Chapter One
[A Message From the Heaven's]
The rain fell more steadily now, heavier than it had been coming down when she left the bar an hour ago, reducing the reach of her headlights. The night was nothing but an endless, devouring tunnel. The sky seemed too low, the trees hunched over in attempt to engulf the road. Alessia Stalin's imagination ran amuck with images of maniac's leaping out in front of her and cars suddenly looming in the rearview mirror.
Perhaps it was just the alcohol's effect, or perhaps it was simply because she had not had a very good day. Perhaps, both. Whatever it was- she wasn't feeling all herself, as her grip on the steering wheel of her car tightened cautiously. Headlight's came up behind her, glinting in her mirror like a shimmering diamond, and her breath stopped short. The car seemed on her tail, and as she took a quick look over her shoulder, she couldn't place a face or even a gender to the driver. The car slowly swept alongside her, and her panic doubled. Nevertheless, it soon sailed past, taillight's glowing in the gloom, and relief swept over her like cold water. Everyone at work was right; maybe she was too damn cautious for her own good. She hit her blinker, and pulled into her Duplex driveway.
She had her key tightly gripped in one hand as she went up the steps to the front door, ready to unlock the door quickly or use the key as a very weak weapon in case someone jumped out from behind the lilac bush struggling to live beside her stoop.
A lamp burned in the living room, giving the false impression someone was home all evening. After locking the door, she hung up her denim jacket on the coat rack, grabbed a towel from the bathroom to dab at her rain soaked platinum locks, and moved through the house turning on several lights. She was careful not to emerge herself fully into a room until the light was on, and she could see. She checked the spare bedroom, the bathroom, and her bedroom; which was located at the end of the narrow hall. Nothing had been disturbed, and no monsters were hiding under the bed or in the closet. A can of hairspray rested on the nightstand, and could be used like Mace if someone broke in during the night.
With the knowledge of her own safety, she let fatigue settle in. Too many nights without sleep had worn her down, as she had hassled with intense cases over the last two-week period. Her supervisor had told her, insisted, that she go home and take a week or so off. But, as soon as she was willing to except, another case came flying through the door.
Slowly she brushed her teeth, took of her jeans, and climbed into bed with the T-shirt she'd worn all day. I'M WITH STUPID, it read, and an arrow pointed to the empty space in the bed beside her. She was with no one.
Until 3:34 am.
Alessia Stalin woke up with a start, as she heard a low rumbling noise coming from the foot of her bed. It started out rhythmic and slow, but adjusted to a loud rocking sensation that moved her mattress set with tremendous force. Quickly, she sat up in bed, throwing the covers off her. Clad in nothing but a long T-shirt she found herself shaking with fear, only to pause in awe as a voice rang out loudly.
"Behold The Metatron, Herald of the Almighty, and Voice of the one true God."
Suddenly, in the exact place the voice seemed to be creeping from, a large cloud of flame shot up through the air. It flickered wildly, a brilliant spectacle of red, orange, and yellow, swallowing each other up repeatedly. Licking wildly in the air, wavering as if a mighty gust of wind wouldn't even exalt it.
Alessia screamed shrilly, and found herself backing up against the headboard in a struggling fashion, her feet not moving in accordance with her brain. Again, the voice rang out loudly.
"Behold The Metatron, Herald of the Almighty, and Voice of the one true God."
Not knowing what else to do, and in a rush of sheer stupidity; she grabbed a hold of the hairspray, covered her eye's with a soft hand, and held it in front of her...ready to do, well, whatever it was she planned to do.
Slowly, the voice faded away as did the fire; although she only knew this by instinct for her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Hairspray can still held out in front of her. Seeing nothing but darkness through her closed eyelid's she listened as a faint chuckling sound was heard, followed by the voice again: seemingly softer and gentler than before.
