Beyond Paradise

With a bellow of pain and rage, he lunged toward Stroud with what he knew would likely be his dying effort. In an instant, the Zieleter were on him, their black wings beating against his head and the stinking rot of their breath clotting in his nostrils. The vicious rows of teeth darted again and again toward his throat, barely missing the tender skin, and fresh agony bloomed in his side as sharp talons sank into his flesh. And above the dry shrieking, he could hear Stroud's cruel laughter, taunting, taunting...

Some movement, a brown flash that he could only see from the corner of his eye, rounded them from the left, and a mass of fur and snapping teeth suddenly flung itself snarling into the fray. Snot's jaws clamped down fiercely on the leathery skin of a wing, and the creature screeched in anger, the hideous snout turning toward the dog's slatted side.

One pale blue eye rolled, terrified, toward the circular maw that loomed over his vulnerable belly, and the growl faded into a pitiful whine as the sharp teeth tore into furry flesh, but the determined animal refused to release his grip. With a roar of fury, Billie slammed a tightly wadded fist into the monster's glassy black eye, and he felt a "pop" of release under his knuckles as a gush of black ichor poured out and over his hand, bathing it in sticky filth.

The screeching became a deafening glass shard of noise, stabbing at his ears. The Zieleter's skeletal head whipped from side to side in agony, wings beating at the air with a thunderous roar. Its teeth gnashed like some hellish threshing machine, grinding and popping inches from Billie's ear. He could hear Snot's whimpering, and beneath it, the more ominous sound of voices, Stroud's and Jabril's, locked in a struggle of their own.

The wounded creature spread its wings and lifted itself into the air, and in that instant, Billie turned toward the other, whose claws now held Snot, paws pinwheeling helplessly, dangling before the vicious black abyss of its jaws. The dog's fur was matted with blood from an alarming gash in his side, and another over his eye oozed crimson that streaked his muzzle.

Billie had to do something.

"ME!" he shouted, "take me! Leave him alone! I'm the one he wants!" He waved his arms frantically, trying to make the thing drop its terrified victim. Slowly, the hideous snout swiveled toward him, and eyes like holes into hell fixed on his throat, bare and unprotected. It was a look of pure hunger.

With a thud, Snot's writhing body dropped to the stage floor, and he yelped in pain. Billie's eyes darted toward him only for an instant, but it was just enough.

The thing was on him.

Its bony breastbone pressed sharply into his chest, claws clutching him like steel bands, and the long, belled mouth snaked under his chin. Cold breath washed over his pulsing throat, and he closed his eyes, steeling himself for the end. Behind him Stroud's voice rose to an enraged bellow, and something that sounded like the beating of enormous wings stirred the air, lifting the hair away from his neck.

Let it be quick, he breathed in silent, desperate prayer. The creature's mouth nuzzled against his chest, seeming to inhale the scent of his thudding heart, savoring the feast that awaited it. Then it lifted its head once more, and the jaws opened, descending in a deadly arc.

The force of the flash knocked Billie backwards off his feet, and his startled eyes flew open, his vision dazzled by the sudden brilliant explosion of blue-white. Through the confusion, he recognized the flapping of huge wings quite near him, unlike the leathery ones of the Zieleter, but his eyes were drawn to the limp, still body of the monster that had held him in a death grip only seconds before.

Some small, warm thing nestled against the skin over his heart, and his shaking hand lifted slowly to slip inside his shirt. Had it bitten him, its foul, venomous teeth piercing his skin to poison his blood--or his very soul?

The circle of white gold felt like a familiar prayer under his fingertips. He pulled the chain from under the fabric, and the ring pulsed with a soft silver light, warm and comforting. It lay in the palm of his hand, the symbol of the love he had taken so sorely for granted, and now would have gladly given his life to win back again.

He turned to look behind him, and for a moment, it seemed as if some great bird had swooped down upon Stroud, pinning him to the floor. Huge dove-grey wings spread to either side of the astonished man's supine body like a mantel, the soft feathers streaked with red.

Stroud's lips peeled back from his teeth, revealing an evil sneer, and he gazed up into the face of his opponent fearlessly.

"Go ahead," he mocked. "Kill me. I expect nothing less from you, murderer!"

The winged warrior's head, bowed between the muscled shoulders, lifted slowly to the night sky. A rising wind that rustled the dead leaves stirred the black spiky hair, and Jabril's eyes stared toward the heavens in agony, the stab of the accusation finding its mark.

