Redeemer

by C. E. Murphy

  "Still pretty sweet to have your choice of two," Rosie said. "Most of us have to get along with one or none. Pearl, why don't you ride in front with Hank?"

  "Really?" Pearl looked even more waifish by day than she had the night before, her pale skin nearly hollow in the sunlight, like the blood no longer came to its surface. Her eyes were worse, large and sad and almost empty, and she'd never changed out of her factory jumpsuit, which hung loosely on her small frame.

  Rosie nodded. "Really." Mostly because she figured if Pearl got to ride in the back seat alone, odds were heavy in favor of her deciding to risk her luck on the streets and throwing herself out of the car. "Enjoy the view."

  Pearl gave her such a pathetic, grateful smile that guilt surged through Rosie. She climbed into the back seat just so she didn't have to meet Pearl's eyes again, and kept quiet while they drove into Corktown. Lots of folks ended up there, starting with Irish back in the day and just carrying right on until today, people from all over the place. Pearl wouldn't be much noticed in a part of town with all sorts living in it. Sometimes hiding in plain sight did the trick.

  It took a long time, with Hank's limp, to get up the four flights of stairs to a one-bedroom apartment that almost overlooked the river. By the time they got there Rosie's curiosity overcame her caution. "Does this belong to your library friends?"

  "Library friends? I thought you were a cop." Pearl sank down into a green leaf-patterned velvet sofa that looked like it'd been there for twenty years, but at least dust didn't rise from it. There were two other chairs, both green and trimmed with dark wood, but the fabric patterns and colors didn't quite match the sofa, and Rosie reckoned the whole suite being green with wood trim was luck, not design. She went to check out the kitchen, expecting it to have been decorated in the Roaring Twenties too, and it had been. Two straight-back woven chairs were pushed in around a small square table, and a hip-high fridge with a freezer unit on top, which meant it had been really swell when it was new, sat beside a green-and-white enameled stove on slender, curved legs. The enamel had worn off the stove's handles, and the top oven beside it didn't quite close anymore, but it was clean as a whistle and looked like it probably still worked. Rosie went back into the living room to squat in front of an ancient radio and turn the knobs to see if it still worked. It sat on a table of dark wood that matched the furniture's trim and had the same pretty curving legs as the kitchen stove, so it looked nice, but a couple seconds of fiddling with it didn't make it work. Rosie stood again and checked the legs of the coffee table, which matched the rest of the tables' legs. Maybe the furniture had been bought together, after all. She wondered who'd decorated it, library men or maybe their wives, and whether the wives knew what their husbands did.

  Hank said to Pearl, "I read a lot," so blandly that Rosie laughed. "So it does belong to the library men."

  "Yeah. They're not much for keeping the decor updated, but it's not bad, and they do keep some useful materials on hand for people like Pearl here."

  What color Pearl had drained and she sat upright on the couch. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means demons. Vampires, in your case."

  "She's not a vampire yet," Rosie protested. "She's awful close, but she's not one yet. Maybe I can save her without …" She swallowed and Pearl's whole demeanor changed, becoming as wary as a cornered beast.

  "Without what? Are you gonna do to me what you did to Johnny?"

  "I hope so," Rosie breathed, "only without the rivet gun. I think … I think maybe I can help you. I can try, at least."

  "And if you can't?"

  Rosie looked at Hank, who shook his head. Pearl mewled and skittered backward on the couch, not that she had far to go. "You're gonna kill me?"

  Hank said, "If she has to," and Rosie burst out, "No! I sure as heck am not, not unless you put me in a corner, Pearl. But what's going to happen to you if I don't try?"

  "She'll starve herself into madness, and if she's lucky somebody will put her out of her misery. At least if you do it, her soul will be saved, Rosie."

  "What's he talking about?" Pearl looked about as big as a minute, crammed into the sofa corner like it could keep her safe. Rosie sighed and sat at the other end, hands folded in her lap so she didn't seem threatening.

  "I guess you know vampires are real. Demons," Rosie corrected herself. Pearl gave a nod that looked more like a shiver, and Rosie nodded bigger. "So are the things that can stop them, and I'm one of them. When I killed PFC Goode last night—I saw it, Pearl. The demon got cleaned out of his soul. It's called Redeeming, and Hank here says it's the only way a demon-infested soul can get saved and go to Heaven."

