Broken Angels

by Harambee K. Grey-Sun

  “Yeah,” Robert said. “Maybe.”

  “It’s not on the video,” Anika said, “but I’d wager one of my scholarships that one of those kids was smacked or spanked right there in public. I’ve seen it happen before, in grocery stores, on the bus. The girl probably saw and decided to do something about it.”

  “Your scholarships are not inheritably more valuable than mine, Nika,” Kurtis said.

  “I didn’t say that they were.”

  “But you implied—”

  Robert shushed them. They could engage in one of their pointless arguments on their own time; he had to focus.

  Although bigger and older, the man and woman on the video were clearly outmatched by the spry girl. Using light as her only weapon, Ava knocked them out, grabbed the kids by their arms, and hurried away, beyond the view of the camera. The video lasted less than three minutes.

  “I’d like to know what happened to those two kids,” Robert said. “And the adults. Maybe she’s part of some kind of kidnapping outfit.”

  “Why don’t you just ask her?”

  Robert gave Anika a look. She gave him a blank stare. When he realized she wouldn’t get the meaning behind the lines on his forehead, he said, “I’m sure amnesia will factor into her answer.”

  “Well, whatever happened to them,” Kurtis said, “I can assure you she didn’t take the kids home with her. Before you and your partner found her, she’d been living in HOT houses, moving from one to another.”

  “The House of Thomas shelters?” There were ten such shelters in the DC-Northern Virginia area that Robert knew of. They were set up for homeless people infected with incurable diseases, homeless people who knew they had a disease. “Really?”

  “Yep,” Kurtis said. “Spending her nights there anyway. She seemed to have spent much of her daylight hours adventuring.”

  Anika grinned. “Kicking ass.”

  “Sometimes alone, sometime with partners.”

  “Partners?” Robert asked. “Who?”

  Anika tapped a few more keys and pulled up another short video. It showed Ava and two others fighting together at what appeared to be a miniature golf course. It was obvious the footage had been recorded by several surveillance cameras and that, before being launched into cyberspace, the footage had been spliced together and edited to portray a coherent and uninterrupted stream of action; Robert wondered by whom. He didn’t recognize any of the individuals he saw on the screen as associates of The ID, but that meant nothing. Only a tiny fraction of the terrorists had been documented by authorities. The video ended shortly after Ava’s partners grabbed three kids and turned them and themselves invisible. The last few seconds of the film showed Ava knocking down two tall, rotund men—kicking them in their groins, then their faces— and running away, out of range of the cameras.

  “She doesn’t play around,” Kurtis said.

  “She’s playing at something,” Robert said.

  “We saved the best for last.” Anika punched a few more buttons on the keyboard. “Look familiar?”

  It did. At once.

  The setting was a front yard. The yard in front of a house he and his partner had recently visited. The haven of identity thieves, where they found a battered, bruised, and unconscious Arkangel. On the computer screen, Ava was wide-awake. Robert, Anika, and Kurtis watched in silence as she maneuvered from one position to another, using all manners of light tricks and electromagnetic effects, fighting for her life.

  Robert was unsure of the total number of fighters Ava faced, but the odds were clearly against her. It was also clear her opponents were all women, and all Virus-carriers. When Ava seemed to almost score a hit against one, the target disappeared and, two seconds later, another target appeared and struck at Ava from another angle, undoubtedly in her blind spot.

  Ava’s opponents were dressed in short-jackets, short skirts, and high heels. The jackets stopped just above the navel, putting the ladies’ bare midriffs on full display. The sleeves had been pushed up to their elbows, and, underneath the jackets, the women only wore bras. Plenty of skin was showing, and what wasn’t showing was hidden by parts of an impractical outfit. Robert knew only two types of Virus-carriers would dress in such a way, go out in the sunlight, and engage someone in a fight: those who were suicidal, and those who were highly skilled warriors.

