Angel Dust (13 page)

My eyebrows shot up.

There was noise outside. A trolley was turning into the corridor.

Not afraid of death? Not afraid of demons?
How was I going to convince him of anything?

‘You're sure you
really are
here?' queried Marcus suddenly. ‘Not some kind of hallucination?'

This was going to be a lot harder than I thought. Much harder.

The trolley rattled nearer. Someone might come in at any moment.

‘You might just be morphine,' Marcus mused.

But before I could reassure him that I really was real and no hallucination, the trolley rattled to a halt.

A voice cried out, ‘Mr Montague?'

I laid my finger over my lips and signalled at him to stay quiet.

‘Mr Montague,' insisted the voice, ‘are you awake?'

‘Exactly,' whispered Marcus.

He pointed at me, his dark eyes wide.

‘Am I?'

We needed to go somewhere much more private. If someone else were to see me in full apparition form, and fall on their knees and send a prayer up to Heaven, they'd probably get straight on to the Prair Waves – I could just imagine it: Angel Seen on Earth. I'd be discovered straight away.

‘Come,' I said urgently, touching his hand, pulling at him. ‘Come and walk. Let's stroll in the garden. I've got so much to tell you and time is already fleeing away.'

He looked up. He put his head charmingly on one side. ‘I really love the way you talk,' he said.

I looked at him. What was wrong with the way I talked? I'd just used a completely standard expression from the
Angel's Guide to Common Phrases on Earth
as recommended by the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1506 or something. I tried again (updated version 2012). ‘Let's make a move, an' roll an' chat, because I'm on the clock.' There, was that clear enough?

He shook his head. ‘I'd love to but –'

Good. I cut him short and pulled at him.
Oh, please God, don't let anyone come in.

‘But hey, Angel, haven't you forgotten something? This man's a bit tied up right now?' He gestured at the drips and monitors and medical paraphernalia holding him captive to the bed.

He was right. I
had
overlooked that.
What was I going to do now?
How I wished I could freeze time, but in apparition mode you can hardly do anything. My angelic powers were practically zero, and I'd used up far too much energy already on the twirl.

Quickly I removed everything from him. I pulled out all the tubes and whipped the little sticky pads off his chest. He grimaced in pain. He clenched his jaw and flinched.

Oops, I'd forgotten that might hurt. ‘Sorry,' I whispered.
The trolley was rattling right at the door.
Never mind. He needed to get better, and we didn't have time for the human approach to recovery. I breathed the Light of the Lord over him and gave him another Healing Hands booster. That pretty much drained me. ‘You'll be strong enough for now,' I smiled.
We needed to get going.

‘Yo, now
that
feels good.' He stretched. He opened his eyes wide and rubbed the back of his hand where the drip had been. ‘Whatever you've given me, it's the best.'

The glow those words gave me!
The best!

‘Thanks,' I breathed, tugging at him.

He smiled. ‘You're a real lifesaver, aren't you?' He looked so much better. ‘Though being near you could be fatal.' He raised one eyebrow.

‘Fatal?'

‘My heart.'

‘Your heart?'

‘You make it beat faster.'

Oh, his heart! He'd been shot. Of course, I mustn't get too near him. I must be much more careful. I must not alarm him.

‘I'm sorry,' I said.
The door handle began turning.

‘That was a compliment.'

I shook my head. He confused me. Was it
not
dangerous to elevate his heartbeat then? I didn't understand. So all I said was: ‘Come now,' and kicked an armchair against the door.

‘And you've got a killer smile.'

Oh dear, I hadn't realised humans were so fragile. I must try very hard not to overdo the smiling. ‘Are you ready?'

He slid his feet to the floor.

‘Mr Montague?' The voice from outside was not giving up.

Someone tried to shove open the door. The chair shifted a bit, scratched over the floor.

‘Have you got visitors, love?'

Marcus looked up. I signalled again at him to be quiet.

‘Should I come back later?'

Marcus frowned at me. ‘Yeah,' he said.

I exhaled in sparkles of flame.

I hoped that meant a
lot
later.

