by Greg Curtis
Eventually he came to a decision, though he was sure it wouldn’t be a surprise to her. It was the only decision he could make and live with, and Sherial had known that from the beginning. That he finally understood, was why she had picked him. He was capable, possibly the most capable thief on the planet, and he just possibly might be able to pull off the impossible and free the prisoners. But more importantly he was willing to try where any other half way sane human being would run away immediately.
“Are you willing?” For the first time in the short time he’d known her, he saw he had startled her. It was a question she hadn’t expected, and yet one that should have been obvious. It was not only his life that was at risk. Maybe Sherial’s risk would be even greater than his own, for in the end he could at least be released by death. It was an option she didn’t have.
Slowly Sherial nodded, the first truly human gesture she had made, and he knew that she wouldn’t have come to him if she wasn’t prepared, and didn’t believe there was hope. Looking at her, he knew she was prepared, as prepared as she could be. She knew the risks, and still knew they had to be taken. Which left him with only one possible choice.
“Good.” And in a way it was. For if she was willing, if she knew the risks, and feared them yet was still willing to try, then there was a chance. That was what he did after all, take chances and turn them into reality. “You have your thief.”
Her reaction to his words, her thoughts in his head were everything he could have wished for and everything he hated as she knew a sense of gratitude and hope that all but overpowered him and left him crying with joy, and at the same time a terrible fear that he might fail and be caught by the fallen.
“Don’t worry. You wanted a thief and you’ve got the best in the entire world. I will not let you down.” Or more importantly, himself. He had no intention of being caught by the evil that dwelled in that darkness, and he had no intention of failing, not when so much was at stake, so many souls. But at the same time he knew that this was a gamble, and he hated gambling. Still he had no choice.
“Hoisted by my own petard!” He laughed quietly as he suddenly realized how totally he’d set himself up for this throughout his entire life. How he’d led himself down this garden path directly to hell. His curiosity and paranoia had made him ask, his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit defeat and his humanity wouldn’t allow him to back out in fear. It was a thin laugh.
“I don’t know how. But I’ll get them out.” And he meant it. He had no clue as to how to set about the impossible - he wasn’t even sure he could - and he was as terrified of going through with it as he had ever been of anything in his life. But he knew he had to try.
Anything else would be unendurable.
CHAPTER FIVE.
“Your enjoyment of the world is never right, till every morning you awake in Heaven: see yourself in your Father's palace; and look upon the skies, the earth, and the air as celestial joys: having such a reverend esteem of all, as if you were among the angels.”
~Thomas Traherne
The fateful day came upon him far faster than Mikel would have believed possible. Yet he had been preparing harder and for more weeks for the mission than ever before. Still he knew a million years would have been too soon. For the first time in more years than he cared to remember he felt totally unprepared for what he had to do, despite having spent more time and energy on planning for it than on any dozen other capers.
The previous weeks had not been an easy time for him. Dealing with the undeniable and devastating allure of Sherial while trying to keep his thoughts in some sort of order. Planning and preparing with the greatest care, knowing that even a slight error could spell disaster for everyone, while at the same time coping with the ever-growing guilt as he thought of those imprisoned in that living hell. Suffering for every day that he dallied and they suffered, yet also understanding that no matter how he readied himself, he might well be getting into something beyond his ability to handle. Working for an angel with all his will, knowing her every thought to be true, trying to obey her every wish, while at the same time suspicious of her every step.
So many conflicting emotions raging through him constantly were wearing him out. Doubt and fear too had become his companions over the last few weeks, urging him to give up before he lost everything. Before he failed.
Perversely the emotional extremes had also made him feel more alive than he had felt in the longest time. Mikel had discovered during those weeks, that for longer than he’d imagined he’d almost been sleep walking through his life. One crime - one burglary - was much the same as another, and his preparations for them had almost become almost routine. There was a reason he hardly ever sweated any of his more normal crimes; they weren’t really a challenge any longer. It had been years since he’d faced a real opponent, and he hadn’t even realised it. Now he was up against so many unknowns that he couldn’t even count them.
On some incredibly stupid level he was actually looking forward to it. Not just the challenge - the glory of succeeding against impossible odds, - but the chance to take on the demons of Hell itself instead of just their human shadows. If he won through, it would be the theft of the century, a triumph of literally biblical proportions. He couldn’t help but be over-awed by the very concept, and the planning for it, well, that was something else again. This would be his ultimate theft, if he succeeded. His finest hour. Of course if he failed it would be far worse. And failure was a real possibility as he kept reminding himself.
Discipline was the key, unshakable discipline. It had been all his life. He knew it as surely as he knew the back of his own hand. His emotions had rocketed in every possible direction every time he let his concentration slip. Therefore he had to ensure his concentration never wavered. It was exhausting.