"Yessss," Stroud hissed cruelly. "You know as well as I what your true nature is, and why you are here. My death at your hands will seal your fate as surely as those of your mother...your father...your sisters."

The words died in his throat as Jabril tightened his grip, but the smirk never left Stroud's face. The boy's trembling fingers whitened, sinking deep into the pale, thin flesh, and desperate emotions warred on his young face, twisting it into a grimace of pain.

Billie rose to his feet, still stunned by what he had seen. Stroud's bony hand clutched the boy's shoulder, his black eyes burning into Jabril's in a wordless challenge, but his waxen pallor had begun to take on a bluish tinge.

"Help him," Odette whispered from Mischa's side. "Please, don't let him destroy everything he has worked so hard to become. Not this way."

He searched her face, once again needing answers and finding only questions, until her frail hand flew to her heart, tracing a circle against her blouse.

A full circle.

He looked down at the silver chain, and the softly glowing ring that swung from its length, and knew what he had to do. Wrapping his fist around the ring, he pulled sharply, snapping the slender links, and turned toward Stroud with a new fire burning inside him.

"Look at me you filthy bastard!" he shouted, and the man's head turned toward him. As Stroud stared at Billie's raised hand, his smile broadened even further, and Jabril, following his gaze, looked up into Billie's flashing green eyes in a silent plea.

He slammed his palm down onto Stroud's smooth forehead, pressing the silver band against the bloodless skin, and instantly an explosion of light and a wave of force like some invisible tsunami threw him backward, tumbling his battered body down the steps like a rag doll. He rolled to a stop against Tabib, who was crouched beside Mischa, ministering to the big man's terrible wounds as Odette stood guard.

Jabril lay dazed at the side of the stage platform, his wings tattered and broken, and Billie's stomach sank as he saw the boy's eyes, milky white and blinded, staring blankly up at the stars that had finally broken through the clouds.

Of Stroud, there was no sign, only a grey shadow in the vague shape of a man on the stage.

There was a ringing in his ears, and dimness closed around his vision, and then the dark swallowed him...

*********************************************************

Silence. The blissful coolness of a wet cloth being pressed against his blistered face, and a gentle hand that stroked his hair softly.

He woke slowly, and Odette's tiny face swam into focus. She sat on a little stool beside him, his body resting on the velvet couch in her living room, and Tabib stood just behind her, the vial of golden oil cupped in his hand.

The taste of herbs was on his tongue. How long had he been sleeping here, while his friends lay injured, perhaps dying?

He struggled to sit up, but Odette's hand was firm against his shoulder.

"Shhh," she soothed, "you need to rest. You're safe now, Billie Joe."

"Safe?" he croaked through parched lips. It felt like sandpaper in his throat. The word no longer had any meaning for him.

She nodded, a sad smile telling him more than he wanted to know. "It's over. You're free to return to your family now."

"And S-Stroud?" The word cracked into a whisper. The fact of his freedom hadn't yet registered in his disbelieving mind.

"Here," she tutted, tipping a cup of sweet, spicy tea against his lips. "Don't try to talk too much. Your voice will need a little babying for a while. Aden does a fine job, but sometimes there is collateral damage." She dabbed at his chin dotingly with a napkin. "Stroud is no more," she said simply.

"Jabril," he whispered, reaching for her arm. "Is he--?"

Odette's smile faltered, and Tabib turned slowly away, his head bowed.

Billie's head fell back against the pillow with an agonized groan. "No..." he rasped. "No..."

Her hand caressed his cheek in a motherly gesture. "It isn't what you think, Billie." She took a deep breath, setting the china cup carefully down on the table and folding her hands in her lap.

"Do you know how Jabril came to be here?" she asked kindly, as if she were beginning a bedtime story.

He nodded, silently mouthing the name. "Mischa--"

She stopped him with a raised finger. "Yes, I thought he would have told you about the fire. The loss, the guilt--such a staggering burden for such a young boy. Afterward, he was barely able to go on living, let alone pay attention to his music. And so Stroud brought him here, just as he brought you, to steal the gift of Jabril's music. But Mischa--bless him--"

She saw the question in Billie's eyes, as he remembered the big man's crumpled body, and she paused to reassure him. "Yes, he lives. Tabib has done his magic with him, and he is strong, as you know. He will survive."

