The Messenger (2 page)

The foreign candy striper was still standing on the curb, watching him. At that moment, a sudden shaft of light split the cloudy gloom and landed upon her white-gold hair. For a moment, a bright arc shimmered over her head. She smiled and waved in his direction. Her smile was as pure as the light.

Manny then broke a second rule. He stopped. It was not a conscious act. His legs simply ceased to carry him forward. He stood there staring back and felt a hollow yearning blossom in the center of his chest. He lifted a feeble hand, drawn upward almost against his will, pulled by the same power that also pressed him to turn around, go back, confess his deed, give back the card. For a brief instant he was held there, feeling as though the light that shimmered about her reached out, farther and farther, enveloping him as well, offering a sense of devastatingly simple peace so powerful it shattered his world.

In a panic, Manny broke free and forced his shaky legs to carry him around the corner and away.

****

Manny ran for a time, not really seeing where he was going, too fractured internally to care. His streetwise front was cracked open, the lies of his life lying exposed. The air was suddenly so stifling that each breath threatened to puncture his lungs from within. He stopped and leaned against a wall, his chest heaving, and struggled to put his world back together again.

He found himself growing angry, battling against the invisible, twisting the memory of what happened to suit his own self-image, using rage as the glue to repair this upside-down perspective.

It was her looks. Yeah, had to be. Crazy that he'd let some wide-eyed pigeon get to him like that. Nuts. The street was gonna chew her up and spit her out. Serve her right, too. Shoulda stayed in the old country and sung to her cows or whatever it was that wide-eyed foreign pigeons did for fun. Manny pushed himself erect, pulled his collar straight, slicked back his hair, willed his hands to stop shaking. No question, he was headed for the hot spots tonight. He needed to get his head straight, talk the stuff with some chickies who knew the score. Yeah, a major need.

The card. It was only then that he remembered he still had her card. He reached in his pocket, realized that he had already broken the third cardinal rule that day by not heading straight to his friendly neighborhood fence. One of the reasons Manny had never been caught was that he never held on to the goods for an instant longer than was necessary.

He pulled out the card, widened his eyes at the sight of his own reflection in the polished surface. He had never seen anything like it. Looked like it was made of sterling silver, only it was too light, weighed almost nothing. Felt like he was holding air. Manny turned it over, searched for markings, found none. Then he remembered an overheard conversation about some new cards in the making, smart cards they were called, couldn't be used by anybody but the owner, took a second ID or fingerprint to activate. Yeah, that was it. He'd heard they were already being used overseas. Manny snorted his disgust. All shook up over a pigeon, and the only thing scored was a worthless card. He'd been taken good.

He was about to dump it when he passed a bank-in-the-box. He hesitated, then decided, why not? Might as well go for broke, give it a shot. He waited until the street was relatively clear, stepped forward, raised the card, scanned the street once more, then slid it into the slot.

There were none of the normal whirring, clattering sounds. Manny stiffened as a humming grew, his internal ears already hearing the sirens and the whooping alarm and the police whistles. Then the humming broke into a clarion trumpeting so loud and powerful and crystal clear that it froze him solid. There was no alarm to the sound, only power. It did not frighten. It
beckoned
. Manny stood in wide-eyed wonder and watched as the machine's edges began to shimmer. The shimmering grew brighter and brighter and brighter until he could no longer see the machine itself, nor the street, nor anything except that incredible silver-white light that reached out now, farther and farther, drawing him into the tunnel of brightness that had suddenly appeared where the machine had been. Pulling him in and sweeping him along, faster and faster and faster.

****

“Excuse me,” she said hesitantly, leaning over the grimy counter.

“Yeah, what is it?” The balding, overweight officer was too busy with his pile of papers and wad of gum to look up.

“I was told that you could help me.”

A fleshy head lifted to fasten her with a stony gaze. A flicker of interest over the white-blond hair, the fresh face, the uniform, then dismissal. “So what's the problem?”

