A Deafening Silence In Heaven - Thomas E. Sniegoski Page 0,140
stone, landing on the shattered stairs. He followed them with his eyes as they ascended into the hall of Heaven, from where the Creator had once surveyed His kingdom.
Slowly, he climbed those stairs, dreading what he would find at the top.
And with each footfall, images exploded inside his mind, forcing him to recall what this other version of himself had done.
He heard the chamber of the Pitiless pistol snap shut with a click so sharp it could be heard over the screams and cries of the Shaitan attack.
And then he climbed these very same steps, raising the weapon, taking aim, and . . .
Remy reached the top of the stairs and gazed upon a sight that froze him in place like those caught in the release of power when the Lord God was felled by an assassin’s bullet.
It was a sight that defined it all, the physical representation of what this most holy process—this Unification—was all about. The Almighty, resplendent in robes of purest light, His holy visage appearing as the old man Remy had seen in his dreams, speaking of a coming conflict. He stared at Him as He floated in the air above the floor, petrified in the moment of His demise, and briefly wondered if God appeared this way to everyone, or if the image of the Creator differed for any and all who looked upon Him.
And flying to His aid on wings as black as night was Lucifer Morningstar, the look frozen upon his flawless features reflective of the utter horror of being on the cusp of forgiveness and having that blessing savagely ripped away.
Remy approached the scene and felt a kind of resistance in the ether around him, almost as if the surroundings somehow knew that he was the one.
That he was responsible, and sought to push him away.
Then he heard the gunshot, a sound so loud that it swallowed all other sounds, a sound that demanded one’s attention, a sound that said, Listen to me, for this is the end of it all.
And that sound finally stole away his strength. Remy dropped to his knees before the moment frozen in infamy.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, his eyes welling with scalding tears. He pulled the Godkiller from where he’d tucked it into the waist of his pants at the small of his back. “But I’m here now. . . . I’ve traveled so very far to make things right. . . . You just have to let me know . . . what I need to do to fix this. . . . Please . . .”
And then there came a voice.
“Do you think they can hear you? . . . That He can hear you? Oh, I certainly do hope so.”
Remy turned his head to see a man—the man from his visions . . . from the memories that cascaded into his skull. He stood upon a piece of floating stone, a once fine suit dust-covered and torn, his skin deathly pale, and his hair as black as the night.
“Who?” Remy began, but . . .
The man raised a finger to his lips. “Silence,” he commanded, and the angel was compelled to be so. “I’ll be doing the talking.”
Remy noticed a ring upon the man’s finger that seemed to pulse with an ungodly power.
“You want to start with who, but really, it should be why,” the man said, stepping onto another floating stone, closer to Remy.
Remy wanted to speak, to demand answers from the mysterious figure, but found himself unable to.
“Why would anyone want to ruin something as potentially magnificent as this?” The man spread his arms, taking in the whole incredible, petrified moment. “It’s quite simple, really.”
The man stood before Remy now, but his focus was on God.
“He took something unbelievably special from me, and so I took from Him.” He looked back to Remy. “See? Simple.”
Remy wanted to speak, but the words would not come—were not allowed to come.
The man studied him, seeing how Remy strained against his commands.
“Go ahead,” he said finally, giving the ring on the finger of his right hand a twist. “You may speak.”
The words spilled from Remy’s mouth. “The Lord God stole from you? And you decided that ending the world would be an appropriate response?” he asked incredulously.
The man thought for a moment, looking briefly back to the moment of God’s death. “In hindsight, I guess it did get a little out of hand.” He shrugged. “But I swore that . . .”