Watcher

by Andrew Weis

  “How did you make her do something physical to herself like that?”

  “You mean like making her piss herself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They grant the ranks of Watcher-class angels and above with emotional powers so we can affect change on people as we see fit. As a guardian, you can apply physical change to physical things but have no influence on their internals. For a young girl, you did a great job, though. You got her to stop in time without injuring herself. She’ll understand to leave her phone alone while she’s driving, for a while anyway.”

  “Is that the limit of a guardian’s reach?”

  “Reach?”

  “Yeah, like all I can do is stop them from walking in front of a moving car. I can’t make the car disappear.”

  “That’s an excellent summary, Jessa. Well said.”

  “Thanks.”

  “One more thing. You’re encouraged not to develop close personal bonds with your wards as that can compromise your task. Do the job, then get out.”

  “Got it.”

  “Ready for more?”

  “Sure. How many of these trips do I have to do?”

  “Fifty-two.”

  Ellis and I continued on to the next assignment. Once completed, we rolled on to the next one. By the tenth session I was ready for more difficult tasks. Ellis seemed to notice my short girl-power learning curve, and I suspected he might’ve been a little jealous.

  After each mission, Ellis told me to slow down so I could absorb every nuance of the mission at hand. He said it was his job to check my pace, but there were times I wasn’t so sure.

  Much of the time it felt as though I were on a leash ready to take off, but if I did, he’d jerk me back. There might be truth to that, but it wasn’t my fault if Ellis couldn’t keep up with me. Men thought they had all the answers. Yeah, right.

  Guardian angel training was simple, and I grew accustomed to being around people who were clueless of my presence.

  Many of my jobs comprised of pulling people out of harm’s way or sliding an object on a stair step a foot to the left so the unaware person wouldn’t trip over it. People spent their lives preoccupied. Smartphones made that preoccupation worse.

  An angel with the power to save people from themselves fostered a strong desire to protect and make sure the people didn’t die before their time. No matter how old the person was, to angels, they were toddlers who required constant supervision. As far as Kinan was concerned, we were ready for Watcher-class training.

  Other recruits would stay as guardians or return to the soft part of Heaven. Cushy work never appealed to me; my inner competitor screamed for a good contest. Anyhow, I couldn’t wait to get the big guns.

  Graduating from guardian to watcher was a low-key affair. It wasn’t like there was a formal ceremony with everyone’s parents in the bleachers. Kinan told us we made it and that the next level of training would begin. Anyone who entered guardian training made it to watcher training.

  Most guardians preferred the softer intervention and stayed there. I’d run myself ragged saving people from the smallest obstacles. I wanted to go higher. Besides, watchers and archangels had more abilities than guardians.

  Watcher training was more my style. The current holograph lesson showed an angel dispatching demons with creative, raw power. Cool!

  As I studied the angel’s movements, I mimicked them and made their moves my moves. The eyes of my classmates fell upon me, and I became a source of entertainment for them. Some of them even laughed at me. I took that as a compliment, then later took it out on their heads.

  There weren’t any other girls in my class, which made me wonder if my Dad made an inside deal to get me here. Was it possible he directed me here for a specific yet still unknown reason? Sometimes my imagination ran wild, but he said he lobbied to get me here, whatever that meant. Interesting.

  The visual lesson ended, and we squared off against each other to apply our observed skills. Kinan walked among us and drove home the important aspects of the lesson. He had a special way of reaching students, teaching each of them in ways we each understood in our unique ways.

  One thing about training I noticed was that we didn’t sweat here. There wasn’t any noticeable body odor or need to drink water. During fighting, our wings would flash on our backs like a strobe light.

  “As watchers, you can use invisible representation, or what we call inrep,” Kinan said. “Inrep comes in degrees of intensity, which you can invoke at will. The most telling sign you’re in an inrepped state is that you'll see everything in shades of blue. This tricky skill takes time to master. Horses, dogs or anyone granted divine endorsement can see you in an inrepped state.”

  “What is divine endorsement?”

