Angelique Rising (5 page)

             
"Okay," he said in a brittle voice trying to hold it together. He had to get there in time, he needed to say goodbye to that kid, the kid he'd taught how to play baseball, how to... he made his mind shut down. Cory was dying. That was all there was to it.

*****

              Leaving Angelique in the hospital hallway bidding her not to move, Wyatt took a deep breath and pushed in the door to Cory's room. The child lay there only seven years old, sallow, not much more than a rumple under his blanket. Johnson was standing by Cory's head, his face pallid, the enormousness of his grief unbearable. Wyatt walked to Johnson's side, staring at Cory.

             
And Cory opened his eyes.

             
Cory, however, was not looking at Wyatt or even at his father, Johnson. Cory was looking at the foot of the bed where Angelique stood, uninvited and unenthusiastic, silent in her flowing white costume.

             
"Are you an angel to take me to Heaven?" the boy murmured.

             
Both Wyatt and Johnson gaped at her intrusion with widened eyes, too stupefied to speak.

             
Shit.

             
"Do you want to go?" she asked flatly.

             
"I want to stay with Mommy and Daddy," Cory answered.

             
Double shit.

             
Angelique looked at Wyatt's stricken face and felt something transpire between them. She tried to talk herself out of it. The world was full of dying kids, you couldn't save them all. And heck, the last time she'd tried to save a dying kid she'd gotten herself one helluva'n asskicking consequence.

             
But she owed him.

             
"All right then," she sighed, walking toward the child on the opposite side of the bed from Wyatt and Johnson, her gown whispering the sibilance of silk. She didn't know for sure whether she could do it with a person, but she'd discovered she had the ability first with a sick bird, then a cat that had been hit by a car, and this kid didn't look all that much bigger than either of them. She dropped the hospital bed's railing down (she'd seen that done plenty of times when she'd hung around hospitals) and to Wyatt's and Johnson's disbelief she pushed Cory upright to a sitting position and slid her torso in behind his back, wrapping her hands around him and resting them on his waist.

             
"Is it gonna hurt?" he asked, trembling weakly.

             
She leaned her lips in close to his ear hoping the adults wouldn't hear.

             
"No," she purred in quiet assurance, "angels don't hurt little children."

             
Johnson opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but Wyatt grabbed his arm, warning him to be still.

             
"Now," she said softly, "hold onto my hands as tightly as you can for as long as you can."

             
She looked up at Wyatt who was staring at her in wordless bewilderment but for some reason trusting her with the child. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began.

             
Both Wyatt and Johnson could
see
it.

             
Something in her was draining. The pink in her cheeks, the tone of her flesh, almost the light on her skin, was draining away --at the same time something was invigorating in Cory. It appeared in his eyes first, a glimmer of surprise, then delighted surprise, then an eager brightness, and then an actual sparkle. His mouth twitched into a goofy grin. And his body posture started changing, like he suddenly had the strength to hold himself up. Cory's grip on Angelique's hands got stronger as her chin dropped to her chest and her jaw fell open. But she didn't let go and she didn't stop her strained determined concentration. Cory giggled and sat up straight.

             
"
Arghhh..."
Angelique groaned, her voice guttural, suffering. Her hands fell away from Cory's and she collapsed backward against the headboard of the bed. Cory looked at his father.

             
"I want some Spaghetti-o's," he pronounced gaily, "I'm hungry."

             
Angelique slid off the bed onto her feet struggling to support herself, her stiffened arms clutching the bedside. Slowly she faltered along the bed, toward the doorway.

             
Wyatt and Johnson stared at her in apoplectic shock. The bedroom door swung open and a jittery woman with pale waxy skin appeared stepping one foot past the entranceway before freezing, staring at Cory.

             
"Mommy's back!" Cory chirped. "Can I have some chocolate ice cream?"

             
Angelique pitched forward, heaved herself behind the woman and, reeling through the open doorway, staggered out to the hallway toward the elevator.

             
"CORY!" the woman screamed.

             
Wyatt recovered himself and dashed to follow Angelique, but Cory's mother was immobilized and blocking him until he finally just picked her up and replanted her. He tore out to the hallway but all he saw was Angelique crumpled on an elevator floor, its doors closing.

             
"WAIT!" he bellowed but it was too late, the doors closed.

             
"Woman in white gown
,
"
he shouted to the guard as he finally reached the lobby,
"where?"

             
The guard pointed mutely to the doors leading to the parking lot. Wyatt burst through them into the now pouring rain, once again searching for her but it was as if she'd evaporated into the darkness. The rain slashed at his face, made him hunchbacked, but he didn't stop looking. Then he spotted her.

             
Angelique was collapsed in a gutter between two parked cars, the storm water surging around and over her as she fought unsuccessfully to roll away from it.

             
"Damn it!"
Wyatt yelled, reaching her, scooping her up out of the dirty flood.

             
She tried to say something but nothing came out.

             
"What the--
"
he stammered, "are you okay? Talk to me!"

             
"Sleep
,
"
she mouthed muddleheaded,
"took it all..."

