Jophiel’s Secret

Get Her on the Train

Megalos stood, arms crossed, chest puffed. “He really wants him home early—the King wants Jophiel back now?” Megalos cast his eyes away from his tower room window to focus on the beloved half-pint, vinegar-filled visitor standing in front of him. Aivy, who really was half the size of Megalos by height and even three times narrower by width, wasn’t the slightest bothered by the annoyance Megalos filtered into the tiny room.

“Yes,” was all she said, as she had already said enough. Aivy was a Kingdom transition agent, one of the best. In fact, she led a whole host of transition agents, which pretty much meant when someone was on the schedule to arrive home, back from their earthly tour, then she most assuredly knew about it. She herself prepared the daily arrivals schedule, complete with precise measurements of time, all based on information that came straight from the Authoritarians, which, of course, came straight through from the King himself. Many details had to be worked out. As adjustments and changes happened all the time, it surely was a living schedule and a lively job—one she found most satisfying most of the time. This particular moment, however, was one of the odd and unusual awkward times. She had even admitted it.

Megalos breathed in heavily and let his heavy shoulders slump in concert with the exhale. That was Aivy’s cue—he’s considering her proposal. She touched his lower arm gently, which was now hanging lazily by his side. “She’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

‘She’ was Pipiera, a most adored, officially adopted, great-times-a-few-granddaughter to Megalos. More than that, they were friends. Dear friends. Aivy had just talked Megalos into concurring to a plan, one that required Pipiera to leave the safety of the Kingdom for a mission where she could integrate as an earthling into the daily life of another descendant and future head gatekeeper for the Kingdom, Matthew Mackenzie. Oh, she could never be harmed—well, not truly harmed—because she was a Kingdom citizen, of course. She could, however, be quite traumatized by the process. Earth was a tough place more often than not, and even the slightest of visits can cause lasting damage. Megalos shivered at the thought of his Pip going back for a mission.

He reiterated Pipiera’s role as he understood it. “All she’s gotta do is influence Matthew.”

“I would say, inspire, but yes, Megs, that’s it!” Aivy held her head and hands high like it was a simple cheesecake kinda job.

“What if she fails? What if Matthew doesn’t take the bait? What if he can’t, in turn, influence Arnie Decker? And what if Arnie, in turn, doesn’t, in fact, become the light and strength for that whole community? What then? It sounds like a long shot to me. A strange girl coming into town, just showing up like that.”

“We’ll take care of the details, I promise you,” Aivy’s head cocked to one side. That was her empathic pose. She knew just how much Megalos would concern himself the entire time Pipiera would be away. But Megalos wasn’t fully convinced, and she could see he was starting to walk back, away from the plan.

“What if he recognizes her?! Have you even thought about that? This won’t be her first visit. Don’t play the fool with me, Aivy. You know he’s already seen her!”

“He won’t recognize her. Most likely, anyway.” Aivy felt the heat coming directly from his face to the top of her head. “Look, he may find her familiar. But he won’t recognize her. That’s simply not possible. Besides, we are counting on that familiarity. We need Matthew to let her into his life, and fast. We only have two months. And having a familiar attraction is helpful.”

“Two months?” Somehow that part of the plan had been skipped in its presentation.

This time it was Aivy who needed to take a step back. She breathed in and exhaled, too, with her own shoulders slumped, her face turned upward to his.

“No.” He continued, “I’ll agree. I already said it. But one week max.”

“Megalos. You’re being impossible. Whip up. Five weeks.” Aivy pushed her head high. She was in negotiating mode now.

Megalos didn’t like this. A few more quibbles, then the two shook hands and agreed on exactly twenty-one days.

Megalos stepped up to the single window and took in the sweeping view of the grand horizon. So magnificent. The real purpose, though, for his peek was simply to check on the activities around his gate. He smiled. Roly, his number-one assistant, was managing the arrivals and their processing just fine. He thought of another question before Aivy could slip away. “How, for goodness’ sake, will you even convince Pip to take an assignment, anyway?” He chuckled, thinking that’d be the showstopper. The Interventions Desk has been inviting her involvement for the past five years, to which Pipiera denied any and all interest in the opportunities.

