Broken Angels Page 5

Ava blinked before speaking. “Hello.”

  “My name is Robert Goldner.” He moved a step closer to the bed. “I’m an agent with the IAI, the Isaac-Abraham Institution. It’s a nonprofit group that, among many other things, helps find missing kids. Yesterday, we found you.”

  “Was I missing?” she asked.

  “Well, we weren’t exactly looking for you,” he said. “But we found you.”

  Her lips approached a smile. “You’re an honest one.”

  “I was raised to be.”

  “I’m Ava. Ava Darden.”

  “And you’re not from around here,” Robert said.

  “No. Spencer. Spencer, Virginia.”

  “What were you doing in that house?”

  “House?”

  “The one we found you in. The woman who was in here earlier told you—” He hesitated. “Do you know where we found you?”

  “Oh. Yeah. The den of drugs and thieves.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “I wish I knew,” Ava said.

  The room’s door opened. Sam entered, followed by Darryl.

  “Uh, Ava, you’ve already met Sam Goins. This is my partner, Darryl Ridley.”

  The two exchanged greetings and Darryl said, “Sorry I’m late. But you know Saturday morning traffic. Everyone trying to get to the malls.”

  Robert snorted as Sam said, “We don’t mean to crowd you, Ava. But all three of us are very interested in knowing your story.”

  “I’d be interested to know it myself,” Ava said in a murmur.

  “We can all leave if you need us to,” Sam said. “Should we get the nurse back in here?”

  “No,” Ava replied, sounding even weaker.

  Robert looked at Sam, who just shrugged and shook her head. He then turned to Ava and asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “I was in the gym. The school gym. I was trying to stop Marie-Lydia from killing everyone.”

  “Marie-Lydia McGillis?” Darryl asked.

  Ava perked up and, in a foolish attempt to sit up, aggravated the wounds on her abdomen. She grunted and fell back as Darryl and Sam rushed to her side.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Do we need to call the doctor?”

  Ava winced but said, “I’m fine.” She took a moment to catch her breath, and then she opened her eyes wide, looking at each of them in turn. “Where is she?”

  “We don’t know,” Darryl said.

  “We were looking for her when we found you,” Robert said.

  “But you said something about a house,” Ava said. “Is she involved with—?” She grimaced as her body tensed.

  “Okay, that’s enough for today,” Sam said. “Gentlemen, out in the hall. Ava, dear, I’m calling the nurse for you. We’re leaving you alone now, but we’d like to speak with you again later.”

  The nurse rushed into the room after Robert and Darryl left. Both agents took their time walking toward the nearest lounge area.

  “That wasn’t much use.”

  “There’ll be another time,” Darryl said. “After her wounds heal and she starts to think clearer. Anyway, it’s a cold trail again. There’re other kids to find. Let’s concentrate on the warm ones.”

  “Don’t you want to wait and see what Adam finds first?” Robert asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t Sam tell you that this girl wasn’t on any of our lists of missing kids?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Aren’t you curious why?”

  “I know why. She wasn’t missing.”

  “If you’re right, that should make you even more curious.”

  “Curious about what? What are you talking about?”

  “What’s with you?” Robert asked. “Where’s your head these days?” They weren’t meant as rhetorical questions, but he wasn’t about to wait for answers. “Ava said the last thing she remembers is fighting with the redhead—Marie-Lydia McGillis—which is the entire plot of all those videos we’ve reviewed. It’s the last thing Ava remembers, and it’s the last time anyone saw the McGillis girl awake and conscious. Ava was the last one to see her. We get a tip that the McGillis girl may be in a house, but Ava is there instead.”

  “Yes,” Darryl said. “And?”

  “You’re the senior in the partnership,” Robert said. “Can’t you put all of that together to reach some sort of conclusion?”

  “No, I can’t. Because it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “At the very least, it means the trail isn’t cold.”

  “It means we’re back where we started,” Darryl said, “and there’s nothing warm or encouraging about that.”

  Neither, Robert thought, was Darryl’s lack of commitment to the Watcher program he’d signed up for.