             
And she was gone, unconscious in his arms.

             
He looked at the hospital wondering if he should bring her back inside. He hesitated, the thought of what had just happened in the hospital with Cory made him uneasy, so instead he stepped to his car and gently placed her in it. Her breathing was fine he saw, and her heartbeat (he checked) was strong and steady. But she hadn't told him where specifically she lived and she had no purse for him to look.

             
No, his cagey little sprinter would be waking up at
his
house he almost chortled. And somebody would first have to undress her from her sopping wet costume. Since there wouldn't be anyone at his house but him, he knew who that someone was gonna be.

             
And he definitely chortled.

             
But then he thought of Cory.

             
He had her in one of the guest rooms, flopped in a sitting position resting against him on the edge of the bed, her head drooped over his shoulder. She hadn't woken up in the entire ride to his house, just mumbled incoherently a bit as he'd carried her in.

             
He found the zipper in the back of her dress, lowered it, and from the front, peeled her out of the soggy thing.

             
Underneath, she was
nearly
inside a short bustier, and wearing underwear that looked like white satin but his educated eye knew they were a fake Wal-Mart satin at best. He found two dollars pinned to the inside of her dress and was grimly amused at her presumed emergency bus fare money. Probably never went anywhere without it. Her legs were in stockings that ended at her thighs in wide white bands but with no garters to hold them up. He took off her shoes, they were tight, well, they would have to be to have stayed on in all that dancing which, shit, she'd done in spikes! He shuddered. The feet of her stockings were grimy and wet so he reached up and peeled the stockings off of her too, then positioned her body vertically on the bed wondering if he should undo her braid and blow dry her drenched hair.

             
She exhaled a long deep comfortable sigh and rolled over, peacefully clasping a pillow in her sleep.

             
Her butt was staring right at him. It looked small. It looked perfect. And he couldn't help himself.

             
He reached down and cautiously hooked a finger under her panties at each of her sides and slowly lifted, pulled, and rolled them down exposing her bare bottom. He inhaled, his heart thumping wildly.

             
Her ass was exquisite. Two firm, perfectly formed asscheeks, like two blushed ivory rosebuds.
Damn.

             
Carefully he replaced her panties wishing they were also wet so he could justify removing them too.

             
Well whattayaknow he smirked wryly, the night hadn't turned out so badly after all. Employee appreciation
indeed.

             
He covered her with blankets and walked to the closet. Wyatt's last girlfriend had fled exactly six minutes --a record, even beating Uncle Mal's-- after he'd forgotten himself (admittedly with the help of some cognac). She'd bolted so fast she'd left the clothes he'd bought her behind. He found a pair of jeans that, with its belt, would probably at least stay up on Angelique. (He heard her name in his mind the way she'd pronounced it:
Onnzshellique
. He liked it.) He also found a pullover sweater that would have to do. There was no underwear, after she showered in the morning she'd have to go commando if she didn't want to get back into her own until he brought her home.

             
He was surprised that the thought of bringing her home depressed him. Maybe he would take her to a clothing shop, buy her a nice outfit (
real
satin undies), talk her into spending the day with him (it would after all, be Saturday). He studied her appraisingly.

             
I have a lot of questions for
you
, Miss Angelique Reising (she wore no wedding rings), yesiree a
lot
of questions.

             
He put the jeans, the belt, the sweater, her shoes, and her two dollars and safety pin on a chair where she would see them. He took her hosiery to throw out --they were filthy and he didn't want her trying to get back into them. The gown he would have dry cleaned, he tossed it over his arm.

             
Wyatt Cochran switched on the bathroom light for her, turned off the room lights and exited leaving the bedroom door open. He knew he'd be checking on her throughout the night.

             
Despite the lateness of the hour, he had phone calls to make.

Chapter Three

             
Seething, Wyatt was once again searching for Angelique who'd stealthily fled sometime around dawn without even a see ya. And what really pissed him off was though she hadn't taken the time to say goodbye to
him
(much less show any gratitude for his care of her) she
had
taken the time to make the bed! And make it immaculately, not leaving so much as a wrinkle. So Wyatt Cochran was spending his Saturday morning querulously clomping along river dock moorage slips with barely contained fury looking for a houseboat named
Sunflower.
He hadn't found it, but he did spot a large houseboat with big ceramic planters on its deck filled with brightly blooming yellow sunflowers.

             
I'm gonna KILL her.

             
He stomped down onto the houseboat's deck and glanced through a window. It was her all right, but she was with a man. And all she was wearing was a black lace bustier set and spiked shoes. Well
tough!
He was going in.

             
He banged on the door and the man answered it, gawking at him.

             
"Damn, May-May, you were NOT kidding!" the man chuckled ogling Wyatt.

             
Wyatt took a tentative step into the houseboat, this was not the greeting he'd expected.

             
The room was spacious, a third of it a kitchen, the rest living room, with one narrow wooden staircase leading above. Beyond startled, Angelique stood in her black bustier on a coffee table before a small elevated fireplace, her mouth a frozen comical
O.