Marcus swayed a little as he stood up. I steadied him. He leaned on me. I felt his powerful body through his hospital scrubs. It tingled in my grip, quite unlike any sensation I'd ever had. He must have felt it too, for he said, ‘Weird, it feels like man's leaning on a hurricane.'

Together we walked out on to the patio, past Robyn who was curled up and quite sunken back into her coma, past the rose bushes, down a short private path and on to the grass. The pressure of his weight on mine seemed to rush to my head and make me giddy.

‘Come,' I urged. I was going to try again. There had to be a way. If I told him everything? Maybe that would help.

‘You're the boss,' he said, his crooked smile dancing over straight teeth.

There was so much to tell – of Joey and Larry, the Extension, the contract – and me. What should I tell him first? That I was the Angel of Death who'd come to take his soul, that I couldn't, that one look at him had undone me? Should I really tell him absolutely
everything
, how I'd broken all the rules? How I thought we might be destined to be together?

We passed out across the grass and down towards the spreading cedars. We left Robyn behind, a faint outline under a webby gauze. The sun was already high and the quiet of another lazy hospital afternoon had begun. I love Earthly afternoons. l love hospitals, that smell of antiseptic, that perfume of bleached floor, that aroma of clean starched kindliness. Marcus smelt so powerfully of it all. I wanted to press my nose against him and inhale him like a flower.

We reached the first huge spreading tree. One of its long limbs had grown so close to the ground it formed a horizontal seat. To this branch I steered Marcus. He lowered himself gingerly on to it. I sat too. I took a deep breath and resisted the urge to start scratching. (Being in apparition mode is really itchy.)

We sat awhile, quietly. He seemed a little out of breath. If only we could have sat there all year – caught in between the past and the future – we could have created a paradise for ourselves. I glanced across at Robyn and sighed. I had to tell him. The time had come.

I bit my lip. How to start?

‘So,' he said, looking at me, raising one eyebrow again. ‘If it's my body you're after I'm afraid it's already in Heaven.'

I stared at him.
What did he mean?
Had another Angel of Death come in the night and taken him? I touched his arm – no, he wasn't a physical shadow like poor Robyn.

‘Very holy,' he said.

I still stared.

‘Bullet holes? Holy?' he offered.

I shook my head.

‘Holy? In Heaven?'

‘Oh,' I said. I got it! This was a joke! He was having a joke with me!

‘Sorry,' he said, ‘I guess in the presence of an angel, I should be more reverent.'

‘Yes,' I said. Reverence was definitely good.

‘But life's a bit of a bad joke, isn't it?'

I jerked back. That was a strange thing to say. Life a bad joke?

‘You don't get it, do you?'

I looked at him, very puzzled.

‘A joke. Get it?'

He was playing with me. Joking again?

‘No, I don't get it,' I said.

‘That's the point,' he said, ‘Nobody gets it. Life's for living, like I said. How could it be for anything else?' Suddenly his face grew serious. ‘Look,' he said, ‘can you tell me something? You're an angel, you're bound to know.'

I nodded.

‘Nobody will tell me anything – and I want the news about Joey. Is he OK?'

I must have blanched, because Marcus leaned forward and peered at me. ‘You do remember Joey, don't you? He was at the club with me. He got shot too.'

My heart hammered. What should I say?

‘
He is OK, isn't he?
'

He was far too ill. If he should become faint, I had no power left to help him. My voice cracked. ‘I can't speak of Joey,' I whispered. ‘I'm here to talk of your destiny.'

Marcus looked disappointed, lapsed into silence, grew pale. A slight beading of sweat broke out again on his brow.

‘He's been taken very good care of,' I said carefully, trying my best to comfort. I fidgeted with my wings. (Misleading another is a serious trespass.) Marcus's face regained some colour. There was an awkward silence. I didn't know what else to say.

‘OK,' Marcus said at last. ‘So let's talk then, get on with the agenda.' He raised his hand (well, tried to) and winced. ‘Is man about to die? Is the world about to end?' I heard his breath, each intake a struggle, each exhalation unsteady. I'd done the right thing not to tell him, hadn't I?

