Well, a couple of days rest turned into almost a week of trying to figure out just what the fuck I'm doing and where I'm going. Can't say I've made much progress, but at least I'm thinking clearer again.

Had another dream of Michael -- the angel one. Gotta hand the bastard a little credit -- he's got better fashion sense than the rest of those self-righteous assholes. I'll get to that in a little while.

I'm still in this dinky shit hole town. After the whole impalement hootenanny, things pretty much quieted down. Just the usual random killing/fucking in the streets, but toned down…about like you'd expect a little town to be, I guess.

Anyway, I've laid pretty low. Honest. Haven't even fired a shot since I've been here. All I wanted to do was get my head straight again.

Losing Jaime was the worst thing to ever happen to me. She was the most gentle soul I'd ever known, and I loved her so much it made my chest hurt when I was away from her.

I read this comic book series a long time ago, called "The Crow". Was written by J. O'Barr , a guy with more than a little intimate knowledge on what pain really is. In part of it, the Crow, this big dead guy come back for revenge, meets a poor little beaten up street urchin named Sherri who's living in the worst drug-infested part of the ghetto. In one part, she says she sometimes thinks that she's been bad, and that God has sent her to Hell. The Crow tells her that, no, this isn't Hell, "but you can see it from here".

…you can see it from here. You have no idea.

Hell ain't the eight foot tall grey fuckers running around, jerking off everywhere and blowing loads of hellfire all over the fucking place. It ain't the whole fire-lit landscapes that you used to see in damn near every heavy metal video you've ever watched. It's not even having to see that grinning fuck Blackcloud all over the place, everywhere you turn.

Hell is watching Jaime being raped by walking corpses, and not being able to do anything about it. Hell is hearing her screams over and over, begging for anything to end the pain. Hell is waking up every few nights, covered in sweat and shaking with guilt because I couldn't stop it.

Hell is holding Rachel while her whole body shook with her sobs. Hell is knowing that there's no way to save her, even after all we'd been through. Hell is feeling the heat from her skin as the fever started to kick in … first sign of the change that I couldn't let her face.

Hell is remembering the taste of her tears when I kissed her, just before she closed her eyes, and I shot her in the head.

Hell is feeling like I cheated on Jaime somehow, because I fell in love with another woman … like I betrayed her memory.

Christ, I can't believe I’m using that goddamn word again. Me, the one who just wanted to be left the hell alone. Me, falling in love again like some high-school prick with raging hormones.

Funny fucking world. I'm not laughing.

Sometimes the pain gets so bad that I feel like my chest is going to explode, I miss them both so much. I don't have any right missing either one of them, or loving them for that matter. One of them died in terror because I couldn't save her. The other, I killed. But the guilt doesn't stop the pain. It only makes it worse.

Came close to ending it a few times this week. The guilt was just too much. After all, what the fuck would suicide be? I am one of the Damned already, so who gives a fuck about my soul.

If I even have such a thing left in me. I'm not so sure anymore. I've seen and done too much … too many ghosts to carry around. If I didn't deserve this fate before, I sure as hell deserve it now.

That conclusion, strangely enough, lead to a sudden moment of clarity. Like someone suddenly cranked me over the head with a crowbar and made my eyes go right after being wall-eyed all my life.

Hell is here. It always has been.

I don't mean that Hell is the planet Earth, or this galaxy/plane/whatever metaphysical bullshit you want to call it. I mean that Hell is us. It's our creation, just like Heaven.

We knew. We all knew. We just didn't listen.

Instead, it was easier to shut down, and let the fucking TV do our thinking for us. The TV, the radio, the Internet, you fucking name it, we turned ourselves over to it, body and soul, without thinking twice about it.

We never stopped to think about what we were doing, or what we had, until it all blew up in our faces.

But then, that's just how the devil would have wanted it. He didn't have to do much. Just leave us to our own devices, and boom! In come the souls. Let's hear it for free will.

This is all kind of stupid at this point, I know. It's a little late for sudden revelations. Not like they can save me, or erase the failures I've had. But it does put the last few years into perspective when you realize that none of this would have happened if we weren't so fucked up to begin with.

What does it all mean to me? Not fucking much.

