by T. R. Hamby
Mel got on the table, and Michael saw he was shaking. Gabriel got up, and with a focused look, and a light touch on Mel’s arm, Mel’s pain vanished. He let out a sigh, and he lay down, allowing his arm to be strapped down without any discomfort.
Then it was Agatha’s turn. Nora gave Mel a quick kiss, murmuring in his ear, and he reached up with his free arm and grasped her hand. Then Agatha approached, took a big breath, and held her hand over Mel’s face.
Mel was instantly out, his eyes closing and his hand dropping. Andreas had been watching with mild surprise, looking from Mel to Agatha with an eyebrow raised. Then he cleared his throat, frowning and shaking his head. He sat down, donned some gloves, and began.
It was a long procedure. Nora had to assist, having the steadiest hands. She looked queasy at the blood and the exposed tissue, but stayed calm, handing tools and applying sponges. Mel began to stir several times, and Agatha performed her Talent again, rendering him unconscious. The air smelled like blood, and everyone was on edge--except for Andreas, who hummed under his breath as he worked.
“Angels,” he murmured after a while. “I can’t believe it.”
“It takes a while for it to sink in,” Nora replied soothingly.
“It’s remarkable,” he said. “And I’m looking at the nerve endings of one right now. It’s fascinating.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Nora said amusedly, applying another sponge.
He frowned a little. “I’m taking this too well. I won’t later, will I?”
Nora hesitated. “You have my number. You can always call. If you want.”
He nodded vaguely.
Michael shifted nervously. He had been standing at the foot of the table since the surgery began. “How is it?”
“Good,” Andreas said, glancing up at him. “Very good. There’s enough nerve for me to reattach. It’ll heal well. Give me another half an hour, then we can sew him up.”
Michael grimaced at “sew him up,” but nodded. It was okay. Mel’s arm would be fine.
Finally the procedure ended. Nora and Andreas wrapped the wound in thick layers of gauze. Michael and Judith carefully carried Mel to Nora’s bed. They covered him up, and Nora gently propped his arm on a pillow to reduce the swelling.
Michael looked down on him. He was fast asleep, his breathing steady.
Michael was struck by the thought that Mel had once been looking down on him too, after he had nearly been stabbed to death. Mel had felt guilty for how he had reacted to the Patrizio incident--the words he had said, the cold shoulder.
Now it was Michael studying him, Michael feeling guilty for what he had said, for hurting Mel once again.
How the tables had turned.
Gilla
“You really should be the bride,” Serene was murmuring, almost to herself. “You’re much prettier than me.”
They were in a cab, on their way to Hackney, on Saturday night. They had wasted no time; they needed to get information tonight. Yesterday.
Mel was doing well, having woken up about half an hour after the procedure. His arm was indeed painful, and Gabriel began a regimen of “pain suppression” every four hours.
The procedure had also left Mel exhausted; he had barely gotten out of bed all day. Nora and Michael took turns staying by his side, and Gabriel spent his free time learning how to use a computer. Barry was mostly holed up in his room, doing god knows what.
Gilla adjusted her sash. She was wearing one of the shortest, tightest dresses she had worn in a long time, pink heels, and a sparkly, bedazzled sash that read MAID OF HONOR in bold pink letters. Serene was wearing an equally provocative outfit, with a white sash with BRIDE written on it.
“Here, could you help me with my hair?” she asked, turning around and pulling it up into a curly bun.
Gilla took the hair tie from her and slipped it over her curls. She was oddly calm, and she didn’t know why; crowds still tended to spook her, and after all that Will had done to her, having a bunch of men grind on her was not at all good for her nerves.
But regardless, this was important. She couldn’t ruin it by being anxious. Will was gone, and she was a good fighter now. She could do it.
All this seemed to soothe her. Meanwhile, Serene was a nervous mess.
“If anything happens, I’m right here,” she whispered so the driver wouldn’t hear.
