him. I am completely immune to all
your weapons of mega-grouchiness.
“Which is why we need to plan.”
“Which is why we both need to be fresh,”
I say. I have weapons too now, and this is the most powerful one against
Tarren. “You won’t be any good out there if you can’t think straight,
especially if we run into trouble.” I leave the rest unsaid, but it goes a
little something like this, What if an adorable little girl with pig tails
and a big lollipop is set upon by evil, snarling angels? How can you heroically
save her and then angrily shrug off all praise if you’re tired and weak?
Before Tarren can object again, I add,
“Take two hours. I’ll get all the information ready, and we’ll jump right into
planning.”
Tarren glances at the bed. His aura
flickers. The nightmares.
“Only two hours,” he says.
“Two hours,” I confirm.
Tarren sits on the bed, and takes off
his jacket and wet boots. He’s shivering, and I realize that he must have
ditched whatever ride he stole at least a couple of blocks away from the motel
before covering the rest of the distance on foot. I watch out of the corner of
my eye as he carefully folds his jacket and lines his boots up next to the bed.
He sets the alarm on his watch, lays it on the nightstand, and slides his Glock
under his pillow.
It usually takes Tarren at least an hour
to fall asleep, but today he stretches his long body on top of the covers and
is lights out within moments, his aura shifting immediately into softer blues
that twitch and jump.
As soon as his soft snores fill the
room, I come around the bed and turn the alarm off on his watch.
He’s getting worse, I think, and I don’t know what to do
about it. Him or Gabe or fucking Peoria.
I open up my laptop and review just how
screwed we are on this mission. Peoria is a whole hell of a lot bigger than one
would suspect for a town in Illinois not called Chicago. Over 100,000 people
live in the city itself and almost 400,000 in the surrounding metropolitan
area. How are we supposed to find a single angel among 400,000 people in a
blizzard?
I sit back in the chair and think. If I
were an angel looking for an easy snack, what would I do? The answer is simple.
I’d roam for targets of opportunity, people who were out alone in places of
little visibility. I might go after stranded motorists or even break into
houses where I only sensed a single occupant.
If I were working alone.
Gabe found lots of bodies, which could
mean we’re dealing with multiple wings. Joy o’ joys.
As night settles in, my photographic
memory soaks in the entire map of Peoria as well as a ton of useless facts
about the city. I still don’t have anything resembling a decent plan of action
to present to Tarren. In the room below I hear a child’s giggles as the bed
springs squeak again.
“Come on, no more jumping, buddy,” the
father says. He sounds tired. A sports show blares from the television.
“Alright guys, what do we want to eat?”
the mother asks, clapping her hands together. “Pizza?”
“Pizza!” Abe cries. “Pizza, pizza,
pizza!”
“God, this is so boring,” Raven groans
in classic teenage fashion. “Can I puh-lease just go to the mall or something?”
“What do you want Raven? Cheese?
Pepperoni?”
“I hate pizza,” the girl snaps back.
“Why couldn’t Dad find a new job in Alexandria?”
“It’ll be nice living close to your
grandparents,” the mother says with absolutely no conviction in her voice.
“You mean living with them.”
“I want pizza. I want pizza. And ice
cream,” Abe chants.
“Oh just shut up,” I grumble to myself.
That wonderful family dynamic has been going on below me all day. It’s not like
a sulky teenager, a rambunctious kid, and a tired mom are at fault for my brain
being a huge disappointment when it comes to saving the lives of the innocent,
but it’s easy to blame them anyway.
I feel it instantly, the minute shift in
Tarren’s aura that tells me the
your weapons of mega-grouchiness.
“Which is why we need to plan.”
“Which is why we both need to be fresh,”
I say. I have weapons too now, and this is the most powerful one against
Tarren. “You won’t be any good out there if you can’t think straight,
especially if we run into trouble.” I leave the rest unsaid, but it goes a
little something like this, What if an adorable little girl with pig tails
and a big lollipop is set upon by evil, snarling angels? How can you heroically
save her and then angrily shrug off all praise if you’re tired and weak?
Before Tarren can object again, I add,
“Take two hours. I’ll get all the information ready, and we’ll jump right into
planning.”
Tarren glances at the bed. His aura
flickers. The nightmares.
“Only two hours,” he says.
“Two hours,” I confirm.
Tarren sits on the bed, and takes off
his jacket and wet boots. He’s shivering, and I realize that he must have
ditched whatever ride he stole at least a couple of blocks away from the motel
before covering the rest of the distance on foot. I watch out of the corner of
my eye as he carefully folds his jacket and lines his boots up next to the bed.
He sets the alarm on his watch, lays it on the nightstand, and slides his Glock
under his pillow.
It usually takes Tarren at least an hour
to fall asleep, but today he stretches his long body on top of the covers and
is lights out within moments, his aura shifting immediately into softer blues
that twitch and jump.
As soon as his soft snores fill the
room, I come around the bed and turn the alarm off on his watch.
He’s getting worse, I think, and I don’t know what to do
about it. Him or Gabe or fucking Peoria.
I open up my laptop and review just how
screwed we are on this mission. Peoria is a whole hell of a lot bigger than one
would suspect for a town in Illinois not called Chicago. Over 100,000 people
live in the city itself and almost 400,000 in the surrounding metropolitan
area. How are we supposed to find a single angel among 400,000 people in a
blizzard?
I sit back in the chair and think. If I
were an angel looking for an easy snack, what would I do? The answer is simple.
I’d roam for targets of opportunity, people who were out alone in places of
little visibility. I might go after stranded motorists or even break into
houses where I only sensed a single occupant.
If I were working alone.
Gabe found lots of bodies, which could
mean we’re dealing with multiple wings. Joy o’ joys.
As night settles in, my photographic
memory soaks in the entire map of Peoria as well as a ton of useless facts
about the city. I still don’t have anything resembling a decent plan of action
to present to Tarren. In the room below I hear a child’s giggles as the bed
springs squeak again.
“Come on, no more jumping, buddy,” the
father says. He sounds tired. A sports show blares from the television.
“Alright guys, what do we want to eat?”
the mother asks, clapping her hands together. “Pizza?”
“Pizza!” Abe cries. “Pizza, pizza,
pizza!”
“God, this is so boring,” Raven groans
in classic teenage fashion. “Can I puh-lease just go to the mall or something?”
“What do you want Raven? Cheese?
Pepperoni?”
“I hate pizza,” the girl snaps back.
“Why couldn’t Dad find a new job in Alexandria?”
“It’ll be nice living close to your
grandparents,” the mother says with absolutely no conviction in her voice.
“You mean living with them.”
“I want pizza. I want pizza. And ice
cream,” Abe chants.
“Oh just shut up,” I grumble to myself.
That wonderful family dynamic has been going on below me all day. It’s not like
a sulky teenager, a rambunctious kid, and a tired mom are at fault for my brain
being a huge disappointment when it comes to saving the lives of the innocent,
but it’s easy to blame them anyway.
I feel it instantly, the minute shift in
Tarren’s aura that tells me the
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