Summer is a time that promises relaxation and sunlight, and then grants only a fiery death by humidity and mosquitos. The cycle change had brought the cycling Earth from October to May, and now in July I was in constant suffering.

Ria and I stayed in the orphanage, now accompanied by the old matron Ms. Robles, an old woman who I knew would die in seventeen years, just as she had done two years ago, when I had first arrived in this orphanage. I had made peace with her sudden death. I didn't like seeing her walk around again.

I had told Ms. Robles that Ria was an orphan, and I was her older brother. She had taken us in on this alone, despite our ages and lack of resemblance. She was a kind woman. I wish this didn't feel so much like elder abuse though.

The orphanage didn't have air conditioning, and I had taken to traveling over to the non-cycling Earth- which was currently in March- most days. There was a portal in our basement, as the fallen angels had cheerfully informed me. Seems they all had been dragged through there with their fall.

I had been warned the moment I stepped through the doors of the orphanage not to enter the supposedly poisonous basement. I'm not sure what was supposed to kill me down there. The realization of this lie struck me oddly- did Ms. Robles know about Heaven and Hell?

My new life was not much of anything. Hornbrook was a quiet town, a little short on population. I read books, I guess. I spent hours a day laying on my bed and staring at my blankets as the ceiling fan gently circled above me.

Ria was off worse than me, equally bored but more susceptible to grief. I didn't know what to say to her. I had saved her, and I didn't regret it. But we never had known each other too well. I came into her life two years ago, suddenly, just in time for her caregiver to die. Though she told me she used to have parents, a mother and father who lived with her in this house and would someday return, I was all she and Adeline had left.

It was hard at first, but we got used to it. And then I died right as we had begun to settle.

I don't know how much this uncommon life had hurt Ria. The shock of a new reality, and another unexpected death, was something I did not know how to alleviate. I figured she got on okay. We'd sometimes talk, and she seemed fine.

In town, sometimes I'd run into fallen angels, and sometimes I'd hang with them. Their exclusive bar, Purgatory Café, was the only place I heard information from Hell- though few of the fallen really gave a fuck, one or two of them kept me up to date.

One angel, the only non-fallen allowed in the place, acted as a courier. His name was Dohniel, and like most things involved with Hell, I had never been told the precise history of why he was here.

About two months after I had stormed out of Hell, I was walking the long hot trek back into Hornbrook after spending the day in the library of Deerfield. As I crossed the road that led to the Purgatory Cafe, I noticed someone standing in the shade.

As I approached, I realized it was Dohniel. He started frantically waving as I looked at him.

"Blake!" He called, "I have been waiting for you."

"So I see."

"I have just returned from Hell. There's been much talk of you." He stopped talking to smile and nod for a few seconds. It was one of those creepy things angels did. "I keep getting called by the leaders there. 'Go get Blake!' they tell me, 'we need Blake!' I always say no, but this time, they were particularly desperate. Michael spoke to me."

He stared at me, waiting for a response to this particularly exhilarating piece of news. "That's good." I said, giving a reassuring nod.

"God yes, it really is. I haven't seen him in so long Blake- for any Michaelian like myself, it's been like getting strangled. Anyway. Michael's asking for you. He said he needs you for something, something you're good at."

"What?"

"He just said it was something you're good. Or really, he said it was the only thing you're good for, but I was trying to avoid telling you that."

"Any idea what he wants?"

"No. Michael's been keeping out of the public eye for a while now, so it must be something pretty personal."

"Ah. Well, tell him the usual."

"Naturally. Do not doubt my ability to continuously tell other people to leave you alone. I just thought I'd wait out for you this time since, you know, Michael was the one trying to get a hold of you."

"If anyone wants to get a hold of me, they're going to have to find me themselves." I started to continue on my way, figuring it had been a good way to end the conversation, but Dohniel continued walking with me.

"Want to grab a drink? I have a lot of politics to dish out."

"Don't you have anyone else to talk hell politics with?"

"No." Dohniel's smile faltered.

"Right. Okay. Let's go." I felt bad for him. I didn't really like Purgatory; the fallen angels were rowdy and rude to me. But I had a feeling they acted similarly to Dohniel, who despite living there for many years, was still an outsider.

The bar was crowded, as always. It was a small room anyway, most of the space filled with square tables. One one side was a tall bar, and half the room was a stage. Above the bar, and in the back, were numerous small rooms where most of the fallen angels bunked together.

There was no such thing as a private table if you didn't have a friend group of ten. We sat with a couple of angels I sort of recognized, each one greeting us by gesturing and repeating our name. Once that had ended, Dohniel returned the favor. I was thankful I wasn't expected to do the same.

Finally, we were through. Dohniel got up briefly to get himself a glass of wine, and he brought me some lemon water.

"So. Hell politics." I said.

