Squire Of Metatron

Squire of Metatron By Jolene B. Twomey

Copyright 2006

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Chapter O ne

Stephanie crouched down low, holding the rifle in front of her. She was warm , yet she still felt as if her breath should steam in the dark, spacious house. Each heart beat stirred her blood through her ears with a mind-numbing swishing sound. Strobe lights of varying hues burst beside her, causing her to wince. Neon colors in pink, turquoise, violet, and lime. The floorboards creaked under her feet. Though she was aware of a far-off wailing and moaning coming from som eplace else in the ho use, it was o therwise deadly silent. She tasted metal and wondered whether her fear had caused it to bleed from the gun into her veins. A thunderclap shattered the stillness. She shuddered. For a brief instant, lightning illuminated the outline of sofas and chairs and a moose head affixed to the wall over the fireplace. The fireplace. She heard her bre ath come out in low, shrieking rasps. A bluish haze emanated from inside the chimney. She whirled around. A phantasmic human like form began to take shape. For a mo ment she was taken back to her childhood, to a television show named “I Dream of Jeannie,” where a purplish haze would drift from a bottle and m aterialize into a sexy young blond woman gen ie. This was different. As the form took shape before her eyes, she first saw legs, then the outlines of a long coat, then arm s. A ghostly facial countenance appeared, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand. She pressed the trigger. Expecting the rifle butt to kick back against her shoulder like a horse bucking, instead she felt warmth radiate from out of the gun barrel. Sharp rays of light fired at the apparition with a screeching, tinny metallic sound. The sunken eyes of the ghastly specter with the gray, mottled skin materialized into view as Stephanie kept shooting at him. The streaks of gunfire melted through him, as if she had been shining a flashlight instead of firing a weapon. He bared his fangs as if she’d merely angered him. He seemed to her like Lon Chaney’s scarier older brother from the Phantom of the Opera. She plunged her finger down on the trigger. The rays flooded out of the gun barrel like water spraying through a garden hose in August. Suddenly, chunks of the phantom’s

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face exploded away as he shouted and screamed, teetering backward. She kept firing, flooding the corpse with the destructive death rays. Even though his arms and legs had been ripped apart from the ammo fire, Stephanie kept her weapon drawn. His arms and legs ripped apart from the amm o fire, but Stephanie kept her weapon drawn. She had seen monsters in movies reanim ate again and again to torment their prey. Rather than take that chance, she wanted to blow the creature into oblivion. Mom ents later the remains evaporated, causing her to feel a sense of light-hearted triumph. An instant later she realized that it was safest to mo ve cautiously out of the parlor. She passed through a doorway that led to a great room with a double-sided staircase to another floor. She sigh ed loudly enough to hear herself. This setup seemed no safer than the previous deathtrap! The darkness persisted, though she could see the glow of the marble bannister. While it was still quiet, she could begin to hear the faint strains of organ music. And up in the corner, a light flickered from the upper edge of a tall bay window. The moon m ust be full o utside, she thought. It gave her hope tho ugh tinged with dread. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something fall down from the rafters, like a piece of plaster flaking off the ceiling. Rather than hit the floo r, however, the object took flight. She hushed, her shoulders bunch ing, and saw the black eyes an d s mall, glistening fangs of a huge, hairy b at. With a loud spark, and an explosion that caused her to shriek, the bat swooped down like a falling pendulum. She winced, bracing for the explosion o f pain, biting her lip in dread. When the light and smoke subsided and she allowed herself to open her eyes again, she realized that she’d lost her rifle an d the bat had vanished. After a few momen ts, she decided that It was too quiet. Rather than become a victim of the horror, she ran straight into a wall, bouncing against it as though it had been made of styrofoam . She carom ed off of it like a billiard b all hitting the hard rubber runner on a pool table, then clanked hard against a suit of armor standing straight and silent in the middle of the flo or. In order to resume she had to back away from it. Go toward the light, she thought, instantly realizing the irony. Th ough her hands and fingers could barely feel anything, she reached out ahead of herself, testing the walls,

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feeling the rug beneath her feet and touching books and figurines o n the sh elves. Groping further along, she found the hard, slick wood of another banister. When her hand touched the knob at the edge, a saber of brilliant gold light magically appeared in her clutch. The blade shone so brightly that its glare illuminated the entire room . She saw a bo okcase and approached it, wondering if it harbored a secret passageway. It absurdly occurred to her that she shou ld look for a candle, the way they did in the movie “Young Frankenstein.” There was no candle on either side of the bookcase, however. She took a wild stab and pressed the left shelf edge. To her am azement the bookshelf gave way and turned inw ard, pivoting on an axis. Instinctively she leaned back, out of the way of the swinging boo kshelf. She brandished the sword also, jutting it out in front of her. After a long m om ent sh e heard a high , evil scream like a banshee. A hooded figure wielding a scythe careened at her, hulking at her on heavy, wobbling legs. It would turn out to be a good move, as with a scream like a banshee, a hooded figure wielding a scythe came careening at her hulk ing at her on heavy, wobbling legs. She jumped to the side but the creature’s reaction was quick and he m irrored her movem ent, jum ping along with her. With the scythe raised high above his head, he leaped at her again. Stephanie plunged the sword forward. The grim reaper-like creature flexed his arm s, poising the blade of the scythe for attack. Stephanie leaned forward, knowing that she must joust the creature, then roll. The sword connected with the reaper’ s arm and chest, slicing at his body. While inflicting the wounds she was able to roll clear of the arcing scy the and hear the creature’s loud wails of pain. The monster stumbled backward and she felt a surge of relief at her apparent success in weakening h im . His weapon curved feebly the rest of the way through the air and hit the floor with a dull, loud clang. th The visions of the “Friday the 13 ” and “Halloween” movies once again played through her mind. The creature lay on the floor writhing and moaning. While Stephanie lifted the sword to hack at him yet a gain, she saw bloo d soaking darkly through his outer vestm ents. It gave h er a quick idea. Using her sword like an ax, she brought the blade down onto the man’s arm . With two sharp blows his wrist and hand wrenched free. His loud screams bellowed out in the cavernous room as

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the fingers of his severed hand released their grip from the scyth e. She quickly reached down to grab the handle of it, knowing that it would be a much more efficient killing tool. Using all her strength she lifted the scythe above her head and brought it down hard toward the grim reaper’s chest. Again and again Stephanie reared back and brought the huge blade dow n, wh istling through the air, slicing into the creature’s body. She severed his neck. His head rolled off, still encased in the fabric of the hood and his cries and wailing ceased. She continued to slice downward, m ashing the creature into ob livion, chopping him up into tiny pieces. The bloo d soaked remains of the m onster started to dissolve and fade, becoming ghostly translucent until they com pletely disappeared. Stephanie continued to whack at the pieces frenetically, however, until she realized she was whacking down at an empty wooden floor. She let the scythe slip from her fingers and clatter onto the hardwo od and bent over, panting, her breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. Gradually she straightened up, still gazing all around herself at the high walls and the marble staircases and at the bookshelf, which had frozen in mid-pivot. It formed an open pathway into a dark void. Going the opposite direction, she felt that there must be a doorway to the yard outside. Shad had only a mom ent to ponder this, however before she heard the sinister sound of faraway chittering. Not wanting to find out what sort of a creature was making that sound, she backed out of the bookcase opening. Almost immediately, though, she stopped, realizing that she still carried both the swo rd and the scythe. The scythe, especially weighed her down. She dropped it onto the floor with a loud bang. She paused for a moment to think through the situation. Chittering coming from behind her grew louder and m ore intense, however, shoo ing her through the doorway. W hen her eyes adjusted, she realized she’d plunged into a tunnel. As she walked ahead, glowing embers on the walls gradually brightened, without giving off any heat. There were mesh walls on either side. ecided to set the unwieldy weapon down on the wood floor. Before setting out through the doorway, she pondered the situation. The chittering coming from behind her grew louder and more intense, however, shooing her through the doorway, stealing her line of thought.

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On the other side her eyes in itially darkness but the walls around her h ad give, like a mesh fabric. As she walked ahead, glowing em bers brightened without giving off any heat. She realiz ed that the walkway had shrunken down into a tunnel with mesh walls on either side. Her first steps were slow, cautious and small, as if the walkway had been suspended hundreds of feet ab ove the barrel floor. Up ahead she could see an opening at the distant end, but as she inched toward it, the tunnel started to revolve. The walkway she strode on stayed stable yet if she stayed still and held onto the railing, it seemed to revolve with the tunnel, turning her over and over. She felt bile rise in her throat as she swallowed, closed her eyes, and then tried to breathe deeply before continuing onward. When she pressed onward, she felt relieved that the plank stabilized and her nausea subsided. The opening at the far end grew larger and larger as she approach ed. She could soon see trees, branch es and m oonligh t in the distance. This encouraged her to pick up her pace as she loped along toward the end. Finally, she crouched low and slowed her steps as she brandished her sword and hopped through the circular opening out into the m oonlit yard . Once she had burst out into the open air, she shifted b ack and forth, lifted her head up and down, gazing all around herself, and her surroundings. The tunnel had led to a culvert that gradually rose out of the earth. In the distance she could see the o ld Victorian house where she’d encountered all the specters. In the opposite direction she saw the bright, full moon through gnarled tree branches. S he heard the creaking of frogs, the chirping of crickets and the hoot of an owl. There was rustling in the bushes. She tensed, holding the sword out in front of her. The footsteps grew louder, filling her with cold dread and suddenly heard a loud voice beh ind her: “Mom ! Mom !” It was Kevin, her son. She snapped to, as if being awakened in mid-dream from a deep sleep. Gradually, she became aware of the carpet she sat on, the game controller she held in her hand, and the te levision screen. She looked up at nine-year-old K evin, who was dressed in his nylon duck down win ter coat, his sandy blond hair sprouting shoots of bangs that dropped into his eyes. The eyes gazed at her with a look that was part concern and part bewilderm ent. “What are you doing?”

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Since she was embarrassed, and still transfixed by what had just occurred, she stam mered. “I, I’m trying out one of your games. I was wondering what keeps you occupied for so many hours at a tim e.” Kevin still looked quizzical, his eyebrows knitted and his small mouth formed an “o.” He said “U h, okay. Just wondering.” He sat down on the floor next to her. They b oth looked at the screen. It was a stationary anim ated view of a forest with gnarled, bare trees, a Victorian house and a full moon in the backgro und. Suddenly it seemed quite innocuous to her. “Kevin,” she said, pausing, feeling light-headed. “Co uld I ask you a question about this?” She waited for him to respond the way he always did by leaning into her slightly. “Does this game give you…nightmares?” He gazed into space thoughtfully, scratching the back of his head. He wriggled his narrow shoulders out of the coat sleeves, allowing his coat to drop to the floor. “No,” he said . “Wh y would I get nightmares from a game?” How would she find the words to tell him? She didn’t want her son to worry. “Let’s start this game again,” she said. “I want to see what happens when yo u play it.” Kevin shrugged, his standard response to everything since his ninth b irthday. H is mom push ed herself aside to allow him a more straight-on view of the television. He hit the “reset” button on the game console and the TV screen dissolved for a moment, turned blue and then flickered again, this time blazing a “home” picture onto the screen. He worked the keys of the game controller dexterously, causing a number of images to flicker by. Stephanie remembered th e choices of the character to portray: there was Angelica the haunted, Victor the Vengeful, and W ild Wesley. Kevin chose Victor `and a tall, blond animated m an with a square jaw appeared on the screen. A few m ore options screens flashed past. She remembered fumbling through the screens but her son simply clicked over them as if he were an accomplished pianist performing a concerto. Then came the m oment she was waiting for: a plain screen marked “New game,” or “Saved game.” Kevin clicked on the text for a new game. Stephanie drew her breath in, feeling light headed with anticipation. A word appeared on the screen, “ loading game” and a series of dots kept flashing. After that an anim ated still

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picture of the prince riding a beautiful white horse appeared on the screen. Text faded in, accompanying the animated stills, telling the story of the prince who was caugh t in an evil castle in Transy lvania. Stephanie had seen the sam e story earlier, though in her case the main character had been the princess. Since she had selected Angelica, the narrative centered on her attem pts to escape from an evil land baron. Som e twists in the narrative for the prince seemed different. For one, his whole family had been killed by a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. She knew that when the mini story faded out, the game would begin. When the screen changed she held her breath, gripping her knees tightly as she awaited the next step. A flat outline of a two floor mansion filled the twenty seven inch television screen. The prince’s character was reduced to a small figure at the bottom right, wielding a scepter that seemed too large relative to his body. As Kevin controlled the prince, the anim ated figure walked up the marble staircase with jerky steps. A squadron of animated killer bats swooped down from the ceilings and her son pushed buttons with his thumbs, making the prince jump up and down, smiting the bats with his scepter, causing them to explode into points of light. O nce all the bats were quelled, he said “See, I can get a rifle now. Did you get this far?” Stephanie, who had been transfixed by the action on the screen, watched the prince knock the lion on the staircase edge with the scepter, wh ich transformed into a rifle. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I got quite far along, apparently.” She shook herself. She knew what would happen next even befo re the bluish haze emanating from the fireplace at the center of the room. Before the cone of smoke materialized into the vampire, Kevin started shooting. He relentlessly blew away chunks of the specter, knocking it backward. They watched the smoke dissipate and the exploded body parts dissolve. “What’s wrong mo m?” “O h, no thing. Nothing at all.” She tried to brush her hair casually. “ W ell, you lo ok like you did that time grandpa called and said grandma had to go to the hospital.” “Nothing, really.” They watched as the prince punched the bookshelf edge, swinging it open at the pivot. She was going to say “Watch out,” but then Kevin blew away the scythe-wielding grim reaper.

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By the time the Prince had vanquished the reaper creature and started to run into the tunnel, the blank “loading” screen appeared again. She had seen enough. Her knees buckled when she tried to push herself upright. Kevin noticed but still looked at the screen. He sa id “W here are you going? He’s getting ready to go into the tunnel. It gets really cool after this.” “I’ve got to start making dinner.” Kevin just gave one of his signature shrugs. Over his shoulder, Stephanie could see the prince run through the revolving tunnel. She wondered if she would be able to sleep that night. Thursdays and Sundays were her days off. Thursdays she would clean the house and run shopping errands but that day she’d finished early. Michael, her husband, would be home later, close to seven. As a paint and drywall contractor, he had recently won a contract for a group of row houses down by the river. In the early days of th eir dating and their m arriage, Michael had wanted to know everything: her thoughts, her dreams, and her desires. Their past few years together had fallen into a pattern, however. He would arrive home from dinner at seven and shovel down his dinnerl. He would then retire to his leather recliner for an evening with ESPN. She knew that his work day could be rough, long, and difficult. If he wasn’t dealing with a d ifficult customer, he had a perplexing rem odeling prob lem that taxed him physically . If things were smooth in both of those arenas, he would be blind sided by a personal problem occurring with o ne of his employees. Yet, she was his wife. Wo uld it kill him to pay her more attention? Instead, she had been reduced recently to playing a mental game with herself involving Michael. That night they ate reheated spaghetti sauce over wheat pasta with green bean s, tangerines, and blueberries. It was always the same. Stephanie and Kevin would sit down to the table at six-thirty, eat, and then as they relaxed, the front door would fling open, the coat would flick against the wall hook near the door, and the feet would trudge upstairs to the bedroom. After Michael had shuffled downstairs he piled pasta and sauce high on a plate, slipped it into the microwave and then wolfed it down. She could hear the food smack and slosh in her husband’s m outh all the way fro m the den. Later, he plopped onto the recliner and flipped the seat back further

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than usual. So far, he hadn’t even looked at her. That was the gam e. How m uch would he no tice. She had changed the channel to ESPN by the time Michael lumbered into the room and worked a crossword puzzle to occupy herself. A couple of times she glanced over to check his condition. His mustache needed a trim. The lines around his eyes had deepened; otherwise the color and shape were nearly identical to K evin’s. It was the only physical trait that the father and son shared. Stephanie averted her eyes from M ichael a few m o m ents later. She knew that if they lingered even a second too long, s he would get “the glare” and then the flat question “Wh at?” Who co uld she tell?

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Chapter Two The answer cam e to Stephanie three days later. Sunday, she and Michael were off all day. During November Michael spent the time hunkered down watching a football game, whether it was in the den, at a sports bar, or at the stadium downtown. M any times, several of his friends from work or the pub would come over. On tho se days, Stephanie could would perform several convenience store runs and endure lots of shouts and whoop-whooping. That Sunday she lie awake, feeling a tingling in her bones. Michael lay on his side facing her in the fetal position. Was it the m orning light that caused him to look softer, mo re innocent, more at peace? For the love of God, the man could sleep. Many times when he was just becoming awake, he would reach for her and silently hug her. It reminded her of a child hugging a cherished teddy b ear and it put her in touch with wonderful mem ories. After looking at him for a few mo re moments, she gently eased her legs off her side of the bed without ruffling the bed ding fabric. It was a practiced series of moves drawing on h er ballet classes as a pre teen. She could silently tip toe across the carpet, grab her cover-up from a hook near the bed and sidle gracefully into the bathroom. It was the only room in the house with out a window. She kept the door hinges lubed with D W 40 and would quietly, gently close the doo r. For a mom ent sh e would b e immersed in total darkness. Before her fingertips found the dimm er switch, she felt a mom ent of frosty dread, fearing that she would somehow re-materialize in the Victorian mansion. As she gradually turned the dimm er wheel, she pushed strands of her curly, ash blond hair out of her face. She wore it just past shoulder length in what her friend Lori called “retro seventies funk.” People constantly asked her if she got spiral perms. When the light came all the way up, she saw the familiar eye puffiness and reached for a washcloth. After holding it under cold water and pressing it gently over her eyelids, most of the light swelling soon evaporated. Her natural tan, her clear skin, and her continuing slenderness survived pleased her. Not bad for thirty, she thought. Mom ents later she arrived downstairs to hear the sounds of the television coming from the den. Kevin was either playing a video game or watching cartoons on the cable network. She entered the

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doorway and saw that he was blasting away spaceships. “What would you like for breakfast?” She was used to the wait for a response until he fo und a stopping point. “I already had a bowl of Cap’n C runch and some grapefruit.” “Do you want anything else?” “No .” Stephanie headed off into the kitchen, wondering whether she would have a bowl of cereal, too. If she made a full ham, eggs, and biscuits with gravy b reakfast, she knew it might sit out for three hours. She reached for the grape nuts and somethin g told her to watch for the phone. The wall phone would always jiggle just befo re it rang, reminding her of how delicate vases would teeter in Japan just before a big earthquake would hit. Mom ents later the phone jiggled. She rushed up to answer it, to keep it from also ringing on the night stand table upstairs. Before the bell sounded, she snatched the receiver from the cradle and said “H ello?” She heard a crackling sound and then a voice co m ing on with a ringing, hollow tone. “Good, you’re up,” her friend Lori said. “Good morning. What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into?” “The usual. Is sleepy head up yet?” “No .” “Are you dressed?” “No, why?” “I wanna show you something really cool. You won’t believe it.” Stephanie sighed. “This isn’t one of those all days things that’s going to get me in trouble, is it? I, uh, really don’t feel like going to Cleveland.” The tone of Lori’s voice on the other end took on a “mock-shocked” tone. “Now, would I ever do anything that would get you in trouble?” “Yeah.” She rem em bered the time wh en Lori said she just wanted to “take a little ride” and they ended up in Tennessee. “Well, not this time. It’s something right around here. Just jum p into some clothes and I’ll b e right by.” Stephanie was able to change into a pair of jeans and a sweater from the fresh laundry in the b asem ent. A short while

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later she stepped out onto the front stoop, feeling the brisk autum n chill. Lori’s little white Japanese sports car appeared a few minutes later. The car swung into the driveway and stopped with the chirp of a brief tire squeal. Sting was singing pseudo reggae on her stereo speake rs. Stephanie low ered herself into the passenger bucket and felt like shaking her head. Lori was in a lavender sweat suit yet still managed to look put-together and fashionable. M ayb e it was her perfect blond hair and the elegant necklace she wore (she owned several). That day she’d chosen one with delicate amethyst inlays Lori was the closest Stephanie had to a friend who was single. Though Lori had been married for five years to a successful property and estate lawyer, she was childless. She had once said that in her teens she’d had horrendous cycles and fibroids, something having to do with her Germ an heritage, according to her. After a particularly rough cycle near her eighteenth birthday, she wished out loud that an accident would dam age her female parts so she would no longer have to deal with the pain. Exactly one week later, when she was riding her bike on the campus of Miami university, she collided with a Cushm an truck com ing around the corner of a building. The impact had tossed h er airborne and she’d landed awkwardly: pelvis first across the handlebars. Her head and shoulders swung sideways, landing in a bush beside the sidewalk. That formed a cushion which kept her fro m getting injured even worse, but in the end, through her unlucky tangle with the handlebars, her wish was granted. She said it caused her to becom e more spiritual. Stephanie spent most of the time with her friend wondering, in what way Lori had become more spiritual. A couple of years after her accident, she had an affair with a married teacher. This time it was her biology professor at college. “That sounds like the plot line of a bad porno m ovie ,” she’d said. She sm oked, even though Stephanie told her over and over that it would ruin her looks. And she never spoke of church or prayer or meditation. Yet on that Sunday morning, Stephanie’s viewpoint on that would change. Lori was driving them far outside town through neighborhoods Stephanie did not recognize. The streets teemed with new mini mansions on sm all, treeless lots in cul-de-sacs. It was rolling country that had probably been fertile farmland only a few years before. A few small office buildings started

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cropping up on street corners, their glass facades glinting in the late morning sun. “I never even knew that any of this existed,” Stephanie murmured. Lori started craning her neck, studying the scenery and the buildings, becoming more attentive to the surroundings. “Yeah, it’s around here somewhere,” she said. They then reached a four-way intersection where Lori pointed her finger and said “There, there, that one!” They both looked ahead at a glass, two-story building that housed an insurance agency and some medical offices. “You have to go through that tunnel and around to the back,” Lori explained. They crossed the intersection and Lori guided them through the bridge and around to the building’s other side. “Something special about this place?” Stephanie asked. “Is Greg mo ving his office here?” “Shhh,” Lori said, putting her finger to her lips as if they were at a church service or in a library. “Follow m e.” They emerged from the car and Stephanie watched her friend step back away toward the edge of the parking lot. “There,” she said , solemnly, almost reverently. With her hand she ind icated the b uilding. When she lo oked, she didn’t know what she w as seeing at first. The amber colored glass in the build ing had distorted into odd shapes. Stephanie knew that she was supposed to be seeing a pattern in the series of swoops and whorls. A couple of larger pieces at first looked like fish tails. “Do you see it yet?” Lori asked, her breath steaming. Sudd enly it hit her. Out loud, as she was thinking it, she said “Snow angel!” They both looked at it for a long wh ile. Stephanie could clearly see the “A” shaped body of the angel with the round head and the faint suggestion of a halo. Branching out from the angel’s body, two large and symm etrical wingers, rounded at the top and pointed at the bottom. The angel appeared to be in m id-flight, at a diagonal and its image took up the entire face of the building, about fifty feet square. “What do you think caused it?” Stephanie asked. She tried to look at Lori out of the corner of her eye and could see her shrug. “Who knows? Same way giant heads ended up on a tiny island off South America. And funny circles started showing up in cornfields. O ne of those things that just is.”

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Stephanie stared at the glass and supposed that cold, heat, sunlight and rain may have oxidized the finish, causing the pattern to form. Of course, that wasn’t as much fun as the speculation. “Do yo u have a cam era?” “Ta da!” Lori said and wh en Stephanie whirled around to her, she was smiling like a Cheshire cat, holding a tiny silver camera. It so delighted Stephanie that she jumped up and down, clapping her hands. What more could she expect, from someone who had a phone in her car? Lori backed a few steps away, held the cam era viewfinder to her eye and began to snap pictures. “You could take it right to the Fotomat. They’re open on Sunday, right?” “I just hope I’m standing far enough away to get the picture,” she replied. “That we don’t chop o ff the angel’s head or something.” She began to snap the pictures. Mo ments later, they decided that it was too cold to stand out there, especially with the breezes blowing. On the drive back to her house, Stephanie thought about the strange experience with the video game. “You’re quiet,” Lori said while she flicked the gearshift knob around, “just like I was the first time I saw it.” Stephanie just smiled. She asked “What are you and Greg doing later?” “We’re going to Sideliner’s. W anna com e?” Before Stephanie could answer, Lori had pulled the walkie-talkie phone out of the console and had dialed information. “Could you get me the num ber for the Enquirer?” she asked . Moments later, Stephanie was home again. Michael still lay in bed. The entire house was quiet and still. She noticed the em pty coatrack peg outside the hall closet. Before she’d left she told Kevin to keep within three houses on either side of their yard. With the house so calm she decided to straighten up the kitchen. In her haste to leave earlier, cereal bowls with crumb s littered the counter and sink and cereal boxes lay still open. Preoccupied with both the im age on the side of the building and her strange video gam e foray, her movements were tentative, robotic. She knocked a box of cereal off the counter spilling some of the wheat “o’s” onto the floor. Before reaching for the b room and dustpan to sweep it up, she reached for the sink to lift a bo wl from there and place it into the dishwasher. When she lifted it, her fingers slipped on the m oist earthenware and the bowl fell out of her hand, clattering loudly against the stainless steel sink.

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Eventually she was able to load all the dishes and silverware and wipe do wn the counter tops, without shortcircuiting the blender or blowing up the microwave. When she turned around to head back through the doorway to th e den, she came face to face with her husband. She gasped, flinching so hard and tight that she lifted off of her feet for a mom ent. “Dang, woman,” Michael said. “Thought there was a marching band going through here. Were you m aking all that racket to try and wake me up, or what?” “My god, you scared me,” Stephanie said, clutching her hand against her chest reflexively. Michael was wearing the paisley evergreen and white striped pajamas he’d received a few Ch ristm ases ago. And nothing else. His slight belly pouch protruded over the waistband. Though h is ancestors were Italian, only a line of hair that funneled outward snaked up along his abdomen to his chest, where it bloomed into a v-shaped thatch, resembling the “S” on Superman’s uniform. “Well, are we going to get something to eat or are we going to stand here looking at each other or what?” They went ab out getting eggs, b acon, and b read from the refrigerator. Stephanie also started som e coffee. “Sm ells like a Sunday mo rning, now,” M ichael said as the bacon and eggs began to fry. He sat down to drink a glass of orange juice. Leaning back in his chair, he scratched his head and calm ly regarded her as she flitted around from pan to pan and from pan to sink. “What’s going on?” he asked casually. “You’re all jumpy, just like you were during Audrey’s wedding.” Audrey was Stephanie’s younger sister. She managed a laugh. “I couldn’t be that jumpy, for god’s sake. That was a traum atic experience.” She still owned the evergreen satin pumps as a reminder. The shoe dye and repair store clerk had misunderstood their order and they ended up with five pairs of the evergreen pumps to go with an equal number of lime green bridesmaid’s dresses. “Hey, did Lori come by here? I thought I heard her car buzzing around here someplace. M aybe I was dream ing it.” “No, you weren’t dreaming.” Sh e fetched the plates and coffee mugs. “Did she drag you off on one of those wild sightseeing tours again?”

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Stephanie paused, to look at him . H e was looking back at her earnestly, the corners of his well-trimm ed mustache angling downward. “She just wanted to show me something in one of those new housing developm ents.” Michael nodded. How would he react, she wondered, if she told him all the details? “The Bengals are playing at four today. Let’s go to Sideliners.” “Okay by m e.” By the time M ichael finished his breakfast and Stephanie had put all the dishes away, the first football game of the day came on. She didn’t usually watch football for its own sake. She liked watching the games more for the socializing aspects: the tailgating parties, the Super Bowl shindigs and even Sunday afternoon at Sideliners. Since there was a family dining area and video games, they could even bring Kevin there. Kevin. Wh ere was he? Sh e quickly made her w ay to the front door and stepped out onto the cold concrete stoop in her stocking feet. She called out “Kevin, Kevin!” in a voice that rang out down the street. A deep voice bellowed back “H e’s at the McKenzie’s, hon.” Stephanie looked around at the front doors of all the nearby houses to check where the voice came from. She looked up and across the street at Carl, a neighbor catty-cornered to them. He was standing high on a ladde r, digging into the gutters for fallen leaves. She estimated Carl to be between 55 and 70 years old and knew that he was retired. He spent most of his time caring for a frail, practically bedridden wife. Yet he always had a smile for everyone like the one he was flashing at her from the ladder. “Thanks, Carl,” she said. She put her shoes back on and walked a couple of houses down, all the while questioning herself. They wo uldn’t leave for Sideliners for at least a couple of more hours. Something was compelling her. Normally, she tried to avoid being the kind of doting parent who would do such things. Her own m other would occasionally call the school to check up on her. The school! She knew that K evin was only two houses away. She also knew that even at nine years old he knew to come hom e again mid-afternoon on Sundays. Finally sh e knew that Patty and Steve would send him home if nothing else: maybe they ate early on Sunday or visited relatives.

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Even with all that in mind, moments later she found herself knocking on Patty McKenzie’s oak wood door. Seconds later the door swung open brisk ly and Patty appeared behind the storm screen. She seemed out of breath and harried, and was wearing a gingham apron with smudges on it. Every three months or so, Patty would pitch her Mary K ay b usiness to Stephanie. Pestering my friends and holding stilted, forced, structured parties, she thought, now there’s my idea of a good time. “Hi,” Patty said. “Here to check on Kevin?” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Stephanie again noticed the short, matronly teased-up hairstyle and too-shiny cheekbones. Patty motioned for her to follow and they stopped at the doorway to the basement. “Kevin, honey” Patty called down the stairs “your mama’s here.” Steph anie wondered if she only imagined a grunt and groan coming from the McK enzie’s basement. Soon after that Kevin appeared at the bottom of the stairs, saucer-eyed. Ten year old, red-haired, freckle-faced Tyler McKenzie loomed behind him. Something in Kevin’s face changed from surprised to quizzical. “Is something wrong?” he asked, innocent concern in his eyes. Instantly Stephanie felt her cheekbones tinge with the heat of embarrassment. Could anyone tell, she wondered. “No, everything’s fine, darling. I just needed to make sure you knew that you’re going out with your dad and m e later.” Kevin nodded vigorously. “Okay, Kevin. Just making sure. You can go b ack to your gam e now .” Kevin announced “W e’re racing cars.” When Stephanie turned to Patty, Patty shrugged and said “Big slot car race set. I think Steve plays with it as much as the kids.” Stephanie trudged b ack hom e and felt even more disconcerted than before. It was a feeling she rarely experienced, a kind o f vague queasiness. Should she say something to Michael? No. Flopped out on the La-Z-Boy as he was seem ed to be h is most b lessed out state. Why ruin it? Lori could help her. She had the numb er to the cellular phone memorized. After only on e ring, Lori picked it up, and with a sing-songey tone said “Hellllooo…” “It’s me.”

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“Wh at?” “It’s me!” “What? I’m sorry, you’re break ing up.” “Stephanie!” Lori squealed. “Oh, wow! You practically blew out my eardrum !” Stephanie sighed. “I guess they’ve got a few bugs to work out on those things, yet, right?” “I’m trying to get a better one. Only fifty dollars a month.” Stephanie had to pause a moment, to let the figure sink in. “You mean, you pay more than fifty a month for that walkie-talkie?” That time it was Lori’s turn to pause. Then, through some crackling on the line she added “This ‘walkie-talkie’ has gotten me o ut of lots of trouble. Pretty soon everybody’s gonna have one.” “Yeah. Whatever.” Stephanie could feel them descending into sixth grade talk, so she took a deep breath. “Listen, you and G reg are going to Sideliners, right?” “Yes. You and Mick are still going, too, right?” “Good. I’ve got to tell you about something. Don’t let me forget!” Another pause. Stephanie could sense pensiveness in her friend. “Sheesh,” she said. “You’re not all freaked out by what you saw on the building, are you? You’re not going to run off and join a convent, right?” “No , nothing like that.” “Go od.” The line drifted off again into crackling static. “See you later then,” she was able to shout, before disconnecting. It seemed to take forever before Kevin returned home and Michael made it upstairs to change. “What do you want me to wear?” Michael asked. “Let’s dress a little nicer today,” she decided to say, delighted that he took the cue to wear one of his nice chambray shirts, button-down, with one of his newer pairs of blue jeans. He’d also chosen the snakeskin boots that would m ake him slightly taller than her, if she kept to low heels. It was a slight touch that helped her feel more fem inine. She decided to reward him by wearing her black jeans and the red, taperedwaist peasant top that he liked. Kevin seemed to have picked

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up their thoughts by osmosis. Without being told, he put o n one of his nicest pairs of wheat corduroys and a colorful, plaid pastel shirt. He also wore his suede “mountain climber” boots, a real departure from his usual, beat-up sneakers. By the time they all climbed into Stephanie’s black Oldsmob ile, she was feeling proud of her dapper family. Michael drove, leaving Stephanie to look at the long shadows the bare trees cast onto the road and sidewalks. She wondered what Lori think about her little adventure with the video gam e. Sideliners lie off the highway in Fairfield, sprou ting up during the boom right after Stephanie had started high schoo l. It lay nestled in a shopping center atop a hill. As Michael, Stephanie and Kevin ran from the car to Sideliner’s front door, she wished they’d put coats and jackets on back at the house. The chill N ovember wind rippled acro ss the grass and asphalt and cut right through her. When they made it inside, Michael said “Man, it’s getting nippy out there!” Sideliner’s was divided into two establishments. One side housed a restaurant with high ceilings. Families sat at booths made of light oak with green leatherette cushioning. The wall toward the kitchen had been covered with Astroturf. Yard markers and hash lines trailing outward and gave the perspective to patrons that they were on the “sideline” looking out at the action on the field. In a part of the building Stephanie considered a “bridge,” beer mugs hung from a rack above a traditional bar with counters, stools and 20 inch televis ion sets on every corner. Finally, past the doorway at that bar lie an area that could be best defined as a cavernous living room. One large 9 foot by 12 foot screen filled one wall while three other, lesser screens sprang from the opposite wall. They often showed four games at the same time. Em pty peanut shells littered the hardwood floor of the living room area. Michael, Stephanie and Kevin ventured in there first. They found themselves amo ng a boisterous group of families and single men wearing black and orange sweaters and hats. Stephanie had follo wed Michael with Kevin alongside him when they entered the big screen cavern. Michael stopped abruptly, causing Stephanie to bump into him . She had been glancing over the faces and bar stools for Greg and Lori. “Did you want to stay here or go to the restaurant?” Michael asked.

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“Here.” Practically anything on the menu could be delivered to the center bar, where it would also be easier for Greg and Lo ri to see them. They all settled into a group of high tables amid som e other families. As soon as they settled a waitress with a black and white striped referee shirt and black pants appeared, taking their order, and Michael gave Kevin a fistful of quarters for video gam es. By the time the waitress bro ught Michael’s draft, Stephanie’s iced tea and Kevin’s lemonade, Lori and Greg arrived. As was always the case, Lori skipped three steps ahead of Greg. When she saw Stephanie, her eyes widened and her hand waved in a wide half circle. She had traded her lavender sweat suit for a tailored plain blazer and pleated slacks, looking, as always, as if she’d stepped out of a magazine page. Greg wore a beige turtleneck with a faux leather bomb er jacket and khakis and an easy sm ile. “Hi, hi, hi all,” he sang as he strolled in behind Lori. E very time Stephanie looked at Greg, what she saw was a composite of all the various teachers Lori had dallied with over the years, only in a younger version. With h is wiry, curly brown hair, a stylish pair of wire, aviator rim glasses a quick smile further sold his cheery young professional look. M ichael averted his attention from the game long enough to glance over and say “Hey, Mr. Greg.” To Lori, he said “Hey Lead foot.” Michael had given her the name after he had seen her smoke the tires off her new Toyota MR 2. Later, she explained that her older b rother Tom had show n her h ow. The tires had lain two six foot long parallel black lines in the street. Stephanie hadn’t realized that she’d been distracted by the crowd, the football images, and the noise of blended conversation. In order to get her attention Kevin had to tug on her sleeve. “Can I play the video gam es now?” She quickly half-hugged him and said “Sure hon.” As soon as Kevin left, Lori crowded in closer to her. “So what did you want to tell me?” she asked. Lori had the kind of expec tant g leam in her eye that looked as if she thought Stephanie might tell her that Kevin was about to get a new sibling. Before Stephanie could respond, a chorus of male cheers and whoo ps explo ded in the room. Stephanie looked up in time to see the replay o f a tiger-striped helmeted player catching a pass for a touchdown. “Kevin just told me he

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wanted to play videos, and that’s kind of funny because this is about a video game.” She had to shout into Lori’s ear, causing Lori to wince. “Ow! Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s talk at the bar. It’s too noisy in here, in the dawg pound.” They excused themselves from their husbands and carried their drinks off to the mellower bar. Once they sat on two bar stools, flanked by older men languidly nursing beers, Lori resumed things. “So it’s about a video gam e? How?” Stephanie swallowed, taking a long, deep breath. She touched the back of Lori’s hand. “Listen,” she b egan, “you’re going to have to prom ise to keep this just between you and me.” Lori’s face was blank. She had edged fo rward slightly in her seat. “Ok ay,” she said, “Sure.” “No, really, I mean it. We have to keep it to ourselves.” Lori recoiled a bit. Stephanie guessed it must have been a change in her posture or tone of vo ice that caused it. “Sheesh! You’re really being intense abo ut this.” Out of h abit, she glanced around herself and over her shoulder. “Okay, girl scout’s honor. This is going to stay between us and our guardian angels.” The casual remark took Stephanie aback. “Funny you should say that.” Lori suddenly grabb ed her by b oth of her narrow wrists. “Well tell me already! I’m dying to know!” Stephanie started: “Well, Kevin has this video game where, as the character, you’re stuck in a haunted house…” She told her about being transported into the world of the video game, where she could hear the floorboards creak and the sounds of bats chittering up in the rafters. Lori’s eyes widened when Stephanie described the dank chill of the great room. Then there was the sense of dread as one creature took her on, then another. By the time she had finished mentioning how she could feel the breeze of the grim reaper’s cloak as he flew past, she looked closely at Lori. Her mouth had dropped open slightly and her cheekbo nes had lost som e of their color. Stephanie wanted her friend to be the next one to speak, even if it took until th e next m orning. Finally, Lori raised a finger in slow motion, as if she was making a po int. “Kevin has played this gam e, right?”

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“Well, yeah. That’s how I came out of the trance. Kevin came home from school. He looked at me like I was losing it or something. When he played it…the game was a flat screen two-dimensional thing like Ms. Pac Man. Except it was a medieval character fighting specters.” “So it happened just that one time?” Stephanie nodded. “I’ve been too afraid to play it ever since.” Lori paused for a long while before continuing. “Imagine that.”

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Chapter Three O n Mond ays, Stephanie helped open the restaurant and had to be there at 5:30AM. Though she had to wake up at 4:30, she liked the quie t and solitude of the early morning hour. Mo nday m ornings were more of a tim e for reflection than one of planning. She thought about her conversation with Lori. While warm show er water sluiced off her shoulders, the image of Lori’s serious expression flashed into her mind. “You had a dream yet you were wide awake. I studied this in psych. The subconscious mind cannot distinguish between a vivid dream and real life.” Stephanie had thought it was the beginning of a serious neurological problem. When she’d told Lori, she’d been surprised to see her friend shake her head, saying “No. If you had other symptoms, like a migraine or numbness, I’d say yes. This is a vision. It should m ake you feel special.” “It makes m e feel scared.” “Tell you what you do,” she said. “The next time it happens, just call me on the cell.” “Wh at if it’s at two in the morning?” “Call anyway. It’s always on.” Stephanie decided that she would call Lori as she suggested, but she would also call a doctor if it happened again. When she finish ed with her shower, she fixed her hair and did her five minute conservative makeup before dressing in her uniform: navy blue slacks and a baby blue blouse with a delicate little blue bow tie. Between five and five-thirty most of the roads around her house were deserted. Even traffic on the interstate had slow ed to a trickle during that hou r. The norm ally raucous radio station she listened to featured a sm ooth talking, mellow older gentleman as a deejay. She thought he seemed more suited to National Public Radio but she liked the m usic he played because it often fit in with her reflexive moods. That particular morning she w as treated to “Breathe,” a song by Pink Floy d. When she got out of her car, she felt alert and rested. Her breath made little puffs of steam in the invigorating m orning chill. When she walked in through the restaurant rear door, how ever, she was hit by instant chicanery. The “aunties,” three women in their fifties who worked mornings for pin money, bickered to each other about the way the egg trays looked.

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Mark, one of the other managers, also approached her, saying “Ingrid called out. She says she has the flu. You’re doing th e report.” Stephanie sighed, shaking her head. Mark shrugged, looking down at her out of warm eyes, as he said “I know.” “That woman has an immune system like a house of cards,” Stephanie said. Ingrid had taken ill for a few days during the mid sum m er and again around Halloween. “I know this is none of m y business, but is she diabetic?” “No ,” Mark said, “just a heavy smoker.” He cupped his chin with his hand and scratched the skin just below his lip, which was something he did whenever he paused to think. “I’ll tell you what,” he went on, “I’ll do the 320 if you’ll take front line for the morning rush.” Normally Ingrid would have done all the day shift financial reports and handle “incoming business” which meant answering pho ne calls from vendors or o ther stor es . M ark would supervise the store as a front line manager and track sales and deposits. Stephanie would usually train new employees and handle personnel files. With Ingrid absent, it meant she would have to oversee the front end and watch the new employees. Mark would pull the reports and supervise the drive-thru. Another new manager in trainin g, Jillian, was still learning all the work stations. O h well. She remembered what her mother used to say during difficult times: “G od never gives you more than you can handle.” She knew she would continue to be tested. When she had to front-line manage she lik ed to flit from one station to the other, overseeing without being overly obvious. Millie, one of the aunties, greeted her with a smile that caused her eyes to disappear into slits. “H ey Stevie,” she said loudly, with traces of an Italian Bronx accent, “you’re going to come play with us. Is that right?” “You’ve got m e till the end of rush, anyway,” Stephanie said. Dottie, a heavyset blond wom an with big sky blue eyes added “We’ll try not to drive you too crazy.” Their un iforms were the sam e navy slacks but with gingham bab y blue shirts and navy visors. Stephanie thought the gingham fabric in the shirts was more attractive than the solid fabric in her blouse. Stephanie glanced toward the egg tray and said “Y ou’re all in agreement about the om elets, I presume?”

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“Oh yeah,” Dottie replied, waving a hand dismissively. “That was just all three of us PO SING at the sam e time.” Stephanie tried to put on a face of mock, am used surprise. She walked quickly to the fro nt counter and registers where Cecilia, a wom an near forty with deep red hair tightly wound into a French twist and Troy, a nineteen year old gangly guy with a baseball sized Adam ’s apple tended to the first custom ers that walked in. “How are you doing?” she asked him. “W hen does basic training start?” Troy shrugged, m umbling som ething about January. Cecilia seem ed to perk up when hearing this and Stephanie instantly remembered that as a trainer she was privy to details of her employee’s lives that they may not want broadcast. “You’re going into the service?” Cecilia asked, dragging out the final word of the sentence as if she were describing a vile disease. Troy fidgeted nervously and said “U h, yeah.” Felicia said “Well, that Desert Swarm thing is going on. Aren’t you worried they’re go nna dump you in the M iddle East?” “If they want to send me there, then I suppose I’ll have to go,” he said quietly. A balding man with a paunch, who had been approaching the counter, shook his head. “Let’s hope that it doesn’t turn into another Viet Nam,” he said. Other peo ple wandered in behind the V iet Nam com menter and Stephanie moved back. She wanted to get a better vantage point for both the kitchen and the front counters. Slowly they started trickling in through the door: the regular crowd of bu sinessmen, teachers, and students. The silver-haired guy with the flashing eyes behind aviator frames, who, when Steph anie and Cecilia were working the counter had once said “This is the prettiest fast food restaurant I have ever seen.” After him ca me the school bus driver with her hair up and her hooded sweatsh irt and windbreaker over the top of it. Not long afterward, she lost track of individual faces. With a half-hour still to go before sunrise, Stephanie noted the headlights slicing beams across the parking lot. Depending on her m oo d it either looked like spotlights at the academy awards or space scooters seeking the mother ship. Sudd enly Millie shouted out “I need my m eat! I have my buns! I need my meat!” Stephanie could hear he r outburst

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plain as day from the front counter and it made her wince. She wondered what the customers thought. A quick glance out there revealed the smirking face of a man in a gray suit and trench coat. She moved quickly back there, in a few loping steps. Millie was alone on the grill and had indeed run out of patties. Three stacks of bun trays had piled up. Victor, a part time employee, had disappeared into the walk-in freezer. With Stephanie, it was a constant struggle to manage with a firm, but respectful hand. “Millie,” she said, “Victor heard you. Now where are Dottie and Jillian?” She had to rais e her voice slightly to be heard over the din coming in from the dining roo m and the pinging and whirring machines in the kitchen. “Dot’s in the bath room,” Millie said , through ragged bursts of breath. “Jillian said something about going in the back for a cigarette. She strode for the back door near the break room and heaved herself at it. Once the doo r flung open she turned left and saw Jillian casually smoking. In a firm, direct voice Stephanie said “We need you back in here, Jill!” Jill was bare ly twenty years old (Stephanie had checked her personnel file) but came heavily recommended by two previous employers. Stephanie made herself a mental note to sit the new h ire down a little later and explain that it was a tad inappropriate to satisfy a nicotine craving during a busy rush. Maybe Ingrid tolerated them and that was the real problem. She stayed behind to watch Jillian put out the cigarette on the wall and then shuffle sullenly back in. Then Dottie, back from the restroom b reak, shouted from the front of the kitchen. “Hey Steff! There’s someone out front looking for you!” She paced back toward the counter, feeling like a yo-yo. Before she even rounded the doorway, she saw Lori’s bright blond hair topped off with a scarlet tam o’shanter and matching plaid cape. Even as she walked toward the side counter, she thought the outfit would look ridiculous on anyone but her sartorially adventurous friend. When Stephanie reached the counter, Lori said “Hopping place you have here. How do I buy stock?” She then revealed a newspaper that she had b een holding behind her, swishing it in front of herself, letting it fall on the counter like the winning hand in a poker game. It was the local section of the Enquirer. Stephanie scanned the text quickly and found a three by five inch pho to about halfway dow n: the office

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building with the angelic stain on the window. Stunned, Stephanie said “N o! Already?” Lori smirked. “They printed a picture but it was not one of the ones we took yesterday. Someone beat me to it. Should I sue?” “No. Greg’s too much of a republican. He’d never take the case.” “Who said I would use Greg? Anyway, you ought to get yourself a copy. The article’s really interesting. They talk about it like it’ s Lourdes or the Miracle of Fatima or som ething.” “That was a holy healing spring that bubbled up out of nowhere. This is m ore burning b ush-ish .” “Whatever.” Lori took her paper. “G otta run.” Stephanie remembered again that Lori was the busiest person she’d ever seen who was not technically employed. Classes. Fundraisers. Volunteer work at the Children’s Science Center. And on, and on, and on. Since she was already up front and since the line had snaked through the maze and was twelve people deep, Stephanie opened the second register. With a whirr and a click, she was ready for business. “I can help the next person in line,” she said, motioning to a Hindi wom an wh o was anxiously furrowing her brow, as though she were pondering a difficult math problem. Beyond the wom an’s sh oulder Steph anie could see into the parking lot beyond the front doors. She noticed the reddishness on the horizon and the outlines of the cars illuminated by the dawning day. A couple of customers later, Stephanie waited on a tall man who wore wire-rimmed, round glasses. A droopy mustache gave him an angry expression. He glanced at the m enu board and then at Stephanie. “Excuse me, m iss…uh…” he started, apparently searching Stephanie’s shirt front for a name tag. “Stephanie. M ay I ask a few questions?” “Sure.” “Your mini hash browns, are they fried in vegetable oil or lard?” “Vegetable oil.” The gentleman rocked back and forth between the balls of his feet and his heels. He closed his eyes briefly while considering Stephanie’s answer. “Now, say I was to order one of your sausage and egg croissants,” he began. “I assume you use sausage patties for these, is that correct?”

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“Yes sir,” she responded, concentrating on giving her calm est, mo st tranquil poker-faced expression. Sometimes she had a habit of getting annoyed too quickly when answering a round of what she thought were trivial customer questions. “I assume you rotate your stock to use what you already have before opening anything new?” “Yes, that’s correct.” She tried to loo k at him closely without staring, wondering if she’d ever seen his face on the house organ. Was he a high-ranking executive perform ing a quality control? “Wh at’s the latest date that you allow?” Stephanie had anticipated the question and fired back her reply a millisecond before the man had finished speaking. “Fiv e days, sir.” She bit back an impulse to also say “No w, do we get a gold star?” O ut of her peripheral vision she noticed that a couple of people had wandered out of h er line and onto Cecilia’s line. The couple of holdout peo ple who rem ained in her line had started crossing their arms across their chests and tapping their toes. “Just one m ore thing,” he went on, “do you carry Colomb ian coffee?” Stephanie shrugged. “It’s Maxwell H ouse.” He nodded knowingly. “I see.” While he stroked his chin and pondered his choices, Stephanie bit back another urge to ask if he was ready to order. If he was a mystery shopper as she thought, he would probab ly downgrade her for that. “I will have a sausage croissant platter with your expertly rotated sausage, your mini hash browns fried in vegetable oil, and fo r a drink, your fine, but regrettably non-C olom bian co ffee.” Since several of the croissants lay in the ready, along with the hash browns, Stephanie quickly filled the order. The intense customer swirled around military style and surveyed the dining room for a choice seat, Stephanie supposed. The next customer in line, a wiry guy wit a buzz cut and a down jacket and looked as if he m ight b e part of a road crew, stepped up. He watched the tall, bespectacled inquisitive man find a table and sit down. When the new custom er turned his attention to Stephanie, he said “What was that? Som e kind of an asshole?” “Just a guy with a lot of questions,” she said. The next few custom ers after that went sm oothly. People of various stripes, sizes, and colors m ostly made their choices by calling out the platter numbers. Dottie, Millie, Jillian and Victor kept the sandwiches and pancakes sliding

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down their slots while Troy and C ecilia bagged orders and swung trays around to customers. Mark worked the drive thru on the other side with help from Danny, a tall Ichabod-Cranish looking guy in his late twenties. To Stephanie it all looked choreographed, even graceful, like a ballet. After awhile she glanced at the clock by the side door. It was eight forty-five. The business people, teachers, and students had all passed through. Cecilia and Tro y handled the remaining trickle with ease. With a sigh, Stephanie decided to shut down her register and see if the kitchen crew needed help befo re stopping by the office to check files. She called out to Mark “I’ll be in the back if you need me.” Mom ents later, Stephanie entered the office and checked a couple of forms and the telephone rang. She knew that as second-in-command, it was her unspoken duty to answer the phones. When she picked it up, she used her most professional tone in saying “This is Stephanie, how may I help you?” “This is Hugh H efner, Stephanie,” said the voice coming from the other end of the line. “ We’re going to be in town this week doing a shoot. W e’re going to call it ‘The Girls of Fast Food.’ Would you be available?” The remark caught her off guard for a m om ent. Afte r that, she heard gales of cackling laughter and sh e immediately recognized Tim, the district manager. She decided to keep the joke going. “Um, I don’t think my husband would like that very much, sir. He doesn’t let me out of the house except to go to work.” Tony laughed again. “Hey, Sunshine, how’s your week starting out so far?” “Not bad. Hey, do you kno w if they’re sending out mystery shopper people?” Tony paused from the other end of the line. “What? Hell, I don’t know. For all I know, they’re filming a com mercial at your store right now w ith hidden cam eras.” “Oh, then, go od, I think I’ll go put m ore m akeup on.” She paused. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” “I’ve got just one newbie for you tom orrow. If you’re ready to write the nam e?” “Sure.” “Estes Kleindienst.” She had to wait a moment to let the name sink in befo re she attempted to write it down. Tony had to spell out

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the last name very slowly so she could get it down. “My god,” she rem arked. “W hat is he, Norweigan or som ething?” “I don’t know. I think he lives in one of the boarding houses near the old annex to the steel mill. He’ll be in at ten tomorrow. Kind of a big guy with glasses. Real serious. Sho uld be a good addition to your m orning zoo over there.” “Yeah. Just a lion tamer. That’s me!” “Okay! Talk at ya later.” O nce she finished, M ark bounded into the office. “Better start on the 320 if I have any prayer o f finishing on tim e,” he said. “Are you going to be using the printer anytim e soon?” “No, you’re fine. I think I better check on my little duckies out there.” She excused herself and headed out to the kitchen. Victor was mopping the spilled flour and bread crumbs from the floor while Dottie was wiping down countertops. With the slow ing pace of breakfast traffic, Millie only had to turn a couple of rows of patties and two egg trays. The hash browns in the fryer buzzed and Victor lifted the basket when he m oved by there, sweeping along. An angry male shout suddenly boomed in from the dining room. It made Stephanie remember that, being second in command, she was expected to field customer com plaints. Before anyone even beckoned her from the back, Stephanie started heading that direction. Troy suddenly popped in from around the doorway, eyes as wide as saucers. “Stephanie, could you come up front, please?” He looked down at her, teetering awkwardly. She took a deep breath before rounding the co rner. When she entered the dining ro om , she saw Cecilia standing tall, hands on her hips, talking to a very agitated looking blond man about twenty five years old. His hair was tousled and his t-shirt and jacket askew, as if he’d just awakened. Stephanie felt it would b e best to simply jum p in. She tapped Cecilia gently on the shoulder, and he r e m ployee stepped aside, still glaring at the com plainer. “Hi, I’m Stephanie, one of the managers here,” she said. “How can I help you?” The man-boy worked his jaw actively before steeling him self to speak. He growled “Are you a manager in training, an assistant, or a real manager?” “Co -manager.” “I want the highest manager in charge. The h ighestranking guy in the building. Now!”