  "Or be reincarnated or released to Nirvana," Hank said. Rosie frowned, and Hank shrugged. "I'm just saying the Christian afterlife you're most familiar with isn't the only valid one, Miss Ransom. Cleansing a demon out of somebody's soul does even an atheist good."

  "I thought atheists didn't even have souls," Rosie said tartly. "It doesn't matter, Hank. What I'm saying, Pearl, is that I think I can help you. I can try, at least."

  "You mean maybe I won't end up a monster like Johnny? I didn't want to, Miss Ransom. I didn't mean to get all caught up in it. I just thought once I was, that I didn't have any choice. He said I'd die otherwise."

  "He's right," Hank said heartlessly.

  Rosie bounced to her feet and thrust a finger at the door. "You get out of here, mister. You're not any help at all. You're just scaring poor Pearl to pieces."

  "Redeemers kill demons—"

  "Maybe a Redeemer has never met one who hadn't turned all the way bad! I have to try!"

  "And if you fail?"

  "Then I'll draw a picture and put her in it until I can figure out how to help, mister library man, because I'm not giving up on her!"

  "It's not that simple!"

  "Why not? You know how to do it, don't you? Catch a demon in art? You'd better, or else what good are you? Out!" Rosie shouted. "Either get out or help me, because I'm not giving up on her!"

  She'd been scared enough to be angry, back at the factory. That's how it had felt, so scared it had just clicked over into calm, like the punch-clock teeth biting at the time cards. Scared didn't feel half so strong now, except maybe scared for Pearl, not of her, but the anger came through just the same. It comforted her, like something she could work with. Like just another tool she'd learned to use at the factory. She turned away from Hank, kneeling in front of Pearl.

  She could almost see through her, like the girl's too-thin body had lost its grip on being real and now mostly just housed a soul pocked and scarred with corruption. Rosie's anger helped her see that, although she'd have to learn to see it without anger, or she'd spend her whole life in a rage. Those dark clots retreated when she reached for them, gathering together into a coil around Pearl's heart. Pearl gasped, sweat beading on her lip and forehead, and she doubled over, wailing, "Stop it, stop, it hurts!"

  "Shut up, shut up, I'm trying to think." Rosie hadn't done anything to Goode, or at least, nothing besides kill him, which she didn't want to do here. There'd been light, though, starting at the edges of her visions and rushing inward like it was drawn to Goode's spilled blood. "Give me a knife!"

  Pearl screamed and Hank jolted forward with a pocketknife, the blade already exposed. Rosie grabbed Pearl's hand and poked the knife deep into the pad of her forefinger before the girl's thin strength jerked her away again with another scream.

  Gold light streamed in at the corners of Rosie's eyes, spinning dizzily in her vision. She seized Pearl's hand again, snapped, "Hold her!" to Hank, and muttered, "Sorry," as she stabbed Pearl's fingers again and again, until blood welled from each fingertip. Hank swung around the back of the sofa faster than Rosie expected a man with a limp to move, and wrapped his arms around Pearl's torso as she screeched and struggled.

  The light dancing in Rosie's eyes grew more agitated, diving toward Pearl's bleeding fingers, then swooping back up again. "It's not enough. Pearl, I'm so sorry
." She didn't know enough about where blood ran to make a good deep cut that would bleed a lot without really doing any damage, and went after Pearl's other fingertips. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just need enough blood for the demon to get out!" She sounded crazy even to herself, but Hank grunted, "Head wound," and wrapped his arm around the top of Pearl's head.

  For a little thing, she fought like a cat, kicking and clawing, with blood spattering everywhere. Rosie got kicked in the belly so hard the Redeeming light faded. When she caught enough breath, she wheezed, "I've got a knife, you idiot, if you keep kicking I'm going to accidentally hurt you!"

  Pearl's struggles ceased enough for her to shout, "You are hurting me!" and Rosie surged forward, carefully rocking the pocketknife's blade against the other girl's forehead. Blood poured free so fast, Rosie felt sick again, like she could see herself from the outside, and like what she saw was monstrous. Nice girls didn't go around cutting up other people, for Pete's sake. She and Goode suddenly didn't seem so different.

