Chapter Five: The Ultimate Gift
I tried to run after Raphael, but the pain in my leg was excruciating. I was forced to slow to a stumbling hobble. A few minutes passed before I realised I had no idea where I was going. Where I was. I held Lucifer's torch in my hand, but the light seemed dimmer than before. The ceiling in this part of the tunnel was higher, I realised. I was in a cavern; the Underground tracks above me must have ended.
There was no sign of either archangel, but I knew that was only temporary. Lucifer would awaken soon, and Raphael was most likely searching for ammunition or reinforcements. The prospects were grim. There were no stairs or means of escape, no guidance, no noise, no sign of anything but an injured Fallen Angel. I turned the torch towards my leg, gritted my teeth, and dug through the wound to find the bullet. It was a procedure I had performed many times and seen even more, but it still seemed strange, somehow, to be buried beneath the world, fighting through my body for another chance at life.
"Up here!"
The call startled me, and the pocket knife slipped from my hands, clattering against the ground.
"Hurry, angelita!"
Pepito. I looked up to see a rope ladder hanging from the cavern's ceiling. Wincing, I forced myself onto the ladder, using my good leg for support. Pepito might not have been entirely trustworthy, but I would choose him over my other options.
When I reached the top, the first thing I saw was a toilet.
"Men's washroom," said Pepito, by way of explanation. "What happened to that leg?"
"Bullet," I muttered. "At Heathrow."
"Let me see."
A few minutes and bandages later, Pepito stepped out of the stall, handing me a change of clothes. "Be quick. We have a long way to go."
"You know where Rocky is?" I asked, locking the door.
"Yes. Far away. We need to hurry."
I sighed, unfolding the shirt. It was bright yellow, and, in the dim lighting, I could barely discern the words "SONIC HEDGEHOG" on the back. The jeans were heavier than the ones I usually wore, too. They smelt old and used. I detected the faint scent of perfume. One of the fruity scents young girls often use.
"Pepito? Where did you get these clothes?"
He paused before replying. "I found them in my flat."
"You have girl clothes in your flat?”
No response.
“Why are you here, anyway? How did you find me?"
That was easier for him. "Tracer in your boots."
"Mmmm." Of course. I opened the stall door, deposited my old, bloodstained clothes in the rubbish bin, and fixed my clothes in the mirror. As I examined myself, I realised why these clothes seemed so familiar.
I had worn them before. In another world. Another life.
"Beth?" I whispered. "These clothes were Beth's. She gave me them to wear, once. To borrow. Where…?"
"Watchers were not always invisible," said Pepito. "Only recently, ever since a certain little Watcher failed her Trial. They needed to be safe. Protected. Concealed."
I turned towards him. "I know, but…"
"Beth was my daughter. She was very fond of speaking of her little friend, Tessa. It took me many years to realise you were real, and even more to realise exactly who you were. What you were. Y aquí estamos."
I crinkled my forehead. "Beth is your daughter? But that means...Rocky is your son!"
Pepito nodded.
"Rocky Cortez? Pepito Cortez? You shipped me halfway around the world because you needed me to babysit your son?"
"Not me, angelita. There's someone else who…"
"Yes, Lucifer! I know; I saw him. He told me…"
"You do not understand. I did not…"
"But if you had told me before I might have…"
"You would not have helped me had I told you the story entero," Pepito said flatly. "You would have thought me overprotective. Obsessive."
He was right. I looked at the floor.
"Are you coming, angelita?" Pepito held the door open, an "Out of Order" sign resting in his hands.
I followed Pepito, pausing at the top of the stairs, noticing the chaos below. "Where…?"
Pepito chuckled. "Victoria Station? It is very busy, is it not?" I nodded.
"Are you frightened?"
"What? No! It's just very different from, well, home."
Pepito chuckled again. "Si, these are busy people. People with families and jobs. They lead lives much different than ours. Sad, ¿no? To see how the other half lives? Decent people with decent lives."
I glared at him. "Do you want me to find your son, or would you rather continue mocking me?"
"To be loved is such a precious gift. Beth taught me that every day. Could I buy you a cup of café?"
"I know what you're doing. It won't work. I'm still angry with you."
"I do have some information for you. And there is a flight leaving Heathrow in five hours we need to catch. It would be best if we could work together. Put aside our differences. For the common good. I am sorry I was not completely honest, but you must see it through my eyes."
I shrugged. "Black, no sugar."
Five hours and thirty-one minutes later, we were seated on a Boeing 787, shooting across the sky at an ungodly pace. When Pepito, sitting calmly in the Victoria Station café, had handed me a pair of tickets to SFO International, I nearly cried. San Francisco? That was easily eight or nine hours trapped in another tin can shuddering across the skies. But, this time, Pepito had insisted on accompanying me. I was somewhat vexed at this slight against my abilities, but Pepito quickly turned into a more agreeable travelling companion than Skullface Rocky. He even took my hand during take-off, though he maintained it was because he was cold. I didn't mind, though. It felt comforting. Warm. Safe.
And there weren't even any thunderstorms. Under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed the trip.
