Arc Angel (2 page)

“And Ms. James came straight up to you?”

“She did. Told him to let me go. Bold as brass, that girl. Bold as brass. ‘Course he didn’t listen to her. Well, not ‘til she zapped him.”

Okay, that comment made Miranda crack open her eyes a hair. Yep, exactly what she’d thought. She lay stretched out on a gurney inside a blessedly silent ambulance. The red exterior lights still flashed, illuminating the scene out the back of the vehicle: her neighbor being interrogated by a stocky uniformed cop. Two EMTs hovered behind her and off to the right. Which meant at least three people were about to hear this next part. She closed her eyes again, wishing she could make herself disappear through sheer force of will.

“Right, about that zapping. Can you tell us again exactly what happened next? Take your time.”

“He wouldn’t put the gun down, so she walked right up to him, stretched out her arm and zapped him.”

“So she touched him?”

“No, she didn’t actually touch him, she zapped him.”

“Like with a Taser?”

“No, no, she didn’t have anything in her hand. She just stood there, hair flying around all crazy and zapped that punk. Is he dead?”

Miranda continued to lie completely still, but now she actually held her breath, straining to hear the cop’s response.

“No, he’s not dead, at least not yet. He’s on his way to St. Mary’s.”

Oh thank god. Miranda exhaled so loudly she worried the EMTs had heard, but they didn’t come any closer.

“And what about her?”

“Ms. James? I expect she’ll be heading to St. Mary’s any minute now as well.”

The hell she would.

“But is she alright?”

“I really don’t know. Now, Mrs. Dobrusky, we’re almost finished here, though I’d like you to come down to the station tomorrow to file a formal report. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me before we wrap up?”

“That’s all I remember. Oh, wait, I forgot about what she said.”

Miranda cracked one eye open again. Oh no. This was going to be worse than the zapping part. Her head throbbed, and despite the oxygen mask she suddenly felt the need to inhale about every other second.

“She said something else to your assailant?”

“Yes. He asked her who the H-E-double hockey sticks she was. And she told him.”

“She said she was Miranda James?”

“No, she didn’t say that. She said she was some kind of angel. Arc Angel.”

And for the second time in less than an hour, Miranda James passed out.

***

This time when Miranda came to, everyone seemed to notice right away. The two EMTs immediately bustled over. The blond guy checked some machine she’d just noticed she was hooked up to, pushing a few buttons and staring at it intently, while the black woman started probing her, physically and verbally.

“How are you doing Ms. James? Are you feeling dizzy? Can you tell me what happened?”

The questions barely registered. All she could hear was the thump of her too-fast heart. She had to get out of here. She had to get home, where she’d be safe.

Miranda forced herself into an upright position, though her EMT interrogator tried to push her back down. She pulled off her oxygen mask and shoved it at the woman, hoping to distract her long enough that she could unhook all the suction cups connecting her to the now furiously beeping machine.

“Ma’am, you need to lie back down.” This time the blond guy—Steve, according to his nametag—harped at her, though at least he stayed focused on his machine and didn’t touch her.

A tremor ran through her fingers as she started to rip off the suction cups. The woman—Kendra—tried to grab her hands to stop her, but Miranda managed to evade her and got them all off. Her hands had moved from trembling to outright shaking. It took her two tries to grip the ragged edges of her poor hoodie that they’d apparently sliced open. She pulled it back around her, trying to find strength in its comforting softness.

“I… I… I have to go home.”
Dammit, Miranda, pull yourself together. You’re never going to convince them to leave you alone this way.

“Ma’am, you’ve just had some type of… incident. You need to lie back down and let us finish checking you out.” Kendra again.

“I have to go home.” Much better. No stammer this time. The tremors were running though her whole body now, but she still swung her legs over the edge of the gurney.

“Ma’am, you really need to—”

Straining every muscle in her body, Miranda stood up and stumbled to the edge of the ambulance, needing to get away from the EMTs, the police, the noise.

“Ma’am!”

Damn. In only a few long strides, Steve moved directly in front of Miranda, blocking her escape route.