The relief that swept over him was bliss.

"Mischa was the one who took him under his wing, protected him and taught him the secret to his freedom. It was the same as yours--he had to learn to love again, and to be unafraid to share it. It was a lesson Mischa himself carried in his heart. His own beloved wife fell victim to Stroud years ago, but her last gift to her husband was the very guitar you played so beautifully tonight, the same one in which she had concealed her spirit, allowing her to remain by Mischa's side, unknown to that monster. Until tonight, at least."

Billie recoiled in horror as he remembered the vicious crash of the precious wood, the silvery strings snapping, and the horrifying scream as the guitar was reduced to splinters. He shook his head, trying to drive the dawning understanding from his mind.

Odette's eyes brimmed with tears. "Sadly,it is true--he has lost her again, this time forever. But it was not in vain, Billie. The evil has been destroyed, and she was able to offer her beautiful voice to fight against him, to earn your freedom and much, much more. Do not think that Mischa will forget that, even in his grief."

His heart felt leaden inside his chest, a weight too heavy to bear. He knew there was more, and didn't know if he could hear it. He stared into her face, waiting.

The little woman reached into her pocket and drew out a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes. "Jabril found purpose here, despite his torment. He became a rescuer, a savior of sorts, for those who had fallen victim to Stroud. For him, this was a sort of purgatory, a penance that he hoped would release him from the guilt that had stilled his voice and silenced his muse. But he was...special. Jabril stood outside life and death, in a place that was neither, waiting to go on, always waiting."

Billie's brows knitted in confusion, and he shook his head in confusion. "I--I don't understand--" he said haltingly.

"Jabril had to redeem himself for more than his responsibility for the fire, Billie. He came here to save his own soul as well. Two months had passed since the funerals of his family, and he had sunk into a darkness most of us can hardly imagine. He was taken in by his godparents, but he had nothing left--no family, no music, no hope. One night he ran away, and found himself in this place. Mischa became a friend to him--no, more than that, he became like a father. But it was not enough. Finally his memories were more than he knew how to bear, and he could think of nothing but an end to the pain." Her voice was softer now, barely audible. "And so he took his own life."

The shock was like a bolt of jagged lightning. The courageous boy, so strong and noble, who had been so willing to sacrifice himself for Billie--was he no more than a ghost?

"Stroud was only too eager to receive him, and stepped in just at the instant of his passing. He thought it would be simple, that he would take the music in Jabril's soul, and release him to whatever dread fate awaited him in the next life. But he underestimated the enormous love in the boy's heart, and some force, some kind hand, intervened and gave Jabril a second chance. He could join his beloved family at last by helping others do the same, so long as he refused to allow hate and anger to close the door between them. And so he became something more than he had been, touched by the power of that love and transformed into something wondrous."

Tabib spoke solemnly over her shoulder. "It was the cruelest irony of all. He had the power to kill Stroud all along, but to use it would have condemned him forever. It had to be someone else, someone who had learned the lesson he had to offer. It had to be you, Billie. And you needn't have any regrets. You helped set him free."

The moment took his breath away. He lay silently, trying to absorb everything he had been told, when a low whine and a rhythmic thumping underneath the couch brought a gentle smile to Odette's face.

"He refused to leave your side. He crawled under there as soon as we brought you in, and hasn't moved since."

Billie hung his head over the front of the cushion to look underneath, and a pair of eyes, one muddy brown and one pale blue, peered up at him. The thumping of the skinny tail quickened, and a wet, pink tongue rolled out and licked the end of Billie's nose as Snot dragged himself forward to be petted. Thick white gauze wound around his middle, and another square was taped neatly above the dog's blue right eye.

It was the first time Billie had smiled in an eternity.

***********************************************

"And so now you vill go back to your so vonderful home and family, Mr. Billie Joe?" Mischa's deep baritone rumbled. He allowed Billie to offer an arm to support him, still weakened from the wounds Stroud had left, as they walked together toward the warehouse. Mischa had risen early this morning, insisting on joining him to say goodbye to the boys, and Billie was glad for his company.

"It's all I can think about," Billie said truthfully. "I don't know what the hell I'm going to tell them about why I was gone, but I guess that's not the important thing."

"No, no," Mischa agreed, nodding. "Is more important that you should take your leetle ones into your lap, and tickle them under their chins, the vay a father does."

