The Complete Zagzagel Diaries (8 page)

Damn it, it hurt like hell to aid others in finding peace while knowing mine would forever evade me—and not by my own doing. That was the true shame. I’d lost love—Jagniel—to circumstances, false teachings…power plays. Forever it seemed I had pushed back the bitterness; only since Charley’s death, my denial of my own feelings ate at me like never before.
“Losing love twice in one lifetime can do that to you,”
Charley would’ve told me, while patting my back softly, had she been here.

She wasn’t here to comfort me, though, and she never would be again. Yin’s opposite flared to life the longer I dwelled...and I breathed deep to dampen my rage. Here I was, expected to return and report to Big Papa, to do my job. Is that what you humans were to Him? Knowing Papa found amusement in watching my white-knuckled ride on this emotional rollercoaster further irked me. The longer I thought, the deeper I let my emotions take me, and with that, the more I was determined never to go back. Was that even possible?

Instead of returning, I’d wallowed away my time on Earth, taking in a few sights...people watching. Although, a good portion of the last two weeks, I’d spent my time with Chloe.

I’d come to Chloe not only to check in on one of my youngest charges, but also because above all others, she would understand the pain I harbored. Too much to put on a child? Not my Chloe. Let me explain.

Having the gift of knowing, she could feel someone at his or her core. A simple touch is often all it took, but with me, she had always gone to extremes. Chants and lapses of meditation were common. Not that I’d arrived for a reading of any kind, no. I came to Chloe because she knew what it’s like to be the black rose among the red ones, the oddball out... She knew what it was like to be different, but unlike me—who constantly sought Papa’s approval—she relished in being a misfit. I came to Chloe, seeking an understanding soul.

Having suffered a recent breakup with her girlfriend of two months, Chloe was in the pits. The pits of agony, despair? I didn’t know, but “pits” was the word for her current conundrum, she’d assured me while asking “why” for the twentieth time that morning as she made one weak attempt after another to distract herself from her pain. At fourteen, Chloe felt as if the end of any relationship was the end of her world, but I couldn’t quite see it her way.

Her boyfriend had stuck by her through the last three breakups, and Chloe’s mom was exceptionally understanding of her daughter’s sexuality—her bisexuality. Well, when her mother was home. I hadn’t seen the woman come or go in the last five days. Chloe had informed me that her mother was just off on another of her “little trips.”

Yeah.... I shrugged at that one, unable to find a proper response. Her mother’s trips consisted of parties, sex, drugs, sex, more partying, and more drugs—a perpetual cycle of wicked she couldn’t seem to break. The woman may’ve brought home enough to keep a roof over their heads with her prostitution, but a positive role model she was not. Left alone often, too often, Chloe was a tough one for it.

What could I say about such freedom? Granted, Chloe was young, even in human years, but she was so free—free willed, free spirited, and more often than not, free to do as she pleased whenever she pleased.

You humans always have been befuddling, though. One minute, I feel so deeply for you and your plight, I almost cannot stand to watch as you go through your day-to-day lives; the next tick of a clock and I’m jealous. Envious as fucking hell.

Chloe twisted another leaf onto the precision row she’d strung together from the still-moist leaves she’d carried in from the ground about the single tree that stood in front of her house. “One more oughta do it,” she said on an exhale that left her looking paler than her normal Goth makeup had on any day.

I held my breath—two reasons. One: that dreaded necklace of leaves did not look appealing in any way, shape, or form; and two: my concern for her health. Wasn’t her fault she’d been born broken, but she didn’t seem to let it get her down. Seriously, I found Chloe making it this far with a bum heart something of a testament to her will.

“We’ll know in a minute,” she said, interrupting my thoughts with a smile. “Just one—more—twist. There!”

With that, she flipped the ring of leaves in my direction with the accuracy of a well-seasoned Frisbee champion. Nature’s necklace from hell fell over my head and found its way down to my shoulders before I could protest.

“What will this prove, again?”

