Rebirth

“I chose life,” Jean-Paul said.

The three martyrs backed away as the robed man and women came forward. The man smiled as the woman bowed back and stopped a few paces away. The man reached out and grabbed the miniature head of Azrael and smiled towards Jean-Paul before pulling the head off of Jean-Paul’s shoulder. To his horror, as the man pulled on the head, more of the miniature monstrosity was pulled out of Jean-Paul’s shoulder… In all a foot and half long macabre Muppet parody of a demon. It flailed and thrashed in the man’s hand until it was held above his head and then it stopped moving and disintegrated into dust.

“And thus the man made demon is destroyed, and the child of THE LORD is free of it’s evil,” the man spoke in what sounded to be every langue that Jean-Paul knew and many more he didn’t.

The other angel, for what else could they be came forward. She was pretty, a pale completion with platinum blonde hair and striking silver eyes.

“You may think of her as my daughter, for she is one of the angels of healing within my choir,” the man spoke.

“Saint Rapheal, the Archangel of healing,” Jean-Paul gasped and tried to kneel but was unable to move.

“Be still child,” Rapheal said with a warm tone, “You are still bound in a destroyed body. I will merge you to my daughter, the Angelic and the Mortal together in a perfect blend. When you awaken, you shall be remembered as the sister of the mortal man you once were. The body you had will be remade into a new image, to match your new blended soul.”

“Don’t worry, I am adding the needed memories of how to be a biological woman in the modern world,” Sarah said, “And we will be there to help you along the way.”

Jean-Paul looked at the three martyred women and smiled. He then turned to the radiant angel before him.

“So what now?” Jean-Paul asked.

“Hold still,” the angel smiled as she hugged him in a loving embrace that made him feel warm and tingly.

The closest that Jean-Paul’s mortal mind could make of the feeling was that he was in an MRI machine. Rapheal reached around the pair and hugged them. The room illuminated into a blinding brilliant light again.

*

Steve was a mess, he had watched the armored vigilante entered the underground facility beyond the Haunted Mini-Mart and the explosion that had imploded it. He had even been hit with a slab of rooting flesh that once one a person. It had triggered his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and he was having flash backs to his time escorting the UN war crimes inspectors to the Mass Graves across Iraq in the wake of the early 90’s Gulf War and 80’s Iran/Iraq war. The horrors came back to him and he laid curled in a ball screaming in horror.

The figure stood up from the ruined corpse of Jean-Paul Valley. At first it was simply a luminous brain and heart, but as it turned as started towards the caved in entrance, the body took form, a skeleton of a slim woman, platinum lights forming into blood vesels and lymphaic systems. Muscles, ligaments, cartilage and fat formed around the bones and circulatory system. Flawless pale skin formed on top of the perfectly feminine body. Platinum Blonde hair started to grow from her scalp and eyebrows. As the female form walked passing throw the solid rocks, metal and concrete of the caved-in entrance, a sleek black catsuit formed around her body, covered in armored plates and small metal rings, a black tabard, and a hooded cloak.

Steve watched in horror as the black and silver figure emerged from the flaming rubble that had been the entrance as if she was a ghost that just passed throw solid mass. He heard the gasp of breath. The woman’s figure then turned and looked right at him. Steven started to try to recoil back as the figure strutted towards him. There was something hypnotic and beautiful about the armored figure as she approached. Steve found himself pressed against the wall of the abandoned convenance store and the dumpster as the figure strode up to them and kneeled in front of him. The figure reached out and put her leather gloved palm on Steve’s head. He was thrashing in panic and abject terror at this point.

“Bless you child of God, may you be healed of your wounds internal and external…” the angelic voice sang as she brushed Steve’s dirty hair out of the way.

A tingling spread from his scalp across his head and down his body as his terror and pain faded and a new clarity replaced it.

“What did you see?” the woman’s voice asked.

Steve looked up at the figure, her face was a mask of an angelic woman made of steel or some other such metal.

“The killer angel guy, the vigilante went in, and then the place blew up… then it gets hazy…” Steve admitted.

The woman reached behind her and pulled out a small flashlight and shined it in his eyes. Steve remembered his military training and the checks for head injuries.

“I think you hit your head,” the woman said, “If my brother went in there then he has returned to heaven. I can not stay. Tell the police what you have seen.”

“Who are you?” Steve asked.

“And Angel of Mercy,” the woman said as she stood up.