“I was,” she stumbled over the word the woman who directed her to the desk had used, “pickpocketed.”

“Hang on.” He reached to one side, plucked a sheet from one of perhaps a dozen tall piles. “You a foreigner?”

“Yes,” she said, more definite this time.

“Thought so. Where's home?”

“Heaven.”

“Never heard of it.” He tested the pen on his thumb, bent over the form. “Okay, name?”

“Ariel.”

“First or last?”

“Ah, first.”

“Last?”

She was silent a moment, then, “Messenger.”

“Address?”

“I'm just here.” She waved her hand toward the door. “At the Providence General Hospital.”

“That'll do for now.” He scribbled down the words. “Okay, what'd you lose?”

“My pass.”

“Train, subway, what?”

“No,” again the stumble, then, “higher.”

“Higher? Oh, right. Your plane ticket home. What about money, jewels, credit cards?”

“No, just my pass.”

He stopped writing. “Were you mugged?”

“I'm sorry, I—”

“Attacked,” he said impatiently, glancing at the line forming behind her. “Hit, slapped around, that sort of thing?”

A shudder ran through her body. “No, nothing like that. I don't even know who did it.”

“A pro,” said a voice behind her. She turned, saw a heavyset woman with eyes of eternal weariness seated on a bench alongside the wall. “Nice to see somebody taking pride in their work.”

“You're lucky, honey,” said the grimy man sprawled next to her. “Most of the jokers out there hit first, search later.”

“But it's my pass home,” Ariel said fearfully.

The police officer asked impatiently, “Does this pass have your name on it?”

“No,” she replied sorrowfully. “I was warned not to lose it.”

“Sounds like good advice to me. You shoulda listened better.” The police officer tossed her form in the wastebasket at his feet. “Next.”

“Come on, sister, move aside.” A young man with a fishnet T-shirt and skintight jeans weaseled up. “You're not the only one's got problems.”

“Tell me about it,” the police officer said, his voice eternally bored. “Okay, so what's your beef?”

A hand tugged at Ariel's elbow. “I'm sorry, I couldn't help but hear.” Bright eyes peered at her from beneath a stiff navy-blue cap, one quite different from those worn by the police surrounding them. Her blue uniform had emblems on each lapel which Ariel immediately recognized. “I'm Sister Clarice. What seems to be the problem?”

“I was supposed to just go in and see someone at the hospital and leave,” Ariel said. “But now I've lost my pass and I can't get home.”

The woman showed genuine sympathy as she asked, “They took all you had?”

“Everything,” Ariel said sorrowfully.

The little woman
tch-tch
ed. “And now you don't have any place to stay?”

Ariel shook her head. “This was not supposed to happen.”

Sister Clarice had a good chuckle over that. “Well, honey,” she said, “that's life. Why don't you come with me, now, and I'll see if I can't find you a nice cup of tea.”

“No, thank you, I—” She looked back over at the desk sergeant. “Oh dear.”

“What is it?”

Ariel sighed. “I haven't even seen to my task at the hospital.”

“Well, of course, go get your work done, and I'll just finish handing out these tracts. Then when you're done, come meet me at the Salvation Army hall. You can't miss it, the big red brick building just opposite the hospital's main entrance.”

****

The hospital was busy and noisy and full of people tensely intent on their duties. Ariel was directed down endless halls filled with patients in various stages of distress. A few doors from her destination she had to stop and lean against the wall, her heart was so full of sorrow and compassion for those who surrounded her.

The door to the room suddenly opened, and a group of women emerged. The last one turned and said with forced cheerfulness, “We'll be back in time to pray with you before breakfast.”

“Thank you, sister,” said a feeble voice from within.

“Sleep well,” the gray-headed woman said briskly. She managed to keep her smile in place until the door had shut behind her. Then her chin trembled, and she accepted a friend's steadying hand. “Oh, Gladys.”

“Have faith,” her friend urged.