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“You’re talking to her,” she said. It was a white lie: technically Mark was the highest ranking guy” on premises at the mom ent. She lo oked down at the counter in front of him and saw a b ag full of wrapped items and an unwrapped croissant lying open-faced atop another item. “Are you sure?” the blond, disgruntled guy said. “You’re not dealing w ith a dum b hick here, you know.” Stephanie felt her jaw tighten. She forced herself to breathe deeply. “W ell, I no tice you’ve purchased som e food. Is there som e way I can help you with your order?” She was guessing that som ething w as either omitted or the wrong item had been packed. Instead, the customer beckoned her to move closer by raising a finger. “I wa nt to show you something,” he said, pointing at the sausage patty sitting atop the opened croissant half. She leaned over to examine the patty. After a few moments he said “Well? Do you see it or not?” Stephanie forced herself to avoid shrugging or miming confusion with her expression and posture. She noticed that the patty was uniformly gray-tan, devoid of many broiled areas. “Was it not done enough to your liking? We can cook you another one.” Appearing exasperated, the man plotzed, his eyes widening even further as his shoulders bounced and he tapped his foot, thrusting his hands down. “Not done enough for you? Not done enough for you?” he sneered, gesturing toward the patty. “Don’t tell me you can’t see it! That wet area, that slight bubbling…ONE OF YOUR EMPLOYEES HAS SPIT ON THIS PATTY!” Stephanie felt her cheekbones heat up as she cringed inside. She glanced beside her to see if other customers had heard: a couple of th em had glanced over briefly but seemed busy ordering and obtaining their food. The belligerent customer said “Well? What are you going to do about it?” Stephanie only knew of one thing. “Do you have the receipt from the purchase?” He said “Yes, let me look,” and poked aro und in his jeans pocket. When he found the receipt, Stephanie scanned it for the total listed at the bottom. She then opened her register and extracted that exact amount from the till, handing it over to the unhappy diner. He straightened, accepting the money gingerly, as if the bills had been made of ancient parchment

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and might cru m ble in his hands. “Well, that’s awfully congenial of you,” he said, with a slight sneer. “But the bigger problem here is that you have employees spitting into the food .” “Thank you for telling me,” she said quietly. “I have lots of listeners,” the blond m an went on. “If it happens again, I’m sure wo uld mak e for som e very interesting air play.” He gathered the rest of his bags and prepared to leave. Stephanie could sense Cecilia fidgeting beside her and she thought she heard a gasp, also. The formerly angry customer seemed m ore relaxed as he exited through the front door. As soon as he cleared earshot, Cecilia said “I wouldn’t have given that asshole a dam ned penny.” Stephanie laughed. “W ell it’s the only way we would have gotten rid of him. You know that, don’t you?” “I think it’s a scam he pulls when he doesn’t have enough m oney. No one spit on his sausage patty.” Stephanie shrugged. “He said something about listeners. What was that all about?” Cecilia’s sparkling eyes opened wider. “On the radio he goes by Dave Diamond, but I’ve heard his real nam e is Patrick. He’s a deejay at WRXC. You know ‘Rex 105’? He does mid days. If you ask m e the evening drive guy is better. Rick o’ Shea.” “Ricochet? You mean he bounces off the walls or som ething? No I don’t listen to that. I’m a heavy m etal girl.” Troy said “You might want to listen to him today to see if he talks about someone spitting on his sausage patty.” “I think I’ll pass.” Not long after Patrick, the disgruntled deejay left, the lunch menu switched on, and a whole new type of crowd entered: high scho ol boys and girls on senior half day wandered in around eleven. Mark said “You can do the rest of what you need to do. W e’ve got it covered out here.” The rest of Stephanie’s day was a blur of m anaging personnel files and talking to vendors. Late in the lunch rush she helped out at the counter, assisting only no rmal, noninquisitive and non-confrontational customers. Her day ended at three p.m., which meant that she m issed the rush hour traffic jams that plagued her friends in jobs with traditional hours. By the time she headed out to the car, the sun loomed low in the sky. The winds picked up and dark, thick clouds rumbled

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overhead. Strange weather, she thought as the breeze helped put the car door sh ut behind her. Along her way home the leaves danced across the roads, swirling around in front of and behind her car. Most of the trees had become barren, gray, reminding Stephanie that the part of November between Halloween and Thanksgiving could be quite depressing. However, the types if clouds overhead that day reminded her of the type that arrived in April—and sometimes b rought tornadoes. When she arrived home, she found Kevin in the family room watchin g television and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Stephanie had worked strictly days for the past couple of years and while she could only occasionally arrive home before her son. She feared leaving the key under the welcom e mat but , they both made a game of where to hide the key next. At various times they placed it under the lawn gnome, near the first post on the m ini wrought-iron gate, or at the bottom of one of the basement window wells. During weeks where she decided on the key placement, she would write the location of it on a sm all chalkboard near the kitchen phone. Kevin would leave handw ritten notes. Sho rtly after coming in through the front door, Stephanie changed into her sweat suit. She heard Kevin’s feet pitter-patter up the stairs. He burst into her bedroom doorway, catching himself by the doorframe to keep from crumpling to a heap on the carpet. “I forgot to tell you,” he said between bursts of bre ath. “They said there might be tornadoes.” “Tornadoes? No way,” she said. “Who told you that?” “Mr. Straker, the science teacher. He has a bunch of weather predicting stuff at his house.” “Tornadoes are a spring thing, though.” “Uh-uh,” he said, shak ing his head vigorously to punctuate himself. “Mr. Straker said they could happen anytim e.” Stephanie glanced up toward the ceiling to think it over fo r a minute and replied. “Put the weather channel on.” Kevin grimaced. “Aw, mom ! That’s boring!” “All right, all right. Just keep it on whatever channel you’re watching. If som ethin g big is going to happen they’ll break in with a special report or som ething.” Kevin disappeared from the doo rway and sounded as if he only hit three steps on his way b ack do wn tow ard the family room.

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“I hope we have a tornado! That’d be so cool,” Kevin said when Stephanie walked into the family room. “It could lift up this whole house and carry it off to so me weird place.” “Like in the Wizard of Oz?” “Yeah! Except no munchkins. They’re creepy.” For the next little while Stephanie bounded back and forth from the family room to the kitchen, where she was surveying the refrigerator and cabinets, trying to decide what to fix for that night’s dinner. After a bunch of comm ercials, Oprah came on, interviewing people who’d survived brushes with death including free falling with a faulty parachute and getting sucked into a jet engine. A crawler with text ran on the bottom of the screen and Stephanie stopped to read it. They’d made it simple—“Tornado Watch”—listing of the counties affected, including theirs. “You see!” Kevin said triumphantly, bobbing up and down on the couch. “I told you!” “Sheesh,” Stephanie said, shaking her h ead. “I hope it stays aw ay from here.” “I don’t! It could take the school! Blow it into a million smithereens!” “And force me to spend a fortune on a sitter.” Kevin snapped his neck when he turned to look at her. “Wh at?” His words cam e ou t with a touch of anger, as if she’d offended him. “Nothing, Kev. Trust me. When yo u grow up you’ll have a completely different a ttitude about these types of things.” Meanwhile, on Oprah, a woman who’d been car jacked was raped, beaten and dumped into her own trunk yet lived to tell the tale. The television screen changed to a generic “Action News Special R eport.” Immediately after that a newsman in his thirties with sculpted hair and a forehead crease appeared. “Good evening,” the newscaster began, in a co rdial tone. “Mike Fox from Action 12 Weather. According to the National Weather Bureau in C olum bus, a line of storm cells are approaching the tri-state area.” The screen action cut to a radar picture. To Stephanie the radar map always looked like a m onochrom atic jig saw puzzle. She saw think glo bs of storm activity clustering and approaching their area of the puzzle. The com mentary fro m the new scaster ran to garbling as Stephanie marveled at how the storm seemed dead set on them, materializing out of thin air. She snapped to in time to catch

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the rest of the weatherman’s words: “Now, again, this is just a watch.” Once the regular programming had resumed, the man who had been sucked into a jet engine described his ordeal. Stepha nie then heard the “click” coming from the phone in the kitchen, and instinctively, she ran toward the extension in the den. She picked up the receiver a split second after the first ring sounded. Lori’s voice came on from the other end of the line without an intro or rejoinder. “Can you believe this?” “Are you out driving in it?” The line sounded fairly clear. “Well, yeah, but I’m almost hom e. You know what I’m thinking, right?” “No .” She paused for a mom ent, appare ntly surprised. “How come you’re so quiet?” “Work was a bitch and a half today. Sometimes I really envy yo u.” “Anyway, this is connected with that angel on the building glass.” “Wh at?” “Think about it. An angel puts up a picture on the side of a building. Tornado clouds show up, aiming at things in the sam e general area. It’s the devil loo king for equal tim e.” If it was any o ther person, and if it were not for the strange video game incident, Stephanie would have just asked “Are you high?” Then Lori started to laugh. Stephanie shook her h ead. She had her going this time, just like all the other times. “You’re really weird, you know that?” W hile they were speaking about what kind of days they’d had, Oprah’s show ended and the five o’clock news began. She kept one eye on the television but the newsc aste r only rehashed what was said fifteen m inutes earlier. A couple of lesser news stories followed: one about a high school considering a dress code and a farm that raised pit bulls, claiming that they were the most “affectionate, loving dogs anywhere.” Suddenly the image of the angel on the side of the glass office building blazed onto the screen. “O h m y god.” “Wh at? What do you m ean?” “Our angel is on the news now.” “It is? Damn, they gotta make a TV you can watch in the car, too.”

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Stephanie was going to say something along the lines of “If they could figure out a way to put a shower in there, you would never have a reason to go hom e,” but she kept that thought to herself. The line fro m Lori’s end began to crackle, which happened whenever she “moved out of pocket” which made Stephanie think of a giant pack pocket of a pair of blue jeans containing her car. “So wh at are they saying?” “I’m trying to follow along.” A news reporter interviewed a solemn, washed-out looking woman with glasses and auburn hair. Reverently, she said “Other appearances and visions such as this have generated lots of hope.” A cutaway to ano ther scene outside the building put the same reporter together with a smirking, curly-haired and mustachioed man in his forties. Text at the bottom of the screen identified him as the building manager. “It’s sort o f amusing to me,” he said. “Building glass gets oxidized in a weird pattern and people are ready to proclaim the second coming or something.” He gestured with his hands grandly and bo om ed his voice to punctuate the point. Stephanie gave Lori a summ arized account of what the guy said. “They should have used my picture in the newspaper,” Lori said. “Ooh. Gotta go. Getting ready to pull in the driveway. Greg’s already h ere.” “And that’s a bad thing?” “He gets mad if he sees me driving and talking on the phone. Say s it’s an accident waiting to happen.” “Ok. Bye.” The line disconnected. Outside, the sun had co m pletely sunken beneath the horizon. Stephanie and Kevin remained peacefully watching the newscast for a few mom ents longer and then she heard Michael’s truck swerve onto the driveway and the tires screech lightly as it stopped short just in front of the garage door. “Dad’s already hom e?” The truck door outside slamm ed loudly. Seconds later the front door flew open and M ichael’s voice boom ed “Honey ? Kevin? Where you at?” Once Stephanie saw him round the corner she stifled a laugh, the way she always did. Whenever her husband did drywall, he inevitably got “pow dered down” by the dust in the air from all the sawing and sanding. She called it his “food fight in a bakery” look. Michael dipped his chin and narrowed his eyes when he saw them , a gesture Stephanie realized as a prelude to

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one of his serious speeches. He said “W hat are y’all sitting here for?” She chuckled. “It’s the end of a long day. Just relaxing.” “We gotta get in the basement. Com e on.” He was gesturing with his hand fo r them to rise off the couch .” “But, they just said it’s a watch , Michael. Wouldn’t those sirens go o ff if a tornado was com ing?” He squinted while looking at her incredulously, as she’d just told him that the world was flat. “There’s a tornado coming. I swear. What do you think I’m hom e so dang early for? So that truck can twirl around like a little Hot Wheels car?” He started to take off his jacket and sweatshirt as he backed out of the room, turning toward the stairs. Stephanie turned to Michael and said “We’ll bring some chips and dip down there.” Since they had m oved in three years earlier, Mich ael had only been able to furnish one corner of the basem ent. He had put the drywall in and carpete d it with remnants that had been stitched together. She referred to it as the “basement den” and it seemed like a time capsule of all their married life together so far. The couch was garish colonial with wo oden handles at the edges and it came from their first apartment together. It featured pictures of George Washington and his troops against a scarlet background. Michael’s first lazy boy type chair, with its cracked leather and creaking springs had found a new hom e in the corner. The entertainment center was simple varnished oak ab utted against the wall. It held an old thirteen inch TV that came from Stephanie’s bachelorette pad she held briefly along with Michael’s old all-in-one stereo system with a working eight track player. Viewin g Michael’s old baseball trophies stacked on shelves further gave Stephanie the feeling that she’d traveled back in time. Kevin walked over to the TV to turn it on, but his mother noticed the time on the Budweiser clock. “Let’s turn on the radio for awhile instead, honey.” K evin sim ply shrugged and slumped down onto the couch. Stephanie hunted around for the power switch on the antiquated stereo. She had to punch another button to get FM stereo and turned to her son to ask “What’s the number for that radio station right down the road?”

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He crinkled his nose the way he always did when he was deep in thought befo re responding “How should I know? They don’t play music I like.” Michael overheard them and barked out “It’s REX 105 darling.” She reached for the tuning knob to bring the station in and get rid of the static crackling through the speakers. Michael bounded down the stairs toward them . She briefly told him about her encounter with the deejay early that morning. Michael shook his head, his mouth forming a tight, straight line. “Did you tell him he was crazy? Who would spit on a patty? That’s stupid.” While the radio station was on a quiet break, Stephanie could hear footsteps, bumps and clunks that sounded like rocks falling in a box. “No, I just reached into the register and gave him b ack all the mo ney h e paid for his breakfast.” “You did? H e didn’t deserve that.” “It’s what he wanted.” “He probab ly pulls off that scam in every restaurant in town.” Kevin paused to think that over for a moment and said “Hey, I know! The next time we eat out someplace fancy, I’ll say that som ebody spit in my food. Then we’ll get to eat for free!” Stephanie tried to frown at him but then she turned her attention instead to the radio . The speakers filled the room with the m ellow, m odu lating tones of Rick O’ Shea: “You’re with Rex 105 and we have a we ather bulletin. Strange, but true, there are tornadoes in our midst. Toto, I think we mus t be back in Kansas…is that how it goes?” Michael shook his head as he raised himself up off his haunches. “Sounds like a fag. Radio guys are all fags. I’m going upstairs to get a cooler. What do yo u want m e to put in it?” “Seven up,” Kevin said. “I don’t care,” Stephanie said. “Surprise me.” She was a little miffed that Michael would talk that way around Kevin. When he returned with a cooler stocked with beer and soda, she asked “So how do you know Rick O’Shea’s?” “I just know. The other one’s probably a fag, too. Dave Dodohead or whatever his name is.” “You’ve never m et him , though.”

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“All I know is this. The guys make me play Rex on the ghetto blaster and in between the dude comes on and says stupid shit. You saw him today, right? I’ll bet his som e pim ply-faced scrawny milque toast with hair on his palms. Am I right?” “No ,” she said. “He’s a blond guy about twenty five or twenty six. A little on the doughy side.” “W ith a pimply face and hair on his palms,” Michael said , as he popped open a beer and let himself drop down into his old Lazy boy recliner. “He probably jacked off onto the patty to m ake it look like so meone spit on it.” Stephanie felt the hair rise along the back of her neck. “Michael!” Too late. K evin said “What’s ‘jacked off?’ You mean he hocked a loogie on it?” Stephanie quickly said “Yes, yes, that’s what he did.” “Who cares! Just put the damn news on,” Michael said, gesturing to the TV. When she watched him moan and groan over the network news coming on, she wondered if her husband had spoken with too m any irate hom eow ners that day. O utside the window she could hear the wind starting to pick up. Or maybe she was imagining it, with all the hype. Michael had lifted him self out of the easy chair and was forcefully flippin g through all the channels. Solemn faces of newscasters flashed by, along with someone spinning a big wheel or making guesses based on information from a big board. “I can’t believe nob ody is talking ab out this.” Stephanie noticed that a couple of stations carried crawler updates along the bottom of the screen. “It’s only a watch, honey.” Michael stopped channel surfing on a station featuring a cartoon with a blue hound dog. He turned to her and said “Did you see those clouds out there? Real high and real dark. You know wh at was the kicker, though? The sky got yellow and it got really, really still. That’s how it was just befo re those tornadoes hit Xenia.” She rem em bered hearing that Michael had lived through that, while he was in high school during the midseventies. “Cars flew around like they were m ade of paper,” he’d said. “W hole houses ripped off their foundations.” Stephanie had been living along the river back then, as a middle schooler. During the storms they had only seen lots of rain.

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“Dad, how do you know when a tornado is coming?” Kevin asked. Michael paused, clearing his throat. Still on his haunches, he faced his son and with a hand flourish, began his description. “It’ll start out windy, just like it is now. Hear that? After that I will get really quiet. Like you’d swear th e storm was over. Then it sounds like the train is com ing.” “The train?” Kevin asked. “At first it sounds like the train is a mile away, chugchugging into the station. Then it gets a little louder. And then a little more louder. Pretty soon it sounds like the train’s going a hundred miles an hour through your back yard. And then it hits yo ur ho use BO OM!” M ichael clapped his hands together, causing Kevin to jum p. Stephanie reached across the couch, to give her son a reassuring pat on the back. “Do you really think one’s going to hit around here?” she said. As if on cue, the lamp light and the television started to flicker. They went completely out for a few seconds plunging the room into darkness. “O h m y god.” A few moments later, the ligh ts and the television returned. They all stayed still. Michael gazed faraway and his ears pricked up. He whispered “Hear how quiet everything is now?” Kevin nodded. To Stephanie he appeared pale and uneasy, with shallow breathing. Her stomach had frosted over as she experienced the stillness and silence outside the window. In the distance, she thought, she could hear laughter: spiteful, mischievo us laughter. Then the sound of a faraway train…

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Chapter Four Later that night, Stephanie decided do a review: “I play a harmless video game that sends me into a bizarre altered state where I’m fighting specters, I see a vision of an angel on the side of a building, and then a tornado scoots over our neighborhood. What does it all mean? The tornado had just roared overh ead, missing their house and, as far as she could tell, their neighborhood. Once the roaring wind had dissipated, quiet stillness set in. Kevin, who had drunk three sodas said “Can’t we go upstairs again, dad? It’s boring down here.” Michael frowned, his mustache corners angling downward, causing him to look slightly demonic. “No. We need to wait it out awhile. Tornadoes come in twos and threes.” “But it’s quiet outside!” “Yes, and what did I tell you before? It gets real quiet and still, and then BAM ! The train hits again.” Kevin slumped into the sofa, folding his arms across his chest. “Your dad just doesn’t want you to get hurt, that’s all,” Stephanie said. Michael winked at her and Kevin smiled wryly. Soon, according to the crawler at the bottom of the television screen, the tornado watch had been lifted. After Michael had insisted they still stay and watch a snowy sitcom, Stephanie said “Let’s go now, M ichael. They lifted that warning a long time ago.” Without another word Michael hoisted the cooler off the floor and brought it up th e stairs setting it on the floor in the family room. He would be right on time for Monday night footb all. He allowed himself to relax, changing into slippers, old sweat pants, a long john shirt with a lumb erjack shirt over it. The game itself hardly ever mattered, as Stephanie found out early on. That night it would be the Dallas Cowboys and the Philadelphia Eagles. Kevin was allowed to stay up o nly till half time. Most Monday nights, Michael would lay back, knocking back beer after beer and take an occasional call from one of his friends or employees. That night it was different. After the storms, Stephanie had put together a quick d inner out of tuna casserole leftovers and mixed vegetables. They’d all

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eaten in the den and once she’d finished with the dishes and put everything away, she returned. “Ooh! That guy took one right in the nuts! Did you see that Steph?” She nodded. Norm ally during the games she would talk on the phone to Lori or one of her other friends. That night something told her to keep off the phone and be there for her husband. During a comm ercial, he lifted himself out of the easy chair and waddled past her, patting her on the shoulder. “W e must be living right,” he said. “It spared us.” When he returned and plopped back down, Kevin announced that he was ready for bed . “The game’s kinda boring,” he said. Stephanie kissed him good night. After Kevin left, the only other sound in the room besides the TV was Michael’s gurgling swallows of b eer. Stephanie was loo king at a fashion catalog and glancing at the game only occasionally. There were lots of punts. As Michael sipped he would casually glance in her direction every so often. During a comm ercial break he said “So, why are you so quiet tonight?” She shrugged, meeting his eye contact. “Long day. Tornadoes.” Michael nodded, returning her gaze warmly. He then grinned, before chuckling. “You think I’m going to fall for that one?” “I’m just tired,” she went on. Michael pointed upstairs “If you were really tired, your ass would be up in bed now.” “And your point is?” “Tell me what ‘s going on in that beautiful little head of yours.” Uh-oh. Now she hoped for two things: that he would keep them out of a deep, intense conversation, and that he would refra in fro m asking her to sit in the easy chair with him. When they had deep discussions or meaningful interludes, she liked for them to be o n the same level, m ood-alteration-ally speaking. Deep down she felt that Michael should be able to become a morous with her w ithout getting liquored up first. After a few m ore pensive mom ents she realized she’d better say som ething: “Michael, could I get you to do something for me?” He straightened up slightly and angled his body toward hers. “Could you try to watch what you say around K evin?”

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Michael paused for a moment, glancing up at the ceiling as he let her wo rds sink in. He chuckled. “Is that it? He probably hears worse than that in the average PG movie. Hell, on the playground!” “Maybe,” she said. “but you’re the one he watches really closely. The one who’s supposed to be setting an example. You’ve got to admit he is a little young to know about jacking off.” “Nine? Hell no he ain’t. I was eight when I had Tommy all figured out.” Tom was Michael’s older brother by six years. “The bedpost would squeak a lot and bang against the wall. I could hear it and I was in the next room. And one day the old man, he was bitching about the w ater bill. Saying he was go ing to m ake Tom my pay for it. He said ‘It’s all them long showers you take. Don’t even think I don’t know what you’re doing in there.’” Stephanie laughed along with M ichael. H e noticed that and said “Hey, why don’t you grab a beer? Loosen up a little.” “No .” “No? Why not?” “You kno w I don’t drink when I have to open the next morning.” He grinned wickedly. “Except for special occasions.” “Ch ristmas and N ew Year’s aren’t here for awh ile yet.” “Well this is a special o ccasion. Th e nig ht we escaped the vicious tornado.” “Honey, no. I do n’t think I should.” “Even after the bad day you had at work? You probably need it.” H e was looking at her with the type of insistent anticipation that she’d seen in th e m an who’d sold them the Oldsmob ile. “Okay, “ she said, while leaning forward to reach into the cooler. When she had drunk a second one, he coaxed her over to the eas y ch air to sit with him for the second half. Though at first she felt annoyed with herself for giving in, after nestling in the crook of Michael’s a rm , she remembered how that feeling of warm th and closeness helped her to forget the outside world and all of her cares. A news report broke in on the footba ll game, snapping her back to reality. “The good news is that the tornado clouds that blew over our area left us m ostly unscathed . However try telling that to the own er of the Croesus gym o n State Route 94.

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A funnel cloud touched down on the roof of the structure. Thankfully only a few people were present and escaped uninjured.” The picture cut away to an interview outside with a coarse haired man with pale eyes and chest hair poking above the neckline of his shirt. He ran his finger through his hair and said “It could have been a whole lot worse. At least I have insurance for the roof.” The camera panned along the top of the roof and the precipice, where the tornado hit it. The wind had ripped the roof apart as if it had been made of aluminum foil. “Dang, that’s ugly,” Michael murmured. “I can just see some big dude in wrestling drop a huge shit just as he’s jerking three-fifty.” Suddenly, Stephanie said “Honey, I’d better get to bed.” Michael chuckled, rolling his eyes and groaning in faked exasperation. “Hey, it’s just the two of us! I’m not misbeh aving in front of the kid now.” “I have to be up at four-thirty.” Six hours later she was able to slip out of bed without disturbing Michael and also without the headache she had anticipated. W hile she ate yogurt and grape nuts she watched the television at whisper volume. It showed the ruined gym building again, and this time she recognized it. She drove past it every single morning on the way to work. She quickly showered, finished her makeup, dressed and soon stepped o ut into a cool, violet clear morning that re m inded her of an El Greco painting. Th e air se em ed remarkab ly still to her, as if the previous nig ht’s tornadoes had squeezed all of the wind out of it. Once she left the neighborhood in her car, she noticed more traffic than usual at five thirty in the morning. Many cars slowed down once they reached the intersection of the highway and the boulevard where the Croesus gym lay. In the harshly lit pre-dawn the gaping hole in the steel butler building looked angry, ugly. She frowned at the way the roof had been torn, as if a giant fist had reached down and punched through it. Once Stephanie arrived at the parking lot for work, she saw Ingrid’s glittering beige Toyota and smiled wryly. Another miracle recovery, she thought, as she walked toward the back door. She braced herself as she yanked down on the handle, even though she knew that Tuesdays were usually much more placid than Mondays. Once inside the kitchen, she found

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Ingrid speaking casually with Millie and Dottie. “Hey there,” she said as sh e passed them. Ingrid stopped talking and gave her a theatrical, lower-face smile. “Hi,” Ingrid said, with a musical lilt to her voice. “Wow, I’m so glad to be back. Yesterday I felt so h orrible. I was vom iting so much I wondered-uh-oh, what if it’s another little bam bino?” The cheap poetry, paired with Ingrid’s bright eyes caused Stephanie to cringe. Second-in-comm and at the store, Ingrid had a hab it of stagey cheerfulness in her m anner. Since she also liked to wear her sun-kissed blond hair upward, Stephanie concluded that Ingrid must have fancied herself as a workaday version of Goldie Hawn. Stephanie brushed past Ingrid to step inside the office and set up a new personnel file for her new trainee that morning. She found M ark in there, puzzling over the two-week schedule. It was an intense and often nightm arishly complicated logistical exercise. W ithout loo king up, M ark said “Looks like we had another miracle cure.” Stephanie laughed. “Thank you for say ing so.” Mark pushed himself away from the desk roughly, shoving the schedule worksh eet to the other side of the table, knocking a couple of pens off the table in the process. “I give up,” he said. “Why don’t we just close our doors the whole flipping week of Thanksgiving! Screw it!” “You say that every year.” “Yeah? This year I m ean it.” Stephanie looked at the erasure m arks and cross-outs on the papers at the edge of the table. “Is it really that bad?” Mark gestured to the strewn sheets, saying “Do you want to do it? Be my guest!” She noticed right then that the sheets concealed a stack of smaller slips with employee’s scheduling requests written on them . “No, I think I’ll let you handle it.” “You have another little duckie to bring into the fold, don’t you?” “Yep.” “What’s his name? Essex or something like that, I think I read .” Stephanie sought out the file from her stack of papers and read the nam e. “It’s Estes. Estes Kleindienst.”

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Mark’s eyebrows raised above the rims of his glasses. “Wh at?” He squinted. “Klipsch orn? Klingenhopper? Does he wear wooden shoes and a page boy haircut or something?” Stephanie thought the glasses made Mark looked smarmy, like a cloying insurance salesman. “Supposedly, he’s a big guy, quiet, and serious according to To ny.” Mark nodded. “When’s he com ing?” “Ten.” Tony sighed. “Tony really doesn’t believe in breaking them in during rush, does he?” “Guess not.” For the rest of that morning, she caught up with her paperwork. Most of her friends and even Michael could never believe ho w m any m yriad administrative details went into m anaging a restaurant. Many times during evenings out or daytrips with friends, Lori would jokingly introduce Stepha nie as “m y burger-flipper friend.” In reality she did very little actual burger flipping, even during her early days with the company. Somehow over the years she had evolved into a clipboard toting pencil pusher. Later on, during the m orning rush, she did help M illie and Dottie as they dro pped hash brow ns into oil, flipped sausage meat and hustled croissant halves onto platters. Dottie let out a long breath that stirred up a few of her bangs. “You see, Victor called off. So m ethin g about a stomach virus. Thank god for Troy.” Stephanie also kept a bro om and dustpan ready, to catch the continuing parade of crumbs flowing out of the English muffin and biscuit toasters. Ingrid, thankfully, was up front helping with the registers. At one point Stephanie heard Ingrid’s shrill voice say “No sir, I apologize! I assure you w e’re not trying to cheat or deceive you in any way.” Dottie chuckled. “Sounds like Inky has got a live one on her h ands out there.” Stephanie quickly glided along the floor to the kitchen doorway. While she expected to see the burly man with the fluffy mustache or the angry deejay, instead she saw a frowning, Napoleonic man ho lding an opened bag. When the pace slowed, she check ed the clock: nineforty five. The revelation sent a chill through her. Hundreds of employees who had come throug h th e restaurant had gone in and out of her competent hands. Why was this one getting her so keyed up? It confused and bewildered her. To distract herself, she ventured out into the dining room to check the condition of the tables. True, it was Ingrid’s

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job that morning, but she needed to work out the nervous energy from her limbs. While out there she heard a few conversational snippets about the tornadoes from the night before. “It was the damnedest thing I ever saw,” an older gentleman said. “Ab out the tim e it usually starts to snow, we’re getting twisters.” Stephanie expected the guy to add “What’s the world coming to,” but he ended there. She turned aro und and walked into the kitchen, just in time to see M ark showing a tall young man into the men’s bathroom and lockers. If she scampered to the office and sat down quickly, she would be facing the door when Mark showed Estes in. Dottie passed by the doorway, crouched down and whispered exaggeratedly, cupping her mouth with her hands. Her Irish eyes twinkled when she said “Did you see him? The new guy? He’s cute!” Stephanie chuckled, thinking about the glimpse of Dottie as a giddy teenager. She shuffled a few more papers and slid Estes’ face sheet onto her clipboard. A few seconds after the metallic, spring-loaded click, Mark appeared in the doorway. “There she is,” he started. “Hey E stes, this is Stephanie, our training manager. She’s going to be working with you today.” He stepped sideways into the room, with the new employee following. When she first saw him, time seemed to stop. She found herself looking from Estes to Mark, and then back to Estes again. They were both the same height and both possesse d the same wiry build, and both wore gold wirerimmed glasses. Time seemed to have stopped for her as she cataloged her f irst few impressions about young Estes: her first day of kindergarten; Christmas, the year that she, her mother and father woke up in a Hawaiian resort, with leis hanging from their tree; the opening night she played one of the witches in her high school’s production of Macbeth and the curtain rose on them; Graduation, when her name was called; her wedding to Michael when the rector read their vows; her first view of Kevin after he’d exploded from her into the world; the day she’d dropped him off at kindergarten, watching through tears as he zig-zagged down the hallway to the classroom. And this. Was it an erotic, love-at-first-sight kind of thing? She chased away the notion. Yet there was no denying that som ething about him caused her wo rld to come to a wailing stop. If she told Lo ri later and she asked her to describe Estes, she would say that he had “presence.” He

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smiled warmly and serenely with a face that seemed to glow from within. H is hair was sandy b rown with a fresh, “just cut” look, fluffed nicely atop the crown of his head. Beyond the physical, there was a clean, pure, almost immaculate air about him. He wore the standard issue restaurant uniform of a b utton dow n shirt and slacks yet it seemed as if every stitch of the material had been expertly tailored. If Hollywood had decided to make a big budget m ovie set inside a fast food restaurant, this was what the leading man would loo k like, she decided. Along with Estes’ physical presence, the atmosphere in the room seemed to change: it became lighter, airier, and she could detect a faint, clean scent th at reminded her of a forest after a spring rain. It made her reminisce about Easter, with the scents of blossoms and incense during church services. She wondered whether Mark sensed the ambiance, also, since he acted calmer, more officious around Estes than any other trainee she rem embered. She rose from her seat behind the table and approached them. “Hi,” she said to Estes, extending her hand in her best “dress for success” business style. Estes received h er, responding with a firm handshake. To Stephanie his fingers felt as coo l and sm ooth as silk. “Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Estes said. Both the formal greeting and the focused resonance in his voice caused a tingling in her bones. Mark leaned in closely between them, turned to Stephanie and said “I have to check som ethin g at the drive thru. I’ll be talk ing to yo u later.” He’d startled her, jarring her back to reality. “Oh, sure,” she stammered. She felt vaguely anxious at being left alone in the com pany of a m an wh o inspired such strong feelings in her. Yet Mark left at that next moment all the same. Stephanie tried to keep up a bright, professional facade. “Okay, she said, clapping her hands together. “Estes. That’s a very nice name that I’ve never heard before. Do you have a nickname?” “No,” he said. “Just Estes.” He smiled while he said it, but the conviction in his voice struck powerful chords in her. “Did you go through any training at all? Did Tony send you anyplace else?”

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He glanced skyward in a brief pensive pose b efore saying “Yes. At the restaurant near the highway. Tony showed me and a couple of others how to cook the ham burgers.” “Did he show you the videos?” H e narrowed his eyes and frowned slightly in concentration, then tilted his head to one side and suddenly brightened when he remembered the answer. “Oh yes. On the television screen. Yes, we watched it. A very entertaining program.” The form ality and crispness of his answers amused Stephanie. Was he for real? Could Estes be a “mystery hire,” testing the employee processing system the way the parent company sent mystery shoppers to test for customer service? Would she feel as strongly about m eeting E stes if it were otherwise? “Well then, let’s walk and talk,” she said, lifting the clipboard from the table. She showed him the linen closet and invited him to take an apron. As they walked past the grills, she introduced him to Millie and Dottie, noting their biggerand-b righter-than-usual smiles. While she showed him the m ilk cooler and the m ilk bags for the shake machine, she noted his rapt, childlike gaze. “Estes, have you ever worked in a restaurant befo re?” His eyes shifted back and forth and his hands fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt while he said “No, I must admit that I have not.” It occurred to her that Estes might come from a part of the world where fast food restaurants were far less ubiquitous. “May I ask where you are from?” She remembered what Mark had said about wooden shoes and Dutch boy haircuts. “Here, mostly,” he said. “But I’ve been gone for a long while.” She nodded. “I see.” Next, she placed him on the grilling station beside Dottie, who eagerly showed him the fine points of her “sear and turn” hamburger frying technique. Millie too k her turn in showing Estes how to get a bun tray ready “sh oo ting” the bun tops with dollops of ketchup, sprinklings of onion, and plops of pickle. Stephanie lay back casually and looked on, during the slow beginnings of the lunch rush. E stes quietly observed the teachings of the grill master ladies as if they were im parting to him the secrets of the universe. Eventually, Dottie stepped

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aside to give Estes a chance. For a moment he watched the meats sizzle on the hot metal. When he picked up the spatulas his movem ents were slow, deliberate, and delic ate at first as if he were handling robin’s eggs instead of hamburgers and he expected them to hatch under his touch. Millie said “You can be a little quicker and more forceful with them, son. They ain’t gonna break.” Following her advice, Estes bore down on the spatulas harder and flipped the meat patties with more aplomb. A look of luminescent joy overtook him as he fell in to the rhythm of the placing, searing, turning and serving of the meat. Alm ost, Stephanie thought, like the look Kevin had on h is face the first time he rode his bike without the training wheels or Michael’s guiding hand. The reaction of the new trainee seemed to delight and bewilder Dottie and Millie as they looked on. Estes beamed with pride of accomplishment when Millie showed him the first platter of hamburgers he’d made. Soon, they both had to step in full force and Victor returned from his break, also. At high noon, the lines deepened, the cash registers sang and the ham burger patties flew onto and off of the grill. By the time the lunch rush ended at one-thirty, Stephanie realized that she only had one hour left in her day. To everyone assembled near the grill stations, Estes said “Whew! People sure do eat a lot of those hamb urgers, don’t they?” Millie snickered behind Estes’ back, exaggerating her expression. Dottie nodded, looking at the new guy through wide eyes. Victor quietly swept along the sides of his station. Mark suddenly appeared in the room and squinted. Unlike other managers who hated to see anyone standing around, even if all the floors were sw ept and mo pped, all the counters cleaned, and all the food put away , Mark didn’t m ind a little relaxing. Other, less confident managers would assign busy work, such as spraying down walls and rearranging stacks of supplies. Mark looked quickly back and forth between Stephanie and Estes. He said “Steph, how about showing Estes here one or two m ore stations before you leave?” She hop-scotched her thoughts over a few of the kitchen tasks. “Fries,” she said. “C ome on Estes, meet me over here.” She mo tioned to him to follow her toward the fryers, which resembled a couple of washing machines on pedestals with the top opened.

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“Fries are really simple,” she said. “Do you want fries with that?” she added , looking over her shoulder at him coyly. Estes shot her back a look of confusion. He ask ed, innocently “Do I want fries with what?” For a mom ent she was awestruck but giggled, glossing over the awkwardness by quickly moving on: “Anyway, the first thing you do is make sure you have a basket perched up here, like this. Then, we can open one of these nifty pre-measured bags of frozen fries.” She grasped one corner of the bag and tore it open about three inches, forming a spout to pour fries. Estes, who was watchin g closely, lowered himself down for an even closer look at the fries when Stephanie opened the bag. She paused, affected by the way he was gazing into the opened bag. He said, with a hushed reverence “M ay I see one?” Stephanie lifted a plank-like frozen fry out of the bag and Estes examined it. He twirled it slowly, running his eyes over the ridges, the flat surfaces, and pointy ends. H is mouth formed a small “o” to go with the wonderment in his eyes, as if he had been looking at a glistening, priceless diamond. After holding it and looking at it for a few more moments, he dropped it into the bag. “When you pour out the fries, you want to pour them into the basket while it’s perched up on the edge,” she went on, “and then lower it gently down in. That way there’s no spatter.” She lowered the b asket into the oil, causing it to bub ble and foam. “Then you punch this button up here and that’ll time it. And, voila! Seven minute s late r you’ll have fries!” Estes gazed at the bubbling pattern in the oil cooking the fries. If Stephanie didn’t know otherwise, she would swear that the guy had dropped a hit of acid before coming to work. She looked at the bubbling oil along with him and noticed that it did contain unusual shapes and formations and the caramel color made it look like bubbling cola instead of oil. He s ee m ed sincerely transfixed by watch ing the fries and it touched a part of Stephanie’s heart that had lain dormant for years. It came from the sam e place that the Christmas carols affected when she was in elem entary schoo l. Apparently, Ingrid had spied on the trainee staring at the fries. She said “Stephanie, could you come here a second?” Stephanie looked up and saw her colleague standing in the doorway between th e kitchen and the cashier counters. She walked cautiously toward her, taking a deep breath, resolving

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not to let their thorny relationship color their current conversation. When she reached the doorway, she raised her eyebrows and said “W hat can I help you with?” It was an affected move that had grown into a habit: in a self help book she’d read, the author recomm ended arching the eyebrows when addressing a difficult person, since it made the eyes friendlier and the person owning them seem more approachable. She would have bet money that Ingrid ascribed to the “high eyeb row” theory, also. When Stephanie reached her, Ingrid said “You’re going to be training him on the window, too, right?” She nodded in response. “Yep, he’ll be sh uttled through all the stations, just like anyone else. By Thursday we’ll show him window. I’ll put him with Troy, maybe next week .” Ingrid nodded, but Stephanie knew she’d only heard half of what she said. Her eyes locked on a point in the distance and her expression had taken on a quizzical look. When Stephanie followed her line of sight, she realized that she was watching Estes. Wo rse, Estes was still gazing at the bubbling vegetable oil. “Golly,” Ingrid said, causing Stephanie to cringe, “what’s wrong with him? Is he high or som ething?” “Um, no,” she replied, and after a long pause added “he’s just really interested in everything. I think it’s kind of refreshing in a way.” Ingrid stood two inches taller than Stephanie, and seemed to like to emph asize the difference by craning her neck and tilting her head when addressing her. “Well, is he from this planet, or what?” Stephanie chuckled, knowing that she’d wondered the same thing. “Of course,” she said. “Where else would he come from?” Ingrid shook her head. “Where does Tony come up with these people,” she w ondered out loud. A mo ment later, she snapped to. “H ey, your day’s alm ost ov er, just like mine. You can get back to what you were doing.” Stephanie thanked her and started to walk away. In the right mood, she feared she might someday blurt out “Yes, your grace,” or “Yes, your royal highness,” wh en Ingrid blithely excused her from one of their tete a tetes. She would have only one more day to train Estes and it would be uneventful. True, he was slower than the average

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trainee with the way he liked to gaze at the burgers as they sizzled, the fries as they bubbled or the bun halves as they tumbled from the toaster. On Estes’ record on her clipboard, she wrote “slow on most areas, but extre m ely cautious and co nscientious. Will eventually mak e a good employee.” Thursday was her day off and either Ingrid or Mark would take over the training. She hoped that neither one of them would damage him too much.

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Chapter Five Wednesday night was Lady’s night. Stephanie did not have to get up for work the next day. Lori called her at 4:30, when she was getting dinner ready. She said “So, you wanna have some fun tonight?” On their evenings out, they co uld either shop at a twenty-four hour supercenter, hoot and holler with other rowdy ladies at an all-male review , or watch a three-hankie chick flick. W hen she made sure that Kevin and Michael were set for the night, she dressed for the evening, remembering the delicate balance; if the cut on her top was too low and her jeans one of the better-fitting ones, Michael would raise one eyebrow and say “Wh o are you h oping to catch tonight?” She decided to play it safe, putting on a velour red button-down shirt, black jeans, and her low -heel lace-up black boots. With that type of an outfit, she figured she was ready for anything from dancing to nighttime horseback riding. Another rule was that Lori always drove because she had the cooler car. That night, with warmer-than-usual air and no wind, she put on one of her long, crocheted sweaters. Lori arrived around seven and met Stephanie in the foyer. When she looked her up and down, Stephanie did an awkwardly goofy version of a model turn. She said “Do I pass inspection with the fashion police?” Lori gave her the “okay” sign, clicked her tongue and said “Nice.” In the past Lori had som etimes laughed at her and other times had nitpicked her for being too low-key. “Sorry,” she would say, “not all of us can be original blonde excheerleader stock like you.” “How many times do I have to fucking tell you? I wasn’t a goddam cheerleader!” “You kno w what I mean. Besides, I’m married.” “So? Married doesn’t mean ‘dead,’ you know. H ow about looking nice for yourself?” Stephanie checked out Lori’s outfit on the way to the car. As always, it was a daring mélange that would ridiculous on anyone but her best friend. She wore an ecru knit pantsuit with tan high h eel bo ots (not tucked in), a matching, fur-lined suede jacket, and a suede cabbies hat. Even her tiny purse matched everything. “You are too much,” Stephanie said, as she lowered down into the MR 2.

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It had been since Monday since they had talked and when they both settled themselves into their seats and Lori aimed the keys at the ignition she said “You know, the tabloids have caught on to our little angel?” She then cranked the key, firing the ignition. “Our what?” “You know. On the building. Someone told me photographers keep sh owing up over there.” “Is it in one of those tabloid s ye t? Did you get a copy?” “Not yet. Probably next week. You gotta give them time to lay it out and put in the story and everything. She shifted and nudged the car into reverse in one fluid, graceful motion. “The angel, that tornado hitting the roof, the war getting ready to start, it’s the beginning of the end times!” “Yeah,” Stephanie said, watching as Lori wound the car though the side streets toward the connecto r road. “And let’s not forget m y video gam e vision.” Lori gasped. “That’s right! Wow this really is the beginning of Armageddon. Have you ever read the Revelation?” “No. I’m Catholic, rem em ber? We don’t read the bible.” Lori glanced at her, keeping an ey e on steady traffic and lights at the same time. “You never read it on your own?” Stephanie remem bere d a period in her life when she read everyth ing she could get her hands on, the last month of her pregnancy with Kevin. She felt as big as a house and television made her painfully aware, with all the models and beautiful people. During that time she had read the New Testament. “Yeah, about ten years ago,” she said, “all I remember about the Revelation is that there were these guys on horses and some kind of a bird on fire. It was really hard to get through.” “Because it’s all lyrical,” Lori said. “Total symbolism. But som e other, m ore obvious stuff is starting to happen. You know m y friend Marla? Her husband has this big deal computer job. Do you know that now they can put your whole life on this tiny chip the size of a tic-tac?” “And?” “And…well, Marla says that Eric told her that they’re trying to invent this little chip that they can im plant into the back of your hand. And it has yo ur life history on it. Stuff

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you like. Stuff you don’t like. And then another machine can scan it and read it.” “Well, that might not be such a bad thing,” Stephanie said, shrugging. “At least no one would be able to lie on a resum e or in a job interview.” They reached a traffic light. Lori turned and looked at her as if she’d started to gro w a seco nd head from her shoulder blade. The look startled Lori. “What?” “It’s the mark of the beast! Like they talk about in the revelation.” “So? That’s something that could be years away. Besides, my dad told m e that right wingers have lots of political pull.” “Maybe. But you know what’s going to happen?” The light changed and Lori had to speed away, which caused a pause for dramatic effect. When she clutched and shifted, she continued. “All the computers are going to shut down in ten years.” The prospect seemed bizarre to Stephanie, though she remembered hearing something like that. “What are you talking about?” Lori cleared her throat, straightening in her seat as if she had just stepped up to a podium and readied herself to speak. “It has to do with how they set up the com puters, back in the sixties. They only programm ed them to accept dates up to the year 1999. Once it hits January, 2000, in other words OO, it won’t recognize it. Then the computers will freeze up and sh ut down.” Stephanie said “Is that what Prince means when he sings ‘Tonight I’m gonna party like it’s 1999?’” Lori giggled. Stephanie saw that they were heading toward the highw ay interchange. “O kay,” it’s decision time,” Lori announced. “Where are we going?” As they approached the exit ra m ps, Lori jiggled the steering wheel, eyeing Stephanie with anticipation. Stephanie realized that on their previous couple of jaunts, they’d gone into Cincinnati. She blurted out “Dayton,” and Lori obeyed, angling the white car toward the left exit. The traffic light stayed green for them as they turned northward. The mom ent they turned onto the highway, Lori slapped the steering wheel and said “Shit.” “Wh at’s the matter?”

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“I forgot to get gas. It’s alm ost on fumes.” “Did a lot of cruising today?” Lori was gazing at the road ahead and suddenly she smiled, her eyes brightening up the darkened car. “There’s a place on the next exit,” she said, still grinning. “We’ll go there.” Stephanie chuckled. “What have you got that wicked grin on for? Are you having an a ffair with the guy who runs it?” “No, you’ll see.” She edged the car onto the exit ramp, pointing across the road toward a brightly-lit, colorful gas statio n. They would have to cross the road through the traffic light to get to it. When they neared it, Lori craned her neck and squinted. She then grinned with g lee. “Good. She’s working there tonight. Hey, when we get in there, be sure to take a good look at her.” “Okay,” Stephanie said, playing along. It might be something silly, or it might be earth-shattering. She would soon find o ut. “But I wish I knew what the flip you’re talking about.” When the light changed, Lori nudged the nudged the car ahead toward the entrance of the parking lo t. The pumps were half full of cars parked at them and she could see a few people milling around inside. As they entered the parking lot, a flash of maroon whizzed by. “Shit!” Lori shouted, stomping on the clutch and brake. Th e tires squealed as her little car ground to a stop. Stephanie realized that they had been overtaken by a larger, Japanese sports car with a body full of aggressive slopes and curves speeding into the parking lot ahead of them . “Son of a bitch.” The maroon car parked in a space directly in front of the store. Instead o f turning to pull up beside a pum p, Lori sped ahead to the space directly beside the maroo n Japanese muscle car. She killed the engine, clicked the shifter into gear and yanked the keys out of the ignition in sh arp m ovements. Before Stephanie had even unbuckled her seat belt, Lori had flung her car door open and stomped onto the pavement around the front of the car, to confront the other driver Rather than get out also, Stephanie cracked open her door so she could hear as well as see what was going on. The other driver in the maroon car lie scant feet from her, yet she could not see into the car b ecause the wind ows had b een deeply tinted.

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Lori stood on the sidewalk just ab ove the pavement, her arms folded across her d, as her mind catalogued the types of various thug-like personas that might emerge from the other sports car. All of them big, all of them strong, and most of them arrogant. Stephanie stared at the maroon car driver’s doo r until it opened. In slow motion, she first saw a head of coppery, curly hair emerge from above the window glass. One eye with a sly expression. He wore clothes in earth tones, with a shimmer here and a flash there of jewelry. Before he had the ch ance to raise to his full height, Lori started in on him: “Sir, were you aware you almo st broadsided me b ack there?” The man said “Well, hello! What a way to meet such a beautiful young lady.” Stooping her neck a little, Stephanie could see her friend’s expression, which had changed little as she said “You need to be m ore careful. You could kill som eone.” The copper-haired stranger had risen to his full height by then. He had to look upward slightly to look in Lori’s eyes, since she stood above him on the sidewalk. Steph anie could still not see the face of the stranger, but she could see Lori react to him. She looked at him with confused, quizzical eyes. “I would never hurt you,” he said. “Whatever!” Lori said, flipping her h ands upw ard in exasperation. She turned and trudged around to the driver’s car door as the copper haired man mo ved past her to walk toward the front door of the gas station. Lori only cra cked her door open a bit. “Are you coming in?” she asked. Stephanie opened her door, lifted herself out and followed her friend inside. The gas station was larger and brighter than no rmal, shaped like a diam ond. She suddenly remembered what Lori had said back on the connecting road befo re their near-collision. At the center of the store lay the cashier stand. A disgruntled looking guy in his early fiftie s and an extremely tall, red-haired woman worked at the registers. They wore red polo shirts with gray collars. Lori had said to look at the woman closely, but for the mom ent she was moving around too much, assisting customers, fetching cigarette packs and writing on a little clipboard. Lori headed toward the b eer coo lers. “What are you going to get?” she asked. Stephanie said “I need a drink after that little bit of nonsense.” She strode toward the wine cooler section.

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“Hey, I just tho ught of something,” Lo ri said while they were looking ove r the various green and pink bottles, “we didn’t pull up at a pum p and I came here to get gas.” Stephanie shrugged. “There’s gotta be a way they can just take your money and prepay one of the pumps. They’re not that busy.” She took a Mai-tai and Lori chose a Zima since she had once said that wine coolers were too syrupy for her. They queued up in line directly behind the guy with the coppery hair. At first, Stephanie felt embarrassed, thinking Lori would confront him yet again. His gaze was locked ahead, however, at the tall woman with red hair as she and the scruffy looking co-cashier helped a couple of customers in front of them. Something about the cashier woman’s expression caught Stephanie’s attention. Her eyes kept shifting from the man with coppery hair to the register and back again. She seemed distressed, fumbling change and credit cards as she helped the two customers in line ah ead of them . Soon the coppery-haired, solidly sta nding man reached the front of the line. He had leaned his head forward as Stephanie could see his neck strain fro m behind. Suddenly, in a loud, accusatory toe, the driver of the maroon Japanese sports car asked the red-haired cashier “Are you a dude?” The woman frowned, her brows crossing downward. Her lower lip quivered and then Stephanie noticed the light sm attering of beard stubble along her jaw line and a small Adam ’s apple. It all made sense to her after that. Had Lori not told her to look closely, she would have just breezed through the line, thin king they were dealing with an ordinary, alb eit tall and striking looking woman. The maroon sports car driver continued. “Do they let you use the little girl’s room here? I would think not.” Stephanie could sense Lori’s agitation as she stood beside her. She stepped fo rward to the counter and turned sideways to confront him . “You know something?” she told him, “You are extremely rude!” He looked her up and down again, smiling as he regarded her. To S tephanie the gentlem an had a certain overwhelming presence that seemed attractive yet ugly at the same time. He said “Well, we meet again!” Lori indicated the woman behind the counter, who wore a nam etag on her shirt that read “Raechel.” “Look how

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upset you’re mak ing her. W hat the hell as she ever done to you?” “My, my we are the fiery one, aren’t we?” Unexpectedly, Raechel began to talk, leaning forward to touch Lori on the shoulder. Her voice was husky but fem inine as she said “Lori, it’s okay. You don’t have to stick up for me. Let’s find out what he wants and send him on h is way.” The maroon Chrysler Conquest driver turned his attention to Raechel. He affected a throaty, masculine caricature of a drag queen voice as he said “I’ll have a pack of Benson and H edges ultra light m entho ls, please.” Lori put her hands on her hips, glaring at the tormenter. Raechel quickly retrieved the pack of cigarettes and took his m oney, giving out the change in smoo th, graceful movements across the counter. Quietly she said “Thank you for shopping here and have a nice evening.” “Thank you sir,” the copper-headed guy replied as he turned and strode toward the exit. Lori tsked loudly and said “You know, you are a real asshole. W hat’s your nam e, anyway?” He swerved, did an exaggerated military about-face and clicked his heels together. “Richthius,” h e said. “Try not to wear it out, babe.” Lori nodded, saying “I just want to know what to call you, instead of ‘the asshole who drives the maroon C onquest.” Richthius had already started toward the door and had crossed out of earshot. Once the door had shut com pletely, Lori turned to Stephanie and said “W hat the fuck did he say his name was? Rick-e-us?” Stephanie shrugged and said “I think he said Rickthee-us.” “Whatever,” Lori said, waving a disdainful hand in the direction of the gentlem an’s exit route. She turned to Raechel, softened and said “I’m so sorry.” Raechel made a tsking sound and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ve dealt with m uch worse jerks.” Lori watched the Conquest thunder away into the night. “Let’s see,” she said, “he has that sports car and then just came in and insulted you. Hm m. I’d say he has issue s with the size of his manhood.”