*

The cab driver hadn’t heard of many fairs going out to this location, they all knew the place, but more often if someone was coming here, they didn’t take a taxi. He had heard all sort of stories about this particular man having all sorts of pretty young ladies on his arms for various events, so he shouldn’t have been surprised at the beauty of the young woman in the seat behind him. She was a looker with her six-inch heels she stood at six foot six, with fair skin, platinum blonde hair in a bun, perfect makeup and elegant black dress, boots and trench coat.

“I am going to a funeral,” the woman said as if reading the man’s mind, “My brother was a private man, but his employer felt hosting his funeral was the least he could do for a good man that died at work.”

“My condolences,” the cab driver said.

He kept his mind on the drive for the rest of the way and was sure to open the door for her at the gate. The woman smiled and hand him a wad of cash, way more than the cost of the fare, but she didn’t stop as she walked up to the gate with a graceful stride.

“I am here for the funeral of Jean-Paul Valley, my brother,” the woman announced with a hit of French accent coming out as she said the name.

The cab driver looked for a second before the gates opened. He scratched his head, as the woman started walking towards the mansion.

*

Bruce stood in the middle of the front hall, to his left were Richard, Tim, Dameon, and Jason and to his left was Barbara, Stephanie and Cassandra. Alfred stood by the door.

“We look like we are in a Mafia Movie,” Jason said looking into a mirror on the wall of the lined up Batfamily.

Alfred cleared his throat and then opened the door. The tall blonde woman stepped in with an angelic grace.

“Mister Wayne,” the Woman said to Bruce before turning to Alfred, “And you must be Mister Pennyworth.”

“May I take your coat Miss?” Alfred said.

“Thank you,” the woman said taking off the black trench coat and handing over the purse she had on under the trench coat.

“And you have us at a disadvantage,” Bruce said.

“My name is Emma Stephanie Valley,” the blonde woman said, “I am the sister of Jean-Paul Valley. I am here to pay my respects; I understand you are executing his will on his behalf.”

“He didn’t leave much of a will, but I am ensuring he is having a proper Catholic funeral Miss Valley,” Bruce said.

A side door opened and out came a woman in a black dress with long black hair.

“Alright, that is now set,” the woman said walking over to Bruce Wayne, “Who is the Amazon?”

Emma recognized Selina Kyle, Aka Catwoman from her past life as Jean-Paul.

“This is Miss Valley,” Bruce said, “Mister Valley’s sister…”

Selina stepped forward from the group and walked to Emma and took her by the hand.

[My condolences on your loss dear,] Selina said in Parisian French, [I won’t pretend that I was a friend of his, but I can only imagine your grief at his passing.]

[Thank you,] Emma said with a slight Onterio accent.

Selina offered her arm and Emma-Stephanie took it. Selina escorted her to the line up.

“This of course is Mister Bruce Wayne, and these are his sons; Dick, Tim, Dameon, and Jason and their lady friends, Barbara, Stephanie and Cassandra,” Selina introduced the line ups.

Each nodded in turn to their names being said.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Father Murphy,” Alfred announced as he opened the door.

Bruce smiled and nodded, and stepped forward to shake the priest’s hand.

“Mister Wayne,” the priest stated.

“Father Murphy, thank you. I can’t express how much this would mean for mister Valley,” Bruce said, “We have a member of Mister Valley’s family here.”

“Oh, is that so?” Father Murphy said as he was led towards the line of black clad people.

“This is Miss Emma Stephanie Valley,” Selina introduced the tall blonde, “The deceased man’s sister.”

“My condolences Miss,” Father Murphy reached out to shake her hand.

Emma took the priest’s hand and smiled gratefully.

“Our relationship was complicated and strained,” Emma said with a real note of sadness in her voice.

“I see,” Father Murphy said before whispering what Emma recognized to be a prayer for the grieving in Ecclesiastical Latin.

“These are my sons who will serve as pallbearers. Richard, Timothy, Jason, Daemon, Cassandra and myself.,” Bruce pointed at the young men and the one lady.

“So nice of you all to volunteer,” Father Murphy smiled.

The men all looked away, except for Jason.

“I volunteered, they were voluntold,” Jason quipped.

“Ah,” The father turned to the ladies.

“My friend Miss Kyle, Mister Grayson’s friend Miss Gordon, and Mister Drake’s friend Miss Brown,” Bruce introduced the ladies.

“We will be playing the role of the grieving women since the boys have to be stoic,” Stephanie smiled.

“Of course ladies,” the Father said, “Where is the body?”

“This way Father,” Alfred said opening the door to a study.

The Priest led the procession to the casket where the remains of Jean-Paul Valley were encased. Emma somehow knew that the body of Jean-Paul was in the black lacquered casket and had been treated respectfully. The priest came to the head and leaned down and opened it slightly looking in.

