.'_

And Delilah's words crept inside me and stabbed at my soul. We were the same, living a tormented existence unable to escape what we were made to be.

She sat up abruptly then. "Carlowe, do you want to walk along the water? It looks so pretty today under the clear blue sky."

I knew she was trying to recover herself. That memory still hurt her and I could almost feel it rend her soul just a little bit more. We stood and walked in silence for a few moments. The water was cool and clear and the afternoon sky reflected off the still surface.

Delilah wrapped her hand around my arm and walked close to me. "Did you think he meant you, Carlowe?"

"What?"

"Your teacher. You told your friend Alexander something to make him feel better, but did you think your teacher meant the two of you?"

"I did not think he meant Alexander. I debated him so vigorously he may well have meant me." I said with a small grin.

She looked up at me and smiled. "Your eyes look just like the sky. So it didn't bother you?"

"There are many barbarians in this world." I answered plainly.

"Fascinating!" she gasped. "I would have expected an angry color."

"And what color do you see?" I asked.

"Something between blue and purple, but there's a shine to them. Can you keep them one color? Do they always change like that?"

"I suppose if I maintain a certain degree of anger or indifference I can keep them one color for a time." I answered, but they must have changed as I spoke, I could see it on her face.

"What about happiness, Carlowe? Can't they just stay the color of happiness for a while?"

"I don't know, Delilah. I don't know if I have ever felt that degree of happiness."

"Color is a strange thing isn't it?" she sighed. "I don't envy your life, Carlowe. As much as I am an outcast, I can almost always find some happiness to get me through my troubles."

"Why are you an outcast? You are quite lovely, and I would think many men notice you. I think many men would desire to be with you. Do you withhold yourself or is it something I don't see?"

"What exactly do you see? When you first looked upon me, did you see a white woman or a Negro woman?"

"I believe I just saw the rose, Delilah. I did not make any assumption I just saw a lovely woman with copper colored eyes."

"You touch my heart with your words, Carlowe."

"Why did you speak to me the other day?"

"Curiosity, I guess."

I laughed. "That is not much of an answer! You made many assumptions about me as I stood listening. You commented on my color, your perception of my financial status and my lack of manners. I heard a good dose of disdain and yet you continued to try to get my attention."

She stopped and stepped in front of me. She looked up into my eyes and perhaps deeper into me than I should have let her see but there was a look upon her face that held me captive. "I saw a very handsome, well-dressed white man, Carlowe. Forgive me. I would like to be above noticing the color of one's skin, but it has been such a thorn for me that I can't overlook it in others," she sighed. "I have been to many of these speeches and there are not men like you in the crowd to hear his words. Typically a white man in a suit is a bad sign that trouble is afoot." She dropped her eyes from mine and I felt something like remorse or shame radiate from her. "If you were going to make trouble, I was going to try to lure you away and give the Reverend a chance to finish his sermon."

"Delilah, have you done that before?"

"No. I spoke more boldly to you than I have ever spoken to a man; any man and I have no reason for why I might have done that. But you did not respond. Immediately, I felt offended, but I could not seem to stop looking at you. There was a look upon your face that was something between rapture and envy and I wanted you to notice me. I wanted you to acknowledge me."

I ran my ringers over her silken cheek, pulled her close to me and I kissed her, slowly, deeply. And she touched me. She ran her hand up my back and into my hair as she accepted my passion.

But suddenly she stepped back.

Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape and she hardly seemed to breathe.

"You are very good at that," she said quietly. "No man has ever kissed me like that before, Carlowe. I hope I am not a disappointment to you."

And a sort of joy filled me. I laughed out loud and drew her in close to me again. "You are in no way a disappointment, Delilah. You delight me."

But her cheeks flushed and she avoided my eyes. "Perhaps we should be getting back now. If you changed your mind about dinner..."

"Why would I do that? Have you changed your mind?" I asked.

"My mind is filled with thoughts of things I want. Some are things I never wanted before, some are things I denied myself."

"Perhaps you should not deny yourself, Delilah, perhaps you should live as you want to live. Perhaps we should have a lovely dinner and just see what happens."

"You make me feel like a woman," she whispered. "Let's have that dinner," she finished. She pressed her lips softly to mine but she did not smile.

But I did. And I wondered if perhaps she was right, perhaps there was always some small happiness to be found.

* * *

Delilah suggested the restaurant.

She was waiting out front when I arrived.

She was wearing a very well cut dress that highlighted all of her attributes and after the way I'd kissed her by the water, seeing her dressed like this made me want her very badly. But she was unhappy.

"What is it?" I asked her as we were seated.

"Am I an open book, Carlowe? Can you see right through me?" she answered with a small smile.

"I can see that you are not happy as much as if your eyes behaved as mine do."

"I came here to Albany to listen to the Reverend. That's all. That was my only intention. I want so badly for his message to be heard and for things to change. I feel angry that he's still sitting in a cell doing nothing and the world is ignoring him there. I feel angry that there is nothing I can do about it as well."

"Why does his message matter so much to you?" I asked. "You do not live the same life as the majority of his followers."

"No, but is my life better? They know what they are. They know society considers them lower class and they know what to expect everyday. So they push for something better.

It's like if I took all the oranges and all the peaches and separated them into their own boxes. Not everybody likes the oranges, they have a tough skin, they are tart and they are a bit hard to eat. But they are in their box and if I don't want to have oranges I just leave them be. Now suddenly some farmer grows a fruit that is part orange and part peach. Maybe it looks good on the outside but inside it's not sweet, or maybe it is better than both of the other fruits individually. But every time someone looks at it they make a judgment. They don't know where to put this new thing because it doesn't belong in either of the boxes.

I don't know what to expect from minute to minute. I can walk into a market one day and be treated like a lady and two days later be sneered at. Do you understand, Carlowe? Every time someone looks at me they make a judgment. If the colors were equal maybe it wouldn't matter that I was a piece of both. Maybe there would be a new box or no boxes at all."

"I do understand, Delilah. But you know your life is better. You are educated, you've had a father with means and you've had opportunities. Perhaps it is you making the judgment. Perhaps you can't decide which box you want to be in."

She looked at me angrily. "Oh, so is it that I am imagining some bias that isn't there, Carlowe? Do you want to tell me what I should find attractive and what I should fear so I don't have worry my pretty head about the real world. Would you tell a man what you just told me? Do you think I am just too sensitive because I am female? Is it all women or just me that you find ridiculous?" she asked throwing her napkin angrily upon the table and rising from her chair.

"Delilah, I..."

She shook her head. "I don't wish to see you again, Mr. Ambrosi," she said flatly and she turned and walked away from me.

And my excuse for lingering in that place vanished.

All that remained was meeting the Reverend.

* * *

I returned to my room confounded and disappointed. My reason for coming to this place was to meet the man and weigh his soul so that was what I was going to do. What action I would take once I took measure of him, I did not know. I had a strong feeling that my father sent one of the three, but this man had not done anything that might be considered a miracle as the other one did. He had the title of Doctor, but he was not a medic, and I had not heard that he had any powers to heal the sick.

