by Bruce Blake
His expression was intense, fierce, and I retained no doubt he meant every word.
“That poor woman. Because of me,” I said, voice small, resigned.
“For eternity.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
His eyes flickered to Poe and I followed his gaze. She shrank away, the look of awe and longing disappearing from her face, some of the same fear and regret I felt replacing it.
“A start.” He stood, towering over me. “There will be times it is impossible to perform your task. You cannot win every time, but you are expected to do your best. If you do not, there are consequences, both for the soul you did not harvest and for you.”
I shivered and the deserted room flashed before my eyes; my chest cinched tight. I didn’t want to see that place again, never mind spend eternity suffering there. My eyes swept the motel room--never before had tattered furniture and grimy carpet made me feel so welcome, so safe.
“I get it.”
“Good.” He strode to the door and it swung open. Poe bowed in deference but he didn’t acknowledge her. “Do not play God again. I showed you but a taste.”
He took a step then turned back. “The soul you collected: there were Carrions?”
“Yeah.”
“How many?”
“Two,” I said, then corrected myself. “No, three.”
“Did the third pursue you?”
“No.”
“He was not a Carrion. He is who had you killed.” He stepped out of the room, the door closing behind him.
I stared at the plain wood door for a minute, his parting words echoing in my head, making me feel like I hung at the end of a rope, toes dangling over an unknown chasm.
Poe came and sat next to me, lips curved into a strained smile.
“He wants me to come with you next time,” she said, a note of apology in her tone.
“I’m not surprised. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“What would happen if I didn’t get a soul.”
She looked down at her lap. “You left before I had a chance.”
The regret plain on her face--like a child who’d disappointed her parent--suggested she didn’t say it to make me feel guilty, but it had that effect anyway. Not only did that poor woman end up in Hell because of me, I missed an opportunity to get one soul closer to having my life back.
That’s what Mike meant about Trevor. If I harvest the souls, I can be there for him, keep bad things from happening.
We sat in silence, Mikey’s words and the thought of Trevor pushing the needle into his arm, injecting death into his body, still strong in my head. I might never be able to rid myself of that memory. I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand and then glanced at my arm. Never in my life could I remember being thankful for having arms.
“Does he mean what he said?” I rubbed my hands together, enjoying the feel of them. “Will he send me to Hell?”
“No.” Poe touched my hand, a fleeting caress gone almost before I realized it. The feel of her skin on mine sent an electric tingling up my arm. “Michael fought to save you so you could serve God as you were destined. He rescued you from Hell.”
“He fought for me?” I imaged an epic battle between good and evil, Michael held aloft on snowy wings I knew he didn’t have as he fought a red man with horns and a spiky tail. Or maybe the man in black from the alley, the one he said had me killed.
Poe nodded. “Yes. The other side wants you, too.”
I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening to the squeak of the chair’s springs.
“Great,” I said. “‘Like I don’t have enough problems.”
Chapter Nine
Two-thirty a.m. is prime time at every Denny’s in the world, including the one down the street from my motel. Not surprisingly, the clientele consisted mostly of drunks. While waiting for my grand slam breakfast, I remembered the times I’d been the lout abusing the over-worked waitress and felt some remorse. Or maybe I longed for the bottle hidden under the seat of my car. I wanted to retrieve it the second Mike left but didn’t dare, not with Poe still hanging around. Conscience is a terrible thing--whether your own or imposed upon you, Jiminy Cricket-style--and the waitress would get a larger-than-usual tip tonight in an attempt to ease mine.
The smell of grease and frying bacon wafted to me from the kitchen as I sipped coffee from a stained white mug and looked at the obese woman sitting alone at the table beside me jamming ketchup smothered fries into her mouth, a newspaper spread on the table catching the bits that fell out. Her hairdo of tight curls perched on her head like a bonnet, her glasses slid down her nose requiring readjustment every half-minute. I don’t know why she drew my attention, but I was still watching her when I sensed a presence at my table.
“Hi, Poe.” I didn’t look away from the overweight woman.
“Hello, Icarus.”
“Ric,” I said glancing at her. She wore her hair down, the flowing blond mane drawing attention away from her imperfect nose, making her prettier. Her presence lightened my mood. “I thought I’d managed to lose you for the night.”
“I knew you’d have to eat eventually. There’s not many places open this late.”
She flagged down the waitress and ordered a mocha. When the haggard-looking woman told her they didn’t offer mochas, she changed her order to a chocolate milk shake. I cringed at the thought of a milk shake at this time of night.
“Can I ask you something, Poe?”
She nodded but said nothing. A hint of blush crawled across her cheeks.
“I learned about angels growing up. Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Uriel: they all end with the letters ‘e-l’. All angel’s names do, it means ‘of God’.” I paused for another swig of bad coffee. “Poe doesn’t.”