Billie laughed at the thought. "Jakob, maybe. Joey's a little old for that."

"Perhaps," the big man chuckled, "but he is never too old to know his papa loves him. Yes?" He looked meaningfully over at Billie. "And you, you know this, too? That your papa loves you, and is proud of you?"

"Sure, I know--" Billie shrugged, but Mischa stopped abruptly, taking hold of his shoulder.
He peered intently into Billie's face.

"This is important, that you never forget this. It vill flow through you, to your boys, and through them to their sons, as long as you never forget. You must never allow the vile lies that the so evil Stroud uttered to cloud your memory of your father." His earnestness was so sincere, so moving, that Billie suddenly hugged him, feeling the mighty heart beating like the crashing waves of the ocean. The big arms held him tightly, patting his back like a child. "Yes, it is good to embrace. Ve need the comfort of our friends. This vorld, it can be a hard place--" The deep voice cracked, and he swallowed, hard.

They stood before the huge metal door now, and before they could knock, it slid open and Sabeil's shaggy head appeared, motioning them inside. Aden, Fowler and Tabib stood gathered in their accustomed place around the fire barrel, and the aroma of coffee made Billie's stomach growl.

"Sausages and toast?" Sabeil asked amiably, as though he and Mischa were houseguests, and for several minutes, they chewed thoughtfully, making small talk but carefully avoiding any mention of the empty space at the left side of the barrel.

Finally, brushing the crumbs from his hands, Mischa was the one to break the silence. He lifted his tin coffee cup high, and in a wavering voice, gave words to what was in all their hearts.

"Ve drink this morning to a fallen hero, a selfless friend, and a devoted son. May his spirit find freedom from the burden that he carried in this life, and may his heart now bask in the love of those who he lost too soon. Ve thank him for his courage, and for the peace he has left vith us through his sacrifice."

Billie looked around the ragtag group of warriors, and noticed that each of them now wore a leather thong around his neck, bearing a single grey feather. They lifted their cups in tribute, and after a moment's respectful silence, Aden turned to reach under his cot, pulling out a blanket wrapped into a lumpy bundle.

"Mischa?" he asked, offering the blanket to the older man. One big hand reached out to receive it, and his throat worked as he cradled it against his chest. The boys lowered their heads, allowing him the privacy of grief, and Billie understood with a heavy heart what lay inside.

"Yes, it is fitting. Let us go," he said at last, and he turned to lead the way toward the back door of the warehouse and outside. They didn't bother to lock the door behind them this time.

The road ended a short distance away, and they made their way over a gentle, grassy hill. On the other side lay a small cemetery, a score or so of headstones lined up like silent sentinels in the rosy light of morning. Mischa picked his way among them until he came to one carved from the purest white marble, topped by an angel who looked lovingly down upon the grave. The headstone read simply "Tanichka, Beloved of Mischa."

He lowered the blanket onto the carefully tended oblong of grass, and opened it. The shattered remains of the precious guitar lay scattered inside, and he looked down at it for a moment with indescribable sadness. Then he reached inside his jacket and produced a packet of matches.

"I return you to the earth, my fairy queen," he said haltingly, and struck one of the matches, tossing it onto the splintered wood. It caught quickly, the flames tasting the birch and finding it good. They stood quietly as the fire leaped higher and higher, and through the crackling, Billie heard once again the pure, sweet voice of a woman. "She dances in the flames, and sings in the wind," Mischa sighed heavily. "And here I remain, until she comes again to take me vith her someday."

The boys each laid a hand on the big man's shoulders, standing with him to shoulder the weight of mourning. Then Sabeil took a cautious step away from them, staring intently at one of the stones near a willow tree at the far end of the cemetery.

"What is it?" Aden asked.

"I dunno," the boy answered, already heading in that direction. Followed by the rest, he stopped in front of a small marker, beneath which lay a handful of wildflowers tied by a purple ribbon.

"Odette?" Fowler asked.

"I think so," Tabib nodded. "She loved him like he was her own grandson."

Billie stared at the stone, and the name carved into it. "Gabriel?" he asked, realizing he was missing something. "Who is that?"

"Gabriel vas the messenger angel who showed the prophets their obligations, and who guarded the gate between life and death," Mischa explained. "It is appropriate for one who stood at that gate himself, showing the vay for others, no?"

