Chapter Ten

 

Immediately, the Guardians rush for the door. I’m swept away with the crowd. Within moments, the entire collection of Guardians passes through the entrance and forms a protective half-circle around a teenage girl who is banging her first against the dark wooden doors.

“Help!” she screams again. At her feet lies a second girl. This one presses her hand against her side. From the scarlet stain widening on her shirt, I can tell she’s been hurt. The reason for her pain is standing at the foot of the first step: a frantic boy pointing a gun at the two girls.

“Shut up, Theresa. Just shut up!” the boy yells.

The Guardians tighten their circle around the girls, and I can’t help thinking that if the boy could only see the multitude of angels, he’d be frightened enough to leave.

Theresa stops pounding on the door long enough to face the boy. “Leave us, Tyrone!”

“Not till she pays up.”

“She don’t owe you nuthin’.”

“Like hell she doesn’t. Where’s my money, Kia? I want my money.” Tyrone moves up one step. My attention is on his gun. It isn’t too different from the handgun I’d used to take my own life. Seeing the gun in the hands of such a young boy makes me want to vomit. The realization of how quickly I’d ended my own life and the memory of my sister finding me makes me want to rush forward and snatch the gun from him, but I know my hands would slide right through it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Joshua, the head angel from the ceremony, slip back into the church. How can he leave at a time like this?

“She don’t got your money,” Theresa screams.

“Don’t lie to me, girl. I’ll take you out too.”

Theresa turns back to the church door and pounds again.

“Who do you think’s gonna help you? Nobody cares about you. Couple of dumb chicks.” Tyrone eases up a couple more steps.

Theresa screams again. A heavy door creaks inside the church. Tyrone stops on the fourth concrete step.

“Hello?” Theresa cries. “Help, please! My friend’s been shot!”

A crack of light appears under the door. Then the scrape of locks being opened. Tyrone backs down a step. The wooden door creaks open, and a sliver of light falls on the church steps. As it grows, the shadow of a tall man falls over Kia, who lies slumped on the concrete.

Tyrone bolts. Theresa stands in awe of the tall man now silhouetted in the doorframe. At first his face is in the shadows, but then he steps forward into the faint light from the nearby streetlamp. Joshua is dressed in a priest’s collar, his wings nowhere to be seen.

The Guardians watch quietly. I whisper to Warren, “Can the girls see him?”

He nods. “Only the most powerful of angels can become visible to the living.”

Joshua takes one look at Kia and then Theresa. “We need to get your friend some help. Hold the door.”

A stunned Theresa holds the door as the angel comes forward, cradles Kia in his massive arms, and carries her inside. The Guardians all turn to follow them. At the rate Tyrone was running, he must be a couple blocks away already.

Inside the church, the disguised head angel places Kia on the nearest pew. The poor girl groans as her head rests against the old wooden pew. Her eyes close, and her hand slips off her gunshot wound.

“Come,” Joshua speaks to Theresa. “Put your hand here. Keep pressure on it. I’ll get help.”

Theresa does as she’s told. “But…” She looks toward the church door.

“You’ll be safe here,” Joshua says, and he takes off for the back of church. The Guardians close ranks around the two girls.

Kneeling by Kia’s side, Theresa begins to weep. “Kia, you can’t leave me, girl. You gotta stay strong. You can’t leave me like this.” Theresa looks around. To her, the church must appear empty. She takes in her surroundings: the many side chapels with their statues, candles, and small altars; the paintings of Jesus’s life hanging between each side chapel; the vaulted ceiling of blue squares high above her head; and the crimson red doors embossed with the S over the M. Stifling her tears, Theresa turns to the left, and her eyes stop on a painting of Jesus’s crucifixion. On his left, a criminal hangs on another cross. In front of Jesus are a disciple and his mother. Dressed in her oft-depicted blue robes, his mother keeps her face turned toward Him as she watches her son die.

“Oh God,” Theresa sobs the prayer. “Please don’t let her die.”

The banging of a door closing causes Theresa to flinch. A man I’ve never seen before enters from the far side of the church. He is short and bald and carries a black bag. He’s wrapped in a navy blue bathrobe. When he sees Theresa’s head peering over the back of a pew, he races toward her.

“What’s happened?” he asks as soon as he sees Kia lying across the pew.

“She’s been shot.”

From the pocket of his navy bathrobe, the man pulls a phone.

“Who are you?” Theresa asks as the man dials three quick numbers.

“I’m Father David. Don’t worry. We’ll get your friend some help.” He puts the phone to his ear.