“Oh, I’ve got a little plan for that.” Aivy was back to her chirpy little self, practically singing the words. “I’ve already set my idea in motion.”

“Huh?” It was most definitely a cross tone. “You already moved forward? Without my concurrence?”

Aivy knew she’d have to respond fast and get out of there. “Unofficially, of course. I simply let some information leak—like, err, Jophiel’s possible premature return.”

Megalos was astonished at this tidbit of information. Aivy had broken a rule. The arrivals schedule is never to be shared with Kingdom citizens until it is authorized for such. “Aivy, have you lost your mind?”

Aivy twisted her body about and pursed her lips. “It had a purpose. And…I think it worked. You see, I leaked to Serena. And…,” Eyebrows arched high, she checked his face, presuming he would know where she was going with this. “Well, you know Serena and Alexien and Pipiera were all out there in the waiting area moments ago.” She pointed out Megalos’s window toward the picnic tables. “And look! Now, only Alexien is there.”

A horrified wash fell over his face. “I almost forgot!” Megalos exclaimed. “Isn’t Maggie arriving today? Now, in fact? Huh! She’s been waiting for this moment for so very long. I can guarantee she won’t be going anywhere, not when her mother is about to arrive.”

A sly look came over Aivy’s face; she stepped aside so he could have a look-see out the window himself. “Well, Megs, she wouldn’t miss that moment for anything, unless, of course…,”

“Unless, of course, she’s slipping away to help her friend Jophiel.” He sighed. “You got me.”

As Aivy bounced her way out the door and down the staircase leading to the Kingdom’s Outer Courtyard, Megalos called out one last instruction, “At least get her on the train route. You know how badly her trip in the travel tunnel went the last time!”

A Fallen Stranger

In the Town of Havensight, May 1980

Pipiera regarded four walls, examining each, one at a time. Yellow-gold paint. Oddly shaped shadows cast from a glass sphere hanging above her. A single window positioned high, a mere few inches from the ceiling, and a fully-armed, green plastic chair beneath. Double-paneled blackout curtains. An oversized armoire for her sparse belongings. She would spend an entire summer here in Havensight and this room would be home base. 

She sniffed the air. Something stale and water-logged lingered. She flicked a switch; not much light. She rubbed a curtain panel between her fingers; flower prints would have been nicer. A loud, hollow bang echoed from somewhere inside a wall; cold air whistled and blew fiercely from a vent into the already-chilled room.

“Get settled.” Her voice was as commanding as it was sarcastic, though no one was around to hear. “Just how does one get settled?” She tossed her peach fedora hat onto the bed. She followed next, jumping onto the perfectly dressed mattress and settling into a cross-legged position, deciding to review Serena’s instructions once again. Get it right. Do not deviate, echoed in her head. Rules, rules, rules. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

A soft knock tapped on the door as it cracked open enough for the landlady to peek inside.

“May I come in?” Mrs. Damien said as she slipped into the room anyway. “Are we getting settled?”

Pipiera smiled at the tall lady with the humpback and expectant expression.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Oh, so wonderful to have you. I’m not used to another female in the house. I’ve only one son, so if there’s anything you need, anything I’ve forgotten, do tell.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Damien.”

It was too early; Pipiera didn’t know what she might need. She caught the gleeful curve on Mrs. Damien’s lips turn upside down as her eyes stopped abruptly at Pipiera’s feet, all packaged up tightly inside shiny new three-inch-platform shoes. Though fashionable, according to Serena anyway, Pipiera wondered if it was their mucky residue on the bedspread that Mrs. Damien didn’t like.

“Um,” the lady spoke quietly. “We usually don’t allow exterior footwear on our beds.”

“Oh!” Pipiera jumped off the bed. “I’m so sorry; I’m not used to wearing shoes…er, I just forgot. Silly me.” She hoped her blushing didn’t give her away. Was that even possible, that someone might catch on that she had simply injected into an Earth form temporarily? A fraud, some might even think.

“It’s okay, dear, not to worry.” She paused before adding, “Now you know. Supper is at five, but there’s plenty of time before that to show you around the kitchen. Just make your way up.” Then away she went.

“Show me around the kitchen? Whatever for?” Pipiera wondered what room and board really meant. Was she not supposed to have her meals made? Might she have to make her own, or worse, theirs? She plopped onto the bed again, mud-caked shoes included. “Serena! I need more details! And why am I in a basement?”