"Oh, bloody hell, would you put down the hairspray and open your eye's?" The voice laughed. Alessia could tell it belonged to a male, with English decent as well. It was thick, and regal. Slightly hoarse at time's, but nonetheless filled with infinite grace, "What do you intend to do, 'Less? Give me a bad hair day? For Heaven's sakes...open your goddamned eye's!" The voice insisted, and Alessia did as she was told.
Slowly, her crystal blue eye's opened, although she never left her huddled position at the head of the bed. Standing about a foot away from her mattress' end was a man. Clad in a grey sweatshirt, with a stylish black suite blazer thrown over, and a pair of trousers as dark as the night. Shining leather Oxford's finished off the look to give him the superior standard of gleaming regality. He stood about 5'8, dark hair of deep chocolate ruffled and unkempt, but in a fashionably handsome sort of way. His face creased in places like leather, but in a defined and distinguished manner, that showed his age beautifully. Eyes of hazel, bearing down onto her menacingly. For a man who appeared to be in his fifty's he looked well, and Alessia soon found herself smirking in spite of her thoughts.
"Are you going to speak? Or are you just going to sit there?" He questioned bluntly, rolling his eyes in her direction, "Alright. So you've taken option two." He concluded, crossing his arms against his chest, as he tapped a foot impatiently on the ground. Raising his left wrist, he pulled back his sleeve with his other hand, and watched the silver second hand of his watch tick rapidly.
"We don't have all bloody day, say something, would you?" He snapped, his upper lip curling slightly.
"Who the fuck are you?" Alessia muttered, jaw slightly dropped as she watched him intently.
"Did you not listen to anything I said?" He grumbled, pursing his lips together, and huffing haughtily.
"It was kind of distracting," Alessia spat back, her eye's glaring at him, wondering what was to come of her. She loosened her grip on the Hairspray bottle, but found herself huddling even further up against the headboard, "Between the flames appearing out of nowhere and all...Oh, and the voice seemingly coming from the fucking heaven's!"
However, she was interrupted as the man drawled lazily, "I am The Metatron, Herald of the Almighty, and Voice of the one true God." His right hand lolled about dramatically as he spoke, showing his mock interest in repeating his words.
Alessia snorted, but remained in fear, "You expect me to believe you're some sort of...well, whatever you are?" She looked him up and down, closing her eye's momentarily, hopping they would act like shades; blocking the image from her mind. Making it dis-appear, making it all an illusion. That's right, it was all an illusion.
"And how do you know my fucking name?" She snapped irritably.
"I told you, Alessia," He snapped back loudly, his voice filled with frustration, "I am The Metatron, Herald of the Almighty, and Voice of the one true God. You may call me, Metatron."
Alessia just sat there, blankly, shaking her head in apology to him, "Okay. You're a Metatron. As in, an angel?"
Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, and from his shoulder blades appeared two pearly white wings. Growing at a fast rate, they expanded to be the enormous, as well as excruciatingly majestic. Feathers like that of a finely kept eagle, emblazoned with small threads of sparkling silver and gold. Flapping them once or twice, he snapped his fingers once more and they dis-appeared into his back, leaving no trace of evidence, "We know everything."
Alessia had watched the entire display with a growing sense of hysteric. Standing in front of her was no modern day magician. He was an Angel. A real as hell Angel! Clasping a hand over her mouth, Alessia grew pale, feeling the tequila rising in her gut, a warming sensation surging through her esophagus. Rising quickly, "Oh my God, I think I'm going to be sick." She mumbled in between coughing gags as she wrestled the satin covers away from her feet and jumped from the bed.
"Don't use the Lord's name in vain...he hate's that!" Metatron called silkily as he watched the woman hurry from her sleeping quarters, and dart down the hallway into the nearest bathroom. The door slammed behind her, and second's later a deep coughing sound could be heard, followed by the noise of running and flushing water. Smirking Metatron took a seat at the edge of her bed, wondering if she realized how much was exposed when you darted down the hallway in a thigh length t-shirt. Well, if he was going to have to go through with another stupid mission, at least this one seemed to be somewhat promising.