  But the Redemption light shot back into view, filling the corners of Rosie's eyes and spilling forward to spin wildly over Pearl's forehead. Pearl gave up fighting and just sobbed, not even trying to wipe the blood out of her eyes. Hank jerked his coat off and wrapped it around Pearl's face, keeping blood from falling onto the factory jumpsuit Pearl still wore. Rosie pressed her hands into a steeple, almost praying without being sure what she should be praying for.

  Just like with Goode, silver light eked out of Pearl's injuries, drawn toward the column of gold spinning above her. Silver, laced with black and brown and red, stains of impurity that took such a long time to shake loose. Such a long time, longer than it had with Goode, which hardly made sense, but as the minutes passed, Pearl's soul came cleaner and cleaner, until the blotches blurred into the whirl of golden light and the silvery substance snapped back into her body untarnished.

  With the next breath, color flooded back into Pearl's cheeks, healthier than she'd ever looked before. Her fingertips healed, blood drawing back inside until they weren't even tender, and the thin line across her forehead sealed into an almost-invisible scar. Rosie slumped, serene exhaustion wrapping itself around her again. She passed a hand over her eyes, then lifted her gaze to find Hank staring at her in wonder, and Pearl extending her own trembling hands to gaze at them in disbelief. "I'm pink again."

  She folded her hands over her heart, then her stomach, her eyes widening. "I'm hungry. I'm hungry, Miss Ransom! I haven't been hungry in weeks! Not for food! Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh, you did it, you helped me! You saved me! I won't be a monster now, will I? Oh, thank you!" She flung herself forward with as much ferocity as she'd fought with before, knocking Rosie backward with the force of her embrace.

  "I'm really sorry," Rosie mumbled. Her bones were weary, like she'd just come off an extra shift at the factory. The deep satisfaction she'd had after Goode's death hadn't risen. All she could think was how badly she'd frightened Pearl, how she'd hurt her instead of just making it better. She'd been paralyzed with exhaustion after Goode's death, and she didn't want to move now, either, not even enough to sit up properly after Pearl released her from the hug. "I'm really, really sorry I scared you so much. I didn't know what to do and I could've done it better, I'm really sorry and I'm glad you're okay."

  "It's fine, I don't even hurt anymore, oh, I'm so hungry—!"

  "She's not just okay," Hank said quietly. "She's a damn miracle, Miss Ransom. I never heard of anybody doing what you just did. If you can do that to a full-fledged demon, exorcise it without killing the host—" He sounded awed.

  "I just about made a mess of it with Pearl. I don't reckon a full-on demon would let me sit and poke it full of holes so I could try. Pearl, I'm so sorry—"

  "Oh, I don't care! I just want something to eat! A pastrami sandwich and an ice cream soda, a big pile of french fries, oh! I'm going to go straight to Big Bob's and try, oh, just everything!" Even her hair and eyes were gaining color, the straw-like thin blonde strands looking fuller with every moment and her eyes brightening to cornflower blue. "Oh, gosh, thank you, Miss Ransom, I don't know how to thank you!"

  Hank limped to the bathroom while she rattled on, returning with a damp washcloth. "Start by washing the blood off your face, Miss Daly, and then Miss Ransom will make you a sandwich in the kitchen while you tell us everything you know about Goode and the Midwest daemon rex."

  "What's a daemon rex?" Pearl asked through the washcloth as she scrubbed her face.

  "It's a king demon, the boss." Rosie turned a flat look on Hank. "Make her a sandwich yourself. I'm too tired to move. Make me one too, for that matter. I've only eaten a couple of doughnuts today."

  Offense curdled Hank's cheeks to deep red, and Rosie could just see him gearing up for an argument. She interrupted with "I bet you got eight hours of sleep too, library man, since your mom said you were sleeping when I called. I've had maybe six and I've Redeemed two souls in the last twenty-four hours. Stop being a twerp and go make some sandwiches."

  Hank's jaw clenched, but he limped into the kitchen and started banging more things around than anybody could possibly need to, for sandwiches. Pearl turned a gaze wide with admiration on Rosie. "You sure are a modern woman, aren't you, Miss Ransom?"

  "I'm sure a tired one, anyways. You should just call me Rosie, though. I don't think we should be formal when I've just cut your head open. I'm so sorry. I just never tried it before, I didn't know what to do, I shouldn't have been so scary …" Rosie curled forward, hiding her face in her hands. It shouldn't be harder to help somebody than to kill someone, even if she'd made a mess of it. Mostly a mess. Pearl was okay, at least, but Rosie's heart felt all twisted up and sick, like it was beating wrong. Maybe Hank had been right. Maybe Redeemers weren't supposed to help people like Pearl, stuck between human and demon. It probably didn't come up all that often anyways, not if what Hank said about how demons were made had any truth to it.