She leaned her elbows on the table, propping her chin on closed fists. Her eyes, the color of old straw, sparked deep within. Not as prominent as in Mikey’s eyes, or the guy we bumped into in the alley, but flickering all the same. The waitress returned and put Poe’s chocolate shake on the table--a glass with a line of chocolate dribbling down the side and a frosted metal shake cup containing the overflow. I stole a glance at the fat woman beside us. Why couldn’t I keep my eyes off her?
“Thanks.” Poe glanced at the waitress then turned her gaze to the shake. She didn’t say anything for a minute and I thought she didn’t realize my statement had been a query. My lips parted to add a question mark, but she finally answered without looking up from her drink.
“They were born angels. I wasn’t.”
I waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t.
“We’re not here to talk about me.” She sighed around her straw. I decided not to press the issue. Yet. “Are you ready for your next assignment?”
“No.”
“What? But--”
I shook my head. “I’ll never be ready, not for this.”
“You know what could happen to you if you don’t.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t, just I don’t like it. Those guys almost killed me.”
“You’re already dead, Icarus. What are you afraid of?” She sucked hard on the straw to get some of the thick shake through it. “Think of the people you’re helping.”
“Alfred didn’t want my help.”
“It happens.” She shrugged, sipped more of her shake then smiled, happy with the sweet drink and probably delighted with not talking about herself.
I shifted in my seat, stole a peek at the woman still eating her fries and reading the paper. Alone. I knew how she must have felt.
“I’ll do it. To get Trevor back if for nothing else.”
She made a face. “What’s Tr--”
She stopped mid-word and jammed the straw back into her mouth, sucking in milk shake to drown the rest of her statement.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Poe...?”
“Nothing, Icarus. I just...nothing.”
&n
bsp; I stared across the table at her and she refused to meet my eyes. Her nervous demeanor was both annoying and endearing. After a moment I realized I wouldn’t get anything more out of her, so I turned the conversation to something that had been on my mind.
“Who was the other guy?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“With the Carrions. Tall, dark. Kinda looked like the Undertaker. You know, the wrestler? Mikey said it’s his fault I’m dead.”
Her smile disappeared. “Azrael.”
“The angel of death? Isn’t he one of the good guys?”
“Used to be,” she said. And then, more to herself, “What was he doing there?”
“Used to be?” The big woman at the table beside us coughed. I glanced over, not thinking much of it. “What happened? Why would he want to kill me?” Perhaps a stupid question regarding someone called ‘the angel of death.’
“I don’t know. You’re my job, and the others, so I don’t hear much gossip. I spend most of my time in your world.”
Angel gossip?
The obese woman wheezed. She’d stopped eating, her eyes grown wide behind the glasses slid down to the tip of her nose. A light shade of pink colored her cheeks.
“Are you okay?” I asked the fat lady, but she didn’t seem to hear over the din of the restaurant’s drunken customers. One hand went to her throat, the other pounded once on the top of the table. The color of her cheeks deepened to scarlet.
“She’s choking.” I moved to stand, but Poe caught my arm, the electric charge of her touch flowing across my skin, making the hairs on my arm stand up.
“Don’t interfere, Icarus. What must happen will happen.”
I shot her an angry look and moved toward the woman anyway. “You’re crazy. If I don’t help, she might die.”
“Yes.” Her grip on my arm tightened to a degree a woman of her size shouldn’t have been able. She dragged me back into my seat. “Don’t interfere.”
I did as she said, watching in horror while the woman’s face went purple. She looked my direction, her bulging eyes pleading for help, but Poe’s hand remained on my arm, pinning me in the seat. A passing waitress saw the choking-in-progress and dropped her armload of breakfasts and burgers, her scream all but drowned out by the crash of dishes hitting floor. A man jumped to the woman’s aid, attempted to reach his arms around her girth and perform the Hiemlich, but couldn’t encircle her completely. Others rushed to help, like when Alfred died. At least there was no blood this time. Thank God--my stomach wouldn’t have handled it.
A minute passed, then two. The woman struggled to draw breath while the people who came to help forced fingers into her mouth to clear whatever obstruction clogged her thick throat. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible. After another minute, her fight for life diminished. Her panicked look faded, the thrashing ceased. The jumble of helpers reminded me of the doctors and nurses who tried to save me when they knew I couldn’t be helped. The fat woman was also beyond saving.
In the midst of the tumult, a woman appeared. She didn’t sing, but I recognized her as the soul of the fat lady, not a mortal, and this surely indicated it was over. Intrigued, I watched as the woman’s soul appraised the chaos surrounding her earthly form. She was no child like Alfred’s spirit, nor overweight. In fact, she looked like the corpse’s slimmer, better looking sister.
“Poe,” I said and she released my arm. “What’s happening?”
“You know what’s happening. Do you think it’s a coincidence you sat beside a woman and she died fifteen minutes later?”
My head snapped toward the angel like someone replaced my neck with an over-wound watch spring. “I’m responsible for her death?”
“No. But you knew it would happen.”
I looked back at the woman’s soul. She’d picked me out in the crowded restaurant and taken a few steps toward me. I shrank back in my seat.