She returned minute's later, slightly shaky, and stumbled into her room. After she had disposed of her six or so drinks, as well as her dinner, brushed her teeth, and splashed excessive amounts of cold water onto her creamy complexion she had decided to walk right in there and go back to bed. By now, he'd be gone. It'd have all be some horrid dream, and she would wake up in the morning to find she was delusional due to excessive amounts of stress and under-eating. Unfortunately, the so-called "Metatron" had not left. Instead, when she swung open the oaken door to her bedroom, he was sitting cross-legged on the edge of her bed. Sighing, she raised a hand and ran it through her golden locks, her blue eye's finally adjusting to the truth. As she entered, he turned to her and smirked in a witty manner, "Feeling better? You know, I would expect you would, after spending nearly thirty minutes doing God-knows-what in front of the vanity mirror... "
Deciding to ignore the comment altogether she sat herself down beside him, and questioned softly, "You're an angel?" She furrowed her brow, and tilted her head to the side, as if examining him.
Metatron nodded, and repeated slowly, "I'm an angel. Actually, I'm The Metatron, but if it helps you can-"
"And how do I know that it's true?"
"What, you mean aside from the fiery entrance and expansive wing-span? Oh, I dunno..." Metatron drawled coldly, giving her a look of deep disgust, "You either choose to believe, or you don't." A shrug escaped him.
"I don't believe in a lot of thing's these days," said Alessia softly, biting her lower lip in anxiety, a security habit she had picked up long ago, "Especially not anything related even mildly with Heaven."
"So I've heard." Metatron stated in a tone neither caring yet harsh, his hazel eye's floating to her face. He had to admit, for a mortal, she was astoundingly precious.
"What do you mean? Heard from where?" Alessia asked, moving herself closer to him, as if it would give her better results in an answer. Instead, she only resulted in feeling an odd sensation welling at the mid of her navel. A soft tingle, a welcomed surge of happiness.
"Well, it was just this afternoon when you said, and I quote; 'I need four tequila's and a goddamned guardian angel.' So, I take it you had your four tequila's, and I'm your goddamned guardian angel. Savvy?" The Metatron quirked an eyebrow, and chortled, apparently mildly amused by the entire situation.
Alessia just flushed a shade of crimson, "Ya. I did say that, didn't I?"
"It's all recorded, up in Heaven, I mean," Metatron added matter-of-factly, "Probably in Hell too. But that's not the issue at the moment, is it?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Alessia yawned loudly, rubbing her eyes of sleep, "What IS the issue?"
"The issue is your faith."
"Okay. This is just too odd." The female snorted, "I must be really drunk." Alessia rolled he eye's and found herself giggling un-controllably. The laughter erupting from her throat like warm apple cider, tickling all her senses and releasing the tension of the situation at hand. Soon, she had flopped backwards onto the mattress, and found him doing the same. They both lay, staring at the ceiling, hands folded across their chests. However, the conversation did not stop, as she had many a things to say. Drunk or not, she was completely confused.
"My faith?" She quirked an eyebrow hostilely, trying to make sense of the entire dilemma, "What's wrong with my faith?"
"Everything." Stated the Metatron bluntly, "Everything that possibly could be wrong. Or, so God thinks."
"God know's me?" Alessia's eyes shot wide open, as she turned her head to her right, to look at him.
There was an odd silence as Metatron raised a hand to his eyes, and covered them momentarily, before sighing and shaking his head in pure disgust of the female.
Alessia felt herself getting warm, and blushed profusely, "Okay, I get it. Stupid question."
A/N: I'm sorry it's taking so long to get into the actual story. I just thought you people might need some background information. After all, I want this fic to be enjoyed by all. Not just the "Dogma" fans. Therefore, I need to introduce everything. Well. I promise next chapter is the best yet. –drum roll- Of course, we meet Jay and Silent Bob...oh, and is there a little mortal crush forming between The Metatron and his apprentice? –knowing look- Read and find out...-nods-