"Hell politics." Dohniel repeated, taking a sip. "More of the same, vis? The Banes of the lower levels are still trying unsuccessfully to legitimately become a sovereign state. Aimless riots are springing up and dying down daily."

"If we're looking at more of the same, why even bother telling me?"

"Well. Alexander's finally reclaimed his old job- don't ask me how, I assume he snuck in there somewhere in the chaos. And though there hasn't been any collective movement towards anything, the angelic population is getting really restless."

"More of the same."

"School's been cancelled." Dohniel shrugged. "I just needed someone to drink with."

"I'm honored." I said. The idea of drinking with friends was a concept well drilled into my head by the media as fun and common, but I was strictly non-alcoholic and didn't really consider Dohniel my friend.

"Don't be sarcastic. I know how little you spend your days."

I took another sip of lemon water.

"People are waiting for you back in Hell. Needing your help. Michael needs your help."

Another sip. Maybe it would be a good idea to break my sobriety.

"You're wasting your time up here. Wasting your life."

Another long, long sip. I scanned the table. Listened briefly to dabs of angelic conversation.

"I'm just trying to help you," Dohniel sighed, "in the way I wish a friend could have helped me. I'm wasting my life here, and I wasted my potential running away from Heaven. Don't be like me. Return to where you belong."

"Yeah." I watched his grey eyes steadily, finishing my cup.

It was safe to say I was a little bit of a lost cause.

Lighting flashed without thunder, illuminating half the sky like a sickly heartbeat. The air was humid and heavy, destined to bring about a storm.

But the rain never came. I returned to the orphanage, reorganized my bookshelf, and alternated between reading, drawing, watching television and playing a video game for an hour.

Ria was in her room. I got up as the first waves of thunder, purring soft enough to blend with the harsh wind, began to come.

"What would you like to eat tonight?" I knocked on Ria's door a moment after asking the question.

"Whatever Catalina is making." She answered. "You're not exactly a talented cook. I'm not in the mood for another dish of overcooked penne with store-bought sauce."

I considered opening the door to continue our conversation, but the sight of my grimace would likely bring her too much delight. "It's rude to call the woman who raised you by her first name."

"She didn't raise me." Ria said. "My parents did."

"Your parents left." I said. Then I knocked again, stepped in her room, and carefully closed the door before continuing. "She only died."

"Yeah. Ms. Robles is dead. This is someone else." Ria stared at me with contempt. She hadn't been one for falling into the familiar patterns of teenage abhorrence, but these last two months had altered her disposition.

"This is better than Hell. We're safe here."

"What am I supposed to do here?" Ria frowned. She was lying on her bed with a notebook in front of her. "I was never born. No one remembers my existence. There is nothing I can do that won't bring up questions of my identity."

"You could probably get a fake birth certificate." I shrugged unhelpfully.

"I can't go to college like this. The only place of note I'm going to end up on is a government watch list."

"What do you want me to do about it?" It was the wrong thing to say. Ria looked down at her notebook and shut it.

"Only place left is Hell, Blake."

"Hell won't last forever."

"It might last my lifetime. It's either that or... probably death. I was meant to die. All these awful feelings are probably the result of you messing around with the natural order of things."

I didn't really know if I should frown or not. Or if it was even worth stating the obligatory 'suicide is not the answer'. Ria was a smart girl. She knew these things.

"I'll go check what Ms. Robles is making." I said, leaving her in her room.

Ms. Robles wasn't cooking anything, of course, otherwise I wouldn't have asked Ria what she wanted to eat. Though she was sixteen years younger in this reality, Ms. Robles would always seem to me like the elderly woman I'd later meet. She was more mobile here, faster and more awake, but there was still the tell tale signs of her coming illness.

She didn't do much throughout the day, mostly sit in front of the window and watch her overgrown garden. I wasn't sure what she was thinking about as she wasted hours every day in this spot. I suspected little, as often when I broke her trance to speak with her she'd be disorientated and surprised.

"Miss." I said, taking a seat across from her rocking chair.

I had to wait a few patient moments for her to respond. "Blake. Where have you been all day?"

"At the library. It's nearly half past eight. Do you want me to cook tonight?"

"No. How about you tend to the garden while I get started on dinner." She got up, and I followed her part of the way, settling now on the couch.

I was surprised. She'd never even talked about the garden with me besides the occasional mention of its existence. "I wouldn't know where to start."

"It's not too hard. Just pull out the weeds. I'd do it myself if the heat wouldn't get to me."

"I can give it a shot." I promised, not wanting to hurt her feelings. "I'm still weary from walking though. Perhaps tomorrow?"

"Hm. You've been home for well over an hour."

"Tomorrow." I sighed, rolling over and facing the back of the couch. I stared at the fabric. Tried to wrap my mind around how many strands of fuzz composed this fabric.