The coldness of Delilah's departure had me disturbed. Logically, I should have waited until the next day to do the thing I was about to do. I was a bit worried that I would find this man lacking solely based on the my disappointment, but at that time I was just thinking I would kill two birds with one stone so to speak. I would give Delilah what she wanted and see the Reverend freed, and I would have my meeting and determine if my Father was at work here. Then Carlo Ambrosi would disappear into the world forever. I knew inside that if this man was not convincing I would take whatever Glory he had in him. That was what I was made to do.

Perhaps the world would suffer the consequences of my decision.

But I still wanted this world to end.

I went to police station and I quietly arranged for his bail.

And I waited upon the street for his reluctant expulsion.

It did not take long, and the Reverend was quite loud about being ejected. But he put on his jacket and straightened his tie. I took stock of him for a moment. He was thirty-three, but looked a bit older than that. Perhaps he was just weary from his days of imprisonment. He was not as tall as he seemed at the pulpit but carried himself well. He walked purposely toward me. "Was it you who paid the bond? Who are you?" he asked suspiciously. "Why would a white man pay to have me freed? What do want with me?"

Immediately there was a strange sensation that came over me. There was a strong presence in this man, but it was disjointed and it seemed to be holding to a weaker presence. Never had I felt such a thing before. "I am Carlo Ambrosi. I wish a private audience. There are questions I would like to ask you."

"What sort of questions? Are you from the media or the government?"

I laughed. He was quite suspicious. Rightfully I suspect. "No, I am from neither. I just want to understand your mission. I wish to ask questions about your message and you personally. Delilah Emerson said you were a respectable man, I ask only for a small amount of your time."

"You are a friend of Delilah's?"

"I would like to think she considers me a friend."

"Very well. If you have managed to earn the trust of the Emersons', I will grant you my trust as well."

"Might we have dinner together? I venture that the dining is below standard in there."

"You are quite right, Mr. Ambrosi," he laughed. "Hiwever, I am not fit for a public spectacle right now. I could do with a nice quite meal back at the hotel if that suits you."

"Perfectly, Reverend."

We walked to the place in silence. I could not escape the oddity of what I felt within him, nor could I reconcile it.

We made it to his rooms with little fanfare and secluded ourselves with a modest meal and a bottle of wine.

"You will have to forgive me if I am not the best company, Mr. Ambrosi. Jail may be a dull place, but there is very little resting when you have to fear that you might not wake up again," he said with a grin.

"Do you ever find peace, Sir? Do you always fear for your life and your family?"

"There is always some degree of fear. I pray fervently that the Lord will watch over my family while I am away, but I fear for their safety even more when I am home. There have been a number of attempts upon my life and there have been times when I have wondered if it is truly worth it. If this calling is worth what I am missing out on to see it through. I have to tell myself that it is. I have to answer yes, and I have to say it firmly so I believe it. Because if I don't believe, who will hear the message the Lord has given me to speak? And if I deny the message how will I ever find salvation?"

"When did you discover this calling?" I asked him.

"You ask me a difficult and shameful question, Mr. Ambrosi," he started as he sipped his wine. I will answer you honestly and completely if you will answer my questions first."

"What questions have you for me?" I asked plainly.

"Where are you from? You have an accent that is clearly foreign, but I cannot seem to place it."

"I have lived in all parts of the world. I came here from Sudan."

"Why did you come all the way here?" he asked in amazement.

"The world is currently bombarded with military coups and government embargoes. There is constant news of launching various things into space to what end I don't know. There are missiles and weapons of doom in the hands of those poised to use them. The stories are notoriously bad. It would seem the world is ripe for it's final ending in some great nuclear explosion setting off earthquakes and tidal waves and washing humanity away like a putrid dirty stain. But the President of the United States has openly praised your work. Your name has reached all corners of the world and carries some degree of hope. I have come to hear your message."

"I am flattered," he said sincerely.

"I did not come to flatter you." I said plainly. "I came to see if your calling came from the Father or if you are simply a publicity-seeking malcontent."

"That is blunt!" he laughed easily. " _I am not interested in power for power's sake, Mr. Ambrosi, but I'm interested in power that is moral, that is right and that is good."_ He said in his preaching tone. "What is your conclusion so far?"

"So far I agree with Delilah who contends that your words come from your heart and you feel the message within you. However she also was quite angry that you would chose to sit in a jail cell indefinitely instead of being visible where the people need you."

"She can be quite fierce."

"Yes. She can also be quite delicate. I believe she withholds her personal desires because she fears being weak." The words came out and I knew them to be true because the soul she possessed had always had that fear. But I could not comfort it I could only challenge it. And for that I felt guilt.

"My father was a Reverend as well," he started as he set his wine upon the table between us. "I was supposed to follow in his footsteps and heed the call of the Lord. But I didn't hear it, Carlo. Do you mind if I call you Carlo?"

"No, I do not. Please continue."

"I denied my father. I disappointed him, I am sure. I didn't feel the Glory of God. I don't know that I believed the words then. I actively pursued my education, but only in so much as it was an escape from the expectations of following my father. I was a teenage boy and a foolish one at that. I messed around as young men do. I drank too much. I embarrassed myself sometimes. Until one night I was so drunk I could not get myself off the floor. I thought I might just die there, a wasted life ended in a futile shameful binge. But I heard the Lord speak to me. He asked me if I wanted redemption. He asked me if I was ready to be what I had been denying my whole life. And I said _'Yes my Lord, I am ready to give myself to you.'_ I woke up the next morning and I knew that was not a dream. I felt the weight of it inside me. Like God had given me his own soul to stand up and tell the people that it was time to change what we are and make this a better world for the future.

I applied myself to every task I undertook. I completed my education and I went into the world with a new vigor. I still feel the weight of the Lord inside me and I will do his bidding for as long as he gives me upon this green earth."

When he finished, I thought I understood what I felt within him. "Do you think you can make this a peaceful world?" I asked seriously.

"No. Even Jesus Christ left the world without seeing the fruition of his work. I am no Messiah, just a tool for the Lord to employ. I think my message can only go so far. I say that the world will always be a troubled place as long as humanity is judged by what is here," he started indicating his appearance, "instead of what is here," he finished pounding his fist upon his heart. "But it will take the generation of my children and my children's children to erase the distinction of color from this world. I believe there is no color in the great kingdom of heaven and that the Lord will judge us all upon our deeds and our desire to strive for a better world, not the color of the skin we were born into."

"There is no color in Heaven, there is only white light and warmth."

"White light? What do you imply? Are you rebutting me?"

