The Angel Alejandro

by Alistair Cross

* * *

  Mr. Jones pulled a black cigarette holder from his breast pocket. “You don’t mind if I smoke.” It wasn’t a question.

  Olivia LeBlatte hesitated. Smoking inside, anywhere, was prohibited. But given the unholy deed she and Mr. Jones had just engaged in, a cigarette seemed appropriate. In fact, it had never sounded better in her life. The panties were history. She was tugging her skirt back down as he handed her a cigarette.

  “You’ll join me.” Mr. Jones placed it between her lips and lit it, before lighting his own.

  She exhaled and examined the cigarette. It tasted nasty but felt so good. “G.J.?” She didn’t recognize the gold insignia.

  “My initials. They’re hand-rolled. I have them imported.” He took a deep pull and blew a cloud of yellow smoke into the air.

  The sulfurous smell hit and soothed her. She found herself looking Mr. Jones over and wanting a second round. His suit was without a single wrinkle and his hair was perfectly in place. He might have stepped right off the cover of GQ Magazine.

  She was drowsy - deliciously drowsy. She stifled a yawn and sat down on the chancel steps. Inhaling the tobacco smoke deep into her lungs, she stared out the open doors at the gathering storm. The scent of rain saturated the atmosphere but it had not yet arrived. She took another drag on her cigarette....

  “So many people are quitting these days,” Mr. Jones said. “It’s quite sad, really.” He leaned against the marble pulpit and examined his shiny black cigarette holder. The accessory was a delicate addition to his hyper-masculine appearance, but somehow, it worked. He tapped ash onto the chancel floor. Olivia did the same; it was his property - or soon would be, after all - who was she to argue?

  She took another drag, pleased to be smoking indoors again. It was reminiscent of her adolescence when cigarettes were not an addiction but a declaration of independence, an act of rebellion. And Olivia suddenly felt very rebellious.

  With his fingertips, Mr. Jones pinched his half-smoked cigarette out, impervious to the pain. She watched as he glanced around the church, growing worried he might not buy after all. He sure is taking his time.

  “Now then,” he said suddenly. “About your wish …”

  “What?”

  “You’ve had time to think, yes? Have you decided what it is you want more than anything?”

  “Well, I …”Right now, what she wanted most was to make this sale.

  “That’s the one,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “A mind reader, are you?”

  He chuckled. “The eyes have a way of coming to life when the mind settles on its ultimate target.” He retrieved his silky black top hat from the altar. “Now, if you’ll humor me a moment, Ms. LeBlatte, just whisper your desire into my hat.”

  She blinked at him. Is he mad?

  “Once you’re finished, we’ll get to that paperwork.”

  Crazy or not, she wanted this sale. “Um, okay.” She leaned in close, and whispered the words: “I wish you’d buy this godforsaken building,” low enough he couldn’t hear. When she looked up, his eyes were blazing with glee.

  “Well done, Ms. LeBlatte.”

  She’d never met anyone like this guy. What a nut. But hunky as hell …

  “As promised …” He opened his black briefcase and retrieved a gold pen.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” After a final drag, she dropped her cigarette and crushed it. She wanted another, but didn’t ask.

  Mr. Jones replaced the black top hat on his head.

  Before she could peek inside his briefcase he snapped it shut. You’re a strange man, Mr. Jones. “I’ll get the paperwork.” She smoothed her hair as she headed to the sacristy for the contracts.

  When she returned, Mr. Jones hadn’t moved from the pulpit and his casual pose stirred desire in her. How is it even possible that I want him again? He’d spent her, more than once, and she was exhausted enough that holding her head upright had become a chore … yet she wanted more of Mr. Jones. And more after that. “Before you sign, Mr. Jones, there are some things you should know - some things about the building’s history. Its past is rather-”

  “Unsavory. I know.” He took the contract from her and placed it on the pulpit. “As I said, I’ve done my homework. I am not a superstitious man, Ms. LeBlatte.”

  She offered a weak smile, willing him to hurry so she could get that check in her hand … then go home and sleep for six months.