“Yes, a closed casket,” Father Murphy muttered.

Emma listened as the priest quietly and quickly recited the last rights to the body. The Priest then ensured the casket was closed and sealed. The group took places around the casket and the Alfred escorted Emma to the seats to the left of the casket. The Priest said the mass of the funeral rites and then Alfred opened the door to the outside and Bruce and company picked up the casket and marched to the small gated graveyard some distance from the manor with many of the older members of the Wayne Family. A plot had been dug for Jean-Paul’s remains. Emma watched as six lowered the casket to the ground near the hole and Dick and Jason ensured that Cassandra didn’t back up into the hole and made her way clear of the hole so they could stand next to Bruce, Daemon and Tim.

The Priest started the burial rites as the group stood in silence.

Despite being a reincarnation of Jean-Paul himself, Emma found herself crying at his burial. Barbara and Selina patted her shoulders and hugged her. Once the priest finished, he signaled and the six moved to both sides again and picked up the three strips and moved the casket over the hole and lowered the body into the ground.

Alfred led Father Murphy, Selina, Barbara, Stephanie and Cassandra back to the mansion. Bruce called for the boys to stand with him off to the side in respect. Emma was left by herself with the body of Jean-Paul. She didn’t know what to say, so she silently prayed to not fall for the same mistakes that had killed Jean-Paul. Emma turned to leave and found the boy Daemon waiting at the gate to small grave yard.

“Father said you should not walk alone,” Daemon said.

Daemon held out his arm for her to take so he could escort her to the Mansion. As the pair went off, Emma looked back and saw Jason going to a small backhoe tractor near the small grave yard. Bruce and the other two started shoveling dirt onto the casket.

“Why does Jason get to use the backhoe?” Tim asked.

“Because I already died once,” Jason said from the seat of the machine.

*

Emma had been served tea and after letting them know that she knew all about Azrael, the demon that make Jean-Paul into a vigilante, they started telling stories about him. They were all careful to not let on that they were members of the Batfamily. Everyone Except Selina who freely admitted that she was Catwoman.

“OH please, this is Gotham,” Selina purred, “It takes a lot more than a short skirt and surgical enhancements to impress someone like Bruce.”

Emma understood what she was saying without the hand gestures of cupping her D-cups.

“So I am trying to get into the security panel of an art museum and I hear a thud behind me,” Selina told her story, “Now I can tell this is more than the Bat, or any of the other vigilantes running around Gotham at that point, so I say hi by calling out; ‘Hay stud, you going to say hi or just enjoy the view?’ So I get this overly deep ‘You will face justice criminal!’ so I stop what I am doing turn around and smile. ‘Damn, I bet that line makes all the panties hit the floor!’ I swear helmet or no helmet, I could see the rage meter just shot up and if he was a cartoon steam would be shooting out his ears.”

“Azrael didn’t have anything resembling a sense of humor,” Emma admitted.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Selina said, “Jean-Paul might have been a nice guy, but that Azrael, I have met actual demons that are more polite and conversational than him.”

“An actual demon?” Emma asked.

“Yeah, at my level, when I get caught, I have to make amends by stealing the self destruct codes for some dooms day weapon or something else for people in tights…” Selina said, “And while I am wasting a Saturday Night I could be teasing Bruce or the local Bat population I have to listen to a member of the Justice League selling me on reforming and serving justice… But on occasion I get sent with Etrigan, this demon that got bound to one of King Arthur’s knights to serve as an agent of justice. Despite his fetish for saying everything in iambic-pentameter, he is actually a cool guy to talk to while pulling a job.”

“What did this demon think of Azreal and Jean-Paul?” Emma asked.

“He thought that Jean-Paul was fine, but Azreal was a dick and not even a real angel or demon,” Selina said, “He stopped short of saying that he would like to hang out with your brother if he got a divorce from Azreal… you know the Demon thing and how religious your brother was.”

“Everyone in my family is very religious,” Emma said, “But I understand how ‘hanging out with a demon’ would be rather much for Jean-Paul, Azrael or no Azrael.”

“And the deed is done,” Jason announced as he calmly walked into the sitting room.

“Says the man who use the machine,” Tim eyed the man with the white streak in his black hair.

“And that’s how I did most of the work,” Jason said, “Alfred do we have any Iced Tea?”

“Here you are Master Jason,” Alfred said producing a tall glass of iced tea.

“Here you go Timmy,” Jason handed the glass to Tim.

“Alfred can I have a shot of Jägermeister?” Jason said.