"No. On the contrary, I am agreeing with you. White light encompasses all color. The troubling attribute of that light is that it must be broken to show those colors. Do you see? The light is what we all strive for, what we all wish to become but we are just a refraction, a broken piece of paradise. That is all we can be in this place. I am broken. I know that. My greatest desire is to be more than the damaged creation of my father. You preach a message of equality and yet you are broken too. One of the very first things you spoke to me was _'why would a white man pay to have me freed?'_ Not just a man; but a white man. You wish to be judged for the heart that beats within your chest and your desire to change the minds of all men. You have a soul that should not refract the light. I feel it in you. And yet you yourself still see the colors, and you make judgment based on what your eyes tell you rather than what your soul feels."

He sat in silence with his hands pressed together as in prayer, for a long time. "I must think about this message. You have given me a new perspective, Mr. Ambrosi. I would like to speak again," he said with an air of finality that indicated that our conversation was at an end.

I rose from my seat and took my jacket from the back of the chair as I prepared to take my leave.

"One last question if I might, Sir," he asked.

I nodded.

"What did you see when you looked upon Delilah Emerson for the first time?"

"I saw a lovely woman with eyes the color of a new copper penny. Sometimes the colors are beautiful."

He nodded. "I saw misfortune. I saw a young woman trapped between two worlds. I pitied her when in fact I should have exalted her," he sighed. "You must be closer to that light than I am, Mr. Ambrosi. I hope to meet you again perhaps you will come to Atlanta."

* * *

I walked back to the boarding house alone in the darkness. It was quite late. I wished I were thinking about the conversation I'd had with the Reverend, but I was thinking about Delilah. I would have liked to apologize to her but she said she did not wish to see me again. I felt like I had the answer I needed from the Reverend, as he said, he was the tool of my father's choosing. I could leave quietly and let the messenger do his task but I could not overcome the sense of disappointment.

I opened the door carefully, quietly. I did not want to disturb the other guests with my late return but the proprietress was still lingering behind the check in counter.

"Mr. Ambrosi, you have had a guest awaiting your return," she whispered.

"A guest?"

"Yes, the young woman who came to pick you up this morning. She seemed quite anguished. I fear she may have fallen into sleep on the sofa," the lady said pointing me in the direction of the lounge.

And there was Delilah.

I knelt before her and gently stroked her cheek as I whispered her name. She opened eyes fresh from a dream and she began to cry.

"I was afraid you were already gone. I waited so long. I don't want you to leave, Carlowe. I think you know I have some feelings for you. I don't know what to do about them. I tried to push you away, I tried to blame you, but I feel so awful."

"Shh, do you want to come upstairs and we can talk through the night? Or I can take you home to wherever you are staying."

"Where were you, Carlowe?"

"I was with the Reverend."

"He is out of jail?" she asked sliding forward in her seat.

"I paid his bond. I wished to speak with him. I thought it would please you if he were free. I believe he is planning to go back to Atlanta. And I was going to leave because there was not a reason for me to stay any longer."

Delilah shook her head slowly. "It's so far away. I shall never find you again if you go. Forgive me, Carlowe. Please forgive me. I don't know what to do with these feelings that I've never known before. I would like more time to talk with you, to be near you. I am afraid."

"Afraid of me?"

"Afraid of wanting you. Afraid of losing you."

"I will not lay a hand upon you if you are afraid of what might happen in my room."

"I believe you. But when you kissed me Carlowe, for the first time I wanted to know what it would be like to have those sort of relations with a man."

"You have never?"

Delilah shook her head.

"Why?"

"I could never believe a man would want something more than his own pleasure from the likes of me. I'm afraid of meeting a man like James and I'm afraid of being someone's mistress. So yes, I withheld myself, Carlowe and I never let anyone touch me the way you did today. But then I was angry at myself for that moment of weakness, for liking how it felt and for wanting more. And I was very ugly to you when really I think you are wonderful."

"So you are starting to fancy me?" I asked with narrowed eyes.

Delilah laughed. "Oh Carlowe, you make me crazy."

"Would you come upstairs? I promise I will be a perfect gentleman."

"Maybe you don't have to be perfect, just slightly reserved."

* * *

I held firm to my word and though Delilah lay beside me in my bed with her hand upon my chest, I did not make any attempt to satisfy my desires. I slept in short snippets of time and in those scraps of sleep I dreamt disjointed fragments of the past.

Seir, at the foot of the Red Mountains:

I sat upon a flat outcropping of rock with a small dagger, stripping a long straight branch of its bark. I was speaking to another.

" _I feel your anger, Esau. First born and last loved by your mother. She deemed you unworthy upon the moment of your birth."_

" _Is it a fault of my own that I was not born with a saintly countenance? Was she not the one who brought this creation to life? Why should she hate me so when I am only what she made me to be?"_

" _It is a question that cannot be answered." I told him forthrightly as I smoothed the freshly cleaned wood and began to shape the ending to fit my hand._

" _What do you know of it? I have never heard any word of your parentage in these many years that you have sat out here and fashioned perfect weaponry for me," he scoffed._

" _I am an imperfect son myself, banished from my home and the others of my kind."_

" _Where?"_

" _Heaven."_

Esau laughed out loud. "Let me bow to you, Son of God!"

I did not like his sarcasm. I stood upon the rock and I exposed my true form for the only time in all of my ages upon the earth.

Esau's eyes grew wide with fear. "It is truth. You are a fallen angel then?"

" _No! I am not fallen," I said angrily. "I am expelled. I was made imperfect by the hand of the Father and rather than admit his mistake he cast me out to this place."_

Esau sat upon the ground at my feet. "You do not seem damaged. Why do you appear to me? What would you have me do?"

I startled awake before my answer only to fall into another glimpse of the past.

Upon the Banks of the River Nile:

He was no match for me and I knew that.

" _I come to free my people from the terror of your reign, Set." Asar said plainly._

" _They will never be freed," I answered factually. I might have turned away in indifference, but the strength of his soul and his conviction incited me and I wanted that Glory for my own._

The battle raged and he fought hard to maintain himself, but he had no chance of victory because I am unable to die.

" _What evil sustains you, Set, that even the will of the Gods upon me cannot overcome?" he asked as his mortal body felt the pain of every swing of his weapon._

" _I could give you leave to go recover yourself, Asar."_

" _I will never be indebted to you. I will continue until your blood stains the sands here."_

" _As you wish." I shrugged in resolution. I am capable of killing. But I know that taking a life would void my claim upon the Kingdom of my Father and though he goaded me so, I would never succumb to the temptation._

I tore the Heavenly soul from the mortal body of Asar, took its Glory for my own and cast it back at my father leaving the mortal man defeated and empty upon the sand. He crumpled with exhaustion and loss. The others thought him dead and gave him to the water.

I felt the rending of the matching souls when I held Asar's Glory in my grasp. His other half was left alone in grief. I heard her cry out in anguish when the body was found and hope was forever lost. The pair would never be rejoined until all the ages of men were ended and the gates of Heaven opened calling all the children of Glory home.

I could still hear the sound she made. I have made that cry myself.

