Angels Among Us

By Michael Nadeau

 In the not-so-distant future, humanity broke the world and plunged into darkness. As the people fought to rebuild and survive, the angels from heaven came down to walk among us, helping where they could and guiding us in little ways, hiding in plain sight.

  Some have been here all along and have walked among us

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael D. Nadeau
• Release date: Jul 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960654014

Book preview

Also from Michael D. Nadeau

The Land of Lythinall Series

The Darkness Returns

The Darkness Within

Tales From Lythinall

The Darkness Falls

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Rise of the Archmage Series

Dragon Caller

Dragon Master

Acknowledgments

To my beautiful wife, Sheila, who puts up with me every single day of her life; without her I would be lost in darkness. You inspired most of this—unknowingly—as you lay in that hospital bed fighting for your life. It was during that time that I had this idea of angels walking among us and answering prayers as surely something was looking out for you that year.

I would also like to thank Jason Stokes for starting this whole thing with Gestalt Media’s monthly story contest. It inspired me to evolve this whole thing into the massive collection you will now see.

Contents

Act I

Foreword / The World

Belial’s Horn

Faces of Evil

The Cure

Threads of Fate

Seeing the Light

A Fresh Start

Learning to Love

Act II

Fallen Angel Scorned

Children of Destiny

Fall of Eve

Hunted

In the Grip of Evil

Taking a Breath

No Rest for the Wicked

Flight of the Fallen

His Greatest Fear

Appendix

People

Places

Foreword

If you are here for some religious writings of the tenets of your faith...I apologize ahead of time. I’m not trying to mislead anyone; the title is exactly what this book is about. However, the fictional characters that lie herein are not what you probably thought was coming. While I did take some of these characters from the Bible —it doesn’t matter which one - so don’t ask—I only used their likenesses and known characteristics. I took great liberty with these stories and some of you may or may not have problems with how these characters are portrayed and/or received. That being said, if you like good, uplifting stories, then by all means continue, I promise if that is what you like, then you won’t be disappointed. I had fun trying to inspire everyone that reads these stories that there is also hope in the world as well as love, and that everyone can somehow be redeemed. This collection of stories is meant to bring comfort to the reader, despite the recent troubles of the wide world around all of us.

These stories were originally written for a writing contest sponsored by Gestalt Media Publishing before they closed their doors; most of these are in their anthology put out in 2021. Like everything else I write, I connected these stories to form one long arc. Inside this book are a couple more bonus stories that intertwine with the others that I had lying around from other submissions. Originally these short stories were kept at three thousand words, but I expanded some of them for this work and a lot of the stories grew in depth and flavor. If you read and liked them before, you will enjoy them even more now.

The world these stories take place in is the very world you set foot in everyday, albeit a changed one from what you may know. On this Earth, humanity ruined what they had and now—in this not-so-distant future—the people have struggled and tried to rebuild. Places like New Dallas, New Seattle, and the New England City States are places where humanity has put themselves together again, having clean streets and a flourishing economy as well as structure and law. These places resemble the old cities here and there with only minimal changes and the people live their lives the way you would think - day to day jobs, work, even playing outside with their kids; yet there are still places that remind humanity what they had done wrong.

Places like Old Chicago, the Ruins of Phoenix, Old California Island, and Old Miami are places of crumbling buildings, flooded streets, and abandoned buildings where the less fortunate struggle to survive and cower from bandits and warlords. These places were hit the hardest during the catastrophe and never fully recovered. The people that live in these places are the poor and homeless that could never afford to move to the newly rebuilt cities, or the stubborn that refused to leave their hometowns. Life here is hard; gangs, and even cults, are common place in the darkest shadows of the ruins. People still work and try to live, but the places are crumbling and the conditions deplorable at best. Sickness runs rampant as hospitals are almost non-existent here in the badlands, but there are still places to find solace - mainly refugee camps with blazing red crosses on the sides. Yet all is not lost. Angels and other mysterious beings from our distant past are walking among us, helping when they can and trying to stop others from bringing us back down into chaos. Danger lurks around every corner and you never know who is going to be on your side when the time comes. Lines like black and white are blurred to an even grey in these books, so buckle up—if you’re still here—and get ready to dive into a world full of twists, turns, and uplifting tales of Angels Among Us

Act I:

Setting the Stage

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My father belived that humanity could withstand anything that was thrown at it. Now I say to you, let us rebuild and show him he was right! — Michael Harris. Only surviving son of former president, Richard Harris, two months after the clamity.