“Not at a funeral Master Jason,” Alfred scowled.

“Right, two whiskey neats, one for the angels,” Jason said walking past the butler.

“I don’t think that Azrael would like that,” Emma said.

“It isn’t for him…” Jason smiled, “No offense to your brother, but I never bought into the idea that he was the host to an angel. As far as I could tell, Azrael was a psychological demon shoved up his…”

“Your Drinks master Jason,” Alfred interrupted Jason.

“Thank you Alfred,” Jason took the two glasses and placed on by a picture of Jean-Paul, “Where was I? Yes. Shoved right up his brain. Who and where ever you are, get drunk and go up with his soul.”

“Trying to bribe the angels mister Jason?” Emma asked with some amusement.

“Bribe, no… Call it a prayer of the sinners, I never had much formal religious education before Bruce took me in,” Jason said, “All of the prayers I learned were somewhat skewed.”

“Jason can be rough around the edges,” Bruce said taking a glass of Iced Tea from Alfred, “But he means well. Please forgive him if he comes off as abrasive.”

“I have always been of the opinion that it isn’t repeating a formal prayer, but praying from the heart that maters Mister Wayne,” the angelic side of Emma said, “And Jason, I agree, to Jean-Paul, Azrael was a demon blight, not an angel. He was never meant to be a killer, but… he was stripped of that path by the Order of Saint Dumas, and condemned by Azrael’s manipulations of him.”

“I agree,” Dick said, “I could see Jean-Paul making medical devices.”

Tim took a seat next to Stephanie. Stephanie checked his forehead.

“What happened?” Stephanie asked.

“Tried breaking a rock with the shovel,” Tim muttered.

Emma saw the bruising on the forehead of the young man who now sat across from her.

“Mister Wayne, I am new in town and don’t have much in the way of money,” Emma said.

“Don’t concern yourself,” Bruce said, “You are welcome to visit the grave at any time. Had I known Jean-Paul had living relatives, I would have had him buried in the City Cemetery.”

“It is for the best that he is here,” Emma said, “And I was thinking it would be better if I worked for you to repay Gotham for the damages Jean-Paul caused as Azrael.”

“Miss Valley…” Bruce started.

“Please stay still Timothy,” Emma said reaching out.

There was the faint glow of light where Emma touched the bruise on Tim’s forehead and when she removed her hand, the forming bruise was gone.

“I am primarily a healer Mister Wayne, but I am more than capable of defending the innocent,” Emma said, “But I think this conversation would better be continued at another time in different garb, say the roof of the Cathedral at midnight? Now if you will all excuse me…”

“Alfred, give the lady a ride home,” Bruce said… “Midnight.”

*

The Brown Stone of Michael Washington Lane

Detective Lane finished shaving as he got ready for the night shift.

“Damn, Will Smith wishes he was a handsome as me,” Michael smiled in the mirror.

Just then his phone went off. It was a number that seemed oddly familiar but he couldn’t place for some reason. He was compelled to answer it.

“Hello, what? I don’t speak French,” Michael said when he heard the Bonjure from the other end.

[Esmerelda has murdered Frollo] the voice said in French.

[Then Esmerelda will pay with her soul and Quismodo will be punished for failing the living saint,] Michael said as his eyes glazed over.

[Your first target is the Bat himself.]

[Yes Bishop,] Michael confirmed before the phone call ended.

He then started to place another call as he punched himself in the gut causing him to cough violently.

“Sergeant, this is Detective Lane, I need to callout… I will be heading to the urgent care clinic…” Lane said while coughing.

Lane hung up the phone and proceeded to the hidden closet space that his waking mind didn’t know about.

*

Emma pulled on the form fitting catsuit and adjusted her ‘girls’ before zipping up the shoulder mounted zippers. She then smoothed the zipper covers over them and looked at herself in the mirror. Emma pulled the hood over her head and smoothed it around her neck before anything else. Emma pulled on the socks and then the lug heeled leather thigh boots and buckled them to the thighs of the catsuit. She then grabbed the armored chainmail chaps and secured them over her legs and boots. Emma then picked up the armored shirt and pulled it on smoothing it out so it covered the upper parts of her thighs. Next was the mail cowl, the plate greives, the plate thigh pieces, the breast and black plates, the plackart, the fauld and tassets, the rembrances and elbow cups, the pauldrons, the gorget, her helmet, the tablart, cloak, utility belt, gloves, vambraces and helmet. Emma stopped for a second to see the angelic face of the Angel of healing within her made of divine armored silver. She pulled the hood of the cloak over her head and took off into the night…