SFO wasn't our final destination, though. As we left the airport, Pepito hailed a cab to the pier, and, from there, we took a ferry to Alcatraz Island.
"Act natural, angelita."
I scrunched my nose, pulling the baseball cap further over my eyes and kicking a few pebbles in the dirt path, much to the displeasure of the hordes of tourists. "I'm Alice Redglove, Pepito. I'm rather good at blending in."
"Only places where you are not supposed to be."
I rolled my eyes as Pepito began to snap pictures with a strange, bulky camera. "What's that?"
"It's a camera."
"I realise that."
"A film camera. An instant Polaroid, if you must know."
"That thing looks ancient."
"It is."
"And you're telling me about blending in."
Pepito only smirked. This irritated me.
"Can't you afford a digital? Didn't the police force pay you enough?"
"The pictures print instantly here. We can compare them side-by-side." Pepito held up two photographs.
"Clever," I conceded.
"Lo sé," said Pepito.
A few hours and several guided tours later, we were sitting on a picnic table, eating pretzel sand examining the photographs in front of us.
"Rocky's in here." Pepito pointed to a single isolation cell replicated in several of the pictures. "Solitary confinement."
"How do you know?"
"Father's instinct." I wrinkled my nose. "You know better, angelita?"
Of course I didn't. Pepito had probably planted a tracer on Rocky, too. "What of the rest of the band?"
"Not here. They're back home. Lucifer didn't want them. He left them in London."
This surprised me. "How do you know? 'Father's instinct' again?"
"No, the eight o'clock news."
I sighed. "Pepito, do you have any idea why Lucifer is after your son? He wasn't very clear…"
"No es importante."
So he did know. "Just like the fact that Rocky is your son wasn't important?"
r /> "Neither of these pieces of information is relevant to the case at hand."
I rolled my eyes. "Pepito, you do realise I examine my cases very carefully before I consider..."
"Bueno."
I smiled to myself.
"He is using Rocky as bait, if you must know."
I straightened. "Bait? For what?"
"Now that I do not answer."
I slumped. "So now what?"
"We wait here until dark. Then we break into the prison, get Rocky, and leave. Quickly."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why do we have to wait?"
"In case your archangel friends are on the island. Which I expect they are. And a war between angels with all these civilians would not be a good idea."
"A war between angels?" I felt my heart sink. "You have more faith in me than I deserve."
Pepito surreptitiously lifted a handgun from his inside coat pocket. "You have friends, angelita. Powerful friends."
Night fell late on Alcatraz Island. The tiny clumps of grass left long shadows in the moonlight, and the few trees offered little shelter from heaven's watchful eyes. As the last ferry departed, leaving only a single security boat patrolling the waters, I turned to Pepito.
"How are we getting off this island, again?"
"Patience, angelita."
"Patience will get us off the island?"
"Just trust me, mmm?"
"Oh, because we both know how that turns out."
A new voice interrupted our conversation. "Ah, the Fallen Angel returns to prison. How ironic."
I jumped to me feet, balling my hands in a fist. "Raphael!"
"Come back for seconds, Tessa? Liked it too much to stay away?"
"Is he mad?" muttered Pepito behind me.
"Tessa was mad," said Raphael, the glee in his voice cutting through the shadows. "After she failed her Trial, we had no choice. We had to lock her up. She was as nearly as crazy as you, Lu, wouldn't you say?"
A cackle broke through the darkness.
"We had to rent out your cell, Teresa. But I'm sure there's plenty of room to share."
I felt Pepito behind me. He pressed his gun into my hands. "They locked you up? Here?" His voice was little more than a rustle in the wind. My silence was my reply.
"It's torture, isn’t it?" Lucifer's voice continued. "To be born free, but have your wings clipped? To know freedom, love, and joy, but have it taken away? We are all the same, Tessa. We had something, once, that was taken away."
"Where's Rocky?" I asked.
"I thought you knew!" said Lucifer. "He's waiting for you."
I looked at Pepito, and we began to race up the hill. Raucous laughter and jibes followed us. "We're walking...into a...trap...aren't we?" I said between breaths.
"Not us," he said.
"There's someone else on this island?"
"I fear so."
"You f-fear so?"
When we reached Rocky's cell, we found the door already open. Rocky was sitting on the floor. He didn't appear to be hurt, but his eyes were lost. Dull. So different from the hot-headed heartthrob in Heathrow.
"Rocky?" Pepito's voice cracked.
"Dad?"
Pepito fell to the floor next to his son. I examined the surroundings. No sign of the Archangels. Not yet, anyway.
"Dad, she's here. I saw her."
"Saw who?"
"Beth."
My heart stopped. "Beth is dead," I whispered. "I watched her die."
"You're dead, too," said Rocky, his eyes meeting mine. "All Watchers are humans who died before their time. It's another chance at life before they have to move on. They get two lives. The rest of us only get one."
I looked at my hands. "I'm dead?"
And then, "Beth is a Watcher? A real Watcher? S-she's here?'
Pepito closed his eyes. "I think so. She'll give us a sign. She always does."