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“Or lack thereof,” Raechel said. All three of them started to laugh. Larry, Raechel’s grumpy co-worker, cam e back to his register to help the next few customers. Raech el stared to call the third custom er in line to her drawer, but Larry stopped her. “No, you girls go ahead and visit for a little bit m ore,” he said. “We’re done past our rush.”’ Lori went on: “Anyway, don’t let that Rick whatever get you upset. You know what probably happened? Someone who knows probably told him and then he decided to com e in here and say all that shit. Just to b e a dirtbag.” Softly, Raechel said “Well, I know I’m not one hundred per cent passable all the time.” She tucked her chin down, batting her eyes nervously. Stephanie had been looking at her closely some more as Lori had originally suggested. Raechel’s face had a lovely oval shape with high cheekbones. H er eyes were also very pretty, dark hazel, with a trace of an oriental slant. Her red hair was full, shining and lustrous. To Stephanie, the tall lady looked as good or better than four out of five “natural” wo men she encountered day in, day out. “He definitely heard it from som eone else,” Stephanie said. “If you h adn’t told me, I’d have never known a thing. I’d have thought, well that’s a tall, pretty red-haired lady. I wonder if that’s wh o Charlie Brown was after.” Raechel’s eyes brightened and she showed two rows of perfect white teeth when she smiled. “Well, aren’t you nice,” she said. Lori said “You know what I was thinking? Fo r every idiot shmoe like that you probably have ten other guys flirting with yo u and com plimenting you.” Raechel’s cheekbones turned pinker and she covered her m outh and giggled “Now I don’t know about that.” The remaining customer had just breezed through Larry’s line and he heard that little bit of talk. He jum ped in and said “I keep telling her. When she’s not here there must be at least six or seven guys who show up constantly, asking for her. “Aw stop,” Raechel said. “Hell, I believe it,” Stephanie said. “It should make you feel good.” “Well yeah,” she replied, getting a faraway, dreamy look in her eye.

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Lori glanced sidelong at her, chuckling. “Come on now. Tell us, what was his nam e?” “I don’t know,” she said. “He didn’t tell me. It happened on a Sunday afternoon when I was all by m yself here.” Both Stephanie and Lori had edged toward the counter to listen more closely. Since a few customers had trickled into the store, Larry had to wait on them and he fell out of the convers ation. Lori finally said “And… ,” while gesturing with her hand, beckoning to the tall lady. “Aren’t you going to tell us more?” Raechel cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “Well, anyway, like I said I was alone on a Sunday here and for a little while, it was busy. This older gentleman ca m e in. He looked like a veteran. He said ‘When are you getting the planes in?’ We ha ve th ese silver collectible planes we get in here sometimes. I told him it was usually a summer promotion, like around the fourth of July. Well, he looks at me like I’ve got another head growing out of my shoulder and said ‘No it’s not. They come in during the holidays. Hasn’t anyone told you anything?’ I said ‘Well, no sir, sorry I haven’t heard anything.’ He waved a hand at me and walked off in a huff, mum bling something. I was already in a bad moo d cause I’d had a couple of nasty custom ers before that. So when the door closes behind the guy I yell out ‘Asshole!’” “Well, this other guy comes walking up to the counter from the other direction. He looked out the do or at the guy I just cussed at and said ‘Yes, a customer like that makes you appreciate the nice and friendly custom ers you get, doesn’t he?’ I said ‘Yeah, I guess,’ and then this guy goes on and on about how he co mes to the store all the time and that I’m always so nice and friendly to him. He told me he thought I was beautiful.” At that mom ent, Raechel paused to gaze into the distance thoughtfully. She continued: “He was wearing all brand new clothes and he looked really clean. And there was something about his eyes. It was like he was looking right through me. I got this really warm, calm feeling talking to him. All of a sudden I blurted out ‘Where are your wings?’” She then paused thoughtfully Lori jumped b ack, her eyeb rows raised, as she said “Well, what did he say?”

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Raechel’s expression turned more serious as she said “He tilted his head to one side and said ‘I don’t have any. Where are yours?’” “I told him ‘I’m not an angel.’ He said ‘Ah, but yes, you are.’ And he went on to tell me I was beautiful, again, paid for his pack of gum and left.” Lori and Stephanie looked at each other. “What happened next?” Stephanie said, m ostly because she felt like a dork for standing there silent the whole time. Raechel shrugged. “I just stood there kind of dumbfounded. The next customer cam e up, a girl, and I said ‘Um, I think that was an ange l that just came in.’ Her attitude was ‘Yeah, whatever. Get me some cigarettes.’” Lori and Stephanie looked at each other again. Lori blurted out “W hen did this happen?” Raechel paused to stare languidly at the ceiling to think. “N ot this weekend, but the one before the last.” “Do you kno w ab out the imprint of th e angel on the side of that building?” Raechel paused yet again before her nose crinkled and she said “Yeah, that’s really weird, isn’t it?” “So do you think he really was an angel?” Stephanie asked. Raechel responded crisply: “Yes. I read up about them. You kno w what convinced m e? The guy left the store, went to his truck and got in. It was a really pretty midnight blue Chevy S10. He got in and started to drive away. That girl came in the store and distracted me for a second. When I looked back out there, the truck was gone!” Lori gasped. “That is uncanny.” A look of embarrassment crossed Raechel’s face when she looked sideways at Larry Stephanie took this to mean that she was emb arrassed at talking to customers for so long without doing anything else. She turned to Lori and said “So, did you need to get gas?” Lori snapped a finger and said “Oh, yes! Here we are talking the whole night away.” She fished around in her purse for some bills to pay for their drinks and to get some gasoline. Raechel suddenly lo oked sheepish. This caused Stephanie to realize that in the scant minutes they had been talking, a cornucopia of expressions and emotions had flashed across her face. She said “Lots of people hav e looked at me weird when I’ve told them that.”

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Lori shook her head gently. “No . You pro bab ly did see an angel. N othing to feel weird about.” “Exactly,” Stephanie added. She could see Larry shaking his head out of exasperation out of the corner of her eye. Lori noticed him too and said “W hat?” He had started to chuckle. “Girls, girls, girls, girls, an angel is not going to show up at a fucking gas station.” Startled, Stephanie checked to see what custom ers were approaching the co unter. There were just a couple of kids about nineteen years old buying sodas and a couple of guys in their thirties wandering around in front of the cooler doors. The manager in Stephanie was always at the ready and offended by Larry’s talk. “Why not?” Lori asked. “I’ll put it to you this way then,” Larry went on. “if they’re dumb enough to come here, then let’s also hope they’re not dumb enough for us to b e able to see them.” Lori sped things along by telling Raechel to put the balance of her twenty o n “wh atever pump we drive up to.” Once they had both finished up and said their goo dbyes to Raechel and Larry, they spo ke again once they reached the car. “So what did you think?” Lori asked when they both snapped on their seatbelts. “She’s pretty!” “Do you think she saw an angel?” “Probab ly.” They paused for a moment and Lori turned on the ignition before Stephanie added “Probably the sam e one who put up that stain pattern on the building.” Lori nodded. They spent the next couple of hours wandering aimlessly through an outlet mall south of Dayton. On the way back they stopped for a drink at a hotel bar.

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Ch apter Six Richthius was heading north on the highway. He looked dow n at his hands and feet as they wo rked the gearshift lever and the pedals. The car sped back and forth acro ss th e three-lane highway, passing sedans and darting in front of semi rigs. On the stereo, one of his favorite songs played. He sang aloud with it: “I rode a tank when the generals ranked; and the Blitzkrieg raged, and the bodies stank…Pleased to meet you! Hope yo u guessed my nam e!” Bright, flashing light appeared behind him. He stopped singing and lowered the volum e. He turned b riefly to glance through the sloping window glass in the back. Flashing blue light. In the rear view mirror he saw a white car with stripes along the hood. “Hello constabulary!” he said, as he shifted in his seat and slapped the dashb oard, causing it to change its configuration from dials and gauges to buttons and switches. “Adios amigo.” He tapped the center, where the speedom eter had appeared seco nds earlier. A luminous, neon blue haze overtook the entire car body. The details of the dashboard faded slowly, along with the seats, the gearshift levers and the steering wh eel. O utside the hood and fenders also started to vanish. Richthius laughed a long, dry, wintry laugh as he downshifted and let his foot rise from the gas pedal. Richthius’ car became a translucent outline as the police cruiser gained ground on it. Once he and the car had faded completely, he let down on the clutch again so that the Conquest paced the squad car. For a few seco nds they traveled, melding together until the po lice car slowed down. He laughed again as he saw the police car slow even further, angling toward the shoulder. For the time they had been melded, he saw a black and a white police man. While he was invisible and his car was one with theirs, he loo ked at their gauges and their toys: the guns and the billy clubs. The car angled off onto the shoulder and stopped, and the flashing lights extinguished, so he knew he had been successful. He laughed again. The dashboard suddenly glowed in a neon fuchsia hue, causing him to groan. H e resignedly hit the authorize panel. Praetorioius used the atmosphere around the car this time, creating a fleeting “mini ascension” rather than

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telegraphing his arrival. He then appeared as a gothic creature with horns, head, and shoulders only, hovering above the hood of the car as it sped along the highway. He grinned down at Richthius evilly, causing him to shake his head. “Look, I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” he started, noting that his boss had m ade the roof panel translucent, “but don’t you think you’re b eing a tad dramatic?” “You think I’m doing this just for effect,” Praetorious said in an appropriately resonant and bellowing voice. Richthius knew that shaking his head again m ight a nger his superior and get him into an even m ore vulnerable spot for further trouble. He tried a different angle. “Hey, have you ever seen ‘Th e Wizard of Oz’ or ‘Th ird Rock from the Sun?” he asked. Praetorious scowled down at him. Richthius sighed. “O kay. What is it?” His superior said “You’ve accumulated several violations.” “Are you talking about the cop car? They weren’t one of ours. You know that, right?” “I’m mo re concerned about the women at that gasoline station.” Richthius slapped his forehead with his hand. “Dude, wasn’t that part of why I was sent here? Aren’t you the one who’s always talking about balance? At beating them at their own game?” “OU R GAM E IS NO T TO STRAND ANG ELS!” Richth ius blanched from the intensified light and boom ing vocals. “O kay. Okay. I get the point.” Praetorious gave a crooked, wry grin. “Do you? Well consider yourself assessed.” Richthius winced. It was just what he was afraid of. “Assessed” meant that he’d be denied certain parts of the resource bank during his ascension. It led to less freedom to create visions and in turn, less fun. He started to argue by saying “But…” and Praetorious caused the car to slow and his legs to feel as if they were turning into jelly. “O kay. Okay. I get the picture. It ain’t cool to strand an angel.” “No, it isn’t cool,” Prometheus sneered. “And that was not a mere hornblower. It was a SQUIRE !” Richthius sank further into his seat. A squire was a fierce angelic warrior. Stranding one, even as a joke, could lead to strife between the virtuous and the fallen and it meant deep

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trouble for him . “Okay,” Richthius said, his head lowered as he struggled to maintain an aura of dignity, “I fucked up. Let me make it up to you in outreach. If that was a squire, he’ll be okay.” Praetorious seemed ready to spew fire inside the car’s interior. “He was one of ME TATRO N’S!” Holy shit, Richthius thought. No wonder why Praetorious was d ragging out all his heavy artillery. “Okay, okay,” he said, cautiously, worried that Praetorious m ight inflict pain if his attitude teetered. “It’s just one warrior. They’ll com e get him . It’ll be cool.” “For your sake, it better be,” Praetorious said, in a low growl. “Just watch it. You know, you could be grounded, too.” A moment later the atmosphere above the hood of the car cleared and Pro metheus vanish ed. Richthius breathed a sigh of relief. O nce the air completely cleared around the vehicle, he immediately noticed that his boss had suspended real time for their talk. In his rear view mirror he could once again see the police vehicle he had spooked. “The great Oz has spoken,” he said, out loud. He decided to do a test to see which of his tools and toys to see whether he’d been restricted. He tapped along the top of the dashboard, watching small screens, scrims and speakers flip out of the front and sides. Speakers formed, which broadcast a cacophony of telephon e, bar and apartment conversations. So far, so good, he thought. He would really know where he stood if he tried to engage the mini-universe, better known as the miniverse. For a mom ent he hesitated, dreading what he would fin d, but he pressed on, figuring it would be best to know soo ner than later. He flipped the switch. The pad jutted out from the console and he pumped a fist and hissed “Yes!” Anoth er screen appeared, taking the place of the car’s CD and cassette player. He invoked the network. A woman’s face appeared on the screen. Like most of the wom en who worked in support, she seem ed like a hybrid of various earthbound types. Oliveskinned, her eyes slanted just a hint and her hair was long, black, and glossy. In a studied, measured series of tones calculated for warmth, she said “Hello, my name is Persephone and my badge number is 10-236-985932-5. How may I assist you today ?” Richthius looked dow n into the sensor beside the screen and said “I want to test my link-up.

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Persephone said “Certainly, sir. Did you want limited or full access?” “Better make it limited. I’ m driving. You can tell through that thing, can’t you?” He tried to co ncentrate on his driving and the road. The car was nearing the university area and the traffic had started to thicken. “Okay.” She appeared to be glancing dow n at a keypad and m onitor while working a series of co m mands. Her biceps and upper arm s twitched slightly. Richthius glanced to his left. The city scape transformed into a rollicking, nighttime party scene with a sea of translucent people celebrating in the streets. “Looks like I’m good,” he said. The test display disappeared a second later. He slapped and pinched his thigh, feeling them tingle and heat up. “Hey, is there any way for me to tell if I’ve been completely ascended?” For a mom ent, Persephone shot him a confused, quizzical look. “No,” she said, without consulting a single screen or typing a single ch aracter. She loo ked at him unblinkingly, tensely on edge. At the sam e time, Richth ius had to concentrate on his driving. He neared the artistic district in East Dayton with the bar unwitting hosting that night’s ou treach session. “Are you sure about that? Isn’t there someplace you can look, someplace you can check?” “No . I’m afraid not.” “Do you m ind if I ask why?” She steeled her chin and said “That’s a m atter left up to the discretion of the counsels.” “Beautiful.” He expected that to be the case all along. While he m ade so me tight turns on n arrower city streets, he took his attention away from the display. Suddenly, Persephone said “Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?” “No . We’re done.” He had reached his first stop, the double-decker tavern in the art district. It suited their purposes perfectly and he felt smug as he lit a cigarette and entered the bar, allowing him self to swagger. During his other travels to the area he learned that on Thursday, college students invaded not only the double-decker pub, but the whole artistic district. They were all so impressionable, so easy. One of them, a stooping post

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adolescent with thatched brown hair and granny style wire rimmed glasses said “Hey, around here we start the weekend on Thursday night, m an.” Richthius glanced around at the faces and bodies populating the bar that nigh t and thought “All systems are go!” Not a single person above thirty in the whole place. He wondered if he looked inconspicuous or not. In the past when he had asked someone to guess his age they usually responded “Thirty-four” or “thirty-seven,” or thereabouts. He always did a walk-through when he first arrived at a site, first to get an overall impression of the clientele, and second, to note any unusual reactions to him and third, to check for doorways and hallways. Using his senses, capabilities and his own fine-tuned radar, he knew tha t m any of the boys and girls had either smoked pot, dropped speed or Quaaludes, snorted coke, or a combination of all three. Sometimes they’d even dropped blotter, a weaker form of lysergic acid dyethelam ide. It was all good. With a toolbar that to unsuspecting earth types resembled a fancy ball point pen, Richthius could check who the other wand erers were and wh ether they were available to populate the external visions. A tiny projected screen revealed their nam es: Athos, Demzedich, G rigriori and Vishnievius were a few he had worked with before. He switched off the pen, clapped his hands together and anno unced “Let’s begin, shall we?” He switched to stealth mo de, breathing in and clenching his jaws together before tripping the switch. H e still felt the fam iliar tingle and jolt. O n an outreach, he enjoyed watch ing the rickety, unimpressive doub le-decker saloon change into a multi-storied, parapetted den of inebriety. The structure of the bar, to the untrained, human eye remained unchanged. He crossed from one of the nooks of the property over a threshold to an extension. To his de light, they’d m ade it look just like the rest of the bar at the entranceway. Beyond that, though, he saw a who le room filled with smiling, familiar faces. Never mind that they were all disguised as beautiful women and men. Richthius’ friends tended to choo se the same looks for centuries on end during their earthly missions. “Hey, ugly!” Richthius called out to one of them , extendin g his hand to a tall man with smo oth, tanned skin, wearing a white blazer and

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slacks with a maroon silk shirt. His name was Dardaniel and he had been wo rking with Richthius for centuries. They had a secret handsh ake that involved a short wiggle against the palm with a middle finger and then turning their hands sideways to fo rm a “brother” type of handshake made popular during the 1970’s. “Hey, dude!” Dardaniel said. “I saw the replay on that thing you did with the cops, you dog!” Richthius was taken aback. “They replayed that already?” That was not good news. It meant that he was being watched. “Yeah! Looked like fun.” He glanced at the bar, the hallways, and the stairs, seeing only the highest-ranking players there. “Can I give you som e advice?” He edged toward Dardaniel. His associate cocked an ear toward him expectantly. “Grunge it up, guy. We’re not in a remake of ‘Scarface’ for crying out loud.” In the next instant, Dardaniel’s com plete outfit changed to the blue jeans and jacket with slovenly plaid lumb erjack shirt favored by the bar’s patrons. “That’s better.” “Did you set the controls?” Dardaniel asked. “I hope so, because that’s a lot of pressure, man. I always fuck it up.” “Yeah, it’s my sho w. Just m ake m erry.” They both checked the doorways and entrances. Bewildered looking college girls and guys started to wander in, looking overwhelmed and dumbfounded. “Okay,” Richthius said. “You know what to do.” Without missing a beat, Dardaniel strode up to the same granny-eyeglass wearing, stoop-shouldered guy Richthius had seen downstairs. “Lex, dude! Hey man,” he said, holding his hand up for a high five. Lex high-fived Dardaniel, but seemed confused. “Hey, dude, how did you know my name?” Richthius tuned in on the channel for Dardaniel’s actions and saw that his colleague had tapped into the kid’s pleasure centers. Likes and dislikes whirred by on a readout and one of the extension’s wings began to metam orphose. A rock band materialized, playing a new song called “Evenflow.” Groups of people were sitting around passing a bong back and forth. The girls who showed up soon met their dark animus who caused them to feel loved and adored. O ne agent he recognized from another round was cozying up with a blond

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who was pretty but had teeth too big for her mouth and two tone hair with strong demarcations. He looked at her as if she were the most beautiful and wonderful creature on earth. From the upper floor, Richthius heard the inim itable sounds of a screeching guitar. He became so excited he started to weave his way through the crowd and run toward the stairs. When he reached the landing, he found an empty doorway and an empty flight of stairs. He leaped up them two at a time. At the top of the stairs he heard cheering. In a small room off of one of the nooks of the second floor saloon, the real Jimi Hendrix was actually performing! “Awright!” Richthius shouted when he saw the legendary perform er, eyes closed, square in the m iddle of a scream ing guitar riff. He smacked his closed fist against his open palm, wincing at how m uch it hurt. Jimi worked his m outh open and closed in time with the shriek and wow-wows com ing from his guitar. Richth ius recognized the song as “Foxy Lady.” Like a young child he became excited over how elab orate and far-reaching the spectacle in the nightclub had become. Touching a button on h is controller b rought a series of screens into his field of vision that showed views of all the different venues. On one of the screens he saw a swarm of naked people intertwined with each other, engaged in glistening, raw sex. “W ow!” he said, out loud. Outreach rarely featured all-out orgies. Richthius wanted to observe and perhaps participate and then congratulate whoever was responsible. He groaned when he checked the quadrant, ho wever. It was back down two flights of stairs and on the opposite corner. How fitting, he thought. He considered just standing there, watching Jimi Hendrix and his band. They had moved on to “Crosstown Traffic,” and had the entire crowd swaying where they stood. H e had to check out the orgy, he decided. As the front man he was responsible for the quality of it. Reluctantly, he trudged down the stairs. Once he reached the second floor he had to cross a web of college students dancing with a mirror ball shining spectral light splashes from overhead. It would have been simple if he’d been able to just descend two flights of stairs or otherwise “blink” himself down to the action. Teleportation was forbidden on outreach, though and no one had ever been able to give him a satisfactory reason why. He had to cross the floor, worming his way through the crowd just like everyone else. The other staircase entrance lay

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over there. By the time he had juked and weaved around one gyrating couple after another, he saw the door downward. As he strode toward it however, he saw a face and a flash of long hair enter fro m his peripheral vision. A girl had apparently run across the floor to intercept him, and placed herself between him and the doorway. He looked down at her, which m ade him realize immediately that she must be sm aller than normal. Unlike his associates, who chose to display huge, brute strength in their earthly forms, Richthius decided to be more Napoleonic. The girl was cute: smooth, tanned skin, with glistening blond hair that had been tied aw ay from her face in braids. She wore a low cut tank top and jeans for a simple, understated, yet sexy look. Even in the dim ness of the dance floor he could see her vivid blue eyes flashing. He had to adm it that she had guts; she was forcing him to say the first words between them. “Well hello. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She stayed still, statuelike, smiling knowingly at him. No m atter, he realized, since it gave him time to do a quick scan. Not one of ours, he quickly concluded, doub le-checking the readout. She finally spoke in a sop rano voice that was lyrical and dripped alluringly of the pleasures of skin-on-skin contact. “You do n’t recognize m e, do you?” Consulting his readout he quickly found the girl’s name: “Brianna.” On the contrary, Brianna,:” he said, “I never forget a beautiful young lady.” She turned her head to glance at him sidelong with a slight wink that seemed calculated to tell him that she had read through his line of bull. “You do n’t really recognize me, do you?” she went on. He hesitated to let her know that he didn’t recognize her. There had been many girls like Brianna at other outreaches, however, with unabashed sensuality b ehind their every mo ve, the stars and starlets of a million earthbound wet dreams. In this w ay, he concluded that he had m et her befo re. He settled on a tried-and-true tactic: changing the subject “So how did you make yo ur way to this establishment on such an off night?” “I knew you’d be here,” she said, edging toward him, allowing her small, delicate fingertips to graze the center of his now-straining manhood.

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He instinctively reached down and drew her in to him, clutching her b elow the swell of her left lower cheek. “Ho w did you get here, really?” h e said, his voice just above a whisper. She shrugged, and even in the act of her shoulders rising had managed to show promise of white-hot sexuality. “ M y friends brought me,” she said, quietly. “They’re downstairs now.” “I mean, really,” he persisted, gazing deeply into her irises. “I assum e you kno w where you really are.” “Stand ing here. Talking to you.” Their lips only needed to travel scant inches further before they touched. When he thrust forward and their lips met, she kissed him back with a delicious swirling touch that promised of hot, wet de light and a kaleidoscope of images of them turning over and over each other in the throes of rapturous ecstacy. Suddenly, Richthius backed away. His fam ous stall tactic. “What are you on?” She had been surprised that he broke apart from her mo m entarily as her eyes widened. Her composure returned quickly as she smiled again and allowed her eyes to close to half-mast sensually. “Ecstacy,” she purred. “How prescient,” Richthius said, mimicking Brianna’s love purr. The vixen was stoking fires of lust in him but he had to watch two things: first, none of the other agents could see him make merry with an earthbound, no m atter what; second, she could still be influenced by or even in a league with Prometheus or someone even higher. They were not above manufacturing people, co mplete with h istories, to try to keep agents in line. “Whatcha thinking about, Lucifer?” Brianna asked, still in her breezy, ready-for-sex tone. Richthius suddenly remembered the loophole. He checked his toolbar and found that he had a few spacers at his disposal. A spacer w as the ability to stretch a nugget of time and space and separate it, in encapsulized form . They were most often used in negotiations where stealth was necessary. Aside form a supervisor questioning the num ber and frequency of their use, no one could trace them or learn what they were used for. He activated a spacer with a flick of a switch, selecting a replica of a Four Seasons hotel suite for his steamy encounter with Brianna. When they finished, Richthius erased her mem ory before releasing her back into the saloon

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extension. One could never be too careful, he reasoned. The act of erasing her memory wo uld also sap the effects of the ecstacy from her system and she w ould find h erself straight, back at the bar proper. Hopefully, he surmised, she wouldn’t choose to close down her dealer and demand a refund! As he resumed walking down the steps to the first floor orgy, he felt a few leftover pangs of mifftitude with himself. He’d taken a big risk in breaking from his duty fo r a tryst with Brianna, especially at a time wh en Prometheus was watching closely. After his little adventure, he checked the orgy again, delighted to find that it was still going on as fiercely as before. There was no charter against creating an environm ent where humans could h ave sloppy sex in a hallucination, after all. Richthius took in the mesmerizing site of the oiled bodies twisting and turning over one another, oozing into one another. When he disassociated himself from the action as he had, he could liken the orgy to a nest of worms squirm ing all over each other. He turned away from the orgy room, thinking that it was time to wrap things up and wind things down. When he climbed back up the stairs and out onto the strobe-lit, waxyfloored and crowded dance floor, he passed a figure outfitted in an archaic hood and-robe-outfit. A quick scan revealed him as a lesser agent, probably with Loquitos or Agam emnon. Someone who had probably been dispatched at the last m inute. When Richthius passed by the agent, he lifted his head. He appeared to be squatting down on the floor. In a resonant voice he bellowed out the word “Beware!” Richthius’ first impulse was to look down and laugh. “Is this some kind of joke?” The agent glared up at him out of unblinking eyes, the sides of his hood falling away to reveal more of his angular face. Richthius waved a dismissive hand at the sitting man and started to walk away. But the guy repeated the word “Beware.” Indignant, Richthius nudged the cloak wearer with the toe of his shoe. “Who put you here?” he asked. “Who are you with?” The man sat there silently. “I’m in charge here. I’ve never seen you. I didn’t request you. W ho sent you?” The dour looking man looked up at him again and started a long, deep, hearty laugh. Richthius trudged angrily

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away. He called an end to the entire party, knocking down all the extensions, sending the helpers packing. It had been a successful enough outreach. More importantly, it was the only way could think of to get rid of the hooded pest.

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Chapter Seven Stephanie opened the front door that morning and felt the beginning of winter. After flinging open the garage door, she hauled the trash cans to the curb , feeling the frigid cold tighten around her shoulders, hands and face as her breath steamed out of her mouth. With the neighborhood still and quiet, she could hear the fallen leaves rustle along the sidewalks in the wind. The toasty smell of burning fireplace embers caused her to think of Christmas. Afterward, she ran back inside she had to rub her h ands togethe r to warm the num bness out of them. Once she started to drive to work she hit a realization: Thanksgiving was only two days away! Would they eat at home or at her parents or Mich ael’s parents? She was driving along the route that would lead her past the gym. Surprisingly, the gaping hole at the top of the roof remained, beneath a bright blue tarp that had been slaphazardly battened atop it, flapping in the wind like the tongue of a giant toad. Stephanie had tried secretarial work before she began her career in the restaurant business and her first job had been at an insurance agency. She knew that insurance claims resulted in sheaves of paper and yards of red tape. The roof might still have the hole and the flapping tarp in Easter! They would have one mo nster of a heating bill! During the winter it would rain, sleet, or snow for weeks on end with tem peratures roller coasting between arcticlike frigidity and bone chilling damp. Some of the roads she traveled on had been built atop grades along farm land. A skid one way or the other might send her over the side. Many cars tumbled off the road every winter, laying on their sides at the bottom of the hill. She resolved to have her tires checked on her next off day. Mom ents later she arrived at the restaurant parking lot. She parked close to the back door to les sen the discomfort of stepping out into the blustery chill breeze again. That morning when she entered the back room and kitchen, she wondered what kind of a job her colleague Ingrid had done on her latest newbie. She had driven away new hires before, with her demand for unyielding, exacting precision and her iron-fistin-a-velvet-glove approach. Steph anie wo uld not be at all surprised to hear that Ingrid had driven Estes away also.

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Once inside the kitchen, she found Dottie and Millie merrily setting up the breakfast sandw ich buns, cheeses, and condiments. Victor had been hoisting boxes filled with beef and sausage patties back and forth. They were talking animatedly about how the local high school team had blown yet another chance to advance to the state finals. Millie then brought up the subje ct of the upcoming turkey day holiday: “We’re closed again this year, aren’t we?” Stephanie sighed in overly dramatic exasperation, shaking her head. “Dottie, you ask that every year, right?” “Yes,” she said, in a sing-song way. “And what do I always say ?” She winced, pretending to be afraid. “You tell that we’re going to be clo sed. But this year I don’t know. Maybe the home office will decide to get greedy and keep us open. What with us being in the m iddle of a recession and all.” “Besides,” Millie piped in, “the schedule hasn’t come out yet.” That revelation hit Stephanie like a slap in the face. “But I saw Mark working on it Monday! He was alm ost done!” Dottie gave h er a w ry sm ile She looked in the direction of the office, lowered down and whispered “You might want to go talk to Inky. I think she has something to do with it.” When Stephanie took Dottie’s advice and headed for the office, she found Ingrid and Mark talking quietly, with serious expressions on their faces. When Ingrid notice Stephanie she said “Good. You’re here. I have a question for you.” “Is it having to do with the schedule not being completed yet?” Mark, standing away from them, nodded deeply w hile crossing his arms on his chest. “I’m concerned about that new guy, Esther or whatever his name is.” “You m ean Estes?” “Whatever. I’m not sure he’s going to work out.” Stephanie felt like shaking her head and pounding on her eardrum to make sure she was hearing correctly. “But he’s so conscientious. So nice. Besides, is that a reason to delay the schedule? For just one employee?” M ark said “Well, it’s a big week coming up. Especially Black Friday.” The day after Thanksgiving received that

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nickname because it was alw ays busy with shoppers, partiers and children off from school. “Okay, that’s fine. But I’m still surprised.” Ingrid’s interrupted. “He’s quite slow to grasp everything. When it gets really busy, he’ll be overwhelmed. I’ve seen it before. This m ay not be the best line of work for him.” “It’s only his third day,” Stephanie replied, squelching the im pulse to add “for Christ’s sak e.” “Yes,” Ingrid said, nodding, “but first impressions are lasting ones.” “And he’s so interested in everything. I think he’ll work out. Just give me a chance to work with him.” Ingrid shrugged. “As you wish. He’s supposed to be in at seven . Just in time for rush.” Stephanie looked back and forth between Mark and Ingrid. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop while they both just look ed back at her. Stephanie’s hand lifted and swirled in the air as she bowed a little to address both of her immediate managers. When she realized tha t a reply was delayed (and Mark had started to smirk at her), she said “W ell? Can we at least get a schedule out? Millie and Dottie are wanting to know.” Mark smiled and gave her a quick wink. “Tell them they’ll know today.” Ingrid smiled at her wanly. “Thank you.” When Ste phanie returned to the kitchen, Millie, Dottie and Victor all stopped what they were doing, leaving the bun prep, patty prep, and milk machines unattended. Dottie stepped toward her gazing at her intently out of her large blue eyes. Dottie cringed, lowering down wh ile asking “So what did they tell you ab out the schedule?” Stepha nie sighed, forcing a smile for them. “Yes. Mark said he’d get som ething together today.” “Good!” Dottie clapped her hands together and did a little hop, which m ade her look like an elem entary schoo l girl. Stephanie said “Hey, guys, can I ask you all som ething?” They had resumed their bun or patty duties but stopped again, short, when she addressed them. “How has Estes been working out so far?” Victor had gone back to trudging in and out of the cooler, moving stock around. Dottie and Millie looked at each other with blank faces and shrugged. Millie said “Oh, he’s a really nice guy. They don’t make them like him any more. So polite. His mama must have done a good job with him.”

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It wasn’t exactly the type of answer she was looking for. Yet she had to know if anything unusual had happened during her day off. “I mean, has he been learning everything okay?” That time Dottie and M illie kept their gaze on her, yet still seemed pensive and confused. Dottie visibly gulped, her eyes shifting down. “I don’t think Inky likes him,” she said, very quietly. Millie nudged her and said “Shush, wom an! The walls have ears!” Stephanie glanced at the doorway behind her. She could hear Ingrid’s voice as she spoke animatedly. She turned back to the two wom en and leaned slowly closer to them before saying “Well, we did discuss Estes in there.” “I knew it!” Do ttie exclaimed, her eyes and m outh opening wide. “If someone doesn’t get it, snap, snap, snap, like a perfect little sold ier, she gets all impatient.” “It’ll be fine,” Stephanie said, reaching out to touch Dottie, to calm her down. “I’ll work with Estes and God willing he’ll be all right by my next day off.” “That’s Sunday. Does Inky com e in on Sunday?” Millie asked. “Pshaw, darling. It’s all we can do to get her in here on a Saturday,” Dottie said. “Phew,” Millie went on. “You know, he’s such a pleasant and personable fella you’d think they‘d want to cut him some slack. If you ask me, we need a few mo re m illion people in this wo rld like that boy.” Stephanie’s heart raced when she thought she heard footsteps. “Okay, that’s it for now.” Her crew ladies picked up their pace, toasting buns, arranging condiments and drop ping sausage patties onto the grill. She waffled fo r a m oment, unsure whether to head for the dining room of the front office. Through the windows just past the front counters and floor she could see car headlights like spotlights on premiere night in H ollywood. She walked slowly through the doorway to the front registers and the dining room, venturing up to the counter area. Both Cecilia and Troy stood at the register before a line of people four long, yet she still asked “Are yo u guys okay in there?” Cecilia spoke to her over her shoulder. “Pull up a chair! Make yourself comfortable!”

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As Stephanie signed her register on, she decided that Ingrid must have stepped into the office to run reports. She knew that both Troy and Cecilia must have been wondering when they would get help. Both of them eased their tight shoulders and stressed faces when Stephanie called her first customer forward. The frenetic pace of their orders slowed, also. The readout on the register showed the time in the upper right corner: 6:37. Still over twenty m inutes before Estes was due. In the meantime, she helped a retired married couple, the man in a flannel jacket and the woman in a dowdy beige rainco at. The gentleman spoke for them both: “We’ll each have a number three. With coffee.” Stephanie wondered if during their wedding he told the reverend “W e both do.” Stephanie keyed the information, prepared their trays, took their money and mom ents later produced two steak and egg muffin specials for them, with hash browns and two steaming coffees. She estimated that in the entire transaction they had spoken about two sentences of words between them. The next customer was a tall woman in her early thirties with a stoop-sh ouldered, timid carriage. She had tied her hair back severely and with wire-rimmed glasses and a plain blouse with a shiny chain. With a Londoner overcoat completing the look, Stephanie wondered if she was serving a teacher or a librarian. She squinted when looking up at the menu placard, which took her about a minute to peruse. Finally, she asked “Do you have hot tea at all?” The woman ended up ordering a plain ho t wate r (since she carried several tea bags in her purse for this reason) a biscuit with eggs meal on the side and a yogurt parfait. During a short lull, Stephanie watched for cars in the parking lot. Her eyes caught on to a white Volkswagen bug that sped toward the window and jolted to a stop near the curb. It reminded her of “Herbie the Love Bug.” Something struck her as familiar about the car before the lights turned off and the driver’s door opened. Rising sun had started to cast an orange glow furth er away on the horizon. Headlight beams from other cars put the Volkswagen Bug driver’s b ody in silhouette as he emerged from inside the car. The hair looked fluffy and the shoulders s mall; she may have been looking at a woman. When a headligh t trained directly on the person and she saw the blond hair and the wry grin she said “O h m y god.”

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It was Dave Diamond, otherwise known as Patrick. He opened the door, loped through and then grinned when he saw Stephanie. “Holding down the fort again, eh?” She nodded. “Y es.” “Betcha never expected to see m e back here so soon.” She shrugged while he looked upward at the at the menu placard reading over the words and saying them out loud under his breath. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw another figure approach the door, who seem ed to be staggering and stumbling. It was way too early in the morning for them to be getting drunks, so she wondered who it could possib ly be. A burly guy in a heavy coat rushed up to open the door for the staggering figure. By this tim e Stephanie recognized Estes’ red, frozen face and bunched shoulders. A look of shock must have revealed itself in her expression because it compelled Dave Diamon d to follow her line of sight toward the doorway. “Dude!” Dave called out when he saw E stes’ very uncomfortable and frosty appearing presence, “You look like you’ve been guiding a dogsled team across the Alaskan tundra.” Estes wore just his short-sleeved uniform shirt and slacks with only a thin, long-sleeved shirt over the top of it. He appeared to have walked for miles. Stephanie remembered her cold trip out to the curb earlier that morning and began to shiver all over again when she saw Estes. Time stopped suddenly when Estes no ticed Dave Diamond looking at him. With his eyes opened wide he said “Are you the man speaking on the radio?” David chuckled. “Yes.” Estes gush ed, as he straigh tened and strode up to David, energetically offering his hand. “It’s good to meet you! I listen to your show all the time in my room!” The two men shook hands and David pretended to recoil in agony. He glanced down at E stes’ hand. “ M y god, man,” Dave Diamond said, “it’s like shak ing hands with Frosty the Snowman!” Estes laughed. Stephanie shook her head, marveling at how, even in everyday conversation, Dave spo ke in a perfectly modula ted and expressive voice. “It is a little cold out there,” Estes said. He then excused himself from them to go to the back and clock in. Stephanie made a mental note to close her register down and check on Estes as soon as she finished with Dave Diamond. The mid-day deejay ordered a number 3 and a

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number 5 with two extra French scram blers, three extra steak bagels and an extra large coffee. She noticed that he refrained from ordering the sausage croissant this time. “So that guy works here?” Dave said while Stephanie rang up the purchase. “Sure does. I guess he needs to get a coat, or remember to wear the one he has.” “He’s a very different sort,” David went on. “Is he from another country or something?” “No .” She handed him his change. “Not that I’m aware of, anyway.” He was shaking his head. “He just seems so out of place somehow.” She gave him her best success smile and said “Thank you again for choosing us. You have a nice day.” The morning rush had tapered down by the time she’d finished signing off the register. She entered the kitchen again and saw Victor cleaning off the grills for the ladies while they made toast and prepared more patties. “Did Estes come by here?” Millie, who had fumbled the pieces of toast onto a platter, said “You mean Estes the Eskimo? He’s probably still at the lock ers. Defrosting himself.” Stephanie wondered if Ingrid had collared Estes for a one-on-one m otivational meeting. She felt relieved when she noticed her co-manager still sorting through sheets of paper in the office. The printer in the rear corner noisily spewed out tractor feed copies of reports b ehind her. The lockers were at the end of the hall beside the bathrooms. Even though no one ever show ered in there, Stephanie always imagined smells of sweat socks and anti-fungal agents emanating from inside. Just as she was about to knock, Estes em erged from the locker room. He sm iled beatifically when he saw her. He seemed m uch more comfortable and fresher than he had just mom ents before. She approached him and touched his wrist gently. “Estes, before we get started, I was hoping we could catch up with how things are going with your training?” He looked down at her with wide-eyed interest, tilted his head and said “S ure, that’d be great.” Stephanie guided him to the break room , a small cell just barely big enough for a standard issue display table and a couple of chairs. A television and VCR combo lie on one end

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of the table. Sometime s, Stephanie began her training sessions by showing her new employees a video about the company. She usually reserved that for high schoolers and other students, however. Estes appeared to be at least ten years beyond high school. Once they both settled into their seats, Stephanie started with “So, you told me the other day that you live off Main Street, right?” “Yes, I do. I rent a roo m from these wonderful peo ple who have a mansion there. The room is on the third floor and it has two gables.” Main Street, depending on which end, was a good four miles from the restaurant. Though she already knew the answer, she asked “H ow do you get here?” He shrugged. “I walked.” “Oh, dear,” Stephanie went on. For a mom ent she hesitated over a gentle way to ask the next question. A calm, thoughtful manner was more important than the words she spoke: “Estes, you were wearing only a flannel shirt over your uniform. Um , do you have a heavier jacket than that?” He s m iled sheepishly, showing a slight reddish tinge on his cheekbones. “No.”. “Well, we have several coats here, that we give to the people in the drive thru. You’re welcome to use one for your walk hom e.” “That’s very gracious of you.” Stephanie desperately wanted to ask the odd young man exactly how he’d come to be without a car and a coat. She knew that to pry into these matters might put him on the defensive, no matter how affable he seemed to be. Instead, she focused on their work relationship. “How are you feeling about yo ur job here so far?” Most new hire s simply shrugged and said “It’s okay,” when she would ask that question. Estes, however, brightened and gestured animatedly with his hands when he replied “Oh, it’s been fun. Everyone has been really nice and helpful.” “Wh at’s your favorite part of the job?” Estes gazed toward the ceiling, in deep thought. “Keeping the burgers on the grill is a real challenge. Sometimes I don’t think I do it fast enough.” “Is there anything you enjoy less well?” Stephanie asked the question partly of carnival sideshow curiosity. Was it

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possible for a person in today’s age to be this upbeat and unfailingly positive? He was quicker to respond. “One day when you weren’t here, the ladies taught me how to toast the bun halves. That didn’t go well. A b unch of them fell on the floor.” Stepha nie nodded, fighting to keep a straight face instead of cringing. “Okay. Maybe that will be one job we don’t rotate you through too often. Is there anything else you’ve seen that you’d like to learn?” Estes glanced skyward while thinking of what to say next. When he did that, his eyes looked liquid, innocent. “Waiting on people in their cars like Mark and th at other manager do. That loo ks like it would b e very rewarding.” She nodded. “I’ll see wh at I can do about that. Is there anything else?” He shook his head. “No. Every thing is fine.” “Sounds great.” She tapped the table near his hand. “Let’s get started.” Estes gave her a thumbs-up. They rose fro m their seats and strolled back toward the kitchen. Stephanie wanted to take him back to the grills and time him discretely to see if any of Ingrid’s “lack of progress” comments held any water. Along the way they passed the office once again. This time Ingrid sat at one of the desks, talking on the phone but staring straight ahead. When Stephanie and Estes walked past the opened office, she thought she heard Ingrid ask “Where has he worked before?” If Ingrid was calling the hiring office to dig deeper about Estes, it was troubling . Estes didn’t deserve to be railroaded out of a job just before a holiday. On the other hand, Ingrid could have been speaking to anybody about anybody. Just to be sure, however, she resolved to call Tony just before the lunch rush lest she arouse suspicion. When she and Estes took their stations at the grills beside Victo r, the mo rning rush had broken into full gallop. Dottie and Millie watched the board, splashed scrambled eggs onto molds and barked out orders for “m ore m eat! More meat!” Estes and Victor slung sausage patties in tandem. Stephanie realized that Estes was slow and deliberate, pausing now and then to watch his grill partner for an instant. He smiled as he dropped the rows of patties onto the trayfuls of condiment-laden bun s. Ingrid was crazy for suggesting that he wouldn’t work out as an employee.

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By the time rush drew to a close, Ingrid had also stepped out of the office to work on the supply order with Mark. Stephanie took advantage of the em pty office opportunity to run her own reports and tidy her files. Just befo re eleven, she dialed Tony’s number at the hiring office. “I have a couple of questions about Estes,” she began, expecting Tony to tell her that Ingrid had also called regarding the new employee. “W here did he work just before h e came here?” Tony sputtered and stumbled from the other end of the line. “Oh, it was Our Lady of Som ething or other. I don’t know. I don’t have his file right here. W hy do you ask?” Stephanie paused, stum ped. “Well it can be h ard to tell s om e tim es and I don’t have his app and social, but he seems like he’s about thirty years old.” She paused, wo ndering how ludicrous she sounded. Tony chuckled, saying “… and?” “Well, for someone of…that age, he doesn’t seem to have much experience.” Tony cleared his throat. “Steph, you and I have discussed this before. So metimes, it’s best if people co me in without a lot of restaurant experience. It makes it easier for them to learn things our way.” “True. But his…inexperience…seems to go a lot further than that. Like he’s inexperienced in…life.” She searched her mind for a moment to find the best way to express herself to Tony. “Oh, did you ever see the mo vie ‘Big?’” “Wh at’s that? A wrestling flick?” “No. Tom Hanks was in it. He’s a little boy in New York who gets m agically ch anged into a 30 year old.” Tony interrupted “Oh! Yes, yes! And he and that other guy end up dancing on giant piano keys.” “Exactly. Well, now you know what I mean. It’s like he’s eight or ten years old and trapped in the body of a thirtyyear-old guy. Where is he from, anyway?” “Here, I presum e.” “You m ean, you do n’t know?” Tony paused and Stephanie could hear him inhale. She pictured him leaning b ack in his chair, push ing his hair back with his palm. “Well, he shows up every day, right? Show s a good attitude?” “Yes. The best.” “Gets along with everyone too, right?”

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“Uh huh.” “Okay. Guess he must be a real prob lem then, right?” The flippant sounding answer confused Stephanie until she heard him chuckle again. “You’re saying I shouldn’t worry, right?” Tony sighed warmly. “It’s just that I know a good man when I see one. How he got to my doorstep just ain’t that important? Know what I mean?” “Yeah. Hey, I know this isn’t any of my b usiness, but has anyo ne else called abo ut him besides me?” Tony paused again, for a longer time. “No, Ingrid hasn’t called.” Stephanie laughed nervously.

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Chapter Eight Five-year-old Abby lived in the house beside the old mansion. In the early morning her mother would wake her up, help her get washed and dressed, and eat breakfast with her. They would then go outside to walk to the street corner and wait for Abby’s bus to kindergarten. When her day was over at school, Abby would ride the bus home and find her mother waiting for her at the street corner. They would go hom e and sometimes Abby wo uld play in her room, sometimes she would watch “Sesame Street” on television, and sometimes her mother would tell her to play outside until her father cam e home, especially if her bab y sister Kaitlyn was asleep. During the past couple of weeks, Abby liked to go outside to play because the shining man would com e by. “He probably lives in one of the room s in the old mansion,” her m other told her once, while water boiled for spaghetti noodles. “It’s best not to pay any attention to those people, honey. Anyway, next week, he’ll probab ly be gone.” The shining man was different, though. Abby had nicknamed him that because unlike other people she saw, the shining man glowed. Som e days he walked slowly on his way to the mansion, as if he was tired, though most days he seemed happy. Almost every day he smiled at Abby, waving to both her and her cat Bootsy. Abby wanted him to talk to her, to see if he sounded like a shining man, too. That afternoon, she asked “Mom my, can I play outside?” Her mo ther was pushing the funny square broom over the carpet. “No, I don’t think so, honey. It’s kind of chilly outside.” When she said no, her eyes always looked worried and she shook her head. “Please? Can I? The sun is still out.” He moth er sighed, stopping in mid stroke on the carpet. “Okay. But wear your heavy coat with the hood. And come inside the mom ent it gets dark out. And if you get cold, com e in right away.” Abby’s pink heavy co at shimmered with white fringe around the edges of the hood. She worked the knob on the heavy doo r of the ho use, heard the creak of it opening and a mom ent later stepped out onto the stoop. Ever since Halloween, the sun made everything gold and orange after she

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came hom e from school. She looked across the yard, at the mailbox, the street and the sidewalk near all the b rick houses on the other side in search of the shining man. Bootsy had her own door in the back, near the garage. She stayed outside in the afternoon and always came in at dark, whether it was winter or summ er. Abby looked at the house with the b rown trim that looked like a gingerbread house. An old man lived there, on the corner of the next street. When the shining man would come hom e, he would turn the corner just past the old man’s birdhouse-shaped mailboxes. Mo re cars and trucks drove down the street. Mom mies and daddies were coming home from work. Abby ran around the lawn, searching for Bootsy, who was a ginger, tabby-striped cat, white underneath. Her mother and father had given her the nickname because of the white fur starting at her ankles and covering her feet, making it seem as if she was wearing boo ts. Abb y liked her cat’s soft, cuddly fur, though, and would often hold her while sitting on the couch. Sometimes Bootsy would com e into her room when she was sleeping and jump on top of the covers, snuggling against her. Abby looked alongside the house, in the half-moon wells for the basement windows. Bootsy often curled up in there, especially when it was cold outside. When she walked and skipped along the brown grass and the driveway gravel, she saw her bre ath em it little wisps of steam. In kindergarten that day, Miss Grism er said that with Thanksgiving the following week, Chris tm as was just around the corner. They had already put up lights and decorations in the town square. “Hey Puff,” she called out, from the front of the house, wandering around to the side, “Come here fluff.” So far though, there was no sign of her pretty, ginger-and-white cat. Many times Bootsy would come to her, tho ugh, if she would sit still and sit quietly. She would run from her hiding place and com e find her. Sitting quietly would also let her watch for the shining man to come hom e. She walked up to the stoop and sat down, gazing out at the street corner and at the front of the old man’s gingerb read house. Cars still drove by. Mrs. Deweyer coasted by in her green car and waved to her. “Puff, puff,” Abby went on, whispering it this time. “Hey fluff.” She stayed very quiet and still and could hear car engines and people shouting to each other from a couple of

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streets away. Som e bir ds chirped from far away, as if the perched high in the tree branches above h er. Sho rtly after that, the birds chirping ended. Abby sat still on the edge of the stoop. She heard Bootsy’s meow first. It was a long, high-pitched meow that sounded like the music they play during sad times in the movies. Abby followed the direction of the sound and saw her cat skipping over the stones on the gravel driveway. She continued on with her long meow until she reached the stoop and rubbed her soft, furry body against Abb y’s leg. “Hi Puff-puff,” Abby greeted. She petted the top of Bootsy’s head with her palm and the cat lifted herself up, driving her head against Abby’s hand. Ab by looked dow n to see whether the cat’s breath was coming out in tiny wisps of steam the way hers was. Her cat, rather than continuing to meow had started to purr loudly instead. Abby wondered whether her mother inside and even the people at the old mansion could hear Bootsy when she purred that way. It was loud! Bootsy was try ing to cuddle herself up in Abby’s lap the way she did when she w ould sit with her when she was on the couch watching television. With her knees bent, tho ugh, it left too little room for Bootsy to rest against her, however. The cat fell off her leg and rolled against the stoop. “Oh, no! Puff! I’m sorry!” She reached down and lifted the ginger cat by the shoulders, glancing across the street and down at the corner. At that moment, she saw the shining man as he stepped onto the road, to cross it. He looked both ways before venturing out onto the blacktop. Someone had given him a coa t. The orange setting sun cast a yellow hue over the shine she saw in him. He was starting to walk toward the long, winding driveway of the old mansion. Abby was going to call out the word “Hi!” but the shining man turned suddenly. She chose that moment to say “Hi!” to the shining, beautiful man. “Well, hi,” he said, stopping, turning to look at her. Abby still held Bootsy by the shoulders. “Would you like to see my cat?” she said, lifting Bootsy toward him. “Yes!” he said. “Y es, I would.” The shining man started walking toward her. He was smiling in a peaceful, contented way. Sometimes her kindergarten teacher looked like that at the end of the day. As he neared her, she thought she saw a couple of pictures with him in them: in one, he was much, much taller, wearing a suit of silver arm or, carrying a

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bow and arro w. Or, instead of navy blue slacks and a navy blue coat, he wore a flowing gown that billowed away from him even though there was very little wind. When he had com e to within just a few feet of her, however, he changed back to the same shining man she already knew, in the navy blue pants and coat. He crouched down onto his haunches, saying “W ell, hello, little girl. What’s your nam e?” “Abby.” She gazed at him, wondering if he would turn into something else yet again. “What’s your nam e?” He looked down at her for a long m om ent. “Estes.” Abby had never heard a nam e like that before. A boy in her kindergarten class had been named E van and that was the closest. “This is my cat Bootsy,” she said, holding her up to him. He reached down and glided his hand smoothly along the top of Boo tsy’s head and her spine. She closed her eyes and continued to purr. In Abby’s hands, she felt limp, relaxed, yet she could still feel her cat lift herself to nudge her body up against Estes’ touch. Something else happened after that: though the shadows had lengthened with the twilight, Abby, Boo tsy and Estes basked in a pool of bright ligh t and warm th. Sh e felt as if she’d been put in a big bubble where the rest of the world was shut out. She wanted to take off her coat since she was so warm . Estes’ fingers gently glanced over Bootsy’s head as he stroked the tips of them along her fur, smoothing it. The cat continued to smile while pressing herself against his touch. “She likes you,” Abby m urmured. “Do you have a cat, too?” “No .” “Do you have your o wn room in that house where you live?” “Yes.” She paused for a m om ent. “Are you from heaven?” Abby watched Estes’ face and expression while he thought abo ut what he would say to her. It was the same kind of concerned, yet peaceful look in her father’s eyes when Abby asked him “W hy did m y goldfish die so soon?” Estes smiled in a small way, bowed his head slightly. “Yes.” Abby was in awe but felt a great sense of calm at the same time, sheltered by the warmth and safety of Estes’ cocoon. Then the huge, heavy doo r of her h ouse creaked open, causing

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the bubble to burst, bringing back the chill and the late afternoon long shadows. Her mother peeked out at them from the other side of the opened door. She was wearing her apron and her mitts. “Abby, honey, it’s time to co me in.” She immediately no ticed Estes kneeling down alo ngside her. “O h, hello.” “Th is is Estes, mommy. He has his own room in the mansion. Isn’t that neat?” “Yes, honey, that’s very neat and very nice. Now, I’m sure that Mr. Estes has plans for tonight, too. Let’s let him get back to his house so he can get dinner and we can have dinner, too.” “Can’t Estes have dinner with us today?” Abby said, excitedly. “He’s really nice. Bootsy really likes him.” Her mother started to speak, with a furrowed brow of concern, but Estes spoke first. “That’s a very tempting offer and perhaps I can accept sometime. But tonight I must get back to my room.” “Yes, honey,” Abby’s m other said. “ Co m e inside now.” Abby turned to Estes and said “Bye, bye angel m an. I have to help with dinner.” She leaned toward him and lifted up her arms so that he could hug h er. It was the same thing she did with her father when she was getting ready fo r bed. Estes hugged her in a way that felt as long, deep and warm as those she received from her parents. She felt lost in his embrace, as though she’d languished in it for ten minutes or more. Wh en they finally let go of each other, she expected to see her mother tapping her toe, frowning while standing at the door. Yet, sh e loo ked the sam e as she had before, the first time she’d looked out. Once Abby re-entered her ho use, she ran to the couch by the living room window on the right side, behind the coffee table. She watched E stes walk the rest of the way up the blacktop driveway to the m ansion, his back to her.