The door propped open again. “Did you say something?” Mrs. Damien hadn’t gone far and now here she was again in the room with a disheartened look on her face. She really doesn’t want my shoes on the bed. Pipiera jumped up again, “I’m sorry.”

The discouraged Mrs. Damien mumbled that her son, Emerson, would be home later and he would be happy to show her around town. “I think you two will get along just fine,” she snapped, vacating the room, leaving a slightly unpleasant odor behind while closing the door with an abrupt shut.

Oh, fiddle ducks. Pipiera flopped onto the bed once again. She freed her toes from the harsh shoes that suddenly weren’t feeling so lovely, only heavy like cement blocks weighing her down. She pulled out the oversized Kingdom manual Serena had camouflaged as a hard-covered textbook entitled Eldercare and opened it up. Leafing past the “Mission” and “Helpful Hints” sections, she went straight to the largest part of the book: “Rules – Read and Report Daily.” One bullet point midway down the page stuck out in particular: “Be kind and polite—do not stir up any negative emotions unless absolutely necessary to complete the mission.”

Well, off to a good start. Not!

She flipped over to the mission checklist. Spotting a pencil on the floor underneath the armoire, she thought of a better idea. Hmmm, what would I like to do now that I am here? She pinched herself and giggled her way out of a bad mood. “I’ve wondered my whole life what I missed. Now’s my chance. Adding a few things of my own surely won’t do any harm.”

Pipiera had indeed had her chance at an earthly tour more than several decades ago. It was brief, very brief. She had passed away at only a few weeks old. To have this chance, to be on a mission as a human for an entire summer—what an amazing opportunity! She scribbled furiously.

“Ride a bicycle.” A definite list item. Run into the watery waves that melt into the sandy shore. Yes! “Jump waves.” I wonder what it’s like to sit in a classroom. I bet much different from the hall of awareness in the Kingdom. I should visit a forest, talk to the trees, the flowers, the birds. “Forest walk.” That ought to be lovely. She sighed at her next thought. At last, long last, to spend time with my Earth-father. “Father.” Now that one was already on her mission list. In fact, there were many rules surrounding the expected time she would spend with Charles, what she could say and more about what she couldn’t reveal: notably, who she, herself, really was. Another rule. She got busy creating a long list of things she wanted to do, figuring the summer would not only fly by but would be so much fun. 

Pipiera kept coming back to Jophiel. “Best of all, I plan to tease the dickens out of you, in your little Joppha form! Now that is gonna be so amazing.” Her head fell backward, plopping into and displacing an assortment of crocheted pillows.

She remembered the first time she met him. Jophiel. A majestic height well over twice hers, at least; his powerful wingspan impressive beyond measure. Eyes like blue sapphire, and that crooked grin. She even loved the remembrance of his scolding and jabbing. And now, Jophiel had taken on the challenge, from Kingdom escort to the most treacherous of all: an earthly humankind tour. As much as Pipiera knew, Jophiel was the sole reason for her visit, an unsanctioned mission as it was. Curious and stubborn I bet he is, even as a youngster. She chuckled at the naming upon his earthly birth, Joppha, though the precarious scenario of the present triggered a sigh. They would cut his fate determination short unless she could change something. As to what that was, she hadn’t a clue; she believed she had all summer to figure that out. She had to admit to herself that her admiration for Jophiel was great. Otherwise, how could she possibly let herself be talked out of being present at her own mother’s arrival? Heaven forbid.

“Forgive me, Mother! But I promise, you will understand,” she whispered upward.

Joppha’s Gate

Joppha sat up tall, eager and anxious. His neck arched to see out the backseat window. The driver, his favorite babysitter and best uncle ever, pulled the old Impala toward the curb, angled in, and slid it back. The car ticked, clacked, then gave a huge, chugging exhaust. Joppha giggled. “Sounds like it farted.”

“Just for you, buddy,” Matthew chortled.

“Nice work, dude,” Emerson, also in the car, chimed in. He was truly impressed with his best friend’s parallel parking job.

Matthew smirked at Emerson and, while at it, looked back and winked at a wide-eyed Joppha.