I shook my head. "Beth is a Watcher."
"And you're her Trial," said Pepito.
"And her bait," said Raphael. "But you knew that, didn't you?"
My stomach twisted. They were using me as bait? "You want her to fail. You're going to kill me. You're going to make her fail."
Raphael's voice rained down from the ceiling. "We won't make her fail. We simply won't let her pass."
"But why?"
"Maybe she will join us. The more the merrier, you know."
I gritted my teeth. A surge of electricity passed through the room. The lights flashed brightly before flickering out.
"She is here," said Pepito.
"Where?" I squinted through the darkness.
"You cannot see her, angelita. She is a Watcher, remember?"
A period of silence followed. A thick, horrible silence, during which we could only cower from the rising tension dueling above our heads. There was no sound, not even the whisper of the wind or the susurrus of the sea. I tried to count my breaths, the stars, anything to break the monotony, the pain.
But there was nothing. The world seemed empty. Empty, that is, until the silence was broken when a shadow entered the room. A shadow I recognised, training a gun on the floor, then to a head.
My head.
"Choose," said Raphael. He sounded exhausted. Beaten. Desperate.
"Where’s Beth?" My voice was thick and sticky. I stared down the barrel of the gun towards Raphael's eyes. Bloodshot eyes. "Where's Lucifer?"
"Choose," he repeated, "One of them dies tonight."
Pepito's gun still rested in my hands. Could I save myself?
"Shoot one of them. The father or the son. Your choice, or I will choose for you."
"Beth can save them," I whispered. "It's me you want dead."
"Beth is incapacitated at the moment."
"Where is Lucifer?"
Raphael's hands shook.
"Why would you kill them?" I asked. "It's me who has to die."
"Oh, you will die," said Raphael. "But we will destroy you first. Beth's Trial isn't to stop you from dying. You're not human. No one cares whether you live. It's to stop you from killing. From becoming like us. From becoming a murderer, a demon among men. She's done a good job with Alice Redglove, I must admit. You never crossed the boundary. Close, but never over. This time, though, it's different. Tessa cannot be saved."
In the distance, an owl screeched.
"You will kill someone tonight, Tessa. Choose one!"
I stepped back, pointing my gun at Raphael. "You can't make me shoot this gun."
"You're right. I can't." He stepped back, fading into the shadows. "But I can tell you this. The first bullet in that round has been hotwired to an explosive timer. If you fire a fatal shot, the timer stops. If you don't, the timer keeps counting down until the whole place explodes. You see? You kill someone either way! It's just a question of how many."
I looked at the gun. That wasn't possible. "You're bluffing!"
"Maybe. But are you willing to take the risk?"
"You're threatening her, aren't you? You're threatening Beth. But it won't work. Watchers don't remember their Earth lives."
"You don't remember," corrected Raphael. "But she does. She's a special case. She died before she had a Watcher."
The past stung.
"Listen! Do you hear it?"
The wind whistled outside. A cricket chirped. I listened to the gun. It was ticking softly.
"Time is running out, Tessa."
He was wrong. There was no time left.
"Choose."
Raphael was nowhere to be seen. So I made my choice. I leveled Pepito's gun at my forehead. And fired.
Strangely, it didn't hurt. The beautiful darkness around me began to blur, but I felt at peace.
The last thing I saw was Beth's face. Beth's beautiful face, older, slimmer, stained with tears.
"I failed," she said. "I failed you, Tessa."
"No," I said. "I failed you. First."
She laughed. It was beauti
ful.
"This is your family," I whispered. "Don't be alone."
"I know, Tessa. They never let me forget. I was a special case, Tessa. You were my Watcher, yes, but you were also my sister. You never left me, even when I was dying, so I never forgot who I was."
"S-sister?"
"I love you, Tessa. All of us love you. Me, Rocky, and dear old Dad. We’ll always remember you."
"L-love…"
Pepito’s Spanish Dictionary
¡AIE! (ahy-ee): Expression of disgust, pain, or surprise
Angelita (AN-hel-EE-tah): Little angel, darling angel
Café (ka-FAY): Coffee
Cálmese (KAHL-meh-say): Calm down, please calm down
Claro que sí, señorita (KLA-row kay SEE sen-yor-ee-ta): Of course, miss
Creo (KRAY-oh): I think
Diablo (dee-AB-low): Devil
Ja (ha): Expression of amusement
La puerta maldicha (la poo-er-ta mahl-dee-cha): The cursed door, the blasted door
Lo sé (low say): I know, I know it
Lo siento (low see-yen-toe): I’m sorry
No te preocupes (no teh preh-oh-COO-pays): Don’t worry, don’t worry yourself
Obstinada (ob-stee-nah-dah): Obstinate, stubborn
Permiso (perr-MEE-so): Permission
Por favor (por fah-vor): Please
¿Por qué? (por kay): Why?
Puf (poof): Expression of disdain
Señor (sen-yor): Mister
Señorita (sen-yor-ee-tah): Miss
Vagabunda (vah-gah-VOON-dah): Vagabond, vagrant, homeless person
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