Only the Question
By Sean Speake
Snow drifted lazily on the Strip. Miriam turned her face upwards, and caught three flakes on her tongue. It had been a long week, and the snow was a welcome diversion in the City of Sin. Her residential tower loomed out of the storm, as she made her way to her penthouse unit, and to bed.
Sleep came quickly.
A soft breeze slid gently across her skin, moving about the room in a slow swirl.
"Miriam.” A soft whisper brushed her ear. “Wake up, Miriam.”
She catapulted out of sleep, looking around the room in a panic. The windows didn’t open; how could there be a breeze?
A man was perched atop the wardrobe directly across from the foot of her bed.
“Who the hell are you?” She grabbed for the .38 she kept in the bedside table. Vegas wasn't the safest town.
“My name is Gabriel.” His voice was soft and pure.
She must be dreaming. The luminous clock beside him read 1:54. "If you don't get out, I'll shoot."
"How about some light?"
Her hand clicked on the bedside lamp before she could stop herself. The light spread; as it touched the strange man, it grew in strength, filling the room with a warm glow.
His eyes were brown and kind, set above cheekbones carved from marble. He had a strong jaw, broad shoulders and bare feet. A simple tunic was belted at his waist.
"What are you doing here? What do you want?"
“Father has a favour to ask of you.”
"My father is dead."
"Not your father," Gabriel cast his gaze upwards. "Our Father."
Miriam stared blankly.
"Our Father. Who Art in Heaven. Hallowed be His name."
The .38 quivered more.
"Please put that down," Gabriel said. "I don't enjoy being shot."
"You're saying--" Miriam didn't normally have trouble with words. She was a professional litigator, and made her living being eloquent.
"I'm an angel. God has a favour to ask you," the strange beautiful man seemed frustrated. "You attended Sunday school every week from ages five to fifteen. You must know what this means."
"Give me a minute, damn it. This is a lot to process!" This had to be a dream.
She took a few deep breaths and steadied herself as much as she could. She lowered the .38 slightly. "Okay. Let's say you're an angel. God sent you. To ask me a favour."
Gabriel nodded his beautiful head.
"And that favour is to give birth to his son?"
"Give birth to the next Messiah," Gabriel replied.
Miriam pulled her bedsheets up a little more. She wasn't dressed indecently, but for some reason she didn't want him to be able to see cleavage. The ratty tank top didn't offer much cover. "I'm... well, I'm... I'm not a virgin."
He tilted his head slightly.
"I mean," she stammered, "it's 2012. I'm in my thirties..."
He blinked.
"Forties then--"
"Do not worry."
"But Mary was a virgin..."
Gabriel held up a hand. "Mary was one of the Mothers. She was a virgin yes, but it is not a requirement."
Miriam felt her world tilt sideways and clutched at the mattress to steady herself. "There were other mothers of Jesus?" The world swung back like a carnival ride.
"That is not what I said," Gabriel smiled gently. "If the thought of Jesus Christ having more than one mother turned you pale, wait until you think through what I actually said."
As understanding formed, her world swung upside down and rattled. This roller coaster ride felt as though it would go on forever. "There's been more than one Messiah?"
"Excellent Miriam," Gabriel looked pleased. "I don't know why Michael calls your kind limited."
"So the mothers of the other Messiahs were not virgins?"
"Some were. Not all. Did you think I didn't know you weren't a virgin?"
Miriam blushed and pulled the bedsheet up a little further. Gabriel's steady gaze set her insides fluttering.
Miriam gazed out the window and noticed that the freak snowfall had stopped dead in its tracks, the flakes suspended in midair. Her gaze flicked to the luminous clock face. 1:54.
Her breath caught in her throat. She pinched her arm and blinked. The clock hadn't changed.
He descended from the wardrobe, making no sound as his feet hit the slate floor. "Stay focused, Miriam. Time is of the essence."
He was framed by the broad expanse of windows. Each flake caught the lights from the Strip and twinkled. If she were to imagine an angel, this would be it.
