by Edward Lee
“Maybe I will escape,” Cassie goaded. “Then you’ll get fired.”
R.J. shrugged. “I hear they’re hiring at Wendy’s.” Then he walked away.
Probably just some behavioral psychologist’s trick, Cassie considered. Wants me to think he trusts me, then I’ll trust him.
“That’s not it,” Angelese said, unseen as always. “He just likes you. And you like him.”
“I do not!” Cassie insisted. “Jesus, he’s old. He’s like, thirty-five.”
Faceless chuckles fluttered about the small room. “How old do you think I am? You saw my face in the water.”
“I don’t know. Eighteen, nineteen.”
“Try five thousand.”
Jeez.
She was waiting for Sadie, the ward chaperon, but the woman wasn’t to be found. A television on the desk was on, the volume all the way down. There was also a copy of the St. Petersburg Times. Cassie immediately caught herself eyeing the front page.
ARMY SAYS MD EXPLOSION NOT TERRORIST BOMB, the top headline blared. What the hell is that all about? Cassie wondered. She picked up the paper but quickly noticed a more local headline lower on the page. MASS HYSTERIA IN DANNELLETON?
Dannelleton? she realized. That’s where this clinic is!
“Um-hmm,” Angelese answered her thought.
Cassie addressed the faceless voice. “You sound like you know something about it.”
“Um-hmm ... Turn the TV up.”
CNN was on; Cassie hiked the volume. A newswoman who looked more like an E-Channel hostess was reporting, “... strange and devastating explosion which completely destroyed the obscure library in Laurel, Maryland, last night. The bodies of five security guards and an unnamed civilian were recovered by local fire-department crews. Nearby witnesses reported seeing a small mushroom cloud expanding over the site at the time of the mishap, and rumors quickly spread that the facility had been the target of a terrorist bomb. But federal officials from the Army and Nuclear Regulatory Commission quickly dispelled such rumors, stating that no radiation was detected at the site, nor does the site display any characteristics of a terrorist attack. Later, county and state officials explained that the unfortunate accident was the result of a natural gas line rupture...”
“I don’t think so,” Angelese sniped.
“What are you talking about?” Cassie asked. She was getting annoyed.
“Turn on the local news now.”
Oh, well. Cassie did so. This time a newsman who seemed to have forgotten to comb his hair was saying, “... the small but exclusive downtown area of Dannelleton ravaged by fire last night, amid reports of earth tremors, power failures including battery-powered police radio communication failure and cell phone failure, foul-smelling fog, and mass screaming—” The newscaster cracked a smile. “Pinellas County public health officials attribute these observations to a case of simple mass-hysteria which often occurs at night, during times of limited visibility, and during traumatic public crises. Meanwhile, the fire marshal and his team of investigators explained that the fires were caused by gas line rupture...”
“And if you believe that,” Angelese said, “I’ve got a bridge I can sell you.”
Cassie turned the TV back down. “You’re saying it’s not true?” she asked, even though she had to admit, the coincidence seemed a bit far-fetched. “What do you know about it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
The voice in the air paused, almost as if fearful. “Because I don’t have the courage. But I’ll tell you soon. I won’t just tell you, I’ll show you. There are certain things I’m not allowed to tell you. If I do... I’m punished, and believe me, the punishment hurts.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cassie said, her frustrations mounting.
“Just be patient.”
“Patience isn’t one of my best traits.”
Sadie walked in, one brow raised. Probably heard me talking to Angelese, Cassie deduced. But so what, she already thinks I’m crazy. “Hello, Cassie,” the squat, husky woman said. Her blond perm looked like a large order of curly fries sitting on her head, and her conservative business dress would’ve looked nice on just about anyone else but on her it didn’t work at all. No matter what she wears, she’ll always look like a guard at a women’s prison, Cassie thought. Sadie, as the ward’s chaperon, was charged with the duty of being present whenever a female in-patient was undergoing a physical exam or taking a shower.