  “Well, I’m heading back to The Burrow to check on the sources of our information,” Robert said. “Maybe you’d like to work with me, unless you have another appointment for tongue-wrapping and spit-swapping?”

  “Listen, Goldner—”

  “She’s not in as terrible shape as she seems.” Sam entered the lounge area. “I spoke to the doctor again. She said Ava’s more fatigued than anything. Another good night’s rest will do wonders.” Robert and Darryl followed Sam toward the elevator bank. “I left her our contact information for when she’s ready to speak to us, if she wants to, but the police and feds get the next crack at her. We only got dibs as a favor from the HSA.”

  “They owe us more than one,” Darryl said.

  “Funny,” Sam said as they got onto an elevator cab. “They’ve been claiming it’s the other way around. We have another briefing meeting with them on Monday, bright and early.”

  “Maybe they’ll brief you on the status of my application,” Darryl said.

  Robert felt like laughing himself to tears; Darryl had to be joking. He’d been slacking as a Watcher agent, noticeably and dangerously. Did he really think he could be effective as a federal agent?

  “I’ve been waiting to hear something for three months now,” Darryl said.

  “Maybe you should clean out your ears and realize silence means they don’t want you.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Sam said as Darryl glared at Robert. “The HSA is searching for some new Peacemakers, and I believe Darryl would make a good fit.”

  “Then what’s the holdup?” Darryl asked. “I thought I did well during my first round of interviews. But since then, nothing. No yay or nay.”

  “I’ll be sure to ask for an update on Monday,” Sam said.

  Darryl sighed as the elevator’s door opened. Robert also sighed. Picturing Darryl with a gun was a sad sight. Armed and mentally preoccupied with getting on to the next charity case, he could cause all kinds of collateral damage.

  “I’d like to know the Agency’s decision one way or another,” Darryl said, following Sam toward the building exit. “Soon. Before I turn twenty-two and Adam kicks me out of the IAI for being too old, too much of an adult.”

  “I assure you,” Sam said, “that’s not going to happen.”

  “Yeah,” Robert said. “I’m sure Adam’s definition of ‘adult’ includes the phrases ‘acts responsibly’ and ‘exercises mature judgment.’”

  “Well, your position’s secure,” Darryl responded. “Keep making those stupid babyish remarks and your place in the orphanage of Watchers will be assured for the rest of your wise-alecky life.”

  Robert grinned. As if either of them was destined to reach old age, or even middle age. “This baby is wise enough to know that neither of us is going to get much older before we’re through. We’re just crawlin’ till we fall.”

  “Cutely phrased,” Darryl said. “Every nursery needs a rhymer.”

  “And every government agency, a self-righteous prick who—”

  “Will you two cool it?” Sam unlocked her car. “Who’s coming back to The Burrow?”

  “I am,” Robert said.

  “I have some business to take care of.” Darryl turned an
d walked toward his car.

  “Yeah,” Robert said, “the HSA will just love to hire a Peacemaker who insists on moonlighting.”

  Darryl just kept walking.

  FOUR

  A workshop of toys. That’s how the IAI’s chief engineer referred to his special room. Robert had a different opinion of it.

  It was intimidating. It was a room that seemed to exist in a separate time and reality from the world outside, even more so than the rest of The Burrow. It was a room where futuristic instruments and devices were created, very few of which were intended for use by the masses.

  True, Robert figured most people would be lost in a small world of happy wonder when they entered and spent time in Zel Bernard’s workshop of toys. But the objects inside were nothing to play with. And in spite of the casual way Zel referred to the products of his work—insisting on referring to them as if they were just amusements for children—the toymaker was careful to limit access to the room to only a privileged few. This Saturday afternoon, Robert was among the lucky ones.

  But he didn’t enter the workshop to gawk and gander at the many shelves and display cases. Robert didn’t request the time to ask Zel about his latest gadgets. He didn’t care to see Zel demonstrate how his latest toy worked or hear how effective his specialized instruments would be in certain situations. Something else was riding his thoughts, and Robert wanted to discuss it with Zel, the IAI board member he trusted most.