"I'm willing to think about accepting," she replied, grabbing her favourite sweatshirt from the foot of the bed. She pulled it on. Her mind idly reminded her she was wearing granny panties. She pushed that thought away.
She tucked the .38 under her pillow, still within reach if need be, but at least out of sight.
He knelt at her bedside, and looked at her. She turned toward him, and tucked her legs under her. His skin was smooth, with no hints of imperfection. In her stomach, the butterflies did a lazy, lusty back-flip. He was so very close. If she just leaned forward a little, she could press her lips to his...
"It's called faith for a reason," he said.
She tore her gaze from his beautiful mouth. "I'm not much for faith. I haven't been to church in--"
"Fifteen years, four days," he replied. "I know you've lost your faith. I am sorry you feel Jeremy was taken..."
She slapped him across the face. "Don't you say his name."
She held her tingling hand to her chest. It had been like slapping granite.
Gabriel cast his eyes upwards, questioning. "I am sorry, Miriam," he said slowly. "But I'm not here to address... that. He is happy and in Our Father's light. He misses you. He loves you."
Tears spilled down her cheeks. He took her hands in his, and she felt peace spread throughout her being.
"We don't have a lot of time, Miriam."
"Why me?"
"That is always the first question," Gabriel smiled softly. "Our Father has chosen you. That should be enough. It never is. It is not an easy decision for you or Our Father either. Let us say that He feels you are uniquely suited for carrying a Messiah in this time and place."
Miriam nodded. This had to be a stress-induced dream, but if it wasn't...
"What would I need to do?"
"Raise the child as your own. Love. Nurture. No more than any mother should do."
"I thought Jesus' return meant the end of the world?" Miriam asked.
"You always focus on that Messiah," Gabriel said. "If not for that book..."
"The Bible?"
"There are certain parts of That Book that make this process more difficult. It was so much easier before.”
"Before? There were Messiahs before Jesus?" The roller coaster was back. She could use his Xanax touch again. She ached for it.
"Of course. The last whore of Babylon carried one. The Atlantean Queen. The Mother of India. The Beggar Woman of Dehenet." Gabriel rattled them off.
"And since?"
"That," he smiled, "I'm not permitted to answer. We are pressed for time."
She glanced at the clock. 1:54.
He watched her eyes flick back and forth.
"How..." she blushed. "Who... you know... does the deed." She couldn't help staring at his perfect features and feel the smooth warm hands holding her own.
"The deed?"
"With me... Uhm... you know. The... conception part."
He chuckled, a sound like melted chocolate hitting ice cream. A delicious shiver ran up her everything. "You are the first to ask that question. The Spirit will visit you."
Miriam felt a twinge of regret. "Do you… have you been the one to ask each time?" she asked as a cover up.
“I am the Messenger of Our Father.”
“How am I doing?”
“No worse and better than many," he patted her arm. "Dear Miriam, always wanting to be the best. You must have more questions.”
She took a deep breath. "Why? Not why me, but why does so much bad happen? Why did Jeremy die so young? Why so much pain and suffering?"
"The eternal question. It is a question I can answer simply, and not at all. It is part of His plan. Even I know not the mind of Our Father."
It was the answer she'd heard and told herself a million times over.
"I understand there is much to absorb," he gazed into her eyes, and she felt her heart flutter again. "But I cannot tarry."
"You stopped time. Don't we have as much of it as we need?"
"We are between moments. There is only so much space between them."
"I... I need to think."
"I am sorry," Gabriel sighed. "It is wrong for me to press. Every Mother has needed time. I will return tomorrow, at this time, between these moments. That is as long as I can give. We are…”
“Pressed for time,” she finished.
He guided her back to a laying position. The light extinguished. He placed his hand gently on her forehead.
“Sleep now, Miriam,” he whispered as her eyes closed. “And dream of your daughter.”
***
An insistent breeze slid slowly across her skin, caressing her before moving about the room in a slow swirl.
"Miriam.” A soft whisper licked at her ear. “Wake up, Mir.”