“I try, I try, but it's so hard,” the woman whispered. “It tears at me to see my best friend in all the world lying there in such pain.”

“She feels that the Lord has heard our prayers,” another said, drawing close. “She is so certain of it.”

“But—”

“No buts,” her friend said gently. “We're here beside you, dear. Lean on us. All we can do is be there for her, pray with her, give her love, and ask that His will be done.” The group drew close around the woman, and together they walked down the long hall.

Ariel collected herself and entered the room. “Hello,” she said softly.

“Oh, excuse me,” the woman said, fumbling for her glasses. “I don't—”

“It's all right,” Ariel said, drawing close enough to see that the woman's age-spotted cheeks were streaked with recent tears. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took the woman's free hand, willing love to flow between them. “It really is all right.”

“My friends,” the old woman said, and suddenly the tears started afresh. “They are all such good people.”

“They love you very much,” Ariel agreed.

The woman's tears continued. “I wouldn't mind going now, I really wouldn't. This old body is such a bother. But I keep having this
feeling
. I can't explain it better than that. It wakes me up at night. God is near, I know that with all my heart. I keep hoping He is here to guide me home. But then I have the feeling that my time has not yet come.”

“No,” Ariel agreed, and reached for the glass on the woman's bedside table. She unfastened the top button to her blouse, drew out the little satchel, and sprinkled a little of the sparkling powder into the water. Immediately the water began to shimmer with rainbow hues. “Would you like to drink this?”

“That's a strange place to be carrying medicine,” the woman observed. “What is it?”

“I think you know,” Ariel said quietly.

The woman glanced from the glass to Ariel's face and back again. Her eyes widened. “Are you—”

“Here,” Ariel said softly. “A gift.”

One trembly hand reached over and accepted the glass. The woman swallowed noisily, then lay back, tired from the effort. Ariel set down the glass, patted the woman's shoulder, and rose to her feet. “I must go.”

“Wait,” the woman said. She searched Ariel's face, then asked quietly, “What is it like?”

“Just as you said,” Ariel replied, turning toward the door with a smile. “It is home.”

****

Light. Intensely glowing light. Issuing from everything. Light so softly powerful it was not content simply to shine upon him. Manny stood and felt the light illuminate the depths of his body and his mind.

Manny searched the chamber in which he stood, his heart pumping and his chest heaving like mad. The great room was empty save for the light that poured from every surface. White benches lined the featureless white walls. There was no nook, no cranny, no shadowy corner where he could flee and hide. He was totally and utterly exposed.

A door he had not seen slid back to admit a white-robed figure. Light shone from this person as well, making it hard for Manny to see whether it was man or woman, young or old.

The light-person turned and looked at him. Manny sought a frantic escape path, saw nothing, no way out, not even the door through which the person had entered. He could see nothing but the light.

A step closer, and Manny felt the light pouring forth with the person's gaze. It searched not his face, but rather his twisted spirit. The pain of being so exposed would have been unbearable had it not been for the love with which the person looked at him. It was unquestioning, given without measure, illuminating the empty depths within Manny and filling them to overflowing.

“You are not intended to be here,” the person said.

“You're telling me,” Manny stammered.

“You have something that is not yours. From whom did it come?”

Manny was about to break his last and final cardinal rule and tell the truth. But a lifetime of living on lies was a heavy chain that pulled at his soul. He opened and closed his mouth, doing his best imitation of a goldfish, immobilized by the love that threatened to melt him down and reform him totally. He could feel the love and the light withering away his life of lies, cauterizing the wounds he had inflicted on himself.

Then the pain of honest self-discovery proved too much. Manny turned, and without another thought or instant of wondering what he was leaving behind, he spun on his heel and fled toward what appeared to be a featureless, light-filled wall.

A horn blared. Brakes squealed. Still blinded by what he had left behind, Manny leapt back and stumbled over the curb. A voice yelled out words which his mind could not yet take in, then the motor gunned and roared away.