  He clicked his pen. Thunder rolled. “You’ve been wonderful, Ms. LeBlatte. I’ll be sure that Draven Willard shows you proper appreciation for the work you’ve done.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mr. Jones rifled through the stack of paperwork and found the deed, scribbling his name on that one first.

  Lightning flashed, turning the world silver-blue. A deafening crash of thunder followed, shaking the ground and rattling the windows.

  Olivia looked out the open doors.

  Sheets of rain obscured everything beyond St. Agatha’s.

  The church bell began chiming in the fierce wind.

  * * *

  Beverly Simon’s book tumbled to the floor.

  Bells rang out and she clapped her hands over her ears, but it was futile.

  Thunder crackled and the lights flickered, threatening to go out. Rain beat against the window in bursts, as if someone were tossing buckets of water at the glass. The world tilted on its axis and Beverly squeezed her eyes shut. She saw a looming stone building.

  Blood oozes from the windows, drips down the stone walls.

  It’s St. Agatha’s.

  Beverly gripped the arms of her easy chair and opened her eyes, willing the images away. “Stop!” she spoke to her Source - the mysterious entity that had insisted on giving her visions for as long as she could remember. The room rocked like a ship on a storm-tossed sea. It isn’t real, she told herself. It isn’t real!

  The table beside her jumped and teetered, spilling the blue Tiffany lamp onto the floor.

  Fingers digging into the chair’s arm, she stared ahead, taking slow breaths and focusing on the water that washed down the window - and the gray rain-distorted world beyond it. It isn’t real, it isn’t real.

  She gasped as the silvery rivulets of rain began reshaping themselves on the window, moving against gravity, against logic and science, connecting to one another as if drawn by a magnetic force. A face formed. At the mouth, the rain ran upward as the watery lips upturned to form a ghastly smile, then receded into the rictus grin of a corpse.

  Beverly screamed.

  The earth boomed and the building groaned.

  The bells continued to ring - inside and outside her mind.

  Tremors and Tides

  The earth rocked beneath them.

  The parrot leapt from the couch, squawking and flapping his wings.

  “Earthquake!” Madison dragged Alejandro to the dining room; they slid to safety beneath the table.

  The chandelier tinkled and silverware rattled.

  Alejandro poked his head out to stare.

  “Stay down!” She yanked him back.

  Pirate circled the room in a frenzy as lamps toppled, glass shattered, and cupboards emptied their contents. The ground boomed and the windows rattled and shook. None broke, but Madison recoiled as a single burst of lightning struck just outside the window. She watched her cell phone dance on the counter and spill over the edge, knocking the battery out. There was an awful tearing sound, as if someone were ripping carpet from its moorings.

  Then the booming tremors trailed off. The floorboards beneath the carpet creaked and groaned as if exhausted.

  It was over.

  Alejandro’s hand was on Madison’s; he was close enough she could feel the heat of him, smell him.

  The sound of the rain pelting the windows was familiar, calm, assuring.

  “What was that?” Alejandro asked.

  “An earthquake.” Her throat was raspy. “Don’t move. There might be aftershocks.”

  On cue
, the ground shifted hard, as if it were being wrenched out from under them. Alejandro threw himself on Madison as the earth roared and screeched. Glass exploded as the chandelier crashed onto the table above them. It sounded like a gunshot.

  Madison screamed.

  A low rumble of thunder reverberated in the distance, and the world went still.

  She stared into Alejandro’s face, suddenly aware of their position. He was on top of her, his face just inches from her own. They were breathing hard and she could taste the sweetness of his breath on her tongue - vanilla. Her arms were vise-tight around him, her fingers pressed hard into his lower back. His body was an iron cage - a warm, wonderful iron cage.

  The ground grumbled again, but the tremor was quick, barely perceptible.

  His eyes stared into hers. They weren’t gray now, but silver. A long moment passed. There was only the sound of the rain - and Alejandro’s deep breathing - only the feel of his weight bearing down on her body. The heat of him, his scent riding the fragrance of his freshly-laundered sweatshirt, the sweetness of his breath. The earthquake forgotten, Madison stared at his lips, so close to her own. His crushing weight made it hard to breathe, but it felt good.

