Angel

by L. A. Weatherly

Page 77

 

  A shining-eyed woman came onto the screen. “I paid two hundred dollars for a ticket to be here today, and that was cheap as far as I’m concerned! The angels saved my life. To have more of them here, helping others, is just a dream come true. ”

  Another shot appeared: long lines of traffic sitting unmoving on the highway, like gleaming metallic snakes. The reporter’s voice said, “Heartless scam or divine intervention? Whatever the truth is, with so many people arriving, roads around Denver are currently experiencing severe gridlock — so if you can’t fly like an angel, consider staying home this Halloween!”

  As the news changed to a different story, Sophie glanced at me. “That’s why we’re taking the helicopter,” she said. “It’s going to be pretty insane. ”

  “Yeah,” I murmured, still staring at the screen. I licked my lips. “Will the two of you be there, too?” I asked suddenly. “When — when I do it, I mean. ”

  There was a pause. “I will be,” said Nate. “You won’t see me, but I’ll be hidden in the audience, close to the gate. If things don’t go as planned, I might be able to do something to help. ”

  The thought made me feel slightly better. I glanced at Sophie. Without meeting my eyes, she leaned forward and tapped her cigarette ash off in a saucer. She cleared her throat. “And I’ll be leaving in the helicopter for a safe location after we drop you off. ”

  “Oh,” I said faintly.

  She gave me a quick, apologetic grimace. “Look, Willow, I know you understand. Nate and I are the only two agents left from Project Angel; we can’t take a chance on something happening to both of us. ”

  I nodded, feeling more alone than ever. Of course, it made sense. It made perfect, logical sense. I opened my mouth to ask how Nate and I were supposed to get away in that case, if she was taking the helicopter . . . and then I closed it again as I realized. Alex had been right. We wouldn’t be getting away, and they both knew it. If the gate didn’t kill me, then the Church of Angels people would. Nate would die, anyway, if the gate closed, so he was staying on to help — but it wasn’t very likely that he’d live out the day either, once the two angels in the cathedral got hold of him. Neither of us was expected to survive for longer than a few more hours.

  I had known it already; I don’t know why this made it seem so much more real. I sat hugging myself, not speaking. Nate sat down again, putting coffees in front of me and Sophie. Mine grew cold in its cup. On the TV, the game show turned to a soap opera and then the afternoon news.

  Finally Nate looked at his watch. “I guess we’d better start getting ready,” he said.

  Sophie and I went into the bathroom, where she coiled my hair into a firm bun. “You’ve got such beautiful hair,” she said, pinning it back at the sides.

  No, I love it; it’s so soft. I stared at myself in the mirror, hearing Alex’s voice, feeling his hand as he stroked my hair across his chest. I couldn’t speak.

  When Sophie had finished, my head felt tight and strange. Back in the living room, she brought out a few pairs of black wedge-heeled shoes that she’d gone out to get for me that morning. One pair fit perfectly.

  “All right?” she said, peering down at them.

  “Yes, fine. ”

  “Do you need a pair of hose?”

  I shook my head. I was starting to feel detached, almost dreamy, like a ghost of myself. And at the same time, my heart was beating so hard that I wasn’t sure how it was managing to stay in my chest. I kept noticing the strangest little details: the painting on the wall was crooked; Sophie’s coffee cup on the table had lipstick on it; Nate’s bulky gray sweater had a small hole near the cuff.

  “OK, then I think we’re ready,” said Nate.

  I picked up my bag. “All right. ” How was it that I sounded so normal?

  Sophie took the robe and folded it over her arm; it fell in shining silvery-blue folds. “We’ll get this on you in the helicopter,” she said. With her other hand, she picked up her briefcase with the angelica in it.

  Nate put his hand on my back as we left the apartment. We walked down the hallway. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else, propelling me around with no input from me. Closing my eyes, I briefly went within myself and found my angel, sensing her bright, loving presence, seeing the pure white flash of her wings. My arms tightened around my bag as sadness rushed through me. I had barely gotten to know this part of myself, and now it was too late.

  As we climbed into the car, it was exactly four forty-five. In just over an hour, I’d be kneeling in front of the gate. I touched my sweater, stroking the slight shape of the crystal pendant nestled beneath, against my skin. I love you, Alex, I thought. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  I didn’t cry as we drove away.

  I felt as if I’d never cry again.

  IT TOOK HOURS to get out of the Sierra Nevada, with its winding mountain roads and hairpin turns. Each minute that passed felt like an hour too long, beating at Alex’s temples. Even so, he grimly resisted the urge to gun the accelerator and take the sharp turns at a hundred miles an hour. He had to actually get there, not go hurtling off the side of a mountain. He drove with his hands tight on the wheel, taking it as fast as he dared. Finally he reached the highway and floored it, relieved to be moving quickly at last.

  For the next twenty hours, he just drove, stopping twice for gas. Catching sight of himself in a men’s room mirror, he hardly recognized his own image — his eyes looked dark, haunted. The thought barely registered before he was out the door again, heading back for the truck. Evening turned to night and then day again as he crossed Nevada and Utah, finally heading into Colorado. He was making good time, and very, very marginally Alex felt the sick tension in his gut recede a notch. He still had to cross the Rockies, but it should be all right; he should make it with time to spare.

  Half an hour into the Rockies, the truck got a flat.

  Pulling over to the shoulder, Alex got out and stared in dull disbelief at the left front tire. He checked the trunk; the space that should have contained a spare was empty. No. He slammed the trunk shut; the temptation to just keep driving on the rim was nearly overwhelming. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. OK. Don’t panic. He’d still get there. He had time for this.

  Soon a truck appeared. Alex lunged to the side of the road and waved him down. He thought at first the guy wasn’t going to stop, but then he slowed, pulling over to the shoulder a few hundred yards down the highway. Alex jogged up to the cab. The trucker had rolled his window down and had his elbow propped on the door, gazing out at him.

  The words came in a rush. “Hi, I’ve got a flat, and my cell’s not working — do you think you could call a garage for me?”

  The man was heavyset, with bright blue eyes that reminded Alex of Cully. He glanced back at the truck. “You might have a hard time finding one open on a Sunday, up here. But I’ll give you a lift, if you want — there’s a restaurant about ten miles away; you can make some calls. ”

  Sunday. Shit, he’d forgotten it was Sunday. Alex looked back at the truck himself. It sat leaning to one side with the Rockies framed behind it, obviously undrivable. “Yeah — yeah, thanks,” he said hurriedly, climbing into the cab.