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Chapter 7
Saul couldn't bring himself to leave. He hung around the office, chatting to his colleagues as they came in from assignments, and when there was nobody to talk to, he busied himself with reading up on his future 'clients' in the library. He'd already written up his report, being careful about what he put in and what he left out. He didn't want it to reflect badly on him, in spite of the reassurances that Azrael had given him. He knew he still walked a tightrope, as far as his career on the squad went.
With his nose buried in a thick file, he'd barely registered the presence across the desk from him until the sickly yellow globe was placed in the centre of his papers. He was shocked to see the face of the angel who had attacked him the night before.
"You have to help her!" He looked even paler than he had the previous evening. Deep circles ran round his eyes, and his hands kept convulsively stroking the dulled surface of the soul. "She's not well."
Saul stumbled back off his chair, making placating gestures with his hands. He tried a smile. "Who's not well?"
The angel pushed the globe into Saul's hand. "Take her!"
"Where did you get her from?" Saul picked up the sphere carefully, noticing its unusually lacklustre surface. He turned it around in his fingers, watching as the sun's beams played across it. Nothing. No rainbows, no thousand splinters of sunlight, no glistening raven's wing; just a faint sickly orange pulsing at its core. He turned questioning eyes to the angel, and was surprised to see tears rolling down the sunken cheeks. "Who is she?" he asked, softly.
The angel smiled weakly through his tears, and ran a gentle finger over the soul's surface. "Only everything that matters," he replied, sadly. " I can't look after her any more. I've tried, but she needs more than me."
"Where did you get her from?"
There was no answer to that question. Instead, the haggard angel directed a piercing glare at Saul. "I know you understand. You feel for them, the same way I do. I know I can trust you."
"Trust me to do what?" asked Saul as he nervously rolled the globe on to the cushioned top of the heavy mahogany table.
"I know you'll be able to fix her. I'll be back in a few days to pick her up."
"You think you're going to get her back?" Saul asked, incredulous.
"She's mine. They can never change that. We'll always be together." He nodded at Saul eagerly, and left.
"Good God," Saul cursed, as he picked up the telephone handset.
****
Angelus picked up the soul, studied its depths and found them wanting. "So we don't know who this is?"
"WE CAN ONLY ASSUME IT IS ONE OF OUR MISSING SOULS."
"So much for the accounting error theory. Well, we often wondered what would happen to souls who weren't taken care of properly. Now we know. They start dying." She peered at the dimly luminescent sphere again, raising it up to the light and turning it around in her fingers. "Who knew that the eternal could be finite?"
"WE ESTIMATE THAT SHE HAS BEEN MISSING FOR ABOUT TWENTY YEARS."
"Can anything be done for her?"
"WE DON'T KNOW."
With the lightest of touches, she stroked the globe gently before placing it carefully into a jar containing a liquid solution, and packed the canister carefully away into the reinforced box which would transport her Home. "She'll be too weak to question for a long while, if she pulls through. How about the angel who reported her?"
"HE'S OUTSIDE, WAITING FOR YOU."
"Okay, I can take it from here, thanks."
"LET US KNOW IF YOU NEED ANYTHING ELSE FROM US." And with that, the room went silent.
She leaned back in her comfortable, squashy office chair, settling her buttocks into their familiar grooves, and plopped her feet on the desk in her typical gesture of rebellion. Sometimes, surrounded by the cherrywood formality of her office, she'd burned with the ability to break out of the constraints, annoyed by the 'tuts' and askance glances she'd typically get for daring to want to be different. Eventually, out of sheer frustration with the antiseptic atmosphere, she'd spraypainted her walls with vivid orange, lime and turquoise graffiti, her favourite human swear words written large and thick in her own scruffily expressive handwriting. She stared at her favourite bright green and yellow "SCREW YOU GUYS" now, pondering the latest development in her case.
She hadn't been away long enough for dust to have formed on her furniture. "Home, sweet home," she muttered sarcastically while chewing on a fingernail. It was a new habit which had come with her human body, one that she found curiously calming, even though 'Cosmo' told her that it would ruin her chances of ever meeting 'Mr Right'.
Not that it mattered much anyway. She wasn't going anywhere, that was clear enough. No matter what she tried, she was always pulled back to this place, this existence. Changing the environment didn't matter, she understood that now. She could never leave herself behind.
She shook her head, jerked her feet off the desk, pulled out a pad and pen from a drawer, pressed the button on her intercom and asked her secretary to send the waiting angel in.
