Devine Intervention

by Martha Brockenbrough

  She was probably being silly. Yes. That was it. It had been a long, terrible night and she was still woozy from the surgery.

  “I don’t have time to explain,” the angel said. “And more to the point, you don’t have time for me to explain.”

  The only way he could’ve known her soul was about to dissipate was if he really was an angel. She’d have to go with him. But maybe he’d give her just a few moments more.

  “I need to keep my dog alive,” she said. “Until I can get his soul back in his body.”

  The angel slumped his shoulders and let his head fall toward his chest. He sighed heavily.

  “I have never been able to understand earthly attachments,” he said. “When I was a human, I had none. I was happy.”

  “Is that how you became an angel? No attachments?”

  “An angel? Ha —” The angel paused to scratch his nose. “Yes,” he said. “I am an angel, and a lack of attachment is how I achieved my exalted state.”

  “Please help me.” Her voice sounded so pathetic. “Please.”

  “Help you?” the angel said. “We have to get you to my — my esteemed colleagues.”

  “If I’m going to spend eternity in Heaven, there has to be time for me to do this one last thing on Earth. I need to do this. I need to save Jiminy and say good-bye to the people I love.”

  “Gahhh,” the angel said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Fine. Follow me.”

  He fiddled with the remote control again and the world around her went hazy.

  “I don’t want to do it,” she said. “I don’t —”

  “What, you don’t trust me?”

  She didn’t. But she didn’t want to seem rude or offend the one soul who might help her now. She opened her mouth to speak, and the bell on the door of the veterinary office dinged. A thirtysomething guy with a head half full of long hair walked in. What was it called when a balding guy had a mullet? The melting pony?

  “Cori!” he said.

  Corinne walked out and stopped abruptly. “Mike?”

  She wanted to watch what was going to happen. She had that fluttery feeling you get when you’re watching a movie and you know there’s going to be kissing.

  The angel’s white light spread until it swallowed her. She felt something tug her fur. She staggered outside. The angel whisked away the light as a magician retracts a silk handkerchief, leaving her shivering on the sidewalk in a softening bank of slush. Her leg ached. A maroon Chevrolet was parked crookedly nearby, its lighter-colored door hanging open.

  “Come on, then,” the angel said, glancing back over his round shoulder. “Let’s get all that stuff over with. We’re late enough as it is.”

  Five minutes left.

  I FELT NAKED without my jacket and drunkish from getting whacked on the head, so I stumbled a bit as I walked into group. People were at activity centers, which is how we start sessions. A couple of guys were playing Yahtzee. I hate how the dice rattle in cups. It makes my arrow hurt. I would rather play poker, but that involves bluffing, which Xavier and Gabe view as a form of lying and so we’re not allowed.

  I tripped on the leg of the Yahtzee table and knocked my arrow on the corner of it when I went down. It hurt so bad I thought I’d never get up. I grabbed my head and listened to the moaning sound coming out of my mouth. It was like a herd of cows was in my throat. Then I saw a pair of tasseled loafers in front of me. Xavier.

  “Jerome,” he said. “It’s hard to talk with you when you’re in the fetal position.” His knees popped as he squatted next to me. “What’s wrong? I know there’s no food poisoning in Heaven, and we upgraded your sensor to keep you out of Applebee’s, so don’t pretend you’re having another Riblets incident.”

  “Xavier,” I said.

  My voice sounded like someone had stepped on it, but at least the lisp was gone. I stared at the carpet real hard, wishing the strands would rearrange themselves into letters telling me what to do. He put his hand on my back, right where the wings sprout out on greeting-card angels. I turned my head and squinted. Xavier obviously didn’t know what I’d done or he wouldn’t be doing the comforting thing.

  “So what’s the verdict on the carpet?” he said. “See anything interesting there?”

  “Smells,” I said. “Like feet.”

  Xavier offered me a hand up.

  “Don’t need any help,” I said.

  “Regardless of whether you think you need help,” Xavier said, “I am offering it. That is what I am here for.”