That's not entirely true. It means that the fact that I was able to actually love them both is my one redeeming quality. Not enough to balance out the rest, I know, but it's enough to keep me from eating a load of triple ought buckshot.

Of my own free will, I let myself be led around by the dick for most of my life. Of my own free will, I coasted through everything I should have been paying attention to and savoring for everything it was worth. Now, of my own free will, I am damned.

The feelings I had for Jaime and for Rachel -- I guess 'had' really isn't the right word … the feelings for both of them are the only thing I have left to hang onto -- were, and are of my own free will. If I de-value that fact, and the fact that I've made my own decisions, then I de-value their memory, and I de-value the only good I've ever done in my life.

So, there I sit, and everything is OK for a moment. I could walk out that door and catch a bullet in the teeth, and that would be OK. Well, maybe OK isn't exactly the right word. I know that I'm still one of the Damned, and I know what's waiting for me when I get booted out of this shit hole of a world. I may be fucked up in the head, but I’m not stupid.

Call it 'contentment' for a lack of a better word. I'd pretty much decided to stake out a little bit of dirt somewhere near by, and just breathe.

That's when Michael showed up.

It was like some hazy dream for a minute. Actually, it was a dream. I just didn't know it.

I heard heavy footsteps out on the wooden stairs, like the kind of boots they wore in World War II. The footsteps stopped outside my door. I'd double locked it, but he pushed it open without a sound and walked right in, real casual like.

Got to say, the black trench does something for him. Not like he wasn't fucking menacing enough, or anything. His hair was down this time, and he had on a pair of Ray Bans, even though it was still dark outside. I guess night-vision comes as standard with the whole archangel gig.

"Nice to see you've come back to reality," he said. I'd love to find out how he makes his voice sound like that. Bastard could make Atilla the Hun shit his pants by saying "hello".

"I could, and did," he said with a laugh. At least I guess that's what it was.

"So what this time?", I said. "More cryptic bullshit that I can read in a fucking fortune cookie, or are you going to talk straight this time?"

He lowered the shades, and that sudden desire to crawl down my own throat was back stronger than ever. "Don't push it, Michael. The war's not going well, and I'm not in the fucking mood to deal with the bullshit attitude problem of a damned soul."

Gotcha, Mikey. Whatever you say.

"I need you for a task," he said, casually perching … fucking PERCHING … on the bedpost. He folded his arms across his knees and just sat there for a minute.

OK, I'll bite. "What 'task', and why the hell would I want to help you?"

"To answer the first, there's a child who will be critical to the war's outcome. This child will have the power to turn the tide against Lucifer, and finally bring this whole scrap to an end. We've all been looking for him, all of God's angels. We didn't expect him to show up on the wrong side of enemy lines."

He paused for a second, I guess waiting for some type of reaction. It took every ounce of control I had, but I just stared at him until he started talking again.

He hopped down to the floor, but didn't make a sound when he landed. Impressive considering the size 18 fucking boots. He walked over to the window and just stared out into space, it seemed.

"The child will bring everything full circle, and will finally bring my brother down."

Brother? What brother? Can angels get shell-shock?

Of course, he heard that.

"What…you didn't go to Sunday school either?" He turned back to the window, shaking his head a little.

Well, excuse the fuck outta me! If he heard that one, he didn't show it. He just started talking again, only his voice was different.

"There were three of us at the beginning. Me, Gabriel, and Lucifer. God's favorite sons. As with every family, there's different personality make-ups. I was the hell-raiser, so to speak. Gabriel was the stoic one. Always too serious for his own good. Part of why he ended up the Angel of Death.

And then there was Lucifer. Beautiful, proud Lucifer. By far God's favorite, and his light shone second only to the Father Himself. God loved him so much it can't be described, but He knew what would come to pass. He knew that Lucifer's fierce pride was too great for him to be second to anyone, even to his own Father.

As eternity passed, and more of our brothers came into being, Gabriel and I pleaded with Lucifer not to follow the path he was struggling so hard to clear for himself."

He turned to me, and I'll be damned (redundant, I know -- it's a fucking expression) if he didn't have a tear rolling down his face. I was so fascinated by that one drop of water that I almost missed the fact that he continued talking.

