Natural Born Angel

by Speer, Scott

  After a few minutes, the detective made his way back to the lobby. He checked his watch: eleven fifty-eight. Two minutes. He pulled off his glasses and wiped them with his shirt. A nervous habit.

  The detective eyed the visitors moving between the wax Angel statues, trying to discern who would be meeting him. He looked at a bench off to the side, where a man in his thirties was reading a copy of the Angel City Times. Was that him? Then the man stood up and walked out the door of the wax museum, hugging his wife and small child, who had been using the restroom.

  Sylvester continued watching the crowd, his pulse quickening as he glanced down at his watch and saw it had reached noon. A tour bus must have just let out on Angel Boulevard, because a huge group of people began streaming in. The faces in the crowd mixed with the perfect wax Angel faces.

  Suddenly, in his peripheral vision, Detective Sylvester saw a man in a dark suit on his left, and then another on his right. They were moving fast. Directly towards him. Adrenaline pounded in Sylvester’s veins as he started at a dead run towards the exit.

  Instinct took over, but before Sylvester could escape the men, an iron grip clasped down on him from behind and pulled his hands together, binding them together in plastic zip-ties.

  Five square-jawed men in suits were on him in seconds as he struggled in his restraints.

  Struggling and panting, Sylvester’s eyes grew wide as, through the glass, he spotted a black Suburban idling at the kerb on Angel Boulevard. They led him towards it.

  CHAPTER 23

  The thick, hard plastic restraints dug into Sylvester’s wrists, rubbing them raw as he attempted to break away from his captors. Blood pounded in his ears, survival instincts taking over.

  Tourists stared slack-jawed as these men in suits hoisted the struggling detective towards the front exits of the wax museum.

  It’d been a set up.

  “What are you doing? I’m Detect— ”

  “Be quiet!” the square-jawed man holding him barked, pushing Sylvester forward.

  “Step away from Detective Sylvester!” a voice resounded through the open glass door to the museum. It was Sergeant Garcia, in plain clothes. He pointed his service revolver at the man next to Sylvester. His aim was steady.

  In horror, Sylvester watched as the men in suits suddenly drew pistols from inside their jackets, beginning to turn them on Garcia.

  “ACPD! Drop your weapons! ACPD! We will shoot!” The voices seemed to come from everywhere at once.

  Within a moment, the entire lobby turned blue, as uniformed ACPD officers rushed from all corners upon the men holding Sylvester. “Drop your weapons or we will fire upon you!”

  Sylvester smiled: Sergeant Garcia had his back.

  Scrambling to lay their guns on the ground, the outnumbered men in suits screamed “FBI! FBI, for God’s sake, FBI!”

  The suited men stepped away from Sylvester, who still had his arms bound behind him, as they pulled their federal badges from under their suit jackets while keeping one hand in the air.

  “FBI? Jesus Christ. Who are you!?” Sylvester yelled at them.

  “Us? Who the hell are you?” the tallest of the suited FBI agents yelled back to Sylvester as he slowly laid his government-issued nine-millimeter handgun on the cool marble floor of the wax museum.

  “Detective Sylvester, ACPD,” Sylvester panted. A uniformed cop was behind Sylvester, cutting his hands free from the plastic restraints. Dozens of ACPD officers were now frisking the outnumbered FBI agents, checking their badges, chaos all around.

  A senior FBI agent suddenly arrived on the scene, his beard stubble grizzled and long wrinkles running across his forehead.

  “Senior Agent Wilkins, Special Crimes,” he identified himself. “What the hell’s going on here with my investigation?”

  His hands free, Sylvester walked up to this lead FBI agent, red colouring his face.

  “Your investigation? Goddammit!” Sylvester yelled, spinning around on his heels.

  “Come on, David, calm down, calm down. It’s OK,” Garcia was trying to pull him back.

  “We’re all on the same team here, detective,” the senior FBI man said.

  “Are we?” Sylvester demanded.

  “My men detained you as a matter of safety and precaution.”

