Angel Descending

by Ethan Cooper

  When I felt like I’d removed all the evidence of the night’s activities, I just put my hands on the wall, bowed my head, closed my eyes, and let the shower pound away at the center of my back until I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Didn’t work though. I can still remember what happened.

  I can still remember what

  (I did)

  “You look better,” JACK said when I stepped back into the bedroom.

  “I feel cleaner.”

  While I put on the clothes Tam brought—undergarments, a gray shirt at least two sizes too big and some super-tight red pants that I have to jump up and down in order to fit into—JACK used the shower to clean off our cloaks, skinsuits, and boots. When she was done, JACK slid my boots across the floor where they came to rest at my feet, then placed the other clothes into my backpack.

  “We need these,” she said.

  I nodded, though the thought of being inside that skinsuit again was distasteful.

  We were both dressed, and we were clean. The room wasn’t. The sight of blood and mud on the floor and on the bedsheets—the contrasting hues of red and black with white—stole my ability to breathe for a few moments. While I was standing there, trying not to sob, trying to decide what to do next, Tam returned. Couldn’t help myself; I wanted to see how he was going to react. And when I looked into his eyes, I couldn’t turn away, didn’t want to. The mask that hid his nose and mouth only served to draw attention to his gaze. His eyes flicked to JACK briefly, but then right back to me. The room looked like we’d murdered somebody and didn’t care who knew, but it was as if he hadn’t noticed. Had he seen enough in his role as Guardian that it didn’t affect him? Or maybe he wanted to know the same things about me that I wanted to know about him. We hadn’t met before tonight, but I could believe in that moment, that incredible, infinite moment, that he recognized me.

  “What is it?” I found myself demanding, the words too harsh. I was confused, and I couldn’t stop looking at him. I couldn’t deny the unexpected urge to punch something. And why? Because he had pretty eyes? Made no sense.

  “Feeling better?” Tam asked.

  “Feeling cleaner.”

  “Better will come after you sleep.”

  “Well, I’m feeling better and cleaner,” JACK said.

  I’d have glared at her if I had been remotely capable of extricating myself from the stare-down with Tam, who quite possibly had the prettiest green eyes of anyone I could remember.

  Which admittedly wasn’t a whole lot of people.

  “You’re safe here,” he said. “You look exhausted. Follow me, and I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

  Tam turned away, releasing whatever hold he had on me. Did he even realize what he’d been doing?

  I blinked, releasing a long breath, stumbling a little. JACK bumped her shoulder against my arm, her head cocked to one side as if waiting for me to answer some question she hadn’t felt an obligation to verbalize. I shrugged my shoulders, unable to process in that moment what she might have wanted from me.

  Now, she’s motionless in her sleep; not even her hairstalks are moving. Except for the rise and fall of her chest, she has all the life of a machine that’s been switched off.

  The Haven is crowded, as much as the city streets are. It’s an inescapable, oppressive weight. The world outside is desperate to deny any form refuge might take. I try not to think about the carpet of sleeping people surround us, how each of them are strangers, potential threats, enemies. If they want to take me here, right now, I’d be dead before I could wake JACK.

  Still, none of them seem to be concerned that there’s a wirewitch sleeping among them. Maybe they don’t think she’s dangerous because she’s young. Maybe they feel safe because we’re in a Haven. I’m not sure exactly how a Guardian enforces the prohibition against violence, but if there are any truly safe places on this island, then this is supposed to be one of them. Still, don’t they know she’s infected? Don’t they realize what she can

  (do to you?)

  A lot of sleeping bodies in this room are children, many of them younger than JACK. They slumber carelessly, their arms and legs all over the place. Awake, they’re certainly not so unguarded. It’s both beautiful and heartbreaking seeing them like this. There may not be anything purer than the trust of a child.

  (stop looking at them it hurts)

  I need to get out of here, even if only for a few minutes.

  Using the sick yellow illumination provided by a couple of round lights on either side of the exit door, I’m able to avoid stepping on anybody when I get up and leave the room, telling myself that JACK doesn’t need me to protect her from anything. I briefly consider taking the backpack with me but decide that it’ll be fine there beside JACK. Is anybody in here really going to try and steal from a wirewitch? They’d have to be quite desperate.