‘Not yet,' I reassured. ‘It's as I've said. I've come down from Heaven to save your immortal soul.' I liked the way I said ‘
come down from Heaven
' – it gave the whole conversation a certain gravitas. Perhaps that would convince him.

‘A being from another world, eh?' He bent his head quizzically on one side. ‘Yes! You have a look of something other-worldly about you – might be the wings – could be the halo . . .'

I looked at him wonderingly. This strange, fascinating boy. I wasn't sure if it was me, or him, or humans, but I had the feeling I was standing on the edge of a chasm. Every word Marcus uttered was confusing. Was he in jest? Was he not? Should I be stern? Should I chastise? Should I laugh? Could I tell him the truth? How could he be so frail? Yet seem so strong? How could he be so sinful? Yet look so divine? Why did my heart flutter like this? What was I to do?

I shook my head.

‘Do you remember anything about the night before last?' I asked. I had to start somewhere, didn't I? I had to try and find a way to reach him, before I told him everything.

‘Of course,' he said. ‘It was my eighteenth birthday. I was in the club. Let me guess . . . those dimples – you're a cherub?'

‘Please continue,' I said, prompting him as gently as I could.

‘There were a lot of guests. I was dancing; the Crow showed up.'

‘Who exactly is he?' I asked.

‘He's
the
hardest meanest dude this side of the city, discounting me,' he said. He flashed me a wicked smile. (I just love gold teeth.)

‘Why did he want to kill you?' I asked.

‘Ah,' said Marcus. ‘Now
that
, you don't want to know. Some things we do to survive on Earth might upset you, Angel.' He stared moodily into the distance as if before his eyes scrolled scenes he'd rather forget. ‘Gang stuff,' he said, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his jaw.

‘Please try me.' I really was quite interested. I imagined blood and body parts and guns and motorbikes and fast cars, dark nights, loud music and gold, heaps of gold.

‘Well,' he said, ‘these neighbourhoods are mine. I run these streets. I treat my boys well. Nobody's family goes without things on my patch. There's a reason why I get a nice private little room and all. I help out, see. Folks are grateful.'

Overhead the tree creaked, swayed slightly. A ray of sunshine lit up the lawns. A light breeze scuffed the autumn leaves. I wondered what exactly ‘helping out' meant.

‘And that makes some people jealous.'

‘The Crow was jealous of you?'

‘He's jealous of the loyalty I get, the streets I control, jealous of the love people show me – and he specially didn't like it when his girlfriend showed me the love too!' Marcus leaned forward, tried to laugh, but folded his arms and broke into a coughing fit.

‘Candy?' I asked.

‘Yeah,' coughed Marcus. ‘She's really something.'

I looked at him confused.
He liked Candy?
A hole opened up in my chest. I felt my insides drain out. But all I said was ‘Oh' in an unhappy little way.

‘And she knows it.'

‘Marcus,' I said, suddenly stern. ‘It's right and good and proper that you confess all your mortal sins to me, but you must try to turn your back on them, however far you are from repentance, however much you feel you cannot fully renounce your life of crime. Small steps count. We cannot speak of sin, or the . . . um . . . the affections of a young lady, without in the same breath praying for forgiveness and . . .'

Oh dear, it just wasn't coming out right. I sounded as boring and longwinded as St Peter. And he
had
pushed Candy behind him. He wasn't all bad. I'd seen kindness in his eyes, smelt goodness in his scent.

Maybe he really liked her . . . I suddenly felt quite flat and deflated.

Marcus looked at me. ‘OK, Angel,' he said, ‘I won't speak about them. But you asked me why the Crow came after me. That's why. I control these hoods – I closed down his business – that's what I do – and his girlfriend won't leave me alone. Any of those would do – and I'm not sorry about none of it.' He clenched his fists until they turned quite pale. A muscle flexed in his jaw. His brow clouded over.

A sharp wind blew across the lawns. It bit into my skin. He was right, I had asked. I did want the truth. I ought to be happy he'd told me. But I can tell you there's nothing pleasant about contemplating sin. The thought made me feel quite ill. And if he liked this Candy so much that he was ready to take bullets for her, and if he really wasn't anxious to change, then what was I doing here?