Color of Angels' Souls (4 page)

Jeremy suddenly remembered the young woman who had been walking toward him when he had been killed. Was she the other victim?

“Some time passed between the two murders,” one of the officers said as he looked at his watch. “Judging by the blood, I'd say that this guy was killed about fifteen minutes ago. But the girl, Annabella Dafing, was killed about two hours ago.”

OK then. So the other victim wasn't the girl he'd gotten a glimpse of. He felt relieved for some reason. He would have hated to learn that she had been killed because of him, just because she had been a witness to the crime.

While he was mulling this over, the ambulance carrying his body started to pull away. Panicked at the idea he might lose sight of it, Jeremy began sprinting headlong down the street in pursuit, but he quickly began losing ground. He finally stopped, at a loss to explain how he could be so out of breath: It didn't seem fair that an “Angel” could cramp up!

A small boy standing nearby, whose skin color was a mixture of red and blue, gave Jeremy a questioning look: “What are you doing?”

Jeremy took a moment to catch his breath before answering: “I was trying to catch that ambulance, to follow my body.”

“By running after it? Very interesting. That class of emergency vehicle can reach speeds of approximately 95 miles per hour, whereas even today's top athletes, who use legal and not-so-legal performance-enhancing drugs, and who wear specially designed, ultra-lightweight sneakers, can only hope to reach a top speed of approximately twenty-one miles per hour. In my opinion, you don't stand much of a chance, chum.”

Well, he may have looked like a small child, but judging by the way he was having fun at Jeremy's expense, he figured the kid was probably at least two thousand years old. He decided the civil, urbane approach was best, as a bit of politeness never hurt anyone, did it?

“Would you please be so kind as to tell me where they may have been going, my young friend?”

“Oh, to the morgue, most likely. Do you know the address? If not I can give it to you. I often go there to dine.”

“To dine?”

“When I can't find enough positive emotions to eat, I sometimes give in to temptation and swallow a bit of sadness. There's loads of it down at the morgue.”

“Oh. Um … yeah, right. Yes, I would like that address, please.”

“Five-twenty First Avenue. It's quite simple, actually. Just hop on the Thirty-four bus, change at Rally Station and then take the Tweny-two. It will drop you off right in front of the morgue.”

“Thank you so much!”

Jeremy knew where the bus stop was. Once, when his car was in the shop, he had used public transportation for a whole week. He found the bus stop, and waited for the next bus. And waited.

And waited …

And waited …

When he saw a bus finally coming he got to his feet. He raised his hand for it to stop, but the bus barreled down the street right past him.

Oh that's right; he was dead. He'd forgotten. Luckily for him, a living person arrived about a quarter of an hour later for the next bus, and he was able to squeeze in the door just behind him. It was all very puzzling. Jeremy could feel the vehicle's movement, and he couldn't walk right through the sides of the bus, like ghosts did in the movies. Apparently he would have to make use of public transportation just like the living did if he wanted to get around. The bus was filled with other Blues and Reds, all lost in their thoughts like the few actual living people on the bus at such a late hour.

But the Angels quickly came to life when a woman entered the bus, followed by a man. The Blues all gathered around her, while the Reds all went over to the man, who kept sneaking peeks at the woman out of the corner of his eye. The Blues, all aflutter now, began whispering words of warning to their protégé.

“He's a creep! Didn't you see that he's been following you? Open your eyes: He's going to molest you; are you blind? Go talk to the driver; he can help you, and don't you even think about getting off of this bus alone!”

The Reds, on the other hand, were goading the man on: “This is going to be such a kick! She'll be weeping, helpless! At your mercy for hours! Think of all the suffering, all the agony, and all for you!”

But while the influence of the Reds seemed to clearly be getting through to the creepy man, whose entire body was perspiring a noxious-looking pink Mist, the young woman seemed much less receptive to the Blues. She had a stubborn, determined look about her, and when she began rummaging through her purse, Jeremy could make out a white shirt and a black cloth belt. He smiled when she left the bus without paying attention to the man, who continued to follow her. The blue Angels groaned in agony while the red Angels snickered with delight as they got off the bus to follow their rapist friend … and potential source of food.