He hadn’t always been successful over the weeks. It had been like riding a roller coaster, but one that travelled through more than just the usual three dimensions. Fear, lust, challenge, excitement, doubt and desperation all had raged through him, usually all at once, pulling him in every direction.
Then there was his normal scepticism. Often he’d wondered if he was losing it. If his mind was finally turning to a pile of soggy mush. If Sherial really existed, or was but a figment of his deluded grey matter. While she was there, he could believe in her, or at least accept it. But whenever she was gone, it took him only minutes to collapse into doubt and paranoia.
Only the years of discipline had held him in check, reigning in his warring emotions, setting his mind and all his energies to the task ahead. Yet those same emotions had made him stronger as he overcame them again and again. And in doing so he had become more and more confident. Yet overconfidence too was always a dangerous emotion for him, and he tried to clamp down on it. It was one thing to know how capable he was and something else entirely to simply rest on his abilities. There was no such thing for him as good enough.
To make things worse Sherial had been up to her usual tricks, turning his life into chaos. Though in fairness he had to admit often it wasn’t her fault but his. For while she seemed determined to turn his every security concept upside down, she had many things sewn up in ways he couldn’t have guessed. He simply hadn’t had a clue.
The first time she’d met Cedric had been one such nightmare for him, something he’d been dreading since that first day with her. And yet when it happened he was caught completely off guard, something else that should never have happened.
One second he’d been down in the workshop, trying to make heads or tails out of the visions Sherial had given him of the target, the next he’d looked up at the monitors to see Cedric had come a day early. The shock was like a physical blow as he saw the grizzled gardener staring at where Sherial sat with her entourage, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Cedric often changed his days to suit the weather and his fishing. Then again the alarms should have gone off when his boat arrived at the dock, alerting him to the gardener’s presence
. They hadn’t made a sound. Sherial at work he guessed.
Mikel had rushed to the garden as fast as he could, but knew the damage was already done. Cedric would go home that evening, sit down on his porch with just a few close friends, a cold beer and a tall tale. By mid-morning the entire island would know an angel was living at his place. It was hopeless. But as he finally made it to the garden and his friend he found things were far different to anything he could imagine. Different to what he guessed, though it took him a long while to realise that. Too long.
Cedric still stood there, gaping like a fool, exactly as had Mikel only a few days before. But he didn’t see what Mikel did. What exactly he saw, Mikel wasn’t sure, but then he suspected neither was Cedric. The big man had made odd mumblings as Mikel led him to the kitchen for a drink, but when he’d tried to explain he’d made a greater hash of it than had already been. For Cedric told him he was delusional when he mentioned the word ‘angel’ and actually laughed out loud. By which time Mikel had been trying to retract his words, as usual, too late.
Whatever Cedric had seen however, by mid morning had been forgotten, but unfortunately not Mikel’s inane explanation for it. The entire island now knew the crazy dealer in precious stones really was crazy. It was the least he deserved for being such a dolt.
But the island had learned the pertinent facts, at least from their perspective. They knew he had a woman staying with him, and the gossip had flown like water each time he’d wandered into town. The first time he’d parked his battered speedboat at the dock and wandered up to the island’s main stores, he’d learned just how efficient the islands gossip chain was, as everybody from the checkout operators to people he’d barely met in the main street wanted to ask him about her. Not that they were in any way ill meaning, although their humour was often coarse. If anything they were all happy for him, and for what they thought was going on. It was just awkward, trying to answer their questions, without telling them anything. He hated lying to them and yet he couldn’t tell them the truth.
It was made ten times worse when Sherial herself showed up, walking barefoot down the main street in her silken dress, wings on display for one and all to see. His jaw dropped to the floor as she walked towards him, stunned partly that she would dare to show up here like this, but mostly at how simply beautiful she was walking down the street. How beautiful the world was with her in it. Sherial could make the most primitive dirt track look like a gold plated highway simply by walking along it.
Yet none saw. As he slowly pulled himself together and gazed around their blank faces, he knew none saw her as he did. Nor did he have any idea of what they did see. But at least they stopped asking him questions, and he had finally learned enough by then not to open his mouth. Instead he let her walk up to them and then let her do the talking while he simply looked on and wondered.
He’d bought her lunch at the market; a massive feast of tropical fruits and breads, some yoghurt and grains for variety, and the worlds’ strongest black roast coffee to wash it all down. But instead of concentrating on his meal he studied the islanders’ faces as they spoke with her, riveted.
All wore the same odd expression that Cedric had worn; as no doubt did he, although none seemed to have fallen as far under his spell as Mikel. Some asked her questions, in every language of the islands, and she answered them all with her cooing. Others just wanted to touch her, a few even daring to stroke her wings. Yet unlike him, they all seemed to understand her every word, while he picked up next to nothing. It was as if they could communicate with her far better than could he, and it sent pangs of barely suppressed angst through him. Was he a dunce?
