Angel Dust (19 page)

I want to cry out, protest, defend myself –
what else could I have done?
You were so ill. I was so weak.

But I don't, because he's telling the truth.

I was a liar.

I step forward and put my hand on his. I want to make him know I'm sorry.

‘You know, Jazz, I think I'd look good with a backpack and glasses and a stripy scarf,' he says suddenly and flashes her a wicked smile.

The fog suddenly swirls back, right at me. I sway. Lose my balance. There is a terrible emptying-out feeling. A tugging at my intestines. I panic.
Find a cold spot!
I'm slipping away. I'm losing the Channel.

Instantly I step through the window, land on the street, press myself against iron railings. The cold metal refreshes. The nausea passes, the swaying steadies a little, but before I can step back into the room another fog rolls over me. I fall headlong into a thick dark cloud. The tug on my stomach is too much.

‘You'll have to try a lot harder than that,' said Lily Rose and she pinched me. ‘We got a perfectly good frequency and the Channel coverage was strong. You stood far too near the humans. I told you find a cold spot immediately you got down there and stay in it.'

I groaned and clutched my stomach. ‘Please let me try again,' I begged.

Lily Rose snorted. ‘If you want me to send you again, it'll cost more,' she said. ‘I want wine
and
cheese – and I notice you haven't even got the cheese.' She pinched me again in a cross sort of way.

‘Alcohol?' I breathed.

‘Yes, 12.5%, and none of your grape juice. A nice Pinot Grigio suitable for a summer's evening in a wine bar. Get me that, six bottles, and I'll even give you an extra hour.'

‘OK,' I said and, clasping my hands tight over my stomach, prepared myself again for the stretching feeling.

The room is changed, but the fog is just as thick. I hear a voice I don't recognise.

‘If you can just relate incidents as they happened, and answer the questions clearly.'

‘But officer,' says a voice I know: Jasmine's.

I peer through the mist. It swirls a little. I look around for a cold spot. There by the window.

The room clears. I can see immediately I'm in a police charge office. I recognise it from my course:
Crime & Punishment – Should Earthly Justice Systems Replace the Day of Judgement
?

In front of a wide desk sit Jasmine and Marcus. Behind it sits an officer. I seem to remember him. Yes, the scene at the nightclub.

‘But,' carries on Jasmine, ‘I'd like to speak on behalf of my brother – unless . . .' She nudges Marcus. ‘Go on,' she says.

He shakes his head.

‘Well then,' she says, ‘I'll say it anyway. You see, officer, last week my brother was shot.' She lays an envelope on the desk. ‘In there are the hospital details. We know you interviewed him at the hospital, but there were reasons why he told you he didn't see anything . . . But now Marcus wants to say that he –'

Marcus looked at her and frowns. She carries on. I make sure I'm standing right in the blast of the open window.

‘He wants to be a witness, but we need to be sure that we get protection.'

‘Well,' says Marcus, pushed into speech. ‘It's not for me. My family . . .' He puts his hand on Jasmine. ‘My sisters, my mother . . . they shouldn't be put in danger because of me.'

The officer looks up. He says, ‘As it's a murder charge, we can arrange to have an officer outside your block.'

‘That may not be enough,' says Marcus.

‘If we have to rely on your testimony to bring about a successful conviction, we can think about putting you in a witness protection scheme.' He reaches for the phone.

‘I can take care of myself,' says Marcus. ‘You don't understand these guys; it's my family who need safeguarding.'

‘You were shot too,' says the officer, changing the subject, reaching for the envelope, pulling out a hand-held tape recorder. ‘Let's go into an interview room.'

They stand up and open the door. A rush of hot air from the corridor blasts in. Immediately the fog thickens, swirls up in front of me. I stagger sideways. Marcus, Jasmine and the officer hurry off into the corridor.

I hang my head out of the window and let the fresh air revive me. By the time I feel strong enough to move, I've lost them.

I try to catch up. By sticking to draughty corners and even gliding up a blocked-in chimney – in an effort to stay cold – I manage to work my way through three offices and two interview rooms.

I don't find Marcus in any of them.