  Nevertheless, just after entering the toymaker’s workshop, while looking around for his host, without intending to, Robert picked up a silver object that resembled a deformed ball, a once-perfect sphere that had melted into the grotesque shape of a lump. He paid it little attention at first. But while continuing to look around the large, cluttered room for Zel, and turning the device around in his palm, Robert became more and more focused on the silver object. He soon realized it more accurately resembled the shape of a human heart. Captivated, Robert examined it, noticed the wire loop, and stuck his finger into it. While doing so, he accidentally dropped it—and he saw the heart extend on its string. He instinctively flicked his wrist to return the object to his palm. As the string extended, tiny points resembling metallic thorns had extended from the heart. When it rested safely in his hand again, the object no longer appeared to be a heart, but a smooth silver apple. He figured the device worked like a shape-shifting yo-yo. He released it again, saw little pointy worms appear on the object’s surface, then palmed it and observed its new appearance: a jack-o’-lantern. When he released the object once more, sharp metal flames jutted outward. When they retracted, the device appeared again as a silver heart.

  “’Mazing, isn’t it?” Grinning, Zel emerged from behind a lead-lined screen. “Made one a couple of years ago, only to have it stolen. Just got around to making another one.”

  As always, the toymaker was covered from head to toe in white, from the shoes to the gloves to the skullcap. The only uncovered area was his face, a face that had its eyes shielded by special wrap-around glasses. The black lenses were so beyond black they seemed just a bit creepy to Robert, but he fully trusted there was no malevolence behind them.

  “What is it?” Robert asked as he held up the silver lump.

  “A toy, of course.”

  “It looks really, really dangerous.”

  “Well, it’s obviously not for kids.”

  Robert didn’t want to know for whom it was obviously intended, but having a toy heart in his hand helped remind him of the reason he was there.

  “Congratulations, by the way,” Zel said as Robert went to put the toy back from where he’d plucked it. “I hear you two had quite the successful treasure hunt yesterday.”

  “Not quite successful,” Robert said. “We found a girl, but not the one we were looking for.”

  “Well, you made a live recovery, that’s what’s important.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Plus, working with Darryl, I’m sure you’ll find all the lost girls and boys you’re looking for sooner or later.”

  “Not through any effort of his.” Robert took a seat at one of the least-cluttered tables. “He’s not acting like the lead on our team. More like a load.”

  “Nice way to talk about your partner,” Zel said. “If I recall correctly, he was the one who found you not too long ago, wandering around naked in some woods just south of Sterling.”

  “Yeah. Years ago. These days, Darryl has other priorities than searching for missing kids. That’s why I wanted to speak to you. His extracurricular activities are more than a distraction. They’re a serious problem.”

  “What activities?”

  “His so-called charity work,” Robert said.

  Zel shrugged and shook his head.

  “For a really perverse belief system that he’s adopted.”

  “A belief system, huh?” Zel sat down at the stool opposite Robert’s. “Called what?”

  “Bullshit, if you ask me.”

  “Uhm…”

  “Sorry,” Robert said. “I really don’t want to take up your time with a rant. I just need some advice on how to maybe fix this, help get Darryl back on track.”

  “Maybe you’d better tell me about the charity work first,” Zel said.

  “Okay,” Robert said, “but I’ll warn you up front, it’s a really abstract philosophy. I’ll do my best to make it as coherent as possible.”

  Zel nodded.

  “Well,” Robert said, “after Darryl was forced to face the fact that he had the Virus by, you know, having a seizure and being raptured down into XynKroma against his will, he looked for a way to make up for his past lifestyle, erase the habits that caused him to get the Virus in the first place. While he was still in the hospital, or right after he got out—I’m not sure when—he somehow got hold of a book called Death’s Heart. A book of poetry by some anonymous writer. I mentioned it to some friends once; they did some research, and they’re pretty sure it’s by the same person who wrote The Blackbook of Autumn Numbers.”

  “Who’s also anonymous.”