“That’s it. That’s the bus station, Jopphie. The gate to the world.”

Joppha had never been out of Havensight in the entire six years of his life. The small camping tourist town was his entire world. His favorite outing was to the pebbly beach west of town, where, with the careful guidance of his parents, he would jump the waves. 

His fists pressed firmly into the ripped foam padding, his little arms straightened to hold him up so he could get a real good look. Mouth gaped open, he scanned the long, wide building and its centered, revolving doors, people coming and going carrying suitcases of all colors and sizes. He blinked a couple more times before returning the gaze that his ‘Uncle’ Matty cast upon him. “Can we go in?” he asked, with a voice an even higher pitch than normal. 

Given their age difference, Joppha’s father, Arnie Decker, insisted his son refer to Matthew as uncle. Since Joppha’s birth, Matthew had, in fact, become part of the family and using the uncle label provided a simpler reference than ‘your stepsister’s brother.’ Fewer questions.

“Like, look at everyone else. They’re just walkin’ in. No guard or anythin’.” Joppha exclaimed. It surprised him that there was nothing to stop all those people from entering. “Why ain’t there no gatekeeper?” he asked.

Emerson and Matthew caught each other’s eyes and shared some silent chuckles. It was just another ‘J.S.’—a Joppha saying, when he says something bizarre, yet sometimes perfectly logical. Though sometimes a handful, and sometimes his super-sensitive nature drove them around the bend, Joppha could always make the boys smile.

Emerson turned to face the backseat, where Joppha was fully absorbed with the goings-on. “Now, why would the bus station need a gatekeeper, Jopphie?”

Joppha mumbled a response, annoyed with the supposed near-grownups in the front seats of the car. “A new world should be clean,” he announced with a six-year-old sense of knowing.

Matthew smiled, “Right, buddy.” Matthew knew just how serious Joppha was about his own logic and respected the little guy’s infectious imagination. “So, uh, Jopphie. Is it safe for us to go in?”

Joppha pulled out a couple of plastic toy soldiers from his pocket. With one in each hand, it appeared a tête-à-tête was called for in order to decide. Joppha lifted his head and nodded. “Yeah, it’s okay, they’re gonna watch out for the enemy; we just gotta be careful.” He added a fierce whisper of caution, “Don’t think it’s a joke.”

Emerson cracked into a laughing rage and play-punched Matthew on his forearm, “Ooh, be careful, Matty, boogeyman’s gonna getcha.”

Joppha tucked the two soldiers in his pocket and crossed him arms. He didn’t like Emerson much.

“So, let’s go.” Lifting the mood, Matthew reached both arms over to tickle Joppha’s sides, shaking him into a roaring giggle. “You and Emerson get out here. I’ll boogie to the parking lot and meet you inside. Laura’s bus isn’t due for another fifteen, anyway.”

“Yeah, bud, we’ll sneak past the guards and check out the surroundings!” Emerson teased some more.

Joppha shook his head. You guys know nothin’. 

The threesome was there to pick up the woman Matthew often referred to as the love of his life—to be—one day: Miss Laura, Havensight’s summer school dance teacher, only child of longtime residents, Mr. and Mrs. Bing, admirer of Matthew since grade eleven, and now in the ten-percent club of Havensight’s population to be working on a university diploma. An unofficial club, of course, as no one ever really counted. Laura had completed the final exam of her first year just that morning and would at this very moment likely be rounding the bend following an arduous, five-hour, two-transfer tour home.

Emerson and Joppha headed toward the building. Joppha insisted on being alone in one of the revolving door wings. Waiting patiently, Emerson agreed and let three people with large suitcases pass through first.

“Okay, go now,” he urged Joppha.

It didn’t take much urging, though. Joppha jumped in, huge grin included. That is, until the door jammed for no apparent reason.

Panicked, Joppha glared back at Emerson, who was still outside. “I can’t breathe! There’s no air in here.” The palm of his hands flattened against the door, attempting to push the door back the way he came in. “Get me out, get me out.” His little fists pounded on the glass.

Emerson could see the redness literally rise from young Joppha’s neck up to the top of his head, till a blush was visible even through those boyish blonde curls. He did his best to stifle and cover up a laugh, but the more Joppha was terror-stricken, the more Emerson cracked up.

