Devine Intervention (16 page)

Zero minutes left.

F
OR THE FIRST
time since she'd gone into Jiminy's body, Heidi noticed the world was no longer in color, or at least in as many colors as she'd known in her human life. The sun was a white wound in a gray sky. The rest of the world was a landscape of textured black and white, stitched in a thousand shimmering shades between. It was the world as she'd always tried to draw it, only better.

Her nose deepened the picture, picking separate strands of fragrance out of the air: here, car exhaust; there, squirrel. Braiding everything together was the richness of a burning cedar tree — infused with the warmth and wind and rain and moonbeams it had absorbed over the course of many human lifetimes — now slowly turning to ash in someone's fireplace.

And then there were the noises. The high chatter of birds. The low moan of passing cars. The chuckle of melting snow in the storm drains, like a secret joke between the sidewalk and the street, punctuated with the intermittent punch of barking dogs announcing, “I'm here! I'm here!”

She'd observed a bit of it earlier, as Mrs. Thorpe drove her to the animal hospital. But it was dark then. And she was hurt. Now that she was patched up and hungry to remember everything for as long as it lasted, it felt sublimely strange to perceive the richness of ordinary human experience through the senses of her dog. No wonder Jiminy always held his ears up. No wonder he poked at the air every so often with his nose. He was paying attention. She wished she'd done the same. She wished — she wished …

“Why do you keep touching my back?” she asked the angel.

They were walking toward Heidi's house to see if Jiminy had gone there — it wasn't far, maybe a mile. The going was rough on the icy sidewalks. Most of the snow had been cleared, but any lingering anesthesia that might have blunted her pain had vanished, and the salt stung her footpads.

She knew enough to understand why the angel wasn't offering to carry her. He couldn't. Even if he didn't mind breaking one of the Ten Commandments for the Dead, he probably didn't care enough about her to lift her. Besides, she didn't want to look like a flying dog. That would attract the kind of attention she didn't need. Still. His
fingers kept wrapping around her spine as though it were a purse handle.

“I'm, uh, I'm petting you,” he said. “Ruffling your fur. I thought dogs liked that.” He took his hands away, pressed them into his pockets, and whistled an ugly melody through his teeth.

It didn't feel like he was petting her. This was way too rough. She growled. Something about being inside Jiminy had stripped away her old reserve. She felt like a peeled orange, alternating bursts of sweetness and bitterness, and she resolved to walk faster. The sooner she made it home, the better. She disliked being with this angel. It wasn't just the creepy song he was whistling. It was his palpable absence of goodwill. He made her feel worse than anyone who'd made fun of her at school — and they'd only just met.

“Do you think you can do what you need to do in, say, five minutes?” he asked. “We're kinda running late.”

They stood on the steps outside her front door. Melting icicles hung like earrings on the eaves, shedding sparkling drops onto the softening soil below. The warm breath of the house had melted the snow, revealing a skirt of earth. Soon, crocuses would reach their fingertips through the surface, followed by their purple and golden heads.

“Yo,” the angel said. “I asked you a question.”

She turned her face toward him.

“Five minutes?” She whispered so no one inside would overhear. “Can't I have more time?”

The church bells started ringing and the angel rolled
his eyes. “It's nine o'clock,” he said. “You've made me late already.”

Nine o'clock. She was supposed to have dissolved by then. And yet she hadn't. She still felt as solid as she had an hour before. Something about being inside Jiminy must be keeping her safe. As hard as it was to hang on, doing so was making a difference. She hoped the protection would last long enough for her to find his soul and put it back where it belonged.

“Look,” she said. “This might take a while. I'm going to have to find Jiminy and figure out how to get him back inside his body. I'd also like to say good-bye to my family and Megan. I'm sure you understand.”

“Foolish human,” the angel said in his reverberating voice. It gave her the shakes. “Your dog's spirit has most likely made its way to animal heaven. We'll need special permission to go there.”

He might have mentioned that before. But no matter. She'd talk to her parents first, say good-bye. One thing at a time, one step at a time. “I'm gonna scratch on the door. That's how Jiminy asks to come in.”

The angel rolled his eyes again, and she felt herself blush beneath her fur. She hated how stupid he made her feel for wanting to do these last few things. At least no one could see it through the fur.

“Are your ears turning red?” the angel said. “That's totally weird.”

Fighting an urge to tuck her tail between her legs, she sat on the welcome mat and scratched the door with her cast. Then came footsteps on the tile, the nervous rattle of
the chain coming loose, the slow turning of the knob. She stood and wagged her tail when she saw Rory.

“Jiminy! What happened to you?”

Rory had a coat on, as if he was just getting ready to leave the house. He lifted her and she felt every one of her internal injuries ignite.

“Mom! Dad!” Rory carried her into the family room at a run. She thought she might throw up, it hurt so much. “Jiminy's back and he's all busted up! Look! He's wearing a cast!”

Her parents emerged, also dressed in their winter coats. They looked terrible, as if they hadn't slept. A sweet pressure built up behind her eyes, but she had no tear ducts to release the pain. Instead, she barked and wagged her tail, looking about for Jiminy's spirit. She saw no sign of him.

The angel stood behind her, studying their family portrait. She growled, hating the hungry look in his eyes.

“Jiminy!” Her mother squatted and held out her hands. Heidi thumped her way across the floor and into her mother's arms. She breathed in her mother's scent and wanted to kiss her and embrace her.

“What happened to you, Jiminy? You disappeared on us. We were so worried.” She leaned her forehead against Heidi's. “I'm glad you're home.”

Heidi whimpered.

“Ticktock,” the angel said. “I haven't got all day. You haven't got all day.”