  “It’s a set of grants given to certain individuals from Dominion-class angels and higher.”

  “Do we get that?”

  “No. As I was saying, living humans can’t see you when you’re in full inrep, but they can if you’re partially inrepped. You’ll be able to fly and materialize Earthly items. You can pass through barriers like walls and ceilings but only when inrepped. As a watcher, evil will challenge you when you don’t expect it. That’s when you’ll need to remember to use a tool called dynamic flexibility.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Dynamic flexibility permits you to defend against your opponent using creative, spontaneous moves and weapons drawn from your imagination.”

  The woman angel who I since dubbed the Training Babe, floated over from a raised podium to the center of the group. Even though she was a Power-class angel, I loved looking at her; not in a lesbian way but to gaze upon something so beautiful.

  Her flowing white-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and curled across her perfect body.

  “You’re forbidden to fly in solid form since it’s a startling sight to humans,” she said in her rich, sexy voice. “Instead, stay inrepped. As protectors, you’ll never be able to materialize divine weapons for use against humans.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “After death, you keep your human emotions, so temptation can still influence your actions on human beings. As watchers, your primary duty is to preserve love.”

  She looked at Kinan, who bowed his head.

  “This is your final training session as watchers. Upon its conclusion, we’ll make our selections for promotion to archangel,” she said. “Pair up and begin.”

  I took my position, then looked into my opponent’s eyes. Back on Earth he couldn’t have been more than seven years old. I cracked a snarky grin that my opponents hated. Good. Some shook their heads in disgust, rolled their eyes or flat out ridiculed me. Perhaps they thought, since I was a girl, I’d be a pushover. Once the fight started, I’d hand their butts to them on their momma’s china platter.

  A deep harmonious tone, like a muffled resonance, sounded. I caressed the scar on my cheek, an Earthly reminder of a bitter mistake that still simmered in my heart. Like lightning, I moved on my opponent.

  He grabbed me and twisted me to the ground. He ended the match before I realized it was over, the lucky brat. We both stood, and his cocky smile spread. In his little brain, I’m sure he thought he got the best of me.

  We squared off again. After the tone sounded, I changed my face to have a wider jaw line, converted my long blonde hair to short brown and made myself three inches taller. I charged and plunged the dagger into the brat’s head with blazing speed. The move was swift, surgical.

  Training Babe floated over toward us. The kid and I squared up again. This time I inrepped and ended my opponent without a sweat. He got to his feet, I materialized a dagger, then plunged it into his neck.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” he protested. “That’s not fair!”

  “Sorry, only making sure I finished your arrogant ass,” I said.

  “Jessa! Killing with hatred can cloud your objectivity and risk your ward’s safety,” Kinan said.

  “It wasn�
�t hatred; it was dynamic flexibility.”

  “Never flirt with angelic law, Jessa. We don’t want you killing with a prejudiced emotional set. You must be judicious, not malicious.”

  I helped my opponent to his feet.

  “Sorry, little dude. I want to do my best, you know,” I said.

  “Yeah? Well, take it out on Lucifer.”

  Training Babe looked me in the eyes. I gazed back at her. She tilted her head while she seemed to study me.

  “What have you done to your face?” she asked.

  My cheek was minus one scar, but otherwise smooth. I reached for my long hair that was now a foot shorter, then I recalled what I did before the fight started.

  “Well, I figured that if I can materialize a divine weapon, I took a chance that I could change my appearance too. If my opponent’s unaware of who or what I am, I’ll be more unpredictable from his or her point of view. That change made him hesitate. I was still within the rules of the fight. Even the angels in the visual lesson changed their looks on demand, so why can’t I?”

  Training Babe smirked as she glanced at Kinan, who cracked what I thought was a grin through his thick beard.

  Ellis entered the training room where he joined Kinan and Training Babe to discuss whom they would offer a chance at promotion to archangel. I wanted to make archangel in the worst way. They got to use any weapon or power they wanted. They could also take down demons.