“If she’s a lesbian,” Angelese said, “she sure landed the right job.”
Cassie had to bite her lip not to laugh. She followed the rotund woman to the long shower stalls. Sadie was polite enough at least to keep her eyes averted when Cassie took off her robe and stepped in. The warm spray hissed down, revitalizing Cassie.
“Okay, now what were you—” but then Cassie bit her lip again.
“I told you to be careful,” Angelese reminded.
“Cassie?” It was Sadie. She peeked around the shower wall and looked in. “Is there someone in there with you?”
Cassie turned with a frown, faced the woman totally naked and spread her hands. “Does it look like anyone’s in here with me?”
Sadie’s eyes narrowed. “I could’ve sworn I heard you talking to someone.”
“I talk to myself sometimes.” Then she laughed. “Just ask R.J.”
“Well. Okay. I’ll be out here.”
“Don’t worry, Sadie. I know you people think I’m a suicide risk but be real. How can I kill myself with a bar of soap?”
A final, worried pause, then Sadie went back out.
“Just listen,” Angelese said, “and if you have to talk, whisper, so Boxcar Bertha out there doesn’t hear you.”
Cassie nodded, the shower spray tickling her.
“There are some things I can tell you,” the angel’s voice began, “and some things I can’t. It’s one of the Rules. Just like there are Rules in the Mephistopolis, I have Rules, too. If I break them, I pay.”
“How?” Cassie whispered.
“In pain. In torture. Remember last night, when we did the Transference with the water cupped in your hands?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened right before my image disappeared?”
The memory blared. “You screamed, and for a minute the water turned red, like blood.”
“Because it was blood. My blood. I was being slashed because I broke one of the Rules. I told you something I wasn’t allowed to tell you. Do you remember? I told you that I would help you get back to the Mephistopolis, that I’d help you find the other Deadpass.”
A long pause.
“For that I was punished,” the angel continued. “I was punished by a thing called an Umbra-Specter. It’s a kind of demon that can live in your shadow, and it can become real for a few seconds, anytime you break a Rule.”
Cassie had never heard of such a thing during her previous trips to the Mephistopolis. It sounded like a sword of Damocles, that could swoop down and cut you without warning. “But... only for a few seconds?”
“A few seconds is enough.” Angelese’s voice grew solemn. “You’ll see. Step back, out of the water...”
Cassie did so. The spray hissed out of the shower head. Then her eyes began to slowly widen.
The image was grained, like a pointillistic painting, but after a second Cassie could see the image of a short slender young woman standing under the shower spray. She thought of a television picture with bad reception.
“You can see me, right?”
Cassie nodded, speechless.
More of Angelese’s image began to form, to the point that she nearly looked like a normal woman standing in the shower. Long snow-white hair hung in wet tendrils. She was very petite, fine-boned, and then she turned her head gracefully to look at Cassie and smile. The overlarge eyes sparkled, stunning with their violet-rimmed beige irises. The simple white gown she wore—low cut over a modest bosom—stuck to her skin in
the water. Its hem went all the way down to her ankles.
“Hi,” the angel said.
“Um,” Cassie stalled. She stood aside, dripping. “Hi.”
Bright fluorescent light tubes blared overhead. Angelese looked down at the floor slightly to one side. “See? See my shadow?”
Cassie could see it moving just off of Angelese’s bare feet. There was nothing extraordinary about it, no demons seen hiding. “Looks just like a normal shadow to me.”
Angelese just smiled. “Ask R.J. if you can move to the room at the very end of the hall, on the left.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where I am. It will be easier for us to talk, face to face. This water thing is a pain in the ass.”
Cassie couldn’t believe she’d just heard an angel use the word ass. But she didn’t understand, and Angelese could sense that.
“I use up a lot of my energy projecting my voice through the walls, and the Transference Charm makes me real tired afterward.”
Did I get that right? Cassie needed clarification. “You mean you’re staying in one of rooms on the ward? I thought you were an angel. Now you’re telling me you’re a patient?”