  He stood and did his little clap-clap thing to let people know group was starting. The echoes were not a sound I needed just then. Everybody put down their half-finished lanyards and Yahtzee dice and headed to the folding chairs. They socked each other’s shoulders and settled down in their seats like it was any old group session where we’d report on our humans and then sing uplifting hymns and wait and see if anyone had accumulated enough points to fly up.

  I’d never felt more alone in my whole life or any of the years that came after Mike shot me. It’s bad enough to know you’re going to Hell with the weight of someone’s lost soul on your shoulders. It’s something else to know you’re going by yourself and to see everyone just doing their thing like nothing unusual was happening.

  Once everyone was seated, Xavier glided to his chair, cleared his throat, and said, “Does anybody have anything he’d like to share?” He looked right at me.

  A new kid named Irving piped up because he hadn’t learned yet that sharing in group is likely to lead to uncontrollable confessions.

  “Um, Xavier?” he said in his squeaky little unchanged voice. “I don’t think Howard is here?”

  “Why, thank you, Irving, for helping watch over my flock.” Xavier squinted and scanned the room. “Has anyone seen Howard? Is he not feeling well?”

  I wasn’t going to open my snack hole at first. I didn’t know where he was, but I knew what he was doing, watching Heidi’s soul disappear from the world forever, and loving every second of it. Xavier put one long finger on his temple and massaged. He put his other pointer finger in front of his mouth and shushed us.

  I’m calling him, he mouthed, like we couldn’t tell.

  He let Howard’s skull phone ring and ring, and his face got more confused-looking by the second. I don’t know if skull phones are like those things that suck the water out of air, but the waiting was having that effect on my mouth. My tongue felt like a lump of cotton. A lump of nasty cotton living in the armpit of a bum who has an apartment at the dump and not even the good kind of dump with busted car parts. The kind with fish heads, banana peels, and old transvestite wigs.

  Xavier lowered his finger. “Does anyone know where Howard is? We’ve had reports of Canadian succubae sightings. Or he could have been detained by a wayward hellhound. If anyone has information he isn’t revealing, this will count as a blot on his soul. I don’t believe I need to say that for some of you striding the edge of expulsion, those may very well be the points that send you through the double doors.”

  He pointed and made his fingertip audio equipment do a thunder sound.

  Troy, who’d come into group right after me, crossed his arms over his chest. My jacket was way too big for him.

  “Jerome!” Xavier used his loud voice.

  I had to shake my head to snap out of it. Look cool. Look cool.

  “What?”

  “Your face,” he said. “It looks troubled. Is there something you want to tell me?”

  He made church-and-steeple hands and looked at me with his lips touching the steeple part, like he was daring me to let a lie creep out of my mouth in a holy place.

  I have lied in all sorts of places, both when I was a human and since I became a rehab soul. I’ve gotten to where I don’t think of words as truth or lies anymore. They’re things I put out there to do what I need. They’re like a socket wrench or a hammer or my favorite tool, the Sawzall, which does exactly what it sounds like it does unless you take it to the bumper of
your dad’s Pinto, because then it becomes a Sawznothing.

  I opened my mouth with the idea of lying, but then I looked in Xavier’s eyes. I started thinking about ripples and I couldn’t stop, and I knew that no matter what, I didn’t want my last ripples to be false ones.

  I closed my eyes to make them stop stinging, and I used my skull phone to call him so the other guys wouldn’t hear. It was hard sending a message with my brain because normally I use my mouth. But I guess my brain has some usefulness to it, because he nodded right at me and whispered, “Hallelujah.” Then he did clapping hands again and announced that during the rest of group today, it would be A/V time featuring a showing of Steel Magnolias.

  I almost hurled until I remembered that I wouldn’t be watching it. I’d be confessing my sins with Xavier and Gabe. The movie screen swooshed down and there was a lot of clanking as the guys rearranged their chairs. And then I was out of the group room and in Gabe’s chambers, and he and Xavier were in front of me. Waiting. That’s when the clock struck nine.