  The group debated for a long time and stole glances at us. They nodded, shook their heads and waved their hands. Kinan locked his eyes onto mine as he approached me.

  “Jessa, your progress is far beyond those of your peers. Therefore, we’d like to test you under archangel mission standards,” Kinan said.

  “Wait. What?” I asked.

  “We believe you might be ready for your promotion to archangel. But we need to first confirm your readiness via an Archangel Review Verification, or what we call ARV. We’re sending you on a training exercise with watcher powers under archangel stress conditions. If you fail, you’ll remain a watcher and continue your training.”

  My nerves sprung up at the idea of stepping into an archangel situation as a watcher. I wasn’t sure how painful failure would be or if I’d get another chance for promotion.

  “What’s the catch?” I asked. “I feel like you’re fast-tracking me.”

  “Ellis will shadow you and won’t interfere or contact you. It wouldn’t surprise me if you thought you didn’t have what it takes to win yet, or if you felt like quitting,” Kinan said.

  Me quit? I didn’t think so. What a jerk.

  “You think I’m ready, yet you expect me to fail. Nice vote of confidence,” I said.

  “I want to see if you’re as good as you think you are. Oh, don’t call me that again.”

  “You can read minds too?”

  Kinan smiled.

  “Fine. I’ll do it,” I said, turning to Ellis.

  “I’ll escort you like I have before, but this time you’re on your own, hotshot,” Ellis said.

  Like most people who soloed in airplanes the first time, I was sure I could take off okay, but landing was another story. Once again, like dozens of times before, Ellis and his condescension led me into the holographic Earth.

  Chapter 6

  ELLIS AND I blinked through the cosmos and landed on a sand hill in the pitch of night in inrepped form. With my blue vision, I looked around and didn’t see Ellis anywhere. I guessed that I was on my own and didn’t get so much as a good luck pat on the back for a sendoff. Nice.

  In the desert a few feet from me, two African-American soldiers in American desert camouflage uniforms hunkered behind a cluster of sandstone boulders. They looked toward a military camp about a hundred yards away with their night vision goggles while a searchlight swept over soldiers patrolling the compound’s perimeter.

  “Reggie, how many do you count?” the larger of the two soldiers said in a soft whisper.

  “I see two stiffs in the tower, two walking the fence, minimal protection. That’s the prison all right, Tyrone,” Reggie said, handing his small binocular glasses to Tyrone. Tyrone stowed the glasses in a side cargo pocket of his vest.

  “Do you think our boys are okay?” Tyrone asked.

  “They better be. Take the tower.”

  Tyrone unshouldered his rifle with a fat barrel on the tip. He aimed at the tower and fired two quick muffled shots.

  “Get them?” Reggie asked.

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “The other guards are coming back.”

  Tyrone repositioned himself. He fired two more times in the direction where the two perimeter guards patrolled.

  “Rock and roll,” Tyrone said, grinning.

  Tyrone and Reggie scurried up to the chain-link fence and opened their duffle bags.

  “Hand me the heat,” Reggie said.

  Tyrone gave Reggie a small black canvas bag. Reggie removed a rolled slab of what looked like clay.

  “Easy with that C-4, man,” Tyrone said.

  “It ain’t C-4,” Reggie said.

  “What the hell is it, Play-Doh?”

  Reggie grabbed Tyrone by the vest and jerked him close.

  “Keep your damn voice down. They still got screws walking the yard. It’s homegrown mud. I call it Chicago Clay.”

  Tyrone cringed upon sniffing the substance.

  “Damn, that stinks,” Tyrone said.

  “Beautiful, huh? Here, hold this,” Reggie said, handing a small device to his partner.

  “You picked a helluva time to experiment, Reg.”

  “Shut up, man. Whatever you do, don’t press that red button.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, if you do, someone else will have to save our boys.”

  Tyrone relaxed his grip and held the trigger with a more delicate touch. Smart man. I was glad I didn’t have to play with that stuff.