Angelese laughed. “No, no, I’m just occupying the room. I couldn’t select it, it selected me. Any recruit in the Order of the Caliginauts can only physically occupy Death-Points in the Living World. We’re attracted to darkness—it’s part of our habitat.”
Angels, Cassie contemplated the contradiction, attracted to darkness. “So what’s the big deal about the room at the end of the hall?”
“Over the years, several dozen patients have committed suicide in it. When this sanatorium originally opened in the early 1900s, some of the patients were actually murdered by staff in that room, then they told the authorities it was suicide. Relatives often paid the staff to do this, to get the patients out of their hair, or claim their inheritance.”
“How upbeat.”
“Anyway, that’s where I am. If you could get moved into the room directly across from me, it would be easier to talk.”
“R.J.’s not gonna assign me a new room for no reason. What am I going to say? Will you please move me down the hall so I can talk to the angel? You know, the Caliginaut who’s attracted to darkness? He and Morse’d have me on enough Thorazine to drop the Jolly Green Giant.”
“Just tell him you want it for the view of the garden outside.”
Can’t hurt to try, Cassie thought. She squinted now at something catching her eye, a pendant around Angelese’s neck. “What’s that? Some kind of stone?”
From the end of the silver cord dangled a dark-purple stone shaped like an upside-down V. “It’s a Tetramite—an Obscurity Stone,” the angel explained. “It conceals my aura when I’m in the Living World. Humans can’t see my physical body, but they’d be able to see my aura. All angels have auras, or haloes. And since you’re an Etheress, whenever you’re in Hell—”
“I know, I have an aura, too,” Cassie said. During previous trips to the Mephistopolis, she’d always wear her onyx ring, to dampen the light of her lifeforce. Otherwise, she’d be recognized at once by the Constabularies or any other denizens of Hell.
Angelese took the pendant off and immediately the shower room filled with sparkling lime-green light that started at a blazing ring over her head.
“Wow!” Cassie exclaimed.
“Wow, what? Who are you talking to?” the stern voice cracked. It was Sadie, the chaperon. “Have you got a boy in here?” The woman’s broad face peered right at Cassie.
“A boy?” She looked at Angelese. “Not quite. Look, I told you, I talk to myself sometimes, that’s all.”
Sadie didn’t seem convinced. She glowered up and down the long room. “Well, hurry it up, will you?” A deeper frown. “And it helps to actually stand in the water when you’re taking a shower,” she sniped and then huffed off.
“She’s delightful,” Angelese joked, turning to look at the woman. But while she’d been looking, Cassie noticed something on the angel’s back, on either side of her spine. Rough bumps of some kind.
“Is—is something wrong with your back?” she asked.
“Oh, my attentor joints,” the angel replied. “I’m a terrestrial angel, that means we have to have our wings amputated. It’s part of the investiture of my order.”
Just the word—amputated—made Cassie grit her teeth. “You had to cut your wings off?”
Angelese shrugged with complacency. “Yeah, it’s a prerequisite for my class of Seraphim—any terrestrial order. Some angels have three pairs of wings, some two, some one, other orders have prehensile wings that fold up in the middle of their back, and some orders have discorporate wings that can be rendered invisible by certain Obscurity Stones, Veiling Balms, and Imperceptiblity Spells. And some angels—Ornataphrim and Magitors—have no wings at all.”
“Can any angel come to earth?”
“Some, not all. Most Fallen Angels can incarnate themselves into the Living World, but it requires a lot of cabalistic energy—as well as permission—and they can never go to Heaven, of course. Lucifer appears on earth regularly. The latest rumor is that he’s been amusing himself by going back in time, to revisit periods of great tragedy and horror. That’s what he does when he’s bored.”
“How can he go back in time?”
“Because of something he stole from God a long time ago. The process is called Astral Retrogation. It’s kind of like a Merge, in that it only lasts for a short period of time. Beyond that, I can’t discuss it.”
“But if he can go back in time, can he go forward? Into the future?”
