A Deafening Silence In Heaven - Thomas E. Sniegoski Page 0,96

this new reality. Sometimes he flew, sometimes he walked, sometimes he crawled, but he never gave up the search for his home, for his loved ones.

The brownstone seemed to appear out of nothing, rising up from the smoke, damaged beyond repair but mostly standing—almost as if he’d finally built up enough strength to will it into existence. What he saw gave him hope. Remy spread his wings and flew in through a hole he found in the wall leading to his living room. His heart sank as he saw the extent of the damage, the floor having collapsed to the basement below.

He remembered calling out their names—Madeline! Marlowe!—but the only response was the death moans of a dying world. The darkness began to call to Remy once more, and he considered ending his life by flying into space, and then to the heart of the sun.

But then there came another sound.

It was barely perceptible, and he strained to hear over the worldwide cries and prayers of those who still lived.

It was a whine . . . an animal’s whine.

Marlowe! he screamed as he began to tear at the layers of flooring that had fallen into the basement, tossing them aside with a display of superhuman strength. His wings pounded the air, blowing away lesser pieces of debris.

It was the body of his wife—his Madeline—that he found first. She had been dead for some time, her skull crushed beneath a pile of bricks.

Her face . . . her beautiful face.

Kneeling in the rubble, he forced himself to remember her as she had been, retrieving every single moment they had shared during their wonderful existence together. He pulled her limp and broken body into his arms and held her close. Silently he apologized for not having been there when the world ended, and begged for her forgiveness, so very sad that this time, there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

So lost in grief was he that he had forgotten about that first soft, pathetic cry.

Until he heard it again.

Gently setting down the body of the woman he had loved with every fiber of his being, Remy began to look for the source of the sound, hoping for a glimmer of joy amongst this sheer misery.

The angel cried out as he lifted a section of wall to find Marlowe. The dog still lived, but only barely. Remy knelt beside the animal, the human emotions that he had crafted over the years in full bloom. Marlowe opened his eyes and looked at Remy and, as injured as he was, still wanted to know if his Madeline was all right.

“She’s fine,” Remy lied, as he gently stroked his head.

The dog was trembling, not from cold but from internal injury, and Remy knew that it wouldn’t be long before . . .

He couldn’t stand the thought. To have already lost his wife and now to be losing his best friend was more than the angel could bear, and he felt his psyche begin to crumble. The dog moaned, and Remy reached down to pull the broken animal into his arms. He could feel Marlowe’s life force waning. He bowed his head, placing his brow against the dog’s cheek. He wanted to feel everything he could before it was gone.

Marlowe was suddenly awake again, fighting to hold on to what life he still had. “Why?” he asked. “Why you not here?”

Remy wanted to explain, but the words would not come, for he was ashamed. He should have been there. He should have been with the ones he loved most at a time like this. All he could do was silently look into the poor animal’s eyes as Marlowe’s life force gradually ebbed way.

“Stay with me,” he commanded his friend, his emotion gradually turning to fury. “Did you hear me, beast? I told you to stay!”

But the last of Marlowe’s life energies dwindled like the smoke from an extinguished candle. And just as they were about to be gone altogether, the Seraphim called out for help.

That was when they came, rising up out of the shadows of the basement; the Nomads had been listening.

Remy knew them at once.

“Is it true?” one asked as he stepped forward, his voice filled with wonder.

Remy could feel himself slipping, the divine fire at his core raging to be set free. He wasn’t sure of the question, but . . .

“Yes,” he replied anyway, the weight of his response crippling.

The Nomads looked up from the shattered basement, up through the