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Chapter Nine Estes continued around to the back entrance of the mansion. The b lacktop driveway widened there and formed a parking lot for the resident’s cars. He saw the sam e three cars every day: a yellow one with rounded edge s tha t looked like a giant bird’s egg with windo ws; a sm all, boxlike vehicle with chipped blue paint and tinges of a reddish brown discoloration someone told him was rust; and a large dingy gray car with big, plain black tires. That day, however, a fourth car had parked in the lot, and looked m arkedly different from the others. It was a smaller, maroon vehicle with graceful and stylish sloping lines. Between the parked cars the blacktop and concrete of the parking lot had cracked, and bits of earth and brown grass peeked through. Estes glanced at this and then opened the back entrance door. He stepped inside a small foyer that led to a well for the three flights of stairs that led to his room. Another door immediately to the right led to the McElfresh residence. As owners of the building, they lived on the first floor. Estes knocked on the heavy doo r. He could hear rustling papers on the other side and then a series of footsteps padding toward the door. The creaky sound of hinges opening was reflexive of the age of the house itself. In the next m om ent, Estes came face to face with M rs. McE lfresh, a fair-skinned, redhaired woman with a warm, gentle, matronly smile. “Hello Estes,” she said. “Did you have a nice day at work today?” She stepped aside and made a sm all hand gesture, inviting him inside. “Chilly enough out there for you?” she went on, “we’ll probably be looking at snow soon.” The doorw ay led directly to the McElfresh kitchen, filled with furniture made of dark, hard polished wood. Shiny, shellacked brick tile gleam ed underfoot. “Yes, we got paid today. He handed fifty dollars over to his landlady, then clapped his hands and shuffled back and forth on h is feet. “Well, I’d better get on up to my room . I don’t want to keep you from dinner o r your family.” “Okay.” She lo oked at him quizzically, but with a hint of concern. “Is everything go ing along ok ay up there?” “Oh, yes, fine.” He dug his hands around in his coat pockets and started to walk out the door. As he started to put his hand on the doorknob, he stopped suddenly. “Actually, there is something. Would you m ind telling me again about the radiator? I’m still not sure I’m working it properly.”

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Her eyes widened for a mom ent. “No, honey, that’s okay. It’s going to get cold tonight and we want to m ake sure you stay warm up there. The radiator works best when it’s opened all the way. You just want to find the knob at the end and turn it hard, counter-clockwise.” “Counter-clockwise?” Estes repeated. “Yes. To the left, in other words.” She narrowed her eyes while she looked up at him, her eyes blinking rapidly. “I’ll tell you w hat. When Everett comes hom e, I’ll send him up to help you with the radiator.” “I really wouldn’t want to inconvenience him,” Estes said. “H e works hard all day.” “He’d be glad to.” She patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Okay.” He turned again toward the doorknob. “Oh , do you need a receipt?” “No ma’am .” Estes left their residence and push ed his way into the stairw ell. Rather than follow a squared pattern the way stairs did in newer buildings, the stairs at the old mansion ascended in a spiral. The stairwell smelled as if the bottom floor had flooded years before and allowed to dry in a dank, musky mildew. Most of the steps groaned and creaked. Estes appeared to be favoring certain steps over others as if he were a child superstitiously avoiding cracks on the sidewalk. He reached what he thought should have been the third floor but stopped, looking at a continuation of the stairwell. The temperature inside the hallway had dropped several degrees. He could see his breath steam in the dim ness. When he reached the third floor, he stood there for a mom ent, then backed up. It appeared that he decided to retrace his steps as a way to se e if he’d traveled as far as he thought he had. He stepped one flight dow n, two flights down, till he arrived at the door leading back to the parking lot, with its pane of glass reflecting the darkness. His features distorted into a quizzical scowl once again. He backtracked, re-tracing his route back up the stairs, crouching down, moving slowly upward. A flash of fear stole across his expression as he edged closer to the third floor. When he arrived there, he saw an additional stairwell. His lips parted for a moment as he gazed at the sight with concerned, fear-filled eyes. He swallowed. His breath continued to steam in the stairwell, the mist lit by unshielded bulbs in soft, yet glaring light. For several minutes he stared at

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the extra stairway, standing as still as a statue. H is expression held a look of dreaded anticipation as if he expected the door to burst open and so meone to trudge dow nward from there. H e gathered his nerve and climbed the additional flight upward, the air feeling warmer and warmer with each slow step. He looked all around at the ceilings, the floors, and the steps of the phantom add itional set of stairs. The paint looked old and faded, just as it had for the rest of the stairway. The walls seemed just as bland, painted a depression-era lim e green. He reached the landing and the closed door, staring at it for a long while. He would tilt his head while gazing at it and would also squint in attempts to gain varying perspectives. After a few more moments of this, he quickly jabbed at the doorknob, twisting it open quickly. Estes instantly saw that the inside of the fou rth floor was much, much different from what he knew on the third. For one, the ceiling loomed very high above him, forty feet at least. He h ad walked from the doorway directly into a huge room rather than a hallway with several rooms branching from it. He stepped gingerly into the room, looking down at his feet, looking ahead at a hug e fireplace. The shellacked hardwood flooring creaked quietly beneath his steps, causing him to wince. When he realized that the room was so brightly lit, he looked upward, toward the ceiling. Two chandeliers of ornate crystal reflecting shimmering light hung from there, creating splinters of sun and shadows over the fireplace. Several Indian rugs had been placed along the floor with organic earth tones of burgundy, tan and brown. On either side of the wall opposite the chandeliers, high windows had been cut into the plaster, with arcing top sills. The leaded glass had been split into sides that could be opened but lay flat, probably because of the cold weather. Estes continued to stare at the fireplace as he approached it, appearing mesm erized by it. As he kept walking, he would shake his head and blink. The room seem ed to be increasing in size, the walls pulling away from each other, putting the fireplace farther and farther away from him. He walked, undaunted, and started to make progress on reaching the brick fireplace. When it loomed closer he could see marble surfaces on the mantel and ornately carved lions and winged creatures populating the sides. The well of it

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seemed spotless, as if the fireplace h ad never been used for its intended purpose. Mocking the pristine artwork, sm all black objects began to drop out of the maw of the fireplace. Instead of hitting the brick floor with a thud, the objects took flight and a couple of them buzzed right over Estes’ head. He ducked and juked quickly to avoid the flying black rodents. A swarm of them followed, darkening the air around Estes’s head, surging after him like a cloud of killer bees. Estes turned and ran, crou chin g down while his legs pumped. The doorway on the other side receded away from him as he ran toward it. A few bats nipped at his neck and ears as he screamed and swatted at them. He shouted “Richthius! I rebuke you! Richthius, I rebuke you!” He quickly gained ground and for the last few yards toward the door he took long leaps, throw ing him self toward the doo rknob. When he reached the doo r he yanked at the doorknob violently, diving into the hall as a few bats flapped and squeaked behind him. Once he’d made it out into the hallway, he leaned against the back of the door, panting, huffing and puffing. He strained, leaning back against the wood, his eyes shifting back and forth. His chest rose up and down as his onrushing breath sounds filled the hallway. Little by little he calmed as his breathing slowed, his chest rose and fell at a lesser pace, and he allowed himself deeper breaths. Carefully he pushed away from the door and stepped slow ly, lightly across the hall. He opened the doo r to the stairwell and slipped behind it, quickening his pace as his feet padded down the steps. He swung the door open at the bottom of the steps and jumped onto the hallway of the third floor. The bathroom light had been left on, and from down the hall he could hear m usic escaping from Merilee’s apartment. She was Mr. And Mrs. McElfresh’s daughter. The sounds helped calm him further and his tensed shoulders relaxed. H e started to reach into his pocket for the room key but stopped. Instead, he turned around and looked back at the stairwell door. Quickly, he turned around and paced back towards it. For a mom ent he stopped to think before reaching for the doorknob. H e inhaled and quickly twisted it. After another moment of stationary hesitation, he inched forward. Once he’d leaned forward enough to see into the stairwell, he looked up at a solid roof.

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His eyes widened as he shut the door and moved slowly toward his room. He wore an expression of mixed bewilderment and relief while keying open the door and walking in. Since the third floor was the top, Estes’ room showed where the roof met the walls in angled planes. His two windows also formed the gable s that could be seen from the outside. It was possible for h im to sit inside the little hollow formed from where the gable had been set into the roo f. Es tes had placed one of the stuffed chairs inside there. The room also contained two twin beds, a chest of drawers made of varnished, blond wood, and end table with a lam p and a small desk with a desktop lamp and green lamp shade. Once inside the room, Estes dropped his new coat atop one of the chairs before sitting atop the bed. The bedspread was soft and contained raised fibers in a pattern of who rls and circles. He liked to graze his palm over the fibers, following the curves and arcs. After he finished with that he sighed, then closed his eyes, sitting up straight. His features quickly smoothed out and became serene while his lips mouth ed small words, barely making a sound. His skin also started to glow, in an aura emanating from him as he sat perfectly still. Three sharp raps on the door startled him and his eyes popped open instantly. H is norm al hue returned. “Jus t a mom ent please,” he said. W hen he answered the door he saw Mr. McElfresh looking back at h im, hallway light glinting off his silver framed glasses, still wearing his blue-gray work jumpsuit. “Hey bud,” he said with a smile. “My other half said you needed someone to show you abo ut the radiator.” “Yes sir.” Estes stepped aside so that the landlord could come in. Before closing the door he glanced again at the ceiling.

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Chapter Ten Tim disliked the colder weather. Som etimes it started in the beginning of October and kept going until Easter. Some year, hopefully soon, he vow ed he would b e working radio in southern California. Or at least Florida: anyplace where he could drive without sliding off the road and would be free of shoveling snow or chipping ice off of his windshield. H e wondered why his Beetle was always so cold on cold mornings. The vinyl seats would stiffen up like a piece of concrete and inside it felt as if som eone had turned the air conditioning on and left at full blast for hours. Weren’t Beetles made in Germany? Didn’t it get cold there? Even if he gunned the engine and turned the heater up all the way, it would still take until he reached the Slop Spot befo re the f irst zephyrs of warmth arrived. He had called the fast food place by that name even b efore finding the slimy substance on his sausage patty. It was just an affectionate moniker. Usually the food was good and fresh and he respected the way the m anager girl had handled the entire “spit” incident. Someone else might have gotten defensive, saying things like “None of m y em ployees would do such a thing,” and blah, blah, blah, blah. Instead, she’d just calmly looked back at him, looked at the messed-up croissant and calmly refunded him for a whole bag of food. She reminded him of the haunted-looking frail girls in scary movies whose friends get murdered while having sex, leaving her to fight the boogeym an at the end. Would she be working today? By the time his car had clim bed the little hill toward the flat top area where the restaurant lay, he looked inside. As his car put-putted along the access road into the parking lot, he could see figures moving around inside and he noticed the fasttalking redheaded bitch along with the future G.I. Oh well. Maybe he could pretend som eone spat on his sausage patty, to get everyone’s blood flowing. Tim had taken to wearing his down coat all the tim e over the pas t couple of weeks. As he parked the car and flicked the door open, he zipped it up. Wind whipped up and ove r the hill and across the parking lot, making a short jog across the parking lot seem like a trek across the tundra. When he entered the store, the redhead at the counter widened her eyes, pretending to be surprised and overwhelmed, putting a hand on her heart in a grandiose show of fake emotion. “Oh my god,

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it’s Dave Diamond! Quick! Som eone call the paper! W e have a celebrity in our midst!” Tim thought he heard the future G .I cup his hands and pretend he was doing the station ID. He wound his way through the amusement park style line divider maze and stepped up toward the redhead. When she saw him approaching, she said “The usual?” H e took a m om ent to let the smells of the dining room sift in, the metallic sizzle and toasted bun arom a that all fast food joints shared. Added to that was the scent of the m aple syrup and the nutty sm ell of the hash rounds. “Yeah,” he replied, “but no coffee this time.” Suddenly he remembered som ething. “Hey, is ‘Nature Boy’ here?” The redhead with bright green eyes tilted her head and looked at him with wonderm ent. “Nature boy ? Who’s that?” Tim shook his head, remembering once again that not everyone understood his bag of weird nomenclatures. “That new guy,” he explained. “The one who looks like he just came off the Mormon Tabernacle choir or something.” The puzzled look on her features relaxed and she nodded, smiling. “Oh. You m ean Estes?” “Wh o? Essex?” “No. Estes. He’s here. You want me to get him ?” Tim shrugged. “Sure.” A few moments later Estes appeared, sporting the same blissed-out, deer-in-the headlights look. Tim wondered how long the guy had been in the country. W ith his height and sharp features he looked like he might have come from Scandinavia or som ewhere. Estes’s eyes brightened when he recognized Tim. “Hey, trouble,” Tim said to h im , “ho w’s it going?” Estes stopped, gazing at the ceiling for a split second in a ponderous pose. “Troub le?” he asked . “What trouble?” “No, no tro uble,” Tim said. “It’s just, you know…an expression.” He quickly realized the futility of trying to explain colloquialisms to the odd young m an and stopped him self. “I expected to hear you talking on the radio when I got up,” Estes went on, “but it was som eone else.” “My show has been moved to m id-days,” Tim explained. He still wasn’t sure if it was a step up or a step down, even though he was getting a raise. Thinking about it made him uncomfortable so he slapped his hands together and

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changed the subject. “So, what exciting plans do you have for Thanksgiving?” Estes straightened his shoulders and beamed proudly. “My boss Stephanie wa s kin d enough to invite m e to celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday with her and her fam ily.” Tim had to shake his head to make sure he was hearing the guy right. It seemed to him like he was watching a real life version of a Saturda y N ight Live spoof skit, “Properman” or som ething. “Well, that was really nice of her.” In the next beat he realized Estes was talking about the manager lady who’d dealt with him after the “patty spit” episo de. Sud denly an idea cam e to him . “Hey, Estes, you want to come to the radio station som etime and come on the air with me?” Estes started to look puzzled again. It was another thing that intrigued Tim: in the course of two seconds, a slight frown, and a narrowing of the eyes, Estes looked like he could draw on all the world’s spirit and knowledge before answering a question. “What would I do on the radio show?” “We would b oth just be in front of microphones talking, just like we’re doing here.” Estes nodded. “Do yo u want me to come today? I don’t know if I can get leave early…” “No, no, it doesn’t have to be today, man. Just whenever you h ave your next day off.” “That won’t be until Sunday. Are you on the radio on Sunday?” “No. I’ll tell you what. We’ll work something out, bud.” He gave him a playful tap on the arm. Estes had to get back into the kitchen after that. Tim placed his order with the fiery red headed lady who, and this time he read the nametag on her shirt, which said “Cecilia.” He ordered three sandwiches, a pancake meal and French Toast sticks along with an apple pie. Many places looked at him through narrow eyes after he would place an order like that. Though he was beginning to gain belly girth, norm ally his turbocharged metabolism could burn everyth ing off. His mother kept say ing “Yo u can’t eat like that forever.” He zipped up his coat for the trip out onto the tundra, relieved that the wind had died down by the time he pushed his way out of the door. The rising sun also warmed him . It might get to be a good day after all. Later, when he arrived at the radio station, he entered through the back door at the edge of the parking lot. The

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station had been built back in the 1950’s and Tim guessed that it had only been repainted and thoroughly cleaned only once in the forty years since. A faint musty odor clung to it th at m ay have been the result of millions of cigarettes smoked in the break room or hundreds of sweating deejays. It persisted no matter how many times all the windows had been opened to air the place out by cross winds. Tim stopped at the break room first. He had to pass a couple of cubbyhole style recording nooks along the way and received a big surprise by the time he rounded the corner. Usually, the two large round tables seated four com fortably and no more than three or four people could be found in the room at one time . That day, though, the air was filled with loud debate. At least six guys sat there, along with Tracy, one of the receptionists. Tim wondered if he had actually stepped in on a meeting. They were all speaking passionately. H e instan tly recognized Terry, one of the fast-talking, rug-wearing account executives, standing in a corner. He liked to wear suede blazers with elbow patches, as if he was a college pro fessor. Willie, the big-gutted, curly-haired deejay from the AM country station was sitting down, occupying a space large enough for two peop le. There was also Fred, who Tim had nickn am ed “Spo ck Jr.” Tim gave the station’s senior engineer that name even though he w as short and stocky with light brown hair, looking m ore like a cuddly human teddy bear than the ultra serious Vulcan from the Star Trek television sho w. H e did speak in a monotone, though, and usually conversed abo ut cut-and-dry, matter-of-fact, nuts-and-bolts subjects, like engineering. After that, there was Rick, an extre m ely tall guy with b ony joints and a pencil-thin mustache. To Tim he looked like the character Errol Flynn played in the old pirate movie “C aptain Blood.” Lastly there was Steve Slade, the son of the mid day guy Sam Slade, from the AM country station. Tim did not know m uch about Steve except that he was a churchgoer and that his haircut was too conservative, buzzed very closely from above his ears downward, with just a thatch on top of his head. Terry spoke the loudest. He clearly led the group, leaning against a table over in the corner. Once Tim heard the cacophony of conversation, he set his bag of food on the table in front of the em pty chair between Fred and Steve. “What are you all jabbering about?” he asked as he pulled the chair away from the table to sit in it. Terry said “W e’re going to war, man.”

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Tim chuckled. He had heard the grum bles ever since that summer, when Iraq had taken over Kuwait. “War? No way.” Terry laughed in his hearty, boom ing way. “Yes, way.” “Who’s going to invade Kuwait?” Tim asked. Tim gazed back at Terry for several m om ents, wh ile everyone else in the room chuckled. Fred said “We are. When you rip and read that shit on the air, doesn’t any of it ever sin k in?” “Are you kidding?” Stephen put in. Tracy, who was pleasantly round, with luxurious blond hair, said “This is the end times we’re in. There’s just so m uch going on, just like it says in the Bible.” “What are you talking about?” Terry said, lifting up his chin when he was addressing Tracy, “the Rev elations?” He waved a hand dismissively at her. “I tried to read that a couple of times. Just a cryptic bunch of sh it about one eyed giant eagles and pillars of fire. Didn’t make no sense.” “Well of course it won’t,” Tracy snapped. “Not if you take it at face value. You kno w what I think? I think the pillar if fire is the oil wells.” That brought a loud guffaw from Fred. “Hey, I’ve got a question,” Tim said, raising a hand as if he were in school. “What the fuck is Kuwait, and why should w e care?” Tracy shot him a nasty glare, instantly reminding him of her constant him of her constant snippin g at th e men in the building for using bad language. Terry just stared. “That’s a rhetorical question, isn’t it? Cause I know you haven’t been living under a rock for the past five m onths.” “Unless this is Dave Diam ond’s evil twin D r. Sapphire!” Steve b lurted out, laughing loudly and slapping his thigh. Everyone else ignored the silly joke. “Well, it’s about oil, I’ll tell you that right now,” Tim went on, sipping from his coffee and crunching on hash rounds at the same time. “We bled ourselves dry and now we gotta go to the towelheads for o ur oil.” “They ought to fry that Saddam Hussein character,” Fred said, slowly, methodically, as if he were a judge passin g down a sentence. Tim had heard that name in the news and he also knew that they spoofed him in the movie “Hot Shots, Part

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Deux.” “Yeah, driving in and taking over that little country. That was really low.” Through gritted teeth, Terry m ade his next point: “That ain’t the half of it. That dude’s just like H itler, man.” “Hitler?” Tim said, through a mouthful of food. “What does he do, put Jews in the gas cham bers or som ething?” H e heard his mother yelling inside his head to swallow his food before he started talking. He washed down the rest with coffee. “Worse,” Terry went on. “Did you ever see ‘Who Framed R oger Rabbit?’” “Yeah, I did. Best cartoon I ever saw. Even had live people in it.” “Do you rem ember The Dip?” Tim thought about the movie for a mom ent and remembered a cartoon baby shoe being dissolved in a vat of glowing green liquid. “Yeah, I rem ember.” “Well, ol’ S ad da m has a dip, too,” Terry said, nodding to make his point. “A big vat of acid. He dips people in it.” “Wh o?” Fred blankly responded “Kuwaitis, Kurds, prisoners, his own people. Basically anybody w ho pisses him off. But what’s really sick is the way he does it. Just a little bit at a time. People can feel their flesh boil and fizz and fall off their bones.” Tracy waved her hands in front of her face and said “Ohm igod! Stop it!” She clapped her hands onto her ears. “Sometimes, he just does them head first,” Terry said. “Hey, hey, hey, guys. I’m trying to eat here.” He spoke loudly enough to drown everyone else out. Desperate to change the subject, he turned his attention to Terry. “You know what surprises me, Terry? Weren’t you a hippie radical back in the sixties?” Terry smiled smugly. “That was a long time ago. Do you see long hair? Do you see a headband? Love beads? Besides, those poor Vietnamese people were rice farmers, man. They didn’t dip people in acid.” Steve was looking across the table and chuckling. When Tim followed his line of sight, he saw that Tracey was still covering her ears. “You can take your hands off your ears now, honey,” he said. “We’ve stopped talking about gross stuff.” She’d even shut her eyes tightly. Cautiously, though, she brought her hands down from her ears and opened her eyes.

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Shaking her head, Tracey said “I swear this is the end times. Too m uch stuff going on.” Fred snorted. “They said that in the year 1,000. They said that before Jesus when people were getting fed to the lions. Hell, the cavem en probably said to each other ‘You know what, Oog, this is the end times. It happened to the dinosaurs; it will happen to us, too.” Terry, Steve and Tim laughed at Fred’s joke but Tracey continued: “W ell, what about all the computers! I heard all the com puters are going to shut down in ten years.” Tim shook his head and pretended to do a cartoonish double take. “What?” “That’s a load of crap,” Fred said. “No way is that going to happen. W here’d you hear that, anyway? Cosmo politan?” “My uncle told me,” she said. “He said that they haven’t se t th e m achines for enough spaces for the year 2,000 or som ething like that.” “What’s your uncle do? Repair vacuum cleaners? They’ll have something figured out by then.” Tracey straightened, lifting her chin. “He is in charge of the data processing for a big chemical company. He’s been working with computers since I was a little kid, when they used to use these cards in them .” “They’ll have it fixed,” Fred repeated. “Well, the weather’s been funny, too. Last year we got snow before Halloween and then that earthquake hit San Francisco.” “So?” Terry said. “An aborigine caught a rabbit on the outback, skinned it with his bare hands and now he’s eating it.” Fred and Steve giggled but Tracey lowered her head, squinting, with her mouth open. “Huh? What does that have to do with anything?” Terry raised a finger in the air triumphantly. “Exactly! Thank you!” “You’re weird, man,” Fred said. “I think you did too much do pe back in the sixties.” All the men laughed over Terry and Fred’s conversation. Tracey persisted: “What about that angel on the side of the building?” The laughing stopped. Tim remem bered hearing a new s story ab out a glass building that had a layer of dirt or oxidation form into a pattern that looked like an angel. He had driven by it once. To him it looked like the snow

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angels that he and his friends from the neighborhood made when they were growing up. Fred and Steve just shrugged. Terry said “It reminds me of something I saw on TV where they had this ghost face in the linoleum pattern on the floo r.” Steve snapped h is finger, his boyish features making an exaggerated “Ah Ha!” expression. “And when the tornado hit the gym building, that was the devil, right?” Fred, Terry and Tim let out a little chuckle over the remark. Tracey, still remaining serious, said “Hey, it just might have been. The way things are going in this world right now.” Tim had finished two croissants and was working on a cinnamon roll b y this point of their conversation. “If it’s the devil, why is he being so vague, then? You’d think he’d want to take over a TV station and put devil stuff on TV all the time.” Tracey opened her eyes wide, theatrically. “All this filth they have on no wadays? H e’s got one already, b aby.” Steve said to Tim “Hey, m ayb e you should find him and interview him on your radio show .” The notion knocked Tim on the head like a wet snowboard. He had discussed with Estes the possibility of doing a rap on air. That inno cence, that overw hel m ing kindness behind his eyes, could it be? Nah. Terry said “Dang! The boy went into a trance or something. Maybe he’s possessed. Just like Linda Blair. His head’s gonna turn all the way around and he’s gonna puke green shit!” Even Tracey laughed, somewhat nervously. “Yeah. You got really quiet there all of a sudden.” “Just thinking,” Tim said, with a shrug. Not long after that Tracey had to return to her post and the im p ro m ptu discussion broke up. Fred had to trudge off in another direction to repair some failing equipm ent. Steve’s father was coming off the air soon and they were going to record some carts together and meet with the station owner about holiday promotions. Tim stuck his head into the studio and grabbed his shift’s traffic schedule from a clipboard hanging near a clock. Sam Slade was in the m iddle of a station ID but waved to him as he leaped into and out of that studio. Tim sat down in one of the smaller, windowless record ing nooks to read his schedule. Greg the program manager had quit with the goofy on-air spots at least for now. Yet across the top, he’d handwritten and triple underscored three words: “Billboard, Billboard, Billboard.” It made Tim ’s

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eyes roll. He also badgered him abo ut saying the call letters more often. About the time he finished with the schedule, he heard aggressive, quick footsteps booming toward him. Loretta, the tall brunette news lady storm ed in . She was wearing one of her pressed skirted suits, in a burgundy, the kind Tim said made her look like a TV news anchor, which was what Loretta aspired to. With her lush, conservatively styled hair, clear, fair skin and flashing green eyes, Tim thought she was certainly attractive enough. As he watched and listened to her, he felt strongly that she showed a hard-bitten iciness, her jaw constantly set and poised for attack. Her skin, while clear, also had a tendency to “shine up,” especially around her nose and cheekbones, which he supposed would create lots of extra work for the makeup lady. While Loretta talked to Tim, she leaned against the workbench, lifted the toes of her stilettos off the floor and rocked gently on her heels. In spite of everything, he found the move sensually m esmerizing. Luckily, her conversation distracted him . “You wanna hear the latest on little Sladey’s exploits?” She referred to the morning guy as “Sladey” and his son Steve as “little Sladey.” Part of Steve’s job was to prepare news and com mercial spots out of record ings the various talent had made. “The little prick fo rgo t to hit the red button on the cart. Wh en I hit it on the air I got some garbled mumbo jumbo from some fricking town hall meeting last week. Made me look ridiculous.” Tim said “G ee ho n, I’m sorry to hear that. What did you say? ‘Sorry folks , but the fuckwad morning deejay’s son screwed up again.’” She laughed, her face and expression losing most of its hard edges. “Seriously, though. He only works here because of Sam. As incompetent as he is, he’d be lucky to get a job flipping b urgers.” The remark hit him as a little off, but he didn’t know why. He said “Babe, when you’re on CN N, you’ll forget this who le place even existed.” She smiled at him, but with the lower part of her face only. “You really think I could go all the way to CNN? That’d be awesom e.” She excused herself right after that, possibly to daydream about being on a newscast seen by m illions of people. Though she would also do the news during Tim ’s show, she would leave the studio entirely during her

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hiatus betw een the m orning and afternoon spots. Sometimes she went all the way to south Dayton and back. Tracy, Jillian, and a few of the other women in the station whispered that Loretta was having an affair with R ick Horansky, one of the news anchors in Dayton. Tim had started at the radio station as a third shift board operator four years earlier, back when the FM side was all country and th e A M side was classic oldies. From 10pm to 6am they played a satellite feed from California, and Tim’s job was to babysit equipment, watch the news wires, record carts from the race results and the police scanners and answer any telephone calls that came in. Then one of the weekend deejays on the AM side got fired for smoking dope in the studio and Tim took over his shifts along with board opping. The owner then decided to go 24-7 live and he thought he was a shoo-in for the third sh ift slot on the FM side, yet it went to an outsider. Things progressed that way fo r a year and Tim actually became goo d friends with the guy they’d hired fo r third shift. Along with everyth ing else, Tim still did errands for the news department and the station owner and tagged along to prom otions at shopping centers. Then came the format change. The little station, in a sleepy little area in southwestern Ohio, decided to change its form at to progressive rock. This was the luckiest thing for Phillip, the guy who worked on third, since his background had been in alternative and progressive rock at an even smaller radio station near the Pennsylvania border. The station owner and program managed awarded Phillip the 3PM to 7PM drive time shift, and he started using the name Rick o’Shea. That left the Monday through Friday third shift open. By that time Tim had been at the station for over three years: board opping, filling in whenever someone called off; running all the picayune little errands they asked of him. He had learned that there was no such thing as a “shooin.” Finally, Ted the program director called him into a meeting with the station owner. Just after the three of them had sat down Ted blasted through the ice by saying “So Tim, how’d you like to be our new overnight guy?” For the rest of the meeting the three of them discussed the pitfalls and perils. Night after night, they said, he would be alone in the studio and the entire station. Yet, as a board op,

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he’d already been responsible for all the meter readings and equipment checks for both the AM and FM sides. H e would have to answer all the incoming phone calls, they said. Again, this was nothing new: he’d talked to lonely old ladies, night owls who listened to country, and freaks out there who were looking for a willing ear. A guy with a nasal speech impediment repeatedly called the station with “news tips.” When the man actually gave him a useful lead about a fire in the area, Tim m ade a special trip to see him. The m an lived way past the outskirts of town on an unpaved road. Even in the dim twiligh t Tim could see roo fing tiles missing and front porch pillars broken on the ramshackle house. The siding had chipped and peeled paint and Tim hoped they would sta y outs ide for their little talk. All the windows were intact, but dusty and dirty. Tim shuddered to think wh at lay beyond them . He had brought the nasal caller two large bags of potato chips, just as he’d requested. The man appeared totally different from what he’d imagined. During their many phone conversations, Tim had envisioned a frail, scrawny guy with thick glasses. Instead, he m et a burly guy with a big beer belly who reminded him of Bluto on mescaline, even sporting the same kind of a thick, scruffy beard. “What are yo u doing with an old hand-me-down veewee?” he asked. “I thought you’d come out here with a new car.” The man’s mother, a pale, washed-out, used-up looking woman in her late fifties to early sixties appeared. Waving her arms, she ran out to Tim and started jabbering staccato nonsense. Her son chased her back inside the house saying “Mom, you’re supposed to be taking your nap n ow,” as he grabbed her arms and forced her through the door. Tim left not long after that, and never heard from the guy again. In the fall of 1989, Southside Johnny announced that he would be leaving the station to do mid-days in Detroit, a much larger and more varied market. By then Tim had spent nearly four years living like a vampiric mole. During the week, rather than sleep away the daytime ho urs, he would often just nap and then do his errands before returning to the studio to help Phillip with his show before he would go on the air himself. On the weekends, he would unplug his phone and sleep, and sleep, and sleep. By the fall of 1989 dark, raccoons half moons appeared beneath his eyes and all th e years of eating

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on the run had given his thin fram e a po tbelly, m aking him look as if he’d swallowed a basketb all. His favorite aunt invited to their fam ily’s Labor Day picnic and shortly after he’d arrived, she looke d h im over and said “W hat are yo u doing to yourself?” Sho rtly after that, Phillip said “They ought to give you the day shift, man . You live, eat, breathe and sleep this place.” Yet Terry in sales told him “They want to go with a woman on days. Som eone who can do reports about the soaps, play mushy songs and shit like that.” Tim said “But, this is progressive rock.” Terry just shrugged. Over the next few days, a parade of women came through the station to see Ted Martin. During the lunchtime bull sessions, Terry, Fred and Steve would take bets and suppositions on who Ted wo uld cho ose. “D id you see the tall blond with the big ones? That’s who’s going to get it,” Steve would say. Fred wou ld counter “Ted’s gay . He isn’t going to care.” The very next morning when Loretta arrived, she signaled for him to talk to her during his next break. When he did she told him “I had a long talk with Ted yesterday. He said he’s going to interview you fo r mid-days.” Less than a week later, Tim was at the mike during daylight. After his first mid-day shift he hung around the studio and helped Phillip. At home in the one bedroom apartment he’d kept for the past two years, he watched prim e time television and fought off feeling bored and useless. When his head hit the pillow later, he felt as if he’d been making up for a hundred years of sleeplessness. Ted kept the soap opera updates out of Tim’s m id day show. Besides plugging in the usual spots and promos, he gave Tim freedom to do whatever he wanted on the air. He offered only one suggestion: “You need a catchier on-air handle.” After ten minutes of brainstorming them came up with “Dave Diam ond.” Tim devised the intro for the show, using the trumpet fanfare from the Adam Ant song “Desperate, but not serious.” At first, he was cautious since he knew that program change decisions could happen overnight. After his first year, how ever, more and more of his personal touches made their way into the show. He invited a friend he’d known at a college radio station in Kentucky to have a regular slot on th e progra m. It was Jay, a huge-girthed guy with pale skin and a bristly mustache. Jay became “The Fat Man,” and he would do

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movie reviews and current events commentary. During his comm entaries, he would assume a less assertive voice and intentionally misstate the issues for laughs. He would en d the comm entaries by saying “I’m the Fat Man and if you don’t like my opinion, I’ll change it.” People who listened to his show from the office, the loading dock, or the factory all seemed to like the crazy conversations he had with his radio guests above all else. He and The Fat Man would discourse about the importance of little toes, about whether sperm can swim upward, about whether a child who was cloned and later abused by his parents could sue for wrongful birth. Tim also worked out a comedy bit with another friend of his named Rich. Rich could make himself sound like an aggressive lawyer, a wimpy delivery guy or even a heavy smoking wom an on the telephone. Over a three-week period, Tim had Rich call in to the station pretending to be a listener com plaining about one of Tim’s chats or Fat Man’s comm entaries. During one afternoon, Tim decided to rip off a routine he’d heard at the college station. When Tim picked up the phone on the air and said “Rex 105,” Rich’s voice cam e on the other end of the line: “Hello, may I please speak to a station m anager or ow ner, please?” “Hey, you’re talking to him. What can I help you with?” Rich cleared his throat. “Well, it’s come to my attention that one of your on-air personnel has made disparaging comments about em ployees of convenience stores. I am a manager of one of the type of stores you are lampooning and I’d like to get to the bottom of this.” “I see. Well, what kind of comments did the employee make?” “I believe it was ‘dot-heads.’ Yes, that’s right. Dotheads. He referred to em ployees of convenience stores as dotheads.” “Oh,” Tim said, pausing deliberately. “Well, if you ca m e into a store and saw someone standing behind the counter with a big dot in the middle of their forehead, what would you call them?” “Hmm, well I guess I would think they were of eastern Indian descent. But what does that have to do with anything?”

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“A lot. Really, though, if you saw a person with a dot in the middle of their forehead, wh at would you call them?” “I just told you! I wouldn’t really call them anything! I would just think they must be from India. Sheesh, I wonder where you’re going with all of this.” “Well, let me put it another way. If you saw someone behind the counter with a b ig, wide rear end, w hat would you call them?” “I…I…don’t know. I suppose I would think that maybe they needed to lose weig ht. What on earth are you getting at?” “But what would you call them? Someone with a big, wide rear end.” “I…I…um , you’re trying to get me to say ‘fat-ass,’ aren’t you? Now, I don’t like that!” “There. Now was that so hard?” “W hat? Now I’m really getting uncom fortable with the responses you’re giving me. May I speak with your supervisor?” “You’re talking with him.” “You’re the supervisor?” “Yep.” “Well then, what’s your name, sir?” “Hanwo od.” “Hanwood? And can I get your last name, please?” “Jablom ey.” “ H anwood…Hanwood Jablom ey. N ow let me write that down.” Tim starts to chuckle quietly. “Er…what’s so funny?” “You, you lo ser,” and then there is the loud clunk of a telephone line disconnecting. After a fe w m onths of novelty, everyth ing m anaged to be co m e routine and familiar, and many days Tim just went through the motions. Something new and exciting needed to happen, but what? The station owner was a devout Christian. There was a limit to what he could do or say and even a do uble entend re like “Hanwood Jablomey” was pushing it. Maybe that Nature Boy he’d invited to come on the air would stir things up a little. If he decided to come on the air, that was. That Monday late morning, Tim felt that he needed to goose him self o ut of h is rut. He watched the cart count down while he anxiously adjusted his headphones. The cart faded,

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counting down to zero on the readout, and Tim tripped the mike back on. Fred, the engineer p assed by the window with a confused expression. He was used to hearing the trumpet bla res when Tim began his show. “ H i all of you out there in radio land,” Tim started, feeling as if he should be wearing a sweater, sneakers and a chee ry sm ile, “this is Dave Diamond and I’d like to make an announcement about…turkeys! Yes people, this is the Monday of Thanksgiving week and it’s time to give these noble birds their due. You know, when ou r forefathers were signing the constitution, they considered using the turkey s our national bird instead of the bald eagle. And schools of noble, beautiful wild turkeys roamed our land, revered b y the Indians.” He paused fo r dram atic effect. “But now, now…we slaughter them by the hundreds of thousands and stuff th em , slather them with gravy and serve them with cranb erry and sweet potato casserole.” H e paused again, to let his last statement sink in. “And don’t get me started abo ut the disrespect! ‘Turkey ’ is synonym ous with ‘stinker,’ ‘failure,’ or ‘bomb’ in our society. If someo ne calls you a turkey, you are a loser. W ell today, in honor of the noble turkey, I’ve planned a m usical tribute! You’re listening to Rex 105 and I’m Dave Diamond!” He tripped the switch on the CD, knowing that the music started almost imm ediately. Through his headset and the studio speakers, the opening of the RED Speed wagon song “Unidentified Flying Turkey Trot” started to play. K evin Cronin, their lead singer, shouted “How about a little Turkey music!” and a carnival-lik e instrum ental track with lots of screeching, raucous guitar started playing. Fred passed by the window again, just in time to see Tim playing a few chords of air guitar along with Gary Richrath, the RED Speed wagon lead guitarist. Fred stopped, watched Tim for a few seconds, grinned wryly and continued on down the hallway, shaking his head. The rest of Tim’s air shift continued and he felt amazed at how little he had to do. They’d hired a college kid as an intern to take out the trash, do the cleaning and even rip the news feed. He stared blankly at a wall filled with CD shelves, realized that his salary had doubled, yet he was working about half as much. His mother, sister, brother and grandm others all said the sam e thing: “It’s you r reward! Kick back! Relax! Enjoy the fruits of your labor!”

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He wished that he could. As he fired off another comm ercial cart, a realizatio n hit him. “Essex,” the guy at the fast food joint fascinated him because he was a guy who wo rked at a slop job flipping burgers and, as far as he could tell, had almost no possessions. Certainly not a car. Yet, he seemed like the h app iest guy in the world! Like he was going h om e to Kim Basinger every night or getting serial blowjobs from The Fly Girls. He knew it had to be something m uch, much m ore, however, and that was why he wanted to interview Essex. For the first hour of his show, Tim simply ran the CDs, plunged in the carts and gave the ID air checks as required by the traffic log. At twelve o’clock, Lunch M ania hit, and he knew from all th e calls and letters he received, that people really did listen to him at their desks and in employee lunchrooms during their breaks. Loretta would come in and do news during the top of the hour. Som etimes sh e and Tim would talk briefly , especially if one of the news item s was weird or disquieting. That day she talked about Desert Sh ield in terms that m ade his eyes glaze. After Loretta finished, Tim would pick up a couple of network feeds for the Wall Street outlook and th e fa rm report. He often thought about pointing out how both of those items clashed with the stations “progressive” label they were trying to cultivate, but he figured, why rock the bo at? It all led up to the reason he looked forward to his Mond ay and Friday afternoon phone calls from Jay, “The Fat Ma n.” After hearing about the latest corn or hog futures, he saw Fred the engineer poke his head through the glass door into the studio. “He’s on the phone, man,” he said. Tim connected Jay and he played the forty-five second promo tape introducing him. It came from a 1940’s recording: “Occupation danger! Who is it? THE FAT M AN!” Immediately after the intro, Tim would open the phone line for Jay. “Hey bud dy,” he would begin, as always, “seen anything good lately?” Jay’s burly, beefy voice cam e over the line: “Well, this weekend I let them fire up the DeLorean and blasted off to the W ild Wild West in Back to the Future, Part Three.” For the next few minutes, Jay gave his critique of the movie, which he said was “po pula ted with all the old saloon characters and ne’er do wells from every western ever shown on television or at the movies. He also mentioned that the 1880’s version of Biff

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Tannen was just as much of a dolt and a bully but was also a dirty, black suited outlaw. Tim said “I don’t know why everyone hated part two so mu ch. I thought it was way cool, like a twilight zone episode.” “Oh, you do, huh ? Well then do you think we’ll all be driving around in flying cars in twenty-five years? Or that kids will have skateboards that float?” “No way on b oth counts. People are crumm y enough drivers on the ground! It’d be a bloodbath! And they are nowhere near close to inventing som ething as cool as hover boards.” For the rest of show, Tim laughed along with Jay at all the appropriate times. When they finally hung up from each other, he slumped in his chair. Jay had found a job as a stockbroker and worked during “m arket hours” so he could not come in the studio to do his part of the show any more. Another drain on Tim ’s energy level. He coasted along for the next hour, knowing that at three p.m. Phillip wo uld arrive. He wore his mirror sunglasses and carried three different bags of his water, food, original sound cartridges and notepads. W hen he saw Tim he said “It can’t be that bad, it’s only radio.” Tim took the m ike for one last tim e to deliver a station ID and then dro pped a cart for a prom o about “Black Friday” at Bennie’s, a meat-market nightclub near the interchange. He and Ph illip switched places, with Phillip placing his various luggage item s at various places around the sideboard. As he was about to put his headphones on, he took off his sunglasses and looked again at Tim . “So, you look like you walked in on your girlfriend polishing som e other guy’s knob or something. What’s going on?” Tim shrugged. “I do n’t kno w. Just kind of bummed.” Phillip raised his hands, indicating the heavens and the studio. “But it’s a holiday weekend coming up! Four whole days, man! Chow on turkey! Make fun of your relatives! Party! Party! Party!” Tim shrugged again, lifting his finger and making a “lasso roping” gesture with his ind ex finger. “Yay.” Phillip raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated, overly dram atic way, like a silent movie star. “Wow, you are bumm ed. Don’t yo u have any plans?”

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“Besides sitting around and feeling sorry for m yself? No.” Phillip straightened up and glanced mischievously at him . “You could h elp m e out at 2112 on Friday night.” Tim groaned. “That’s your answer for everything, isn’t it?” “As long as you keep turning me down, I’ll keep asking.” Phillip worked a side gig that Tim considered was quite weird. H e ran lights and so und fo r a drag performer named Lilly Vanilly. The performer’s given name was Kent and several years before he had created an uproar in a rural com munity by insisting on co ming to school dressed as a girl. “I’m sorry,” Tim said, checking the countdown. “I really didn’t plan on getting AIDS this weekend.” Phillip rolled his eyes around. “How many times do I have to tell you?” He em phasized their height difference by standing ramrod straight as he looked down at him. Tim knew what was coming next so he chimed in so that they could both finish Phillip’s comm ent in a chorus: “that’s a Right Wing Conspiracy.” After that, Tim went on: “Yeah, yeah, yeah, and the m afia killed Kennedy, Jimm y Hoffa’s buried in the end zone at Giant’s Stadium an d W eight Watchers makes people fatter, not thinner.” By then the countdown had wound down to zero, and Phillip to grabbed the mike. “Hey, how ya doin’! Rex 105. Here’s a new one fro m R.E.M. as we rock around the block out of scho ol!” The song faded in and witho ut missing a beat, he turned back to Tim and said “So, are you com ing or what?” Tim waved a hand dism issively, as he picked up his briefcase. “No , I’m just not into that.” Phillip smirked. “So what are you going to do? Stay home, get drunk, watch porn and whitewash your living room wall?” Only Phillip could get away with saying that, Tim thought. “No. I’ll do something. I just don’t know what, yet.” He suddenly remembered Phillip’s girlfriend, a cute, fragile looking girl wh o lived near Ph illip’s hometow n. She went to Ohio University. Her name started with an “M” and ended with an “A,” possibly. “What about your girlfriend? M aria, or Miranda o r something?” “Mirtha.”

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“ W hatever. What does she think about you doing all of that?” “She knows Lilly. They’re friends. They share makeup and hair tips.” “Mirtha doesn’t mind you going to a gay bar?” Phillip let out a sm all snort and smirked again. “You know, 2112 is not a totally gay bar.” “It’s not?” “Have you ever been there?” “No .” “Well, there’s all types of people there. Some goodlooking women, genetic, straight as an arrow who just like to dance and have a good time.” “Yeah. In a place where they don’t have to worry about guys drooling over them. Because they’re chasing other guys.” “Wrong again. Downtown might be like th at, but 2112 is huge, man. You’d have a blast. Besides, I need someone to help me run sound. It’s not like you’re going to be standing around with your thum b up your ass.” On that line, the cart readout dropped to zero, and Phillip scram bled to fire off the next song on the traffic log, nearly missing the cue. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll go.” He wondered if h e would regret it.

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Chapter Eleven It was the day before Thanksgiving and Abby’s mother was trying to defrost a huge turk ey. She had laid it out on the counter in a big oval pan. The skin of the turkey was milky and wet, and bum py. It reminded her of the way her own skin looked when she got out of the pool on a cool day. Her mother also chopped vegetables: green celery, shiny peppers, and onio ns that caused her to sniffle and leak tears from her eyes. At school Abby had learned about the Pilgrims. She thought their clothes looked funny. The m en dressed in black jackets with a big b elt at the waist that m ake them look as if they were wearing a sh ort dress. Underneath the jacket they wore pants with knee socks and shoes with big buckles. On their head they wore a big hat that looked like a sandbox bucket turned upside down. The lady pilgrims wore long dresses with ruffles that looked like a few of Ab by’s nighties. The kindergarten teacher said that one of the pilgrim lady’s names was “Abigail.” They looked at a slide show where the lady held a stick through the hole of what looked like an upside-down wooden garbage can. Sh e wore an apron and a cap that co vered her head and ears, fram ing her face in white ruffles. The teacher said that the pilgrim lady was making butter. Abby told her m oth er all this while she helped her with the vegetables and the turkey. W hen she looked out into the living room, she noticed that the falling sun had tinged the walls, carpeting and furniture golden. That meant that it was almost time for Essie the Angel man to come walking around the corner. She asked her mother “Can I got outside and play with my friend?” Her mother was rolling dough with the wooden rolling pin for an apple pie crust, one of Abby’s favorite desserts. “It’s getting a little late, honey. Your friend’s mom and dad are probably going to be h aving dinner soon.” “But he doesn’t have any mom and dad. It’s Essie, that man wh o lives next doo r.” Her mother put the rolling pin aside, straightened and looked at her for a long time. Abby could see the ruffles at the top of her mother’s apron move up and down when she breathed. “Okay Ab by. But please stay out on the stoop, just like the last time.” Abb y clapped her hands together joyously.

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She ran to the hall closet to get her coat. Excitedly, she knew that along with waiting for the Angel man, she could also coax her cat to come inside. When Abby stepped outside and closed the wood door and the screen door behind he r, she felt the warmth of the sun. At the same time a breeze tickled her cheekb ones with a fro sty chill. More cars drove on the street than usual during the longshadow time just before the sun went down. She could also sm ell the fireplace wood burning, reminding her of Christmas. They’d put up the Christmas d ecorations on the streetlamps and street signs. Green, fuzzy ropes hung from lamppost to lam ppost, and a silver bell hung from the lamp itself. Abby sat down on the stoop, the cold concrete jolting her small bottom through the corduroy pants she wore. Once she warmed herself enough, she scanned the front yard with her eyes. “Boo tsy!” sh e called out loudly enough for the cat to hear without scaring her away. “Come here kitty, kitty, kitty.” Recently the cat had been using her door at the back of the house more often. She would come in at night while she and her father watched television and her mother fed her baby sister. Bootsy could be roaming around the mansion next door or she might be walking in one of the neighbor’s yards. Abby looked at the street corner a couple of houses away, and E stes suddenly appeared. She wondered if he just “popped” into view when she blinked, like magic. He wo re the same navy blue slacks and coat with his cap, b ut just as before, he continually changed while he walked toward her. He started as an ordinary looking man wh o wore restaurant uniform clothes to a winged, huge man with long flowing hair and a shield, to a bearded man in an army uniform. Abby locked her gaze o n him as he approached. When she thought he was close enough to hear her and she called out “H i!” and stood up fo r a moment to wave at him. He saw her, recognized h er, and smiled in a way that caused him to glow from inside. He had been walking fairly slowly, but when he saw Abby, he picked up his pace. The air around him, especially around his face and head, emitted rays of light. Bootsy also appeared. She skipped along on her little legs, meowing loud and long as she moved. When she reached Abby, who was sitting on the stoop, she lifted onto her hind

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legs and leaped at her, rubbing the back of her head and the top of her back against her thigh. Essie’s body, face and character continued to change befo re her eyes as he walked toward her. This time the costumes he wore looked different: first, flowing robes and a headpiece that reminded her of one of the three wise men from Christmas manger scenes; then a soldier’s uniform of drab green pants cut off at the knees and billowing, paired with a double-breasted jacket that seem ed too small; and finally, he changed into a strong looking man with knotted-muscle arms wearing a skirt that appeared to be m ade of slats of wood, with a chest piece above that made of shim mering, silvery metal. That uniform stayed on h im as he walked tow ard her, and it looked like the sleeveless tank shirts men wore during the sum mer. She wondered how he was keeping warm while wearing so little. As he neared her, she learned why. A w arm th pervaded the air when he arrived along with the light that emanated from him. The metal shirt also seemed molded onto his chest, as if a blacksm ith had hammered it out aro und his body and then fastened it in place with bolts. And he had grown. Abby looked at him in awe as he walked toward the house. She hoped he would want to come insid e this time and that her m other would welco me him . He was so tall while wearing the arm or that he might not be able to fit through the doorway, however Abby glanced down at her cat and saw that she had lain down, her front legs resting across her lap. She had been so enraptured she hadn’t even noticed her cat lying on top of her. In the split second she looked away, however, Estes changed back into his normal self, the sm iling m an wh o wore the restaurant uniform and blue coat. The glow aro und his head remained and she felt a tingling inside when he looked down at her and said “Well, hello again!” Bo otsy the cat climbed down off of her and turned toward Estes. She lifted up onto her hind legs and rubbed against the side of Estes’ leg. Reflexively Estes reached down and petted her with a slow, gentle hand. She closed her eyes and purred. To Abby, it looked like her cat was smiling. Abby said “Do you want to have Thanksgiving dinner with us tomorrow?” He smiled, rhythmically stroking Bootsy’s soft fur and turned to Ab by, to look deeply into her eyes. “O h, beautiful child, that is such a nice gesture. Yet, my em ployer h as invited

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me to celebrate Thanksgiving at her home and I have already said yes to her.” Abby smiled and paused for a moment to think. Sudd enly she had a great idea. “Christmas is not far away! Maybe you could come to our house for Christmas dinner! Oh, it’s so good! Sh e makes ham with a yum my honey sauce and m ashed potatoes and green beans.” Estes was grinning, looking b ack at her until his face and eyes started to change yet again and he shrank, also, so that for a mom ent he appeared to be a little boy, just like the ones she sat next to in nursery sch ool. Som ething moving on the road caused Abby to look away from Estes for a moment and toward the street. She saw a small maroon car driving slowly toward their driveway. W hen it headed towards them and it caused her to feel queasy in her stomach. Usually, she could look through a window of a car and see the person inside driving it, however the maroon cars windows were dark green. She turned to Estes and noticed that when he saw the car, his eyes lost their sparkle and his lips and mouth formed a small “o.” It was the first time she’d see the Angel Man with a serious expression. The car also looked different from most others Abby had seen. Her m other and father’s car was big, high and boxy compared to the small and low maroon car, which looked like a giant wedge of cheese. It sped along, making a thrumming noise but it slowed down wh en it reached the mansion. To Abby’s astonishment, the maroon car turned into the driveway. Could it be one of her uncles or aunts or a friend of her fathers? “Who is that?” she asked, hoping Estes would know. Estes shook his head slowly as they watched the lowslung vehicle coast to a stop on the concrete driveway. From where they sat on the stoop they could see just shadows through the car’s front windshield. Abby could make out a head and a face and she could see arms and hands moving around the steering wheel. The engine stopped and the car sat silently. Abby knew that meant that the driver turned the keys and had taken them out, just as she had seen her mother do dozens of times. The person sitting behind the wheel of the maroon car took much longer to get out than her mother usually did, however. Time seemed to stop and the breeze had stilled and Abby wondered whether the A ngel M an was still breathing. Eventually the driver’s door of the maroon car cracked open, as

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the door moved slowly. It reminded Abby of the lazily waving screen door in the sum mertime. Som ething scared her. When the door had opened wide, she could see someone emerge from the car. At first she co uld see the top of his head, then dark sunglasses and a twisted smile. When he rose the rest of the way above the car’s roof, she could see that he wore a black leather coat, also. Abby glanced over at Estes, who was intently gazing at the m an who had stopped over to visit them. She heard the car door close gently and she watched the man walk around the edge of his car. Estes’ face started out expressionless, like her father’s when he was angry and driving. When the man came around the front, sloping edge of the car, how ever, and saw Estes he grinned, showing white teeth. Abby could see that the bla ck coat reached all the way down past the blond man’s knees. He started to speak, in a sing-songy, exuberant voice. “My m an! Ho w’s it hanging?” “Richthius,” Estes said, lowly, “w e meet again. Could you please tame yo ur language in front of the little girl?” Richthius lifted his hands in the air in an overly theatrical display of shame and said “Oo h! Sorry! And just who is this beautiful little doll?” He bent at his waist, putting his hands on his knees while he looked at her. “My nam e is Abby.” Richthius heard her words and closed his eyes, smiling as if he had just heard a stirring excerpt from a classical romantic overture. “Deligh tful,” he said. Abb y saw a ligh tning bolt streak through the sky and silently strike a patch of grass the next yard over fro m theirs. He took a few more steps toward them and lifted his sunglasses, perching them atop his crown and his thick swatch of hair. He loo ked at Estes with a crooked smile saying “So, brave knight, how are things in the ham burger preparation business?” Estes said, his tone slow and measured. “How do your superiors fell about wh at you’re doing?” Richthius shook his head and chuckled lightly. “They’re all fine. Making the rounds? Making sure peo ple have a good time when they go out to celebrate? Sure. It’s my job.” Estes jumped right in with “You know what I’m referring to.” Abby noticed that their voices took on a more bellowing, hollow tone, the way voices sounded in the huge, cavernous m useum she’d visited with h er class once.