She shifted in her seat, looking around to see if they had made it yet. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”
Gilla touched her shoulder and nodded soothingly. Okay, she signed with her hand, and Serene nodded, taking a deep breath.
Gilla pointed to her, then made two fists, gently punching the air--her way of saying Serene was tough, that she could do it.
Serene grinned and nodded. “Right. You’re right. I’m being stupid.”
Gilla wished Serene understood sign language, so she could tell her again it would be all right, that she was strong. But she didn’t, and they sat in awkward silence for the rest of the drive.
They arrived at the club and got out. This was Barry’s stomping grounds, and it was a lot nicer than he had made it out to be. Serene and Gilla waited in line, acting intoxicated, as they had agreed on. It was cold again, and their stiletto heels slipped on the icy pavement, which only added more to their supposed drunkenness.
The club was packed. Women and men danced on tiny stages, clad in only scraps of underwear. People gave them cash, downed shots, danced. The bouncers roamed the perimeter, looking bored.
Gilla grabbed Serene’s arm, her heart pounding in her chest. The music reverberated in her head, and men leered at her, eyeing her chest and her legs. She saw Will’s face, and she took a step back.
Serene murmured in her ear--Gilla could barely hear her over the music.
“Shh. It’s all right. I’m here, remember? I’m right here.”
But her anxiety still surged.
“Gilla. Breathe.”
Gilla took a steadying breath, and, finally, her heart began to slow. She could do this. She had to do this. Will was dead. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.
She nodded, and they found a booth, pretending to stumble and sway on their way over. A couple of the male dancers immediately spotted them, and came over.
“Ladies?” one of them greeted.
“No, women!” Serene announced, waving her hand in the air.
They had agreed it would be easier to interview the female dancers.
The men walked off, looking disappointed, and two women took their place, seeming to materialize out of thin air.
“Aw, you’re getting married?” one exclaimed, sitting beside Serene and tossing her long red hair over her shoulder.
“To my girlfriend,” Serene said, as if still offended that the men had approached her first.
They congratulated her. “I’m Scarlet, and this is Ray,” the redhead introduced, gesturing at the other woman, who was blonde-haired and curvy.
Ray sat next to Gilla. “It’s just the two of you for your bachelorette?”
“We’re best friends,” Serene said, and Gilla could tell she was trying her best to sound airheaded. “Only true friends are coming to my wedding.”
“What happened with your other friends, then?”
Serene wrinkled her nose. “They’re saying he’s cheating. But I know him. He would never do that to me. We’re soulmates.”
She looked around, then said, “They said he’s been going to clubs like this one and picking up girls. You know, like--please.”
“Really?” Ray asked, now genuinely intrigued. “What’s he look like?”
Serene shrugged. “Tall. Muscular. He has this gorgeous long hair.”
Ray and Scarlet looked at each other, and Gilla saw recognition on their faces.
Then Scarlet plastered on what Gilla assumed was supposed to be an enticing smile.
“Would you two like a dance?” she asked, immediately slipping into Serene’s lap.
“Oh,” Ser
ene said, shocked out of her airheadedness. “You were going to say something.”
Scarlet frowned. “No I wasn’t. Here, relax. It’s only twenty pounds.”
Gilla was more than happy not to receive a lap dance, and went to the bar to order some drinks while Serene was occupied.
She didn’t know what she was doing; drinking wouldn’t help things at all. She took her sash off; it was getting itchy, and immediately dropped it.
Before she could pick it up a man appeared, brown-haired and handsome. He grabbed the sash from the floor and handed it to her.
“Where’s the bride, love?” he asked, looking her up and down.
Gilla took a deep breath, trying not to think of Will again. She pointed to her throat and shook her head.
“Oh,” he said, frowning. “Right.”
Then he grinned. “Kind of sexy.”
Gilla flushed, stunned. She frowned, but he took a step closer, unashamed.