  “We got a couple more weeks until we go home, and you’re playing Mister Professor,” Tyrone said. “This ain’t the place for a test run, Reg.”

  This task, which tested my skills to see if I was archangel material, consisted of dumping me on a rescue team with no clue of what I should do or who to save. I wasn’t sure where I was, but with American soldiers present, I guessed Iraq or Afghanistan. Reggie unrolled the clay and formed it around the base of a fence pole.

  “This gig don’t pay enough, man. If this bustout don’t fly, I ain’t dealing with any hairy-ass Afghan prison bitches. It was safer robbing banks,” Tyrone said.

  “You sucked as a bank robber, T. If I didn’t stop you the last time, you’d be in the Cook County cage getting slammed by the brothers you screwed over the last few years. You should thank me for saving your hoodlum ass. Besides, Army did you good, so quit your bitching and finish already.”

  Reggie and Tyrone slithered back behind the boulders. I crossed my arms while I observed them.

  “Check it,” Reggie said, pressing the trigger button.

  A small puff of dust wafted from the supposed blast site. They peered over the boulder. Reggie smiled.

  “What the hell you smiling about, man? It fizzled,” Tyrone said.

  “Like hell it did.”

  The quiet blast blew apart the pole. A large opening big enough for a man to crawl through invited the rescuers.

  “Holy crap, man. What is that shit?” Tyrone asked.

  “New tech. Come on, T. Let’s get our boys.”

  Reggie and Tyrone gathered their gear. A hissing sound grew louder from the blast site followed by a bright yellow flash that lit up the dark desert sky. Reggie cringed as he sniffed.

  “Sulfur,” Reggie said.

  A pair of searchlights zeroed in on them. An alarm rang out, followed by distant shouts of excited guards.

  “It still ain’t right? Damn it,” Reggie said.

  “Let’s go, Reg. We’re out of here!” Tyrone said.

  Reggie and Tyrone made their dash into the dark desert. A contingent of militar
y trucks soon soared over a dune and surrounded them. With their headlights white and bright, enemy guns were ready to cut the American rescuers in half.

  I prepared myself to jump in should anyone try to harm Tyrone or Reggie, but which of them was my ward? Two soldiers shouting in Arabic jumped out of the truck.

  While they aimed their rifles at the Americans, they circled Reggie and Tyrone. Reggie dropped his rifle, then raised his hands. Tyrone did the same. The Arab soldiers threw Reggie and Tyrone into the truck and headed for the prison.

  While still inrepped, I followed the captives into the prison. Sure, I could pass through walls but I wasn’t able to see through them. In fact, nobody can see through solid material, human or angel.

  The Afghan soldiers bound Reggie and Tyrone then gave them a harsh beating, the kind dished out by scumbags who thought themselves tough by pummeling a tied up man. I never understood that about boys. It looked more like cowardice.

  While the soldier wiped blood from his knuckles, he gave Tyrone a swift kick to the gut. He then dragged Tyrone and Reggie into a holding room, which was a dingy, dank, cinder block-walled room with flickering fluorescent tube lights. The soldier left and slammed the door.

  “Tyrone. T. You good, man?” Reggie moaned.

  “Cheap shots. That’s all they good for,” Tyrone said, spitting blood.

  “Hey,” the disgruntled whisper of another American soldier said. “Where’s the damn cavalry?”

  “You’re looking at it,” Tyrone said.

  The door swung open and a towering bloodthirsty rebel I named Bruiser, a hairy musclebound thug about forty years old, entered. Through his thick black beard, I thought I saw him smirk as he seemed to anticipate the next beating to dish out. He dragged Reggie by his bound feet into a third room where I followed them.

  Bruiser rebel shoved Reggie onto a chair. He barked an order in Arabic to a much smaller soldier, whom I called Comrade. Comrade tied Reggie to the chair.

  Since Reggie needed help, I played my hand. I ducked to a corner and converted my clothing so it looked like Reggie’s uniform. I changed my hair to short black, removed my scar and put a couple camouflage stripes of brown grease paint across my face.