  Robert briefly considered that Ava was facing off against only one, one woman winking out of sight to change her appearance and her position, using multiple ways of instilling confusion in her opponent; skilled fighters knew confusion turned into fear, and instilled fear usually led to a self-defeated opponent. Robert’s theory was bolstered by the facts that only one other woman besides Ava appeared on the screen at a time and, while the colors of the woman’s outfit changed back and forth between a combination of red-and-white-and-black and blue-and-white-and-purple, the outfit remained the same.

  But he was wrong. Robert soon realized Ava was fighting not one, but two. A pair of true warriors.

  The women came at Ava with sharp nails, sun-charged hand-smacks, sparkling finger-snaps, and well-aimed pointy-heeled kicks. And one in particular was inclined to use her teeth. Robert paid especial attention when this one was on the screen. It was such a bold, unusual method of fighting, especially when used by one Virus-carrier against another. But the method isn’t what captured Robert’s attention. It was the woman herself, the one who favored the blue and purple attire: a long-legged female of porcelain-white skin and chin-length raven-black hair. It was the same woman he’d spotted briefly in RT’s Restaurant on Saturday night. She did exist. She was indeed real. And she appeared to be very dangerous.

  He was so focused and attuned when this woman was on the screen that Robert paid much less attention to the other, the one to which he apparently should have paid much more attention the first time he saw her—she who preferred to sport the red-and-white jacket and skirt; she who maneuvered her body so well in the black bra and high heels; she who no matter how she moved, and where, whether she was delivering a blow or dodging one, had only one bold blue eye exposed to the camera’s view…Miss Blake.

  The two women fought together as a team, but in Robert’s judgment, either one of them alone could have outmatched Ava. And that’s how they played it, with just one of them appearing at a time. Assault with pepper and disappear. They were toying with her, wearing her out, trying to cut and break skin, inflict as much pain as possible before she would feel no more. The Arkangel put up a good fight, but she did next to no damage to her opponents.

  A ten-minute fight scene, an eleven-minute film. One mystery solved: how Ava came to be so battered and bruised. But why had she gone to the house in the first place? The film had been recorded by a high quality device, not a surveillance camera—so who was behind it? And how’d the film end up in a place where Anika and Kurtis could find it?

  “MC3 Productions,” Anika said after the screen went black. “They have a growing library of films like this. All of them involving Virus-carriers fighting each other or attacking others.”

  “Almost like fetish porn,” Kurtis said. “That’s what they specialize in.”

  “Are you telling me there’s a company making money off of filming and selling videos like this?” Robert asked. “A legit business?”

  “I don’t know if they’re making money,” Kurtis said, “legitimately or otherwise. But they sure are making a lot of flicks. Their name’s out there, and they want it out there.”

  “But we have no idea who’s behind it.”

  “Then keep looking,” Robert said. “Please.” He grabbed his windbreaker and headed for the door. “I think two of their stars are scouting the leading men for their next film.”

  Darryl. Where in the name of fortune was he? Robert hadn’t heard from him in more than twenty-four hours. He put three fingers on the face of his left-wristwatch and tried to contact him. No response. Still no response, after trying him at every stoplight between the campus and The Burrow. Robert
remembered Friday. It was probable Darryl was on another charity case and was just ignoring him. As was his habit, Darryl would get back to him when he was good and ready. But Robert wouldn’t let it go, especially if that case happened to be Miss Blake. Robert had to speak to his partner, face-to-face, before it was too late.

  He rushed out of the elevator, and found himself face-to-face with Ava.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  He hadn’t seen or spoken to her since Sunday afternoon, nor had he spoken to the Watcher agents he’d asked to keep an eye on her. He did want to talk to them and her—in that order—but he knew he had to prioritize.

  “Not right now,” he said as he tried to get around her. “I need to figure out where Darryl is.”

  “So do I.”

  Robert stopped. “Why?”