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Abby had always seen Estes as the “Angel Man,” always smiling and happy. It distressed her that this man’s presence could cause him to become solemn and lowvoiced. “Do you live around here?” she asked him. “No, child,” Richthius said, smiling again, chuckling. “I am mo st decidedly no t from around here.” “Do you and E stes come from the same place?” Estes looked dow n. Richthius’ eyes opened wider as he put his hands on his hips. He shrugged a little, the way all adults did when they were unsure of themselves and he said “Yes, darling you could probab ly say that.” Abby looked at Estes, who was shaking his head, looking back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t believe you,” she said. Richthius laughed. Looking down at her intently, he said “H ey, I like this little one! She’s fiery.” Calmly, Estes said “I think she’s a good judge of character.” Richthius raised his eyebrows in an expression of exaggerated surprise. Abby said “My friend does not want you here. You should leave.” Richthius’ expression changed from surprised and jovial to one of incredulous disbelief. His features then quickly changed back into cocky rowdiness. “What’s the problem, hon? Worried that my hot rod will block the driveway when your daddy gets hom e?” Abby had never seen or heard of a grown up acting like the blond headed man named Richthius. On one hand, he spoke slowly and used lots of big, important sounding words. Yet there seemed to be a mean edge to his tone of voice, especially when he spoke about her father. He seemed like a naughty little bo y wh o had suddenly grown big, into an adult. She said “You know what? You’re not very nice.” Richthius then did something that surprised Abby and seemed to surprise Estes, also. He sighed lightly and sauntered over toward the both of them . He strutted directly toward Abby, bent from the hip and leaned forward when he’d come to within a few feet of them . “You say that now, my little darling,” he said, reaching forward to lightly touch her cheek “When you get older, you’ll change your tune.” Abby sensed that E stes was go ing to say something. The house’s front doo r creaked open behind them, however,

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sounding like a gunsho t. It startled her and she turned around to see her mother standing in the doorway. Her mother said “Honey, it’s time to co me in for dinner. It’s getting dark out here.” When she turned around to look at the driveway, she saw that both Richthius and the maroon car were gone.

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Chapter Twelve

Stephanie eased her car through the “old money” section of town where Estes said he lived. Som eone had told her that the steel mill on the outskirts of to wn had been thriving and prosperous, especially during World War II, something having to do with possessing a lucrative gunmetal contract. Many of the huge, fancy houses had been b uilt during W o rld W ar I, when the mill started. They used Germ an and Dutch architecture. As Stephanie drove down the treelined streets, she thoug ht th at it must have been a beautiful neighborhood back in the fifties and sixties. When the recessions of the seventies hit, the steel m ill decreased by half, ad then when Reagan took office, it decreased by half again. Many people lost their jobs. Some moved, some stayed, but people seemed less able to afford the upkeep of all the fancy h ouses. It rose three stories atop a sm all dale set back from the street. There were parapets, gables, and towers. The house had been make of tigh t, dark brick with a slate and copper roof. Ivy vines climbed the walls on the sides of it, especially around the huge chimney. Only when she turned into the long, curving driveway did she discover the signs of disrepair such as cracked brick, a concrete driveway choked off with weeds, and dingy, neglected window sills with shutters. She found Estes around the back of the house, just as he’d prom ised. At first, she didn’t recognize him witho ut his work slacks, checkered shirt and cap. He wore blue jeans and a blue jeans jacket. His sandy hair was stirring in the breeze but kept its perfect, feathered style. He sm iled when he saw her in the black Oldsmobile. Though he had never see her out of the work uniform either, she did a thorough job of describing her car. Estes’ b reath steam ed in the mo rning chill under a gunmetal gray sky. The weather was too cold for just a jeans jacket. When Stephanie stopped the car in front of him, she saw him blow o n his hands for warm th. She’d put the heater on full blast upon leaving the house and smiled to herself for her good sense . Estes clumsily opened the door, fumbling with the latch before lowering himself down insid e. “ O oh, that warmth is really nice,” he said, shutting the door firmly closed. “Happy Thanksgiving,” she said as she watched him reach fo r the loop of the safety b elt, adjust it and fasten it.

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“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too,” he said, smiling enigmatically, the same way he always had at the restaurant. While they coasted down the driveway and eased out onto the main street, Stephanie kept one eye on him as they conversed. She wondered if he’d ridden in a car very much, or whether they even had them where he came from . He would gaze out through the windshield, glance up at the sky, and watch her steer. Along the way, Stephanie thought about taking a wide turn and heading toward the of fice building. She wanted to see if the angelic pattern was still there. Something told her not to, however, so she kept going. Soon she reached her ho me neigh borhoo d. “W ill you be having your whole family over for dinner?” Estes asked. “No. It’ll just be me and my husband and my son. Later on in the day we go to my mom and dad’s for pie and coffee. My sister usually goes, too. She touched the garage door opener and saw Estes watch the door roll open mechanically with rapt attention. Did they have garage door openers where he came from? As they entered the ho use, Stephanie remembered what had worried her about the day. The look on Michael’s face when she first suggested inviting Estes. They were washing walls together and clearing away cobwebs on the rafters. When she’d asked him, Michael looked away in the distance, pausing for a moment, squinting. The creases between his eyes deepened. “You mean this guy has no fam ily at all? No friends? No nothing?” “Not that I know of. He lives by himself in some kind of room ing house near old M ain Street.” Michael shrugged. “What about before? Was he hom eless? H e could be all full of bugs and shit.” “No. In fact he’s the cleanest, most imm aculate person I’ve ever met.” He grunted, swatting at a cobweb with a paint roller brush handle. “What is he, gay or som ething?” Stephanie tsk-tsked and tossed her damp sponge at his head, which caused a mist of water to spray his face. “You guys are all alike. Any time a guy takes care of himself and cares about his looks, to you he’s automatically gay.” “You’re right.” The response surprised her. “W hat?” “ Co m e to think of it, a gay guy wouldn’t go to a rooming house on Main Street,” Michael went on. “Unless

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they had lace curtains, throw pillows and lavender in the bathroom .” He started swishing his hip and talking with a breathy lisp while making delicate sweeping gestures with h is cleaning brush. Stephanie laughed, deep belly laughs, as she bent over at the waist, slapping her thigh. W hen she calmed down, she said “You know what, you’re cute when you do that!” Michael frowned theatrically at her while he returned to his norm al, stoic dem eanor. “So, is this guy gonna eat us out of house and ho me, or what?” “Then you’re cool with it?” “Yeah, why not. He’s not a perv or anything, is he? He’s not gonna flash Kevin or anything, right?” She g av e h im a quick hug. “No, I guess I just think of him as a stray puppy or kitten that we’re bringing in off the street. Maybe it will get us some heaven points.” Still, she felt a tingling in her bones while she and Estes walked inside her house. It was something m ore than just wondering how Estes and Michael would interact. The door from the garage led first to a hallway and when they passed the living room with the ornate cherry wood china cabinet, Stephanie said “It ain’t much, but honey, it’s all I’ve got.” “I think it’s a wonderful ho use,” Estes said, looking all around at the walls and portraits and the reproductio n painting of a Venetian street scene. From the living room Stephanie could hear th e television playing in the den, filling the room with music, cheering and excited voices. “Let me introduce you to my husband and my son,” she said, while guiding Estes to the den. When they reached the threshold, Stephanie was dismayed that Michael had flopped out on the reclin er and Kevin had his attention buried in a hand-held video game. Something called a “G am eboy,” wh ich held little cartridges that played gam es on the screen the size of a drink coaster. The one Kevin played the most was “Tetris” which involved manipulating and matching blocks and rectangles as they drifted down the screen. Michael was busy reading the newspaper. His reading glasses made him look more reflective and mild mannered, she’d always thought, like a beefy version of a college pro fessor. Michael quickly turned to his wife and Estes, putting the paper down, raising himself from the recliner. He leaned forward and carried him self to Stephanie, deftly kissing her on

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the lips while saying “Hi, hon.” Rather than stand, Mich ael perched atop one of the armrests. He turned to Estes. “Michael, this is Estes, who works with me.” The men shook hands and Stephanie watched them exchange quick eye contact. “Welcome,” Michael said. “Glad to meet you.” His tone was hushed, soft, and solemn. He normally spoke that way only in a church setting. Stephanie crossed the carpet past the coffee table and tousled her son’s hair while he continued to gaze down at the sm all screen. “And this very engaged yo ung m an is m y son Kevin.” The conversation, the presence of the other people in the room and even Stephanie’s fingertips through h is hair had failed to nudge his attention away from the gam e. When he heard his name he looked up and said “Huh?” Stephanie re-introduced Estes and was both pleasantly surprised and proud to see h im smile warmly and return the greeting. An awkward mom ent fo llowed. Stephanie wanted to be around when they all had a chat to get acquainted. To do it, she would have to sit beside Estes on the couch, since Kevin had curled up on the love seat. “So, whatcha doing?” she asked quickly. Michael pointed at the television. “Just waiting for the game to come on.” He gathered the paper, organizing it. Kevin resumed playing the video game. “Have a seat, Estes,” S tephanie said, showing him one end of the couch, closest to Michael. When Estes unbuttoned his jeans jacket and lowered himself down, Stephanie realized she could sit further down and keep them from looking too cozy together. She could also excuse herself at any point to check on the turkey and the dressings. Yet sh e still wanted to witness how the unusual Estes would interact with other adults in a non-work setting. Q uickly, she plopped herself down a few feet from Estes on the couch . He had leaned back, resting himself in, so Stephanie leaned forward, sitting on the edge of the seat cushion. She could chec k h is facial expressions. Once everyone had been situated , M ichael turned to Estes and said “So ho w do yo u like working at The Pit so far?” He paused and squinted, his head qu izzically tilting while he asked “I beg yo ur pardon?” Stephanie laughed. “That’s his little nickname for the restaurant.”

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Estes nodded in understanding, an “ah-hah” look on his face. “It’s been going along very well so far. What do you do, Michael?” He shrugged wh ile on the television screen behind him a giant, inflatable Sno opy floated down the street during the Macy’s parade. “I’m a contractor. Remodeling, mostly. Light construction, too.” His voice was tinged with pride. From there, Estes asked M ichael what k ind of projects he took on. Did he have a crew? Was h is company busier during the summer months or the winter m onths? For the first few minutes, Michael’s responses were slow and guarded but he soon started animatedly re-telling some of his adventures in the home repair and rem odeling business. There was the time he made a goof purchasing supplies and ended up roofing a house with half one type of shingles and a completely different type for the other side. H e also told, in graphic detail, of the various employees who’d accidentally pierced body parts with nail guns. Stephanie had heard all the stories dozens of times but still found grinned at all the appropriate times. Estes was transfixed, in rapt attention, as if he expected someo ne to quiz him later on the fine points of Michael’s stories. Michael suddenly paused, shaking his head, and a sheepish look flashed across his features. “Hey, here I am, yakyak-yakking like a yenta and you’re the guest. What about you, man? W hat did you do before you started slinging burgers/” Estes paused, shrugging casually. “I was in the service.” “Oh really? Wh at branch.” “The um , army.” Michael nodded. “Now there’s som ething I don’t know too much about. Too young for the draft, too old for selective service. Worked for my dad for awhile and then that little one came along.” He indicated Stephanie with opened palms. “Right after that, the little guy over there showed up and I said ‘Man, I gotta get serious.’ Then, dad had a heart attack and the doctors told him he had to slow down. He made m e a good deal and I bought him out.” He took a moment to pause thoughtfully “Hey, you were in the service, what do you think of all that stuff going on in the Middle East? Think it’s going to turn into a war?” The twinkle in Estes’ eye evaporated for a mom ent. He paused, his eyebrows knitting together for the briefest of

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instants. Stephanie realized that she was leaning so far forward that she was close to falling off the seat cushion edge. Softly, Estes replied “M aybe.” Michael shook his head and whistled. “Well, if we have a war, let’s hope it’s a quick one.” He paused to glance at his watch and the wall clock above the mantel. He then looked at Stephanie. “Hey hon, we have beer, don’t we? Hey bud, you want a beer?” Stephanie waited, holding her breath, for Estes’ response. He paused before saying “Sure. That’d be nice.” The Thanksgiving Day parade coverage ended and the bold, brassy “NFL Today” music blared through the television speaker and dram atic camera angles of a television studio filled the screen. “Hey hon, wh y do n’t you b ring out the little cooler with a few beers in it? Game’s on!” Estes said “Do you need any h elp with that?” Stephanie waved him off politely. “No, that’ll be okay. It’s the little cooler. Definitely a one person job.” As she rose to pad off to the kitchen, she heard Michael say “So, do you have a football favorite?” By the time she reached the kitchen, Estes response sounded muffled, drowned out by the exuberant sportscaster’s voices on the television. As sh e dropped bottles of beer into the little Styrofoam cooler and then filled it with ice, she supposed that Estes must have been exposed to beer before, especially if he had been in the service. Do ttie had said “That boy doesn’t come from around here. Maybe Europe or som ewhere, but definitely not here.” Loretta said “Well if he comes from Europe, where’s his accent?” Dottie replied “M aybe he lost it.” Stephanie quickly brought the beers back into the den. When Michael noticed her coming in, he said “Awright! Bring me one of those babies, baby.” Estes had shifted further down the couch. When Stephanie returned with the beers, their guest was leaning far forward, talking with Kevin. “What a great idea,” he was saying as Stephanie handed a beer to Mic hael, “a video game you can take with you. The screen looks kind of sm all. Can you see it all right?” When Stephanie brought the cooler toward Estes to offer him a beer, he was distracted, looking closely at the video game screen instead. Kevin started talking about ;how to

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manipulate the blocks with the up-down, and left-right buttons near the side of the handheld gam e device. “I’ve made it up to ten levels before,” he said proudly. “Do you want to try?” Estes lifted up his hands, glancing at both Stephanie and M ichael. “U m, I don’t think I’d be any good at it.” “You get better by playing,” Kevin said, pushing a few buttons to reset the machine before handing it over to Estes. “All you have to do is hit ‘Start.’” “I’m not very good at it, either,” Stephanie said. Michael also noticed Estes as he tried to play the game, and said “Hey bud, I think you h ave to b e twelve years old or less.” Stephanie decided to grab a brew from the coo ler. When she settled back into the couch, she watched Estes’ eyes widen, then squint as he held the game tightly and worked the buttons. She could hear clicks and beeps coming from the machine’s small speaker. W hen the m achine made a noise that sounded like an electronic raspberry and saw E stes’ shoulders slum p, she knew he’d been beaten. Kevin, seated across from him , smiled. “We have big video games, too, that you play on the TV. Do you wanna try one of those later? Like after dinner?” Stephanie felt a shudder in her spine at the though t of looking at the video screen again. “How many football games are on TV today?” she asked Michael, to change the sub ject. The thought of Estes seeing the gory video game caused stinging pain in her forehead. For a moment Michael was distracted by a Detroit Lion running back eluding would-be tacklers after fielding a punt. He said “There’s this, and the Dallas gam e after.” Stephanie stood up. To Kevin she said “Well, kid, it looks like the TV is go ing to be tied up all day.” Es tes, who had lost another round of Tetris, was handing the game unit back to Kevin. The unopened beer still lay at his side. “Those falling and spinning bricks make me dizzy,” he explained. “Well, I’m going to get dinner together,” Stephanie said, walking toward the kitchen. After a few years of practice and lots of advice from her m om , she had turned the dinner into an assem bly production. She always cook ed th e turkey the night before, waking up at 6:30 the next m orning to rem ove it from the oven, baste it heavily, and then put it away for reheating. For the past few years, she’d cooked the stuffing

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entirely outside the turkey. She’d heard too many horror stories about Thanksgiving night trips to the E.R . with vomiting and diarrhea. She made a vegetable medley filled halfway with frozen vegetables and the other half with sautéed onions and peppers seasoned with Caesar dressing. Then there was the candied yam casserole. The mashed yams and honey were easy, with just the right amount of butter. Stephanie’s Thanksgiving tradition was to put down layers of mini-marshmallows, latticed, across the top. After heating the casserole through, she would also set it on broil for ab out twenty minutes, to give the marshmallows the golden-tinged, “campfire” look. She was delicately placing the marshmallows when the phone rang. When she answered, Lori said “So, nature boy made it to your house okay?” “ O f course. I picked him up. He doesn’t drive, num bskull. Rem ember?” “Oh yeah. Did you show him the angel on the side of the building?” “Well no, we didn’t,” she stammered, cradling the phone in her neck and dropping marshmallows down. “What made you think of that?” “It’s such a Thanksgiving thing to do. How are he and S.M . going?” S.M. stood for “stud muffin” her nickname for Mich ael, which went back to the early days of th eir dating. “It’s funny you should ask that,” Stephanie went on, delicately dropping the marshmallows. “But they did okay. Of course Michael did practically all of the talking.” “He did?” Lori sounded surprised “Yeah, Estes asked him questions about his company and he was off and running.” “Wow. A guy who doesn’t spend all his time bragging and is interested in other people. Does he have a girlfriend?” “Lori…” “I meant for my single friends at the college, sleazebag.” “Oh. No. I don’t think he has a girlfriend. Dot, Loretta and Janet all flirt with him at work, big time.” “Uh-oh .” “What do you m ean, uh-oh.”

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“Reet! Reet1” Lori was m imicking the sounds of the yellow alert from the old Star Trek television series. “Gay-dar! Gay-dar! Reeded! Reeded!” “Oh, stop it! God, when are you going to quit that? Just because a guy has manners, grooms himself well and doesn’t slobber over anything remotely female doesn’t mean he’s gay.” Lori paused at the other end of the line. Stephanie wondered whether she was finally getting through to her on that issue. Lori then dropped her voice very low, almost whispering when she said “You know, there’s a really convenient, easy, and fun way we can find o ut for sure.” Stephanie had finished dropping the marshmallows and could give Lori her full attention. She took the telephone handset from the crook of her neck and held it to her ear, putting her other hand on her hip. “What are you gonna do sleazebag? Seduce him ? In your car, mayb e?” “No. Something that might be even mo re fun. Girl’s night out. Friday night. 2112.” “2112?” “Yeah! It’ll be great! There’s supposed to be a bigtime show there this F riday. Just like Las Vegas.” “That place gives me a headache. You’re suggesting that we drag Estes there to see if he goes ga-ga over any of the guys?” She kept her voice down and glanced in the direction of the den anxiously. “Ding! Ding! Ding!” Lori shouted, imitating an obnoxious bell on a game show. “And the burger flipper lady wins a one thousand dollar bonus!” “I don’t think he’ll go for it.” “Well, we’ll be sneaky. We ’ll just tell him it’s a club. Rem ember, all kinds of people go there. And it’s big. I’ve taken guys there before who couldn’t figure it out for hours. They just thought it was a huge disco playing unusual music.” “It’d be a dirty trick.” “ W e’ll get so me other people to go alo ng and then he won’t be able to blame it on just us. He’ll think it’s an exciting group outing.” Som ething suddenly occurred to Stephanie and she shifted her weight on her feet. She paused, thinking how best to put the question. “Can I ask why yo u’re so interested in his reactions to things?” She glanced toward the doorway, anxious that Estes might walk in at any time.

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Lori sighed. “Well, he’s just fascinating. I gotta admit I’ve never met anyone like him. You feel the same way, and you know it. Why else would you have invited his ass to Thanksgiving dinner?” Stephanie sighed loudly. “How about we change the subject?” For the next few minutes, they discussed their day’s planned activities. When they closed the conversation she p ro m ised Lori she w ould invite Estes to the show bar with them that Friday night. She tested the turkey and the stuffing and set the vegetable medley on “warm,” then slumped back and she sighed out loud. Traditionally, she served dinner between three and three-thirty. She m ade sure that the oven and stovetops were turned down low enough before returning to the den. When she stepped back inside there, she came upon Estes and Michael intently watching the football gam e while Kevin sat quietly cracking walnuts open . Estes still politely cradled his beer against his thigh. She wondered if he had drunk any of it at all while she sat down on the far end of the sofa. Michael noticed her. “Hey, hon, how’s things going in there?” Stephanie gave him the O K sign. “All under control.” He nodded, then glanced at the TV screen, where a lanky looking punter boomed the football away for the offense. “Do you need any help?” “No, I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking.” It was part of a game they played. In the summ er and early fall, when Michael and Kevin mowed the yard and raked leaves, she would always feel slightly guilty. Many times she would poke her head out the back door and ask if they needed help. They would always say that they were fine. She would make sure they had a pitcher of tea or lemonade and a plate of sandwiches for when they came back. Michael’s turn to feel guilty came during holiday dinners, house cleaning, or laundry. Estes suddenly tipped the can of beer toward his lips. However, he sipped as delicately at the fluid as if it had been a 1930s vintage wine and he was a wine taster. “How are you doing Estes? Are you having fun?” Estes gave her a little wave from the other end of the sofa. “W e’re just enjoying the gam e.” “Did you want a little something to eat?” “Oh, no.” He waved her off. “We’ll be eating soon, won’t we?”

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nodded. gam e.”

Michael and Stephanie looked at each other and “She usually has it all together by the end of the

“Has it been half time yet?” “Yes,” Kevin, Michael and Estes replied in unison. “Go sh, I’d b etter get back in there and get started.” “Tell you what, darling, when the game’s over, we’ll all go out there and make it a group effort.” At first she didn’t even know what to think. She wondered if Estes ebullient, good nature was rubbing off on Michael. While Stephanie started on the sweet potato casserole and the ve geta ble medley, M ichael led Estes to the ch ina clo set I the hallway betw een the living room and the dining room. She was able to watch them scurry about, setting out the place mats, the place settings, and the silverware, rem inding h er of the Walt Disney cartoon “Beauty and the Beast.” Their antics with little Kevin tagging along reminded her of the candelabra, the grandfather clock , and the teacup cavorting about, setting a beautiful table for Belle and the Beast. Estes volunteered to carry out the platter with the turkey while Michael hoisted the heavier potato casserole and vegetable medley serving bowls. Stephanie was left with just the stuffing and the breadbasket with gravy. Kevin delighted her by setting the scarlet napkins at the place settings, fanning them the way they did at fancy restaurants. “Jimm y’s dad showed us how to do that,” he explained. As another tradition, Stephanie always served fine white wine with the Thanksgiving meal. Even Kevin would get a glass full. When the table had been set with a scrumptious, steaming turkey and stuffing, with marshmallows on the sweet potato casserole tinged golden brown, Michael produced four delicate goblets from the kitchen. After the feast was ready for them, they all stood at their chairs at the dining room table. After a few moments of glancing at each other, Stephanie said “Let’s sit down before it gets cold!” “And let’s give thanks,” Michael said. “Give thanks?” Estes echoed, in a quizzical, beaming kind of way. “Yes, sir. You’re the guest, why do n’t w e start with you?” “Michael! Let’s not put the poor guy on the spot! We’ll all go, and then we’ll let Estes go. Kevin, yo u go first.”

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He sighed, wriggling in his chair before starting, clearing his throat. “Well, I’m happy that I have both my mother and m y father in the sam e house. I like that they are nice to me and get me what I need.” He blushed when he spoke, while looking back and forth between his mother and father, who were smiling. “I am thankful for all my friends and that I am popu lar at school.” Stephanie glanced at Estes, who was settled into his chair, beam ing with an inner, radiant light. “I am thankful for being able to run and play sports because some kids can’t. And I am also thankful for video games because I like them.” The re was silence in the room for a mom ent while Kevin put his hands atop the table. When he sighed, Michael started. He also cleared his throat. “I’m thankful for my family,” he began. “For my sweet, beautiful wife Stephanie and the life we have built together. For my wonderful son Kevin. I’m thankful for the way we’ve been blessed with this beautiful house and lots of good friends. I’m thankful that my business continues to thrive both in good times and in bad, that I’m lucky enough to have such good people to work with.” Stephanie’s eyes had started to mist. Rarely had she ever heard him speak of her as “beautiful” with such conviction. She reach ed over and took his hand. When it came time for her turn she had to steel herself before the words would come. “I’m thankful for my loving husband and all the happiness we’ve shared. For the blessings of family and friends and especially my beautiful son Kevin.” Her son rolled his eyes around when she said this, causing both her and Michael to laugh. “I’m also thankful for our lovely home and rewarding careers.” She glanced over at Estes as she said this and he smiled at her. She soon realized that they were all gazing a t Estes in anticipation. He was smiling warmly, enjoying the company, when he suddenly shuddered and said “Ooh, that must mean it’s my turn.” He straightened himself in his chair and took a deep breath. “I’m thankful for the journey,” he began, and as he continued, light emanated from him and the atmosphere of the room seemed to suspend itself from time. “For the opportunities to help people, to know and love them . I’m thankful for the lesson and for forgiveness and grace. And on this day of thanks, to be in the company of such a loving and giving family.” He held out his hands slightly, the palms raised upward. For a moment, Stephanie saw strength. She felt it,

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also. It was a deep, resolute steadfastness that also radiated warmth. His facial features changed for a moment, becom ing more Nordic and chiseled. He seemed to grow, his chest and arms expanding. “And finally,” he added, “I am thankful for love.” Stephanie stayed still for a long while. She felt as if she’d drifted onto a higher plane and had to ease back down. She closed her eyes. When she reopened them Estes, Michael and Kevin were all smiling. Michael clapped his hands together and said “Well, we’ve said grace! Dig in everybody!” Michael resumed his annual role as the turkey carver. Stephanie always marveled at how he approach ed th e job —as if he was using a jig saw on pine— and making precision cuts. In just a few mom ents , he had set glistening slabs of white turkey on all four plates. Estes saw the sweet potato casserole: “That looks too perfect to eat!” Stephanie smiled inside. Kevin said “That’s my favo rite part, Mr. Estes.” He found the serving ladle and dove it into the casserole, giving himself a hefty sized portion of it. Michael said “The stuffing. That’s my favorite. Stephanie makes out-of-this-world stuffing. Learned it from her ma.” When it was all finished, Stephanie felt pleased that it was the best Thanksgiving day dinner she had ever served. Time seemed to stop while they all enjoyed the turkey and fixings. At one point, Michael asked Estes “So did you have lots of mem orable Thanksgivings with your fam ily? Like when you were a kid?” “Yes, yes. I’ve had the pleasure. Many wonderful dinners.” He stared dreamily out into space. Stephanie felt that they should keep the conversation on festive, neutral topics. After dinner, she assumed they would watch the remainder of the day’s second football game over coffee and pum pkin pie. When the food had settled in their stomachs and the time grew late, she would bring Estes home. Then Kevin told him about the video game.

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Chapter Thirteen Near the end of the second football game, Kevin turned to his mother and said “So mom, can we show Estes the video game?” Estes was sitting just a couple of yards away. Stephanie hesitated. The video game had spun he r off into some type f weird vortex that put her in a coma-like trance. Kevin had helped her snap out of it but she still wondered whether she should have had Michael take her to the ER. “Honey maybe som e other tim e,” she said, “there’s a good movie coming on. It’ll be fun to watch. She had sighed wh ile saying that and knew that she flashed a disconcerted look on her face. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see Estes studying her. “Is there something wrong with the video game?” Estes said. Stephanie smiled, trying to deflect attention from herself. Beside her Kevin started talking rapidly, bouncing up and down, describing it all to Estes. “Yes, but it’s nothing lik e the bricks game. You go into this haunted house and fight zombies and monsters. Bats fly down on top of you and it’s cool!” Estes turned to Stephanie. “I knew there was prob ably a reason why you were reticent about it. You’re probably not keen on all that violence.” Kevin shook his head and blurted out “No , m om played the game once, and som ething in it scared her really bad and she kind of fainted. I came hom e and found her in a trance.” Shocked, Stephanie shouted “Kevin!” That grabbed Michael’s attention. Until then he had settled into his easy chair with a steaming cup of coffee, but he snapped his neck around and glared at Kevin during his outburst. “Wh at in the Sam H ill are you talking about?” Desperate to change the subject, Stephanie waved her hands and said “It’s no thing honey, really.” Gazing intently at her, Estes seemed intrigued. “I’d like to see that video game,” he said. Kevin bounced up and down on the couch again, shouting “Yay!” and pumping his fist in the air. “Let’s go hook it up!”

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“No, no,” Michael said. “Why don’t y’all look at it on the downstairs TV,” Michael said. “I want to watch this movie.” Stephanie was getting anxious about seeing the video game again, even if someone else was going to be playing it. “You’re sure you don’t mind us deserting you?” “I don’t mind. I’ll tell you what you m issed. H ell, just let those two go down there. They’re both big boys.” She watched Estes and Kevin standing there, blank looks on their faces. “U m, no, I think I want to be there, too.” Estes, Stephanie and Kevin tru dge d of f to the bas em ent. When she opened the door, Stephanie saw that the last person down there had flicked off all the lights, even the night light in one corner. That gave the basem ent a pitch-black and foreboding air. “Kev, have you been down here recently?” She flicked on the light switch, which turned on one lamp at the edge of the colonial couch, giving them enough light to descend. “No. Not since we were all down here during the tornado.” They all reach ed the basem ent flo or and Stephanie turned to Estes, who was studying all the trophies and plaques on the shelves. She realized that to an outsider, their finished basement room must look like a kid’s playroom. “You did bring the gam e down here, right?” Kevin made his incredulous “Aw, mom ” face and held the plastic cartridge up for her to see. “Well, daaaa.” That caused Estes to snicker. He studied the walls. “This is interesting…what do you call it…architecture?” he said. “A wall made out of wood.” He trailed his fingers along the edge of one dark groove. “It’s paneling,” Stephanie offered. “About a quarter of an inch thick.” Estes nodded. On the other side of the roo m Kevin had dropped to the floor and flicked the television set on. Raucous static filled the stationary air in the windowless room. Estes winced. Once Kevin shoved the cartridge in and pushed a button, the static ceased and the screen became red and blue, with a running white mouse. O rgan-heavy carnival style music started to play and Stephanie recognized the configuration as the home screen. In the b asement playroom, the old colonial couch took up space along the wall across from the television. Estes

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could have sat there and played the game, using the controller and its long wire. Instead, he lo were d himself down onto the floor beside Kevin. Stephanie decided to set herself down on the other side of Estes. Kevin hit the “start” button, which would cause the game to play. Stephanie quickly got the s am e feeling she received at Old Dom inion tri-state theme park when the automated roller-coaster cars jerked away from the station house. They would begin a long climb up a steep grade, clear an arc then streak downward. No matter how many times she rode the co aster, she felt the sense of foreboding as the cars ratcheted upward along the grade and shrieking terror when they plunged over the other side. The home screen of the horror game blazed onto the television, with its black and purple curtains and gothic lettering. Kevin used the controller and reset buttons to select “one player” for Estes. The “options” screen cam e up, wh ere Estes could choose to be a khaki uniformed vampire hunter or a lady with a pageboy haircut wearing what appea red to be a turquoise business suit. Estes chose the khaki suited m ale hunter, causing the screen to spin around like the screen dissolves Stephanie remembered from comedy television shows when she was little. Finally, she saw the familiar layout of the haunted house with the foyer, the huge living room, the chandelier, and the staircases leading to the bedrooms. The chilling, low piano music started to play, filling Stephanie with trepidation and nausea. “W hat do I do no w?” Estes asked. “The right arrow moves him along,” K evin talked fast, excitedly. “The ‘A’ button gets him to jump. The ‘B’ button mak es him crouch down and walk on his hands and knees. The ‘select’ button lets you grab different weapons and use them .” “What weapons?” Estes asked. “You’ll see!” Kevin was smiling gleefully. To his mother he looked impish, though in a wholesome way. Estes tentatively pressed the arrow to move the khaki suited hunter. The small, cartoonish character jerkily entered the foyer. As Estes gingerly m oved the character along, the first calam ity befell him. A school of bats flew out of the maw of the fireplace.

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“Hit the ‘B’ button,” Kevin coached him excitedly. “You can crouch down. They can’t get you when you crouch down. If a bat hits you, you lose a life.” Estes did as he was told and caused the hunter to crouch down and m ove on all fours, like a combat soldier. “I lose a life?” he asked , as the bats swooped over the character. “You get four lives,” Kevin said. Once all the bats had swooped past, he added “You can get back up now.” The cartoonish hunter passed from the foyer through the doorway into a small room with a roll top desk and booksh elves. Then something incredible happened. The vantage view of the game changed from a fla t m aze sim ilar to “Donkey Kong” or “Pac Man” games Stephanie had seen to a full depth, three dimensional rendering of the house as seen through the eyes of the game character. The sharpness of the resolution and the detail in the walls and furniture made it seem as though they were looking through a glass windo w into another world. Kevin murmured “Whoa…” The sheer vividness of the new screen caused to Stephanie to shudder. She whispered “Have you ever seen it do this before?” “No.” They all realized that the action on the screen had stopped. Stephanie looked at Estes and saw that his thumb s lay still over the buttons and arrows. Kevin noticed it, too. “Keep going,” he said, tapping Estes on the arm. As the character moved forward, the view expanded, revealing a mantle with a shotgun. “Grab the gun,” Kevin sa id. “Hit the ‘select’ button.” When Estes did, the character’s arm s reached forward to grab the firearm by the b utt and the b arrel. Stephanie felt a queasy giddiness, yet an uneasy familiarity with how real everything seemed. Along with the metamorphosis of th e viewpoint, the character’s movements also smoothed out. Her slight fear intensified when she turned to look beside her and saw Es tes’ face. His lips had parted and his vision had locked onto the images. There was a determined steeliness to his gaze that seemed downright spooky. Stephanie noted the way she could see the gun barrel pointing ahead of the character. He was passing a row of book cases filled with dusty, musty looking books. One of the books suddenly appeared to fall from a shelf b ut she quickly realized instead that the whole wall had shifted. It had swung outward

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somehow and a dark, foreboding figure emerged from the other side of it. He was a dark, hooded, evil-looking figure with glowing red eyes, wrinkled skin and a pointed chin. Kevin shouted “Shoot it!” but his voice echoed, sounding as if it came from the end of a long, ma rble hall. The gun barrel twitched, and with th e b oo m of a loud repo rt a shot knocked the creature backward w ith a screech ing wail. The image on the screen, of the study, the book case and the bo oks grew b righter. The light of it intensified until all the details of the objects and the walls were washed out by its brilliance. Before long, the television screen simply became a luminous beacon. “Mom , what’s going on?” Kevin said, his voice still giving that same, far-off quality. The next time she dared to look at Estes, however, she received a true, earthshattering shock. All the details of his body were washing out in the light, yet at the same time he glowed from within. “Oh my god,” she said, recoiling away. “Wh at is it?” “Mom , what are we going to do?” Kevin shouted. Stephanie had lifted herself to he r feet by that time and backed away from the bo th of them. Awestruck, she still managed to say “I’ll go get your father.” As she backed further and further away from Estes, she realized that she was pulling herself out of a spiritual vortex, a magnetic zone. By the time she reached the beginning of the stairway upward, the leavetaking from the luminous force field rendered her dizzy, and nauseous, the way she felt after a few spins on the play field merry-go-round when she was small. Her limbs felt light and airy, and she wondered if she would float away if she jumped off her feet. For each step she climbed on the way to the first floor, her limbs and body b ecam e heavier and heavier, as if she were being grounded back in reality. Michael appeared at the top of the stairs, wide-eyed, meeting her there. “What in heaven, hell or earth is going on down there?” Stephanie turned aro und to look toward the glow. “I don’t know.” Michael bounded down the stairs two at a time, forcing Stephanie aside. “Call 911,” he shouted, but almost as quickly as his words came out, he added “No, wait a minute. Wh at the fuck would we tell them?”

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Stephanie had locked her vision on Estes. Gradually the glow lessened and he becam e translucent, then appeared to fade into full view. It reminded her of a television set she saw when she was little. When she or anyone else would turn on the set, it wo uld gradually gain lucidity and brightness until people would becom e wh ole, changing from gho stly figures to fully formed humans. Was she witnessing a m an spontaneously combust? Instead of bursting into flame, however, he gained an inner glow that had intensified until he became translucent. Michael kept saying “Oh m y god, oh m y god, oh m y god!” Stephanie could see h is lips quiver and move as his breath caught in his throat. His legs twitched and buckled, as he was clearly torn between rushing toward Estes to aid him in some way, or turning tail and running fast in the opposite direction. After a few m ore m om ents, the b rightness emanating from Estes diminished and he soon appeared completely whole and human and normal again. Stephanie quickly swallowed, how ever, when she pondered what everything m eant. She knew that “norm al” and “Estes” should never be in the sam e sentence again. Did Michael also see it? She said “Honey…” “I know, I know, I know. He’s still frozen stiff.” Michael edged gingerly toward Estes, who was still holding the gam e controller, gazing at the staticky screen. Stephanie also stepped cautiously toward their dinner guest. She could hear labored, squeaky breathing that sounded like a rusty hinge. Realizing that it was Kevin, she said “Honey, are you okay?” She had to search the roo m until sh e saw him at the other end of the couch, huddled on his knees, breathing heavily, eyes wide open. He was staring at Estes from the back. Michael shuffle-stepped a few inches closer to Estes, his expression a grimace of concern. Stephanie loo ked closely at their dinner guest’s hands, which had started to twitch and tremble slightly. His thighs also quivered. The television screen beyond him darkened and Stephanie quickly realized it was because the picture was returning. Just as she began to focus on splintered pieces of wooden pillar tha t were coming into view, out of the corner of her eye she saw Estes’ head move. Michael was standing in front of Estes by that time, beside the television. His lip started to quiver. Stephanie said “Estes? Can you hear me?”

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Tim e stood still as all four people in the room stayed frozen in place. Stephanie could hear her own breathing and could see E stes’ head tilt and shake sligh tl y. H e also began to rock back and forth in the chair. Stephanie saw movement coming from behind her, also, and realized that Kevin had jumped off the couch and scramb led up to the television set. He hit the “reset” button on the video gam e console, wh ich brought back the menu screen. Next, he yanked the cartridge from the slot and turned off the power to the unit. It deepened the ho llow dread of the silence in the room . Stephanie forced herself to look more closely at Estes’ face. His features had gone slack, expressionless. His eyes started to blink and his lips quivered, which helped her feel better. She remembered the scene in the movie “The Wizard of Oz ,” where the Tin Man has rusted and tries to wriggle his jaws apart, to speak when Dorothy and the Scarecrow com e to aid him. Michael finally said “Estes, are you all right?” The words rang hollow ly in the b asem ent room, as though they’d been spoken in a crypt. Estes started to nod. “I’m fine.” Stephanie noticed him trembling slightly. She searched for som ething to say. After a long pause, Michael gravely asked “Estes, who are you?” Another silence. Estes gradually came to. He realized he was still holding onto the game controller and he set it down on the console. He looked at Michael, Stephanie and Kevin. Stephanie hoped she wasn’t flashing Estes a look that scared him. Finally, their Thanksgiving dinner guest said “My name is Estes.” He glanced separately at all three o f them. “I am a squire of the Arch angel Metatron.” Stepha nie recognized the name. Memo ry of grade school catechism classes broug ht it back. “Metatron” was one of the mightiest archangels. K evin broke into the conversation at that point, his high, insistent voice startling his m other. “Wh at does that mean?” Estes turned to him, softening his expression to one of serenity. “I’m an angel. A warrior angel.” Michael and Stephanie looked at each other. Stephanie noted that the crease on the bridge of her husband’s

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nose had deepened. When M ichael turned back to Estes, he had lifted his palms in a beseeching way. Estes closed his eyes for a moment and said “I k now you must have many questions.” Patrick nodded vigorously. “Huh…y eah! Like, what just happened?” Estes started to respond, but Kevin blurted out “The devil is inside the video game!” “Kevin!” Stephanie snapped, instantly feeling embarrassed. She was even m ore surprised when Estes calmly stated “Yes, there was a dem on in there.” Michael’s brow wrinkled, yet he was sm iling wryly, his head cocked to one side. “A demon?” Kevin was bouncing up and down. “That’s why mom was in a trance! There was a demon in there! She got hypnotized by a demon!” Michael shook his head, chuckling. Stephanie could sense that it was a nervous chuckle, like whistling in the dark. “So you’re a real-life Michael Landon,” he said. Estes replied “I beg your pardon?” Michael waved his hands and said “Nothing. Nothing, man. I’m just having trouble dealing with all this.” The rem ark caused Estes to appear hurt for a mom ent. Stephanie turned herself toward Estes. “Can I just ask you one thing? How did you decide to com e here?” Estes inhaled and swallowed hard before responding. “I came to give com fort to a yo ung wom an.” Stephanie and Michael looked at each other. Her husband shot back a look of puzzlement to the degree of which she was feeling. She turned back to Estes and said “But you’ve been here for weeks.” Estes nodded. “A demon intervened. Unfortunately, he called upon some higher powers than himself and fixed things so that I could not return.” Kevin interrupted. “But you could go back now, right? You killed the dem on. You became almost invisible. You got to be an angel again, right?” Michael said “W ait a minute, son, what on earth are you talking about?” He turned to Estes and continued. “Are you diabetic? Did you get a sugar overload from the sweet potato casserole and the pum pkin pie? Is that what that was all about?”

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“If it were only that sim ple.” Estes looked down. “Dad, he’s an angel! He alm ost disappeared.” Estes cleared his thro at before continuing. “I vanquished a dem on, but it wasn’t the dem on.” Michael, who had been staring, put both sets of fingertips against his te m ples, the way he did whenever he was stressed. “This… is…just…too out there for m e.” Kevin ask ed again “W ell, can you get back or not?” Estes shrugged, a fearful look in his eyes. “I don’t know.” Michael snorted, and in a sarcastic tone said “Well, can’t you just blink yo urself back or something?” Stephanie felt embarrassed because of him. “That’s enough,” she snapped. She turned back to Estes, softened her tone and said “That woman you came here to see, does she know you’re stranded here now?” “No.” He shook his head sadly. Michael paced back and forth, scratching his chin. He turned suddenly, like a lawyer cross-examining a witness. “So you’re a warrior angel? What exactly does that mean?” “It means that I go to war.” Stephanie felt sorry for him since he looked slightly embarrassed and sheepish, his head held down. Michael persisted. “So, you were in Viet Nam?” “Yes.” “Wo rld War 2?” “Yes.” “W ould you be going to the Persian Gulf, when we have a war there?” Estes paused, his eyes shifting before he looked up at Michael. “Yes.” Stephanie and Michael looked at each other. Sh e said “My god.”

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Chapter Fourteen Stephanie and Lori had a standing “date” on the Friday after Thanksgiving. They would get in Lori’s car and go to all the m alls in their area. Mostly, they would gawk at all the people scrambling out for all the early bird sales. Both of them would always finish their Christmas shopping during the summ er months, by combing through catalogs. Stephanie believed in quality over quantity. She said she would be by around ten. Michael was going out with a couple of his crew to finish a job at a house where the owners had left for the four-day weekend. K evin would spend the day with his friends, playing football or video games, working off all their turkey from the day before. Over breakfast that morning, Stephanie had engaged her son in a very serious conversation. “I want you to promise me something,” she’d said. Kevin was chomping down on spoonfuls of Alpha Bits. He shrugged. “Sure.” “Can I at least get you to put down the spoon and look at m e for a mom ent?” He gently placed the spoon on the napkin, straightened up in his chair and looked at her. She had an epiphany that mom ent, as she felt as if she was catching a glimpse of what he would loo k like as a mature adult. “What happened last night, with Estes, you must keep it to yourself.” She lowered her head, for stern emphasis. Kevin looked up at her for a few moments. “Okay, mom .” “No t even your best friend. N o one.” “Okay.” They both continued on with their breakfast. Later, when Kevin changed into his jeans, a sweater, and his jacket Stephanie repeated her message. “Rem emb er what I said!” Kevin looked up at her with his big eyes as he put his baseball cap on backwards. “I know mom. Even though you’re going to tell Aunt Lori, right?” She sighed for a moment, caught off guard. “Yes. But that’s different, you know.” “I know.” ‘ She kissed him when he was on his way out the door. That day she changed out of her pajamas into her most com fortable Adidas, broken in well because she expected to do

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lots of walking. After that it was casual jeans, a sweater and her down overcoat. The weatherman had said that the temperature wouldn’t break forty that day. At ten o’clock, as if it had been choreographed, Lori showed up in her little white hot rod. Stephanie ran to the MR2, tugged on the door handle and slid into the passenger seat, all in one fluid motion. Just after she shut the door behind her, Lori started to say “So how was your Thanksgiving?” Once Stephanie had settled herself in her seat, som ething in her expression caused Lori’s m outh to open and her eyebrows to raise. She said “Something happened, right? What happened?” Stephanie swallowed and said “I’ll tell you in a m inute. We should go see that building first.” To deflect attention from herself she asked Lori all about her Thanksgiving. During the short drive to the of fice building, Lori talked non-stop about having to show up at three different Thanksgiving dinners. There was her husband’s fam ily, where she’d had to put up with her mother-in-law’s disapproving looks and stilted conversation, then her own parent’s house, and finally her older sister’s later in the evening. “We just had peel and eat shrimp there,” Lori explained, abo ut her visit to her sister’s house. But you wouldn’t have believed it. I ate like a fucking sow. But I took care of it.” Stephanie didn’t like the sound of that. She cocked her head to the side to regard her with suspicion. “What do you m ean, you took care of it?” Lori shrugged her sho ulders, m anaging to light a cigarette with h er free hand. “You know. Laxatives.” “No . I don’t know.” She turned to look at her for an instant, gape-mouthed in exaggerated, mock horror. “What? Did you think I was putting the finger down m y throat?” “Just tell m e you weren’t and I’ll believe you.” “I wasn’t.” “Okay. That’s nasty. It’ll cause blood vessels to break on your face and your teeth with get all rotten from the stom ach acid.” “Well, I don’t have to worry ab out that,” Lori said jovially. “The problem is all behind m e now .” Stephanie wrinkled her nose and said “Yuk.” A few mom ents later, they arrived at the building with the angel’s shadow on it. Lori’s car passed by the flat and

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angled surfaces of it, which all gliste ned in the late morning autumn sun. She had to circle the building to find the driveway and the small parking lot on the other side. They suddenly remembered that they could see the vision only from that little parking lot. When they pulled up in the parking space and Lori cranked the parking brake dow n, they both stared at the building’s largest rectangular side. It was quiet that m orning, since co rporate America mostly took a holiday on Black Friday. Stephanie could hear the tobacco fibers in Lori’s cigarette crackle and fizzle when she inhaled on the filter. After she’d exhaled a plume of smoke, she said “W here did it go?” Stephanie stared at the building for a few mom ents longer. She flipped the door handle and eased her knees over the jamb, setting h er feet down onto the pavem ent. As she lifted herself out and stood up, she kept sight of the building. Would the apparition appear again if she lo oked at it from the correct angle? Yet the side of the building rem ained sm ooth and clear, reflecting the sky, the grass, the pavement and themselves. “It’s gone!” Lori also emerged from the car. She walked slowly toward Stephanie, crossing her arms against the late autumn chill. She was only wearing a light sweater with her jeans even as their breath steamed. “So are you ready to tell me about your huge, earth-shattering Thanksgiving?” Stephanie felt a nervous twinge. She must have telegraphed an expression to Lori, because she stopped smiling and began to look at her more intently. “Um, yeah. You won’t believe it.” “Just tell me!” Stephanie paused for a moment, then quickly decided to be blunt: “Estes…is… an…angel.” Stephanie studied her friend’s expression, trying to predict her response. Would she nod thoughtfully and then burst out laughing? She looked back at her with a black, expectant expression instead. After a few more moments she raised her palm s and shifted her weight impatiently. “And?” Stephanie was beyond sho cked. She was speechless that Lori could b e so casual, so flip ab out it. Lori went on: “You’re always talking about how he’s the nicest m annered m an you ever m et. He’s an angel and…what did he do? Help a little old lady across the street? Read to the blind? Help out at a soup kitchen?” She started to

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twirl her wrist as if the motion would reel the words out of her somehow. Stephanie mo ved a couple of steps closer to her. A gust of wind rustled a few leaves and caused Lori to visibly shudder. “No. I’m telling you that Estes is an angel.” Lori gave her a wry smile. “Do you m ean a Guardian Angel, like those guys with the red berets who patrol the New York sub way?” “No. Estes is a real angel.” She em phasized the word “real” hoping that it would help it all sink in. Lori raised her eyebrows. “A real angel? As in the ones with the long robes, blowing trumpets up in heaven?” “Yes! But he says that he’s a warrior angel.” Lori looked away from her friend and put on a serious expression as sh e considered everything. “And yo u know this how?” Stephanie swallowed. She told Lo ri the entire story about the Thanksgiving Dinner and what had happened when Estes played the video game. All the while Lori listened attentively, nodding at all the appropriate places and asking all the pertinent questions. When Stephanie reached the part where he revealed that he had come to earth to give comfort to a troubled young girl, Lori interrupted her. “That was Rachel!” Stephanie had fo rgotten about the cash ier at the gas station. She remembered the tall red-haired woman who used to be a m an and was now living as a wo man. “Her?” “And you kno w what else?” Lori exclaimed triumphantly, her eyes wide open, ju mping up and down, “that asshole who was giving Rachel a hard time? H e’s the demon!” Stephanie remem bered the leather-clad, blond haired guy driving the burgundy sports car. He seemed to her to be too much of a tacky jerk to have an otherworldly connection. “Him? N o!” Lori crossed her arms m ore tightly against her chest and allowed her mouth to drop open with an expression of exaggerated surprise. “Is it any more kooky than an angel coming down and getting a job flipping burgers?” Stephanie shook her head. “No.” “Come on, let’s get back in the damn car,” Lori said, motion for Stephanie to follow. “I’m freezing m y little tushie off out here.” “Wh ere are we going?” “OUT OF THE C OLD! But I think I have an idea.”

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Once they were both inside Lori cranked the key and aggressively fired the engine before cranking the heat on high. She breathed a sigh when blasts of warm air soothed them from the vents. In the next moment she dropped the parking brake and

jerked gear into reverse. Fo r the second part of the three-point turn, she hit the gas and caused the wheels to chirp on the pavement. “So where are w e going?” “To the gas station! To see if Rachel is there.” “Wh at for?” Lori shrugged. “Because I want to talk to her about it.” Before Stephanie knew it, they approached the connecting road leading to the gas station and they fell into a line with dozens of cars. Lori cussed and reached around inside her purse. She found the phone and dropped it in Stephanie’s lap. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Call and see if Rachel’s there?” “Yeah!” Stepha nie gestured out the window to the gas station with the highw ay sign above it. “Um, hate to break this to you but they don’t have the phone number to the station posted on the sign!” “Well then call K evin, or S.M. Get them to look it up in the phone book!” “Neither one of them is home!” “Well then call fucking 411!” “Okay. Sheesh!” Stephanie punched the three numbers on the phone. They inched forward slowly in the car as she noticed the highway beside them swarmed with streams of vehicles. A sweet voiced operator came on the line and asked how she could be of assistance. “Okay, I’m looking for the listing for the Sinclair station off the Taft freeway.” A moment later the operator responded “Which one, ma’am ? There’s three along the freew ay.” “There is? Well I don’t know what that cross street is. Hey Lori, what’s that cross street up there?” “Hell, I don’t know .” “She doesn’t know either. It’s whatever one is in Mo nroe Heights.”

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At the other end of the line, the operator cleared her throat. Sounding a touch annoyed, she said “Try 423-9156,” and then disconnected the line. “Ooh, rude!” Stephanie said. “She’d get fired from the inform ation place if I was supervising it.” “She’s probably getting crazy people calling for store num bers all day. Did she tell you what the num ber was?” Stephanie looked up and saw that the gas station was only a couple of car lengths closer. “Why are there all these cars? Is there a gas crisis going on or som ething?” “Just call the num ber and find out if she’s there.” Step han ie punched the numbers before they evaporated from her short-te rm memory. Th e keypad felt strange, with a lack of moving and clicking and the assuring beeps she was used to with phone company telephones. Soon the other end of the line rang. And rang. And ra ng. “No one’s answering.” “It doesn’t matter. We’re alm ost there anyway.” As they drew closer, Stephanie could see that it was the thick traffic on the intersecting road that was clogging traffic. “You would think they would put a fucking traffic light there!” Lori snarled as they finally reached the intersection. They waited for an opening and shot across into the parking lot for the gas station, finding it packed with activity, cars at every pump and people swinging into and out of the inside through the front doors. “Dang! W hat are they giving away ?” After they parked, they half-ran, half-skipped to the front doo r. Inside various custom ers circled aro und the coolers or the snack displays. People also walked out, carrying cases of beer or soda. Stephanie stood on tiptoe to look for the cashiering station. Two girls stood behind the counter, working feverishly, and to her dismay, neither one was Rachel. One was black, heavyset, and doe-eyed while the other was older, stern looking with glasses and a high ponytail. Though the four people waited in line at the counter, Lori rushed up to the lighter display b eside one of the cash registers. She stood on tiptoe and addressed the older lady, who was scanning a six-pack of beer for a paunchy, red-faced m iddleaged guy. “Excuse m e, m a’am , can I ask you som ething?” Lori started. The woman’s eyes widened and she looked down from the platform like an alert bird watching a prey approach her

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nest with four eggs. She lifted her chin to acknowledge Lo ri without smiling. “We’re loo king for Rachel.” For a mom ent, the clerk flashed a confused look. The other cashier, who was putting two cartons of cigarettes in a bag, noticed what was going on. Lori added “Real tall girl. Reddish auburn hair.” The bespectacled cashier still looked d o wn, questioningly. Her b lack co-worker said “You know. The fag.” Stephanie felt a twinge of disappointment at the lady’s curt, unflattering assessment of her co-worker. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lori do a cartoon-style double take. Sharply, she said “B e nice.” “Rachel doesn’t com e in until tom orrow night,” said the cash ier with the glasses. “Well, we have to reach her,” Lori persisted. “ We’re friends of hers and we have something importan t to tell her. Would you kno w what her phone number is? Is it written down som ewhere?” The two cashiers looked at each other. The black one widened her large eyes and shrugged her shoulders. Something quickly occurred to Stephanie. “Didn’t you say she works another job? Maybe she’s there today!” Like a girl in school, Lori’s eyes and mouth widened as she said “That’s right! We could check there!” She turned b ack to the ladies behind the cash register and asked “Would you know the num ber for her other job?” That brought about another shrug from the cashier who was scanning three packs of cigarettes for a pimply faced post adolescent boy. “I guess you could just look up ‘Apollo Financial’ in the ph one boo k.” Momen ts later, Stephanie and Lori were squeezed inside a phone booth paging through the telephone directory. They both found the numb er together. Lori excited ly wrote it down and when they both tried to exit from the phone booth at the sam e time, they scrunched together, like molls in a Keystone Cops routine. “You’re smaller,” Stephanie said, finally. “You squinch in the corner while I pull the do or back.” Lori inhaled, made herself even smaller and huddled into the corner. It left enough space for Stephanie to pull the do or back and let herself out. She assumed they would call from the car, on Lori’s cellular pho ne. Along the way they had to stop and start,

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weaving their way around streams of cars coming into or out of the lot. O nce they lowered themselves back into the car, Lo ri wasted no time putting the key in the ignition. She reached into the co nsole and lifted the cell phone, giving it to Stephanie. “What are you doing?” she asked , puzzled that Lori seemed to want to drive somewhere. “I want to call her.” She was nonchalant and efficient, as if learning bombastic facts were an everyday thing for her. “But where are you driving to?” “Toward the mall.” “But what if her job’s the other way?” “We’ll go shopping. Gee! Don’t be such a nudge. If you’re so freaking concerned, go ahead and call her.” Lori gunned the engine and shot into a gap into the traffic. They headed for the exit to the interstate. “You think the m all is going to be any better?” “Stephanie, eat me! Just make the dam n call!” “Okay, okay!” She loo ked dow n at the strange gadget, which looked to her like less of a phone and more like a walkietalkie with a keypad. “U m, ho w do yo u turn it on again?” “Just start dialing. When you’re through, hit ‘send.’” Stephanie gazed down at the telephone then gingerly started dialing. She wondered again what kind of a conversation was important enough that someone would need to call from a car. She shrugged, entered the num bers and hit “send .” The dial tones sounded, in rapid-fire, machine gun sequence, startling her. When she put the receiver to her ear, she could hear the phone dialing at the other end. A voice mail greeting cam e onto the line with a wom an’s voice saying “Thank you for calling Apollo F inancial. Your call is very important to us. For credit, please select “one” on your telephone keypad. For custom er service, please select “two.” If you are calling from a rotary phone, please wait on the line and an Apollo associate will be glad to assist you.” Stephanie snickered and said “Congratulations! I’ve changed this into a rotary phone.” Lori was concentrating on the thick, breakneck traffic. “What?” “No thing.” Stephanie turned her attention b ack to the voice m ail. The voice cam e onto the line again and said “Apo llo Financial thanks you for your patience. Due to extrem ely high call volum es, hold times are longer than usual. Please continue to hold and an Apollo Financial representative

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will be happy to assist you.” A moment later the hold music came on: she recognized the boyish teen singing and the cheesy harmonizing vocals before the refrain told her the song title: “I think I love you,” by the Partridge Family. Lori had already reached the m all parking lot, which was a sea of cars. “Holey moley! Are they giving stuff away, or what?” “Prob ably .” Stephanie’s friend Tricia was in retail management for a mall store and was constantly telling her the dirt behind their alleged “sales.” “I hope you can find a frigging parking space.” “Wh at’s going on? Yo u on hold?” “Yep.” Lori found a parking space on the outer reaches of the mall parking lot. Clouds had gathered overhead since they’d been at the gas station, robbing them of the sun’s cheeriness. Stephanie remained on hold through the rest of the Partridge family song and then through “The E nd of the Innocence,” by Don Henley. “That’s gotta be a crappy job she has. When she answers the phone, the first thing people probably say is ‘I was on hold for fifteen m inutes! Don’t you care about your customers?’” Mom ents later, Ste phanie heard static and a series of clicks as the song started to fade. The line rang again, having been switched over electronically. After three mo re rings, a dispassio nate female voice answered: “Welcom e to Apollo Financial, this is Erica, how can I help you today?” Stephanie stammered, holding the speaker close to her lips, saying “Hello? H ello? Hello? C an you hear me?” “I can hear you just fine, m a’am .” “Okay, good. We’re looking for an employee. Her nam e is Rach el.” “Do you have a last name? There are two Rachels working here.” “Last n am e? Um , no, I don’t know it.” She turned to Lori and asked her if she knew. Lori shrugged, then her eyes lit up as it she had an extraordinary idea. “Just tell her ‘the tall one.’” “The one that’s tall,” Stephanie said to Erica, the Apollo rep. Erica replied “Ah, yes, Rachel Peavey. She’s here today. I can connect you.”