Her right front tooth stood out prominent as ever against her bottom lip as she flashed me that breathtaking smile. “I really wish you’d listen better the first time I explain things.”

With the stench of pin oak wafting up and into my senses, I couldn’t agree more.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “I’m going to tell you the future.”

Gloomy, with not a sliver of reprieve, followed by no escape from servitude to the Big Cheese
. Why bother having a diviner confirm what I already knew. Carefully, I lifted one-half the ring of leaves from my neck. “I don’t think so, Chloe. Really, dear.”

She shoved my hand back to my shoulder, pried my fingers from the unholy necklace. “Drop the act, Zag.”

I stood in awe of fourteen years of tenacity.

“Let the oak do its job...you know, emanate?” Her hand gestures said far more than her words as she walked away. “I’m outta rose petals.” She hovered, half in and half out of the door, snagging a scarf off a hook as she continued. “I know you’re just as curious as I am. How many times do I gotta tell you, the truth can’t be hidden?”

With those final words, she left, closing the door behind her and leaving me with an acute case of skin-crawlers—you know, those nasty feelings that barely touch the surface, but scrape deep enough to make you shiver all the way to your bones. Then again, maybe it was the constant
clickety-clack
of the fingernails growing louder on the kitchen table behind me.

I stood staring at the door, unable to force myself to turn, knowing what—knowing exactly
whom
I would find.

Behind me, the drumming of precision-manicured nails on the table’s melamine surface grew louder. Another shiver raced over me. I ignored it, waved my arm, adorning what you humans deem casual attire, and followed Chloe’s departure, post haste.

If Big Papa knew of Chloe’s gifts, He’d never let on, not directly anyway. He had encouraged me, however, to check in on her only as the need arose, as if somehow associating with such a human anomaly would taint my spirit.

For one with His divine wisdom, He truly didn’t know me, at all.

As I caught Chloe on the sidewalk, the drumming I’d heard earlier from her kitchen table returned, only muffled, as if the sound were plucked out of the air, wrapped in cotton, and held purposely to my ear. I whirled around, certain of finding Big Papa wearing His legendary grin.

Nothing.

“Hey, Zag. You know, you could’ve waited for me. I was coming right back,” Chloe said as I appeared beside her.

“You’ve been warned about walking these streets alone, young lady. This is a rough neighborhood, Chloe. They don’t appreciate diversity on this side of town; you know that.” I rambled on, nervously spewing words, all with the intent of lessening the noise in my head.

“I’m fine.” She offered one of her impatient shrugs. “Now stop. You’re beginning to sound just like everyone else in my life. I’m practically an adult.”

I shoved my hands inside my jeans’ pockets, and stepped closer to her in hopes of staving off another shiver. The velocity of the drumming increased, followed by the same move in volume. I felt the heat of Chloe’s stare on my back as I outpaced her, pulled ahead.

“You can’t hide, Zag,” she called after me.

Damn her knowing.

According to protocol, after finishing my previous assignment, I should’ve returned for debriefing and awaited orders, but I hadn’t. I’d gone AWOL. It was only a matter of time before my actions caught up with me—actions I had no explanation for, like adrenaline on speed or a hormone-rampant teen proving a pointless point. Nevertheless, I’d sought refuge down here, fully aware I had no place to hide, aware also that Big Papa would catch me, and that He’d have plenty to say about my disobedience when he did. If interrogated on my prolonged stay and failure to return, however, I was prepared to offer up any number of excuses I’d spent weeks refining, honing...rehearsing.

When I could no longer take the
clickety-clack
of those blessed fingernails, I spun, intent on bringing Papa into the light, calling Him out. Before I could recite the command, Big Papa appeared between Chloe and me and not looking as amused as I’d hoped he might. I mean, it was
not unusual
that I bend the rules and face subsequent chastisement, though this had been my longest stand of defiance I could recall. Chloe smiled up at Him as she hustled past the two of us locked in a stare down.