  “After we got back yesterday, I spoke to Sam about what happened in the park. About everything. I need to go to Xyn, Robert. And if you won’t go with me, Darryl might. Sam told me about his experiments with Vince Ceniza. But after taking everything into account, I’m not willing to go alone, supervised or not. You were right; I don’t fully trust myself. But, maybe, with Darryl…”

  It was there again. The fear in her voice. Robert detected it as she trailed off. She was being honest with him. She was also astonished by her actions yesterday, though maybe for different reasons.

  Robert wanted to discuss with her the Internet films he’d seen, one of them in particular. During a serious, detailed discussion, he’d find out what she really remembered. But at the moment, she was the safe one; Darryl might not be. Robert and Ava both shared a more immediate goal than sitting and talking. He’d only come to The Burrow to ask Zel about the key-tool he’d seen Darryl use a couple days earlier.

  “Okay,” he said. “I need to speak to Zel, then I want to try Darryl’s apartment.”

  “Shouldn’t we check with Mister Smith,” Ava asked, “to see if he knows where Darryl might be?”

  “No. I’ve already sent a message asking him to contact Darryl for me.” And telling him Darryl might be in danger. But whether it was the way the message had been relayed or because Adam was wise to Darryl’s habits, Robert had sensed Adam hadn’t taken his hunch seriously. “I’m not going to bother the chairman just so I can tell him the same thing face-to-face. It’s a waste of time. I know Darryl. I can find him. You coming?”

  “Yes,” she said, “but Sam warned me not to leave The Burrow again without the glasses Mister Bernard is making for me. I don’t know if they’re ready yet.”

  “They damn well better be.” They were losing more and more time. “C’mon. Let’s go check.”

  “How do I look?” Ava asked.

  “The more important question is: how do you see?” Zel said as he looked through the lenses, into her eyes. “Everything clear? No pale rosy tints?”

  “No. Everything’s fine.”

  “Excellent!”

  “Another work of perfection,” Robert said as he paced near the door.

  “Maybe,” Zel said, “but that determination should be made by the clear eyes of the wearer. Come.” The engineer took Ava by the hand and led her toward a full-length mirror. “Take a long peek and give me your honest opinion.”

  Zel stood close behind Ava as she examined herself. After a moment, rather than saying anything about her own, she asked about the nature of Zel’s glasses.

  “Without them,” he said, “I can see the world a little too clearly.”

  Ava turned away from the mirror. “What do you think, Robert?”

  “They’re beautiful. Let’s go.”

  “The frames need to be adjusted,” she said to Zel. “They’re a little too loose on the nose.”

  “Behind the left ear too, it seems,” he said. “Here, let me tighten them a bit.”

  Robert sighed and made a big show of looking at his left-wristwatch.

  Ava gave him a look, as if to say she was just as anxious as him to leave. Deep down, Robert knew that if Ava was going out in the field with him, it was important she be able to see well enough. Still, time wasn’t their ally.

  “Okay,” Zel said as he handed the readjusted glasses to Ava, “let’s try this.”

  She put the glasses on and, instead of looking at the mirror, looked all around the workshop. Her eyes stopped on an instrument on the wall. Robert followed her eyes and saw the glimmering, multihued, stringless bow that seemed to be made of clear crystal. The colors of white light were broken up and kept bottled up, on full display inside the crystal. Robert had seen it before. Many times. And he’d noticed its lateral position on the wall and its multicolored appearance made it look like a crystal rainbow.

  “Like it?” Zel asked.

  “What is it?” Ava asked.

  “One of my favorite toys,” Zel said. “A bow that can only be used by angels. While holding it, a skilled angel can ‘string’ it and direct light through it with his or her free hand. As the light passes through the crystal, the angel—with some strong psychological assistance—can use the grasping hand to control how the light is broken up within and how it’s released, shooting it through the air for a good distance.”

  Ava couldn’t take her eyes off of it.

  “A plaything I made for Darryl,” Zel said, “but he rarely uses it.”

