by Bruce Blake
“It’s true.”
“No!”
She rushed me, taking me by surprise. I stumbled back but she would have gotten her hands on me if Poe didn’t intercept her. They toppled to the floor and rolled, bodies slamming against the bars of the cage.
And then Piper’s head slammed against the floor.
The fingers of both Poe’s hands intertwined with Piper’s hair as she pistoned the woman’s head up and down. Piper grasped at Poe’s wrists, writhed and fought beneath her, but the guardian angel’s strength proved too much and her efforts diminished.
“Stop it!”
My words had no effect and I wondered if she controlled her actions or if other influences made her act this way. I turned to Azrael.
“Stop this,” I hissed.
“I am doing nothing.”
He looked right into my eyes when he said it and I believed him. I didn’t want to, didn’t think I should, but something sold me on his sincerity.
But that would mean...
I didn’t want to finish the thought. The pile of evidence against Poe grew and grew and an increasing part of me believed it. Still, a chunk of my brain—and my heart—fought against the evidence, refused to accept my guardian angel as anything other than the innocent, sweet-faced being she professed to be.
“Poe. Stop, please.”
This time she stopped and looked at me, her expression far from innocent. Her lips were pulled back from her teeth; the look in her eyes bordered on maniacal. The face of a person doing violence with intent. I gasped at the sight and the sound of breath entering my lungs seemed to bring her back to the world. The hardness in her expression disappeared. She looked down at Piper’s head in her hands and immediately removed her fingers from her hair as if she didn’t realize they’d been there.
Poe stood and stumbled back a step.
“What...? I...”
“Poe.”
She faced me. Her blond hair, usually neat but without style, in disarray; sweat stuck her shirt to her chest heaving with the effort she’d expended. She glanced from me to Azrael, then Piper, then back to me again. Realization crept across her face, then sadness.
“Fair is fair,” Azrael intoned behind me and suddenly I was standing on a street corner, watching as a man fell from a ladder and impaled himself on a garden gnome.
When I returned to the clearing, I stared at Poe and she looked back it me knowing what Azrael had revealed.
“You could have taken him to Heaven.”
As I gazed upon her, memories of the other things she’d done came to me without the help of the angel of death, beginning with her not ensuring I did my job when sent to harvest the priest’s soul and ending with her taking my mother’s soul to Hell.
“It is time.”
This time, the voice wasn’t Azrael’s. I turned to see the boy standing beside the archangel. Behind them, the others all stood at the front of their cages, hands gripping the bars in anticipation, all except my mother who remained cross-legged and regarding her lap.
“Who are you?”
The boy smiled and, for an instant, looked like any other mischievous ten-year-old.
“You know who I am, Icarus Fell. Decide.”
I looked away, worried that if I didn’t take the opportunity when I had the chance, I may never look away. My gaze swept across the cages: the priest, Marty, Todd, Tony, Orlando. Three of them deserved Hell no matter whether I felt responsible for their presence here or not. This was the consequence for being an abusive priest, a pedophile or a drug dealer. An argument might be made for the other two, at least up until they tried to kill me.
And would the world really miss a couple of drunks?
My eyes passed over my mother, her head still hung refusing to meet my gaze. I’d already beat that horse to death, which left the two so-called guardian angels.
I turned to look at Poe standing over Piper’s prone form.
†‡†
Poe’s heart jumped when Piper rushed at Icarus.
Ric.
Her body reacted without thought, without prompting, tackling her before Piper got her hands on him. They hit the floor then slammed painfully against the bars, Poe ending up on top of the woman.
She didn’t remember much after that.
Her vision smeared to a blur and she saw nothing through the mist it created in her brain. The world disappeared, sounds disappeared. She pumped her arms up and down, vaguely felt something in her hands, the tremor of impact shaking its way up her wrists. The world seeped slowly back into her mind and she realized there was a person at the end of her arms.
Aaron Baxter. Or his cousin.
The world remained fuzzy enough for her to convince herself she gripped one of the hateful boys until words finally penetrated the veil.
“Poe. Stop. Please.”
Her vision cleared and she looked down into Piper’s face, her lip swollen, eyes rolled back into her head. Poe looked toward the voice, snarling and defensive until she saw Icarus standing outside the bars. His expression showed shock, disgust, disappointment, and it pulled her completely back to reality.
Poe jumped to her feet and faltered back a step, eyes on the woman lying pressed against the bars of the cage.
What have I done?
“What? I...”
“Poe.”
She looked at Icarus. Azrael stood behind him, arms crossed, a frightful, impatient look on his face. She glanced at Piper who hadn’t moved since Poe removed herself from atop her and wondered how badly she’d hurt the other woman. Not wanting to think about it, she returned her attention to Icarus, but Azrael had said something and Icarus’ face went blank. All the blurry anger disappeared from her, shouldered aside by regret and sadness. She knew what Azrael was showing him.
“You could have taken him to Heaven,” Icarus said a moment later.
Poe blinked and a tear ran down her cheek. She wanted to wipe it away but resisted.
