Knocking on Helen’s Door by Eve Langlais

2

Before Michelina utteredher shocked gasp, Helen was running for the edge of the tower’s roof. She threw herself off, arms outstretched, her wings snapping behind her, halting her plunge, so she could glide and catch the falling baby.

“Hello, little one.” Helen smiled, holding the solid frame. The child, wide eyed and startled, held in its yell and beamed back.

Helen landed on the rooftop, and the baby was snatched by Michelina. With lips pursed, she offered a disapproving, “This one will be trouble.”

“Because it fell? How is that the child’s fault?” Seemed like an accident to her.

“Clearly displaying a rebellious nature. I’ll handle its processing while you wait for the next one.” Off marched Michelina, body stiff, her long white robes flaring with each snapped step. She showed no comfort to the baby who’d begun to wail. It hurt Helen’s heart to hear the child crying. She would have snuggled it close, murmured soft reassurance. However, Michelina wasn’t the soft or coddling type of nanny.

With a sigh—because she could hardly criticize the older more experienced angel—she turned to watch the big blue sky. Always the same shade. Never marred or obscured by anything. The bibles spoke of things called clouds and storms. She couldn’t fathom what that meant. How frightening it must be to have the sun hidden or for water to fall from the sky. And strong gusts of wind? How would they fly?

The day passed, and the sun set at exactly the same time every day, and her stomach, trained to know what it meant, grumbled in hunger. Dinnertime and no second baby. Rather than leave immediately, she stood and watched the unfolding canvas of color, spectacular and vivid. The exact same medley of colors that she’d seen the last time she was outdoors for a sunset, and the time before, and the time before that. It never, ever changed.

Sunrise would occur with the same precision. Not that she’d see it in her windowless room. She was usually eating breakfast, although, in her younger years, she’d skipped that first meal to be outside and watch it. The novelty wore off quickly, especially since missing breakfast left her with nothing until dinner.

Her lessons claimed that on Earth—past the pearly gates into a mist that no one but their brave soldiers dared enter—no sunrise or sunset was ever the same. Her teachers taught that Earth was a place of chaos and evil. Of sin and damnation. Where humans strived to recreate Heaven and failed miserably.

And she’d believed in that until, during one of their stork watches, Betty recited a rumor she’d heard. A rumor that humans were God’s children. Blasphemy, of course. Angels were nothing like those hairy, smelly beasts. Not that she’d ever met one, but by their description in the Bible, they were primitive.

When Loreanna returned, she told the same story as Betty had, with more details. She claimed they were being lied to. That humans and Earth were wonderful compared to Heaven. And then one day she was gone. The Archnanny never explained where she went. Loreanna never came back.

Nobody who left the nursery ever returned, not even the babies Helen helped care for. Once they reached a certain age, unless they were assigned to be nannies, they departed and never returned.

Helen often wondered what her life would be like outside the nursery. Wished she could have been posted as a guard, as they appeared to have more freedom to roam.

The sun set. With twilight making it hard to see, and still no stork, she couldn’t wait any longer. She would have to let the Archnanny know. All angels were to be inside before twilight ended and night began.

“Why can’t we go outside at night?” she’d innocently asked.

“Because bad things happen at night,” her teacher told her.

“What kind of bad things?”

The teacher, who didn’t like being questioned, gave Helen a hundred days in solitary, a sealed room with only what she needed to contemplate her faith until she agreed Heaven and its rules protected her. Her Father, who ruled Heaven, hallowed be his name, only wanted to keep her safe. How could she be so ungrateful?

She went inside before dusk ended and never rose before the sun tickled the sky. She couldn’t help but recall Betty, who’d giggled when asked where she got her information about humans and earth. She claimed to go out at night and to be in love with one of Heaven’s soldiers. Carnal love.

Which was forbidden!

Probably why Betty eventually disappeared.

If Helen wasn’t careful, she’d end up punished, too. Never question. Her Father, who made rules in Heaven, knew best.

She headed down from the rooftop and fetched her dinner. A bowl of gruel, filling and satisfying. The flavor and texture were the same for every meal. It never changed, just like her evening routine remained consistent. Wash her dishes. Say her prayers. Then go to bed.