"He didn't care, wouldn't listen. He'd become blinded by his own brilliance. And so, he drew others to his cause. Before we knew it, the lines were drawn, and angels were spilling each other's blood."

He wiped the tear away, and shook his head, "I won't go into the details because I don't have a century to tell them. Suffice to say, Lucifer and his followers were cast out of Paradise, and out of God's light, which was and is the harshest cruelest punishment that can be bestowed on any angel. To be Fallen is to lose the grace of God … something that is the core of our very existence."

I asked him why he was telling me all this, and he said, "Because I need you to understand what this war truly is about. It's not about which side gets the most souls. Humans, for all their importance and value to God, are basically caught in the middle of an angelic war that never truly ended. Lucifer is just trying to validate his stance by trying to turn as many of Father's most prized creation over to his way of thinking.

Think of it as a runaway child arguing with it's parent. Lucifer wants to come Home, but only on his terms. Our Father wants Lucifer to come Home, but He knows that Lucifer's terms will have much farther reaching consequences on His creations, and won't allow that to happen.

Forget about your concepts of good and evil. That has nothing to do with this war. Both are inseparable from the other, and both are God's creations."

I shook my head, "That doesn't make sense…"

"Of course it does, Michael, and you've actually discovered it yourself. I heard your revelation and waited for you to come to full realization before approaching you again. You can't acknowledge your love of Jaime and Rachel without acknowledging the harm and damage you've done in your life. The two are intertwined, and are completely and totally pointless without the other.

The same holds true of your ideals of good and evil. Without evil, good has no purpose. Without good to rebel against, evil is a pointless exercise of pissing into the wind.

You think Lucifer is responsible for the creation of evil? Fine. Now, can you tell me who was responsible for the creation of Lucifer?

God knew His favorite son, as He knows all things. He knew what Lucifer would do, and what it would lead to. He knew that giving the gift of free will to His greatest creation yet would have no meaning if they did not have the choice before them of which path to take. And so, He is ultimately responsible for what you know as evil as well as what you know as good."

It was fucked up sounding, but so help me, it made sense.

That was when I remembered the second part of my original question. "OK, fine. God's responsible for it all. Doesn't change a thing, therefore it doesn't mean dick. Still doesn't explain why I should help you find this kid."

"That's simple," he said. "Peace of mind, Michael. The simple peace of mind that comes from knowing you're not going to end up roasting for eternity when you shuffle off this mortal coil."

OK, now I know I didn't hear that right.

"Huh?" was all my rapier wit could summon.

"You find this boy, and get him across the lines, you save your soul." He said it with the same calmness that he might of used to order a piece of toast.

"That simple, huh?" sure, pal. "Tell you what, why don't I just bypass the middle man and take out your brother for you?"

"Never said it would be simple, Michael," calm as a fucking cinder block while he put his shades back on, "Lucifer knows the child is here, and has his own angels looking for him. There's a strong possibility that your ass will wind up hanging on a stick in Times Square with all the other shuffling dead.

On the other hand, I've kept a close eye on you. I've seen your resourcefulness in action. I think there's a strong possibility that you can find him, and get him to the other side. In doing so, you'll turn the tide of the war, and will save your own soul in the bargain."

"And I suppose you'll be behind me, every step of the way? Isn't that how the whole Yoda-san act's supposed to go?" wanted to fucking shoot myself for what I was thinking at that moment … no way was I going after this kid, conscience or no.

He looked at me strange. I'm still not sure what was behind those eyes when he said what he said next…

"You and I are more closely connected that you suspect. You'll find the boy."

I opened my mouth to give him a healthy 'my ass I will' retort, but found myself sitting upright in bed and babbling at an empty wall. Apparently, I'd woken up.

I'd love to write the whole thing off as some kind of Freudian thing that goes back to not being breast fed, or some other fucked up thing like that, but I know better. Wish like hell I didn't, but I do.

So, here I am, packing up what little things I have with me, and getting ready to go find some kid that I have no idea what he looks like, before the devil and his boys get him, and get the kid across the frontlines of the worst war in the history of history to the other side of the fence, all without getting my damn fool head blown off, or without any number of other less than pleasant things happening to me or the kid.

Should've eaten the buckshot.

Live and learn.