“What? Kind of hot, fucking the mute,” he growled. “I bet you get passed over a lot. Disappointing. No one can hear you scream while they fuck you.”
She took several steps back, horrified. He smirked and walked off, clearly pleased with himself.
The room spun, and Gilla clung to the bar. It was Will all over again, pinning her against the counter, grabbing her hair, dragging her down the hall….
She was crying, hyperventilating.
No no no. Calm down, calm down….
“You all right, love?”
It was Ray. She looked Gilla over, her eyes wide with concern.
Then she took her arm, gently. “Come here. Get you sorted.”
She led her past the dance floor, through a door, down a brightly lit hallway, and into a dressing room. She sat her on a couch, and opened a tiny fridge in the corner.
She took out a bottle, popped the cap, and handed it to Gilla.
“Cider,” she said. “On the house.”
Gilla nodded a thank you, brushing at her eyes and smearing her makeup. She took a big sip, ignoring the taste--she hated cider.
Ray sat beside her and rubbed her back until she calmed. Gilla stared at the bottle, tears gently slipping down her cheeks.
She was a failure. She had made her decision to help find these Angels, and she was failing. They had found nothing, and now she was ruining everything, crying in the corner like a frightened child. Michael would worry even more, and he was so stressed already.
“That bloke being a shit to you?” Ray murmured. “Thought he looked like a cunt. I can spot those from across the room. I’ll have the bouncers kick him out.”
Gilla managed a smile, and brushed at her eyes again.
“Hold on, your makeup,” Ray said, and she got up and retrieved some remover from the vanity.
She fussed with Gilla’s face for a few moments.
“Are you deaf?” she suddenly asked, finishing with Gilla’s face.
Gilla shook her head, and pointed to her throat.
“Oh. I see. Sorry, I just hadn’t heard a word from you. Thought your true friend had mind-controlled you or something.”
Now Gilla smiled genuinely, amused. She shrugged, and Ray giggled.
“She was making Scarlet say all sorts of things….‘I want your money,’ ‘I hate dancing for women,’ ‘I’m cheating on my boyfriend.’ Weird.”
Gilla frowned. She had thought Serene could just draw whatever truth she wanted out of her subject. Now it sounded like it wasn’t as simple as that.
Then Ray turned serious. “Look. Your friend’s fiance….if we have him right….he’s definitely picking up women behind her back. He took our friend Abby home a few nights ago, kept going on about taking her to his flat in Chelsea. She hasn’t shown up to work since. Not that we think he did anything,” she added quickly, “nothing like that. She’s been talking about quitting for weeks now. But still….your friends are right; he’s a sleazy prick. He said his name was Grayson. That him?”
Gilla’s heart was racing, and she nodded quickly.
Ray nodded too. “See if you can change your friend’s mind about the wedding. That’s what true friends do, isn’t it?”
They sat for a while. Ray chatted for a bit, finding it easy to open up to someone who couldn’t reply. Then she took Gilla back out, and delivered her to Serene, who was in the line trying to leave the club.
“I had no idea where you went,” she exclaimed, hugging her. “I thought you might have gone outside. Have you been crying? What happened?”
Gilla decided to ignore these questions, and rapidly tapped her ear, indicating that she had learned something.
It took Serene a moment before she understood. She sighed, relieved. “Thank god,” she breathed. “I couldn’t get a word out of that girl. I must have asked about that guy a billion times, but she kept skirting around it, revealing other truths to me instead.”
Gilla frowned, and Serene explained, “Some people are very good at hiding the truth. She didn’t want to tell me about my ‘boyfriend’ because she wanted my money. Telling the truth would have upset me, and then she wouldn’t have gotten paid.”
She slipped her shoes off, and Gilla did the same, relieving her aching feet.
“I can’t wait to get home and hear what you found out,” Serene said as the crowd eased through the doors.
It spilled out onto the pavement, and groups of people milled around, leaning on the wall and standing idly by the alley.