She catapulted out of sleep, looking around in a panic. The windows didn't open. How could there be a breeze?
Her mind seized the memory of a dream, of an angel asking her to become the mother of the next Messiah. A girl.
A man perched on the bed's footboard. Where Gabriel had been a perfect marble statue, this man was real. Smouldering eyes, lips for devouring and a slight cleft in his chin. He was naked, save a small loincloth. His chest was muscular; his limbs long and lean like a dancer's.
“Good morning.” His voice was deep and smoky. “I have a favour to ask.”
The luminous clock read 6:06.
She looked back at him in alarm. His eyes roamed, evaluating. Appraising. Admiring. "Who are you?"
"Dearest Miriam, you know already."
She swallowed. She slid her hand beneath the pillow, grasping for the .38. It wasn't there.
"What... what do you want?"
He moved halfway up the bed, and sat cross-legged before her. Miriam scrambled, placing her back against the headboard. The bedsheets didn't follow and his eyes flicked to her bare legs. He smiled.
His eyes darted back to hers. "What did Gabriel want?"
"He came to ask me to carry the next Messiah," she blurted before she could stop herself. The lusty butterflies were no longer doing lazy back-flips; they were tight, lewd loop-de-loops now. She pulled a pillow in front of herself as a shield.
"Of course he did," the man purred. His tongue briefly touched his upper lip. "I'm here to ask the same."
She shook her head.
"Hear me out before you decide," he grinned. "Gabe leaves out details in his offer. I don't need to."
"Why should I believe you?"
"I'm not saying you should. Just hear me out, the same courtesy you provided Gabe."
Miriam didn't have a reply, so she kept her mouth shut.
Her visitor took that as a signal to continue and tilted his head in a familiar way. His eyes were friendly and knowing. "I wager Gabe didn't tell you what happened to the others. He never does. The last whore of Babylon carried a Messiah. Did he tell you why she was the last whore? What happened to Babylon after she gave birth to that child? What happened to the Atlantean Queen after she bore hers? Let's just say they had lives less pleasant than the one from That Book."
"But doesn't the coming of... your child signal the end of days?" Miriam couldn't bring herself to admit who she was talking to.
"That Book," he chuckled. "Every child, mine or otherwise, signals the end of days. The world has died a hundred million times already in your lifetime."
She thought of Jeremy. Her world stopped the day he died.
His eyes wandered her face. Kind. Knowing.
"And him," he said. "Wouldn't you like him by your side, to help you raise your child?"
He leaned forward. His scent was the excitement of a summer storm. His breath, sweet and hot on her skin, raised gooseflesh where it touched. Their eyes met and she gazed deep. There was mirth in those eyes, and pain and hurt and loss. He covered it, but she could see that he knew, understood what she felt.
"You can do that?"
"For you, Miriam, I would do anything. I am not distant. I love your people. I love what you are, and what you will become."
Her heart pounded as he moved closer. He was close. So very close. His scent. His skin. His lips.
His tongue touched his upper lip again.
She wanted that tongue. On her. In her.
"I love you, Miriam," he whispered. "I would never leave."
It was hard to concentrate. He was so close. It would be so easy.
She pushed her knees together. He smiled.
"You need time to think," he said, laying one hand on her knee, while the other brushed away a stray lock of her hair. Her skin tingled where he had touched her. She had goosebumps on top of goosebumps. "But there is a degree of timing involved."
"A night shouldn't make any difference," she managed to force out. It had been so very, very long. He was raw, masculine and here.
"A night can make all the difference."
She managed to slide away and get off the bed. He stayed, watching her move with that knowing half-smile.
"I... I need to think." She willed her wobbly legs to carry her to the bathroom. She leaned heavily against the door. A tiny night light glowed beside the mirror.
She took three deep breaths to try to calm her racing heart, then three more. She splashed cold water on her face. The droplets only served to heighten her arousal.
She looked at her reflection, stared into her own eyes, seeking, searching, needing an answer.
There was no answer there.
Only the question.