Except for the umpteenth night in a row, Helen found herself too restless to sleep. She rose from her pallet and paced her room, three strides by three strides. All the room she needed for a bed, a chair, and a desk. It was greed to want more space. What should have been satisfying felt confining. She tugged at her night robe, snug to the neck and billowy to make her shapeless. Her wings were tucked away for easier sleeping on the bed. She’d not yet reached the age where she preferred to roost.

One, two, three, pivot. One two, three. Flip. It agitated her she couldn’t move farther. There was a park outside where she usually walked a good portion of the day. Roof duty meant she’d not gotten enough exercise. If she could just walk off the restless energy surely she would sleep?

She couldn’t leave. One of their rules, strictly enforced, was curfew. No angels out after dark.

She eyed her door. What would happen if she went for a walk? Unlike Betty, she wouldn’t sin with any soldiers but pray as she went for a stroll within the nursery courtyard.

Two circuits and then back to bed. Before she knew it, she stood outside her room.

The hallway, lined with doors identical to hers, remained empty and quiet. She hustled to the far end and the stairs, expecting to hear a shout.

She went around and around down the stairs to the main level and paused as she finally heard sound. A rustle of fabric then voices. She hugged the wall, her chest thumping as she worried about getting caught.

“Hey, Andreas,” a lilting voice said.

Helen frowned as she tried to place it.

A deeper tone replied, “I brought you a present.”

“Really? Let’s go to my room and you can show me.”

Helen heard the rustle as they moved and the snick of a door shutting. Only after thirty breaths of silence did she ease out of the stairwell, the door soundlessly swinging shut after her.

She tiptoed quickly to the door leading outside, only to pause at the threshold. Once she stepped outside, she’d be in trouble. Right now, if caught, she could claim she’d woken and thought it was past dawn. No windows meant no light. She’d claim her internal clock must be off.

She’d lie.

Her eyes widened. How far was she willing to go to break the rules?

Shoving open the door, she put a toe on the tile past the ledge. It didn’t get zapped. No alarm went off. Next, she eased her whole body outside. Waited for someone to question her wandering.

Nothing moved. Nor did she perceive any noise. She glanced around to find a different Heaven than she knew during the day.

For one, no blue skies, but so many stars casting a silvery glow. How pretty. She didn’t see the fabled moon and wondered if it even shone in Heaven.

The starlight proved enough to outline in stark relief the jutting monolith of a building that housed the rooms for the nursery and teaching staff and the wards for the babies. Three levels circling around the park. Windowless. And even if it weren’t, who would see her? Everyone was supposed to be asleep. From the voices she’d heard during her escape outside, she already knew not everyone was, but that worked to her advantage. The guardian angel that protected from the rooftop was in a nanny’s bedroom. Doing what?

None of her business. With him gone, this was her chance.

She took a few more steps, enough for the door to close behind her. Click.

Hopefully not locked. From sunrise to sunset, the door was open.

The flutter in her stomach wasn’t entirely fear but excitement. She moved from her dorm to the park that lay at the center of the courtyard, pleased to see the paths lit by glowing orbs set in stakes.

It was lovely; however, it did make her wonder about the curfew at night. Why have the place lit if not for use? In the daytime, it was a busy place for the nannies to take the cherubs out for a stroll. Yet as she strode along the straight paths that bisected the park with its perfectly shaped bushes, she saw no one else. Was she the only one to ever dare walk outside at night?

I’m such a rebel. It made her giddy.

And bold.

If everyone was inside, there was no one to see. Helen flew to the top of the building and froze, waiting for an outcry. When none came, she glanced around for the first time. She saw more monoliths, massive contained areas. Were they also nurseries or the homes of the soldiers and the others who left?

The sudden flicker of starlight drew her gaze, and she noticed a shadow flying overhead. Someone else was out there. She almost dropped back into the nursery garden.

Almost. Instead, emboldened, she took flight, feeling exposed and hidden all at once. Exhilaration filled her as she coasted cool air currents and soared over places like the nursery, if differing in size. Some with illuminated courtyards, others dark and barren.

Past the group of twelve buildings, she found herself coasting over a vast expanse of fog. It covered the ground and scared her, pimpling her skin.

She’d not ever flown so far before. Usually only short trips around the courtyard, teaching the little angels to fly.

It was more enjoyable than expected.

She angled and pumped her wings to get higher, her view expanding, and she gasped. For ahead she saw lights. Lots of bright lights, small squat buildings with roads between them, and no high walls.