The Messenger

By Mindy Haig

Seventeen years was not enough time for my immortal soul to forget the stench of war. My next life had already begun but while it was still in it's infancy, again I heard the message my father plied upon the mortals. Again words of peace and love and brotherhood reached my bitter ears.

Again I was compelled to meet The Messenger.

The year was 1962. The place was Albany, Georgia. I told myself I would not be drawn into this mission. I only wished to see if this was my father's hand at work. What I found was a chance to redeem myself to one I'd wronged many ages ago; the only soul I'd ever met in more than one lifetime. And I embraced that chance. That small redemption meant so much that I even agreed to uphold The Messenger. But there is no limit to the cruelty of my existence.

Now I only wish to forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mindy Haig
• Release date: May 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301878109

Mindy Haig

I am a graduate of Rutgers University in New Brunswick New Jersey. I was born and raised in New Jersey so I am very much a city slicker. I moved to Florida to marry my sweetheart after college and marveled at how little there was to do and how much one had to drive to do it! But due to a job change and an abrupt move, we settled in Austin, Texas where the mottos is 'Keep Austin Weird' and I try my best to uphold it! I am the mother of 2 great kids and though writing has always been a pursuit I was interested in, being a Mommy got in the way for quite a few years. I decided I would give it a fair shake in 2009 and I haven't been able to quit since. I have 4 completed novels and I have 4 additional started novels plus 2 sequels all in various stages of gestation. I have a hard time stopping my ideas and when a seemingly great idea hits me - typically just as I am attempting to fall asleep - I am compelled to start an outline. My 2 great talents are: 1. My remarkable ablilty to remember names - which has served me well. 2. My ability to remember lyrics from every song I ever heard in the 70's and 80's - which has not helped me in the slightest. I have a quirky sense of humor and sometimes TV commercials crack me up. I like the notion of things being 'meant to be' or somehow touched by the unexplainable. I also like the effect music has on one's state of mind and the memories a song can recall.

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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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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