  Too good.

  Madison raised her face, just a little, and sucked in a breath. “Get off me,” she whispered. She shifted and tried to writhe out from beneath him.

  As if emerging from a trance, he blinked and moved. Wide-eyed, he looked around and said, “It wobbled.”

  Avoiding the shards of glass, Madison crawled out from under the table, got to her feet, and stared at the shattered remains of the chandelier. “Yes. It definitely wobbled.”

  Alejandro emerged and, spotting him, Pirate dove and lit on his shoulder, rubbing his beak through his hair.

  “We need to get that bird back to the pet store. If the quakes are over.” The last aftershock had been weak, but Madison didn’t want to take chances. “And then, we need to get you to the hospital. You have a dangerously high fever.” And I need to call Dette at the shop. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, not wanting to know what kind of damage the store had sustained.

  Alejandro turned hard eyes on her. “No.”

  “What?”

  “I told you I will not go to the hospital.”

  Madison took his arm to move him to the couch, but he stood firm. “Look. Just rest a few minutes until we know the aftershocks are done, and then-”

  “I said no.”

  Thunder crashed and lightning brightened the room.

  “You have a fever, Alejandro. A very high one! And I’m not a nurse. I can’t-”

  “I feel fine.” His voice was low, as ominous as the growling thunder, and when he spoke, the words emerged on a plume of frost, as if the room were freezing.

  But it wasn’t cold. What the hell? “You do not feel fine, Alej-”

  “I said no!”From the kitchen, a glass shot out from an open cupboard and shattered against the fridge. The lights flickered on and off.

  Did he do that?

  His jaw was firm. “I will not go.” His breath was still frosted and his eyes were not silvery now, but like steel - dark, hard, and cold.

  Another glass took a header, hit the wall, and exploded. Splintered fragments showered down, tinkling on the kitchen floor....Nothing else moved.

  Pirate, who’d been chirping and gibbering, fell silent.

  Madison swallowed. “Okay. No hospital.” She told herself it was just the dying temblors, but she hadn’t felt a thing when those glasses broke. And that didn’t explain his frosted breath, either. Or the flickering lights.

  Pirate squawked and flapped his wings. “Who’s a pretty boy?”

  “Who are you?” Madison stared at Alejandro.

  He blinked, his hard gaze softening. “A tourist?” There was no frost this time.

  Then the sirens began. Madison tore her gaze off Alejandro and headed to the window. She gasped at what she saw.

  Smoke spiraled up in several places in the town below, the streets were slick with rain, and a fire hydrant on the main road gushed a fountain. A bolt of lightning hit a transformer, then another, and she saw showers of sparks, like sparklers on the Fourth of July. In her own yard, her wheelbarrow and lawn furniture had toppled, and the neatly piled leftover bricks from the koi pond project were now scattered.

  The soft hum of the fridge died and the kitchen lights went out.

  * * *

  Emergency sirens wailed.

  The last tremor had passed but Nick Grayson remained in the bedroom doorway, bracing himself. He stepped cautiously across the threshold and tried the light switch. Nothing happened. “Figures.” It was hours until nightfall, but he didn’t have candles or lanterns, just a half-dead flashlight in the Highlander.

  His rock collection and guitar - thankfully in its case - were fine. The extent of damage in the living room was a fallen lamp and a crooked Hitchcock poster. Outside, his grill was on its side in the downpour. He hurried out, wincing against the cold sheets of rain, and dragged it under the awning.

  Something clanked from within the fridge, and when he opened it, half the contents tumbled out. Milk splashed on his shoes, eggs threw themselves to their deaths, and a glass jar of hot dog relish hit the linoleum and rolled away from him. He retrieved it and as he wiped up the slimy remains of the last egg, his cell phone shrilled.