A high-pitched, airy sound caught the attention of Emerson and several bystanders, followed by an official-looking guy in a dark-blue suit, gold buttons and a cap. Pulling a whistle out of his mouth, he motioned for all to stand back as he forced the stuck door to release and revolve once again.

Once free of the door, Joppha took a run for it. Embarrassed, yes, but mostly angry at Emerson Damien. Some friend he is. I’m telling Uncle Matty. Like a captive escaping his captor, he ran.

It was a long, wide hall filled with rows of grey metal waiting room chairs, ticket counters, and big television monitors bolted up high. The super-shiny floor was slippery, but Joppha kept running. He passed crowds, bumped into people, even pushed some kids out of his way. 

Ducking inside a book retailer, Joppha dove behind a tall magazine rack, its looming shadow providing much-needed refuge. Emerson, you nincompoop, he silently accused his attacker, and he felt his heart thump like the beat of a trap drum. Fast. Bouncy. Repetitive.

A glimmer of light fell from the ceiling, spotlighting a magazine and grabbing the boy’s attention. The warm, inviting photo on the cover depicted a forest of odd yet strangely familiar super-tall trees with gnarly roots amidst a soft blanket of petite and colorful flowers. Each trunk and branch creatively ornamental, full of truly artful twists. All branches curved and wound inward toward each other, forming a canopy ceiling for a single happy picnicker sitting below it. Silver birds perched upon nearly every branch, camouflaged aside white flowering buds, their beaks tucked inside their wings as if they knew someone were watching, memorizing the view. Joppha was truly amazed. He had seen that place before, been there, he was sure of it. I know that place. I know it! He couldn’t read the headline, only a few words: heaven…back…testa-something. Joppha grabbed the magazine off the shelf, rolled it up and tucked it as best he could into his left suspender, then pulled his sweater vest over the top. He had never, ever taken anything that wasn’t his, but this was different. He needed to have that photo. It somehow made his very existence feel unconditionally safe. That need for an assured feeling had been festering and growing over the past six months. The battle his toy soldiers fought daily to protect him was never-ending. The enemy was no joke to Joppha.

The precious magazine would become to Joppha a hidden gem, a scroll he would guard as though his life depended on it. He looked around cautiously, as though the entire world—well, at least all the people in the bus station—would now be after him. “C’mon, let’s go,” he whispered to his precious package before slinking out of the store and farther on down the hall. He would find a new place to hide and keep away from Emerson till Uncle Matty would come and save him.

Joppha Goes MIA

Matthew arrived inside the bus terminal to find a panicked Emerson and no Joppha.

“It’s not my fault, I swear!” Emerson grabbed Matthew’s forearms and shook him silly. It was quite the greeting. “Ya gotta believe me.”

“Whattaya mean? Where’s Jopphie?” The swoosh of the revolving door behind him continued aggressively. It didn’t take Matthew more than a few seconds to realize Joppha had taken off, bolted. To hide and be alone somewhere. He often did that. Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have brought him. “You need all eyes on that kid; you know that, Em!” Matthew’s voice cracked. He had a bad feeling.

Joppha was super-smart, super-mature, and supersensitive. Moments like this took Matthew’s mind back to images of Emerson’s taunting in their high school days. He, himself, had endured the cruelty of being mocked by Emerson. In fact, ‘my worst enemy’ would have been how Matthew described him back then.

Emerson still liked to mock and make fun, and poking fun remained, to some degree, part of the friendship between the two. But Emerson could not seem to recognize that there is a time and place when these are not okay. Matthew knew instantly that this was the reason Joppha bolted again. It was becoming an annoying habit.

“You made sport of him again, didn’t you? You know the little guy is going through a rough time,” Matthew snapped while he struggled with an inability to think. Don’t panic. Stay calm.

Shifting his weight, Emerson pursed his lips, obviously thinking about what to say, what reasoning could make sense. He managed a mumbled response: “Sorry, bud. The little dude is, like, so touchy.” 

“C’mon,” Matthew grabbed his friend’s right forearm, almost lifting him off his feet. “Let’s go find him.”