She shot a look at her parents, alarmed. But they hadn't heard him. The clock on the wall inched toward five min
utes past. A pen and paper. That's what she'd need. It would be quicker to use Jiminy's body to talk, but her voice coming out of his mouth was monstrous. That was the last thing she'd want to do to her parents while they were still dealing with her death.

She slipped out of her mother's embrace and tottered through the hall to the family room. As usual, her dad had left his work on the coffee table. She picked up his pen in her mouth, wishing it were one of her beloved Pigma Microns.

“Jiminy, drop it,” her dad said.

She resisted the urge to obey. The pen weighed a thousand pounds and its barrel tasted of salt and minerals. She arranged the pen so it was tip down, nosed her father's work out of the way, and looked for something to write on. Her mother's fitness magazine. It would do. It would have to. In fact, it might even make things easier.

“Jiminy!” Her dad's voice was sharper now. “Drop it!”

Heidi hurried and circled the letter
H
in
H
EALTH
.

The angel leaned over her shoulder. The scent of imitation pepperoni and cheap tomato sauce assaulted her. “Why don't you step out of the dog already?” he said. “Get this over with?”

She growled.

“Dad, look!” Rory said. “Jiminy circled the letter
H
!”

“Don't be silly, Rory,” her mother said. “Get the pen before he makes a mess.”

“He's circled the
E
!”

Heidi paused. She wanted to drop the pen. It was making her drool.

“Warren, look at this,” Heidi's mother said. She stood next to Jiminy. “What do you make of it? The dog's circled two letters.”

“
HE
? What's that supposed to mean?” Rory said.

Heidi scanned the page for her next letter. There. An
I
, right in the headline “I
NVISIBLE TOXINS IN YOUR FRIDGE
.”

“He circled an
I
!” Her parents grabbed each other's hands. Exhausted and in pain, Heidi pressed on. She hadn't thought about what she'd write beyond her name. She found a
D
in the “U
NSEXIEST DISEASES EVER
” headline, and circled the
I
next to it, to conserve her energy.

“Heidi!” her mother said. “Jiminy spelled Heidi's name! What are the odds?”

“It's a message, Mom,” Rory said. “A secret message from beyond! Maybe it's Houdini with dyslexia.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Rory,” her father said. “You sound like that fruitcake Patty Lin.” But he peered at the magazine, his mouth slightly open.

“It could be a message,” her mother said. “Rory's right. On
Oprah
once they had this —”

“Shh,” her father said. He held up his hand. “Jiminy's circling another letter.”

Heidi hovered over the magazine. It was hard to concentrate with everyone gathered around. She wanted to cry again but settled for a muffled whimper.

Heidi says good-bye.
That's what she'd write. It was stupid, what people with absolutely no imagination might say. But it was the shortest thing she could think that also
worked. Maybe once she delivered the message, she'd be able to use her voice without freaking them out entirely. Maybe then she could say “I love you” as well.

She found an
S
in a headline that read “I
NCONTINENCE AFTER CHILDBIRTH: 5 CURES
.” She was almost glad she'd never be having babies. Then she spotted an
A
in “S
TOMACH SHRINKING IN TWO WEEKS
.”

“Y
OUR CHEATING HUSBAND
” had the
Y
, the
S
, a
G
, and an
O
. She was getting close.

“Heidi says go!” her mother cried out. “That's the message! Warren, Rory, we have to go see her again. Now. We've gotta go now.”

Heidi opened her mouth to speak. No! That wasn't the message. She wasn't done! She dropped the pen in frustration and confusion. What did they mean, see her again? Was it some kind of prefuneral viewing of her corpse? If that was the case, she wanted to go this time, to see her body and prove this was all really happening, even if it meant Jiminy's soul would spend that much longer unprotected. Maybe she could convince them to bring her along.

She struggled to pick up the pen again, and got it in her mouth the wrong way. The tip stuck out of the right side, and she couldn't muster the coordination she needed to write. She wanted to scream but couldn't, or she'd drop the pen again.

Then everything went to pieces.

In a whirl of activity, her family gathered their car keys and cell phones. They were gone before she even realized
what was happening. She'd tried to give them a message and failed. The silence they left behind seeped into her like poison.

She looked up at the angel. “They left. They left before I finished.”

“Told you to hurry.” He scratched the side of his nose. “Hey, do you have a camera? Video would be best, but in a pinch, point-and-shoot will be fine.”

“A camera?”

“Do I stutter?” he said. “I left mine back in my lobby and I'm not going to shoop and leave you alone.”

A low growl tickled her throat and leaked out of her mouth. “I thought angels couldn't move physical objects.”

“Only the lame ones, only the lame ones. Besides, now that I've seen what you can do with that little dog mouth, you're going to set it up. You can probably even push the
AUTO TIMER
button.”

“I'm not letting you have a camera.” She walked into her room, hoping she'd miraculously find Jiminy's soul on her bed. She also hoped to see her artwork one last time but realized her family had probably discovered it and had either tossed it all because they considered it pathetic, or worse — they were attaching the pieces to poster board to use as a decoration at her memorial service. She was surprised to find that she cared little either way. She only wished she'd thought to draw things bigger, to imagine things bigger.

A miniature molded-rubber wing-tip oxford shoe stuck out from under her bed. Vincent Lionheart. She reached for him, ignoring the pain and awkwardness of the effort,
and clamped her teeth around him, regretting putting puncture wounds in his perfect flesh. There went his resale value. She worked her way out from beneath the bed and felt the angel's hand dig once more into her back. There was a horrible tug, as though he was trying to rip her soul right out of Jiminy's body.

Then she realized he'd been trying to do that all along.