“What about the other priest?”

“What other priest?” He looks at Theresa, then focuses on his call. “Yes? Hello? Our Lady of Sorrows Basilica, 3121 West Jackson.” He pauses.

Theresa rises from her kneeling position but keeps both hands on Kia. Her fingers are now stained with blood. “The other priest. The really tall one.”

Father David lifts an eyebrow, but says into the phone, “A girl’s been shot. She’s bleeding terribly.”

Theresa continues, “The one who went to get you. The one in black with the…” She lifts one bloodstained hand to gesture. “The collar.”

Father David doesn’t seem to hear her. “She’s in the church right now. How’d she get here? I don’t know. Just send an ambulance quickly.” He listens again. A few more words are exchanged between the priest and the 9-1-1 operator as Theresa looks around the church.

“We should get going,” Warren says to me.

“Now?” I ask.

“She’ll be fine. They’ll both be fine.”

I look around and notice that the Guardians have started to go their own ways and the priest has headed to the front door. He pushes his way through the red doors, and I can hear him fiddling with the heavy wooden doors that lead outside.

Betsy leans toward Warren. “Meet back at the school?”

“We should have a little time before morning comes. Matthew coming too?”

Betsy looks over at a male Guardian who is standing near the doors and talking to pretty female Guardian with a pixie haircut. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll want to come.”

Father David walks back into the church and switches off his phone. “How did you get in? The doors are locked.”

“I told you,” Theresa says. “The other priest. Where is he? Tyrone woulda killed us if he hadn’t opened the door.”

Father David steps closer. “My dear, I don’t know who let you in this church, but I’m the only priest here tonight.”

“I don’t understand. He said he went to get help. How did you know I was here if he didn’t come get you?”

“I was in bed when my phone rang. The voice said someone was hurt, and I was needed in the front of the basilica right away. Just to bring my phone and hurry. Nothing else. I figured it was a prank, but I thought I’d better check it out.”

In the distance, sirens wail.

“Come on.” Warren nudges me. “Help is here now.” Warren grabs my hand and pulls me through the church doors. I get only a quick glimpse of the ambulance as it pulls up in front of the church—lights flashing, siren dying—before we’re flying through the city again.

I’m really angry and frustrated, but I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because I was given this job of being someone’s Guardian and I never asked for it. When I put a gun to my head, it’s not like I thought, “Oh great, now I can go watch gangbangers put guns to other kids’ heads,” or, “Yippee, now I get to follow around a girl whose life is worse than my own.”

Next to me, Warren’s wings are unfurled as he skillfully skims us over the tops of Korean dry cleaners, Italian restaurants, and bungalow homes. I’m angry at him, too. Why doesn’t he ever answer my questions? It’s always “rush here,” “rush there.” I haven’t fallen into the darkness in a while, but in some ways I feel more in the dark now than I did before.

Then there’s my anger at that kid Tyrone. He looked like he was only fifteen. What was he thinking, shooting that girl? If Theresa ratted him out, he’d be arrested, and what would his life be like then? Then again, what did I really know about any of those gang kids? They weren’t a part of my life in suburbia. My only experience with gangs was watching them in movies. For all I know, maybe someone had put a gun to Tyrone’s head trying to get money out of him.

When we get back to the high school, Warren flies us up to the rooftop. I’d been up there a few times my freshman year. Some of the science classes cultivate a garden up there; I have a vague memory of planting tomatoes with my biology class.

Betsy is already there, as well as the Guardian she’d indicated back at the church. Matthew looks like he’s in his early twenties, and the way his t-shirt is stretched over his torso, I can tell he worked out a lot when he was alive. The two of them sit on a bench near the herb garden, their heads bent together. They look up when Warren and I land.

“Nanette, meet Matthew.”

I nod in his direction, my arms crossed. I want answers, not more angels.

Matthew stands up and offers me his seat. I shake my head to indicate I’d rather stand.

“So what’s your story, Nanette?” he asks.

“My story?”

“Yeah, every Guardian’s got a story. I spent my childhood being beat up by an alcoholic father. In high school I doped on steroids so I could return the favor, only to end up addicted and just as drunk as he was. So what’s your poison? Booze? Cocaine?”

“I don’t have one,” I say, but I’m beginning to wonder if every Guardian was a soul who had missed out on a 12-step program somewhere.

“She’s a lifer, like me,” says Warren.

“Oh.” Matthew’s eyes grow wide.

“What are you talking about?” I say. “What do you mean I’m a ‘lifer’?”