Belial’s Horn

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The Case

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He walked down the dark street, the torrent of rain on his worn hat and longcoat drowning out the cars as they drove by. Visibility was almost nil in the heavy deluge, yet he knew where he was going; he had been this way before. Marcus Brant turned a corner and narrowly missed a drenched street walker as she plied her trade to a parked car. She was leaning in through the car’s window as the rain soaked her fake furs and even though she was engaged in conversation, she still wiggled her ass as Marcus stumbled by.

They never give up, he thought as he ignored her with practiced ease, put his head down, and pushed on through the downpour. He stopped in front of a non-descript building and looked at the graffiti on the door, smudged and running with the heavy rain; new paint meant someone marking their territory. Great, he thought as he opened the heavy door with his shoulder, stumbling inside out of the rain. Marcus had visited this abandoned apartment building more than twenty times since he took this case, yet still he came back expecting a miracle. He shook his hat out as he dripped onto the dirty floor, and stuffed it into his pocket as the water pooled at his feet before snaking off into the dust and grime. Every time Marcus came here, he hoped to find something he missed—something that might possibly lead to that girl’s death. Marcus flipped the switch near the door and watched the old lights struggle to brighten; the wiring in the rundown building was older than he was. His nostrils rebelled at the intrusion of smells that assailed them, the blood saturating the room as well as the musk of death that just never seemed to go away after a killing.

Marcus Brant was a private investigator in the great windy city of Chicago. He had seen a lot of weird cases in his forty years on this world, though this one was one for the record books to be sure. Marcus brushed his black hair out of his mismatched eyes—one blue and one hazel— and pulled a cigarette out of his coat pocket. Shaking the water off of his lighter before firing it up, he took a long drag and looked around at the mess. The police had left the caution tape and the chalk outline, knowing that no one would bother to complain about it in this run-down building, never mind this neighborhood. Blood still stained the floor, walls, and even parts of the ceiling in this gruesome scene; piles of vomit from the arriving officers could still be seen on the edges of the walls where they ran to empty their stomachs. Marcus stepped out of the water puddle his long coat had made and took a drag off of the damp cigarette. He tried to imagine who would do something like this and for once in his life he was at a loss.

His client, a Mr. Steven Riley, had hired him to get to the bottom of his daughter Kelly’s death. His client didn’t believe the police report of gang violence or drugs, so here Marcus was... soaking wet and stumped for the first time in years. He had been over this crime scene dozens of times, in the light of day to the evening nights. He hadn’t found anything of consequence or even out of the ordinary, which made the whole thing even worse, mainly because he didn’t believe it either. The only clues the police had found were an odd pamphlet for some obscure church and residue of cocaine. The dead girl’s wounds were caused by a knife—over forty stab wounds to the chest, legs, and face—and of course there were no witnesses. That pretty much wrapped up the case, though deep in his gut he knew that something was off. Marcus had looked into the dead girl’s history and found absolutely no traces of prior drug use, no friends that hung out with known drug sellers, not even a parking ticket. When the father said she was clean, he wasn’t kidding; if someone was dirty, Marcus could find out.

You back again, Marcus? an unsteady voice asked from a broken-down cardboard box in the darkened corner. The building may have been an apartment complex in the past, but now it was just an empty husk.

Sure am, Vincent. How’s the cough? Marcus asked, walking over and handing the old man a smoke. Are you staying dry tonight? Marcus had let the old man in five nights ago when he had found him soaked and shivering in the adjacent alleyway. He knew the police would kick the old man out eventually, but that would take some time.

Vincent hawked up a lung answering the first question and spit into an old coke can. Dry as a bone. This box is great and I have no need to go out in that monsoon tonight. I even got me my dinner last night. The old man, who had to be in his seventies at the very least, held up a half-eaten sub, still in its deteriorating wrapper. I ate some last night and saved the rest for tonight.

Great. Hey, anyone come around since Monday? Marcus always asked, just in case. It had been two days since he had checked the place out and you never knew when lady luck would shine down on you.

Actually, yes.

Really? Marcus had walked away but turned back at the statement. He expected the same answer he always got. Nothing. What did they look like? Did you get a name? He couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice.

It was a young girl handing out more of those weird pamphlets, Vincent answered, fishing around in his bag and holding up a piece of crumpled paper in the air. She never gave no name, nor even asked mine. Here, she gave me one and said it would change my life if I was still here Friday. You can have it.

Marcus took the crumpled paper and unfolded it, shaking out dry crumbs of Vincent’s leftover sandwich. He looked the pamphlet over, scrutinizing every word. It was identical to the one found near the body. Originally the police thought it was already here; trash left in the abandoned building. Kelly was a devout catholic and wasn’t one to explore other religions, but this changed things; another identical pamphlet meant a clue. Thanks, Vincent, you keep your eyes out and if there’s any trouble you scoot all right?

I’m too old for trouble Marcus; I would just sleep through it anyway.