  “How would you feel about starting a day early?” Marty Pullman sounded harried. “We’ve got fires and a flash flood watch, and they aren’t kidding around. We’ve already got some folks stranded in the lower parts of town. The fire department and other emergency services are handling the rescues, but there’s looting downtown, a load of 911 calls, and if I know people, we’ll have idiots getting stranded in flooded intersections. We could really use you.”

  “You got it.” Nick was already headed to the closet for his jacket. “Want me to meet you-”

  “No, just get your boots and raincoat and come outside. I’m in your driveway.”

  Nick stared out the window. Pullman hadn’t lied. From his cruiser, he waved and flashed a grin. “Oh, and bring a comb. As soon as the news crews can get through, they’re going to be all over you.”

  “Be right out.” He ended the call and shrugged into his jacket.

  The laid back job he’d anticipated at the PPD was off to a very poor start.

  * * *

  When it was safe, Dette peered over the counter and took in the damage. “Shit.” The antique floor lamps Madison had just put on sale had tipped over and shattered. Several of the framed pictures and wooden pieces had fallen from the walls and broken. The postcard stand was on its side, its contents strewn. One of the clothes racks had toppled and there was a crack down the entire length of the front display window. In short, O’Riley’s Rocks was a mess and Madison would not be happy. Neither would the insurance company.

  Dette found her phone, which had toppled off the counter along with the Kathryn McLeod romance she’d borrowed from Maddy. Her phone showed missed calls and texts from Prominence News Radio - a flash flood watch. They were urging the locals in low-lying areas to head to higher elevations. An emergency shelter would be opening at the elementary school. This is serious....

  The missed calls had been Madison. Fingers trembling, Dette hit RETURN MISSED CALL on her phone.

  It only rang once. “Dette! Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Dette walked to the cracked window and stared out. Water rushed down the street like a low river. “I’m okay, and so is the shop for the most part, but they’ve issued a flash flood watch.” She stared as the driver of a stalled Honda hopped out of her car and began wading up the street, leaning into the downpour. The water was up to the woman’s ankles. “Hold on.” Dette opened the door to invite the woman inside, but she disappeared into Ray’s Market. “It’s already starting to flood.”

  “Can you drive up to the house?”

  “I think so, yes.” Dette’s Mustang was terrible in
the snow, but it wasn’t bad in rain. If she hurried, she’d be fine. Maddy’s house wasn’t far, and it was a hell of a lot safer than taking the twenty-mile drive home....

  “Lock up and get here as fast as you can, Dette. I don’t know how much worse it’s going to get, but it’ll be safer up here.”

  “On my way.”

  * * *

  Nick Grayson stared out the window of Marty’s black and white Explorer. The rain fell in silver sheets and the streets were filling with water. “Holy Mother of God.”

  “You can say that again.” Marty slowed as the vehicle slid, water splashing around its tires.

  “What’s the situation?”

  “Swift water rescue squads are on their way and we’re going to need them. We’ve got the looters covered - I assigned two cars to the downtown area. The rest are cruising affected neighborhoods while they can, bullhorning orders to evacuate to Prominence Elementary. The fire department is out in force, ambulances are on call. The county yard is sending some heavy equipment, at least one disaster rescue vehicle to pick up people we can’t reach.”

  The radio crackled and Marty directed dispatch to alert the fire department to pick up a man stranded on top of his car on Gold Dust Drive. He replaced the handset and glanced at Nick. “We need to get to the Prominence Court Trailer Park. It’s on low ground and if it’s not flooding now, it will be soon. People don’t listen to warnings, they drown.”

  The big SUV turned onto Main. Nick could barely see out though Marty had the wipers moving fast and hard against the water. He’d turned up the defrost, clearing the fog from the windows, but despite living on the coast, despite past El Niños, Nick had never seen anything like this. “It’s apocalyptic.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Rubbing his forehead, wishing he’d popped a couple more aspirin before leaving the house, he braced himself as Marty pulled through the intersection of Main and Cameo. Roxie’s Diner was closed. The water was deep enough that the Explorer roared as it pulled out of the flooding intersection.

  “I’d say that was almost a foot deep.” Marty squinted against the rain. “Two feet and our unit is out of commission. We’ll float.”