  “Yeah,” Robert said, “and for a good reason. But my friends and I still tried to work our way through it. Them, for the challenge. Me, for the sake of the partnership. I wanted to get a bit inside of Darryl’s head.”

  Zel chuckled. “Well, there’re better ways of doing that.”

  “Better for whom?” Robert asked. “I’d just as well avoid that route.”

  Zel said, “Going to XynKroma, under the supervision of Vince, is quite safe.”

  Robert wondered how traveling to an extra-dimensional realm that could best be described as an unstable marriage of Heaven and Hell could ever be considered safe, regardless of whether or not the process was being monitored by an IAI board member. “Reading Death’s Heart seemed to me the wiser option,” he said.

  “Maybe I should try my eyes at it.”

  “You shouldn’t. Death’s Heart is a bad story, an allegory told by way of a connected series of convoluted poems. It’s about a character named ‘Vastion,’ or ‘Vast’ for short. And he…Listen, I’ll spare you all the ridiculous details. I can summarize the whole stupid thing by just telling you that Vastion is some kind of supernatural being, from another dimension, and he’s worried about the sick condition of Love, which is considered a god, or maybe The God, where he’s from. What’s more, Love is also Vastion’s father.”

  Zel gave him a pained look.

  “Yeah,” Robert said. “It’s kind of an abstract, metaphysical concept. As I said, Vastion’s a being from another dimension. So, just stay with me a sec.”

  Zel nodded. Robert continued.

  “Vastion is angry that human beings have been using the word ‘Love’ in vain and, worse, the perverse acts they carry out in the name of Love are directly to blame for the sick condition of Vastion’s God. Somehow, what humans say and do in their dimension has dire effects in Vastion’s. So Vastion somehow leaves his dimension and comes to Earth as a supercharged man in order to get peop
le to change how they think about the concept of Love—not to regard it simply as the product of momentary crushes and one-night stands. But while living among humans, as a human, Vastion becomes convinced that Love is actually a false god; rather than misbehaving humans corrupting Love, Love is actually corrupting humans. So Vastion changes his tactics—and his mission.”

  “That sounds…interesting,” Zel said.

  “If so,” Robert said, “it’s only because I’m summarizing and you haven’t heard the worst of it. There are five chapters in the book. Five short chapters of convoluted, mind-numbing poetry. They’re not named by numbers, but colors, and in the last chapter, the Blue chapter, Vastion gets to the point where he sets out to destroy this false god Love by, in a sense, overloading it. He sets out on a mission to encourage select humans to engage in all sorts of despicable and perverse ‘acts of Love.’ You can imagine the details; just consider the idea of sexual terrorists. Rapes, violent crimes of passion, and so on. Vastion’s theory is that Love and its worshippers—lovers—can only take so much. After too much, they’ll self-destruct. Once the false god is dead, the real God—Peace, Love’s estranged wife and Vastion’s missing mother—will reclaim its rightful place.”

  Zel thought for a moment then chuckled. “Sounds like a nice little bedtime storybook.”

  “Maybe for insomniacs in an asylum,” Robert said.

  Zel put a thumb and finger on his chin as he cocked his head. Robert pressed his lips together and gazed at Zel’s glasses, waiting for the older, wiser man to fully digest what he’d just heard.

  After more than a full minute of silence, the toymaker said, “I’m sorry. I still don’t get it. What does this have to do with Darryl?”

  “Vastion is Darryl’s prophet, his inspiration.”

  “In what way?”

  “Darryl doesn’t just think about peace, or talk about peace,” Robert said. “He inflicts peace. On every woman and man he can.”

  Zel hummed and nodded. “I still don’t quite follow you.”

  Robert sighed. “Think about it. The fundamentalist fanatics in this country preach that ‘God is Love.’ Every pop song you hear, every movie you see, every other insipid television show is telling us all constantly that love is the supreme feeling. Every other person you bump into on the street just can’t wait to tell you how happily in love they are, or how they’re looking for love, or how they’re so miserable because they’re not in love. And in spite of all these thoughts and feelings and sentiments of love everywhere, look at the state of our planet, look at the state of humanity. It’s shit going down a toilet.”