She sat quietly for several moments, until a hesitant knocking came at the door, shortly followed by a curly haired young angel, his round face guarded as he settled himself in the simple armchair opposite her. He looked nervous, so she smiled at him. It didn't seem to work.
"You know why you're here, right?"
"I guess," was the only reply; the young angel was clearly hedging his bets. And she couldn't blame him; not many angels found their way through her department safely. All those who had were no longer in operation.
"Don't look so nervous." She tried to reassure him, giving him another friendly smile. "You're assisting with enquiries." She kicked herself as he tensed noticeably. Sound like a bloody detective why don't you, Angelus? She leaned forward, stretching her arms out on the desk, palms upraised. "I only want to know about the soul you brought in, and the angel who gave her to you."
He nodded, but his eyes remained hooded. "I told everything to Internal Affairs when I reported it. I don't know why it's ended up with you. Special Investigations... everyone knows you're..." He shuffled around in his chair, fingers nervously scratching at his knee.
"I'm not with Special Investigations. I just share their office space," she explained, trying to put him more at ease. "It's part of a case I've been investigating. It's a major lead we have - actually, it's the only lead we've got. I really need you to help me out here."
"Okay, but I didn't have anything to do with it. He just gave her to me, that's all. I didn't even know him. I really don't know why he chose me. "He crossed his arms over his chest and appeared to shrink into the chair.
"Relax, you're not a suspect." God, sometimes being affiliated to this damn Special Investigations Department was more a hindrance than a help. I'm gonna ask for a transfer - only dumped me here 'cos it was easier to hide me amongst their budget. "Your name's Saul, right?" He nodded. "And you've been working on the Homicide One team for six months now?" He nodded again, eyes darting between her and the sheaf of papers which lay on the desk before her. "Had you come across this angel before?"
He hesitated a moment. "No."
"Any idea why he brought the soul to you?" He shook his head, eyes glued to hers. "I mean, it seems weird that he showed up there, in the library. Almost like he was looking specifically for you?"
"Why would he be looking for me?"
"That's what I'm asking," she explained patiently. He shrugged, and remained silent. She pursed her lips, and made a note on his file. "What did he look like? Can you describe him?"
He thought for a moment, shrugging before he answered, "Normal, really. Tall, thin. Very pale, dressed in black, smart suit. Darkish coloured hair. Brown eyes, big circles under them. Umm... that's all I can remember. He seemed very agitated. A bit mad, really."
"You got the colour of his eyes?" she asked, surprise lifting her voice a little. He made a small, non committal sound. "Did you get his name?" He shook his head. "Would you recognise him again?"
"Yes."
"You said in your report that he's expecting to get the soul back?"
"Yes, he said that they were destined to be together and that nobody could stop that. And then he said he'd be back in a few days, once I'd fixed her."
"So he's coming back for her? Did he say anything else? Like how he'll contact you, when it'll be, that kind of thing?"
"No, he just disappeared."
"Okay, sign that." She shoved a piece of paper towards him, and rolled a pen across the desk top.
"What is it?" he asked, nervously.
"Your transfer request." She couldn't resist grinning at his dumfounded expression. "You're off the Homicide squad."
"You're sacking me?"
"I'm reassigning you. I need an assistant. Congratulations - you're it." She jiggled the form in front of him. "Sign it."
"What if I don't want to?"
Her smile turned cold. "Sign it."
With a shaking hand, he did.
****
Saul still felt shell shocked. He sat in his spartan little one bedroomed flat overlooking the Elysian Fields, and stared at a painting on the wall as the laughter and shrieks of the happy souls below him frolicked in their blissful, artificial idyll. It was a prime location and he'd had to pull a few strings to get it - use the family name a few times, that sort of thing. He didn't even notice the lush green foliage and aqua blue streams which were his daily view - he was too busy fretting over what he'd gotten himself into, and whether he could get out of it.
"Maybe I could use it to my advantage," he muttered absently. "Catching this crazy guy could give me a real career lift." Better than sticking around in Homicide for centuries, slogging his guts out and hating every minute of it.
The woman he'd met this morning certainly seemed to have some excellent contacts - Azrael had gone white when she'd seen the wax seal on his transfer papers, although she'd said she hadn't recognised the signature scrawled along the bottom, and his transfer had gone through in a matter of hours. That was unheard of in an organisation where Personnel moves could take upwards of twelve years from application through to interview alone.