  "Next time you'll be able to explain," Pearl whispered. "Next time you'll know what you're doing, so when you have to do something terrifying to save somebody at least you'll be able to tell them why. I knew what I was becoming. Miss—Rosie. I just didn't think there was any way to stop it. Johnny told me there wasn't, so I didn't have any hope. You gave me hope back. You gave me my whole life back. And next time it won't be so awful." She put her arms around Rosie carefully, not at all like the enthusiastic hug from before, and murmured, "Aw, honey," when a wracking sob shook Rosie's body. "Aw, honey. You saved me. You saved you. And if Hank there is right, you saved Johnny's soul, too. That's three out of three, Miss Rosie. That's batting a thousand. Even Hammerin' Hank only hits three hundred."

  A shaky chuckle broke through Rosie's tears, though it didn't dry them up. She heard Pearl shoo Hank away, and heard sandwich plates go onto the coffee table, but the tears kept coming until she was red-nosed and her face felt swollen. Pearl went to rinse the washcloth for her, and Rosie looked up to find Hank sitting across the living room, obviously uncomfortable and just as clearly concerned.

  "I didn't think about what it might be like," he offered. "Not really. The stories about Redeemers are just legends, like—like Joan of Arc, or the Amazon warrior women. I didn't think about how hard it would probably be, for a regular girl. Do you think you'll be all right?"

  Rosie snuffled and rubbed her hand under her nose. "Yeah. It was okay with Goode, it really was. But I didn't want to h-h-hurt Pearl, and then it got all overwhe-eh-l-elming." She held her breath, catching sobs before they started again, and gratefully accepted the cold washcloth Pearl brought out. She mumbled, "I'll be okay," into it, scrubbed her face, then laughed when she lifted it to see Pearl cramming half a sandwich into her mouth at once.

  "Ihth juhhth ho ghooo," the other girl tried, and Rosie, still giggling through sniffles, took up another sandwich to eat it less voraciously. "It is good," she said to Hank.

  "Peanut butter and jelly is nothing special."

  "It is when somebody else made it and
you're hungry," Rosie disagreed. Hank rolled his eyes but went back to the kitchen to make four more sandwiches before the girls were done.

  NINE

  "There," Pearl said to her. "Nothing seems quite so awful now, does it?"

  "Not quite." Rosie smiled. "Don't get me wrong, Pearl, but I like you a lot more now than before. How'd you even get mixed up with Goode?"

  Pearl shook her head and glanced away. "I was working at the factory like all the other girls, and I thought he was the cat's meow."

  "Just like all the other girls."

  Pearl nodded. "Except I caught him going after Tildy, the Negro girl, I told you that. And I got splashed with his blood, and … and then I couldn't get away." She looked at Hank, who sat across the room again like he didn't want to interfere. "I know you want me to tell you everything he knew, but I don't think he knew much. He sure didn't say much to me, anyway. He loved the war. He wanted to stay in Europe, but they wouldn't let him after he got hurt. But he said they all loved it, everybody like him. They could get away with anything, under cover of the war. That's how he even got turned, some lady vampire in France who was going through his whole platoon. Mostly she was killing them, but she thought Johnny was so pretty she decided to keep him. He still wrote her letters, telling her about what was going on here."

  Hank's gaze fastened on Rosie, then returned to Pearl. "Did he have any of those letters left unsent?"

  "If he did, Detective Johnson's got them now. He's not Ex Libris, is he, Hank? Because he sure thinks something fishy is going on. I can't hardly believe you got him to give up Pearl."

  Hank's mouth pulled, and Rosie couldn't tell if he was pleased or unhappy. "I can be charming when I want to be. Pearl, were there any letters? To her, or from her?"

  "Oh, gosh. Maybe from her. He thought she might like to come over here, except he said—he said to me once that there was already a big boss demon who owned America from Chicago down to New Orleans. I don't know if that was true, but he said they were making bank on the war machine, with all the money being poured into the factories to make airplanes and everything. He didn't know who the boss was, except somebody who'd been working in industry a long time." Pearl faltered. "I really don't know anything else. I wish I did."