Betsy lifts her head. “That’s just Warren’s way of saying you committed suicide.”

Warren turns away and takes the empty bench spot.

“Wait a second. Warren, you killed yourself?” He seems so cheerful all the time. I couldn’t imagine him being that depressed.

Matthew answers for Warren. “Not only did he kill himself. He did it very dramatically, too. Hanging like a limp rag—”

“Enough, Matthew.” It’s the first time I’ve seen Warren mad, and even if I were the size of Matthew, I don’t think I would’ve wanted a spot on Warren’s bad side. The death glare from his eyes is enough to shrink the strongest of men.

Matthew turns his attention back to me. “So who are you in charge of?”

“I’m guarding a girl named Vera.”

“Vera who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re supposed to be guarding her, and you don’t even know her last name?”

“Listen,” I seethe. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. The last thing I remember—really remember—is the high-pitched scream from my baby sister when she walked in and found me with half my head blown off. Since then everything’s been crazy. I spend half my time in darkness. When I can see at all, I’m following around a girl I’d never met in my life. There are dark shadows lurking everywhere, pulling souls into an oblivion I can only imagine, and I’ve got other dead people telling me I’m supposed to be guarding this girl from the shadows. Which, by the way, I have no idea how to do!” I pace in front of the herb garden. “I don’t even know why I’d want to guard this girl. Her life’s worse than my own.” I want to take back the last two sentences, but my anger and frustration have taken control. I’m on a roll now and can’t stop myself. “And it’s not like she’s very nice. My sister asked her a simple question in the hallway today, and Vera just brushed her off.”

Warren and Betsy stand up from the bench.

“Sister?” Warren asks. “Did you say you saw your sister?”

All three of the Guardians look at me, concern in their eyes.

“Yeah, I saw my sister today. Her locker’s just two down from Vera’s. Cecille asked her if she knew someone with breast cancer. The inside of Vera’s locker is covered with those magnetic pink ribbons.”

“This sister,” says Betsy, “she’s the same one who saw you die?”

“I’ve only got the one...had...I only had one.”

I walk to the edge of the roof garden. I can see over the roofs of houses for several blocks. Somewhere beyond these ranches and split-level homes is a blue farm-style house where my baby sister is sleeping.

From the other side of the tomato plants, I hear Betsy whisper to Warren, “Did the committee make a mistake?”

“I don’t know,” Warren says. “I’ve never heard of this happening before.”

“Never heard of what?” I head back to their end of the roof garden.

Warren looks like he’s about to speak but stops.

Betsy speaks instead. “When Guardians are assigned, they are given a Charge that they can relate to. Someone who has a similar problem. Matthew’s sins are alcohol and drug related so he’s guarding the assistant football coach who’s pushing steroids on his players. Someone who’d died from anorexia would guard a soul with an eating disorder.”

Two of the scenes I’d experienced between periods of darkness flash before me. The scene in the bathroom of Vera with the kitchen knife, and the scene in the classroom when she’d argued that Emily Dickinson had had a death wish. “And I’m guarding Vera because she’s thinking of committing suicide.”

“Yes,” Warren says simply.

“So what’s the mistake you’re so worried about?”

Matthew continues where Betsy left off. “There’s another consideration the committee makes when they assign Guardians to Charges. They want you to feel some connection to your Charge, but they don’t want you to be so connected that you can’t see clearly, that you get distracted.” Matthew pauses and looks down at the rooftop garden as if he could see straight through it to the classrooms below. “This is your high school, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, so what?”

Matthew turns to Warren. “I might have thought it was a mistake if this hadn’t been her school. You know, if maybe her family moved, and her sister happened to end up at the same school as her Charge. But to put her back in the same high school she just left…”

“Maybe it was an oversight,” Warren suggests. “Maybe they didn’t realize—”

“Of course, they realized,” Betsy says. “They know exactly what they’re doing.”

“Then why?” asks Matthew.

I can’t take them talking about me like I’m not here. “Guys. It doesn’t matter. So what if I saw my sister? Listen, I’m not going to get distracted by her. I don’t even want to see her. Seeing her reminds me of what I did to her. Besides, I don’t plan on staying a Guardian for long.”

As soon as I say it, the wind howls, causing the herbs to tremble in their pots. The rush of the wind behind me makes me turn around. A dark shadow flies up over the edge of the rooftop garden. But this isn’t any old shadow. It’s the one with the crimson face of fire and the electric blue eyes, which right now are burning holes right through me.