"Amazing. And I still don't know what department I'm working for." He had only found out the name of his new boss as he was leaving the room. Angelus.
He jumped as the sound of the letterbox rattling startled him out of his daydream. It was the usual yellow packet which contained his 'assignments' for the day. Angelus had given him strict orders. "This is a highly covert operation - you're to tell nobody about this, other than your supervisor, do you understand? As far as everyone else is concerned, you're still an Angel of Death, assigned to Homicide One. Don't arouse suspicion in any way, and as soon as you're contacted, let me know."
He sighed as the familiar feeling of dread and resentment settled over him; he ripped open the envelope and pulled out his first client for collection.
*****
Chapter 8
"Uh, hi. Can I speak to Jake please?
"Speaking."
"Hi Jake, it's Angela here. We had a date arranged for tonight?" Forgive me please, Jake. It's for your own good, believe me. You have no idea what bad news I am.
"Yeah, I've booked us a table at that little Italian restaurant in town, you know the one? Tiny little place squashed between the bookshop and the florists. I hear the 'Penne Della Casa' is wonderful. And then afterwards I've got us tickets to the opera in town. It's Doctor Faustus."
"Opera? Oh..." She twirled the phone cord nervously around her finger. Dumping someone - especially over the phone - was a new experience, and one which 'Cosmo' had been curiously reticent on.
"Don't you like opera?"
"Umm, well I've never been."
"Oh, you'll love it. It's all about this guy who sells his soul."
Will you please shut up and let me get this over with? "Well, I'm not sure that's actually what I was... um, phoning about. Tonight."
"Oh, don't tell me you want a raincheck?"
"Raincheck?"
"Yeah, you know - to postpone?" The line went silent for a minute. "Ah. You want to cancel. You giving me the brush off?" His voice sounded small.
"God, no!" God, yes!
"Thank god! I thought for a minute there."
"Well, you've gone to so much trouble." And I am such a bloody coward!
"Yeah, well that doesn't matter. But... well, if you weren't phoning to throw me over, what were you phoning for?"
"Eh? Oh... ah, yes. Just to, umm, see how posh I should dress tonight. That's all. Yes."
"Oh yeah, posh is good. For the opera and all. I'll pick you up at six, it's an early dinner. See you later, Angela."
There was a click at the other end, and the line went dead. She stared disconsolately at the humming receiver. "Aw, bugger!"
****
Saul was in the restroom, killing time before his next pick up was due and to entertain himself, he was eavesdropping on his colleague's conversations. As usual, he was staying out of it and that's why he was so surprised when one of them sat next to him and pressed him into conversation.
His breath caught when he saw who it was.
"How is she doing?"
Saul honestly didn't know. He'd been too worried about his new job to ask, and he'd found Angelus a little intimidating. "I hear she's getting her strength back slowly," he lied.
The stranger's face immediately relaxed into a relieved smile. "I knew she'd be alright. She wants to be with me, you see. It's where she belongs. When can I pick her up?"
"Uhh... I'm not sure. I'll have to ask the doctor about that." The doctor being Angelus, of course.
The angel narrowed his eyes. "You gave her to a doctor?"
"I had to. She was very ill, it looked like she might not survive. Souls get very sick when they're kept aside, apparently." Or, more properly, kidnapped.
"Even if they're kept with other souls?" the tall angel asked, his brow wrinkling with sudden worry.
Other souls? "Apparently it's something to do with the atmosphere. Out of the human body, they need to be kept in a particular mix of air - like they get in their particular Paradise. Until they're reborn." The angel started to get very agitated. Saul added, hastily, "She's being looked after, I'm sure she'll be fine."
"I want her back. They can't keep her, she's mine. You will bring her to me, won't you?" The words sounded almost like a threat. Saul felt the stranger watching him, with a long, almost calculating look. Abruptly, he broke the short silence. "It's nearly time," the angel said.
"Time for what?" asked Saul, trying to swallow his sudden fear.
The angel raised his eyebrows in surprise. "For her to go," he explained patiently, as though Saul was a slightly slow child. "The human that you love. You have to collect her tomorrow, don't you?"
"Uhhh... how did you..?" Saul looked into the gleaming brown eyes, and decided not to press the point. He nodded.
"I've been thinking, ever since I gave Nathalie to you."
"Nathalie?" Saul registered the name, and filed it away for later.