“You should follow her as well,” Jeremy called out to the blue Angels. “Didn't you see what she had in her purse?”

One of the Angels, a big brawny fellow, looked down at him scornfully. Seeing by Jeremy's pale color that he was a Newbie, he snapped: “What would you know about it, little Blue?”

“Me? Nothing at all, except that she was carrying a kimono and a black belt. Probably karate. I'm not so sure her aggressor will be having so much fun after all.”

The Angels looked at each other in surprise before shoving their way out the door to follow the woman.

Jeremy got off the bus a few seconds later at the next station. He was completely disgusted by what he'd witnessed.

As the bus pulled out into the street, he was struck by something he saw through the window: One of the living passengers had stuck his finger in his ear and was shaking it back and forth energetically, after having been hounded by the yelling Angels. Tinnitus! Of course! That terrible case of tinnitus he'd had! When his grandfather passed away, Jeremy had had some serious problems with his ears and had gone to see a specialist. Some cases of tinnitus could be tied to physical causes, but the doctor had been unable to determine why Jeremy constantly heard an annoying buzzing sound in his ears. And when he was stressed out or had important decisions to make, it would get even worse, like a high-pitched whistling. Now he understood better. The doctor thought it might have been the trauma following his grandfather's death, since the two of them had been very close. But it hadn't been that at all—it was the Angels. He must have been a good source of Mist with the stressful lifestyle he led, constantly riding the roller coaster of market swings. It had been their voices that had almost driven him nuts!

Even more disgusted now, Jeremy walked past a building where hundreds of blue Angels and only a handful of red ones were flittering in the sky above. Despite his dark thoughts, he couldn't help but smile when he read the sign lit up out front: Felicity Maternity Hospital. The blue aura emanating from the building smelled absolutely delicious. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to give it a try. Flint and Tetisheri had told him he could eat the white and blue Mists.

“Might as well give it a try—after all, it can't kill me. Hardy har har! What a funny guy!”

He had to walk up a few steps to reach the Mist pouring out of the walls before it quickly rose into the sky. He stuck out his hand without thinking and tried to grab some of the Mist, as if were some sort of blue cotton candy. But it didn't work. It didn't look as if any of the other Angels were having any problems. Even the youngest were able to get their hands on the stuff, but not him.

Oh well, if he couldn't grab the Mist with his hands, he would just have to try and swallow it right out of the air. He stuck out his neck until his mouth touched the Mist, gingerly stuck out his tongue to bite off a piece, and let it melt in his mouth.

Whew! It had work—

The ecstasy that overcame him was so powerful that it knocked him to the ground, so intense that his entire world was turned upside down as the most perfect and pure feelings of pleasure flooded through him. An entire universe was contained in that little piece of blue Mist: not only feelings of joy, but also the pride you feel after your first big victory, when you get the best grade in the class, win the big race, overcome the biggest obstacle. The pride you feel when, overcome by emotion, you hold your firstborn in your arms and cry. It was the purest feeling of accomplishment, as if you'd truly found your place in the world, and were loved, admired, and respected by everyone. That one bite was a concentration of glory, eternity, and perfection, all rolled up in a cocoon of happiness.

Then his brain began trying to figure out all the different tastes that were exploding inside his mouth. They were everything he loved. The taste of prime rib, still steaming after you pull it out of a wood oven; a hotdog from Sam's, the best in Manhattan, as his teeth pierced the tight skin and the flavorful juices burst into his mouth, each mouthful heaven on Earth; popcorn dripping with butter and hot caramel; custard ice cream so smooth that it didn't simply melt in your mouth, but flowed over your taste buds until they shivered with the pleasure; whipped cream lopped on top of the ripest, sweetest strawberries; a juicy peach turned gold by the warm generous sun; a drink from a deep, full-bodied wine with hints of vanilla, blackberries, and currents that inundates the palate …

Tears were streaming down Jeremy's cheeks but he didn't even realize it. For a brief instant, he lost complete control, capable of anything to keep from losing the wonderful sensations. He hungrily grasped at a second piece of Mist, and was overcome with the same feelings of ecstasy, just as powerful, just as heady. He could no longer resist, and began stuffing one handful after another into his mouth, until finally, he felt strangely full.