But then what of those who had actually touched her wings? How could they do that and still not understand that she was an angel? Or didn’t they care? Were they in reality, even more completely under her spell than him?
Whatever she said to them, it seemed to satisfy them all and one by one they went away, which surprised him. In their shoes he would have found it nearly impossible to leave. Even having lived with her for several weeks by then, leaving her was almost impossible. But they left willingly, happily. As if everything they had wanted out of their talk was complete. Somehow they were satisfied. All were smiling, while some he could have sworn, were singing. He half expected the blind to see and the lame to walk, but they looked much the same as they had before, only happy. Very happy.
Since then Sherial had come with him each time he’d gone to town, though at least not flying. She sat beside him in the ancient speedboat as he chauffeured her to and from town. The sight of her sitting beside him, wings draped behind her over the back seats, gently gaining lift as they cruised, was something he was never likely to forget. Impossibly she looked as completely at home in his battered, green, open-top speedboat as she did in the open fields or blue skies. Stranger still, the speedboat itself seemed to like her too. It simply ran better when she was there, the engine was smoother, the suspension softer and more comfortable. It was impossible but he was almost sure it was so. He already knew he was under her spell, why shouldn’t the boat be?
Then again so was so much of the world he lived in, and it didn’t make any sense either. The Catalina seemed to almost be smiling whenever he approached it. There was no other way to describe the feeling he got when he went down to the harbour that first time. He’d liked the plane from the very first, but now it seemed as if the plane liked him too. As if they were old friends. Perhaps they were, and he simply hadn’t noticed.
The only time he’d dared to fly it since she’d arrived, he was sure it had started purring instead of revving. And the controls – the plane almost seemed to fly itself, knowing intuitively where he wanted to go. It was a simple test flight to ensure everything was in working order and get some gas, but the plane somehow seemed to know exactly what to do.
The unbelievable had become surreal when he’d landed the seaplane and prepared to do the usual basic maintenance. The engine hatches wouldn’t open any longer, and the use of purpose built tools didn’t help. He’d struggled with them pointlessly, for ages, and still got nowhere. Somehow they’d bonded with the metal skin.
It was almost as though they were no longer hatches, just patterns in a solid metal skin. He could see the rivets, the screws to undo the cowlings, even the mechanical parts underneath, but he couldn’t turn them, couldn’t even reach them. Worse still, he found on closer inspection, he could no longer see the gaps between the seems and the screws. Nor could he open the fuel cap.
Then there was the fuel gauge itself. It should have been showing at least a quarter empty, but it wasn’t. The gauge said full, and something illogical but undeniable, deep within him, told him it was true. The plane was no longer drinking fuel. It didn’t need to. That was something he really didn’t want to think about. It rocked too much of the rest of the logical, sane world he had thought he’d lived in.
Unable to deal with that further impossibility on top of everything else, and not even wanting to ask and risk learning the answer, he’d put off the maintenance until later, much later, and the plane didn’t seem to mind as it bobbed merrily in its berth.
The marble lions too were something to do with her, something that assuredly had no place in reality. No place in any possible reality. They were alive, he was absolutely sure of it. The first time he’d seen them in their marble flesh he’d known it. They lived, they watched, they guarded. Even being near them was like being under the gaze of some greater being.
They also moved, by themselves. He’d never caught them, despite setting up cameras just to keep watch on them, though in hindsight perhaps he should have known better. The cameras never caught them, but the lions would move, change positions, even their pedestals. One day they’d be in the front yard, the next facing the forest at the rear. Sometimes they’d be sitting, sometimes lying, and sometimes standing at attention. But always they watched.
He had the feeling, and sadly there was never likely to be any proof, that they we
re doing it simply to confound him, like children playing a game. Why else would they move only when he wasn’t watching? Also, when he approached them, there was something in their stone faces that said they were enjoying his confusion, but in a good-natured way naturally. Thus far, though he’d been sorely tempted, he hadn’t actually worked up the will to touch one of them.
His house too seemed to be changing in some way he couldn’t really pin down. The same way as the plane and boat. It was as though it was acquiring a personality of its own. It had always had character, a rustic farm house sort of charm, but now it had grown a new dimension. An openness, a welcoming quality that somehow drew him in and said, - ‘stay, this is your home, your rest for the night. This is a place where you will be safe, warm, dry, and happy’.
That disturbed him perhaps more than the rest. This was the one place in the entire world he had always felt safe, and where he felt as though he knew every inch of his surroundings. Now it was as if his home was no longer the same home, and yet it was everything he had always wanted to be; a scented trap. His own home, his sanctuary from all the dangers of the world, and he couldn’t trust it any more, though he dearly wanted to.