The other angel nodded. "I've missed her so much, but that's okay because I know she'll be back with me soon," he stated, with absolute conviction. "But you won't have your love, once she's gone, will you? And because you're helping me with Nathalie, I'm going to help you too."
"Help me?"
"Yes, come with me." The angel stood quickly, and motioned Saul to follow him.
"Wait, I need to... I can't go yet, I have another assignment. Can you wait here for me and I'll be as quick as I can?" Stalling desperately, Saul tried to think how he could contact Angelus without raising the stranger's suspicion.
The stranger gave him a cool glare. "No, we're going now." He lunged suddenly and grabbed Saul's arm. His outline grew hazy, and he transported himself and Saul out of the restroom.
****
They rematerialised in the kitchen of Judy Foster, former Miss Oaklahoma County beauty queen and apple of her daddy's eye, now an exhausted and dying woman whose husband - himself a former school jock hero whose promising football career and college scholarship had been cut short by a badly shattered leg - had taken all his frustrations out on his once beautiful and vivacious wife.
She was leaning over the sink, vomiting and crying in pain as her injuries slowly bled the life out of her.
Saul had been in this room before. He'd watched her husband rape her on the floor when he came home from his job, drunk and angry at some slight he'd received at work. Afterwards, she'd got up from the floor, pulled her clothes back on and set about cooking his dinner as if nothing untoward had happened. Saul had then realised that for her, it hadn't. And that realisation had made him feel... hopeless, somehow. He hated that.
He hated this room, he hated what it made him feel and he hated this woman for making him feel it.
He wasn't sure what to think about the angel who had brought him here now, though. Particularly since he appeared to be crying. Saul didn't even know angels could cry.
"Are you alright?" he asked hesitantly, feeling like a fool as he did so. It was obvious his companion wasn't.
"She reminds me of Nathalie. She was beautiful once too, when I first saw her. Before the drugs and the beatings ruined her face and figure. It used to break my heart to see her with a client. It was bad enough that she did that with them, but to see the state they left her in sometimes. She was nothing to them. I wanted to hold her so badly, but of course I couldn't." He turned aching eyes to Saul, who was astonished to feel a surge of sympathy for him. "I had to watch and listen as she prostituted herself with men who didn't even know her name. I would've given anything to be one of them. Anything." His reddened eyes burned with an intensity which almost scared Saul. "Sometimes, when she was asleep, I used to touch her face. Just run my fingertip ever so softly down her cheek, and I'd breathe in her scent and I'd imagine that it had been me, making love with her all night. She'd have been safe with me, I'd never have beaten her or raped her, and I'd never have stuck a needle in her and pumped filth through her veins. That's why I had to save her in the end."
"You took her early, didn't you?"
He nodded. "She was happy with me, until she got sick. Being without her is unbearable. I think I'd try and kill myself if I thought I couldn't get her back."
"Angels can't die."
"I know," was the reply, the words tinged with infinite sadness. "It's our curse." He lapsed into silence again. "I'm going to help you with her." He nodded towards the woman who was now lying curled up on the couch in the sitting room. " See, we have to stick together. Nobody else understands. We're different from all the others, we know what it's like to feel, to love. To have that burn inside you, to have someone else consume your whole life. We're the only ones who know what that's like. We have to help each other."
He took Saul's hand, and drew him close to the couch.
"No, I can't." Saul tried to yank his hand back, but the grip on his wrist was too strong.
"It's hard at first. Just remember why you're doing it."
"No!!" In spite of his struggles, Saul's hand was tugged towards the chest of the woman. "What are you doing? I don't love her! It's not her time... stop! Don't!"
"Don't deny your feelings now! Take her!" The intense angel shouted, as he placed Saul's resisting hand on Judy's chest. "She needs you now more than ever - look at her! Do you really want to see her suffer more, because of you?"
"No, but..."
"Well then!"
Saul felt his hand forced through flesh and bone, and as his fingers entered the warm moistness of the chest cavity, he screamed his protest and revulsion. His fingers spasmed as they clutched reflexively around the soul that lay there, and then he felt the woman's body convulse off the bed as his hand was ripped out again.
In his palm was a soul, glistening and white-blue as it took its first rays of the weak winter's sun.
Judy Foster lay dead on her couch.
Saul couldn't help it; he burst into hysterical tears.
His companion patted him on the back, then calmly plucked the soul from his palm and pocketed it.
"You can have her back when I get Nathalie back. Tomorrow." And with that, he disappeared, leaving Saul on his knees, weeping.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
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