Alright, she hadn’t actually expected to get away so easily, but she truly didn’t know how much more of this she could take. A bead of sweat rolled down her right temple and dripped off her cheek. She tried to channel Dr. French, but had no idea what kind of advice he would give in this situation.

“Ms. James, I’m going to need you to take a seat back on that gurney. Now.”

Miranda turned and limped back to where she’d started. She didn’t want to sit back down within the reach of Kendra’s grabby hands and Steve’s intrusive machine, but the thought of arguing overwhelmed her so much that her vision started to blur around the edges. She dropped down on the edge of the stretcher, keeping her feet on the ground and lowering her head down enough to bring back a little blood but not enough to bring back the hands and the suction cups.

“I want to go home,” she muttered, looking down at her scuffed shoes.

“Now, ma’am, you know that’s not a good idea,” Kendra soothed, as if Miranda were a small child or a dangerous psychopath. “Why don’t you lie back down. Your body underwent a lot of stress tonight, and we’d like to run a few more tests on you while we take you to St. Mary’s. Steve, you ready?” She gestured for her partner to head back up to the front seat, presumably to get them back on the road.

Miranda bolted back up onto her feet. “I’m not going to the hospital.”

“Now ma’am…”

“No. I’m n-n-not going. I’m fine. I just need to go home.”

“Ma’am, I strongly recommend that you let us take you to the hospital. Based on the readings we’ve taken, you suffered some type of shock tonight. Even though things seem to have settled down now, you need to get it checked out.”

“You can’t m-make me.”

“No, we can’t make you, but I really think—”

“No. Now let me out of h-here.” Miranda lurched toward the back door again.

“Fine. But you’ll need to sign this form, stating that you’ve been advised to undergo further medical treatment but have waived that option. I’m not getting my ass sued if you drop dead tomorrow morning.”

Miranda couldn’t dodge the twinge of guilt in her stomach. She’d pissed this woman off enough to break through her routine professional manner. She hated upsetting people. But right now she didn’t have the spare energy to worry about it. Taking the proffered pen and paper, she scrawled her name and pushed it back.

“Alright, this gets you out of my ambulance, but it still doesn’t get you back home. You’re going to need to check in with Officer Cranston there, to make a statement. And who knows how long that will take? Could be hours. Come on, I’ll help you down.”

For the first time that night, Miranda was grateful for Kendra’s hands, even if they weren’t particularly gentle as they half lifted her down to the street. The woman marched her over to the stocky uniformed cop who now stood alone, jotting notes on his handheld. “She’s refusing treatment, Bob. So she’s all yours.”

Officer Cranston gave Miranda a quick glance, and she tried to look strong, healthy and stable. And innocent. That most of all. Instead, she was pretty sure she looked like she could do a faceplant on the cement any minute. At least that’s how she felt.

“You sure you don’t want to go down to St. Mary’s, let them check you out?”

“I’m sure,” Miranda mumbled.

“She’s sure, alright,” Kendra echoed. “Good luck, Bob. We’re out of here.” Heading back to the ambulance, she called, “Steve, you ready to roll?” She swung herself back up into the back of the vehicle, the bay doors snapped shut, and seconds later, the ambulance rumbled down the street.

“Pissed Kendra off, did you?” the officer asked.

Miranda nodded and tried to look contrite. Man, all this trying to look like a normal person was wearing her out. And she already felt like a wet sponge that had been wrung out and tossed into the sink.

“Well, it doesn’t take much. Now, can you tell me what happened here? Your neighbor talked me through most of it, but I’d like your side of it.”

Beads of perspiration again dampened her hairline under his sharp gaze.

“I’m sure you’re tired, Ms. James, so why don’t we get this over with and then you can go home.”

Home. God, yes.

She nodded again, and took several deep breaths, willing the tremors in her legs to stop. After taking a deep breath, Miranda rapidly recited the fantastic events of the last hour, trying to mirror Mrs. Dobrusky’s story as much as she could.

She thought she’d pulled it off pretty well, until she got to the part about how the mugger had ended up on the ground.

“I think he m-must have been hit by a flash of l-l-lightning, because all of a sudden he fell to the ground.”