I remember Lily Rose saying:
‘If you stray too far from your hauntee, you'll be ricocheted straight back into their company, like a boomerang.'
I start thinking I could go for the wine and cheese and keep on going until the pulling starts and snaps me back to Marcus. I decide I'll do that.

On my way out through the front foyer, I see a figure leaning over the reception counter. Immaculate white suit. Gleaming white teeth.

It must be.

It
is
.

I'm pleased and a bit scared. My heart starts to race. I want to talk to him. I'm resolved to talk to him. I'm going to say: ‘Larry, do you work for the Devil?' Well, maybe not exactly that. Maybe more like: ‘Larry, you
do
work for God, don't you?' I bite the corner of my lip. It's not going to be so easy. I can't just walk right up to him and say that, can I?

I glide nearer. I'm worried he won't be able to see me. This is when writing in dust might be extremely useful.

I call out anyway. ‘Larry?'

He turns. His face lights up. ‘Hiya there!' he says. ‘You lovely thing!'

I'm relieved and puzzled both at the same time, and still pretty nervous. Lily Rose said, ‘Even angels won't see you.' I'm glad he can, though. I must know if my Extension was the cause of the breach. My heart thumps. I'm terrified he'll say, Yes.

Larry nods at me to wait. Then he turns to the policeman on duty. ‘There's a young man here called Marcus Montague. I'm with him,' he explains. ‘We came together to make a statement; he witnessed a murder. Yes, yes, I'm his sort of social worker – I got him to come. I can corroborate what he says. If you need me to – I can do that now.'

His suit is wrinkle-free. His golden hair flawless. I'm so impressed with his apparition mastery. I'm almost jealous. He does it
so
well you'd think he was actually human.

Suddenly a woman behind me steps completely through me. Clothes, boots, blood and bones. Everything. Straight through my chest and I've no time to get out of the way.

‘Ugh,' she says, ‘this station's chill-ee. I've gone all shivery. It's like someone's stepped right over my grave.'

Believe me, I want to say, that's nothing to the way I feel.

But as I'm trying to get over the shock, she moves straight up to Larry and says: ‘So what brings you here? More trouble at the club?'

I'm puzzled. I thought Larry had seen
me
. Maybe it was this woman he saw. It's very confusing. I'm a little disappointed. I'm pleased he's helping Marcus, like I asked him to. But I desperately want to know if I've signed a contract with the Devil or not.

Before I can try and talk to him again, I feel the pulling on my stomach. Marcus has left the building.

I have to go. Lily Rose was right. It's not a nice feeling. My intestines feel like they're dissolving.

I'm out in the street. I'm glad of it. Outside, away from the central heating, I feel much better. I'll have to speak to Larry some other time. Perhaps he wouldn't have heard me anyway. I wonder vaguely why he didn't come with Marcus; why Marcus hasn't greeted him, or arranged to meet him now, after making his statement.

Quickly I look up and down the street. Marcus and Jasmine are already walking away – he's leaning on her. I glide after them. Soon I've caught up. I fall into step alongside. I hear everything.

‘That was amazing,' says Jasmine. ‘You're so brave.' She ruffles his air. ‘I thought you'd never do that. Joey'd be so happy. I know it. He wouldn't want his death to start a gang war.'

‘Yeah,' Marcus says, ‘but you don't know the Crow. If he finds out man's snaked him up, none of us is safe.'

‘We know,' she says, instantly serious. ‘We talked it over, Mum and Ray and me. You don't realise, Marcus, how much we want you to get out of this gang thing. We really,
really
want it.' Her voice drops, cracks a little. ‘You don't know the hell we've been through with you getting shot.'

‘It's not fair, though. And it's man's fault.'

‘But we love you,' says Jasmine simply, ‘so we're gonna stick together, and anyway, I'd like to see any gangsta try and get into Curlston Heights. Mum knows better than to buzz strangers through when she's alone.'

Marcus lifts his head. ‘Oh, Jazz,' he says. ‘It's not an excuse, but I only ever started all this to try and help. You know when Mum . . . and the job.'

‘We know.'

‘And because man can't stand seeing the Crow doing all that shit.'

