Page 13 - Archangel

In a heartbeat, the three were quickly moving away amidst the maples
and mist. Watching them depart, MacIain realized that, like the brandish
of a Claymore sword, the Collins had challenged Skye to help find who
killed their brother, and to empower his murder. The last act of Sean
Michael Collins, M.D. had been protecting a young Tutsi girl with his
body from machete blows, if but for a few brave and bloody moments.
He perished as a dedicated physician and humanitarian aid worker who
sacrificed himself for those in need. His only sin was caring and advocating
for a few of the world’s poor regardless of their tribe–and the bastards who
murdered him were still walking the earth.

birth of an unlikely archangel

Pausing as his brothers scanned and confirmed that no one else
witnessed the graveyard drama and diatribe, the departing Rory spoke
over his shoulder in a voice so similar to Sean’s that Skye shuddered, “Go
bhfeicfidh me’ aris” [Until we meet again]. Staring toward the advancing
policemen, MacIain froze as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a sliver of
paper float inexplicably from his own raincoat pocket to the ground and
perilously close to the grave.
Beyond comprehension, MacIain bent down and saw his own hand
reaching toward the message and into the future of an archangel from
which there may be no return. Standing, he read, “Highlander, what our
Sean called you, no? I beg you for your help, with my pledge of assistance
in any cause you choose until my death. In secrecy for as long as you live.
For Sean and his ‘do gooder’ friend to make a difference in the lives of
the poor you two would have made in his living – above and beyond my
brother’s grave. This cannot be my Sean’s end. Int cell 555010133453365.”
By the time MacIain looked up, the Collins’ path through the fog had
closed behind them like the Gates of Hell. They had vanished, and nothing
would ever be the same.
The bagpipes started playing ‘Flowers of the Forest.’ Fitting, as this was
how both traditional Scots and Irish lamented, in their ancient tongue and
tune, the loss of those they loved ‘on both sides the Tweed.’
A pair of Gardai policemen suddenly came running past the gravesite,
and paused in earshot of the nearby procession of attendees of the funeral
party. Realizing his life may have changed forever, MacIain’s new reality
was foretold when the junior officer quipped, “I swear, but those three

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