  “It really speaks to me,” Ava said.

  Zel laughed. “Maybe you and ol’ Darryl share some kind of connection. He said the same thing when he first saw it.”

  “Just looking at it,” Ava said, “it reminds me of the story of Noah. The rainbow that God put in the sky after the flood. A symbol of the new covenant with humankind.”

  “Yeah,” Robert said, “after all but eight people on the planet were drowned by that god. Funny story. Are we ready yet?”

  If Ava heard him, she ignored him. She gazed without blinking until her lips parted and she whispered, “Save the children.”

  Robert perked up.

  “What did you say?” he asked as he approached her.

  She turned toward him. “Huh?”

  “What did you just say?”

  Ava looked at Robert as if he were speaking Greek. Before he could repeat the question a third time, Zel broke in.

  “‘Save the children.’ That’s what I heard.”

  “I said that?” Ava asked.

  “Yeah,” Robert said, “I heard it too. I’ve even seen it in a couple of places. What does it mean?”

  “Seen it where?” Ava asked.

  “Answer my question first, please.”

  “I—” Ava hesitated. “It’s just something I’ve been saying for years. Kind of like a motto, a life-purpose. It’s the reason I first became an evangelical Christian, long before I became an angel.”

  “Uh-huh.” Robert knew there was much she wasn’t saying.

  “Now, where have you seen it?” she asked.

  “In graffiti art,” Robert said. “And sometimes without the accompanying art. It’s really dirtying up the area. I always figured it was more verbal litter from the associates of The ID, but maybe there’s something more to it.”

  “You’ll have to show me,” Ava said.

  “Later. After we meet up with Darryl.”

  “When you do,” Zel said, “tell him I’m going to be a while with his corresq.” The engineer walked over toward the table on which the silver circle lay. “I’ve figured out how to make the modifications he wants, but it’ll take me at least a week to do them.”

  Robert hurried over to the table. “Did he drop that off this morning?”

  “No. Sunday morning. Before he went out for one of his, uh…” Zel glanced at Ava. “One of his appointments.”

  Robert cursed. He had a hope, just a faint hope, Darryl hadn’t met with Miss Blake, that he was somewhere else, caught up in someone else’s business. “You heard from him since then?”

  “No,” Zel said.

  Robert cursed twice more. His hope was evaporating.

  “
What’s the matter?” Ava asked.

  “C’mon.” He waved to her as he rushed for the door. “We’ve got to go. Now.”

  TWELVE

  Darryl woke up in a circle.

  A red circle inside a larger orange circle inside even bigger colored circles.

  He was lying on his side, in a fetal position.

  He blinked, moving his eyes to every corner, before stirring his body.

  Impelled in part by grogginess and in part by an uncertain fear, he came up to his knees, counting his surroundings: five circles, five different colors. It was hard not to see them. Even with his enhanced visual abilities, the circles were the only things he could see. The circles had been painted on the floor with a kind of fluorescent paint in colors that glowed in the otherwise complete darkness.

  Darryl knew the source of the circles’ glow was black light. He wasn’t in any condition to think straight about much else. The remnants of a headache buzzed in his skull. He massaged his temples with the thumb and pinky of his right hand until an idea came to him.

  He touched his right hand to his left wrist, and his left hand to his right wrist. They were bare. His watches had been stripped from him. And with the exception of his boxer shorts, so had his clothes.

  Darryl’s next idea was to test himself, to see if he was capable of standing. He then heard something that made him think it wiser to stay still.

  A melancholy voice sang a song without words…a dirge-like song that inspired a vision of his skull breaking into thousands of sand particles, each of them nestling in to irritate his brain.

  The voice seemed to come from all around, surrounding him like the painted circles, engulfing him like the darkness. He didn’t want to move. Then he heard another voice, a mystery voice, giving the song its appropriate lyrics:

  “Blind, meeting life with a contract,