Ric. Remember to call him Ric.
Somehow, during the fraction of a second she’d closed her eyes, the boy appeared beside Azrael and told Icarus it was time.
Time for what?
Icarus and the boy exchanged words but Poe didn’t understand what they said, then Icarus looked at the people in the other cages. She knew them: the priest, the drinking buddies, the soccer coach, the drug dealer; all of them people from his past who ended up in Hell because of Icarus’ actions or inaction.
Except his mother. She’s here because of me.
The elements came together in her head like the answer to a puzzle finally becoming clear. These people, her and Piper, Azrael.
Decide, the boy said.
Icarus was to choose who would remain in Hell and who returned with him.
Poe breathed a shuddering sigh and peered down at Piper again. The woman’s eyes were closed, breath shallow; a line of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. Poe’s gaze followed the thin trail of blood as it etched the edge of her jaw line and disappeared into her hair. Any hope she’d held of returning with Icarus, of escaping Hell a second time, seemed to follow a similar path: thinning, fading, disappearing.
Why did I do that?
She’d been protecting Icarus, didn’t he see? Did he know she’d done it for him?
Would it matter?
She raised her head and saw Icarus looking at her without forgiveness or understanding of what she’d done for him, now or in the past. For decades she protected him, watched over him, kept trouble from him time and time again before he knew she existed.
But you couldn’t keep muggers from killing him, could you?
He continued to stare without speaking.
“Decide,” the boy said again.
It’s not my fault, Poe wanted to say. I did as I was told. Forgive me. Forgive me.
“Trevor is safe?” Icarus said over his shoulder, eyes on Poe.
“Your son is no longer in Hell,” Azrael replied.
Icarus nodded.
“Then I’ve made my decision.”
The hair on the back of Poe’s neck prickled and goose bumps crept along her arms. She attempted her sweet smile, to appear the shy young woman Icarus met in the coffee shop, but so much had happened since then. Even Poe had to admit that girl no longer existed. She tried anyway.
Icarus turned his back on her.
“I’m not taking any of them.”
Poe’s heart sank.
Bruce Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The boy rubbed his chin like a man considering what to do—an action not often seen from a ten-year-old boy.
“If you do not choose, I will,” the boy said. “And you may not like the soul I send back with you.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t choose. I said I’m not taking any of them.” I gestured toward the cages in case the little bastard didn’t know who I meant by ‘them’.
“I see. You have someone else I mind.”
No shit, Sherlock.
I held my tongue and nodded instead.
“Who?”
“A policeman who shouldn’t be here, a good man you took as payment when I rescued another soul.”
“Stole another soul, I believe you mean.”
“Whatever. Let him go.”
“I know the man of whom you speak.”
I glared at him, awaiting his answer. When it didn’t come immediately, my eyes wandered to the cages behind him. All my past acquaintances were gone, the cages empty but for straw scattered on the floors. Rusted bars, flaking paint and straw—no priest, no mother, nothing. Behind me, I thought I heard a sob escape Poe’s throat, a small sound that might have been my imagination.
After a few more seconds, the boy tilted his head toward Azrael. The archangel strode between two of the cages and disappeared, the cages fading away immediately after. I spun around to see if the cage holding Poe and Piper disappeared, too. It hadn’t. Poe’s glistening eyes held mine, resignation plain on her face.
“Icarus,” she said, a tinge of pleading in her voice. I turned away.
Azrael stood directly in front of me, Detective Williams at his side looking disheveled as always, but now surprised as well.
How does he do that?
“Detective,” I said and gave him a nod.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m getting you out of here.”
His expression changed instantly to relief, but it didn’t stay long. It must take more than death and a visit to Hell to squeeze the police-ness out of a man, because a look of suspicion crossed his mug next.
“Really?”
I looked at Azrael and raised my eyebrows, passing the question along to the fallen archangel. He nodded once then returned to the boy’s side.
“Really,” I said.
Azrael and the boy watched us in silence and I swear a little sadness dulled the usual glow in Azrael’s eye. But why? He said he wanted my freedom and now I had it, and he got two Carrions to add to his stable in return. Nothing to be sad about, right?
It’s your imagination. Take the detective and get the fuck out of here before someone changes their mind.
The boy, on the other hand, waited with excited impatience, like he’d woken early on Christmas morning and had to wait to open his gifts, though I’d guess Christmas was one of the less popular holidays in Hell.
“Come on.”
I strode away, careful not to look into the cage at Poe and Piper as I did. Detective Williams fell into step beside me.
“Icarus.”
Poe’s voice. I ignored her, my choice made. What’s the old saying? You’ve pissed in your own bed, now you have to sleep in it, or some such thing? Still, it wasn’t easy walking away. She’d been the most constant person in my life since I died.
“Icarus. Please.”
The desperation in Poe’s voice sank into my chest, compressed my heart until it became difficult to breathe, but I neither stopped nor slowed.
She’s the reason why all those people got sent to Hell. She set me up.
“Icarus.”