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“Go od.” She heard a few clicks and then a ringing phone line. Someone answered on the fourth ring. A tired, low female voice said “Thank you for calling Apollo Financial, this is Rachel, how may I help you today?” The words sounded weary and lacked co nviction, b ut Stephanie felt excited because she knew that what she had to say would brighten Rachel’s day. “Hi Rachel, my name is Stephanie. We met briefly a few weeks ago, at your second job. I’m Lori’s friend, you know, that crazy blond who drives the MR2.” She paused for a mom ent to give Rachel time to process what she was saying. “Oh yeah,” Rachel said. “Nice to speak with you. Happy ‘Black Friday.’” For a mom ent, Stephanie was puzzled over what to say next. Lori noticed this and started making a winding-forward motion with her pointed finger. “Are you really busy there today?” “Somewhat. After Christmas is worse for us. Processing all those credit returns. What are you and the race car driver up to?” Stephanie giggled, turned to Lori and said “She called you a race car driver.” “Yeah! A winning race car driver!” “Anyway, I have a really unusual question for you.” She could sense Rachel from the other end of the line leaning forward to try to listen mo re closely. “Wh at is it?” Stephanie was searching her mind for the best way to word the question. “It’s about your second job. Several weeks ago, do you remember a young m an customer, a really mysterious guy?” There was a heavy, weighted silence at the other end of the line. Stephanie could hear the electronic trilling of telephones in the background and the hushed murmur of other voices. Stephanie was about to say som ething, to get Rachel to respond when Rachel said, in hushed, halting tones “You m ean the angel.” “Uh, yeah. His nam e is Estes. H e said he’s a warrior angel. He thinks he might have to go to the M iddle East, because there’s going to be a war there.” “Wh at? What are you saying?” “Well…” Stephanie swallowed to stall for time, knowing that what she was about to say was going to sound fantastic, ridiculous, or both, no matter how she put it. Finally,

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she just dove in: “he’s been working at the restaurant where I’m an assistant manager and he’s living in a rooming house. At least he was. I’m not so sure, after what happened last night.” Stephanie could sense a whooshing, exhaling sound from the other end of the line, like the air rushing out of a balloon. “Oh.” Rachel sounded suddenly dejected. It was the exact opposite of the response Stephanie had expected. “W hat’s wrong?” “Well,” Rachel said, her voice lo wering, “then he’s not an angel, is he?” “But he is. He was at my house for Thanksgiving yesterday and something happened.” She paused, knowing that she’d gotten herself into another verbal pickle. How m uch should she tell? “Apparently…a…demon played a trick on him and fixed it so that he got stuck on earth in um …human form .” There was another pause from the other end of the line. “What?” Rachel said, with a tone of incredulousness to her voice. “Why are you telling me?” “Yesterday, during our Thanksgiving Dinner, Estes told us he came down to see you. I thought you might like to know what happened.” Another long pause. Under hushed breath, Rachel said “Oh m y god.” Another pause, and then something that sounded like static or lips sm acking. “Rachel, are you there?” In the background, Stephanie thought she could hear another wom an’s voice saying “Rachel, are you okay?” She also thought she could hear Rachel reply “Yes,” barely above a whisper, and realized that Rachel was crying. “Oh, Rachel, I’m so sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to upset you!” It took awhile for Rachel to get her next words out. They came in emotion choked, light sobs. “But if he was stuck here and he was working with you, then he w asn’t with me.” Stephanie looked over at Lori, who had seemed to sense the seriousness of their conversation and was probably filling in the blanks on what was happening. “You may have more than one a ngel. And Estes is your warrior. For when you need strength.” “If I can,” Rachel said, “I want to help him.”

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Chapter Fifteen Tim decided to work on the day after Thanksgiving. He would make a leisurely day of it, he decided, by sho win g up at 10:30 AM rather than eight, skipping his usual trip to th e grease palace. He would get time and a half pay. According to the program m anager, the part timer that had been slated for mid-day got pissed when he was told, two hours before he was to come in, that he would have the day off. Oh well, Tim thought, them’s the breaks. Time would work the tem plate style shift served up by traffic. That wouldn’t be too exciting, he knew. He’d have to rip and read news a couple of times, go by the play list and the punch and play spots. Maybe there’d be a live one mixed in there somewhere and he’d also be expected to billboard at the top and the bottom of the h our. He could perform such a shift blindfolded and half asleep. Somehow, he needed to jazz things up, but how? A wild thought suddenly occurred to him. He would score himself a guest host. Nature boy. Essex. After showering and dressing in his blue jeans, sneakers, Oh io State University hooded sweatshirt and Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap (which a listener had sent him, congratulating the Fat Man for his review of “Brighton Beach Mem oirs”) he headed out. Though he’d felt encouraged by the sunlight that beamed through his window, waking him gently, by the time he bounded out the door and onto the concrete front steps at the apartment building where he lived, the typical gunmetal late autumn skies had closed in. The air was thick and damp, with the smell of firewood burning from dozens of chim neys. For a mom ent he thought ab out running back to get his coat. He waved the notion aside as he continued onward toward the beetle. So he might get a little chilly until the heater kicked all the way in. Big whoop? The beetle jerk ed and sputtered to life as it always did during the cold days between late October and Easter. He dropped the clutch and set off to find Essex’ abode. A big, mansion style rooming house on Main Street: that much he remembered from their little snippets of conversation at the restaurant. Tim lived at the other side of town, near the m all. He took the long way that mid morning, however, because he knew that the Black Friday shoppers near the mall would be clogging the access road.

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The roundabout path took him all the way toward University Boulevard, with its elm trees lining the streets and populating the m edian. All their leaves had fallen off, which made Tim sad at all the bleakness. When he turned off the boulevard onto Main Street he became dis m ayed w hen saw all the behemoth brick mansions. Any of them could be the rooming house where Essex lived! Think, Tim, think. The guy had said something about having “mini rooms” because of the gables. He glanced across and down the streets for hom es with gables. It had to be a semi-rundown place, also, because a restaurant worker like Essex wouldn’t be able to afford much. The nicer, palatial homes closer to University Bo ulevard, with their m arble balustrades, landscaping, and wrought iron edifices, would b e way out of his league. He noticed that as he slowly traveled closer to the center of town the houses dropped off in quality. They were missing bricks, had tangled chain link fence loo ps surrounding them and dingy concrete lions out front. Finally, he saw one with gables that appeared as if it might have been a magnificent house in it’s day before falling to seed . Whole sections of brick had dropped away from the facing, revealing mortar underneath. The house sprawled atop a gentle slope with a rolling front lawn. The grass sprung up in tangled, colorless snarls. Tim turned into the driveway, which lie on the far side of the dale. As he slowly climbed the incline, he noticed a smaller house to the left, a fifties style ranch similar to the one his parents owned in Kentucky. An adorable little girl with blond hair sat on the front stoop holding a white, furry stuffed animal. The stuffed anim al came to life and jum ped out of her arms and he realized she’d been holding a cat. When he felt he’d moved close enough for her to hear him, he rolled the window dow n. He winced at the burst of chilly air. The little girl was calling out “Here Puff, puff.” Tim said “Hey, I’m looking for my friend. I think he might live here.” The little girl looked at him out of dark, liquid saucer eyes, rem inding him of stylized portrait paintings he’d seen when he was in school. She tilted her head and lo oked at him questioningly. Tim decided to give her a little m ore to draw on. “He might wear blue pants, a blue jacket, and a cap. And he walks a lot.”

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The last tidbit of info seemed to spark her memory. Her eyes opened even wider and her mouth dropped open in smiling joy. “You mean the angel m an? Yes, he lives there.” “Angel man?” Tim was thinking out loud while still addressing the little girl. She nodded excitedly. “He lives right in there.” She pointed a tiny finger toward the old mansion. Tim put the beetle in gear and nudged the car the rest of the way up the driveway, which curved around the house and led to a larger parking lot made of cracking slabs of concrete. He saw a big Ford pickup truck, a staid Oldsmo bile sedan and three beat up looking nonde script small cars. He parked the beetle beside an old, beat up red Toyota and headed toward the entrance. Once he opened the door, he found himself in a foyer of sorts where straight ahead another door led to a stairway and to his right, the glass and wo od doo r probably led to the landlord’s quarters. Tim knocked on that door. Quickly, he heard rustling coming from the other side and the sound of footsteps padding toward him. Someone pushed back the curtains on it, to take a peek at him. A mom ent later the door opened, revealing a pleasantly m atronly blond haired wom an in her late forties. “Yes? Can I help you?” she asked. “I was hoping you could help me find a friend of mine. Essex? He’s a tall guy with light brown hair, smiles a lot?” “Essex.” She let Tim’s words sink in, furrowing her brow as she tried to place the person he’d asked for. “O h! Did you m ean Estes?” Tim snapped his fingers. “That’s right! I always mess it up. I haven’t known him for that long.” “That’s okay,” the landlady said, with a soft, dismissive wave of her hand. “Estes lives on the third floor, in apartment 32. You can used those steps through the other door.” “I appreciate it very m uch, m a’am .” H e set out for the third floor, stepping up the hard wooden stairs. His b oot heels and soles boom ed in the stairwell as decades-old boards creaked benea th h is feet. It was dim and dank, lit at each landing by on ly a s ingle, low wattage light bulb in an ornate, wrought iron sconce. He thought that the numbering schem e of the apartmen ts was a little strange. Were there really thirty-one other apartments? He pushed through the door on the third floor and felt relieved to find th e

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hallways much brighter. At one end of the hall lie apartment 31, then Estes’ apartment, further down a 33, and at the other end of the hall, a 34. Tim stepped forward and rapped sharply against the door with his knuck les. While he waited around for a respon se, he looked up and down the hallway. Bright, pink light spilled out from a ro om with a sink and a twenties style checkered marble floor, that looked like a communal bathroom. No response. Tim rapped his knuckles with more force, enough to cause him to wince in pain. He waited again, standing very still, trying to hear any rustling noises or footsteps. Nothing. The whole hallway was silent and peaceful. Had Estes gone out for the day? T he little girl w ould know, if she was still sitting out on the stoop of the house next door. He hastily descended from the third floor and pushed him self back out into the cold breeze. After quickly jumping inside the beetle he fired up the ignition and backed out of h is parking space. While he drove around the back of the mansion, he realized that he would have to get out to talk to the little girl, or else try to shout to her from across the passenger seat. Once he turn ed th e corner, he saw the little girl still sitting on the stoop , holding the white, fluffy cat. He braked, put the shifter in neutral, yanked up the parking brake and got out of the car to speak to her. Her eyes had even gotten bigger and her mouth had shrunk to a small “o.” To show her he meant no harm, he forced a smile. “Little girl, Estes was not up in his ro om . Have you been outside ve ry long? Did you see him come out and start walking som ewhere?” She looked up at him and seemed to draw the cat into herself tighter, as the cat’s eyes widened and his head bobbed and shifted slightly. “Well, did he? Did you see him come out and go anywh ere?” She still sat, gazing at him, seeming mistrusting and fearful. Suddenly she said “You’re like that bad man in the brown car. The angel man doesn’t want to see you!” Tim blinked, backing up for a mom ent. He rarely ever saw young children, and this one’s reaction mystified him. “Man in a brown car? I don’t know a man in a brown car.” The little girl started to stand, which caused the ca t to flop around and struggle against her small arms. She managed

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to reach up and start knocking on the door. “Mom my! Let m e in! Mom my! Let me in!” “I’m sorry if I upset you little girl,” Tim called out to her as he circled around the front of the beetle to get back behind the wheel. He thought it was best to get out of there befo re her m othe r called the police. It would also get him out of the cold. Once he had situated himself back behind the wheel, he thought about what to do next. Had Estes gone to work? The car’s struggling heater started to spray him with warm air by the time he reached Main Street, and he sighed contentedly. The restaurant was a couple of miles away via the connector and highway 22 and seemed like a long, difficult walk, since he knew Estes walked to work every morning. But then, he probably came from a country where everyone walked to get places and they used ox drawn carts to farm or som ething. He was surprised at what he found in the grease palace: a full parking lot bustling with people coming and going. When he parked and walked in he had to sidestep a few of them , mostly fam ilies with kids. Inside the dining room, Tim heard people shout from the kitchen over the beeping and whirring sounds of machinery. He could smell the heaviness of fried and grilled food. The lines for the registers were five people deep and three registers had been opened. Tim recognized the future GI kid and the sassy redhead. At the third register, all the way to the right, just in front of the door to the kitchen, one of the manag ement types held the post. He could tell by the checked pattern on her blouse and her tie. She’d also put her blond hair up instead of covering it with a cap or visor the way the other crew members did. He’d never seen the woman before in his travels there. She wore a disp assio nate expression on her face, which she had taken great care in painting up with cosmetics including sharp eyeliner and defining b lush. Tim decided to stroll past the other people in the line and go directly to her register, to ask about Estes. By the time he was standing beside the register, where she’d been waiting on a dark haired construction worker looking guy, her expression had changed to contained rage. She jerked her head to the side and glared at him out of cold, pale eyes saying “Sir, we need you to get to the back of the line and wait your turn, please!” She spoke in a shrill and harsh manner, like a pissed-off elementary schoo l teacher.

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“That’s okay! I’m Dave Diamond. I eat here all the time.” “I don’t care if you’re President Bush! You go to the back of the line like everyone else.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it! I’m not trying to be difficult. I was just hoping I could ask you a quick question. I’m looking for one of your employees… uh…Estes. Is he here today?” She continued to ring up the dark haired gentleman’s order and too k his m oney. “Estes?” sh e said with a snarl, as if she were announcin g the name of an odious venereal disease. “No , Estes is not here today.” “Okay. Thank you.” He turned and started to walk out of the restaurant, and on the way he heard a woman’s loud voice calling out “I’ve got my buns! I need m y m eat!” and he snickered. He wondered how long it had been since the bitchy blond manager lady had enjoyed a certain kind of m eat. W hen he m ade it to the parking lot and slipped back behind the wheel of the beetle, he sighed, reaching for his keys. “Well this isn’t working out too good,” he said, out loud. He soon arrived at the radio station, glad to have finally made it to a place where he had so m e control. It was an unassuming, ordinary looking b rick and flat-roof structure with a giant antenna out in the back, with a bright red light blinking at the top. They had attached a black top parking lot to the “back yard” of the house, and that day only one other car had parked there: the old, beat-up white Dodge owned by Johnny Spats, an old, gray-haired, gravelly voiced smiley guy who worked on the weekends. Tim found his passkey, walked across the parking lot and let himself in through the metal fire door. Once inside, he glanced around at all the subtle lighting, the thick carpet and the wood paneling. He’d decided long ago that the station had been last remodeled during the b lack and white television era. After rounding a corner, he could hear Johnny talking in muffled tones. W hen he walked past the glass of the main studio Johnny saw him and sm iled, waving to him, showing two rows of gleaming teeth tinged with silver. Tim had no idea whether the teeth were real, dentures, o r s om e type of a bridge. He’d never had the guts, tem erity, or rudeness to ask. He quietly slipped in through the studio door and stood in the corner,

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waiting for Johnny to finish his station break. He looked up at the clock and saw that it was ten minutes before his shift was scheduled to begin. The program m anager had found Johnny playing Santa Claus at a toy store a couple of years before. He’d said that he was so im pressed by his ebullient personality that he asked “Have you ever done any radio?” Ever since then Johnny had worked as a fill-in for holidays and weekends. He was the only disc jockey Tim knew of at the station who’d kept his first name as part of his on-air handle. Even his last name was simply a sh ortening of a five syllable Slavic sound ing nam e. Two minutes to the top of the hour, Johnny pushed in a cart and signed off. He gathered his pipe and his lunch box toge ther and pulled his coat sleeves on. “Don’t know how I’m going to spend the rest of the day. Maybe run by one of the malls and see what kind of trouble I can get into there.” Seconds later Tim was left alone in the building. A comm ercial played. He watched the countdown and got his intro ready. While he waiting he glanced at the traffic log and his eyes stopped on an entry three quarters into the first hour: “Live news read.” “Shit,” he said out loud. He would have to rip and read because all the new s people were off. Wh ile he mulled that over, the co mmercial cart ran dow n and deafening, dead air filled his ears. “S hit!” he repeated, and hastily plunged his intro cart in. The reassuring trumpet blasts eased his mind immediately. Wh en he glanced over the desktop and the studio setup something seemed out of place, or wrong. He looked at everything twice before he realized that all of the availab le incoming telephone lines were blinking. They would all have to wait, he decided, until he started the first song. When the intro gradually faded he did his lip exercises, mouthing the list of vowels and saying “Llewellyn, Llewellyn, Llewellyn,” over and over (it was the nam e of his next door neighbor in Kentucky; he’d had trouble pronouncing the name his whole life). The LED readout hit zero and this time Tim flicked the mike and said “Rex105, Dave Diamond, happy Turkey hangover! We’ve got some old, old, I mean ancient Yes, Stevie Nicks, Genesis and a new one from INXS coming up so, don’t go nowhere!” He flipped the switch and the first few stinging guitar notes of “Yours is No Disgrace,” the ancient Yes song, played in his headphones. It would last mo re

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than seven minutes, buying him lots of time to clear out the phone lines. He answered the first line: “Rex 105.” People often told him that his phone answ ering voice and his on-air voice were so different they thought they were speaking with a board operator or an assistant. “Yeah,” came the voice from the other end of the line. “Wh at’s the weather gonna be? W e gonna get any snow ?” “It’s going to be cold. And cloudy,” he said, hoping the sense of urgency in his voice would get the caller to hang up. “Well are we gonna get any snow , or not?” “No. Not in the forecast.” Once again he spoke rapidly, with a drill sergeant cadence, hoping the guy would get the idea the second time. “Ok ay, okay, I get it.” The line clicked off. Tim reached for the second line: “Rex 105.” A teenager spoke in a slo w, slurring, but affected sounding voice as he said “Yeah, can you play ‘Masturbation’ by ‘Lucifer’s Friend?” Tim felt like sighing but held his breath. He wanted to say “Get a life,” but instead told the caller “I’m sorry, that song is not in our catalog.” The crank caller laugh ed and hung up. That left only the third line for him to get to. He picked it up. “Rex 105.” “Wh at the fuck are you doing working?” The voice hit Tim with a jolt. He quickly remembered Phillip’s pissed-o ff sounding telephone voice. “I’m fucking getting time and a half to rip and read news and talk to jerk off kids. What about you?” “Having a holiday like the rest of the sane population. Are you really in there for the duration?” “Yeah.” He checked the ticker for the CD and saw that it read less than a m inute. “Well what abo ut later? We’re supposed to be there at four!” “And? I get off at three numbnuts. Can you make it quick? ‘Y es’ is just ab out over.” “We’ll be there ab out a quarter to three.” “Awright.” They disconnected. Tim had wanted to ask “Who’s we?” but he figured it was Phillip and his girlfriend.

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Twenty minutes later, when he had gathered together all the news copy, he prepared himself for the more serious delivery needed for the news. Wh ile watching the countdown, he shuffled his papers and cleared his throat and recited A-E-IO-U a couple of times. On the exact millisecond the song ended, Tim hit the loop for the news intro. “Rex 105 news, I’m Dave Diam ond, and here is what is going on. The nation’s retailers are hoping for a bang-up Friday, traditionally one of the busiest shopping days of the year…” From there he went on to discuss the DOW and NASDAQ num bers from W ednesday. One news item had Rob Pilatus o f Milli Vanilli com mitting suicide, apparently ov erco m e with grief over the fallout from the lip synching scandal. And then on what seemed to be on everyone’s mind: “President Bush has sent 10,000 more troops to Kuwait in a further expansion o f Operation Desert Shield.” He paused for a few moments, to allow the words to sink in with his listeners. “Hmm. Scary stuff.” After a brief weathercast, in which Tim confirmed that there would be no snow, he was done playing news broadcaster. He dropped in a spot and fired the cart the split second he finished. A song sweep was coming, allowing him time to relax, check readings and get a breather. He idly watched the spot count down, then flipped the switch for the next selection from the traffic log. A Stevie Nicks song “Stand back” played through his headphones and at low volume on the studio speakers. A phone line lit up. Tim wondered if it was his imagination, but the light seemed brighter on that particular phone line than the others from earlier. He reached over to pick it up, feeling a strange, heightened awareness o f all his movements. Something caused his heart to quicken as pushed down on the button and heard the line connect. “Rex 105.” “Is this Tim?” “Yes it is. Can I help you?” “This is Estes, Tim.” Though he had spoken only two sentences, Estes sounded reverent and solemn in a strangely bombastic way. “Estes? Buddy! Where are you at? I was by both th e old mansion and the burger joint and you weren’t there? Are you at the mall?” “No, I’m not.” He paused before a long tim e. Tim was going to jump in and say something, but Estes continued. “Listen, Tim, I have to talk to you ab out something really important.”

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Chapter Sixteen Stephanie and Lori met Rachel at the credit card company. Rachel insisted they come. Stephanie, k nowing that Rachel probably worked a shift that ended in the m id afternoon or later, said “Can you do that? Can you just leave like that?” “Yes, I can. This is an emergency. I’ll just tell them I’m having a personal crisis.” She had directed them to the building where she worked, wh ich took Lori and Stephanie several exits down the highway through heavy traffic, cross over on the circle freeway, and turn right at the first ext off the interstate headed to Columbus. “Jeez,” Lori said, as the m iles piled up. “We should have just directed h er over to that Edward’s house.” “Estes. His name is Estes. And it can’t be that much farther.” A few minutes later they arrived at a new and shiny office complex filled with sprawling shiny glass parallelograms. Huge com merce plazas ro se from a lot that had been bulldozed level to acco mmodate them , ringed at the sides with sm all dales populated with young trees. “Wow, I’m im pressed,” Lori said, looking at all the glea m ing glass and steel. “She must have hit the big time. Wh at building did you say it was?” “8845.” Stephanie referred to a crumpled piece of paper with directions scribbled on it, from their phone call. “Did she say she wo uld be standing outside?” “No. Would you want to stand outside in this kind of dank cold?” She scanned the fronts of the buildings and saw 8855, 8850. “There it is!” she barked out, pointing at a building toward the center of the complex. Lori yanked the steering wheel and guided the small white sports car into a “u” turn in the m iddle of the drive. A t the end of the turn she punched the gas pedal, lurching the car forward, causing the tires to chirp. “You are crazy!” Stephanie said. “Yeah, I make my guardian angel work hard, don’t I?” As she eased the car along the curb in front of the 8845 building, Stephanie studied the front door for shadows and shapes moving around inside. When Lori stopped the car and shifted into neutral, They saw Rachel emerge from the front door. Rachel grimaced against the cold, wearing gray slacks and a violet, cropped jack et that covered a matching sweater

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underneath it. She crossed the walkway toward them she hugged herself tightly. When she reached the curb she crouched down while Stephanie hit the button for the window. “Hi!” she said when she reached them. “How are you doing? God, am I glad to get out of that place.” Stephanie was closest to her. She said “They didn’t get mad at you for leaving early, right?” Rachel waved her hand dismissively at the building. “If they did, they don’t act like it. Hell, they’ll get over it.” “Is your car near here somewhere?” Lori shouted over Stephanie. Rachel straightened and pointed delicately toward the parking lot beside th e bu ilding. “Yeah. Right there. It’s an old Ford Torino.” Lori and Stephanie followed Rachel to a honeychrysanthemum colored car with distinctively swooping bodylines and a white vinyl roof. Th e back end sat higher, giving the car a fast, aggressive profile. When Rachel lowered herself down inside of it, Stephanie expected to hear deep barrels throbbing when Rachel fired up the engine. Instead, it gave off a pleasant, efficient sounding humm. They watched Rachel back her car out. “Pull up alongside her,” Stephan ie said. “So we figure out what we’re going to do.” “W hat? Like we’re sixty-nining? What the hell are you talking about?” “Yeah. What cops do in supermarket parking lots, pulling up driver window to driver window. It makes it look like the cars are sixty-nining. Once they’d gotten into position, Stephanie rolled the window down again, her turn to wince against a chill wind. When she looked across at Stephanie, she saw fear in her eyes. “Are you ready for this?” Stephanie asked , hoping that her voice had a calming, soo thing effect. Rachel smiled m eekly back at them. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she paused, deep in thought. “Do you think wh at we’re doing is a sin?” Lori was facing Rachel, as the car windows had been positioned opposite of each other. She turned back to Stephanie for a moment. Stephanie said “No.” She thought she should elaborate, but all she could think of was “You’re seeing the earthly incarnation of our angel. There’s nothing sinful in that.”

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Rachel allowed her head to roll back against her headrest as her eyes glanced up toward the roof and she sighed deeply. “I can’t believe this. Let’s go. I’ll just get more and more nervous the longer we wait.” In her mischievous speedster voice, Lori said “Let’s go.” They turned around and allowed Rachel to get behind them. When they found the exit for the office complex, drove up the street and found the interstate, Stephanie noticed that the traffic was much less dense headed back toward her neighborhoo d. They would reach Estes quicker. “Do we know this guy’s phone number?” Lori asked. “After all this trouble, maybe we should call him and m ake sure he’s hom e.” Stephanie was going to say “Estes does not have a phone,” but then the phone rang. It beeped and buzzed in her lap, startling her. She looked down at the blinking light heralding an incom ing call. “Well answer it, dipshit! It could be my highmaintenance half.” Stephanie was used to phones that sat in a cradle and started a live line when they were picked up. “Um, how do you answer this?” “Jeesh! Hit ‘talk’ dum -dum .” Stephanie pressed the “talk” button and timidly held the phone to her ear. “Hello?” “Stephanie?” came a male voice from the other end of the line. The voice sh ocked her w ith its clarity, as if she had been sitting beside him instead of talking to him on a walkietalkie phone. “Yes? Who is this?” “It’s Estes, Stephanie. Hello.” Her throat tightened and for a mom ent the words tried to com e but could not. “Well, who is it?” Lori impatiently wanted to know. Stephanie covered the condenser with her hand and said “It’s Estes!” “Estes! What the f…..how did he get the number? Wh ere the hell is he?” Stephanie lifted h er hand so she could find out. “H i, Estes. Did you get a phone today? Are you at home?” She thought trying to be and sound as no rmal as possible would take the surreal edge off of the entire experience.

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“No . I’m not calling from the rooming house.” “Oh ? Then did they call you in to work today?” “No. Listen, I have something very important to say, so listen carefully. Please stay away from the 2112 club today.” The words at first made no sense to her. She felt as if she was watching TV and in the middle of a newscast the reporter looked her in the eye and said “Do n’t be so nice to Ingrid. She doesn’t deserve it.” Stephanie wondered ho w in heaven he would know they were thinking about going to the 2112 club, but remem bered that he was an angel. “Okay. Are you still around here Estes? Are you nearby? Why should we avoid the 2112 club ?” He paused, then sighed from the other end of the line. “I can’t say.” Stephanie turned around and looked at Rachel in the Torino, following them. From the details she could see through the cloudy day and the tinted glass, she seemed serene. Lori shifted around impatiently in the driver’s seat, her varying pressure on the gas pedal causing the car to buck slightly. “Well, where the hell, I mean, heaven is he?” Stephanie raised a finger to quiet her friend. Something occurred to her: “Estes, do you know where Rachel is?” “Yes. She’s in the car b ehind you.” Stephanie’s eyes shifted as her breathing cam e out in shallow rasps. In her mind she had a wild idea come to her. While she m ulled it over, Lori beside her and Estes through the phone line said “Stephanie?” “Estes! We can signal Rachel to drive along behind us and then keep the same speed, get close together and I can pass the phone to Rachel. You could talk to her!” Lori snapped around to look at Stephanie and said “What the hell are you talking about? In this traffic? Do you want to get us killed or som ething?” “It does sound like it would be a little dangerous,” Estes said. “Well then do yo u want us to tell her? Do you wan t to warn her against going to 2112, also?” “Yes.” Stephanie looked up and realized that they were only a couple of exits away from the co nnector leading to Main Street. “Estes, do you know that we’re on our way to the roo m ing mansion, to see you?”

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“Yes, I know.

But that won’t be possible.

I’m not

there.” Stephanie wanted to reach through the telephone, grab Estes by the shirtfront and say “Where on earth are you? And why can’t Rachel see you? She wants to see you so badly.” Instead, she said “Well, what should we tell Rachel? She might be crushed “ “I can help her with that. W arn her against going to the 2112 club as I m entioned. And tell her that I will always be with her.” Stephanie wanted to say “WELL, WHY DON’T YOU TELL HER YOUR SELF?” Instead, sh e just m eekly said “O kay.” “Thank you very m uch Stephanie. And remember, you are loved.” There was a click on the line. Stephanie knew that it was normal for a cellular telepho ne connection to be filled with static and clicks. “Hello? Hello? HELLO?” She quickly realized she was talking into plastic. Stunned, she set the telephone down in her lap. As she looked ahead of her she saw Lori turn the M R2 onto the co nnector, headed toward Main Street. “So, was he hom e, or not?” “No .” “No? Well what the hell are we going to do? Big Red is gonna freak out.” Feeling lightheaded, Stephanie breathed deeply. She turned to her friend. “Can I ask you som ething? W hat kind of weird nicknames do you have for me, that you say when I’m not there? ‘Dum-dum ,’ ‘num bskull,’ ‘burger flip per,’ I already know.” “That’s it.” She kept her eyes on the road, trying to appear casual. “You know where to go from here, right?” “Yeah, to som eplace on Main Street that looks like the house on ‘The Aadam s Family.’” Stephanie grinned wryly. “It’s more like ‘Collinswood’ from ‘Dark Shado ws.’” They continued down the connector road toward Main Street. Soon they came upon the mansion-turned rooming house. Stephanie looked behind them and saw Rachel following along faithfully in the Torino and she felt butterflies in her stomach. It was like firing someone at work, the cold, hard, bald-faced truth usually went down best. Both she and

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Lori could o ffer her a shoulder to cry on. “So where was he calling from, anyway?” Lori asked while the car chugged up the winding driveway toward the back of the house. “A cloud next to three guys playing trumpets and a girl with long blond hair playing the harp. How should I know?” “Well, wherever he was, he was in pocket.” She looked up at the building, with its missing bricks, moss-choked cracks in the driveway and fall en roof tiles. “Jeez, is this place haunted, or what?” When they parked in the back beside a beat up old red Toyota, she grumbled something about the patchwork pavem ent sh redding her tires. Stephanie’s heart beat faster, in dreaded anticipation of having to break the news to Rachel. The Torino parked on the other side, next to a big pickup truck. “Do me a favor. Let’s get out of the car at the same time and walk over there together. She’s going to be quite upset when I tell her.” “Okay, boss,” Lori said, with a sm irk. Stephanie zipped her coat to bundle herself against the cold day, noticing the deepening gunmetal sky while they climbed out of the MR2. By the time they both walked across the pavement, Rachel had started to crack her door open. They both watched her emerged from the old car, as yet another dark cloud seemed to rumble overhead. Rachel had been smiling, but when she turned and saw both Stephanie and Lori’s faces, her eyes gradually lost their glimm er and the corners of her m outh evened out. “What? What’s going on? What happened?” Stephanie swallowed and said “We found out that Estes isn’t here right now.” For a mom ent, Rachel just looked confused and hurt. She then pointed toward the house with her o utstretched arm. “W hat? You already had time to run up there and knock on his door? H ow do you know he’s not there?” Stephanie realized that what she was about to say was going to come out sounding ridiculous. “Lori has a cell phone. He called us and told us he wasn ’t there.” She knew exactly what was com ing next. “Well, where was he calling from?” “I don’t know.” “You didn’t ask him?” “He didn’t say.”

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Lori, who was in flimsy slacks, started jumping up and down to warm herself. “Sheesh. It’s cold. Is there going to be a blizzard, or what?” “How do yo u know he wasn’t calling from up there?” Stephanie sighed, watching her breath steam. “If I tell you it’s probably going to sound weird.” Rachel crept in closer to her and Lori turned toward her. “An angel would not lie. Wo uld he?” “Well, let’s at least knock on his doo r for C hrist’s sake,” Rachel said. “At least to rule out the possibility that he was going against his angelic ways.” She started toward the door. “We’re going to have to check with the landlo rds,” Stephanie said, bringing both Lori and Rachel to a dead stop. “When I was here the other day, I just met him out in the parking lot. I don’t know what apartment he’s in.” Rachel nodded, her lower lip trem blin g against the cold. Lori had started to shiver so much that the faux fur neckline on her jacket started to rustle. “Well let’s get the fuck in there and talk to the landlady b efore I freeze m y tushie off.” They all walked toward the back do or. It occurred to Stephanie that while she had never been inside the house, Estes had told her m any tim es that he lived on the third floor, almost imm ediately across from the landing. If he wasn’t there, as she believed he wasn’t, it was a m oot point anyway. All their shoulders relaxed as they pushed the door opened and found the warmth of a foyer. The door to their right had square panes of glass in it and had been covered with a curtain from the other side. There were light and shadows in the landlord’s quarters. “Let m e do the knocking,” Lo ri said as she stepped up and gave the wood three sharp raps with her knuckles, causing the sm all window panes to rattle noisily. A m om ent later, m oving shadows appeared beh ind the curtain and Stephanie could hear rustling around of papers, feet on the floor and pots clattering. “Just a mom ent,” a feminine voice said from the other side. Someone pulled the edge of the curtain aside to give them a quick peek, then the door creaked open, slowly revealing a pleasantly matronly blond-haired woman in her forties, wearing a holiday sweater with flashing lights. Her eyes widened when she saw the three young women on the other side of the threshold. She said “How can I help you ladies on this fine day?”

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For a second, all three of them looked at each other. Stephanie said. “We’re looking for a friend of mine. His name is Estes.” The woman’s mouth fo rm ed a small “o” as her eyebrows raised in recognition. “Oh, he’s on the third floor, in apartment 32. Right across from the stairway landing. You can’t m iss it.” “We think he might be in trouble,” Rachel blurted out behind her. “Trouble?” the landlady repeated. “Well, he hasn’t had his meds and we think he might have had a seizure. W e tried to call him and he didn’t answer.” Stephanie could feel her cheekbones heating up and hoped she wasn’t turning red. Sh e was a terrible liar and an even worse actress. She expected the landlady to say “You tried to call him? H e doesn’t have a phone.” Instead , she said “Heavens,” placing her hand delicately against her chest. “I had no idea! Well, let me get my key. We can all go up there and check on him.” Mom ents later the four of them climbed the creaky steps through the echoing stairwell. Each flight of stairs was dimly lit by a single light bulb in a wrought iron sconce at each landing. The intermittent flashing light from the landlady’s sweater flashed twinkles of red and green onto the walls, causing Stephanie to feel as if they’d stumbled into a Dickensian house and the gh ost o f Jaco b M arley was going to confront them, rattling his chains and wailing. Halfway up, Stephanie heard what she thought was faraway singing, possibly coming from the stereo inside one of the apartments behind closed doors. When she looked down she realized that Rachel was humming to herself. Soon they reached the third floor. Stephanie, Rachel and Lori parted for the landlady to step ahead of them and rap the door for Apartment 32, where Estes had lived. No answer. The landlady rapped on the door again, with the same, silent result. She shrugged and reached for her key. When the key ticked and clicked around inside the hole, Stephanie’s wrists tingled with anticipation, as if they might find Estes on the other side of the door, sitting on the bed. The lock bolt clunked over, releasing the doorknob as she pushed the door open. They filed through the doorway together while the landlady stepped across the floor to a dresser against the far

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wall. She cranked the switch on a lamp atop the dresser, which filled the room with w arm light. The room was large enough for two twin beds with a wide space between them and a cloth recliner beside another lamp in one corner. A shellacked wooden door at the other side of the room probably led to a closet, Stephanie decided. She noticed that the landlady’s lips had parted as she surveyed the perfectly made beds and the spotless orderly quality of the nightstand and the dresser. The wall angled upward from where the roof m et the ceiling, and the gables outside had cut two smaller little rooms where someone could sequester themse lves and look out the window. The hardwood floor had been recently smoothly varnished. It seemed to her as though they’d wandered into a museum exhibit. “W ell I’ll be darned,” the landlady said. “What is it?” Rachel said. “I kno w I haven’t been up here since we rented him the room,” she began, “but it looks the same as it did before he got here.” Stephanie glanced around at the tight bedspreads and the imm aculate dresser tops and said “I was going to say either Estes is a picky housekeeper or he moved out. But even if he m oved out…hey, if he hasn’t left, his jacket and work uniform would still be here. Can we open the closet?” “Sure,” the landlady said, briskly striding across the hardwood toward the closet door. They all followed her and watched as she opened the door slowly , revealing the inside of the walk-in closet to them . It was empty shelves, empty floors, and empty hanging rods. “Nothing.” Stephanie murmured. Rachel backed away from the closet and wandered around the floor in front of the twin beds. “This is where he lived?” “Yes’m,” the landlady replied. Rachel widened her eyes. Stephanie turned to the landlady. “I know it’s asking a lot. But do you know if Estes came back here last night? He was at my house for Thanksgiving dinner yesterday and some other people took him hom e.” The landlady gazed thoughtfully toward the angled ceiling, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, then shru gged. “I can’t say for sure, honey. I do know that a fella was here to see him this morning.”

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Stephanie, Lori, and Rachel all looked at each other. “ W as he a really big guy?” Stephan ie asked, rem embering th e trio who’d arrived at her front door the night before. “Or a really evil looking dude wearing leather who drives a sports car?” Lori asked. Stephanie snapped her neck turning to quickly look at Lori. The landlady again paused thoughtfully and said “W ell the young m an was blond. But he was neither big nor evil loo king. Just a normal looking fella, I guess. Like someone you’d see when you’re out shopping or at the mo vies or at church.” “Did he have just a little bit of a gut on him?” Stephanie said, starting to get an idea of whom it might be. “I suppose you could say that. He was wea ring his winter coat though, which does tend to make a person look bulkier.” “Would you say that he had an expressive face? With his eyebrows going up and down quite a lot? And did he talk with perfect diction and perfect tonal modulation?” During the second sentence, Stephanie imitated the vocal delivery of an FM deejay, to drive her point home. The landlady raised a pointed finger in an “Ah-Ha” gesture. “Yes, yes! He did have a way of speaking king of like one of those radio personalities. That much I rem ember.” At the sam e time, both Lori and Rachel said “Who are you talking about?” “Dave Diam ond, Rex 105.” Rachel’ s features contorted into an expression of disgust. “That jerkwad?” Sh e then put her hand on her m outh and said “Oops,” remembering she was in the company of a polite, genteel woman. The landlady pretended not to have heard anything. “Yes. He comes to the restaurant practically every day. One day he was talking to Estes about something. I don’t know what.” Lori giggled and said “M ayb e he wants to intervie w him on the radio.” Rachel and Stephanie loo ked at each other and Rachel shrugged. The landlady said “Well you co uld call the radio station, couldn’t you?” “We could call from the car phone,” Lori offered. “Does anyone know the num ber?”

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The landlad y said “Well hon, we have a phone book downstairs. And you could use the pho ne, too . It’s a little cold to be getting out in a car to try to use a phone.” A short while later, Stephanie borrowed the phone book and used the replica 1930’s era general store phone in the landlady’s heavily paneled kitchen to call the radio station. When she dialed the num ber the pho ne rang, and rang, and rang. Rachel and Lori looked at her while the landlady, whom they learned was named M abel, started straightening up some dishes and hand towels. “It’s ringing, right?” Rachel asked. “Yes,” Stephanie said. Rachel nodded. “Keep holding. U sually a radio station has three or four incoming lines. And if he’s on a news break it might be an even longer time.” “Okay.” A few moments later she heard a couple of clicks and then the line connected. A weary sounding m ale voice said “Rex 105.” “Hello, is this Dave Diamond?” “At your service. What can I do you for?” “This is Stephanie, you know, from the restaurant? We had that little chat that one time?” H e paused for a m om ent and then enthusiastically chimed “Oh yes! H ow are you? Are you working today?” “Well, no. Actually, I have kind of an unusual question for you, if you don’t mind.” She waited a couple of seconds for his reply before go ing on. “Is Estes there with you?” “Um, no. Are you looking for him, too? I guess you know he’s not at work today either.” “Yes, I know . Were you and he going to do the radio show today?” “Um, it was a spur of the mom ent thing. I’d asked him once if he’d ever want to be on the show and he said yes. Just yes terda y I decided to today and went to his house to try to get him , see if he’d want to do the show with m e.” “But he wasn’t there.” “No pe.” Stephanie was about to thank him for his help and hang up, since she knew that he must be busy, trying to run a radio station. Then Dave blurted out “But h e called here just a while ago.”

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His words struck he r temple like a bolt of lightning. “He did? Did he tell you wh ere he was calling from ?” “No, Cicely, but it was a real strange phone call. He wasn’t himself. He was all serious and stuff. Like he was being held prisoner somewhere and someone was pointing a bayonet at him while he was talking.” That caused Stephanie’s blood to rush. “What did he say?” “He warned me against going to 2112 tonight,” Dave responded quickly. Stephanie suddenly felt very lightheaded. “He did?” “Yeah. Rick O’Shea, the drive time guy does sound for one o f the perfo rmers. He inv ited m e to co me along with him tonight. Estes doesn’t seem to think it’s a good idea, from what he told me. Why? I don’t know.” “That’s interesting.” “Hey, can I call you back? I have a station break com ing up.” She had been distracted but suddenly woke up. “No, that’s okay. I know you’re busy. I’ll let you go.” Once she hung up the phone, Rachel asked “So was he there?” “No, but, he called there.” She looked at Lori, standing beside Rachel and noticed that her eyes widened and her skin had become more pale. “Hey, Mabel, thanks for being so helpful. We’re going to go no w.” She m otioned for th em to follow her o utside. The m om ent they reached the foyer and closed the door behind them , Stephanie put a hand on Rachel’s wrist. “Listen, there’s something I forgot to tell you before. Som ething very im portant.” Rachel’s eyebrows furrowed into a worried expression. “Wh at?” “Estes told m e to tell you that he’s alway s with yo u.” She felt self conscious, talking in the foyer where the hard walls and high ceilings caused an echo . “And he also warned me not to go to 2112 tonight.” Lori’s mouth dropped. “This is too weird,” she said. “That’s where we were going to go tonight, too.” Rachel squinted, appearing confused. “Wh y would Estes be concerned about 2112. It’s a show bar.” “Did you ever go there?” Stephanie asked.

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“Yeah. About four or five years ago. It’s a crazy place. There’s lots of drugs and AIDS there. Why would Estes be concerned ab out 2112?” Stephanie shrugged. “Probab ly because there’s lots of drugs and AIDS there and he wants us to avoid getting corrupted or hurt.” Rachel narro wed her eyes and looked back and forth between Lori and Stephanie. “W ell why on earth do you guys go there?” Lori giggled and said “W e go b ecause it’s more entertaining than a regular ba r. It’s like a Vegas show. And we can just dance, and dance, and dance without constantly getting hit on.” “But Estes said we shouldn’t go there,” Stephanie said. Rachel’s face had a pained expression. “Estes said that both you and Dave Diamo nd shouldn’t go there.” She was speaking slowly and her eyes began to mist over. “He said he’s always with me but he did not warn me against going to 2112. He may have warned you against going to 2112 because he’s going there.” “Why?” Lori asked. “I don’t know,” Rachel said. “But I want to go.” Quietly, Lori said “I’ll go with you.” Stephanie shrugged. “Then I’m going, too.” She thought that maybe she could go to confession and be forgiven later.

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Chapter Seventeen Richthius took a long drag off his cigarillo. While he drove, he worked the m on itors on the dash, trying to call up the nightclub where they would do outreach. Usually, he was able to hone in on any conversation going on in any corner of the earth. However, that night when Richthius aim ed th e senso rs at the coordinates, he only received static: sparkling white particles and white noise. “What’s wrong with this piece of shit,” he said, as he tried re-entering the coordinates, gazing at the heliaplatform. Digits flashed on the console as if the machine was trying to process the information. Yet each time the result was the same. The sparkling particles would dance above the platform while static fizzled through the speakers. He tried to get an auditory signal. While the e xit signs blazed overhead in the encroaching dusk, his finger worked the controls trying to hone in the sensors. Still, just static coming through the speakers. He turned up the volu me, ho ping to hear a faint wisp of conversation. Instead, the speakers produced louder, ear-splitting static, causing him to wince. Would his superv isors know what was going on? He hit the link to quickly reach one. Unfortunately, he got Praetorious, who looked do wn at him from the big road monitor and said “Yes?” with a scowl, as if Richthius had just committed a dastardly sin by contacting him. Richthius realized that he had to be careful. Praetorious had the power to send him “down to earth, the way Richthius had stricken Estes down. A wreck in his sports car could send him to an earthly emergency room . I can’t access certain coordinates,” Richthius said, measuring his words carefully. Praetorious smirked, giving him an even more evil appearance than usual. “Trying to keep tabs on your friend?” “He’s up to som ething. Something happened last night. He’s not at the little room he rented, he’s nowhere. Do you think that’s a good thing?” “The transmission’s blocked,” Praetorious shot back. “You ought to know that. I take it you’ve tried to access the frequency on earth airwaves?” “Yes, I tried to get it on the radio and couldn’t. Did you guys do that?” “No . That was from their side.”

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“TH EIR side? How can they do that?” All during their conversation, he monitored traffic and noticed that he was approaching Dayton. Prometheus’s face darkened. “We’ve discussed this before. By grounding one of their warriors you put yo urself in very, very dangerous territory. For that infraction alone I could demo te you!” Rich thius was stunned. The human body he’d housed him self in was causing him to feel all types of unpleasant sensations: his mouth w atered, objects danced in fro nt of his eyes, and the center of his belly felt as if it had overturned. “You wouldn’t do that,” he managed to say. “Oh, no?” Praetorio us retorted, his eyes starting to bulge. “TRY ME! I’ll have you doing babysitting work in the Siberian enclave. Outreach to murderous pedophiles. Page duty. Two words, Ricky: WATCH IT!” With that, Prometheus disappeared. It was a perfect parting shot. Richthius’s boss must have instinctively known how much Richth ius despised anyone demeaning his name. Maybe, a good night of outreach would accomplish two things: it would reassert all over again how important and valuable he was, and it would help him forget the disastrous week. After a couple of more miles Richthius washed the taste of the encounter from his mouth. He recognized the highway exit for the boulevard leading to the nightclub. A quick check on the holographic pad confirmed it for him on a map. He felt m uch better kno wing that he was about to preside over one o f his shows. By the time he arrived at the shopping plaza, he saw right away how different the 2112 bar was from the place where he’d done outreach just a couple of weeks earlier. The other building provided two floors and several doorways where he could attach phantom room extensions. The 2112 nightclub was a massive, sprawling bar on one floor, taking up one whole building. When Richthius surveyed the bar and the layout of the adjoining shopping center, he surmised that the 2112 nightclub may have been a supermarket in an earlier existence. He snickered to himself at the irony. Dusk had fallen. Cars clustered around the little shops in the plaza though the bank at the far left end had probab ly been closed for several hours. It was after six-thirty. Maybe the doors had already opened for happy hour. He carefully closed and locked his car door, activating the opaque shields to hide all the equipm ent,

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and strode toward a blue-walled, brightly lit architectural grotto that appeared to be an entrance. Wh en he cam e within fifty yards of it when a long, sleek, silver Phantom car screeched up alongside the curb . H is breath steam ed while he watched it. All the people walking pas t wore bulky coats. During the early days of his outreach career, he’d come to earth with a tota l hum an body and presence. Unfortunately, it allowed him to feel all the hot and cold extremes of earthbound weather, also. Sometimes outreach took him to horrendously cold climates, such as Siberia, and his ongoing discomfort led him to petition for a body with less sensitivity. Even to Richthius, the silver Phantom car seemed garish, over-the-top, and showy. Before the door even opened he knew it belonged to one of his soldiers. The car was the style fitting the 1920’s, with the tall hood lines, the snakelike exhaust coming out of the manifold, opera windows and great big headlights with round, flat surfaces. Richthius noticed a couple of people in the distance gawk at the car. The entrance of the person riding inside the car was also over-the-top: a trim Oriental manservant emerged from the driver’s door, circled around the front and opened the back passenger door. At first he could only see legs encased in sheer, glistening stockings, metal-tipped stilettos. Illuminata Gateaux Her manservant lent a gloved hand as she elevated herself the rest of the way out of the grand sedan. She wore a padded shoulder and wasp-waist 1940’s style dress with a wrap bottom that glistened black under the streetlights. Her long, onyx brown hair had been tied back, showing off her high cheekbones and flawless, fair skin. Cascading curls of her shining hair tum bled down her neck, kissing the top of the jacket. On ce she stood on the pavem ent beside the car, the manservant tapped her on the shoulder and pointed toward Richthius. She turned around smiled at him , her full, gliste ning red lips parting to reveal two rows of perfect white teeth. Richthius sauntered up to greet her. “Well hello Dragon Lady,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise. Your name wasn’t on the roster.” She eyed him cooly. “Hedgepeth said you might need som e help.