“Traitor,” I whispered for her ears only. She turned to me with a typical roll of her eyes and hurried along as Big Papa matched my glare. Now, I knew—not knew, per se—but I had a damned good idea where this confrontation was headed. So, when presented with the obvious questions about where I’d been and what I thought I was doing, why had I answered,
“What’s it to you?”

Oh, I couldn’t deny why I’d said those words. Believe me; I was aware why I had. Why my mouth had betrayed my head—no, the words had come from my heart this time, I was certain—that is precisely
where
this particularly misaligned verbiage had spewed.

Although, why had the words, or was it the attitude accompanying such, felt so empowering and yet, at the same time, so terribly wicked? I struggled to comprehend, as I stood humbled by a single look on my Father’s face.

“You disappoint me, Son.”

Son?

Papa wasn’t a bad parent, not as far as parents go, but he was still a parent. Wasn’t that bad enough?

As I stood there, under his scrutinizing gaze, under the impatience of his forever-tapping fingers, under the disappointment in the weight of His crossed arms, His scowl, His posture, I decided that if I had had a choice, I would rather have been ripped apart into a thousand unrecognizable pieces than undergo such judgment. “I’m—”

His eyes grew large then narrowed just as quickly, and with one finger pressed to the thin line of his lips, He said only, “Shh-shh-shh....” The most he’d spoken since our five-minute stare off had begun.

Back to silence....

I abhorred chastisement—that stare accompanied by His silence—but especially, the stare. For the sake of all that is Holy, just get it over with, take your wrath, mete your punishment. Leave me to my miserable existence or its end, thereof.

Without uttering another sound or offering any indication our meeting was over, Papa vanished.

I attempted to move, but within the span of a blink, the nagging drum of Papa’s fingers was replaced by an ear-shattering squeal that glued me to the spot. Despite every effort, I could do nothing but watch the scene unfold. My jaw clenched as I heard the word, “Freak,” shouted from the vehicle racing my way. My head pounded with a vehemence I’d seldom known as I witnessed the passenger door snap open and the SUV veer toward Chloe. When she screamed, time seemed to freeze, taking my breath with it. Smoke rolled from the rear tires of a late 80s Blazer as it whipped around the corner and out of sight. Only then could I move....

I alit and immediately knelt next to Chloe, her crumpled body of flesh—bones twisted this way and that—her limbs extended in the most unnatural positions. That’s when it hit me—when I realized all the judgments and the miracles I’d witnessed to-date truly paled in comparison to Big Papa exploiting His full wrath.

No.... Beneath my touch, Chloe’s body lay. Lifeless. Her life force smeared across the cement in a sick pattern of patches but mostly puddled beneath her. For the first time in her short life, she seemed almost to fit in with the red roses. Almost. I brought my other hand to my first—to her skin—brushed back the hair from her eyes...still...so cold.

No.

Fire roiled inside me. As if inside a giant vacuum, I could hear each of my breaths, in and out. “I don’t understand.”

“Let her go, Zagzagel.” Papa’s voice haunted me; the drumming of his fingers resounded louder with each word.

“Tell me, Papa—tell me, this is not my doing.”

“These things happen. You know that, Zag.”

No.
I didn’t care what “I knew” at that point. I no longer believed. “But
You
could’ve stopped it from—”

At once, the mind-desensitizing noise from Papa’s agitated fingers ceased. “Don’t Zag. You’re too close to the situation. Questioning never solved anything. You know I am not able to interfere.”

“But you have the power. You’re the Almighty, for Christ’s sake! You could have—”

“Let her go, Zag. Step away before it’s too late. She’s at peace.”

No!
Chloe did not want to die. Chloe was a fighter. Her head lolled ghastly to one shoulder as I lifted her broken body from the side of the road. Regardless of Papa’s teachings and though I’d witnessed an SUV filled with humans perform the deed, I hadn’t a variance in thought about who the true perpetrator was—who truly held the power. The power of life—and death—and of all things.

Yet, Big Papa insisted every one of His actions stemmed from benevolence... I was tired of the contraries, His explanations.