“I can’t tell you.”
More questions popped up, unbidden. “Are angels born or created?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“What about God? Is He an angel, too?”
Angelese smiled through the spray. “I can’t say.”
Hmm, interesting. But now came another concern. Cassie felt embarrassed by Sadie’s appearance. The woman would no doubt tell R.J., who’d only wind up thinking she was getting crazier. That wasn’t the impression she wanted him to have. She continued to look, though, at the angel in the water. There was something enchanting about the softly hissing image.
Water ran down her bare arms; the long gown she wore stuck to her legs. Beneath the sheer fabric, Cassie thought she saw darker streaks of some sort, and then she remembered.
“Didn’t you say you had tattoos?”
“You want to see them?” Angelese asked.
“Sure.”
A strange tilt of the head. “Do you really want to see them?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay...”
Angelese pulled down the shoulder straps, let the gown slide damply down to her ankles. Suddenly she was nude.
Cassie’s breath froze in her chest.
“I guess I should have told you, they’re not really tattoos ...”
No, they clearly weren’t. Crosshatchlike lines in groups of four scored the angel’s white skin from her ankles to her bosom. Some of the lines were faintly pink, others a much darker red. Most of her body was a webwork of them.
Cassie’s voice roughened. “They’re scars, aren’t they?”
Angelese nodded. She turned around, displaying the even worse sets of scars going up and down her back. “They’re claw marks.”
Cassie was close to shivering at what she saw. Angelese’s skin provided a tapestry for the wounds.
“See these?” Now the angel ran a finger up her abdomen to her small but erect breasts: four fresh claw marks filled with scabbed-up blood. “I got these last night, when I told you that there was another Deadpass. This was the punishment, for breaking the Rule.”
“That thing did it,” Cassie knew. “The—”
“Umbra-Specter.” Angelese looked down at the compressed shadow which seemed huddled around her feet. “It’s an evil son of a bitch but it’s part of the way it works. All Caliginauts have them whenever they w
alk the earth. It’s the toll you have to pay.” She tensed, gently touching the cuts. “It hurts so much when he does it. You wouldn’t understand. Angels have heightened senses. We feel everything in much more detail and intensity—especially pain.”
Cassie couldn’t imagine. Even the undersides of Angelese’s breasts were wounded, almost as though she were wearing a bra of scars. “It only happens when you say something you’re not allowed to say?”
“Yeah,” Angelese replied. “Or do something I’m not allowed to do.”
Cassie recalled that in the Mephistopolis, Fallen Angels were immortal. “Can you die?”
“Not in Heaven, and not in Hell. But here?” Angelese smiled coyly. “Yeah, I can die. When angels kick the bucket in the Living World, they go out with a bang. And that’s what I need to tell you about.”
When she said that, something happened. Cassie wasn’t sure, but the pressure in the room seemed to change. Even though she was wet from the shower, tiny hairs seemed to stand up on her neck. Then she noticed the shadow at Angelese’s feet.
It was elongating, unfolding on the floor like black ink being spilled.
“Here it comes,” Angelese calmly said. “It already knows what I’m going to say.”
Now the shadow was rising. It looked like a craggy black figure standing up.
The angel began: “Remember what we heard on the news?”
“The fires in downtown Dannelleton?” Cassie referenced.
“I’ll tell you about that too but I mean the other thing—”
“The explosion they blamed on a gas line rupture,” Cassie said. “Some library or something, in Maryland.”
“It was no explosion, it was Lucifer’s best friend, a Fallen Angel named Zeihl—”
The room darkened as the shadow—this Umbra-Specter—grew larger. It was a solid black mass with no details save for its shape, and now its hands were opening, revealing awl-sharp claws that were each inches long. The darkest, guttural sound could be heard, barely audible, but a sound nonetheless. Cassie knew what it was: it was the thing chuckling.
“Don’t say anything else,” Cassie warned.
“I have to.”
“That thing’ll torture you. Don’t do it.”