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W hen Richthius reach ed her, he realized he had to tilt back his head to look her in the eye, because of the stilettos. “Couldn’t you have shrunken yourself?” “Me ?” She pointed a graceful finger at herself. “Never.” Richthius raised his eyeb rows. A couple of guys in baggy jeans and baseball caps turned backwards, wearing layers of jackets, stared at her. They ’d started walking more slowly, their mouths agape. That meant that she was in global mode, out of stealth, and would raise libidos and jeans fronts wherever she went. Together they walked towards the ticket booth at the entrance, which was flanked by framed eight by ten glossies of performers. “You don’t believe in doing anything halfway, do you?” “Me?” When she pointed to herself again, her finger bisected her cleavage. “No.” Richthius and Illuminata strolled side by side to the ticket booth where a bored lo oking guy with a m ullet hairdo and one dangling earring said “Ten dollars,” looking at Richthius. He decided to have a little fun with the ticket taker. “W hat, you expect me to pay for this, this trollop? Didn’t you see her ooze out of the Silver Phantom back there?” “Just give me the money. Ten dollars. I don’t care who .” Richthius handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.” The ticket taker’s little windfall caused the corner of his mouth to rise slightly. His eyes kept the same glazed-over quality. He handed them their tickets. Once they were inside the doo r, another bored looking guy sitting on a stool beside a tall table regarded the both of them with methodical watchfulness. His eyes kep t the same professional coolness even as they drank in Illuminata’s curves, then Richthius remem bered that it was a predominantly gay bar. To Illuminata, the stool-sitting doorm an with a dark crew cut said “Could I see your I.D., miss?” Richthius stifled a smile. No one ever asked him for his I.D. though for years he’d had one that showed him as being thirty-nine years old. Illum inata smiled and handed the man a white, printed card with her picture on it. She had chosen Florida as

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the state on the license and when Richthius asked her about it, she said “You know it’s hot as hell down there. Makes me feel at home.” Once she’d received her license back, they both held out their hands for the doorm an, who stamped them with an invisible mark that would show up under black light. The doorman waved them along, motioning them toward another hallway. Richthius heard heavy bass notes of rock and roll music from around a corner. They entered the fam iliar dim ness of a North Am erican bar. Even in the early evening, the dark walls and purple door frames and dark carpeting m ade it seem as if it was m uch later. Richthius gazed around at the contours of the interior. He saw two separate stages, a dance floor, a platform with a console and controls for the lighting system, a deejay bo oth against the far wall, and doorways to other smaller rooms and sections. A long bar lie at the center of the floor, rows of glasses hanging from racks overhead, catching light, reflecting highlights. Stools surrounded the bar and a young man and a young woman worked behind there, setting up, testing dispensers. “We seem to be the first custom ers of the evening,” Illum inata said, surveying their surroundings along with Richthius. “Wh o else is on the roster?” Richthius pretended to be shocked, raising his eyebrows, recoiling from her. “What? You mean you didn’t check? I’m disappointed in yo u.” “You’re the detail guy,” she said, with a purr. “I’m just the hired help.” She started walking toward the bar and Richthius followed . O h well, he thought, what b etter way to gain a vantage on the situation than to sit at a bar directly in the center of it. Illum inata glided in on one sm ooth m otion to a barstool. Richthius was glad to see that they provided the type of stools with backs on them. He always felt unstable on the other kind, always on the verge of falling off. A barmaid assessed them for a long moment. She was wearing a white blouse with a tuxedo tie, with black slacks. She had pulled her chestnut hair back severely, though she’d allowed a few curly tendrils of it to brush against her cheekbones. She looked scrub bed down and efficient, yet in another atmosphere, with the help of cosmetics and a looser hairstyle, Richthius thought that she could be pretty. “Hi folks,” the barm aid said. “What can I get for you today?”

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“Whiskey sour,” she said, batting her eyelashes dispassionately. “And you sir?” :”Martini. Up.’ She regarded their choices and went about getting their drinks in quick, economical movemen ts. “Would you like to start a tab?” “Oh sure,” Richthius said. “Wh at name should I put it under?” “Rick…Richard, please.” As the barmaid m ixed the fluids she still regarded them closely. Illuminata was gazing around at the extra rooms, and at the people trickling in singly, or in pairs. She seemed unaware that the barmaid was checking them out. “You’re not from around here, are you?” the barmaid suddenly asked, trying to sound casual. “No ,” Richthius said, “we’re no t.” Soon the barmaid had completed their drinks and set them down delicately atop coasters in front of them. While she placed the drink dow n in fro nt of Illum inata, she paused to regard her for a m om ent. Illuminata finally no ticed and returned her gaze upward, tilting her head quizzically. “Miss, I apologize but I just have to ask, should I know you from somewhere?” She glanced at Richthius (who chuckled lightly) before continuing. “W hy, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before.” “Are you an actress?” Richthius chuckled louder. “O h, she’s an actress all right,” he said. Illuminata nudged h im with one pointy end of a stiletto. “No , I’m not an actress.” “Okay,” the barm aid said, looking down for a second. “I hope I didn’t em barrass you.” “No darling, it’s quite all right.” They both watched the barmaid as she glided toward the other end of the bar, continuing to set things up. Richthius looked m ore closely at Illuminata. Her look had changed over all the outreaches she’d done with him. Richthius figured she must have spen t lots of time looking at magazine and film im ages to discover what look wou ld work best. “What type of place is this, anyhow?” she said.

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Richthius shrugged. “It’s hard to say. They have female impersonator shows on Saturday night but quite a few heterosexuals com e here, too.” Illum inata squinted, though her fingertips to her temples, saying “Wait a minute? We’re in a gay bar?” Richthius bent his head back and roared with laughter. He guffawed until his sides started to hurt. When he settled down for a moment, he saw Illuminata looking at him out of flashing saucer eyes. “D on’t you ever read any of the comm uniques?” “No! Why should I?” She lifted her chin up, ga zing down at him indignantly. “Anyway, who cares? O utreach is outreach.” She sipped her drink. Richthius studied her. He noticed that her attitude changed. She gazed at her surroundings with more cautious and critical eyes. He heard his blazer start to beep and tingle. He extracted the mini platform from inside his pocket and set it on the counter in fro nt of him . He tapped one side and after a short burst of light, a holo graphic figure appeared on the platform . It was Rollo, one of his troops, looking fairly anxious. Richthius looked down at the im age and said “S peak.” “What the fuck are you doing?” Illum inata said when she saw the platform. “It’s on stealth,” Richthius said. He listened closer and realized that he missed the first part of what Rollo was saying. The barmaid passed within a couple of feet of the platform, looked directly at it, and moved on. Illum inata calmed dow n, gazing dow n at Rollo with wonderment yet also a clinical demeanor to her expression. “Wh at did you say?” Richthius asked. “It sounded like ‘on tonight.’” Rollo cleared his throat and started ag ain. “I wanted to kno w if every thing was still on for tonight.” Richthius shrugged lightly. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” “Something’s going down,” Rollo said, his voice low, as if he though t the bar w orkers and patrons co uld hear him . “Yeah. And?” Rollo ’s eyes bugged out, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Did you hear what I said?” “Yeah, som e of his buddies rescued h im yesterday or som e shit.” Rollo interrupted “But that means…they’re here!” “Yeah. And?”

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“Well, don’t you think they’re going to get in the way? Especially since you disabled one of their own?” Richthius glanced around himself quickly to see if the barmaid or anyone else was watching. “ Rollo, you worry too much. When can you get here?” Rollo sighed visibly. “Well, nothing’s going to get going until ten, right?” Richthius smiled. “It’s an outreach, not a drop in.” H e knew from experience with Rollo that he had aspirations to get in on the supply side. “Supply side” were the demons who helped drug dealers. Th ey m ade sure that crops grew well, that clandestine scientists invented m ore powerful psychogenic drugs and helped out as warriors during drug trafficking snafues. Rollo, like so many of the other soldiers, like to help with the gunplay, the violence, and the tortures. One gang cutting in on a rival gang’s territory and the predictable vengeance in the form of drive-by shootings. Sheepishly , Rollo said “I’ll be there in an hour.” “See you then.” As soon as Rollo’s image faded from the holo platform, Illuminata said “So what was he saying. Wh o did you trap? What was that all about?” Richthius shrugged. “Some loser. His name was ‘Esther’ or som ething like that.” “You trapped an angel? What did he do to you? Richthius set dow n his drink and turned toward h er. “He was messing up my outreach. Showing him self to his charge. He had it coming, believe me.” To illustrate the point that the conversation was over, he lifted the martini and sipped delicately. Illum inata still seemed eerily fascinated by it. “How long ago did that happen?” “About a m onth ago. H e’s doing okay.” “You trapped an angel! I don’t believe it!” She lifted up her palm s in disbelief. “The way I see it, I did the guy a favor,” Richthius went on. “He wanted to be down here among them and now he is.” “Yeah, but you probably pissed off his superiors and yours,” she continued. She reached for h er purse. “You know what? I don’t know abo ut this.” She started to gather her things and lift up from the stool as if she wanted to leave. Before she could lift herself off the bar stool all the way, he jumped off his stoo l and stood in front of her.

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“Leaving so soon?” He forced a sm ile. “I really need you here.” Illum inata eyed him cautiously. She had pushed her hands against the stool to lift herself, which caused the built-up shoulders on her black dress to raise even higher. “I don’t like this,” she said. “This isn’t what I thought it would be.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re not sure if you’re cut out for this outreach stuff. You want to see ho w it is from the supply side.” She tilted her head and looked at him appraisingly. While her organizational skills were a little daffy, her searing presence more than made up for it. “Don’t you ever read the co m m uniqué? I was with them for a long time, as a mafia moll. I saw people get their fingers and their hands sawed off, their toes smashed with ball peine hamm ers. Bloody gang fights and drive-b ys. But what yo u did just wasn’t cool, Rick.” He backed away slightly, searching his mind for something to say that would keep her there, keep her aligned with him.

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Chapter Eighteen Stephanie, Lori and Rachel had all agreed to meet up later that night to go together to 2112. ‘What time do you think we sho uld get there?” Rachel shrugged. “It depends. Nothing gets go ing at 2112 til about ten.” “So what time do you think we should get there, then?” Stephanie persisted. “Nine,” Lori put in. “Look it doesn’t matter whether we get there before he does, right? She turned directly to Rachel and addressed the question to her. “Right?” They all agreed that they would m eet up at eight-thirty and drive there, putting them through the door sometime between nine-fifteen and nine forty-five, depending on the traffic. W hen Stephanie m ade it home after running around all afternoon, it left her with more than three hours to kill. Michael did the same thing he did every Friday after Thanksgiving. He gathered a ladder and a toolbox and set out to correct all the little imperfections in the house drywall, paneling and electrical boxes that he’d been putting off all year. One tradition they had was to eat something saucy and Italian, hopefully as far removed from turkey as possible. She realized that it would also have to be something she could throw together fairly quickly. Michael passed through the kitchen as Stephanie was blending the ricotta cheese, egg, and Parm esan. “ So hon, do you think we ought to call ‘Ripley’s Believe it or not?’” He stumped her at first, as she set the whisk mixer down and looked at him . “Oh, you mean Estes? I thought we both agreed…” “I’m just kidding,” Michael said as his long metal toolbox clanged around a corner. “Gee, gullible as ever.” He disappeared into the garage, possib ly to get som e more nails and spackle. She heard the front door of the house open and heard two sets of small feet padding on the tile and rug near the foyer. It warm ed her on the inside whenever K evin returned to the house at a sensible hour. She felt as if she was succeeding at the most important job anyone could have. Their footsteps crossed from the tile to the carpet, gain ing volum e and strength until Kevin poked his face around a corner. Red-haired and freckled Jeffrey was at his side. “Hi

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mom .” He smiled, and Stephanie knew what was coming next. “Is it okay if Jeffrey has dinner with us? His mom and dad said it was okay, in case you w ant to call.” Stephanie felt her shoulders slump. Her first reaction, her first impulse, was to say “N o,” since she thought that it would complicate her plans fo r later in the evening. Yet, she knew Jeffrey’s parents, Rob and Diane Colton. Rob was a lineman for the power com pany who’d carried a pager for years. Diane worked part tim e in the school system somewhere and they had two smaller children, girls, besides Jeffrey. Rob was probably out on a call, and Diane had probably brought her two daughters out shopping to one of the malls or outlet squares. She tried to sm ile. “Yes, it is okay, hon ey, b ut I’m going out later this evening, you know.” “W ith Aunt Lori, I know.” Ste phanie realized that she must have been flashing a quizzical look since she marveled over h ow kids surprised her som etimes. “You do it every year.” The boys excused themselves to the basem ent, where they would either watch videos or play games. After Thanksgiving night, Stephanie had wisely hidden the “Haunted House” game. She continued on with the re st of the meal preparation: boiling water for the m anicotti shells, whipping up water and tomato pastes with diced tomatoes and onion powder on another burner. When she turned at one point, she saw the phone jiggling on the wall and stopped what she was doing long enough to execute the old trick: she snatched the headset from the cradle before the telephone audibly rang. “Whatcha doin’?” Lori’s voice was clear from the other end of the line. She was either sitting still in her car at the end of Stephanie’s driveway or she was calling from her home phone. “Making dinner. That Colton kid’s gonna be sitting in with us.” “Is he wanting to spend the night?” “ H e’d better not be. K evin already knows we’re going out.” “Wh at time are you com ing?” “Eight to eight thirty, just like we agreed.” “Are you getting excited?” “About going against a comm and from an angel? Sort of.”

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“I’ve been psyching m yself out since we were running all over the place earlier. That angel on the building, the tornado, you getting that phone call…som ething big is go ing to happen.” They discussed it for a few minutes longer before Stephanie said “O kay, I have to finish these up and start on th e salad.” “Okay. Don’t be late!” “I won’t be as long as I can hustle little Jeffrey out of here righ t when we finish.” Lori paused. “You know what occurred to m e?” “Wh at?” “We’re m eeting an angel in a bar.” Stephanie thought that over for a mom ent, especially the foreboding tone of Estes’ com mand. “W e’re no t even sure he’s going to be there.” “Sure he is. He’s going to fight that devil guy. It’ll be Estes and a bunch of his friends against the devil guy and a bunch of demons.” Stephanie waited a few moments for the punch line, but Lori stayed silent. “You’re serious ab out that, aren’t you?” Lori chuckled, and her voice took on its fam iliar, mischievous quality. “It’s going to be so cool!” “Oh no! Don’t say that, now I’m getting really nervous!” “Don’t worry. Rachel and I will be there to protect you! “It’s more than jus t that.” She noticed that the water for the manicotti was starting to foam up and b oil over. “Hey! I’ve got to go!” “Okay. See yo u later.” The timer b uzzed . She strained the cooked m anico tti tubes through the co lander and then cooled them off. While she stuffed the manicotti tubes, visions of a battle between angels and demons played out in her mind. She saw the angels in gladiator style leather tunics and helm et headdresses with bristles coming out of the top, wielding huge swords. The demons used flaming crossbow arrows and assumed weird halfhuman half-animal shapes sim ilar to a centaur. However, maybe that was all in the imagination of a m edieva l artist and th to 20 century types, it would just appear to be a particularly nasty bar figh t.

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She ladled the red sauce over the pipelike m anico tti while they sat in the pan. Before putting them in the oven, she sprinkled grated parmesan cheese over the top. When she had finished that, she put her oven m itts on and slid the Pyrex serving dish inside the oven, thinking as she did so th at the glowing redness of the heated coils looked like the flames of hell. She w atched the first few w isps of ch eese m elt. Michael rounded the corner, startling her: “Is dinner almost ready? I’m starving.” Stephanie gasped, causing him to back away and clutch his chest, feigning an expression of shock. “Dang, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Interesting choice of words, Stephanie thought. “Can you wait twenty minutes? It just went into the o ven.” Michael rubbed his hands together and licked his lips in an exaggerated, cartoonish way. He continued to walk toward the garage door, to resh elf som e of his tools. While Stephanie set the table, she paused, looking down at the butter knifes beside two of the plates. Instinctively, she reached down and formed a cross with the knives. She gazed dow n at the two pieces of silver metal, imagining them fusing together to form a crucifix. Holy water? She only had to find a small container and dip some out from the basin in the vestibule of a catholic church. When everything had been put on the table and all the placem ats set, Stephanie calm ly walk ed to the basement door, opened it, and called down to the two boys. “Dinner’s on, kids. Get it while it’s hot!” During the moment she’d opened the door, she heard the b uzzing and b eeping co ming from their video game. She knew that it would take them a few minutes to shut down the system, put away the game cartridges and turn off the television. In the meantime, Stephanie scampered up the stairs to her room. On her side of the walk-in closet, she her shelves for her jewelry box from high school. While at a home show one weekend, she and Michael had seen a multi-leveled closet arrangement and she liked it so much that she tried to persuade Michael to have the closet company come out and build them one. Instead, he looked at the design and said “I can do that.” One Saturday from dawn to dusk he sawed and ham mered out a closet arrangement that looked exactly like what she’d seen at the home show. She imm ediately felt as if she’d gained twice as much space to store her things.

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She found the jewelry box on a shelf about shoulder level. It had been a C hristm as gif t during her middle school years. When she would open the lid of the cherry wood stained box, a tiny figurine would pop up and the music box gears and springs would play a tinkly version of “Lara’s Theme.” Hearing it again after such a long time brought goose bumps to her arm. The inside of the box had been laid out with several com partm ents with tiny hatches. She remem bered that she kept rings in one, choker necklaces in another, longer-length necklaces on the side and bracelets in one corer. Earrings dangled from little pockets hanging from the underside of the lid. In a larger compartment along one edge, Stephanie found what she was looking for: the one long silver chain she owned, with her large silver cross. It was plain and smooth. Once, when she’d worn it with a clingy sweater, her friend Em ily had said “What are you trying to be, a sexy nun?” She reached for the necklace and placed it in her pocket delicately. When she descended the stairs and skipped back toward the kitchen booth table, she expected to find the two boys and M ichael seated, possibly ripping into the food already. However, she M ichael, Kevin and his friend all arrived at the kitchen at the same time, as though they had been choreographed. “Let’s put the feedbag on,” Michael said. Stephanie looked at the clock. It was six-thirty. As was custom, she stood while the rest of the family and any dinner guests sat down. “Everybody tell me how many tubes you want,” she said. She had counted eleven tubes as she stuffed them. Hopefully it would be enough. “We’ll each take two,” Kevin said. Stephanie deftly slid her widest metal spatula under two of the tubes and lifted them out gingerly, delicately. Moments later, Jeffrey had two perfect looking manicotti tubes on his plate, covered with steeped tomato sauce and latticed slivers of mozzarella. She admired the plate for a mom ent, wishing that she had a camera. While she was lowering two tubes onto Kevin’s plate with the same tender precision, Michael said “I’ll take three, hon.” After Stephanie dined, that would leave two more tubes for anyone who had the room for them. She had placed the salad in her largest Lucite salad bo wl. It was a collage of dark and light greens, red cherry tomatoes and tomato slices, pinks from purple onion slices, and red and green peppers.

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Alongside the salad, she’d laid out the Catalina, blue cheese and Italian dressings. Michael ate heartily, smiling, managing to say “Aw, that’s so good. I love it when you make this.” Her son and his friend Jeffrey nodded in silent agreement, their mouths full. Stephanie had lifted two tubes of m anicotti for herself and heaped salad onto the rest of her plate, generously covering it with red C atalina dressing (h er favorite). “So how were the malls today?” Michael asked. “Insane.” Michael nodded. “You won’t catch me near a mall between now and New Year’s. Except when I go on my guerilla raid.” He was referring to his tradition for the Sunday before Ch ristm as. He would be up before dawn, putting on one of his running outfits. After a big breakfast he would race around on an all-day shopping b litz. Kevin chuckled, since he’d been dragged along for a couple of the guerilla raids. Jeffrey said “My m om doesn’t like m alls. She gets lots of stuff from catalogs. W e get so m any catalogs at our house that my dad rolls them up and uses them for firewo od logs.” “Well, that’s very resourceful of him,” Stephanie said politely. Kevin interrupted, blurting out “Jeffrey did great on Space Blaster. Almost as good as me, and he said he never played it before.” “Oh, I just rem em bered som ething,” Jeffrey said, his eyes opening wide. “Is it true you guys have a h aunted gam e?” Stephanie dropped her fork. She turned and saw that Jeffrey was gazing earnestly at her, as if he had just asked a question to his science teacher. Kevin shrank down in his seat when Stephanie glanced at h im in what she knew must have been a harsh, reprimanding look. She decided to find out what else Jeffrey knew. “W ell, I wouldn’t say it was haunted. It was definitely malfunctioning a little.” An awkward pause followed, but Michael came to her aid. “I never was one for them video games. After I got out of high school that whole Space Invaders thing came out and I’d always get killed in nothing flat. And Pac Man? Forget it!” The freckles on Jeffrey’s nose crinkled and the inquisitive expression on his face remained. Stephanie wondered what he would say next. She busily finished her salad, hoping the boy would take the cue and wo rk o n the tube

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of manico tti. Suddenly, Jeffrey said “That angel wh o cam e to your house, did he have wings?” Stephanie felt her stomach rum ble and Michael, who’d just taken a mouthful of fo od, chuckled, snorting out of his nose. Kevin poked his friend and angrily said “I told you not to ask abo ut that?” “That’s okay Kevin.” She tried to smile. “You don’t have to pound on poor Jeffrey like that. To Jeffrey she said “No, hon, Estes did not have any wings.” She braced herself for the additional questions such as “How do you know he was an angel?” “Did he say what it was like in H eaven?” However, he just nodded. Michael intervened once again. “So, you bo ys want to get a video later? M om ’s going off w ith crazy Lo ri again.” “Yeah dad, that’d be neat!” For the rest of the dinner they discussed movies. Stephanie breathed a sigh of relief and brought out a half gallon of mocha almond ice cream to serve for dessert. After they cleared the table, the boys excused themselves for m ore video game adventures in the basem ent. Michael stayed behind to help Stephanie load the dishwasher. He sighed and his eyebrows raised, which Stephanie knew from their long relationship meant that a serious talk was coming. “So, you and Lori went over to Estes’ place today, right?” He was speaking in a voice barely above a whisper. It took Stephan ie aback, yet failed to shock her. Michael had shown a clairvoyant knack before. “We tried to, but apparently, he was spending the day with som eone else.” “Wh o?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe those people who came to get him last night were able to take him b ack.” Michael exhaled, rolling his eyes around. “He got his wings like that dude in ‘It’s a Wo nderful Life,’ right?” “Something like that.” She was wiping the counter and when she turned she saw him leaning, his arms crossed as he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “What is it?” “For all you know, he may have escaped from the funny farm and lived there since his b irth.” “Wh at? You think he’s just crazy?” “It’s just as go od an explanation as any.” She put her hands on her hips and faced h im , indignantly. “He called Lori’s cellular phone wh ile we were riding around out there.”

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“So?” “So? Well how on earth do you think he would have gotten the num ber?” “He could have overheard Lori giving it to you at the grease pit.” He paused to think. “Or mayb e he’s like ‘the Rain Man’ and he went home and studied the entire phone boo k.” “Michael, cellular phone numbers aren’t listed in that.” “Well, what do I know!” he said, pushing himself away from the counter, walking across the kitchen toward the hallway to the den. “Let’s just say I’m skeptical. Have a good time at Queer Nation.” Stephanie groaned inside. He could feel however he wanted to about 2112, but he knew that she grew tired of hearing his disparaging nicknames for places and people. “Wh at are you going to b e doing?” Michael stopped in the doorway and turned back to her. He smirked, exaggeratedly, one side of his mouth curling higher than the other. “Babysitting. Just like every year. You know.” Michael headed off toward the den slowly, stiffly while she checked her pocket and touched her chain, breathing m ore easily once she found it. Should they b ring holy water? Up in the medicine cabinet she kept an em pty eyedropper, which she sometimes filled with normal saline. In the winter she used it to help keep her eyes m oist. It was also the perfect container for holy water if they could find a church somewhere along the way. When she dressed, she decided on a cotton poplin peasant blouse, tunic style, with violet accents and trim. It was white and she thought it would give her a cheerily innocent look. Before freshening her makeup, she hung the silver cross around her neck, clasping it in the back. Looking in the master bedroom mirror, she lifted the neckline of the blouse and concealed the cro ss beneath it. The bottom edge of the cross nudged against the “v” at the center of her bra. While looking at herself in the mirror, she saw a worried expression flit across her face, causing her to sigh. When she’d finished getting herself ready for the night out, she placed the empty eyedropper bottle into her purse. “H ere we go.” Stephanie kissed Michael good-bye for the evening and hugged Kevin a little more tightly than usual. For that night out she wore her dressier win ter coat, even though she

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would only be outside between the car and the b ar and back again. Lori lived in a tow nhouse in a development close to the circle freeway. The architects had gone for a German feel with faux leaded windows, high, steep roofs and gables, and Dutch style striped siding. By the time Stephanie coasted around the entranceway she could already see movement in the foyer where Lori lived. Mom ents later the doo r swung open, revealing Lori in a long burgundy velvet and rabbit-fur-trimmed coat. Her breath steam ed like a kettle on a hot stove, yet sh e still wore high-heeled, flashy sandals with her blue jeans. When she reached the door, opened it, and lowered herself down, Stephanie could see the sandals glitter shine on the floorboard. She shook her head. “I can’t believe you,” Stephanie said, “you’re going to get frostbite.” “Only if I step into a snow bank.” She watched Stephanie shift down to “drive” and eased the car away from the curb. “Are you scared?” “No.” She was lying. Luckily, the house wh ere Rachel lived lay in a subdivision just above th e circle freeway. On their way there, Stephanie turned on the dome light for Lori to read the directions to her: just a turn off the main road and another turn into a small street dog-legging to an intersection for another neighborhood. The houses all appeared to b e single story ranch es, cookie-cutter style with brick fronts and wh ite shutters. “Look for number 815,” Stephanie said. Lori raised and lowe red her head as she strained to look for the house numbers beside the front doors or on mailboxes: “802, 805, 808, hey, there it is!” Rachel lived in a house at the corner of the dogleg, on a larger lot, looking more sprawled out than the others, but with the sam e brick fro nt and pre-fab shutters. A sloppy looking circular driv eway arced across the yard in front of the house and joined the straight driveway leading from the garage at the other en d. Rachel’s Torino had been park ed on the circle drive near the front stoop. Stephanie decided to pull up beside it, and in doing so, blocked off the drive. As she switched off the ignition and looked at the grass, the hedges in front of the house, and the garage, Stephanie noticed two cars parked in the yard. One was a bright, sporty looking Japanese car with racy

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trim and the other a larger luxury coupe with shabby looking wire wheels. She wondered if either car ran. Lori must have been thinking the sam e thing: “G ee, is Rachel a m echanic, too?” Stephanie shrugged. They sat there, silent, for several moments. “Let’s go get her,” Stephanie said. “Maybe she’s not ready yet.” She switched off the ignition and the lights and they both got out of the car and walked up to R achel’s doo r. Just seconds after Stephanie knock ed on the door, the tall girl answered, swinging it wide open, saying “Hi.” She was wearing a royal blue satin blouse and more neck and ear jewelry than before. She’d also re-styled her hair, putting more curl in to it. “You two look like you’re freezing to death! Co me in for a bit. I’ll give you the nickel tour.” Stephanie and Lori followed Rachel into a living room walled with dark, rich paneling. A plush couch of deep burgundy lay beneath a picture window that had been covered by drapes. In one corner lay two narrow boo kshelves with volumes arranged by size and title. Directly in front of them was a hearth, a fireplace, and a cozy fire that she realized was gas logs. Lori was also glancing around at all of the neatly placed knick knacks, the fram ed art discretely placed on the walls, and the tasteful furniture. “Nice place you have here,” she said. Rachel, sighed. “Yes, this is my little corner, my sanctuary from the world.” She walk ed down to the opposite end of the couch and reached down to pet a large, mackerel tabby cat who eagerly nuzzled his head against her hand, closing his eyes. “This is m y little brat, Tigger Teddy.” She then led them both around the corner and flipped a light switch, revealing a kitchen with tan and gold Spanish tile and a sink bay, with a s m all dinette set placed near a sliding glass door. A charming light fixture with prisms dangled over the table. “Neat kitchen,” Stephanie said. “Yeah, it ain’t much, but it’s all I’ve got baby,” Rachel said, leading them back toward the doorway. As they approached the living room, a door opened on the other side of the bookshelves, knocking roughly against the wood. An intense looking man in his early thirties emerged, his penny colored hair tousled, his eyes steely with determination, appearing ready to confront someone. He noticed Rachel and

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Lori, however, and his features softened. He nodded to Stephanie and Lori, saying “Ladies.” “This is Kenny. He lives here with me.” She introduced Lori and Stephanie. After the pleasantries, Kenny turned to Rachel. “Could I talk to you for a bit before you go? In here?” He motioned with a h ead tilt toward the garage do or. After Rachel disappeared behind the door with Kenny, Stephanie and Lori looked at each other. Lori shrugged and sidled over toward the bookshelves to glance at their titles. Stephanie moved over to the couch and noticed the cat, who was looking up at her out of sweet eyes. She reached down and petted him, kneading her fingertips along his scalp. The trick would always get a cat to close his eyes, smile blissfully and purr. Soon the only noise in the living room was the rhythmic thrum ming co ming from Tigger Teddy’s throat. Sho rtly afterward, the garage door opened and Rachel moved swiftly out into the living room, her expression calm but showing traces of indignation. “Come on girls,” she said as she passed them by. “Let’s ge t goin g.” She continued on to the other corner of the ro om and reached into the coat closet beside the door. The closet doors were covered with mirrors, which gave the illusion of a much larger living room. Rachel lifted a long m auve Londo n fog style coat out of the closet and gracefully slipped it on over her arms, tossing her hair back when she bu ttoned it up. Stephanie stepped aside to let her open the door and usher then out into the cold night, their breath form ing clouds around their heads like halos while they all lowered down into Stephanie’s car. Lori deferred the shotgun seat to Rachel. When they all settled themselves into the car and Stephanie started the engine, Lori said “Are you in trouble?” Rachel, who was starting to act slightly distracted, said “Wh at?” and then paused for a moment before adding “You mean him?” She waved a hand dismissively at the house. “He’s got issues.” Stephanie engaged the gears and guided the car around the circular driveway, watching the headlights illuminate naked shrubs sprouting from the sides of it. She said “Was he wanting you to stay home tonight, so he co uld keep you all to himself?” “No .” She laughed a little at the suggestion. “If you can believe this, he was mad about the cat.”

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Together, Stephanie and Lori both replied “The cat?” before Lori also said “What did the cat do? Pee on his toolbox or som ething?” “No.” She laughed. “He has his precious ’66 Oldsmobile Toronado in the garage. It’s baby b lue and all gleaming. Tigger gets in the garage and likes to walk all over the car, putting his paw prints on the hood and the roof.” “Just don’t let him go in the garage then,” Lori said, as the reached the end of the neighborhood. Rachel sighed. “It isn’t that sim ple. Tigger likes to go outside. And he gets into the garage through a little crack in the wall near the found ation.” Stephanie was going to say “Well then fix the crack in the wall,” but instead Rachel spoke next. “Let’s forget about it. We’re going to do something really exciting tonight! I can’t wait!” Stephanie touched the cross at the center of her chest.

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Chapter Nineteen Illuminata Gateau had to get away from Richthius She had been recently demoted, and Richthius was the one failing to read communiques, not her. Though she had pretended to be shocked when she learned he had grounded an angel, she had known all along, and had seen the replays. He had messed with one of Metatron’s squires, which to her was like evil David going after good Go liath. His superiors had blocked his access to several holographic construction channels for outreach and had limited his viewing on the administrative screens. Had he had full access he would have seen the attachments and the new additions. In Richthius’ state of tunnel vision, however, Illuminata was a disorganized, unprepared latecom er. Illuminata was around before Richthius, however. She invented an excuse about “mixing with the crowd coming in” and “checking on the building extensions” to pry herself away from the conversation with Richthius. It would help her to get some air, she decided, so she strutted toward the entrance area. In going o ut to the Phantom, she could also check on Sarkanian, her friend. As she walked past a stream of young people on their way in, she heard several comments from enthusiastic male onlookers: “Wow! Looking great, babe!”; “Who are you with, honey?”; “Wow, that chick looks just like Cher, only real!” Once outside, the clouds of steam started to escape from her breath again. When she ministered she sometimes chose full range sensation but she was careful to do it either in warmer climates or during the summ er. A couple of times she’d made the mistake of appearing in New York during Winter Solstice and the ball-dropping ceremony, full touch and had been m iserable for days, even after swathing herself in rabbit fur. She turned a corner on the sidewalk and could see Sarkanian talking with some boys and girls around the hood of the Silver Shadow. A couple of them were handing him money , which caused her to whisper “Good, good.” Before they arrived, she made sure they had a wide array of goodies such as joints laced with exo tic hashish oil, Netherlands blotter, and authentic southwestern psiloscyb a. When both she and Sarkanian dealt, they kept themselves and their customers in cloak from law enforcement or nosy nightclub em ployees. These people would simply see

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the grand, gleam ing Silver Shado w parked along the curb, but everyone else would see Sarkanian merrily distributing chemical joy to the masses. And they only accepted money to keep people’s suspicions at bay. They had no use fo r the green stuff in their realm . Many times they would wind up with bucketfuls of twenty’s and hundred’s and they would end up simply re-distributing them. A bartender or a waitress would get an extremely generous tip, for instance. A short while after Illuminata arrived, Sarkanian finished up with the deals and the two guys and the two girls wandered away toward the nightclub entrance. One of them, with pretty, curled hair and a full length suede coat, turned and gazed at Sarkanian and said “W ow, girl! Aren’t you freezing out here?” Illuminata shrugged. Sometimes she put on a m ink just to keep people from making rem arks like that. Sarkanian waited for the group to turn toward the entrance before he said “So how is the ho rse’s ass?” She scoffed as she said “He has no clue, just as I suspected. They downgraded him quite a lot after he struck down that squire.” Her assistant, who was also a trusted friend, nodded. “And how are you doing?” She shrugged, trying to appear casual. “Fine.” Sarkanian lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Really, I’m fine,” she said, feeling as though she were selling herself. “But you’re slum ming.” Illum inata sighed, allowing her shoulders to slump. “I prefer to think of it as com ing full circle.” For the next little while, they watched cars arrive at the parking lot and then unload, groups of young people giggling and talking excitedly as they walked toward the front entrance. She and her friend Sarkanian had a written rule that they avoid discussing her recent dow nfall. Illum inata decided to avoid even thinking about it. Over the millennia, she had been through this m ore than once. She soon found herself daydreaming. Once upon a time she actually worked in the fields: poppy fields and coca patches along mountaintops helping spread magic through the seeds and the plants, giving them their potent psychoactive and mood-altering properties. From there it was on to desert and the mushrooms that grew languidly alongside rocks, weaving a spell of psychedelic pleasure power over them. A sea of faces

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whizzed through her mind like patterns in a kaleidoscope as she reminisced ab out the dark magic masters she’d studied and apprenticed under: Zharain, Gilgameth, Sansreeka, and others. When it was all done, the larger job follow ed. People had to be somehow convinced or enticed into distilling the coca leaves to obtain the concentrated crystal powder, they had to be taught to dry and cure the C annabis Sativa plant and then smoke it, as though they were standing over a campfire and breathing in the wisps drifting up from the burning embers. Usually they just took turns ascending, becom ing part of a tribe or harem and then gradually, discretely introduce the idea to the other members. On ce, in Ro me, Illum inata had becom e bo red while working as a concubine for a fat, lazy sultan who would spit on his girls as they waited on him. He would also work his servants harshly and exclude them from the weekly feasts, keeping them on standard rations. She decided to fix him. First, she laced the hashish on his hookah with strychnine, just enough to render him ill for a few days. Secondly, she had taken a liking to one of the man se rvants: he was average height, softly built, with blond hair bu t he had a presence and endearing eyes. She took his hand as they stole away to a rem ote nook of an atrium and she introduce d h im to the pleasures of ganja. As he inhaled the essence on a homem ade pipe, she lifted up his tunic and loincloth and fellated him slowly, savoring him. At the time, it had irritated her supervisors. They frowned on such close contact with mortals. M ore than two thousand years later she could still think of the incident and it would bring a smile to her face. Sark anian noticed. He said “What’s going on? Caugh t up in one of your dream w orlds again?” “Yeah,” she said, with a girlish giggle. “It was before you were born.” She noticed that, during her reverie several more rows of cars had filled the parking lot as crowds gathered, headed for the doo r. Headlights approached from the back end of the Silver Shadow and she saw a van pulling up behind them. The lights seem ed too bright, causing her to feel as if she’d been caught by the beam of a floodlight on a buoy in the middle of the ocean. Both the driver’s and the passenger’s doors opened as she saw shadows exit the van, one tall one who appeared male, getting out of the driver’s side, and a smaller fem ale from the passenger’s side. To Sarkanian, she said “Hey,

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you want to come in now, or what?” He nodded an d closed down the Silver Shadow, activating the cloak, to protect it. Once they started to walk back toward the entrance, Illum inata noticed that another vehicle had pulled up behind the van, a sm all, round vehicle that looked like a giant cockroach witho ut tentacles. She felt curio usly drawn to it. Along the way she passed a tall man with curly hair who had started to talk with the woman who had exited the van on the other side. When she responded to him, her voice sounded strikingly coarse and m annish. Illuminata shrugged that off and continued toward them . The driver of the cockroach vehicle extingu ished his lights and Illum inata tried to subtly approach the curb. H is door opened and a m om ent later she saw shocks of blond hair. It caused her to say “Hmm ,” out loud. Behind her, Sarkanian had started talking to the tall curly haired man. As the driver of the round vehicle began to emerge, Illuminata noticed the slight buil d, a sm all belly, the co ntours of his face and his dreamy eyes. C ould it be? On impulse she walked right up to him and looked into his eyes. “Hello,” she said, feeling as if she’d traveled two thousand years back in time. The man, who appeared to be in his late twenties, tilted his head quizzically, smiled a t her and said “Hi. Do I know you?” She searched his face, hoping to find a glimmer of recognition or a spark of remem brance from lives long past. “You look like som eone I used to know long ago. I apologize if I’ve startled you.” “That’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got to check on something with m y friend over here. Are you from the news or som ething?” “The news?” “Yeah. Like a reporter? Someone got stabbed or som ething.” H e was paying her a com pliment. “No, I’m not. I’m just here to have a good time, just like you, m aybe?” “Yeah, I guess so.” He had started to walk toward the van but stoppe d, realizing that she still wanted to speak with him . “Wh at’s your nam e?” “Dave…I mean Tim.” She must have raised her eyebrows or given off some other type of surprised expression. “I’m a deejay. Earlier today I was doing a sh ift and my on air

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name is Dave. Just so that you don’t think I’m some type of duffus who doesn’t even know his own name.” “Oh, I would never think that,” she purred. Tim smiled at her politely and moved past her to get to the tall m an with the curly h air and the odd partner. “Hey Phil, what do you want m e to carry?” Illuminata looked over at the van and saw that the taller guy had slid the doo r open and was pushing a cart out onto the sidew alk. “Just grab som e of these scrim s, okay?” Phil said from inside the van. The partner, who was wearing a baseball cap over long hair and had a curiously shiny complexion, noticed Illuminata. Her mouth formed a small “o” as she whistled and said “Wow, love the retro duds dragon lady!”] After Phil had pushed the cart all the way out onto th e sidewalk, he jumped out, turned and also no ticed her also. “Oh. Hello,” he said. He squinted, subtly looking her up and down from head to toe before he said “H ave I seen you som ewhere b efore? Like in a movie or on TV?” “No , I don’t believe you have.” The odd partner, a woman half a foot shorter than Illuminata, stepped forward and offered her hand. “My name’s Tomm ie! But you can call m e by my real nam e Lilly Vanilli. My stage name.” “I’m Illuminata, and you must have met Sarkanian, too.” Tommie shifted back and forth on her feet and looked at Phil and at Illuminata. “W o w ! K iller voice, too! Can I borrow it sometime?” “Can you bo rrow it sometime?” “Yeah. My voice is the only thing that gives me away.” Inwardly, Illuminata said “Ah h a,” as she suddenly realized that Tomm ie was part of the female impersonation show that would take place later. Tim held several flat square panes with ro und cut outs in the m iddle filled with a sheet of transparent plastic in various colors: pink, violet, yellow. The cart Phil push ed co ntained wiring and several electronic gadgets. Sarkanian looked everything over and “Is there anything we can do to help?” Tim looked back and forth between Illuminata and Sarkanian and said “Are you two boyfriend and girlfriend?” They looked at each other and sm iled. “No,” Sarkanian said. “Just go od friends.”

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Illum inata saw Tom mie struggling w ith a couple of large valises, one of which looked strangely cylindrical. She reached into the van to try to grab for a third one. “Do you need some help with those?” “Oh, sure hon. Grab the round one that looks like a toilet. It’s the lightest one, believe it or not.” Phil grim aced and said “It do es not look like a toilet.” Illu m inata reached for the bag, which had a thin plastic carrying strap at one end and she w as surprised to find it very light. “What’s in here?” Tommie shrugged. “Just my extra hair and my makeup.” With extra visionary powers Illuminata had gained from hundreds of years she was able to see and sense various chemical delights stashed in Tomm ie’s other bags. Either she dealt on a small scale or she planned on having herself quite a good time that night! Phil closed and locked the van door. Something struck Illuminata amiss: she realized that none of them seemed to have noticed the Silver Shadow. As they all walked toward the entrance she paused to let Sarkanian catch up with her and whispered in his ear. “Did you cloak the car?” “Uh huh .” Once they all rounded the corner she heard the familiar heavy bass strains of raucous rock and roll music that, to Illum inata, sounded the same whether she was in Ohio, Los Angeles, Miami Beach, London, Prague, or Shanghai. “Dam n,” Phil said to Tim, “We’re not going to hear ourselves talk in there.” “And I’m going to get a horrendous headache, like always,” Tim said. They all re-entered a nightclub it had grown more crowded, with an expectant Friday evening bu zz. Illum inata heard more comments. “Wow, looking good, babe,” “Are you with him,” “Are you Cher,” and others. Tom mie paused, to let Illuminata catch up with her. She turned and shouted “The guys are gonna go to that lighting control station. We’re going all the way to the dressing rooms on the other side.” As they wandered and weaved their way through the crowds she looked all around at the nightclub for Richthius or signs of his machinations and preparations for the outreach. They passed by the long bar with the two bartenders who were hurriedly scrambling to serve customers who surrounded them.

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Illum inata struggled to keep pace with Tomm ie. Though she was much taller, with longer legs, she was also teetering about on four-inch high heels. Tommie in tennis shoes was able to tear through the crowd reck lessly. The people standing, shrieking to be heard above the loud music, parted and left a wake as if Tomm ie had been a speedboat cutting through a lagoon. She thought of the red-carpet ceremonies in H ollywood, with the stars and starlets walking to the theater entrance, all eyes on them. There was a sea of blue jeaned and black-tights-wearing legs. Apart from the female impersonating performers, few wom en probably ever showed up at the nightclub wearing dresses or ensemb les. Since she was able to look over the heads of practically everyone except the tallest guys, she could see the machinations of the outreach preparations taking place as they neared the dressing roo ms. One door already led to a sm aller bar in a brighter room with several booths and tables. She thought they probably held private parties in there. Richthius and his cohorts had attached another door to the end of that smaller room, for use in some of the heaviest outreach action. When they reached the other side, Illuminata could also see another opening straight ahead, past the dressing rooms. Though she could only see a virtual outline, it seemed that the room would be caverno us, like a concert hall or arena. By training her receptors on crowd members she could see that quite a few had snorted, injected, toked up or dropped stimulants and hallucinogens. She wondered if they could see the frameworks of the extra rooms taking shape. All through their walk people parted for them and the bulky luggage they carried. By the time they finally reached the dressing room, she saw that all the room extensions had blinked on as if Richthius had flipped a sw itch. A wildly enthus iastic man had started bellowing into a microphone. She thought about turning down her auditory sensitivity but knew that she would soon be in the dressing room, closed away from most of it. Sometimes toning down the sensitivity would make norm al conversation a challen ge to hear. Tommie and Illuminata entered a door in the dressing room that seemed too short. Upon entering, Illuminata felt as though she needed to dip down to keep the top of her upswept hair from nudging the doorframe. They entered a room splashed with brilliant white light. She saw performers with

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hairnets applying garish makeup in front of m irrors lined with bright lights. When they all turned and saw Tom mie, a chorus of shouts piped from them . One performer at the end, who’d already put on a Marilyn Monroe pageboy wig, gave her a high five. “It’s about time you got here! What the hell were you doing? Blowing Fiddles in that van?” Fiddles, Illuminata thought. Fiddles. That was probably a nicknam e som eone had made up fo r Phil, the tall curly haired guy. A few of the guys in women’s clothing had already noticed Illuminata and were gawking shamelessly at her, with huge eyes. Tomm ie had noticed this, apparently, and cried “Hey everybody! This stunning vision of wom anhood is E-lulurada! Say hello to her everybody! Ain’t none of us ever going to look this good, no matter what kind of surgery we get.” Then Tomm ie turned to he r and said “Did I get that right, honey? Or did I butcher your nam e?” “It’s Illuminata ,” she said softly. “Like Illuminate, with two short a’s at the end.” “Hey everyone! I fucked up. H er nam e is Illuminata.” The perform er in the blond wig extended his hand for her to shake. At the sam e time, Tomm ie stood on tiptoe and surveyed the entire room. The outer perimeter of it had been lined with vanity tables and cha irs, all of them occupied. “Where the fuck am I going to sit?” Tomm ie asked. Someone shouted out “ Go in the corner. That chick will get up fo r ya. She’s just here along for the ride.” Illum inata looked in the corner and saw a heavyset young woman in blue jeans and a spangled top, who had blended in with all the perform ers until that p oin t. They both weaved and sidled their way toward the back corner as the wom an stood up, openin g another vanity for them. “I’ll stick around for a little bit to see if I can help out,” Illuminata said . She looked around at all the m anicure d eyebrows, glitter and megawatt eye shadow and said “This looks like it’s going to be som e show.” A guy wearing a wig cap and a tank style t-shirt, who had slathered foundation on, making him self look like a wax figure, looked up at Illuminata and said “You’re not a cop, are you.” Illum inata felt like laughing. Tommie held her by both shoulders, displaying her to the entire room. “A cop? Do you think an under-fucking-cover cop could ever be this

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beautiful? No, man, she’s cool. Snort up, shoot up, toke up or do whatever the fuck you w ant to do.” “Well then are you with Jinx?” Jinx was the owner of the bar. “Jinx would come in here and kick ass if he knows about it.” She spoke for herself this time: “No, I’m not with Jinx, either.” Tomm ie said “Don’t mind Kit over there. She’s paranoid. I tell her all the time to sm oke up along with snorting up and she won’t believe m e.” Illum inata looked over at the guy with the wig cap on, the one who was nam ed K it. He was still gazing at her with seriousness in her eyes, studying her. “Do you mind if I ask you something? Wh at are you…um… doing here?” She knew that Kit wasn’t trying to be nosy or rude. He was just curious how a wom an like h er could end up in a nightclub that featured performances by female impersonators. Since she’d been demoted to this backwater and since outreach was all about providing thrilling experiences for people, she decided to tell them the whole truth. She raised her chin and slowly said “I am a devil lady.” Kit and Tomm ie looked at her, then each other, and then at the other perform ers in the room . “You’re a what?” Tommie said. “A devil lady? W here’s your pitchfork? Do you breathe fire?” “No . You watch too much T.V., kid.” Kit chuckled and slapped the thigh of a heavyset performer next to him . Turning back to Illum inata, he said “Wh at’s it like in hell? Fire? Whips? Dungeons?” She decided to have a little fun. After snickering to herself, she fixed it so that red, leathery horns sprouted from her head like blooming flowers in time-lapse photography. She looked down at Kit and spat a bolt of fire down at him, aiming it precisely so that the tip of the flame sparked the end of his nose. He fell backward, clumsily tumbling sideways toward a guy wearing a red-haired wig and a delicate corset with pace lace stockings. Tomm ie sprang up out of her chair like a Jack-inthe-Box. The word “W hoa” spewed from the cro wd inside the room in a loud chorus of male and fem ale sounding voices. Tom mie turned to her and said “What else can you do?” For a mom ent, Illuminata tried to think of something spectacular. Striking a dramatic pose, she switched modes and

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allowed herself to metamorphose into various bodies and shapes. First there was the red headed cinem a siren Rita Hayworth. The m irrors in the room only reached her at shoulder level, so she wouldn’t be able to see her face change without bending over. Still, she saw the costumes m aterialize into view as she called them up. The next one was Ava Gardner, then Syd Charisse. For the piece de resistance, she summoned Marilyn Monroe in the white halter dress that had been sent billowing upward b y the updraft of a sidewalk grate. Kit, Tom mie, the other performers in the room and the lone genetic wom an in the room gawked at her in wonder. “Holy shit man,” Kit said. “Did I drop acid before or what? Hey Tom mie girl, did you drop anything else in the blow or what?” Tommie shook her head animatedly and said “No, dude, because I’m seeing it too, and I haven’t done shit yet.” She turned to Illum inata, and in a tone approaching reverence said “That was really cool! What else can you do? Illum inata regarded Tommie for a moment. She suddenly reach ed fo rward and knocked the baseball cap off her head with a gentle flick, causing it to tum ble to the floor and revealing her thinning brown locks underneath. An expression of embarrassment crossed Tomm ie’s face but then she continued her m agic, causing thick, lustrous brunette hair to sprout fro m Tomm ie’s scalp. Her slight beard stubble on her lower chin evaporated and the contours of her face changed, giving her higher cheekbones and more radiant vibrance in her skin tones. From there, she decided to give Tommie’s eyes a sensuous, catlike slant and she straightened and whitened her teeth. The whole room had fallen silent as everyone gazed at the changes occurring in Tommie right before their eyes. Next, Illum inata caused full, rounded swells underneath Tommie’s bra, the breasts set high on her chest and very firm. T om m ie looked down at them , her eyes agape, jaw dropped open. For the last and most stupendous change, she caused a vulva and womb to appear where Tomm ie had previously been male. “Holy shit!” Tom mie shouted, cupping her hand against her crotch then com ically shoving it under her pants waistband, feeling around down there. “Oh m y go d, I can’t believe this!” She turned and saw a softer, truly feminine version of herself in the mirror, with thick and glorious hair. Illum inata only had the power to effect such a radical change in an earthbound mortal for mere fleeting mom ents of time.

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Within seconds the new h air dissolved and the other parts of Tommie that she’d been carrying previously returned, bringing her back to h er natural state. She turned and looked in the mirror again, this time pouting. Kit jumped up and said “Do me! Do me!” S everal of the others in the room said the same thing. Suddenly, Tomm ie reached forward and grasped Illum inata by her blazer lapels. “Make me stay that way! Make me stay that way! Not just for a couple of secon ds. Forever! I’ll sell you my soul! I’ll do whatever you want!” Illum inata brought fire to her eyes in a figurative way, glaring down at Tommie’s small hands as they held her lapels. Intimidated, Tomm ie loosened her grip and allowed her hands to slide down, saying “Sorry .” She tried to be sym pathetic to Tomm ie, realizing the power of the experience she had just given her. Softly, she said “We don’t actually do that, Tommie. I’ll be back later, though, later.” With a slight head tilt to access another mode, she caused every person in the room to lose mem ory of what had occurred during the previous ten minutes. They all returned to their makeup and their toking up or snorting up as they prepared themselves for the big Friday evening. Tomm ie had been looking straight at her when Illuminata performed the actions for the m ind sweep. H er eyelids fluttered, then opened and closed as, for a few seconds, she teetered on her feet. After shaking her head to free it of the cobwebs, Tommie said “Th ank you so much for he lp in g m e out. Why don’t you co me back a little later? We’ll do a line or smok e one.” “That sounds lovely,” Illuminata said as she started walking toward the door. Kit jum ped up and opened it for her. Once she left the dressing room and returned to the inside of the nightclub , she saw that even m ore people h ad stream ed in , crowding the walkway. Flashing, spinning light gave off an intoxicating effect, causing her to wonder if that had been Richthius’ magic or the owners of the club. She drank in the sea of activity occurring before her. “It’s going to be a hell of a night!”

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Ch apter Twenty Stephanie only vaguely remembered how to get to the 2112 Club. Fortunately, Rachel guided her. Once they turned off the interstate, they traveled down a four-lane “main drag” type of road that crisscrossed another major thoroughfare that would lead to 2112. She could sense Rachel’s excitement mounting as they approached the shopping center. At times she bounced up and dow n on the seat like a child in a car as it approaches an am usem ent park. Stephanie felt the excitement but also a sense of anxiety over what the night would bring. She glanced down at the dashboard clock: “9:15.” Several traffic snarls had slowed them along the way. Her hands again found their way to the silver cross that dangled from the chain down into the “v” of her bra. For the last mile of their trip she touched the cross as she drove on, half-listening to Rachel and Lori’s conversatio n about everything from men to m ovies to music. When they approached the parking lot, Stephanie’s first thought was that an “aura” emanated from the grounds. It reminded her of how the torn ado-ravaged gym building looked when she drove by it. Streetlamp light glinted off the large parking lot filled with cars. “Oh wow, it’s a packed ho use,” Rachel said, as Stephanie turned into the parking lot and all three of them started loo king for a space. “This is the mo st crowded I’ve ever seen it. Stephanie nodded. She felt a twinge as they cruised up and down the lanes of the parking lot, looking for an opening. “It’s going to be so cool,” Lori said, as she looked over the rows of cars and crowds of people heading toward the door. She suddenly remembered the dire serio usness in Estes’ voice as he’d warned her to stay away that night. “There, finally,” Rachel shouted, pointing a short distance away at a parking space between a van and a large pickup truck. Her voice startled Stephanie; in all the time she’d known Rachel, she’d heard her speak softly, in demure tones. When suddenly she raised her voice, out of elation, it came across at a boom ing, deeper register. Stephanie guided the car over to the space and parked it. While the car idled, she turned up the heat for a few m om ents and turned to Lori and Rachel, who’d gathered their purses and started buttoning their coats.