“Can you help me?” the slender version of the fat woman asked.
I didn’t say anything.
“He can,” Poe said.
I shot her an angry glance. “Poe--”
“She needs you.”
I gritted my teeth, biting back further protest. Without a scroll, I didn’t know what to do. I leaned across the table so only Poe heard me.
“I don’t know how to help her. You have to find someone else.”
“There’s no one else. You’re her only chance.”
I glanced sideways at the woman who waited for us to finish our whispered conversation. Poe’s expression changed, took on a firm aspect I hadn’t seen on the timid angel’s face before. It scared me a bit, but I felt proud of her, too.
“If you don’t help her cross, the Carrions will.”
The thought of those two men made me cringe. I closed my eyes and pictured the one pinned between two cars, arms waving angrily, oblivious his legs were crushed to oatmeal under him. The sonic boom of one of their fireballs echoed through my memory.
A deep breath to keep me calm. Unsuccessful
I can’t let them have her.
I opened my eyes to Poe’s serious expression.
“You’re sure?”
“A Carrion took me once.” She paused. “She will suffer if you don’t help.”
Poe’s statement raised my eyebrow, but I didn’t put voice to the questions it provoked, not now. I looked at the spirit instead. Behind her, the chaos settled as the fat woman’s fate became clear. The waitress who first saw her sat hunched over in a booth, body trembling with sobs. The man who attempted to help her wiped his arm across his forehead, clearing the sweat of his efforts. Others who offered aid stood, heads hung. These people didn’t known this woman, yet they did their best to help without being asked, without knowing what kind of person they attempted to revive.
I looked at the woman. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It was my time.”
“I’ll help you.”
But will I survive long enough to regret it?
“Thank you.”
She threw her arms around my neck. I looked over her shoulder at Poe and saw the angel’s smile return with a vengeance. My lip quivered and pulled up a bit at the corner against my better judgment. After a minute, I started to think the woman would never let me go, so I pushed her gently away.
“Do I take her to the toy store?”
“They’ll contact you.”
“What? When?”
“I don’t know.”
I leaned toward Poe again, lowering my voice. I didn’t want the woman to know the man who’d offered to save her from damnation didn’t have a freaking clue what to do next.
“What do I do?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about the Carrions?” The words hissed through my teeth.
“Take her to your motel,” Poe said in a conversational volume. “Don’t let anyone in.”
I nodded. It didn’t make a hell-of-a-lot of sense, but nothing did. What sense was there that my guardian angel told me to take a spirit to my motel room to protect her from the forces of Hell?
Cuckoo.
What else could I do?
“What else can I do?”
“Nothing, I think.” Poe patted my arm then drained her milk shake. “This isn’t my department.”
I should have been annoyed with her response, but the way she said it nearly made me laugh. She slid her bum along the seat of the booth and stood; I followed suit.
“Let’s go,” I said.
“I’m not going with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve done the collecting, that’s what Michael wanted me to supervise.”
“Where are you going?” I glanced at the woman’s soul, wondered what she thought of our amateurish display. She waited patiently, apparently unconcerned.
“I have other clients to see.” Poe’s grin became sheepish, and she looked away. “But you’re my favorite.”
The burn of embarrassment r
ose in my cheeks. “Oh.”
“I’ll catch up to you later.” She surprised me by standing on her tiptoes and pecking me on the cheek. The tingling sensation it created covered half my face. “Good luck. Thanks for the shake.”
She spun on her heel and hurried out of the restaurant, leaving me a spirit with whom I didn’t know what to do.
And the bill.
***
She perched on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, watching me fidget in the uncomfortable chair beside the TV--the one I’d sat in when Mike showed me Hell. The walk from Denny’s had been uneventful and silent. What do you say to someone who recently croaked while eating her super chicken sandwich?
“Thank you for this, Icarus.”
“Ric.” What’s so hard about calling me Ric? “What’s your name?”
“Sondra.” She glanced around the room, a hint of dismay in her eyes: she didn’t understand what was going on, a feeling with which I sympathized. “This isn’t what I expected death to be.”
“No, me either,” I said, more to myself than to her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She shuffled her feet, rubbed her hands together. “What happens next?”
“We wait.” Please don’t ask me what we’re waiting for.
“For what?”
Damn it. “For someone to tell me where to take you.”
“You don’t know where I’m going?” Her eyes widened, the timbre of her voice inched toward panic. Her fingers dug into her thighs. “But I went to church every Sunday. I said my prayers. I never even...” She lowered her eyes. “I never even had sex.”
Perhaps I needed to work on my bedside manner. I paused, breathed deep, and took another stab at it.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m just not sure where to drop you off.”
“But where will I end up?” She looked at me, eyes desperate but hinting regret. I guess everyone keeps secrets they worry might condemn them to Hell, even church-going, prayer-saying virgins
“If you’re with me, you’re going up.”
She nodded and looked understandably relieved. What a bummer it would have been to have kept yourself pure, died a virgin, then find out you’re destined for Hell, regardless.