I tried to remain awake. There was no rest in sleep, but sleep took me once again.

Germany, 1939:

" _He does not like you. Trust me it would be in the best interest of that which you wish to succeed for you to remain mute." I insisted._

" _Like and dislike are of no meaning..."_

" _Don't be a fool, Adolf," I said warningly. "Il Duce would like to spit upon your grave rather than join hands with you. You had a friend he considered dear killed for very little purpose and now the consequence faces you. Let me handle this man."_

The furor was a man of great rage and little patience. He rose abruptly and stood nose to nose with me. "You think too highly of yourself, Reinholt. I would not be above removing even you."

" _Do not threaten me." I said evenly, but with eyes gone to the color of a raging fire._

He laughed then. "Always so fierce. I do like when I can see that rage in your eyes. There is such power in you, my friend. Yes, I believe he will succumb to your suggestions. Make a pact of blood with him. If you must, use his blood to bind it."

I shuddered violently, but could not seem to wake myself.

And then I heard the white dove singing. The sound was a balm, though I knew not if it was still a dream or if Evangeline came to comfort me.

**CHAPTER 4: ALBANY, GEORGIA/ATLANTA, GEORGIA – JULY 13, 1962**

"There is a very fine comfort in waking up beside someone you wish to see in the morning, is there not, Carlowe?"

Her dark hair hung freely across her shoulders and she wore only the silken slip from under her dress so every curve of her body was visible. "Comfort and pleasure, Delilah," I answered. "I did not believe I would see you again when you walked out on me last evening. I wished dearly for a chance to apologize, but I did not think you would ever look upon me again much less hear my words."

"You were telling me that it mattered more to me than it mattered to you, I think. You were telling me that I based too much of my self-esteem upon what I thought other saw instead of what I thought of myself. And you are correct, Sir. But I wanted a reason to be angry with you because I didn't know how to feel the feelings I have. So I twisted your words."

"You needn't apologize to me, Delilah. I don't deserve it. Nor do I want you to feel guilt. I wish I were a man who could comfort your soul, but I am not. I have seen terrible things in my time..."

"We have both seen some terrible things, Carlowe. Maybe neither of us is capable of giving comfort, but maybe we understand each other and that is just as important. I was so badly behaved and yet you went out and did something you thought would make me happy even if I never saw you again and you never got the proper credit for it. There is some merit in good intentions."

She lay quietly for a while and stroked my chest as I lay at peace. "You can touch me you know. You have been a perfect gentleman, but I think it would be nice to feel your touch."

"Were you going to ask me to come to Atlanta or are you going to seduce me and run away?" I asked her seriously without looking her in the eyes. I did not know why it mattered to me. I could certainly persuade her to give herself to me. I could also take what I wanted and remove the memory if I chose. But when I met this soul last time, I tormented her because she wanted my submission and I would not give it. I told her I would violate her in the night but not give in to her games. In the end when she asked me something from her heart, I denied her because I was not capable of giving her the thing she wanted but she refused to understand and my denial rent her damaged soul.

I never saw her again.

I was not prepared for that ending again. I felt like I needed to let her know that it was not her that was lacking, it was me.

"If I asked you would you say yes?"

I rolled to my side and lay with my body pressed to hers. "There are very few things you could ask of me right now that I would refuse you."

"Why Carlowe, are you beginning to fancy me?" she teased but she looked into my eyes and whatever the color she saw there made her run her hand up the length of my back and kiss me in a way that was both tender and passionate. "Come to Atlanta with me. Don't deny me this wish," she breathed into my ear.

"I will go with you."

We left that very day.

The trip was only a few hours, but there was already news on the radio the Reverend had returned and he would be making a speech about the events in Albany. Delilah was determined to hear his words and to be honest, after having spoken to him directly I was eager to hear his speech as well.

She took me to her home. I was mildly surprised that she did not reside with her father. Instead she lived alone in a small apartment quite near the church.

"You might not want to unpack your things, Carlowe. I think our stay here will be short."

"Why do you say that?"

"I say it because the Reverend has made the trip home to reassure his family that all is well. He will make a short speech from the safety of his own church. Then he will likely return to Albany to continue his cause."

"You know his movements quite well."

"I am part of his inner circle. It is an arrangement that benefits us both. If you are not comfortable with that I will recuse myself this time."

"I will not ask you to do any such thing. I would like to hear more of his message. I do not know if he will take kindly to my presence."

She smiled and ran her finger along my jaw line. "You don't seem like a stranger to me, Carlowe. I've known you just a few days, but it seems like more. I am glad to have you here in my home."

"I am glad to be here as well."

We freshened up and we went to hear the speech. As Delilah predicted, it was short. He gave a brief synopsis of how nothing had been accomplished in Albany and how good people were still fighting their way through the courts as criminals for no other offense than hearing the spoken word. He recounted the issues the movement was aimed at rectifying and he joked about being evicted from jail.

He was quite talented at the podium. He was a perfect balance of conviction and righteousness. He gave the listeners fire and hope but left them with a touch of humor as well.

The reception after the speech was more insightful than I would have suspected. The Reverend welcomed Delilah and I warmly.

"Mr. Ambrosi, I have had some time to consider our conversation. I have thought upon many aspects of our discussion. I am glad to have the chance to speak with you again," he said shaking my hand.

But there were others who began to whisper. I could hear them. "Who is he? What is he doing here? What discussions have they had that we don't know about? Is he from Washington?" There was a certain similarity to events that transpired upon the Mount of Olives. The Reverend had a loyal circle at hand to carry out his plans. They did not openly question him though reaching out with my spirit I could feel some doubters among them. They looked at Delilah as though she were Mary Magdalene, a sinner repented even though she had never done any of them harm. And they looked at me as though I were Judas.

And I understood why Delilah could not seem to escape her birthright, these people who would claim they wanted to erase the lines of distinction held their own prejudices rather tightly.

Discussions went late into the night.

I was surprised by how actively Delilah participated. It was as though this was her war and she strove to win it at all costs. She did not cow to these men who secretly scorned her, and when the Reverend told me she could be quite fierce I could now see his point of view.

But she wanted action. She wanted a bold stand.

The Reverend wanted a peaceful resolution. He wanted negotiations.

And I could actually feel her soul striving to lead the armies to war.

The Reverend addressed me directly. "Mr. Ambrosi, tell me where you stand, what do you see?"

"Your cause is too broad," I said flatly. "You have outlined a half dozen changes you wish to make in this one small place. You wish voting rights to be equally applied. You wish men to be released from jail. You wish total desegregation with no specific examples to follow or plan to enact. You are not just asking for bus seats or lunch counters where there are easy precedents to follow, you are talking a broad scale, in your face invasion and you wonder why they dig their heels in. You do not have even the total support of the African Americans there. The citizens of Albany surely see this movement as a bullying tactic and they will set about to thwart what they see as unreasonable. I say the movement is not feasible as it currently stands. It will be a failure in the end."