Oh god, she could not get a handle on her stammer. He probably thought she was a total liar. Any decent cop—heck, any normal person—could pick up on the million nonverbal cues coming off of her. Of course, she was actually lying, which didn’t make her feel any better.

“And you didn’t do anything to him?” the cop asked. “You didn’t touch him?”

“N-no, sir. I didn’t touch him. He just collapsed.”

“And you think lightning hit him?”

“Well, it was a b-bad storm, and that’s the only thing I can think of to explain things.”

Officer Cranston raised his eyebrows, but then sighed and pressed on.

“Alright, ma’am. We should know more when we get the medical report. I know you’re anxious to get home, so why don’t you come on down to the station tomorrow morning, to meet with one of our detectives. Joe, why don’t you bring Ms. James her bags.”

The other uniformed cop brought over her shopping bags, the contents tossed and jumbled. Miranda clutched them to her chest like they were a life preserver that had been thrown to her as she floated out in choppy water.

She’d made it through. She could go home.

She nodded and turned to head to her building. She almost groaned out loud when she noticed that a small crowd of people had gathered at the end of the block, including what looked like a reporter and cameraman.

Wow, maybe she’d be on the news. Why not. She was already in hell, right? What did a few more flames licking at her feet matter?

“Oh, Ms. James.”

The officer’s voice stopped her.

“One more question.”

She turned back to look at him.

“Who is Arc Angel?”

Damn. She’d deliberately left that piece of Mrs. Dobrusky’s story out of her version. Miranda’s thoughts swirled around and around, keeping any good explanations right out of reach. She gave up and went with the truth. “Um, sh-she’s a superhero. In a c-comic book. Why do you a-ask?”

“Just curious. Have a good night.”

Ignoring the noise of the crowd, Miranda dragged herself over to the building and scrambled up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. She fumbled the key twice before she managed to unlock her door and let herself into her apartment. After she’d slammed the door shut and thrown all three of her locks she could finally take a deep breath, her first of what seemed like hours. She was safe. She was home. Even on nights she hadn’t faced down a gun-toting assailant, she thought of her apartment as a refuge, one she left as infrequently as possible. And after tonight, she never wanted to leave it again.

She tossed her shopping bags on her couch and hurried to the bathroom, desperate to splash some cold water on her face. Then she’d throw herself onto her bed and let sleep make this whole nightmare disappear, if only for a few hours. The cool water washed away the sweat and helped her calm down a bit. She dried off with the nearby hand towel and only then looked up into the mirror on her medicine chest. She looked pale and shaken, as she’d expected. But she also saw something she hadn’t expected: a streak of pure white hair flowing down from above her right temple. She raised a hand, but couldn’t bring herself to actually touch the white hair. She'd seen that streak before. Not on herself. On her favorite comic book character. On Arc Angel.

Chapter 3

Miranda sank down onto the linoleum, her whole body shaking so hard she couldn’t stand for another second. What the hell was going on? Since she’d woken up in the ambulance, she’d been trying to convince herself the whole Arc Angel thing had been a hallucination, and the mugger really had been hit by lightning. And she almost believed it. But now, her hair… unless she was still hallucinating?

She slapped a hand to her forehead, looking for proof of a high fever. Maybe she should have gone to the hospital after all. But while her face felt hot and sweaty, she knew she wasn’t sick.

She hauled herself to her feet, pulling herself up on the vanity. And then she forced herself to look in the mirror again. The white streak shone as prominently as it had a minute ago. Miranda raised trembling fingers again and this time ran them down the length of white. The color didn’t budge.

This didn’t have to be proof, did it? Maybe her hair changed as a result of the extreme stress of the mugging. Maybe it had nothing to do with Arc Angel. Or maybe she’d tripped and fallen onto a box of Clairol when she’d passed out on the street.

Heck, maybe Arc Angel didn’t even have a streak in her hair, or at least not one like this. Miranda could be thinking of some other comic book character, and this would all turn out to be some crazy coincidence.

But she knew, deep down and not so deep down, whose hairstyle hers now mimicked. And now she needed the proof. Maybe seeing it right there on the page would make it easier to accept, or at least easier to believe.