‘Exactly,' says Jazz, ‘so you did the right thing just now. You actually put the finger on the Crow, named him as Joey's killer – nobody's ever dared do that before. Look, I think that's so amazing, I'll buy you a drink – even if they won't allow me in the bar.'

‘Nah,' he says, ‘I don't fancy a drink right now. But if you're loaded, we could grab a couple of Cokes and a burger?'

They turn into a burger place. I stay outside. It'll be too hot in there. But oh, how happy I am. Marcus is changing. I look fondly after him, his dark hair, his broad shoulders, then I hurry to a One Stop Shop. I collect a selection of cheeses and six bottles of wine. I put them in the bag Lily Rose gave me and am surprised how a fog quickly gathers around it and it's tugged off at speed.

I smile. Lily Rose has got it all worked out. I bet she's right about shifting things too. ‘
You can blow the air around,'
she said.
‘Skilful ghosts can write messages in dust, direct Ouija boards, slam doors, howl down chimneys.
' Who knows, I might try howling down a chimney after all.

I start with trying to blow a paper napkin that someone's dropped. Nothing happens.
‘Blow the air,'
she said. I focus all my energy on moving the air rather than my chest. I find I can get the edges of the paper to twitch a bit.

It suddenly occurs to me that if I direct the air
under
the tissue, rather than at it, I'll have more success. So as I wait for Marcus and Jasmine, I practise. By the time they come out of the diner, I've shuffled the paper right down the street and back.

I try lifting the edge of Marcus's jacket. ‘Bit windy out here,' he comments. He hugs the jacket close. I smile. I've cracked it.

Learning how to blow objects around isn't the only thing I've cracked. While I was practising on the tissue paper down the street, I hatched a wild plan. I saw a church and I checked it out: St Jude of the Lake. (Dear St Jude. I know him well – Patron Saint of Desperate Causes and Hopeless Cases.) I cross my fingers and pray my plan will work. I send up a plea.
St Jude, please help us, no one more desperate than I, no cause more doomed.
Then I catch myself. No prayers. No Prair Waves. If Jehudiel is after me, he mustn't know I'm here.

I fall into place alongside Marcus and start to perfect my idea.

‘You can affect atmosphere,'
I remember Lily Rose saying.
‘If you want to bring about a change in the fortunes of others, just focus on an image.'
I need to get Marcus in the right mood. So I pour forth the most generous, peaceful thoughts I've ever had. I remember the glory of the sunrise in Heaven, with choirs of cherubim praising God on high as the sun breaks over the horizon in a fiery ball.

‘I feel good, Jazz . . .' says Marcus suddenly. ‘You know, I reckon it isn't so impossible to change. She was right, you know . . . she probably was.'

Jasmine smiles and looks quizzically up at him.

‘Don't laugh,' says Marcus, ‘but I think I've got a guardian angel.' He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, ‘I think she's right here, watching over us, right now.'

‘Oh Marcus,' says Jasmine, ‘I hope you have; you deserve one.'

‘She saved my life, Jazz. She visited me in the hospital, she told me to change; you-know-what-I'm-talking-about.'

‘Good for her,' Jasmine laughs. ‘I suppose next you'll be telling me she's pretty too.'

‘Woo,' says Marcus, ‘she's more beautiful than –' he looks up, throws his arms in the air, ‘than the morning stars.' He pauses.

Suddenly his face falls.

I pause too.

‘But she's tricky,' he says. All happiness drains from his voice. ‘She doesn't tell it like it is.'

I wince. The rising sun bobs down and drowns in water.

‘I hate that,' he says moodily. ‘In my world you shoot it straight. Man hates a liar worse than anything.'

‘You're crazy,' says his sister affectionately.

I don't tell it like it is.

‘Maybe,' says Marcus. ‘But she saved man's life and man promised her he'd give it a go – gangsta's honour – so it's back to college one of these days, and who knows, maybe not so much hanging with the crew, either.'

He flashes her a thoughtful smile.

‘And no more shootings. I'm definitely gonna do the family ting from now on.' He puts his arm through hers. ‘What do you say, sis?' His crooked smile stretches over his straight teeth.

I swallow my hurt. One day I'll explain. Now for my plan.
He's ready to give it a go.
I race ahead.