Billie rolled the name around in his mind, and suddenly his eyes grew wide. "Jabril?" he said in disbelief.

Mischa nodded. "It is ironic, I think, that his loving parents chose this name for him, do you not agree?"

He could only nod.

"Look at that," Sabeil said, pointing closely at the stone. The name had been carved some years ago, weathered now by wind and rain. But beneath it, in sharp, fresh relief were two words that could have been placed there that very morning.

"At Peace."

****************************************************

Like a dream, his house loomed just ahead, and though his feet few faster than he had ever run before, it seemed to be taking a lifetime to close the distance. Joey's bike lay discarded in the driveway, as though he had simply dropped it there, and Mike's car was parked at the curb. He didn't even bother buzzing the gate button, vaulting over the iron bars almost effortlessly and sprinting up the slope of the drive.

The door from the garage into the mudroom was unlocked, and he paused for only a second, trying to remind himself that Adie would probably be frightened if he burst in breathless and considerably worse for wear. So for the first time in his life, he knocked at his own door, tapping his foot impatiently.

He could hear the pattering of small feet across the kitchen tile. Has to be Jakob, he thought, Joey would sound like a herd of horses. The door swung open, and the round little face that looked up at him broke into an enormous grin as he shrieked joyously, "Daddy's home, Mommy! Come see!"

Billie scooped the little boy into his arms, holding him as tightly as he dared, and Jakob clung to him frantically, wrapping arms and legs around him like a monkey. Joey came barreling around the corner next, skidding to a stop just behind Jake.

"Dad!" he shouted, and Billie untangled one arm to pull him into the hug. Over Joey's shoulder, he saw Adrienne standing in the archway, her slender hand pressed to her mouth, brown eyes wide and sparkling with tears of disbelief. Carefully, he set Jakob down, peeling the little boy's limbs away, and ruffled Joey's hair affectionately, pressing a rough kiss against his forehead. Stepping between them, he walked slowly toward his wife, and as he reached to pull her against him, her face crumpled, and she sobbed into his shoulder.

"My God, Billie, I thought you were dead! We've had the police out looking for you, and Mike and Tre have been out driving all over Oakland for two days! I--I was afraid you'd never come home, and I can't--I couldn't--" She broke down completely, squeezing her husband so hard he could hardly catch his breath. He held her for for a long moment, lost in the fear that he would wake up, and that she wouldn't be real.

The storm passed, and she lifted her eyes to his, full of questions he knew would be better saved for another day. For now, it was enough just to be here, to surround himself with the people who made his life worth living.

"Billie, go in and speak to Mike. When I called him and told him you were missing, he was in such a hurry to get over here that he wrecked his bike and banged himself up pretty badly. He's in the living room--" she motioned, her other hand wiping the tears of joy from her cheeks.

With a sense of wonder, he walked through the kitchen, taking in all the little details that he had long ago ceased to notice--Adie's handwriting on the phone message pad, Jakob's crayon drawing of a soccer team, posted proudly on the refrigerator door, Joey's bike helmet sitting on the granite countertop. These are the things, he thought, the thousand simple, everyday things that make our lives what they are. He knew he would never take them for granted again.

Mike sat fidgeting in the recliner, not wanting to intrude between Billie and his family, and he looked up eagerly when his friend approached him, wincing as he rose to embrace him. He clapped Billie hard on the back, choking back a wave of emotion.

"You scared us to death, you sawed-off little shit!" he laughed in exhausted relief. "You got some 'splainin' to do!"

Billie let the joke sail past unnoted, his attention suddenly caught by his best friend's pale blue eyes. Mike had indeed taken quite a spill on his motorcycle, and the evidence was right in front of him. A square of gauze, taped firmly over Mike's right eye, and a swath of bandages around his ribs that showed through his white tank top, gave mute testimony to the pain he was trying so hard to conceal. Billie's heart swelled to think of the loyalty that lay between them, so much so that Mike would risk his life to help him, no matter what he had to suffer--even if it meant laying down his own life.

A wave of sadness washed over him as Jabril's serene face hovered in his memory. Besides Mike, he had never had another friend who had given so freely and unselfishly, and he realized how lucky he was to have known such devotion twice in his life, how incredibly rich and full his life had been because of the people he loved, and who loved him.

And he knew he'd never be able to explain the tear that made its way down his cheek as he gazed at the necklace Mike wore, a simple black leather thong with a single gray feather.