  “Precaution for what? Senior agent, you just pissed all over my meet-up with a confidential informant in a high-profile case! I’m going to have your ass for breakfast!”

  The FBI man looked at Sylvester. “Informant? You mean Jesse DeWinter?”

  “I don’t have his name. We were supposed to meet here at noon. He’s gone now, though, spooked for ever!”

  Wilkins shook his head. “Jesse DeWinter died instantly at eight forty-four this morning when his car struck the median at high speed heading eastbound on I-10 near the Washington Boulevard exit. He was pronounced dead at the scene.”

  Sylvester reeled. “Dead?”

  “We searched his apartment shortly after. We’ve been keeping an eye on him here in Angel City as a potential political radical. We found a photo of you, along with this note.”

  Wilkins reached into his coat and pulled out a photo of Sylvester that had been printed from the Internet, along with a small scrap of paper: “Wax Museum – noon.”

  “It was a meet-up,” Sylvester said quietly, sitting down on the bench. “He was coming in . . . someone found out.”

  “HDF literature and bomb making materials were found in his car – or what remained of the car after it burned,” Special Agent Wilkins said. “We had our suspicions. Now it’s a pretty open-and-shut case that the HDF was behind the bombing. The next step is to move into the HDF organization itself.”

  Sylvester shook his head, hands plunged into the pockets of his overcoat. Was that it? After Minx obviously sent DeWinter on to Sylvester himself. Why would he be turning against the HDF now? Whom did he fear?

  “Forensics is running tests on the residual bomb material, but early results say it’s a one hundred per cent match to the bomb used earlier this month.”

  Sylvester absently looked out of the glass walls at the waves of pedestrians walking down Angel Boulevard. Tourists were stopping outside the front glass wall and taking pictures of Maddy’s wax statue through the glass.

  “Of course it’s a one hundred per cent match,” Sylvester said softly. “I bet it wasn’t even damaged in the fiery accident.”

  “It’s just a shame we couldn’t talk to DeWinter before his accident. It would’ve been helpful,” the FBI lead said.

  Sylvester, breaking from his mental fugue, looked at Wilkins through his wire-framed glasses.

  “Accident?” he said. “Obviously, it was no accident.”

  CHAPTER 24

  The day of Maddy’s Commissioning arrived, and the media was calling it the “event of the century”, or even the “event of the millennium”. Maddy Montgomery Godright would be the first part-human, part-Angel ever commissioned as Guardian Angel.

  Commissioning Day was preceded by non-stop breathless coverage of Maddy’s stratospheric rise. “Maddicts”, as they called themselves – a lot of them former “Jacksaddicts” – had camped out just like they had for Jackson’s Commissioning the year before, dreaming that they too secretly had an Angel parent and would one day have wings and rise to fortune and fame.

  Starting at dawn, news helicopters hovered restlessly above the scene. Angel Boulevard had been closed overnight in preparation; workers had turned the pavement and street in front of the Temple of Angels into a backdrop worthy of an Angel Commissioning. Enormous plastic Divine Rings were placed near the entrance, and massive bleachers were erected for the lucky few who would get a first-hand view of the glamorous Angels and their annual event. The scene was teeming with media, as usual, with correspondents from A!, ANN, all the news networks jockeying for best position as the workers u
nfurled the red carpet.

  Meanwhile, security was more pronounced than last year. Big, bulky men in suits with earpieces seemed to be all over the scene, supplementing the already strong ACPD contingent. After the still unsolved bombing of the Angel building, the Angels were taking no chances whatsoever. Even Tara Reeves was searched as she walked into the media area, an indignity she put up with without complaining too much since she saw what a great position she had again for her exclusive Angel Television stage, which was erected at the beginning of the red carpet.

  Tara smiled dazzlingly into the camera, wearing a fiery red dress.