  Appendix G: The Ten Commandments for the Living

  I. THOU SHALT HAVE COURAGE.

  II. THOU SHALT BE LOYAL.

  III. THOU SHALT TELL THE TRUTH.

  Zero minutes left.

  FOR THE FIRST time since she’d gone into Jiminy’s body, Heidi noticed the world was no longer in color, or at least in as many colors as she’d known in her human life. The sun was a white wound in a gray sky. The rest of the world was a landscape of textured black and white, stitched in a thousand shimmering shades between. It was the world as she’d always tried to draw it, only better.

  Her nose deepened the picture, picking separate strands of fragrance out of the air: here, car exhaust; there, squirrel. Braiding everything together was the richness of a burning cedar tree — infused with the warmth and wind and rain and moonbeams it had absorbed over the course of many human lifetimes — now slowly turning to ash in someone’s fireplace.

  And then there were the noises. The high chatter of birds. The low moan of passing cars. The chuckle of melting snow in the storm drains, like a secret joke between the sidewalk and the street, punctuated with the intermittent punch of barking dogs announcing, “I’m here! I’m here!”

  She’d observed a bit of it earlier, as Mrs. Thorpe drove her to the animal hospital. But it was dark then. And she was hurt. Now that she was patched up and hungry to remember everything for as long as it lasted, it felt sublimely strange to perceive the richness of ordinary human experience through the senses of her dog. No wonder Jiminy always held his ears up. No wonder he poked at the air every so often with his nose. He was paying attention. She wished she’d done the same. She wished — she wished …

  “Why do you keep touching my back?” she asked the angel.

  They were walking toward Heidi’s house to see if Jiminy had gone there — it wasn’t far, maybe a mile. The going was rough on the icy sidewalks. Most of the snow had been cleared, but any lingering anesthesia that might have blunted her pain had vanished, and the salt stung her footpads.

  She knew enough to understand why the angel wasn’t offering to carry her. He couldn’t. Even if he didn’t mind breaking one of the Ten Commandments for the Dead, he probably didn’t care enough about her to lift her. Besides, she didn’t want to look like a flying dog. That would attract the kind of attention she didn’t need. Still. His fingers kept wrapping around her spine as though it were a purse handle.

  “I’m, uh, I’m petting you,” he said. “Ruffling your fur. I thought dogs liked that.” He took his hands away, pressed them into his pockets, and whistled an ugly melody through his teeth.

  It didn’t feel like he was petting her. This was way too rough. She growled. Something about being inside Jiminy had stripped away her old reserve. She felt like a peeled orange, alternating bursts of sweetness and bitterness, and she resolved to walk faster. The sooner she made it home, the better. She disliked being with this angel. It wasn’t just the creepy song he was whistling. It was his palpable absence of goodwill. He made her feel worse than anyone who’d made fun of her at school — and they’d only just met.

  “Do you think you can do what you need to do in, say, five minutes?” he asked. “We’re kinda running late.”

  They stood on the steps outside her front door. Melting icicles hung like earrings on the eaves, shedding sparkling drops onto the softening soil below. The warm breath of the house had melted the snow, revealing a skirt of earth. Soon, crocuses would reach their fingertips through the surface, followed by their purple and golden heads.

  “Yo,” the angel said. “I asked you a question.”

  She turned her face toward him.

  “Five minutes?” She whispered so no one inside would overhear. “Can’t I have more time?”

  The church bells started ringing and the angel rolled his eyes. “It’s nine o’clock,” he said. “You’ve made me late already.”

  Nine o’clock. She was supposed to have dissolved by then. And yet she hadn’t. She still felt as solid as she had an hour before. Something about being inside Jiminy must be keeping her safe. As hard as it was to hang on, doing so was making a difference. She hoped the protection would last long enough for her to find his soul and put it back where it belonged.

  “Look,” she said. “This might take a while. I’m going to have to find Jiminy and figure out how to get him back inside his body. I’d also like to say good-bye to my family and Megan. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Foolish human,” the angel said in his reverberating voice. It gave her the shakes. “Your dog’s spirit has most likely made its way to animal heaven. We’ll need special permission to go there.”