"Why do you say that?" another asked angrily.

"It is simple logic. If I come to you and ask you to give me one dollar and I give you a well made, sound argument for why that dollar is absolutely necessary to my cause, it is likely I can get that dollar. If I come to demanding all the money in your wallet, with a mouthful of vague reasons for my demands, my words will feel more like threats, my request will seem like robbery and you will refuse me. But if I get that one dollar and a friendly handshake and well wishes upon my endeavor, I can come back to you when I have need again. Eventually, that relationship between us that has made a number of small changes for the better will see big results."

Delilah glared at me a little.

The room erupted into various arguments.

I shook my head.

"You think they are behaving childishly arguing amongst themselves." The Reverend said plainly.

"Yes." I answered equally plainly as Delilah moved to my side. "If I want to rule the world, I must do it in small steps. I must conquer one country at a time and amass a great and powerful army behind myself. If I spread myself thinly without proper support in place I am easily crushed. But if I quietly take a country here and another there and every small battle is a victory and I can use that success to rally more people to my flag."

"You are saying the vast number of causes is spreading us too thin in Albany and we should focus on just one important change and put all effort into just that one then when we have a victory we will have a stronger force behind us." Delilah interpreted.

"Your point is valid, Carlo. I feel you might be right, but I fear inside that Albany may already be lost and if I back off as you suggest I admit defeat."

"No. You needn't ever admit defeat. You simply withdraw your attentions from that place. Attach yourself to a more carefully designed protest. Make it seem far greater than what you leave behind, make it your reason for turning your back on Albany. Hone every argument to just one single point and take your victory. Turning away from the battle that can't be won to fight one where victory is assured is a valid tactic."

"It is a well made argument," he said.

"But you are not convinced that walking away from this lost cause is the right course of action."

"Only because there are many still imprisoned unjustly."

I nodded. I felt the strange aberration of his soul again. It seemed to almost revolve around him rather than emanate from within him. I wished to lay my hand upon him and see if I could feel the warmth of it as it struggled. It seemed to lend the man conviction, but he could ignore its message if he wished.

And as I watched the glow of it like a golden aura around him, I understood. This soul was given to him, not born unto him. Its hold was tenuous so even though it was mighty and he could feel the weight of it, it was secondary to his mortal instincts.

My fascination with this trick of my Father's caused me to ignore what was going on in the room. His fight was not my fight. I cared only in so much as it affected Delilah. The Messenger was in place and the will of my Father was at work. There would be a price to pay for his hand in this matter and I did not wish to see the spilling of another chosen one's blood. I might have thwarted him out of spite, but I refused to let my father goad me. There was not more I needed to know. My resolution to remain passive was made. And soon enough Delilah was making her timely goodbyes and drawing me along out the door.

"This was a long day, Carlowe. I will be glad for a good long rest tonight."

"Will you go back to Albany when he does."

"Yes."

"You are quite interesting, Delilah."

"Interesting. That's something new," she said as she wrapped her hand around my arm and we walked back to her home. "You made some very good points in there, Carlowe. I don't necessarily like to hear them, but I agree with them. I get so wrapped up in wanting to win that looking at the small details is frustrating. But you are very wise in your knowledge of tactics. If the Reverend walked away from Albany and came back a few months later fresh off a victory they might hear him."

"Possibly," I nodded.

"Carlowe," she began as she opened the door and pulled me inside. "Let's not talk about it anymore tonight. Let's just be a man and a woman for a while."

"Are you sure you want this?" I asked as I sat down upon the edge of her bed.

"Quite sure," she said as she began to undress before me. She bit her lip a little as she stood in all her glory before me. "Am I desirable?" she asked quietly.

"Very desirable." I answered as I stood and trailed my fingers up her side. My mouth longed to be pressed to her breasts and I yearned to feel the warmth of her body joined to mine. I laid her gently upon the bed and undressed myself before her watching eyes. I could see eagerness and desire upon her, but there was some degree of fear as well. Whether she feared me or the act itself I did not know but as I touched her intimately she suddenly lifted my chin and looked into my eyes.

"Will it hurt?" she whispered.

"I will show you what pleasure feels like. If you wish me to stop you need only say so."

"I don't want you to stop," she told me as she pressed her mouth to mine and let the passion she reserved for the battle find a new purpose.

I spread her legs gently and kissed my way down her body to the place no man had ever touched and she gasped and called out to me but she did not ask me to stop. Warmth radiated from her. It took all my will not to reach out and take the soul I felt within her. Instead I set my mind upon feeling that warmth surround me, letting it fill me as I found pleasure in her body. Her eyes grew wide with anticipation as I eased my way back up her body. A small scream escaped her as we became one and she clutched me tight to her. Her breath was close in my ear. She pressed her lips to my neck as I moved inside her, whispering to me with each movement.

"I never imagined this feeling. I never want this to end. If this is being a woman, Carlowe, I am ready to be all that I have denied. I want to be a woman for you."

My body shook with pleasure given and taken. I heard her words in my head over and over. And I wondered to myself, what had I done. I had wanted only to soothe this soul I injured so deeply last time, but that was contrary to my own nature. Why had I wanted redemption from her so badly? And had I achieved it? I knew I could not stay in this life, I could not make a future here, this was not a planned existence and while I could sustain the façade for a time, it was not the same as living.

But Delilah wrapped her arm tightly across me and she slipped into the deep sleep that pleasure and comfort can bring.

And I knew that I was going to hurt her again.

Perhaps even worse this time, but I still did not wish to leave.

**CHAPTER 5: ALBANY, GEORGIA – JULY 19 - 21, 1962**

It was six days before these modern apostles ventured back to Albany. The evening before the trip the Reverend came alone to Delilah's home to speak to us privately.

He refused repast in the interest of time and he set right to his point. "Carlo, you could be invaluable to me as a tactician. There are few among my people who can see with the sort of clarity you have and I know that is because they feel this message so deeply within themselves. There are others who wish to use me as an icon. I am the face of this civil rights movement. But there are many other movements. Others wish to have my blessing and my activism. To some extent I am a celebrity, a person of note, and my name carries a degree of weight so when the anti-war groups want me to speak out against violence, I want to lend myself to their cause. I want violence to end all over this great world, but it is like you said yesterday about spreading the armies too thinly. When you want too many things at one time you cannot give enough of yourself to the things that truly matter. I am only one man. I need someone like you to remind me of my purpose and keep me on the path the Lord has set before me. Can you do that?"

I leaned forward in my seat and pressed my fingers to my lips. This man was speaking to me, but was he really or was my father testing me? I ran my hands up through my hair and answered him slowly, giving my thoughts time to take shape. "No, Reverend, I cannot be what you need."

He rose to his feet before me, a fire taking hold of him. "You came to me speaking of missiles and violence. You sold me on your notion of color being visible by the broken man and that there was no color in Heaven. I thought a man of the world would have more respect for the plight of the people..."