  The Haven’s layout is simple—a main hallway off an entry. The room I slept in is one of several that opens into the hall. Didn’t get a grand tour or anything, but given how crowded it is, I can only imagine rooms filled as full as possible with people just like me—the vagabonds and refugees that the fall of Cyberspace created. The walls are gray, and the lights are low, some of them out, as if there’s not enough power in the Haven to activate them all at the same time. At the far end of the hall, there’s a larger room, and inside, small tables surrounded by chairs. The smell of fresh bread is unmistakable. I’m salivating, and my stomach rumbles, but I need to step outside, even if only for a minute or two. It’s oppressive out there, but it’s worse in here.

  I head toward the entry, half hoping to see Tam there, half hoping I don’t. Finding my fingers combing through my hair, quickly pulling them down, swearing under my breath.

  (so pathetic so)

  (weak)

  Tam’s not in the entry. If there’s a moment of disappointment, I bat it away and push through the door that leads out of the Haven.

  The outside world greets me. It’s morning, but the thin strip of clouds I can see above is a sick grayish brown with spots of black visible, like dead flesh in a gangrenous wound. I feel a tightness in my chest, and it’s not because my shirt is too small—I could probably fit JACK in here with me—it’s because as the clouds churn, they look like they’re getting lower. Some small part of me believes that they’re not going to stop, that they’re going to keep getting lower and lower till they engulf the entire city. And when they do, those black spots are gonna get all over everything, infect everything, and then they’re gonna eat everything.

  Close my eyes, take several breaths, but not too deep, eyes open again, not much better, but I’ll take whatever I can get.

  Of course, the entrance to the Haven is located at the walled-off end of a narrow, dead end alley. I may not be the most observant person on the planet, but even I’m sensing a pattern.

  The buildings are so close to each other, and impossibly tall. It’s dizzying to look up. Have to keep my gaze lower, down on the ground where I can find balance and stability. Here, this deep in the city, there’s no escape. It’s suffocating to have to be so close to them, to have nowhere to run.

  Every step away from the Haven is a step in the wrong direction, I know that, and yet my feet are still taking me toward the street, away from safety. Away from JACK.

  Exiting the alley, I can see that the city is beginning to wake. The only vehicle I see is a two-wheeled cycle down the street. It’s on its side, on fire, and belching orange flames capped with puffing, black smoke. There’s a cluster of young kids around it, pushing and shoving, stepping close to see how long they can bear the heat before they have to step away. Most of the people are moving in pairs, darting quickly between buildings.

  On the other side of the street, in the reflective surface of the skyscraper there, I can see a fragile young woman, clothed in a shirt and pants that don’t fit right, her hair an amazing shade of blue. She’s reaching out to steady herself against the nearest wall. Beneath her feet, the
ground rumbles, as if a miracle has produced some working underground transportation, or perhaps a minor earthquake. Her reflected image shimmers, going all blurry. She retreats, putting her back and both of her palms on the wall, yet there is still the sense that she might fall. She has both feet on the ground, but she looks more like she’s balancing on a tightrope suspended over a great chasm. Any disturbance, no matter how minuscule, might tip her to one side, send her tumbling to her violent, splattery demise. It’s impossible to not feel pity for her, small and weak, insignificant and—except for that hair—unremarkable. Just a small blue blip, a briefly flickering pixel on the world’s holo screen.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I can’t be out here alone.

  bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!

  Static flares briefly in my head, momentarily making the world go all fuzzy. I close my eyes and wait, reopening them only when I’ve convinced myself it’s not going to happen again.

  Stumbling back into the alley, back toward the entrance to the Haven, at least I don’t have to look at—

  (her)

  (you)

  (me)

  —any longer.

  Return trips often seem shorter than the initial journey, but the walk back down the alley takes twice the time. The entrance to the Haven is obscured by a stack of rusting metal that takes up half the walking space between the buildings. Distracted and disoriented enough that I almost run into it. Not good. The stack is a bunch of unidentifiable parts, many of them jagged and pointy. I sigh, stepping sideways to move past.

  But I can’t.

  Because oh fuck, Calamity is standing right there, blocking my way.

  “Hi there, Blue!” he says, enhancing his greeting with a little wave of his hand.

  With no small amount of terror, I almost wave back. What the hell is wrong with me? Stepping backward. It's the wrong way to go, but I need more space between me and my possibly insane, definitely dangerous, heavily armored stalker.

  “How did you sleep?” Calamity asks. “You look more rested than you did the other day.”