  “The day you’ve been waiting for all year is finally here! The red carpet is perfectly rolled out, the bright lights are turned on, and the Divine Rings are ready as the fans swarm the Temple of Angels. And they’re all waiting for the Commissioning of Maddy Montgomery Godright, America’s new Angel sweetheart! Along with Angel favourites Mitch Steeple, Emily Brightchurch and the other twenty nominees, this is being called the Commissioning of the Century. And feeling the energy around here, I’m not going to disagree! The world’s most beautiful Angels and Protections will be here tonight, and you’re going to see it all live, with me, your host, Tara Reeves. You don’t want to go anywhere as we bring you the Commissioning, right now, from the heart of Angel City!”

  Dusk began settling, and enormous searchlights were fired up, humming. They shone into the air, visible from miles and miles away. And now the Angels began arriving, one by one, on the red carpet. They waved and smiled dazzlingly, looking flawless and glamorous in their expensive designer gowns and tuxedos. Fans yelled for autographs and pictures as the famous Angels did on-carpet interviews with the TV hosts.

  An ooh rippled through the audience as Vivian Holycross arrived with her date, Julien Santé. Vivian had taken a year off from training and would be eligible for Commissioning next year. She was wearing a dress Julien had had handmade by a friend in Paris who designed for YSL haute couture. Julien himself was wearing a crisp tuxedo behind a pair of YSL sunglasses.

  “I’m just so happy to see Emily get Commissioned!” Vivian said, leaving no doubt she was not there for Maddy’s benefit. “And I’m just so happy to be here with my man, Julien. He’s a great Guardian with so many saves already this year.”

  No one doubted who she was comparing Julien to, either – there had actually been betting pools in Las Vegas on whether Jackson Godspeed would even show up at this Commissioning.

  Unexpectedly, two of the U.S. House representatives for Angel City, Juanita Perez and Paul Wheeler, arrived on the red carpet. Juanita was bedecked in a sparkling silver gown. She was there to show support for the Angels after Senator Linden and some other high-profile politicians had decided to create an alternative-Commissioning where they’d be playing a game of softball and then barbecuing at the senator’s estate on Eastern Long Island instead of watching or attending the Commissioning.

  “I want the American people to know that in spite of some bad apples, we in the government support the Angels one hundred per cent, knowing that they are a strong part of our country, provide so much for our nation’s economy, and are out there every day saving lives. And they are now facing racist attacks in the form of horribly violent bombings,” Representative Perez said. “I’m proud to represent Angel City in Congress and help spread the word to Washington about all the good the Angels do! God bless the Angels, and God bless America!”

  Representatives Perez and Wheeler smiled widely, waving at the crowds.

  The Godspeed family showed up – Mark, Kris and Chloe. Mark would of course be sitting front and centre with the rest of the Archangels, and would be placing the Divine Ring on Maddy’s finger himself. Chloe had outdone herself. Being another year older, she had felt justified in getting an even lower-cut dress that showed off her Immortal Marks – she’d flown to New York City with Kris just to get it – and the cameras flashed as the teenage Angel showed herself off.

  “In some ways we feel like Maddy’s part of our family, and we’re just so pleased for her,” Kris said, smiling sweetly. She was, as usual, classy and sophisticated, drawing the admiration of middle-aged women across the world with her mix of know-how and sexy grace.

  Then the nominees began arriving, with Mitch Steeple leading the pack. Mitch was wearing the customary tuxedo as he walked the carpet, his shoulders broad and chest boxy. He had been waiting for this day all his life – even though Jacks had beat him to it by a year.

  Tara caught up with him and got a sound bite.

  “I’m just proud to be joining the Guardian ranks this year. It’s been my dream to get that ring, no matter what. And now that day has come. Can’t wait to start making saves and thrilling the fans. Thanks, Tara.”

  The fans cheered loudly and a thousand flashes went off as every new nominee arrived on the carpet.

  Emily Brightchurch’s blazing fiery orange hair contrasted wildly with her sleek black dress that showed every curve, and photographers’ jaws dropped as she walked her way down the red carpet. But in the midst of her interview with A!, a roar came from down the carpet. The host almost lost track of what he was doing as he turned his head to see if she, Maddy, had arrived.

  She had.

  Emily’s face darkened in fury as the host quickly threw coverage from her interview to Maddy’s arrival.