I could see The Messenger working frantically trying to restrain the man's tongue. I reached out and grabbed it right in front of his heart. The man gasped as though I were about to tear his heart from his flesh. I felt the pure power of what the Father set to work. The Reverend was correct it was nearly as heavy as if my father had set his own soul into this man and I knew in that instant whom I held in my hand. I was not speaking to the Reverend when I spoke again. "The Father gave you a task." I hissed. "Your mission is not my mission. Do as you were meant to do."

"He fights me," he said quietly.

"You are his word and his voice. Find a way to prevail."

"You could help me," he whispered.

"Will my help open the gates?" I asked.

"No. But can mercy not be it's own reward?"

I released him then. The backlash of our connection and his words stung me deeply. I had shown mercy only a few times in all my existence. I was in this place to hear a message only to find something that I felt a deep need to rectify and now The Messenger was asking me for mercy. I should have fled immediately. But I sat roughly down and sunk my head into my hands once again.

"What just happened?" The Reverend asked me cautiously.

I could not answer that question. "I will advise you, but not publicly," I said at last. "You must be the face of this cause."

We took measure of each other for a long moment. "I would not like to have you as an adversary, Carlo Ambrosi," he said at last. Then he turned on his heels and walked out.

Delilah took stock of me when the door closed behind him. "Never have I seen any man speak to him so, Carlowe. Never have I seen him so meek. You are something more than you seem."

In the morning we made the trip.

There was some sort of fear or dread within me and my true self was longing for release, even brief release. The urge to spread my wings and fly from that place was strong. But still I did not feel satisfied. There was something that had to be done in atonement to that rent soul. There were not other souls upon this Earth that I met and left as they were. I had never met one in recurrence because I never left one who knew me intact. But the spirit inside her was already dying last time we met and there seemed no reason to tear it away when it hardly had the warmth to sustain itself. I left it to suffer that withering. It may have seemed like I did her a favor leaving her rent but whole when in reality it would have been a greater mercy to send her back home. And now I was faced with that decision again it seemed. I could easily have torn it free and it sent back to Heaven, but I knew that was not the answer. The act would keep her from me through all the remaining ages of man, but it would not give her the explanation.

It would not take away the curse she laid upon me.

We took a room together and we escaped to that private place near the water where the world seemed a long way away and all that mattered was holding her in my arms and hearing the way she laughed. We did not discuss activism or religion. We did not talk about war or causes or callings. We merely touched.

And there was comfort.

* * *

When morning came again I was actually sleeping.

I didn't require sleep. I very rarely found the tranquility necessary to actually fall into a sound sleep, and on the occasions that I did manage to lay at rest more often than not, my tenuous peace was disrupted by memories I could not escape. However this one time, I was pleasantly awakened by the morning sunshine and the gently stroke of Delilah's hand across my chest. I pretended to be asleep longer than I actually was just so she would continue.

"You're awake. Your eyes are fluttering," she said as she kissed my shoulder.

"No, I am still dreaming."

"You're not dreaming, Carlowe," she laughed.

"It's a good dream. I wish to continue dreaming it." I admitted with my eyes still pressed closed.

"As do I." Delilah whispered. She was quiet for quite a long time. I was beginning to think she'd fallen back into sleep. But at last she spoke again. "May I ask you something, Carlowe?"

"You may ask anything you like."

"Have you ever thought about settling down and having a family?"

I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Delilah..."

"I never thought about it. I guess I scorned people with children. I told myself I would never want to bring a child into this awful, turbulent, violent world. How could I teach a child love and tolerance when I don't have those skills myself? I told myself I would never marry because I was never going to be at the mercy of a man. I told myself I was afraid of men because of what happened to my mama, even though my daddy is a wonderful man. I told myself no man was ever going to want me anyway because of what I am. I told myself stories and I believed those stories."

"Why would you choose to believe those things, Delilah?"

She sighed. "I think maybe I told myself that I was afraid of this world as an excuse for being afraid of living. I made myself a little castle and I secluded myself in the tower so I would never get hurt. And I did that because being a woman was a very sore spot for me. If I had been born a son, the world would have treated me differently. But women are weak. My daddy tried to protect me from every injustice in the world, Carlowe, be it school or society. He loved me like I filled his world but he handled me like I was damaged by what I saw as a child. He could not make that go away so he tried to make my world safe.

But I heard the Reverend speak. I heard that injustice was not mine alone to hoard. That many people have felt the pain of loss simply for being born with a certain skin color. And then suddenly I wanted some vengeance on this world and those people who walked right by as my mama died in the street. I wanted those police who wrinkled their noses at me to feel shame. So I joined this cause."

"Are you happier having a purpose?"

"I was."

"But you are not any longer?" I asked.

She was quiet again for a long time and I leaned up a bit to look at her.

"I want to simply be a woman now," she answered softly.

"You are a woman, Delilah."

"No, don't you see, Carlowe, I can put on a fancy dress and fix my hair pretty. I can look like a lady, but that is not the same thing as being a woman. I told myself that I was fierce and strong. I told myself I'd rather fight for a cause than sit at home raising children. And maybe that had some truth, I want change to happen. But I was afraid to be a woman and have feelings like a woman, and have vulnerabilities like a woman."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you have made me want to be a woman. I would be a woman for you, Carlowe."

The words rang in my mind even as she continued to speak.

"...I would have your child," she said looking at me with something like fear and hope in her eyes.

In that instant I could actually feel my eyes go dull. "I can't give you what you want, Delilah," I said quietly.

She was quiet for a long time. I felt her anger and grief for a moment but then she contained it. She sat up and spoke coolly, dispassionately when words finally made their way to her lips. "Was it all just talk, Carlowe? Was all your discourse about how mixing of colors does not make one an outcast, but a child of the world just rhetoric? Am I not good enough? Am I not woman enough, to carry your child?"

I sat up beside her. "No, that is not my meaning, Delilah. Look at me."

"I don't know if I want to do that right this moment."

"Do my eyes lie to you?"

"I didn't think they did."

"Look at me." I asked again. And to my surprise, she did. "I am not a good man like your father. I have seen terrible things and wished vehemently for the ending of this cruel world. I came here to hear The Messenger, and I found something I was not expecting. I could stay here with you. I could steal you away to any part of the world. But I cannot give you a family. I cannot make that sort of bond."

"Can't or won't?" she asked in that voice that spanned the ages of men.

I lay back into the pillows and my eyes watched the morning light refract through the crystals on the ceiling fixture. Tiny rainbows dotted my vision and I gave her the answer I was reluctant to give but knew she needed to hear. "Delilah, even if it were the greatest wish of my heart, I could not give you what you ask of me. I am incapable of fathering a child. It is a malady I cannot change anymore than I can stop my eyes from betraying my thoughts." I said softly.

"Forgive me, Carlowe. Oh please forgive me," she gasped. "I should not have pushed you like that. My pride is a terrible burden. I become defensive even when there is no slight. And now I have hurt you. As you say, this world is a cold place and it has made me its product."