If he hadn't been murdered, if he hadn't had such a tragic death, Jeremy would have become another one of the Angels he could see dancing up in the air, blind to everything except their pleasure, freed for all of eternity from fear, frustration, and guilt, living only for joy and pleasure.

Living in paradise.

Then a troubling thought crept into his mind, like a dark cloud in a perfect blue sky: The Mist was a drug—even worse than a drug, because if Jeremy didn't eat it he would die a second time, and disappear. He had no choice but to use it. But he had never been addicted to anything. No drugs or alcohol, not even cigarettes or coffee … well, yeah, he might have been slightly addicted to Sam's hotdogs and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, but that was about it. He didn't want to be a slave to anything, and certainly not to his own bodily needs. Which must have been why he suddenly took a step back, filled with uneasiness.

“Wow,” he groaned as he wiped off his face, surprised to find it wet with tears. “This stuff is really dangerous! My body. I can't forget my real body. I have to find it. I have—”

When he realized that he was starting to move his mouth toward the blue Mist again, he quickly jumped back.

“Jeremy,” he said to himself firmly as he turned his back on the maternity hospital, “there is no way that you're going to touch any more of that stuff for a while.”

He began walking down the street, then snapped his head around when he heard a noise behind him. But there was no one. No one was paying the slightest attention to him, neither the Angels nor any of the rare living people walking by. Of course, they couldn't, could they, since none of them could see him? He shrugged. After all, who would want to follow around a Cherub like him anyway? He headed off toward the morgue, without noticing the form hiding in the shadows, which nodded its head when it saw that Jeremy had managed to resist the temptation of the Mist, knowing full well that is was practically irresistible.

Although he was still feeling a bit woozy after his intense sensorial experience, Jeremy quickly located the morgue. The cloud of red Angels hovering over the building was so thick that it blocked out the full moon. He hesitated. Was there any danger of him being contaminated by the red Mist emanating from the morgue? He remembered Tetisheri's warning. But he was also curious to know what would happen to his body if he took a bite. Well, it would probably be better not to eat the red Mist, and everything would be fine. Or so he hoped.

There was just one problem: The doors of the morgue were closed. He couldn't help but notice it because he smashed right into them. For some strange reason, he had figured he could just walk right through. Well, he'd been wrong. The building was there, perfectly solid and real, and there was no way he could enter.

Who was the person who had said that Angels could walk through walls, anyway? Some stupid living person, most likely.

He ran his fingers lightly over the steel doors. It felt like they were covered by … some sort of soft, fuzzy fabric, a bit like velvet. Whatever it was, it looked like it completely covered everything he touched, and made it impossible for him to pass through. Jeremy backed away. What should he do now? All he could do was wait. He checked out his surroundings. In the crystal clearness of nighttime New York, the city that never sleeps, people were busily making their way up and down the sidewalks, followed close behind by Angels chattering away at them. Some of the Angels were talking to each other: “Didn't I say that you shouldn't tell him to make that investment? That was so stupid! Our descendants are going to end up in the poorhouse thanks to you, you idiot!”

Some were talking right into the ear of a living person, like a lady he saw floating above a young girl with dark hair: “Fine now, dear. I wanted a better life for my daughter than cleaning houses, but you're doing just fine. And don't give into temptation and steal any of the money they leave lying around. It'll only get you into trouble. Yes, go pray, dear. Father Xavier is at the church tonight. A wonderful man. He'll listen to you. …”

Jeremy was moved by the mother's affectionate words for her daughter, who trudged along to the church that was open twenty-four hours a day.