  “Just getting word that Maddy has arrived.” He turned to Emily. “Thank you so much, Emily. Now back to Tara to cover America’s sweetheart as she walks the carpet.”

  The whole scene turned blinding white with flashbulbs as Maddy stepped on to the carpet, Jackson Godspeed by her side. Just behind her was Uncle Kevin, looking very uncomfortable in his tuxedo and in front of so many cameras. The fans exploded in screams as they saw Maddy, pounding their feet along the metal bleachers.

  Maddy stepped cautiously up the carpet – would she ever really find this normal? – and waved at the fans and photographers in front of the Temple of Angels. She was wearing a red de la Renta dress that Kris and Chloe had helped her pick out.

  Tara’s gushing was nearly hysterical.

  “Maddy, tell me where you got this dress?!”

  “Well, actually Jackson’s mother, Kris, and his sister, Chloe, brought me to the designer. It’s unique, one of a kind.”

  At the sound of Jackson’s name, Tara turned to him for a brief second.

  “Wonderful to see Maddy’s boyfriend here, showing his support! But back to you, Maddy. Do you have any idea who your first Protections will be? And what about these rumours you might be involved in next season’s American Protection?”

  Maddy looked over and saw Darcy mouthing, “Be vague.”

  “Tara,” Maddy said, laughing as best she could. “You know I can’t comment on any of that. But everyone should know that I promise my first save will be memorable.”

  “Everyone’s on the edge of their seat!” Tara practically squealed. “Maddy, your rise has been unprecedented, and fans all over the world look to you for guidance. What would you say to them?”

  Maddy paused slightly and considered her words seriously. “I’m just so grateful to be here. And so grateful for any good I can do. That’s what’s truly important. Not all the glitz and glamour. But the chance to change people’s lives. That’s what I’m becoming a Guardian Angel for.”

  Tara turned back to the camera. “And Maddy, showing the humility and down-to-earthness that has made her a household name in mere months! I almost can’t stand it, I’m so excited – America’s Angel sweetheart, everyone! Don’t go away, as we have the Commissioning ceremony from inside the Temple of Angels soon!”

  Maddy wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Jackson’s body was tense, nor that he had been all but ignored by Tara, who would have murdered small children to get two minutes of exclusive interview with him just twelve months before. Maddy reached for his hand.

  “Come on
, Jacks, let’s go in,” she whispered.

  With a final wave to the screaming fans, Maddy and Jacks disappeared inside the Temple, walking under the arch that Jacks had passed the year before. It read: DO YOUR DUTY.

  They were ushered through the depths of the Temple of Angels to Maddy’s dressing room, next to those of all the other nominees. Her stylist was waiting inside, prepared to put the ceremonial robe of the Guardian on Maddy; the formal robe was one thing that hadn’t changed for the Guardians in hundreds of years.

  As the stylist fitted the robe properly around Maddy, Jackson couldn’t help but smile.

  “What?” Maddy said, worrying she looked silly.

  “Nothing,” Jackson said. “It’s just that you look so much like an Angel right now.”

  And it was true. As the stylist stepped back, Maddy was able to see herself in the mirror: she looked more Angelic than she’d ever even dreamed of in her life. As if her inner Angel half was truly coming to life under these robes, her very skin almost seeming to glow.

  “You’re beautiful, Maddy,” Jackson said. He came over and squeezed her hands tightly.

  “No kissing!” the stylist admonished, worried that Jacks would smear her make-up.

  Maddy looked up at Jacks, nervous, starting to breathe more quickly.

  “You’re ready,” he said calmly. “Don’t let anybody tell you you’re not.”

  Maddy leaned her head on Jacks’s chest. “I wouldn’t be here without you, Jacks. . . Thank you for everything. Thank you for being you.”

  Jackson looked at her, his eyes mysterious. “I should get going,” he said.

  “Oh, do you have to?”

  “It’s about to start. I’ll see you up there. You’re going to do great. Don’t worry.” He gave her hands one last squeeze and then disappeared into the hallway.