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  Calamity shakes his head, his crown tilting precariously, his shoulders slumping as he exhales loudly. “Now, Blue, you know exactly why I'm here and what I want. I have two more secrets to tell you. I’m here to see if you’re ready to hear them. But first, your mouth. It’s out of control. Is that something you do when you’re nervous? Or is it just me? You know, your words don't make you tough. You're better than that.”

  “No. I'm not. You don't know that about me.” That last part comes out timid, barely more than a whisper, my voice cracking, probably because I have no clue how much he knows about me.

  “That, Blue, is where you're wrong. I could tell you precisely how wrong you are, but just like with everything else in life, you don’t get to know everything at the start. And when it comes to finding out about yourself—” He uncrosses his arms to point a finger in my direction. “—knowledge is something you earn.” He re-crosses his arms.

  I have few choices. I can turn around and escape into the street, wander around for a while by myself and then come back. Maybe he’ll get bored and not be here when I return. I can try to get by him and into the Haven. Or I can listen to whatever it is that he’s so intent on telling me.

  (got a quick question for you angel do

  you want shot in the

  hand the

  foot or the

  side?)

  I could leave, but I’m one hundred percent certain that when I get back he’ll be standing right where he is, in that exact position, as if somebody had erected a statue in his honor right in the middle of this alley. I’m also one hundred percent certain that no matter what I do, I’m not getting by without his permission. Which leaves me with the fifty-one percent of me that believes he’s not going to harm me while I’m just listening to him talk.

  He’s been following me. Who knows how long he’s been invisible in this alley, just waiting for me to come outside so he could reveal himself. He’s not gonna leave me alone until I give him what he wants.

  Best to get it

  (victim)

  over with.

  I cross my arms and plant my feet. “Fine, tell me.” The fewer words I use with him the better.

  “Come close,” he says, his voice an intimate whisper in my ear. “This is just for you.”

  I’m shuddering, shivering, but I’m stepping forward too. That damned painted smile of his mocks me with every step. A nugget of fury forms in my gut because there’s no way his real face isn’t grinning just as wide behind that mask.

  bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!

  Static bursting. Ouch. Little explosions with every step, each just a little more painful than the one before.

  “What’s wrong, little one?”

  Okay, he noticed. Guess that’s not a shock. I can’t help but flinch when it happens.

  “Are you injured?” Calamity Carl asks, as if he doesn’t already know.

  “Stop it. Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Talk to me. Just tell me whatever it is that you want to tell me, then leave me the fuck alone.”

  He moves fast, like he did before, spinning me around, pinning my arms at my sides, wrapping his arms around me, tight enough to let me know that struggling is useless. The only reason I’m not a little blue-haired pincushion is that his spikes and blades retract as I’m pressed against them.

  His voice is in my ear, but unlike when he projects his voice, this time it’s because his head is right next to mine. “Much better, oh, blue-haired one. Much more comfortable, yes?”

  I’m not going to answer that. Fewer words the better, right?

  My arms are suddenly free. I want to turn around…only I can’t do that because he’s got his hand around the back of my neck, his grip not so much painful as it is a not-so-subtle threat. He’s up underneath my hair, nothing separating the warm metal of his armored glove from the flesh of my extremely breakable neck. He pushes my head forward. Cascades of blue fill my vision.

  “Is this better?” Calamity Carl asks.

  Can barely talk—he has my chin down to my chest, but I manage to grunt out a fuck no.

  “You really should listen to me,” he says. “Don’t ever let people get this close. Keep your distance if you want to have any time to react. It’ll keep you alive. You don’t let that wirewitch sleep right next to you, do you?”

  bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!

  “Why the fuck are you doing this?” I growl.

  “I’m sure you’ll find out someday, assuming you survive.” Can feel his other hand on my head. He’s stroking my hair. Can’t stop my mind from sending me images of my strands sliding through his fingers.

  I shudder.

  His stroking continues. “Shh, don’t worry. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you today.”

  “Get your hand off me. Stop petting me. Get it over with.”

  The fingers on my neck tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to let me know that opening my mouth again, no matter what else he does to me, would be a mistake. Possibly my last.

  “Your mouth, it always gets you in trouble, little one,” Calamity Carl says in a voice that a parent might use with a rebellious child. There’s an unuttered sigh evident in every word. “Only one secret today.”

  He’s punishing me, like I’m a child in need of discipline. And dammit, that means he’s coming back.