Marcus laughed and pulled his hat out of his wet pocket and slipped in on with a shiver as water fell down his back. He walked to the door, stuffing the pamphlet into his coat, and smiled. He only ever got to look at the original once, as the police had put it into evidence right away as standard procedure, but now he had his own copy to scrutinize. Marcus opened the door to the driving rain and ducked out. He was soaked in seconds, the wind almost taking his hat off despite the hand holding it. He would go home and get some rest before digging into this church pamphlet, but at least now he had a lead.

The Church

The next day Marcus woke up to his blaring alarm and struggled off of the couch. He had crashed at his office last night after a long day and it seemed easier to get an early start. He grabbed some coffee to wake up and sat down at his computer to do some research on this church. When he took the case, he had looked it up from what he could remember, yet with the girl’s background in her religion, he too had discarded the information as happenstance. Now, as he kicked himself for dropping the ball, he clicked away on his laptop, bringing up the obscure church that had been recruiting members with pamphlets with the website on the bottom of the paper. At least they weren’t handing out white robes and cool aid, he thought as he waited for his slow internet to load the page.

The Church of the Northern Crown, located right here in Chicago, had a very dark and foreboding website displaying images of demon horns and blood-stained crosses. Marcus wrote down the address of the church—the feeling of deepening dread only getting worse—and kept scrolling. Marcus read up on the tenets of the church and what they offered to the people that joined. It wasn’t until the bottom of the page that the name given to their patron rang all sorts of alarms in his sleep-addled brain. Belial was their god and the writing actually made the hair on his arms stand up.

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The Worthless One, craver of lust and pain, shall be your guide in this world of flesh. Let him guide you in your choices and ever you will be rewarded with a place at his side when He comes. Bring others into the fold so that He may grow strong and soon He will be set free.

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Marcus opened a new tab and typed in the name Belial. He hadn’t been to church since he was eleven; it just wasn’t something he ever bothered with. Yet, he had always been fascinated with demons and knew most of their names by heart; this one was very familiar. The page loaded and he skimmed the contents. Oh crap, he thought. I hate being right. The first thing he found was an entry in some satanic reference.

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Belial means No master and symbolizes independence and rewarding personal accomplishment. Belial represents the earth and all who crave carnal pleasure upon it. It is said that he fell to earth following Lucifer’s fall from Grace, becoming one of the first demons upon the world.

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He clicked another entry and cold fingers dragged slowly down his spine; it just got worse from there. Belial was a champion of simply being human, the desires of the flesh, the gain of material wealth, and the carnal pleasure we all pursue. In essence, do what you want regardless of the consequences. These fanatics had the perfect front to do whatever they wanted in the name of some ancient demon that didn’t even exist. It was paradise to most people nowadays and they would flock to this if it gained momentum.

What was a good girl from Goshen, Indiana doing with Satanists in Chicago? Marcus stood and walked around his office, talking to himself. It was his process to work out clues. Okay, let’s go through what I have, he said, walking to his board and taping the pamphlet up with a string. Kelly moves here two months ago with her boyfriend then leaves him and moves into a one-bedroom apartment a month later. She affords this on a waitress’s pay, yet can afford to eat out at fancy restaurants every week. Marcus wrote the name Belial on the pamphlet and led another string to the apartment building. If the first pamphlet was hers, maybe she was given one, like Vincent? Told to meet there? But why was she killed? Marcus stepped back and looked at the board from a distance, trying to see any semblance of a pattern. When he saw what he had added his skin crawled with fear, those cold fingers now gripping his spine and holding it fast; it was a pentagram.

Kelly’s apartment, the abandoned building, the church, the restaurant she frequented, and the first apartment she had with the boyfriend all made a five-pointed star across the city. Worse ... Marcus’s office was dead center in all of it.

The blaring ring of his telephone made him jump a good five inches off the ground, his heart thundering in his chest. He stared at the landline sitting on his desk for a good six rings before getting the nerve to pick up the receiver, an unknown fear making him hesitate. He didn’t trust cell phones, even though he had one. He much preferred the old landlines whenever possible. Finally, he grabbed it and took a deep breath. Marcus Brant, P.I.

Mister Brant, its Steven Riley. Is there any news on the case this week?

Marcus breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of Kelly’s father on the other end of the phone. What? Did I expect a demon to be calling me? He cleared his throat before answering the man, feeling a weird tingling in his spine as the dread subsided. There is indeed, Mister Riley. That pamphlet has turned up again so I’m following up on that church.

You can’t possibly think Kelly would’ve had anything to do with those blasphemers. The man’s voice had turned to acid in a heartbeat, almost stumbling over the words; the man was seething at the idea of his girl straying from the righteous path.

"I’m very