"You should fly from me, Delilah. You deserve that sort of life and a man who will fill your needs."

"Why would I do that?" she asked as she slid her body atop mine and looked deep into my eyes. "I never thought I would desire a life with a man. I never thought I would meet a man that I would feel this sort of yearning and passion and respect for, a man who made me respect myself. I would have born your child because when you look at me you see something no one else sees, Carlowe, but I don't need a husband and a family to feel complete. I just want to be with you because you make me feel good about the person I am," she finished and she kissed me more tenderly than I would ever have expected. There was more warmth in her than I had felt in all these days as if her soul had found some joy in knowing it was never her failing.

* * *

The crowd was more swollen than I had seen it at any of the Reverend's prior speeches. Of course I had only been to a very few, but this seemed overwhelming. I felt the vile stirrings of trouble that I had felt in that last life and I came to associate with violence and death.

Delilah was delighted. So much so that she nearly shook with anticipation.

"This is how change gets made, isn't it Carlowe? The numbers are big. His army is growing."

"Yes, if he can keep control of it. Does he have crowds this large in Atlanta?"

"He has, a few times. I am surprised to see it here, but I am happy for him, aren't you?"

"I am wary, Delilah. If this were a normal occurrence or a swell following a victory, I would be comfortable, but I feel like we should be very cautious."

"I feel no fear. I feel pride that this many have come to hear him."

"Undoubtedly you should feel proud that his cause could draw so many, but there is no shame in caution. Being mindful of your safety does not mean you doubt the intention of the group only that you recognize that there are factors that could lead to danger." I said carefully. I had no wish to offend her and she tended to be quite temperamental where the cause was concerned.

"Why Carlowe, you must fancy me quite a bit to be looking after my safety!" she laughed. "I do like being on the arm of a fine gentleman," she said sliding her arm through mine.

"I most certainly do not fancy you, Ms. Emerson." I quipped, mimicking her southern drawl.

She pressed her face into my arm and we both had a small laugh until the crowd broke into applause and the Reverend took his microphone.

He started with a prayer.

The crowd bowed their heads in respect and most said the words along with him. I did not. Hearing my father revered in prayer made me want to scream out in revulsion. But I held my tongue and my silent refusal to bow went unnoticed.

The Reverend did indeed taper his speech to highlight just the most important aspects of what he wished to change in Albany. While he wanted total desegregation in the town, he put aside that burden and laid down the facts regarding how the Chief of Police was arresting nonviolent protesters and holding them hostage in jail cells far from their homes, far from their families for the crime of peacefully protesting the injustice of segregation. He incited the crowd with stories of fatherless children and mothers having to scrape by to feed their babies because justice could not be had. He looked out upon them and said he was pleased that even the conservatives had come to assist their brothers. He told them they could make a better world if they would register and vote and change the laws of this great land.

They cheered and jeered and praised God in turn.

He asked them to help him fulfill the Lord's plan that all men should be equal.

He told them: " _What I am saying is that I cannot be all that I am meant to be until you become all that you are meant to be, but you cannot be all you are meant to be unless I become what I am meant to be as well. We are all interconnected."_

He spoke the words to the masses, but the message was meant for me alone.

The crowd cheered and praised him.

He told them: _"Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into friend."_

Thunderous applause filled the air.

He told them: _"Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."_

And the people sang.

**CHAPTER 6: ALBANY, GEORGIA – JULY 23 - 24, 1962**

I startled awake to the sound of machine gun fire and sirens in my head. I could smell the stench of war still lingering in my nostrils. "I only wanted the ending" I heard myself muttering.

I was lying in the arms of a gentle woman but clearly I had not left behind the brutal past.

The weekend had been peaceful.

Though the town was crowded with protesters holding their silent prayer vigils at various civic facilities, no fighting or provocations had occurred. Sunday masses proceeded as planned and my great dread of this large mob began to ease. At least I thought it did.

My dreams should have been a signal to remain wary.

Monday morning the violence began in earnest. The start of the business week was like a battle cry to all the soldiers who had been lying in wait for the first sign of the enemy and both sides attacked with a fury.

The Reverend called his disciples to him and tried hard to quell the raw emotions of his people. He begged them to remain passive, but it is not the nature of creation to remain passive when under threat of death. They fought and vandalized. They smashed windows and cars and heads. Screams of terror rang from all colors equally.

But blood is just one color and the red all ran together in the streets.

What had been a great success just two days prior, where in the large crowd sang the Father's praise and all left that place safely with peace and hope in their hearts had now turned to a tide of bloodshed where hope of redemption and equality was all but lost.

Even peaceful prayer was not going to stay the hands of those whose fears had been renewed.

Behind closed doors I urged the Reverend to leave. Albany was lost.

But he insisted he had to make some sort of reparation. That if he turned tail and left in the wake of such destruction he affirmed that his people were to blame.

Now I understand pride perhaps more than any creature that has ever breathed with life. But I had no fear of my own ending so I could avenge myself to any length and never consider failure. I did not understand mortality. This man was risking everything, his life, his family, and the vague and prone to failure message of my father in order to defend a day of violence that may have been unjustly propagated, but wherein his people were certainly not innocent. He wanted to get to his pulpit and scold them like children while pointing the finger of shame and blame at the community and the time.

And he wondered why Albany refused to buckle.

Delilah and I returned to our room.

"He asked you to advise him. He praised your clarity and he refused to listen," she said stroking my hair. "I have always thought him a very wise man, but now I am questioning his motives, Carlowe."

"I do not want you to lose your faith in this movement. It has meant a lot to you for a long time."

"But you asked me if his motives were pure and I thought they were. This time I think he wants the publicity. He is a very good speaker and he will spin this to look as though they were all innocent victims but I know better now."

"He has a heavenly soul. He should be a man of pure intentions. It is mortal pride that tampers with his will." I told her.

"Carlowe, can I tell you something honestly? Please don't look at me with revulsion."

"You can tell me anything."

"Today I felt like a white woman. I felt ashamed to be part of that heritage. I saw James in the eyes of men. And I looked down on them," she said as tears clung to her lashes.

"There is no shame in your heritage. You were made in love. What you saw was a flashback to the most painful time in your life. You said you built a castle to protect yourself from that sort of rage and today you might have gone home to your tower." I told her taking her in my arms.

She wept for a few moments, but whether it was disappointment or relief she did not tell me.

"You saw anger. You felt shame. Do you feel fear, Delilah?"

"I do not acknowledge fear," she sighed. "Fear is the destroyer of all things. But I am ready to leave this life of violence and uncertainty. You were correct; my life is different from theirs. This movement does not need me to continue. I would like to go back to Atlanta and perhaps continue my schooling. I could fight for justice in the way my daddy does, through the courts. I can make changes that are laws, Carlowe."