The pavement was cold beneath Gilla’s feet, but she didn’t care. The cool air made her feel a little better, and she breathed it in.
But then she remembered that man, and she shivered, looking around, searching the crowd for his face. It was Will all over again; he was going to find her….
“Watch out for the ice,” Serene said, glancing down. “Anyway….I’m sorry I can’t understand you. I would like to. Maybe when I have the time I can learn….”
She wasn’t listening. Her heart had stopped: A girl was being dragged into the shadows of the alley, a hand clamped over her mouth. It was the man from earlier. He dragged the girl further into the shadows and looked up, catching Gilla’s eye.
Then they disappeared.
Without thinking she dropped her shoes and sprinted toward the alley, her heart racing in her chest.
No no no. Not another one.
“Gilla!” Serene cried behind her, but Gilla barely heard.
She was soon swallowed by the darkness of the alley. A body brushed past her, crying, and she knew the man had let the girl go.
“Gilla,” Serene exclaimed, running right into the alley before slipping on a patch of ice.
She fell with a thud, and Gilla turned to help her.
But then a hand grabbed her around the neck, yanking her backward. She stumbled, choking, clutching at his fingers.
Will.
No, not Will, never Will again.
She grabbed the man’s wrist and gave an almighty pull. His arm twisted and snapped, and he howled. She whirled around, grabbed him by the throat, lifted him, and threw him across the alley. His body smacked against the wall, and he crumpled to the ground.
There was a long silence.
Gilla stared, frozen. The man didn’t move, though she could see that he was breathing. His arm was bent at a painful angle.
Serene slowly got to her feet. Beyond her the crowd moved, too loud to have heard the man’s scream. Gilla looked at her; her face was ghostly pale.
“Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “I thought you couldn’t do that.”
Gilla shook her head, absolutely stunned.
She hadn’t thought so either.
Gabriel
Computers were stupid. The mouse felt strange under his hand, and although he could speak English well, reading and writing it was a whole different story. He had to sound out the words he wanted to type, and the keyboard was a jumbled mess. He realized too late that he probably couldn’t teach himself this subject.
He was happy to be helpin
g his uncle--happy to be reunited with his father--but his free time, so far, was very boring. Gabriel didn’t do well with boredom. That was one of the reasons why he wasn’t upstairs with his uncle. He would have been bored out of his skull, watching Mel sleep.
He finally leaned back in his chair and spun it around. He wondered, vaguely, if he was going to decide to help his family hunt down these evil Angels Father had prophesied. He wanted to be there for his father now, after all those years of ignoring him, after all those terrible things he had said. He owed it to him. And there was the chance to destroy evil Beings, creatures that were harming Father’s precious Creation.
Still, it meant playing Father’s game, and he and Serene had both been avoiding that for millennia.
Suddenly someone poked their head in the room. It was Barrett--or Barry, whatever--Mel’s houseguest. Gabriel knew he had been giving information to Mel and Nora before they had given him a place to stay, but that was about it.
“Writing your next novel, are you?” Barry asked, leaning on the door jamb.
“What?”
He nodded at the computer. “Been listening to you typing.”
Gabriel snorted, glancing at the computer with venom. “It’s harder than it looks. And I can’t write English anyway.”
Barry stared at him for a long moment. There was a strange look on his face, his blue eyes flashing.
“I s’pose this inability to write isn’t due to a shitty education,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “You’re suspicious of us.”
Barry frowned, clearly thinking. “No,” he finally replied, “just….curious. Mr. King’s asked me to help….with something big.”
And he shrugged.
Gabriel studied him. He was attractive, in a sort of youthful way--snub-nosed, blue-eyed. Gabriel hadn’t missed the ink on his neck, and he suspected there was more to find.
He straightened, intrigued. “What’s it say on your neck?” he asked curiously.
“‘Faith,’” Barry replied.
He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Got it when I was eighteen.”
“So you believe in God.”