  He might have mentioned that before. But no matter. She’d talk to her parents first, say good-bye. One thing at a time, one step at a time. “I’m gonna scratch on the door. That’s how Jiminy asks to come in.”

  The angel rolled his eyes again, and she felt herself blush beneath her fur. She hated how stupid he made her feel for wanting to do these last few things. At least no one could see it through the fur.

  “Are your ears turning red?” the angel said. “That’s totally weird.”

  Fighting an urge to tuck her tail between her legs, she sat on the welcome mat and scratched the door with her cast. Then came footsteps on the tile, the nervous rattle of the chain coming loose, the slow turning of the knob. She stood and wagged her tail when she saw Rory.

  “Jiminy! What happened to you?”

  Rory had a coat on, as if he was just getting ready to leave the house. He lifted her and she felt every one of her internal injuries ignite.

  “Mom! Dad!” Rory carried her into the family room at a run. She thought she might throw up, it hurt so much. “Jiminy’s back and he’s all busted up! Look! He’s wearing a cast!”

  Her parents emerged, also dressed in their winter coats. They looked terrible, as if they hadn’t slept. A sweet pressure built up behind her eyes, but she had no tear ducts to release the pain. Instead, she barked and wagged her tail, looking about for Jiminy’s spirit. She saw no sign of him.

  The angel stood behind her, studying their family portrait. She growled, hating the hungry look in his eyes.

  “Jiminy!” Her mother squatted and held out her hands. Heidi thumped her way across the floor and into her mother’s arms. She breathed in her mother’s scent and wanted to kiss her and embrace her.

  “What happened to you, Jiminy? You disappeared on us. We were so worried.” She leaned her forehead against Heidi’s. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  Heidi whimpered.

  “Ticktock,” the angel said. “I haven’t got all day. You haven’t got all day.”

  She shot a look at her parents, alarmed. But they hadn’t heard him. The clock on the wall inched toward five minutes past. A pen and paper. That’s what she’d need. It would be quicker to use Jiminy’s body to talk, but her voice coming out of his mouth was monstrous. That was the last thing she’d want to do to her
parents while they were still dealing with her death.

  She slipped out of her mother’s embrace and tottered through the hall to the family room. As usual, her dad had left his work on the coffee table. She picked up his pen in her mouth, wishing it were one of her beloved Pigma Microns.

  “Jiminy, drop it,” her dad said.

  She resisted the urge to obey. The pen weighed a thousand pounds and its barrel tasted of salt and minerals. She arranged the pen so it was tip down, nosed her father’s work out of the way, and looked for something to write on. Her mother’s fitness magazine. It would do. It would have to. In fact, it might even make things easier.

  “Jiminy!” Her dad’s voice was sharper now. “Drop it!”

  Heidi hurried and circled the letter H in HEALTH.

  The angel leaned over her shoulder. The scent of imitation pepperoni and cheap tomato sauce assaulted her. “Why don’t you step out of the dog already?” he said. “Get this over with?”

  She growled.

  “Dad, look!” Rory said. “Jiminy circled the letter H!”

  “Don’t be silly, Rory,” her mother said. “Get the pen before he makes a mess.”

  “He’s circled the E!”

  Heidi paused. She wanted to drop the pen. It was making her drool.

  “Warren, look at this,” Heidi’s mother said. She stood next to Jiminy. “What do you make of it? The dog’s circled two letters.”

  “HE? What’s that supposed to mean?” Rory said.

  Heidi scanned the page for her next letter. There. An I, right in the headline “INVISIBLE TOXINS IN YOUR FRIDGE.”

  “He circled an I!” Her parents grabbed each other’s hands. Exhausted and in pain, Heidi pressed on. She hadn’t thought about what she’d write beyond her name. She found a D in the “UNSEXIEST DISEASES EVER” headline, and circled the I next to it, to conserve her energy.

  “Heidi!” her mother said. “Jiminy spelled Heidi’s name! What are the odds?”

  “It’s a message, Mom,” Rory said. “A secret message from beyond! Maybe it’s Houdini with dyslexia.”