"If that is your wish, Delilah, I support you. Do not do this because you think it is what I want."

She ran her hands up my chest and backed me toward the bed. "I told you, this time I am going to do what I please if you don't mind!" she smiled as she loosened my belt and untucked my shirt. Her hands were warm upon my skin and the world was a long way away as we took pleasure in each other.

But as we lay there satisfied, with the breath coming fast from our lungs and our bodies still joined she looked into my eyes and said, "we should attend the dinner tonight and then I will tell him that I intend to leave."

"As you wish."

She crossed her arms upon my chest and gazed at me. "Your eyes look like the sky at midnight, Carlowe. I think if I look deep enough I shall see past the stars all the way to Heaven."

"I wish it were possible for you to find Heaven in my eyes, Delilah." I sighed and I closed them picturing the place.

* * *

We dressed and we went to the restaurant to dine with the group.

Delilah was quite beautiful and there were many who felt jealousy looking upon her. I knew it would be in her best interest to leave this life behind and perhaps we could find some small span of time to have peace together.

There was a joy to her countenance that I wondered if she had ever felt before and she held my hand tightly as we left to meet one last time in the Hotel where The Reverend was staying.

But as we walked hand in hand a pace behind the group talking quietly, the world suddenly changed.

Shots rang out in the clear night.

There were screams and people ducking and diving for cover.

I was looking ahead of us at the group trying to see the damage.

Delilah gasped. "Oh! I wasn't expecting that," she said pressing her hands to her stomach. "It hurts," she whispered as she stumbled awkwardly into me and fell to the ground.

"No!" I screamed out in agony.

She lay dying in my arms as the blood of mortality covered my hands. But her soul looked out at me through copper colored eyes that seemed clouded in pain to old to be from this wound.

"Again I leave this world without the thing I asked of you to leave behind. Again I leave without Glory, Gahi as you remain," she gasped.

"You leave with Glory, my lady. You were woman enough. Your fire burned me. Your curse lives on."

"I didn't know then. I didn't know you could not give me what I asked for. I would not hear you once you denied me. I take it back. I take it all back. I will ask the Father to take the curse away..." she gasped, as her body lay lifeless in my arms.

But her soul looked at me before it went on its way and in that moment it knew all there was to know. "Sammael, you are more than they thought. You are more than you know," she whispered and she stroked my cheek.

And she was gone.

* * *

The guard had closed around the Reverend, protecting him from the threat. My hands were bloodied, my rage was alive and I shoved through his bodyguard to face him. I grabbed him by the lapels of his suit and looked into the soul within the man. The physical body meant nothing to me what I wanted was an answer from The Messenger.

"Why her?" I shouted. "Why did he take her?"

"The Lord works in his own ways, no one can know..." he started in his condescending oratory to soothe those left behind.

But I could not hear him. "Do not speak to me as a man!" I shouted. I could feel the brightness of my immortality glow with the rage in my eyes. But still The Messenger was mute.

I reached out with all my strength and I tore him from the mortal flesh. All those watching stood speechless in the presence of the Glory of Heaven.

"I did not think you had the strength to do that, Brother," Gabriel said as I held him captive in my hand.

"You were not born of this body. Your hold was weak." I said venomously.

"Still, you are not made in the same way I..." Gabriel started.

But I cut his questioning short. I wanted my answer. "Why did he take her? There were so many and he took only the one that meant something to me. You asked me for mercy and I agreed to uphold you! Why does he punish me?"

"I do not know what his lesson was, Sammael. I only know what it was my task to say to these people of this time."

I screamed in rage. It was not enough. I wanted a reason. I wanted revenge. I closed my eyes and I pulled all the warmth that remained of The Messenger into myself. Then I cast the presence of Gabriel back into my father's face. "Curse you! Curse your cruelty! This is my message to you!" I cried out.

I took the memories of the guards that stood and watched my tantrum, but I left the one man as he was. He still had the Glory he was born with. He was no longer a puppet of the Father, but he would find new fervor in what he saw and his desire to have back what was lost.

* * *

I did not stay to see her mortal body given to the dirt. I could not bear to watch. As the cover of darkness spread over the town I spread my wings and a Raven, the black bird of death flew off into the night. Carlo Ambrosi would never bee seen again.

This was not a lifetime, merely another death.

I never should have taken my father's bait. I never should have given in to the temptation to hear his message to mankind. I was a fool.

I told myself I would deny this sojourn back into the mortal world.

I would never speak of it again. I would go back to the original plan, the original timeframe I worked out. I would become Arrio Dominic Thanos. I would be cold. I would be sterile. I would care for nothing and no one. I would find a new way to avenge myself upon this world, upon my father. I would not make the mistake of being merciful ever again. I would continue my war against him with a fitting name.

But for now I would return to the sand. The asp felt far less than man.

And I would mend my wounds as much as I could with warmth and time.

**AFTERWARD: SUDAN, JULY 27, 1962**

"It is a cruel tale, Brother." Raphael said softly.

"You cannot think he does these things for any reason but spite. He has made me something I can't overcome and even when I attempt atonement he smites me."

"I don't claim to know his reasons. I only came to give you peace."

"Peace? What is peace? I will never know what it is to feel joy. I will never feel his precious gift of love. I would rather be completely empty than be what I am and know what it is that I lack."

"There would be torment in emptiness as well, would there not?"

"I would prefer vacancy to grief." I said looking up at him. "Can you take this memory from me? Let me forget this loss. Let me forget how his hatred burns."

"I have never tried to do such a thing. Are you sure you wish to forget? There were moments filled with tenderness in this brief time."

"It is especially those moments I need to forget, Raphael."

He nodded and pressed his hand to my eyes. "Rest, Brother," he said gently as he swept his fingers across my forehead.

And it was all gone.

**AUTHOR INFORMATION:**

This story was intended to be part of my novel, Forsaken, the sequel to my upcoming novel, Glory which is due out in June of 2013. However, in writing this particular flashback, giving depth to these characters became so involved that the story itself was too long to use as a memory. I decided to keep it as it was written and publish it as a novella, as it would lose too much of the emotional nature if it were trimmed down to fit within the novel.

While this story takes place chronologically before Glory, it was written after that book was completed. The memory, or lack there of, is important to the climax of Forsaken and the ultimate resolution of the 2 book series. I hereby offer it to you as introduction to the characters. I hope you will enjoy it.

I would also like to add that while this takes place during a specific time in history, this work is purely fictional.

Thank you for downloading the free eBook of The Messenger. It is a privilege to share this book with you. If you would like to share your thoughts and comments feel free to email me at: mindyhaig@rocketmail.com or check out my Author Page on Facebook at: <https://www.facebook.com/MindyHaigAuthor>

If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to post a review and star rating on from your download site so that other readers may have the opportunity to enjoy the author's books in the future.

Stay tuned for the release of Glory, coming in June of 2013

Please check out my other book, The Wishing Place, published in March of 2013.

Thank you for your support.