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“Are we ready for the tundra again?” Stephanie asked. The car sat in the outer reach es of the parking lot, leaving them a walk of several hundred yards to the front entrance. “I’m going to meet m y angel,” Rachel said. Stephanie felt sad. In all the weeks she’d worked side by side with Estes, he’d seemed like a normal, if somewhat odd, young man. She could have given a once-in-a-lifetime experience to a girl just a few miles away. “Okay . Let’s do it up.” They all got out of their car and started walking toward the nightclub. “Oh my god,” Lori said as they walked quickly along the blacktop. “It’s freezing!” “It’s as cold as hell,” Rachel said. Stephanie stopped, causing the other two of them to look at her. “What’s wrong?” Rachel asked. “Nothing.” Stephanie tried to shake away her shudder and continue walking casually across the lot toward the entrance. “Are you scared?” Lori asked as they walked along. Stephanie shrugged. “Estes told me not to come here.” Rachel stepped sideways tow ard her to offer a reassuring pat across h er shoulders. “Y ou’re with us, hon. We’re all in this together. Nothing bad can happ en. I won’t let it.” Stephanie looked ahead of them, at the sprawling, flat structure that was the 2112 nightclub. “Okay.” After side-stepping and zig-zagging through rows of parked cars, the three of them soon came upon the fire lane running along the front of the shopping center. Stephanie noticed a few people stopped along the sidewalk looking at what appeared to be a long car. Rachel noticed it, too, and started running toward it, her purse slapping against her hip with each step. “ W hoa! Check it out! A Silver Shadow.” Stephanie and Lori fo llowed her over to the car. W hen they reach ed it, they heard Rachel asking questions to the other people who’d been standing around lo oking at it, like “H ow long has it been here?” “Did you see who got out of it?” and “What do you think it’s worth?” To Stephanie, it looked like something out of a Great Gatsby movie, with its sleek and curving lines, carriage touches

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and gleaming chrome. Rachel seemed to be m esm erized by it, while Lori blandly said “It looks like som ething a drug lord would drive.” Rachel, who’d walk ed slowly aro und the entire car, stopped at the front of it, with the large round headlights. She reached out to touch one of the gleaming fenders and when her fingers contacted the shiny metal she cried out and leaped backward, as though she’d touched an electrified fence. “Shit!” she shouted, holding up her hand, gazing at it. “I’ve just been electrocuted.” A few of the other girls and guys who’d been looking at the car started to walk away, laughing. “Are you o kay?” Lori said, gingerly tip-toeing toward Rachel. “Jesus! A boob y trapped car. It’s gotta be a drug lord.” “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Her breath cam e out in quick rasps, belying her. “ Let’s get inside, where it’s warm.” Stephanie, Lori, and Rachel continued on toward the entrance. She felt relieved when they reached the hollow in between the buildings . It shielded them from the breeze that stung their faces and seemed to flow through their coats. The stream s of people h eaded there also helped. “Wow, I’ve never seen this many people h ere before,” Lori said, as she looked at the crowds shuffling toward the entrance and standing aro und near the front door and all the people they could see inside. “They must have left the shopping malls and come here,” Rachel said as they had to stop, sidestep and walk carefully to avoid bumping into othe r people. She tapped Stephanie on the shoulder to get her attention, as they all moved closer to the door. “Hey Steph, I’ll cut you a deal. Since you’re the designated driver, I’ll pay your way in, okay?” The cover charge was five dollars. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” “But I want to.” Rachel ended up paying for Lo ri, also. When she started to give a twenty to a bored looking guy sitting on a stool and holding a flashlight she said “Two. Aw, what the hell. M ake it three.” The guy who was taking money looked up at Rachel with a blasé expression but when he saw Lori and Stephanie, his eyes widened. “Wait a minute,” he said, “I need to see I.D.’s on you girls.” Lori and Stephanie loo ked at each other and giggled. “Thanks very much for the complim ent,” Lori said. They fished around in their purses, found their licenses and showed

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them to the do orm an wh o shined the light on them and studied them . Rachel also offered to show him her I.D., but the guy waved him off. “I kno w your ass already.” They moved a few feet further down to another guy who stamped the backs of their hands with invisible ink. A few feet past that were the swinging doors for the bar. As people pushed through them they all heard slices of rancor coming from inside, pulsating rock and roll that awaited them. Lori said to Rachel “That guy was so rude to you back there.” Rachel shrugged. “They’re all like that here.” Someone nudged Stephanie as they strode past, on their way to the swinging doors. “Well let’s get through there,” she said. “W e might get tram pled out here.” Rachel led them inside and the crowds parted for her as she purposefully strode into the nightclub, her head held high. Walking behind her, Stephanie felt as if she’d crossed over a threshold of no return. The only feeling she could com pare it to was being strapped into a car on the Space Blaster roller coaster as the whole line of them click-clacked up the first, steep hill. As they walked further and further into the nightclub, she looked around at all the lights shining and flashing and the tables where people stood and talked and laughed. The stage had been ra ised and cordoned off for the performers. On a regular night the stage area was dropped down level with the rest of the floor, mak ing a large, wide dance area. Stephanie didn’t kno w the name of the heavy m etal band with a girl lead singer who was playing on their system but they were loud enough that Lori had to cup her mouth and raise her voice when she spoke to her: “What do you want to drink? Rachel’s buying.” Lori indicated the long bar on the other side, with the racks built above it so that glasses seemed to shimm er and float above the bar. Stephanie told her to order tonic water with a lem on twist. W ith Rachel in the lead they headed toward the long bar with the floating glasses but along the way, someone in the control booth for lighting caught her eye. She had seen that shaggy blond hair and casual looking attitude before, though she was yet able to see the person’s entire face. They all reached an intersecting walkway on the floor and that enabled Stephanie to creep a few steps toward the control center to get a closer look at who stood up there. When she recognized the face she

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felt as if som eone gave her an electric shock, the way the Silver Shadow had recently sh ocked Rachel. It was Dave Diamond, M r. Spittle on the Sausage Patty and the m orning into afternoon deejay. She scram bled back to tell Lori, having to cup her mouth with her hand when she reached her. “Tell Rachel to just get our drinks and to m eet m e back by this control thingy over here. Dave Diamo nd’s up there.” Lori looked up there and saw him, also. She said “Okay,” shaking her head vigorously, trying to com municate in as many m odes as possible to avoid confusion. Stephanie continued walk ing toward the b oxed in lighting platform. As she neared it, she realized that Steve was talking to a tall, brunette wom an with a timeless, ageless quality to her. In the subdued light she could have been a stunning 50 year old or a very worldly 30. There was a quiet grace and strong presence behind an arresting beauty that came from classic paintings or the front pieces of ancient ships. As they talked she smiled and occasionally touched him lightly, appearing to be very engaged by him . Stephanie walked to the other side of the platform, where she would be in Steve’s line of vision. While Dave spo ke with the striking brunette woman, Stephanie stood where she was, trying to send him a mental message. Eventually he did look up and his eyes met hers. He nodded recognition. “H ey, how’s it going?” He had to shout for both his voice to carry to her and also to be heard over the loud music. Stephanie took it as a cue to mo ve closer. The platform stood six inches above the floor, which caused Stephanie to feel slightly intimidated when both Dave Diamond and the flashy mystery wom an b oth looked down at her. She felt cold and prickly vibrations coming from the wom an who looked as if she had stepped off a m ovie screen. The longer she stayed in their presence, the stronger the vibrations becam e. She focused on Steve yet still felt the wom an’s pupils bearing down on her, as though they could flash freeze her. “Hey, this is Illum inata, and this is…” Steve snapped his fingers, trying to recall her name. “Steph anie,” she said, glancing for a mom ent into Illuminata’s eyes, feeling as though she might get sucked into her vortex, the way she had been carried off into the evil video gam e. Dave squinted and said “So, did Estes ever call you again today? H e never called m e?”

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Illum inata started to act as if she’d been a v am pire and she’d lifted the cross out of her blouse and started to shine it at her, sprinkling ho ly water fro m the vial on her for good measure. “Estes?” she said, tilting her head to one side, narrowing her gaze, pausing for drama tic effect. “Estes?” Stephanie thought she heard her words echo forebodingly, even with all the interference from the music and the sounds of conversation from other tables. Stephanie realized she was shrinking back away from them and when she looked up at Dave, she saw his expression change: his eyes grew wider and paler with concern. “What’s wrong?” Dave said, as he started to back up, stepping down from the platform. Illum unita addressed Dave, her manner much softer “You know of Estes?” Steve had reach ed Stephanie by then and he put his arm behind her shoulder to hold her steady. W ithout looking back at Illuminata he said “Yeah, he’s this guy who works in the restaurant with Stephanie. I thought he seemed pretty cool so I invited him to be on the radio sho w today.” “But he did no t come?” Illum inata went on. “No .” “Have you seen him today?” “No .” Illum inata turned to Stephanie. “Have you seen Estes today?” When Stephanie tried to look back at the strange wom an again, she saw white glowing crescents blazing from her pupils. He r voice echoed in Stephanie’s ears. “N o, I haven’t.” Her legs trem bled, trying to propel her backward, away from there. Thinking quickly, she excused herself. “I should be getting back to my friends over there. They’re getting me a drink.” Dave and Illuminata both looked down at her and nodded. Stephanie swung around and stood on tiptoe to look out across the floor. She saw the long bar with the glasses floating over it. She saw Rach el’s auburn hair from the back and started to run toward her, stopping, sidestepping and weaving until sh e m ade it all the way to the bar. For the last few yards she held on e a rm out in front of her. While she ran, she also noticed that the music took on another quality: the overall rock music stayed, with the heavy bass and the screeching vocals, ye t she also heard a soothing chorus in the background. A group of beautiful voices sung to her in a wide

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range of tones that m elde d into a whole and calm ed her. Still, when she reached the area at the bar where Rachel stood, her arm shoved him back when she stopped. Startled, Rachel whirled around to look at her. “Dang, girl! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” She had been running, and had received a scare from the other side of the floor and her breath came in quick, ragged gasps. “Funny you should say that. You’re not far off.” Rachel handed her the drink and she sipped from it, letting the cool, tangy liquid refresh her. She sipped from her tall glass with burgundy fluid in it, which m ay have been wine or a cranberry mixer. “If you think you saw a ghost, it was probably some just some gothic character. They com e here too.” Stephanie touched Rachel on the arm to show her that she was serious. “ What I saw was a devil woman. Where’s Lori?” “She went to the bathroom .” Stephanie had said ‘devil woman’ just as Rachel was tipping her drink back. “A devil wom an?” Stephanie frantically, tried to describe what she’d seen to Rachel. “I don’t know how to tell yo u, really. It’d come out sounding too …weird.” Rachel had been regarding her patiently. When she’d heard Stephanie, she grinned. “Just say it. What happened?” Stephanie felt a need to clear her throat before beginning. “At first, when I saw her I thought she was beautiful, like a movie actress or someone in a magazine. She was talking to Dave Diamond. And then her voice…it started to sound spooky, all hollow and echoing. And her eyes…started to glow.” Rachel raised her eyebrows and leaned away from her slightly. “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Like something out of a bad horror movie?” “Wh ere is she?” Stephanie pointed in the direction of the lighting control platform. It was empty. “Oh god. I’m losing my mind.” “No, you’re not.” Rachel boldly started walking in the direction of the lighting platform, leaving her drink behind, on the bar. At first Stephanie didn’t know whether to follow or stay behind, especially since Lo ri would be coming back and wondering where they both went. She decided it would be

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safest to follow after Rachel. They crisscrossed pathways through tables together, zigging and zagging until they reached the platform. When they came within fifty feet of it, she saw Estes standing up there. H e had a wistful, disappointed look on his face. It was like the look her father got when she arrived home too late on a Friday or Saturday night or her grades had dropped. She had been used to him appearing calm or smiling, or gazing with wonder at something, like the fries bubbling in the oil, but never this. In the fleetest of instants later, Estes was gone. “W hat’s wro ng?” Rachel said, snapping her out of it. Stephanie still stared at the platform. “He’s here.” “Wh o’s here?” “Estes. Your angel.” She expected Rachel to bubble over with excitem ent, possibly panic and pepper her with questions such as “Where is he? W hat was he doing?” Instead, she calmly said. “I know. Do yo u see that wom an anywhere?” “No .” She kept looking up at the platform and at that mom ent a tall man with curly hair ran up to it and began frantically flipping switches and jerking levers. Rachel saw him and her features lit up with recognition, relaxed as she skipped along the rest of the way to the platform and called out “Hey Phil! Ricochet!” The tall guy working the buttons and levers looked down at her and smiled, his hand waving to high in the air like the mast on a ship. “Hey stranger! Com e here!” Rachel ran around to the back of the platform and leaped up onto it and she and Phil hugged each other like long lost friends who’d been apart for a decade. When they broke the emb race they still held onto the sides of each other, each one of them talking and babbling excitedly. Stephanie came up beside them , looking up at the both of them, waiting until they needed to take a breath from all the excited babbling. “Hi!” she said, trying to get Phil’s attention. “Have you seen Dave Diamond?” Phil frowned in confusion for a moment until he remembered. “Oh. You mean Tim? H e went off som ewhere with some lady wh o rides around in a Silver Shadow.” W hile Phil spoke, he suddenly seemed distracted, his eyes shifting from the stage to the dressing room, to another point in the back corner of the nigh tclub.

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“I knew it!” Rachel said, spinning around toward Stephanie, clasping hold of her wrist with a grip so tight it hurt. Behind them Phllip sh outed “Shit!” and the P.A system opened from the other side of the floor. The music, which had been fading, suddenly ceased. A high intensity spotlight bath ed a perfo rmer in light at the m iddle of the stage. At first it appeared to Stephanie to be a tall woman with glossy auburn hair similar to Rachel’s. When she looked more closely, how ever, at the chiseled cheekbones and the mus cular arms in a gold sequined strapless gown, she knew that the first of the female impersonating performers had arrived. “Helloooooooo 2112!” she shouted. “How the fuck are you doing?” The crowd, which had given all their attention to the performer, roared their approval, voices around the lighting control table shouting out phrases like “Fuck yes!” and “Who o hoo!” Stephanie nervously touch ed the cross at the base of her chest, lightly stroking it with one finger. Sh e felt as if they’d crossed a point of no return. Next, the perfo rmer said “No w, I know nobody cam e here to be m ellow.” The people in the tables surrounding them laughed or giggled. “I’ll say it again. Now, I know nob ody cam e here to be mellow. Anybody who wan ts to get mellow can just get the fuck out of here!” The cheers rose to a volume that hurt Stephanie’s ears. She winced and clapped her hands over them to drown out the sound. While she’d deprived herself of all sensory input that way, she heard a calm wom an’s voice in her mind. She said “It’s okay. It’s okay.” After a few mo ments Stephanie felt com fortable enough to take her hands off her ears. She heard the melody of the Diana Ross song “Ain ’t no Mountain High enough,” and the soprano harm onizing at the beginning. Beside her, Phil complained to Rachel: “Yeah, she’s ripping off Ted Nugent again! From the Gonzo Live album. I told her not to do that shit anymore.” Stephanie looked at the stage and saw a tall, honey colored performer wearing a skintight silver off-one-shoulder gown with one long sleeve and tall high heels strutting back and forth on the stage, throwing her head back in an enthusiastic lip synching pantomime of a live performance. She had seen it all before, the lip synching renditions of popular songs, with gymnastic and balletic dance moves and

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flashing lights. The same performer, in fact, may have performed the exact same song in exact same way when Stephanie had been to 2112 before. At that moment it gave her com fort in a strange way. She felt safe beside the light console, with Rachel and Ricochet Philip when som ething suddenly occurred to her: they’d left Lori behind!

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Chapter Twenty-One Lori got sidetracked. When Rachel and Stephanie went to the bar to get drinks, she told Rachel “Get me a Long Island ice tea,” while she ventured off to find a b athroom . Usually, Steph anie wo uld always offer to go off to the b athro om together with her, no matter what. It reminded her of the Andrew Dice Clay routines her husb and used to guffaw over: “And what’s up with you going to the bath room in pairs? Is it so you can give each other moral suppo rt? Pee like a raceho rse! Pinch a loaf! Hey, let me get a picture of that!” For the whole day, Lori noticed that her friend Stephanie seem ed distracted, to say the least. She could understand it, to a certain point. After all the dinner guest she’d had for Thanksgiving turns translucent and melds into an evil video game before their eyes and when he comes to says “Oh yeah. By the way, I’m an angel.” In fact, Stephanie was being quite calm about the whole thing. If such a thing had happened in Lori’s house, she would have called the television stations, the newspapers, Ripley’s Believe it or Not, the Guinness Book o f W orld Records, and a priest, a preach er, a rabbi, and a shaman. It was only one way she and her best friend differed. Lori thought about it often: how they’d managed to stay friends since elementary school. The best example of their wildly different outlooks was the way they spent the first year imm ediately following high school. Stephanie shuttled right into the co mmunity college, taking the introductory, general Freshman courses with thoughts of going into “something having to do with com puters,” because her uncle kept telling her that it was the one field that would grow and grow no matter what. The math courses undid her—“A ll those num bers swim around in m y head like pieces of pasta in vegetable soup.”—she’d said, and she latched onto a series of sm all jobs before working her way up the ladder to management at her grease palace. After high scho ol graduation, Lori went straight to work, part time as a stock girl at a discount retail store during the day and part time at bar backing at a sports pub. She started announcing to everyone tha t for one year of her life, she was going to com pletely m iss the winter. Since she still lived at home and rode a bike to the store and got a ride from

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her brother to the bar, she had put away nearly three thousand dollars by Halloween, w ay m ore than enough to fly down to Adelaide Australia and meet her long time pen pal Daisy. Their correspondence started back in the fourth grade when Lori received a pen pal overseas as part of a school project. Daisy was a vivid, descriptive writer, even as a ten year old, and would mesm erize Lori with long letters about the beach, the big city of Sidney and safaris to the Outback. When she arrived in Australia she and Daisy flew into each other’s arms and jumped up and down on the a irport terminal carpet. She was a pretty, brunette girl with a quick sm ile and bright eyes and instantly Lori became welcome in her parent’s house as if she’d been an adjunct, long lost relative. Since the seasons were switched around in the land down under, the beginning of November was the beginning of the summ er and in the weeks around Thanksgiving she played volley ball on the beach, swam and rode along in long outings to the countryside with Daisy’s family. Just before Christmas she was hanging out on the beach with a bunch of Daisy’s friends when someone introduced them to Sim on, who played bass in a rock band that was just starting out. He spoke with Daisy and Lori for a long while near the bonfire on the beach while everyone else drank spiked watermelon through straws or poured Foster from a keg. “The band and I are going to do a video clip. We’re looking for pretty little dollies just like you two to be in it. How about it?” “What’s a video clip?” Lori remembered asking him. “Is it a home m ovie?” A few days later, Lo ri and Daisy met the other four members of the band along with Simon and four other girls they’d invited to appear in the video clip. They met at a hotel lobby and they would film the clip in one of the fancy private dining room s. The m ost intriguing of the five b and m embers was also its leader. H is nam e was Michael and he was gangly yet had deep, soulful brown eyes and adorably tousled brown rock star hair. With everyo ne dressed, they all entered the ho tel dining room lob by together and came upon a spread of food with a giant hog at its centerpiece. “What we’re all going to do is very sim ple,” M ichael said. “We’re all going to have a grand time at this wonderful feast with all these wonderful vittles and I’ll be the strange looking one. I’ll be pretending like I’m singing the song.”

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A large camera shot the video clip, which looked to Lori like the kind of cameras used by television stations. She assumed that the footage of them eating the salads, vegetables and pork while rollicking around would end up in someone’s fancy hom e movies som ewh ere. After a couple of more months with Daisy and her family, Lori flew back home. During the summ er of 1981, a new cable television network form ed, M usic Television, called MTV for short. The new network showed something called “music videos” where the members of a rock band would be film ed perform ing their song either in concert or in conjunction with a sk it based on the song’s lyrics. W hile watching some of the music videos, some mo re inventive then others, Lori vaguely wondered if that footage from the feast in the hotel dining room would end up on a music video. Michael had looked strange mouthing the words to the song but she knew the song could be dubbed in later. Then one Saturday night just before Christmas, nearly a year after the hotel dining room video shoot, the video “The One Thing” played on M TV. She saw Michael singing the song but mo re importantly, she saw herself, in her red party dress, eating mussels and sm iling on h er fam ily’s wide screen television. By then, Lori had started her long, on-off again academ ic career. In an English Literatu re course, she met the man of her dreams, Rand, and prayed that he didn’t want children. He was in there as a pre-Law major picking up some general studies credit he’d neglected in his freshman and soph om ore years. By the time he graduated and got a good job with a billing office, they moved in together. A short time after he passed the bar, they married. The five years after that had been a whirlwind of volunteer activities, college courses here and there, parties and other pursuits in her quest to become the busiest non-employed person ever. That all led to the m om ent inside the 2112 bar where she found a restroom in the far corner, nea r wh at looked like dressing rooms. Lori quickly strode inside, pleased that they offered a salon style bathroom with the sitting room in front containing a couple of King Louis XIV chairs in there along with a couple of nice oval mirrors and a flat, low table (if it was in a bathroom , it couldn’t be considered a coffee table, could it?). Giddy, giggling girls in each chair laughed to each other while Lori breezed by them, not quite noticing wh at they were doing.

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W hen she was in the bathroom, she found it odd that she could still hear the girls laughing. They became even louder. Before goin g back out into the sitting room, she checked her hair and m akeup in the bathroo m mirror, adjusting both just a tad, then picked up her purse and carefully opened the door, cringing at what she w ould find in the sitting room. The girls were doing lines on the flat table. One of them, wearing a leather jacket, with long, curly, stringy hair, had put her face down to the table glass and had honked inward, making the white crystal powder on a small square mirror disappear up her nose as if she’d been a vacuum cleaner. “Hey Blondie,” a heavyset one of them said “wanna do a line?” Lori looked at the girl, whose round face curled upward, turning her eyes into slits. She had nice, teased chestnut brown hair and may have been considered attractive by a guy who liked his wom en large, except she prob ably batted for the other team. “No. I don’t think so.” Lori started to leave but then a sight on one side of the flat table distracted her. It was a sandwich bag filled with a generous heap of the white crystal powder. The heavy girl m ust have been watching her, reading her expression because she said “See? Don’t worry. There’s plenty. I’ll bet you’re wondering how poor little chicks like us got hold of all this coke, right?” “That ain’t none of my business and I don’t want to know.” Another girl had put her face down to the table to snort a line while the others laughed, partially drowning out Heavygirl’s reply. “W ell, it’s no t what you think. So me lady is practically giving it away.” “Wh o?” Lori wondered why she even asked, since she already had a good idea. “That bitch out in the parking lot, driving the fancy car,” a scrawny girl sitting beside the heavy spokeswoman said. “She said sh e also had acid, speed and sh room s.” Lori nodded. “No, I think I’ll just stick with alcohol tonight. Especially when I have a designated driver. See ya.” She started to leave but the scrawny girl pointed at her and said “Hey, doesn’t she have beautiful hair? Don’t you just wanna run your fingers through it?” “Well thank you very much,” Lori said as she stepped past them, pushing her way out of the door. “Heredity, you

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know. It’s a wonderful thing.” When the door closed behind her, she shook her head, chuckling. The drag show had begun and when she turned toward the dance floor she could see a tall, light skinned b lack perfo rmer in a peek-a-boo go ld sequin gown lip synching and sashaying from one end of the stage to the other. Even with the high volume of music from the speakers and the loud conversation and laughing going on around her, she could still hear loud, off key singing, co m ing from a boy or a tenor male. She turned away from the stage and looked the other direction along the pathway leading back to the seating area. There was another drag queen standing there, facing the wall at the end of the path, singing loudly and raucously. He h ad a sm aller build and a decent feminine figure and wore an electric blue strapless spandex dress, slit high on the legs. Lori crept closer to him. He was strutting back and forth as far as the shortened path would allow and half-m umbling, half singing. Once Lori had reached him she heard part of the words: “I’m every wom an,” and she realized that he was singing the popular Whitney Houston song. As he’d only been able to move a few feet in each direction, he kept bumping into the wall o r a railing. His arms flailed about in various types of flourishin g ges tures as he teetered on high heels. When his hand hit the cinder block wall hard enough to cause a loud pop, Lori decided to do something. She started to walk toward him but stopped herself. In a chemically induced altered state sometimes people became combative and oddly gained extraordinary strength. According to what she’d read, people tripping out on Angel D ust sometimes needed five people or more to restrain them. Approaching the performer could put her at risk for getting hurt. There had to be security at the nightclub: she tried to keep an eye on him and find someone to get security. It then dawned on her that she could just knock on the dressing room doo r. The performers and their friends in there could either help or they could get security to help the tripping guy. By the time she reached the door, sh e saw a tall redheaded drag performer in a royal blue sequined gown approach. Lori raised her hand as if she was going to try to knock on the door but the perform er sh oute d out “Just push the door and go on in, honey, ain’t nob ody gonna care.” She couldn’t bring herself to do it, however, and waited for the drag performer in blue to reach the door instead.

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With a surprisingly graceful air the guy placed a hand against the door and leaned into it, allowing her to follow in after him. Lori expected to find a ro om full of female impersonator perform ers sitting in front of vanity m irrors in the re . W hile there were vanity mirrors and chairs in front of them, they found one drag perfo rmer laying on the floor, looking unconscious and two others leaning back against the vanities, idly smoking a joint and giggling. The red haired performer looked down at Lori as he said “Looking for som eone?” Lori shifted her weight and wondered if the guy had noticed one of his co-drag performers acting all weirded-out at the end of the hallway. “There’s someone out there at the end of the hall who needs help. Is there some kind of security around here?” The redhead said “N ot really. Is it one of us or a civilian?” “One of you. W hy don’t you follow me o ut here?” A flash of aggravation passed over the tall drag performer’s face but he said “Okay. I’ll go out there and see who it is.” Lori led the way back through the door and out into the hallway, wh ere a loud and rowdy m usical sele ction had begun to play on stage. Lori turned and looked toward the end of the hallway and saw a sparkly lum p there. Sh e picked up her pace and reach ed th e other, fallen drag performer in a couple of seconds. “Oh my god he passed out!” When she stepped around to the wall she could look down and see his face, noticing that his eyes hadn’t closed. “Oh my god!” “Aw man, it’s Tom mie. Took too much shit again.” Lori, placed her fingertips beneath Tom mie’s nostrils to check for breathing. “You m ean, again?” “Ricochet from that radio station takes care of her, man. We ought to get him over here.” She remem bered b ack to her conversations with Rachel on the way over. “Rick O’Shea ran sound and lighting for som e of the perform ers. “Well where do you think he is?” The drag perfo rmer in blue shrugged and said “Probab ly at that lighting platform in the middle of the floor out there.” “Thanks.” She started to walk toward the lighting platform, figuring it would be easy to find since at least some of the light beams would be coming from there. She called

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back to the other performer over her shoulder: “H ey, ch eck to make sure he’s still breathing.” The guy shrugged, but she realized that was going to be as good a response as sh e could get. At one time she’d com mented about the weird configuration of the nightclub, with its hallways and pathways and private rooms set off from the main floor. Someone had once told her that the property had originally been a large supermarket and that simply turning it into a cavernous nightclub would have made the sound system echo too much. They’d built in separate room s and alleyways to dampen the sound and give the nightclub character. Finding the light platform proved to be a challenge, but when she turned a corner, she could see it. She also ca m e face to face with the devil man who’d co me to the gas station and insulted Rachel. “Ah! We meet again!” he said, looking even more smug and self-impressed than he had the last time. Lori shook her head. “You think yo u’re such hot shit, don’t you?” Richthius pretended to recoil away from her theatrically, raising his eyebrows. “As opposed to you, w ho knows she’s ho t shit?” “Listen. I’m not interested. I’m on my way to try to help someo ne. Why don’t you just drink a few and go jerk off in the bathroom.” Lori boldly stepped forward and led with her hand, to try to nudge him out of the way. Instead, her hand passed through his arm and elbow as if he’d been an apparition, or a holographic projection. Her insides frosted over as she put her head down and walked quickly toward the lighting platform. When she reached it, she found not only Rick O’Shea but also Rachel standing beside him on the platform and Stephanie standing on the floor beside it. Stephanie saw her first. “Hey! Where the hell have you been?” H er expressive features changed from joy at seeing her to concern. “W hat’s wrong?” Lori rushed past her to step up onto the platform and tap Rick’s shoulder. He whirled around to see who had tapped him and at the sam e time Rachel turned around. Rachel said “Hey , what’s going on?” Rick O’Shea, also known as Phillip also looked at her, s m iling at first, his smile fading to concern when he saw her expression. “W hat’s going on?”

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Lori had practically run from the other side of the nightclub and encountering the devil man had also unnerved her. When she started to speak, her words came out in ragged, breathy gasps: “That drag performer you help…I think his name is Tomm y…he’s dow n! Passed out!” Phillip took a moment to digest Lori’s words and then said “Aw shit. Where is he?” “In the co rner.” Lori pointed in the direction of the dressing rooms. “Sh it. I can’t get away from here until Tim co m es back. There’s nobody else to run all this stuff.” Lori looked up at Phillip and Rachel and across at Stephanie, then b ack to Phillip. “Well where did Tim go?” Phillip shrugged. “He went off with some lady who was riding in a Silver Shadow. If it wasn’t so cold out I’d say he’s in there getting his dick sucked by her right about now.” She tried to sho ot Phillip a look. To Lori, that seemed a callous attitude to take when a friend was down on the ground possibly overdosing. Rachel stepped up. “I’ll go,” she said. When Lori looked at Stephanie she saw the familiar “eyes widening” expression that said “Okay, what are you getting me into this time.” Rachel started to walk toward the rear of the nightclub, which forced Stephanie to act. She said “I’ll go, too. If he’s doped up it could take all th ree of us to keep him together if he loses it.” Rachel took the lead. She seem ed to have risen taller, spurred forward by an outside force as she worked her way past tables of people gazing at the stage in awe or lost in dead-eyed stares. Lori had to skip along to keep up with her and at the same time glanced behind herself to keep Stephanie with them. Her best friend’s face had turne d m ore pale, her eyes dark and large and full of terro r. As they all scramb led toward the rear of the nightclub, Lori forced herself to look forward and backward the entire way. All around her she saw different scenes of zoned out behavior: people dancing enthusiastically by themselves, singing loud and off-key; som e with their heads dow n on tabletops; othe rs wandering around apparently having anim ated conversations with invisible people; and still others bumping against walls or cubbyholes in corners the way Tommie had been doing. When they had almost reached the far corner of the nightclub, Lori turned to check for Stephanie once again

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and saw her holding a silver cross pendant in her hand, that had dangled fro m her neck chain. By the time they reached Tomm ie, Lori could see that the tall redhead in blue still stood by and another, shorter drag perform er with dark hair and skin and Hispanic features stood over Tomm ie. Rather than helping, they just stood by, arms crossed, grinning or giggling. The tall one in blue recognized Rachel. His eyes lit up and he raised his hands. “Ray-Ray! The goddess, the bitch imm emorial, the legend returns!” “Blaze! Still got your Dom Perignon and a spoon up your nose?” Rachel said in passing, causing Lori to snicker (as she had recognized the Billy Joel reference) and the tall drag performer in blue sequins to frown in confusion. Rachel made her way down to the floor to tend to the fallen Tommie. Lori also dropped down to her haunches, while Stephanie stood nearby. At first Rachel put her hand under Tommie’s nostrils, apparently checking for breathing, then gently placed her head atop Tom mie’s ch est. “Tom mie,” she started saying, sharply. “Tommie. It’s Ray-Ray. Tommie!” For a mom ent, Lori thought of a bizarre movie she’d seen when she was little, which involved a deaf, dumb and blind boy n am ed Tommy. One of the m ajor songs in the opera was “Tomm y can you hear me?” Lori could see his eyes move. Slowly, he also began to turn his head, which caused his brown wig to shift on his scalp. Someone in front of them said “Maybe I can be of some assistance?” in a voice that could be heard as clear as if it had been a still, late afternoon in the middle of a peaceful meadow. Lori turned around and saw a small blond wom an wearing blue jeans and a light, fitted, fluffy sweater. Her face seemed youthful yet ageless all at once and Lori forced herself to look away, becoming embarrassed for staring at her. She reached forward with a pure, imm aculate hand and touched Tomm ie’s arm, and he stirred a little bit m ore. “Rachel, get behind Tommie, and lift from the shoulders, make yourself into a pillow,” the my sterious wom an with the hypnotically serene voice, presence, and manner said. Rachel gazed back at her incredulously for a mom ent but quickly did as she was told, getting behind Tomm ie and lifting him as if he’d been a giant rag doll. Miraculously, Tom mie’s eyelids fluttered, and his head lolled slightly against Rachel’s chest. Tommie lifted his head and opened his eyes slightly, his lips moving as if he was trying to speak. Lori had

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been watching the fallen drag perform er come to, but she realized that Rachel was gazing with awe at the woman in the light, soft sw eater. “Do I know you?” Rach el asked her, with a trem ble in a lower lip and deep wonder in her eyes. The woman looked b ack at her with such amazing warm th that it seemed to glow fro m within her as she said “Yes.” Tommie disturbed them for a mom ent, whispering “Wh ere am I?” Suddenly, a bright light glowed from beyond them, towa rd the center of the nightclub. Lori and Stephanie turned to look toward it.

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Chapter Twenty-two Along with the demons who had descended upon the 2112 to weave their occultic spells upon the patrons through chemical sorcery, a few angels from on h igh also appeared. They knew the warriors would arrive soon and bided their time by ministering to earthly folk, preparing them for the event. One of the angels was Tara, divine servant of Jezeriel, who held the important primary function of assisting in childbirth in the earthly realm . She and do zens o f others like her would be present at the delivery of every child born in the world, whether it was in a sterile hospital environm ent in Manhattan or a midwife hut on the African veldt. Tara also assisted the two guardian angels of Rachel. It was the second time she had revealed herself to her earthwalking charge: the other time occurred on a beach in Florida when Rachel was seven years old. Rachel had wandered away from her family into an unfamiliar sea of opened umbrellas and beach towels splayed upon the white sands. When she started to cry, Tara descended and revealed herself to the child as a woman her mother’s age, blond haired, wearing a teal maillot swimsuit and a translucent, flowing cover-up. She took Rachel by the hand and helped her to find her family. That night when Tara decided to reveal herself again, she’d chosen the form of the blond woman who had helped Rachel nearly three decades before. Now, as then, she chose a mode of dress that would help her fit in among the hum an nightclub patrons: a soft, pastel blue sweater, blue jeans, and moccasin-like athletic shoes that humans wore in casual situations. Rachel, Tara’s charge, had turned to her and asked “Do I know you?” and Tara had to say “Yes,” because she could not lie. She knew that Rachel had made the trip to th e nightclub expecting to see Estes, the squire, who’d descended nearly a month ago to minister to her. Tara was not sure whether Rachel would get to meet Estes or not. When they dispensed discipline, the warriors moved swiftly and singlemindedly. They would also revert to their true form, as fierce, stalwart giants of light. When Estes had descended and became stranded in the earth realm, he appeared as an ordinary man of about thirty years of age, the m ale counterpart to her. Yet, what if Rachel asked questions such as “Where have I seen you before, then?” Again, Tara would have to

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answer truthfully. How much should she reveal to someone she had protected and walked alongside fo r her entire life? She had helped Rachel’s mother give birth to her and loved her so, longing to tell her wondrous stories of how heaven had helped her during her journeys and difficulties. Divulging that much information to what her superiors often harshly referred to as “profane human gaze” wo uld get her into trouble. At the very least, a spiteful demon m ight block the curtain back to the other realm, trapping her here the same way as Estes had been. A miraculous event occurred however, to distract Rachel, Lori, Stephanie, and all the other earthly souls in attendance that night. The warriors started to arrive. Shehazradach, the noble page entered the portal through the nightclub door. All of the warriors were giants, who stood twice as tall as the ceiling inside the 2112 nig htclub. They would have to reform the structure to accommodate them. Shehazradach carried a staff that emitted brilliant blue light that caused the ceiling to billow out away from it and rise upward, forming a dome. The performer who had been dancing on the stage stopped. The men operating the mechanical, artificial light also saw the ceiling b illow upward, as if it had been a tent rising with the help of heated air. None of the earth folk, Tara remembered, would be able to see the noble countenance of Sheh azradach the page. To them it would appear that the shaft of blue light had caused the ceiling to lift. The crowd parted aw ay from the blue light beam, some of them shrieking, a few of them shouting in awe at the spectacle occurring before their eyes. Tara felt warm inside when she saw Shehazradach’s smile and the way he held the scroll in front of him as he read instructions to all the demons present. Again, the humans would no t be able to hear the page speak. Even if they were able to, though, they would not be able to understand the language fro m an ancient epoch.. Tara sprang into action. At first she reached for Rachel’s hands, taking them into hers as she calmed her by looking directly into her eyes. “W e’re with you,” she said in soft tones, speaking the words into Rachel’s ears and heart. “Every thing is going to be okay. Rachel’s eyes at first had been filled with horror yet as Tara held onto her hands and gazed soothingly into her eyes, her features softened. Suddenly, a line of men and women wearing raincoats and high hats with the sloping brims of a firefighter entered.

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Tara recognized all of them as her co-workers in her realm; they had all arrived to give com fort to their charg es, descending down to offer the lay ing of hands and soothing calm while the warriors stormed through to bring war against the demons. Each of the angels had been dressed in the ra in coat and boots of the earthly firefighter yet they all ran up to the patrons in the nightclub, touching them, speaking words of calm. “Everyone, this way!” the chief firefighter shouted, raising his hand with a flourish, indicating that they follow him to the edges of the nightclub, the fire lanes. While Tara helped Rachel along, she noticed tha t both Stephanie and Lori had been joined by their animus guardians, who had taken their hand and led them along the path that the dark haired leader indicated. In seeing what was happening, Tara allowed herself to feel a flicker of pride at the inventiveness and organization of the archangels in enlisting the guardians help in the war that way. Until a few moments before, all the young men and women in the night club showed pale countenances of fear and uncertainty, yet the other guardians, in their fire fighting disguises, helped soo the and quiet them . The music for the perform ers had extinguished so that at that moment only the soft murmur of the guardians and the hushed responses from their men and women could be heard . Before, there had been young men working the mechanical ligh ting that had illuminated the performers, yet they had jumped down from their posts. Tara supposed that the owner of the nightclub would raise loud objections over what was happening. The ir guardians also brought the light of eternity into the den of partying and revelry. As they walked along and Tara used her earthbound form to lift on tiptoe, raise her chin and eyes and glance about. When she did this, she saw the other demons present, dozens of them, trying to mingle with the crowd, clashing now that the guardians had arrived in fire fighting gear. The demons started to shout into the cavernous building: “W hat are you do ing? I don’t see any flames or smell any smo ke!” Tara noticed that not all of the people prese nt had been accom panied by their guardian angel, that s ome of the angelic firemen rushed about, searching the crowd, as if they were looking for a certain someone. She realized that they m ust be charging after the demon called “Richthius” whom the squires would engage in battle. In a far corner she heard some

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scuffling and shouting, which caused a buzz of confusion in the crow ds next to her. At the other side of the nightclub, the fire fighters had reached a couple of demon foot soldiers and started to throw punches and kicks to subdue them. Tara thought this was odd, as guardians seldom engaged themselves in fisticuffs with the planetary realm. The demons struck back with clubs, knives and bar stools. Just abo ut when Tara wondered if the demons had brought more firepower than the guardians, the hulkin g squires entered the vacated round area in the middle of the night club floor. Seven warriors, including Estes, the squire of Metatron. Tara also recognized Agamemnon, who squired for Raph ael, Zoragustha, who clanged heavy m etal for Uriel, and Ponsetwatomie, the squire in service of Gabriel. She knew that to the s till-scared people who’d found them selves in the bar that night, the squires would appear as tow ering columns of light and warmth. A light so bright that their earthly eyes could look upon them for only mom ents at a time. Tara concentrated on E stes, who was also an animus for Rachel. He had been bathed in a violet aura, carrying a giant staff before him as his eyes surveyed the dim cavern for Richthius. His warrior bro thers sauntered in behind him, all of them carrying scythes or staffs, their countenances grim as they surveyed the inside of the domelike nightclub. The patrons looking up would only see towering, arcing bright lights and orbs. Rachel tapped Tara on her shoulder. She turned toward her, relieved to see that her expression was inquisitive rather than fearful. “What’s going on?” she asked. Tara hesitated for a moment. It was the rarest of occasions, when scores of earthbound people would see the forces of dem onic evil clash with those of angelic good. When it had happened in the past, over many millennia, the Archangels would perform a cleansing rite called a Reduction, which would erase all memory of the incident from the consciences of the humans involved . They would prob ably perform one in this nightclub after Richthius had been sent down. There was no need to keep Rachel in the dark, then. She decided on the simple approach: “There’s some very evil forces in this nightclub tonight. The minions have sent for special help in quelling them . The patterns of lights that reach all the way to the dom e are representations of warrior angels.”

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Bewildered, Rachel cast her gaze upward , appearing to look directly at Estes, one of her pro tectors. She shook her head and her lips tried to m outh a word, as if she wanted to say “No ,” but the words would not co m e. When Tara looked up at Estes, and then down at Rachel, she realized why she had become so overawed: Rachel could see Estes. Placing her hand on Rachel’s shoulder, Tara was able to replay events from that day in Rachel’s life and she saw her meet with Lori and Stephanie. Estes had warned them not to come to the nightclub that evening, but they decided to forge ahead anyway. A loud shout coming from the opposite end of th e nightclub distracted them. Both Tara and Rachel glanced over in the direction of the sound. The first of the warrior demons had appeared on the scene, blasting his way inward through the entrance on the other side. The sternness of E stes’ wa rning to Stephanie suddenly h it hom e with Tara. An equally large and fearsome contingent of the evil ones filed in slowly, chanting mantras in an ancient dialectic Tara could not recognize. Tara stud ied them. She had spent her career assisting in childbirths or crises with infants and rarely encountered. They stood as high as the angelic warriors, filling the room, appearing to scrape against the ceiling in the sam e way. While the angels gave off rays of light and auras, however, the demons had been cloaked in long dark robes, carrying flaming staffs with serpents coiled around them. The leader shot flames through his eyes and from a crown surrounding his head. Predictably, the dark, fearsome demons caused the guardians to shrink back with their charges, scurrying them closer to the walls, for protection. Some of the people cowering behind the firefighter dressed guardians began to shriek at the darkness and flames. They were still not able to see details of the demon’s expressions, which with the dark and the flame made it that m uch m ore scary. Tara looked over at Stephanie and saw her wide-eyed with fear as the tall, stalwart guardian tried to calm her. “We’ve got to get out of here!” she shouted. Crowds of people pushed toward the far exit yet the guardians restrained them gently, chanting out soo thing words and hym ns, calm ing them. Tara knew that with Estes, Zoragustha and the other warriors they were all safe from the dem onic onslaught. One of the warrior angels, whom Tara recognized as Lycanthria broke out ahead of his other angelic brethren. He

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carried a scroll before him, holding it out in two outstretched arms. A melodic sound filled the nightclub with singing and m usic and for a mom ent Tara wondered whether they’d turned the sound system back on. When she listened more closely, she recognized an ancient dialect that even she could not speak fluently. The warriors seemed to keep it to themselves whenever they blazed onw ard into business. Lycanthria the warrior angel was calling out the terms of the scroll to the demonic warriors, setting the ground rules fo r the battle that would follow. The rest of the angelic warriors, Estes included, stood strong on their ground, gazing across at their dem onic adversaries. Tara glanced around at the crowd as they looked up at the spec tral light show and heard the strange, wonderfully beautiful music that had replaced the raucous din they’d heard only mo ments earlier. Steph anie loo ked upward in awe, tears streaming down her face. Tara felt like comforting her, but saw that her guardian stood behind her and rested his arms placidly against her shoulders. Estes spoke a few rapid-fire comm ands intended for the ascended demons who had been perfo rming narcotic outreach. He asked fo r the head of Richthius, which at first sounded gruesom e to her, until she realized that she was translating the warrior’s words too literally. The warriors actually meant for Richthius to be brought to them, his head connected to the rest of his body. She breathed a sigh of re lief. The spoken and sung orders caused the guardians to act, stepping away from their charges for a moment to race around the tables and along the wall. The abrupt abandonment of some of the guardians caused the people to shriek in fear. Lycanthria spoke som e more of the m elodic syllables as he continued reading his riot act to the demons. As he did so, both he and the other warriors starte d shuffling slowly toward them . When a demon warrior reared his head back and let forth a thunderous rebel yell, the rest of the demon stalwarts charged toward the angelic warriors. A couple of the warriors also ran toward the demons, their staffs or swords raised, yet Tara noticed that Estes stood his ground, a grim look of determ ination on his face. The swords, scythes, and staffs clanged together as the warrior angels and demons grunted and swung at each other, trying for the upper hand. W ind blew through the inside of the dome, brushing back people’s hair away from their faces,

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howling winds. As the warrior angels charged forward, it seemed that the demons had called forth evil spirits from all around to taunt them and shout at them. A hideous, huge head shouting curses swung down from the ceiling at all the warrior angels. One or two of them flinched, b ut the resolute Estes stood his ground, slashing forward in battle against the dem on warriors in their long robes. Tara wondered if the nightclub patrons could see the evil specters fluttering up and down among the warriors like enraged bats or hear their cacophonous rattling and wailing. When she got inside Rachel, however, she realized that they could only see the flashing light from the warriors and hear their victorious and m elodic sym phonies. A loud growl from the other side of the nig ht club startled Tara. She glanced quickly over there and saw that four guardia ns held down an ascended demon who had co me to earth in slick huckster’s clothes, with a furry mane of blond hair. He cursed at his captors and when one of them shouted “Richthius” sh e felt joy. The battle continued, with the loud growling from both the warrior angels and the demons filling the air, in Tara’s mind drowning out the melodic war cries. Both sides called upon casts of thousands to assist them. The angelic assistance bathed the ceiling in a glow, causing the nightclub patrons to moan in awe, gasping. The staffs and swords co ntinued to clang against each other, the warrior angels sometimes landing blows and the demon warriors following suit. Bloodshed descended upon the crowd, though Tara knew that none of them would fee l it. Rather than the red liquid redness with which they were familiar, the demon’s blood took the form of foul essence that escaped from them in droning, cursing cries like the evil specters. It was as if the angelic knights opened a pandora’s box of misery and evil when they would open wounds on the demons. To Tara’s glee, the demons began to retreat. The warriors had come to settle the score while their demonic counterparts were trying to defend Richthius’ mistake and their right to perform narcotic outreaches at nightclubs like the one they were in. The angels simply drove them backward because righteous strength was on their side. Th e dem on warriors cowered and then fled as the warrior angels blocked all the ports of entry.

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Zoragustha, the leader of the warriors, called out “Bring me the head of Richthius!” as all the other warriors cheered alongside him. All seven of the angelic warriors stood triumphantly at the center of the bar. They were near the place where Stephanie, Rachel, and Lori’s friends had been controlling the light show. For a moment that seemed amusing to Tara, as she knew they had started to provide a com pletely different kind of a light show. After a scuffling near the rear of the nightclub, beside the dressing rooms, Tara saw four guardians holding Richthius back as he struggled against them. He gnashed his teeth and cursed at them as they carried him toward the center of the nightclub, toward the seven warriors. Several of the night club patrons stared, gawking at the spectacle as Tara suddenly noticed a beautiful young woman with raven hair and a waistline accentuating dress sashay alongside th em . She smiled wryly as she looked ov er at Richthius, watching the guardians manhandle him. After a fe w m oments of using her powers of observation and angelic knowledge, Tara realized that the wom an was one of the dem ons, with the unusual double-name of Illum inata Gateaux. “You’re going to be crucified,” Illum inata said, with taunting, though sensuous tones as the guardians offered Richthius to the warriors. “I hope you’re happy now.” Estes and Zarachthusa grasped Richthius by his arms and trunk, living him high off the floor. Then something happened which Tara had never witnessed in either an intervention, an ascension, or a raid on a dem onic party. A hole opened up in the floor directly in front of the two warrior angels, while the rest of their com rades stood at the back. It started as the size of hole needed to bury a coffin, then it grew, deepening outward, as red, fiery rocks and lava underneath were revealed. Behind her, Tara could hear Rachel recite, over and over, “Oh my God, oh my God.” Lori also looked up at the weird spectacle with disbelief and h orror in her eyes. ” Richthius had closed his eyes tightly against the dread of what was about to happen to him. The hole continued to grow in the floor, revealing a deep, fiery pit. So deep was the chasm that when Tara stood on tiptoe and strained to see what lie at the bottom, she could not see a bottom. Estes and Zarachthusa cradled Richthius over the flaming, bubbling pit. For an absurd moment, it appeared to her that the relaxed-face

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angels were going to baptize Richthius instead of boil him. They started to speak and chant in the ancient tongues again. Richthius responded in the sam e language, desperately pleading at first, crying out for mercy, and then lashing out with venom. The two warrior angels continued to hold him over the fire, each of them performing an elaborate bless ing gesture with his free hand, casting it over the demon’s face and heart. Their chanting and Richthius’s agonized wails increased in volume, with a soothing angelic melodic chant somewhere in the background. Estes and Zarachthusa then released their grip on Richthius, letting him drop into the fiery pit, his arms and legs flailing, screaming as he went down. Mom ents later, the sound of his voice diminished, and d ied down into a slow , soft, rattlesnake-like hiss. The two warrior angels looked at each other and nodded while their friends behind them cheered and rejoiced. After Richthius had been dro pped into the gap ing hole, Stephanie, Lori and Rachel crept toward the edge of it, to gaze down deep inside. The glamorous lady demo n also stepped forward, brazenly, yet gracefully stepping up to the edge of the hole. She peered down disgustedly into the void as she muttered “Figures.” A puff of smoke greeted them from the depths, startling Stephanie, causing her to flinch backward. The cries from Richthius had been ceased for several moments, and Lori took the b oldest steps of all toward the edge of the gaping chasm. “I think we should go,” she said. As if following a command from her, the ground beneath their feet rumbled and the hole started to fill in. Tara knew it was the doing of the warrior angels, yet still looked on with awe. The gaping chasm shrunk down like the aperture on a camera. Soon, the floor had been completely filled in, without leaving any traces of the gaping maw that had swallowed Richthius. Tara noticed that even after the floor had returned to its previous, solid state, the young men and wom en in the nightclub still skulked around on the outer edges of it. They treated it as if they were on ice skates and could see dark water lapping up at the ice in the center. Rachel looked up at the warrior angels, which Tara knew were instead, patterns of light to her. She looked directly up at the place where Estes was standing, however, and caused Tara to wonder how much she could actually see.

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Stephanie said “I think we’d better get going,” and Lori started to follow her but Rachel continued to gaze upward, standing still. Rachel touch ed Tara on her arm . She pointed upward in Estes’ direction. “That’s him , isn’t it?” Tara nodded, realizing that there was no reason to withhold the truth. Rachel smiled, glowing from within as she looked upward toward Estes and waved. Tara wondered how long the warrior angels would stay around, now that their business was finished. When she looked up toward Estes herself, she saw that he looked down at Rachel. They appeared to be holding eye contact. Estes bent down on one knee for her and offered his arm s in em brace. Sh e rushed over to him and accepted his loving arms around her. Though her return em brace only reached to the top of one of Estes’ thighs, she closed her eyes tightly and appeared to hold on with all her might. Estes soothed her by patting her on the back, stroking her, gently. All of the other people in the nightclub had started pushing toward the exits, aided along by the guardians and a few of the white-shirted workers. Lori and Stephanie glanced at each other in disbelief and then gazed at Rachel. Tara realized that Rachel’s two friends could probably see only the glowing lights and auras still. Stephanie turned around to Tara and gave her a wide-eyed, expectant look, as if to ask “Isn’t there som ething you can do?” There was something Tara could do. She gazed up at Estes, signaling to him with a hand wave that it was okay for he and the other warriors to move on. Rachel would get disappointed and need tending to, so Tara put herself in position for that. Before she thought she was going to have to say something, Rachel calmly let her arm s drop out of the embrace and backed away from Estes. At first, she kept her head dow n, but Tara brought her finger forward to Rachel’s chin and gently nudged it back up. “We should go,” she said, knowing that she would only be able to accompany her only as far as the exit door. Tara accom panied all three of them toward the exit as she could see the glow from the angels expand and surge as they also exited. Their departure left warmth inside the nightclub as the walls and ceilings shrunk downward.

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Chapter Twenty-three Stephanie felt assaulted by the cold, night air that had rushed upon her when the three of them burst through the exit doors and into the parking lot outside. “Brrr,” Lori said. “After all that craziness in there it feels like I’m in Siberia now.” Stephanie tried to smile back at her. In the past, when she’d left the theater after watching a particularly good m ovie, she felt transformed by it as she made her way back to the car. The way she felt after the spectacle she’d just witnessed was that feeling multiplied by a thousand. Sh e felt that to speak would ruin the grandeur. Lori seemed much more pragm atic. She said “All those firemen, they were angels. You know that, don’t you?” Rachel, on the other hand, seemed troub led. She walked briskly, having to stop every few strides to allow the slower women to catch up with her. Whenever she would stop, she would pace and fidget, causin g Stephanie to wonder what, besides the obvious, was wrong. Rachel said “We can’t tell anyo ne about this.” Lori shrugged, as she pulled her cro pped coat m ore tightly in on herself, trying anyth ing to get w arm. “We m ay not need to. All the new s crews were probably there.” Stephanie had not seen anyone like that inside there. She looked around at the crowds forming a m ass exodus away from the nightclub and discovered that people spok e softly among each other if they spoke at all. Everyone seemed humbled. W hen they all saw the black Oldsmobile, Stephanie felt relief that they would soo n be enjoy ing its warm th. They would return to all their loved ones. As soon as Stephanie reached inside her purse to retrieve her car keys and walk more briskly toward the vehicle, Lori decided to say something. “Wh y are you so quiet?” she asked. “Are you in shock?” “Yes I am,” she said. “I’m scared.” Rachel, double-taked and then leaned in earnestly toward her as she worked the point of the key through the slot on the door. “Scared?” she said. “Why on earth would you be scared? That was the most beautiful, peaceful thing I have ever seen.” “Of course it was,” Stephanie said, as she opened the door. “But I don’t think we were supposed to see it.” She lowered herself inside the car and reached across the passenger

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seat to unlock the other door. All three of them took th eir positions inside the car while Stephanie flicked the ignition on and reach ed fo r the heat controls, turning them all the way up. “We weren’t supposed to see it?” Lori asked, wrinkling her nose. “But we did. Are you afraid we’re going to get struck down dead or blinded or som ething?” Stephanie rubbed her hands together, to warm them. “Estes told me specifically not to come,” she said. “And we disobeyed him. He knows we were there.” She looked at Rachel. After a few mo re mom ents, she would shift into drive and get them out of there. As she looked around the parking lot, however, she felt disconcerted over the am ount of people scrambling toward their cars, gunning them and screeching away as if they w ere leaving a war zone. Rachel reached out and took hold of Stephanie’s right arm. “He was okay with us being there. Trust me,” Rachel said, also patting the top of Stephan ie’s hand. “I’ve never felt so right about anything in my whole life.” All Stephanie knew was that she had to get home. After a night’s sleep she felt strongly that the angels would intervene and try to help her forget the mem ory of what had happened inside the nightclub. She shifted the lever into “drive” and turned the wheel, backing the car out of its parking space. “A ll I can say is that I can’t wait to get hom e.” “Me neither,” Lori responded. Rachel simply smiled sadly. She would be going home to a lonely house with a disagreeab le room mate. She was struck by how crowded the parking lot was, also. During their rush to make it to the nightclub earlier in the evening, she failed to notice how crowded it was getting. As she spun the wheel and eased the car into traffic, she looked around at the other cars whizzing by, hearing tires sq ueal.

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