Now technically young adults, Matthew and Emerson understood and accepted each other’s many quirks. Emerson lived with and kept his mother company—who, in Matthew’s view, was far too much in his face about everything.

Subconsciously, Matthew patted his front right jeans pocket before sprinting. It’s still there. The ring. What Laura would call a pre-engagement ring. It was all the rage these days: to snag a girl and reserve her as the one you’ll likely marry years later. Laura had been hinting when she left for university that she just might move to a bigger city, and that scared Matthew. This is not how my day was supposed to go. He was supposed to be securing his future, not chasing an emotionally charged kid around a busy bus depot.

“Which way did he go?” Matthew looked right and left and then right again. Long hallways in each direction. No sight of Joppha. “Jopphie, c’mon, where’d you go?” Matthew muttered aloud. Then he pointed to the terminal’s Information Desk, and the pair darted over. 

After sharing the news of a misplaced young boy and describing his height, hair color and clothing, the clerk urgently picked up a walkie-talkie to call security, though loud shouts down the hall caught everyone’s attention. A round, overweight man with arms waving hollered, “Stop that thieving kid.” A crowd of onlookers, although intrigued with the excitement, made no response to the repeated plea. In fact, travelers stepped aside to let the so-called thief—just a young boy—get by. Furious, the shopkeeper hollered even louder and pointed to the boy who had by now reached the furthermost exit, the gateway to the bus platform where only paid passengers could go. Once the boy could no longer be seen, the shopkeeper threw his upheld arms downward and let out an enormous and resigning, “Hummpfff, where’s security when you need ’em?” before returning to his racks of books and magazines.

The clerk, annoyed, put down the walkie-talkie, “That yer kid?”

“Jopphie?” No, Jopphie’s no thief. Confused, maybe. Overly sensitive, yeah. Too smart for his own britches, for sure. But thief? No way. The pieces didn’t add up.

This time it was Emerson who did the yanking. He wrapped Matthew’s left forearm with his own hands and pulled hard. “Out there. We need to get him. Before he gets on a bus or somethin’. C’mon, Matt.”

Emerson and Matthew rushed toward the gate, Emerson leading the way, till Matthew caught up to take charge. Both out of breath, they were stopped from entering. The heel of a burly man’s hand stretched out firmly to block them said it all.

“Nuh-uh. Need yer tickets.” The deep, monotonous voice of the large ticket collector suggested he was both stubborn and bored.

“No…you don’t…our boy…is in there.” Matthew managed between breaths while Emerson nodded, pointing toward the platform.

The ticket collector raised his eyebrows. Two boys—in his view not old enough to be parents—claiming their boy was somehow on the passenger platform, expecting him to simply let them by with no ticket?

He chuckled. “Now I’ve heard everything. Move aside.” He waved them off and proceeded to collect the tickets from other folks. As three buses were leaving in the next ten minutes, a considerable crowd was forming around the gate, approaching with a polite yet distinct form of pushiness, their offensively hefty suitcases in serious play.

“A boy, Joppha, I’m responsible for him—he just got through here, not even two minutes ago. We need to get him!” Matthew pleaded to whoever would listen.

“Call security,” the ticket collector yelped to the crowd’s satisfaction and nodded toward a pay phone across the hall.

“Aw, forget it,” Emerson announced loudly. Matthew caught his friend’s wink and stepped away as if to head toward the pay phone as directed. Desperate to get through the crowds and over the turnstile, their boyish play, instinctive to both, was in action.

Emerson whipped around and crouched over, grabbing his intestines and forcing some hurling motions. A definite crowd disperser, and it worked.

Perfect. 

Matthew had only seconds for his part, but mere seconds were all he needed. He had an open space thanks to Emerson’s intense distraction, and he had a target: a twenty-nine-inch, three-pronged turnstile. He readied himself, a tiny grin emerging thanks to the challenge and the adrenaline. A swift step one, then a second on his toes, he dug low into his heel and swung his arms from behind to a front block for a vertical jump. The transfer of energy took him up and over the turnstile to reach his goal: the other side, the bus platform. He scrambled up and off quickly to begin his search for Joppha. Truly, the boy couldn’t have gone far.

When the ticket collector grabbed Emerson’s forearm, Emerson smirked and reveled in sarcasm. “Maybe you should call security.”