She nearly got my son condemned to Hell for eternity.
“Ric.”
Detective Williams caught me by the sleeve, stopping me, and pointed back toward Poe, her desperation apparently affecting him. I gestured with my head, indicating we had to go. He must have seen my anger at my one-time guardian angel, my determination not to look back. I felt the detective’s eyes on me but he said nothing.
“If I take her, you stay.”
The first time I met the detective, I felt he was a good man despite the fact he’d wanted to see me in jail. To take Poe back, I’d have to give the devil his due, and there was only one other soul left. He’d seen enough of Hell to stay prudently silent.
“Ric, please.”
She was crying. It almost made me look back and reconsider my options. Trevor was safe—I had to trust he was—and the others were gone. I was leaving Hell with a man who’d hunted me for months, determined to make me pay for crimes I didn’t commit.
Didn’t I?
I didn’t wield the knife that killed Marty, Todd and the others, but I may as well have. If I’d done what I was told, none of this would have happened. If Poe did her job and kept me to my task, they’d be alive and I wouldn’t have come to Hell to save a bunch of people who, for the most part, either didn’t want to be saved or didn’t deserve to be.
Which of us deserved blame?
Both. If she’d done her job, if I’d done mine. I could play the game in my head for eternity, but I didn’t think Azrael and the boy would let me.
I gave in and glanced back. Poe stood against the cage, hands gripping the bars. Piper lay on the ground behind her, unconscious or maybe dead for good; Azrael stood beside the boy to her right. The expression on my one-time guardian angel’s face did its best to convince me not to leave her. And it came close. Pain and desperation, a look like her best friend died while running over her dog.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t use her angelic abilities to sway my decision, didn’t beg or plead or illuminate with the golden glow capable of making people do anything she wanted. She just looked at me with eyes reflecting hurt beyond description. For a split second, I saw her shy, endearing smile; I remembered her love of all things sweet and the way she was always nervous, unable to look me in the eye.
No problem doing that now. She’d changed, the charade gone. But even after all the wrongs I’d uncovered and all the blame I found to lay on her, I knew I’d miss sitting in the Denny’s watching her struggle a thick chocolate shake through a straw.
It would pass.
“You deserve to stay,” I said and led the detective away.
He dragged his feet to slow me but I kept him moving. I heard Poe sob once.
“Icarus,” she called, the sadness and tears gone from her voice. Instead, resignation and disappointment weighed her words down. “Everything I did, I did for you.”
I pulled Detective Williams along by the sleeve of his rumpled suit jacket, his resistance fading, and did my best not to listen to Poe’s words following us like desperate puppies.
“Things aren’t always what they seem.”
We increased our pace, not knowing where to go but feeling the necessity of getting away: from Poe, from the angel-of-death and from the boy—especially the boy. We kept walking, Poe kept talking, her words fading with distance. She said something about Michael that I ignored like everything else, something about my mother that piqued my interest. We walked on, the detective silent at my side.
After a while, the ground shivered beneath my feet. I stopped.
“Did you feel that?”
“What?”
Nothing for a few seconds. I thought it either my imagination or a volcano erupting in Chile. An instant before we began moving, it happened again, more noticeable this time.
“Felt that.”
We set out and the ground shook a third time, a
fourth. We increased our pace to a speed walk.
“Icarus Fell.”
The words boomed around us, echoing in spite of the lack of anything for them to echo off.
“Ric,” I corrected.
Something made me stop, literally. I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. Detective Williams skidded to a halt beside me. With no desire to do so but with the same feeling of having no control, I spun around to look back.
No more cage holding Poe and Piper. Azrael and the boy stood twenty yards behind us, as if they’d been sneaking along, following us. Behind them, the elephant-beast I’d seen after the conclusion of my fall stomped its feet periodically, waved its trunk.
No elephant-thing cage, either.
“You didn’t think it would be easy leaving Hell, did you?” the boy asked.
I saw the twinkle in his eyes, the shift of expression from the boy waiting to open the gifts to the satisfied look after decorative paper is torn to shreds. Bitter saliva filled my mouth and I gulped it around a lump forming in my throat. I searched desperately for a flippant remark, a vaguely funny quip to relieve the sudden feeling of dread permeating my muscles. I came up short.
Small gestures can say much: Azrael’s eyes darted toward the boy and he shook his head. The boy ignored him and dipped his chin to his chest, nodding in our direction.
“Run, Icarus,” Azrael yelled, his eyes on the boy. “Run.”
I hesitated a second, stunned, then the beast charged, orangutan-like hands at the ends of its six stumpy legs beating a rhythm on the ground that shuddered up my legs and into my soul.
Detective Williams grabbed me by the arm and dragged me toward the forest.
Bruce Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost
Chapter Thirty-Nine
We hunkered down behind the biggest, strangest fern I’d ever seen. Each of its leaves splayed out at least six feet long and three feet wide, their surface such a dark green it might have been black, spattered with spots of red like drops of blood. I didn’t touch them to find out.
