Escaping Heaven (37 page)

             
In the foreground were Kelly and Jake during happier times, his arm around her waist. They were a cute couple, and it seemed like the picture was from their early days of dating, both dressed in summer hiking gear, with a partial view of the Rockies behind them, some of the trees encroaching on the scenic overlook. The area didn’t have many distinguishing features, but James had been doing this long enough, that he felt confident in his abilities.

             
He reached into the folds of his toga and pulled out a sword hilt. None of his fellow angels had one, but James had kept it from his days working as a Tagger. When he’d left the Tagger squads to join a quarters team, no one had asked for it back, so James had simply kept it. Good thing he had, too, he thought to himself, or he would’ve had a much harder time finding Jake.

             
James sliced the blade into the air, focusing on the location he’d seen in the picture, taking his time with each cut, even though he was tangible and visible to anyone who might stumble into the hallway. He jammed the blade into the center of the carved doorway of light and then turned it, as every inch within the three lines filled with light. He took a deep breath, hoped he’d gotten it right, then stepped through the doorway.

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B
ob had been a busy boy since he’d left the two souls in line. Bob had always been one of the most perceptive of the Cherubim, and so he was always on the look out to see what other angels were doing. When the Tagger Max had plowed into him, and the compass had crashed down onto the ground, he knew Jake had several hours before they could get him again.

A few years back, Bob had struck up a friendship with a Tagger named Yoshiki. The two men had made it a habit to sneak off to a sake bar for a few years and talk business. Bob would talk to Yoshiki about all the various problems dealing with being a Cherubim (most of which were related to bureaucracy) and Yoshiki would complain about the various problems the Taggers had (most of which were related to boredom).

The two drifted a part after a few years of weekend drinking, but Bob had learned a lot of things about the Taggers that he was sure Jake didn’t know, all of which were acting in his favor. The most important thing Bob knew was that the compasses took about half a day to get a lock onto a target, and that the compasses were considered valuable enough that Taggers were only given one at a time. In fact, Bob was certain Max would endure a bit of a yelling for breaking one. Still, he’d never known how the compasses get their lock onto a target until this day, and now that he did, he could do something about it.

From the Tagger’s disposition, Bob guessed that Jake had sent at least one of the Taggers who were after him back to Heaven forcibly, which was an incredible stroke of luck, because without it, all of Bob’s ideas would have been worthless. The Taggers had to report back as a group, which meant that Max would be sitting around for at least an hour or so, and that was all the time Bob knew he needed.

His first stop had been back to the regional Cherubim barracks, to visit a friend of his. He’d hurried there quickly, not so much that he seemed out of place, but not wasting any time in his walk either, using every shortcut he knew to make haste. The Cherubim barracks Bob was part of were a lot less military than the Tagger barracks, but they were still relatively sparse. Everyone got a small room, not unlike a college dorm, with their own bed and a desk built into the wall. Cherubim were encouraged to keep themselves busy with other pursuits when they weren’t working, and so many of the Cherubim took up hobbies, and often had to be creative in unusual ways. Some of the Cherubim had taken up writing poetry, or carving stone, of which there was always plenty. (The Cherubim would get some of the rock dug out when new wings of Heaven were being dug out and use that.) But it wasn’t those hobbies he was interested in today.

Bob sprinted down the hallways, heading towards the room he wanted, hoping his friend would be in and that he wouldn’t have to go stealing without asking. The doors of many of the rooms were open, as the Cherubim were a chatty bunch, often liking to stop and talk with one another, but if someone was darting past, they were generally polite enough not to interrupt them.

As he came to the door, Bob slid a little on the ground, grabbing onto the doorframe. “Roddy!” he said, panting slightly. “I’ve got a deal to make with you, if you’re interested.”

Inside the room sat a slender Cherubim, which was uncommon in and of it self. His name was Roddy, and he was Scottish, although the accent had receded after several hundred years in Heaven. He wore his white hair long, and had a big scraggly beard. On his lap he had a quilt, and was sewing in it carefully. “Oh, aye?” Roddy said, looking up from his sewing at Bob. “Well, out with it, lad.”

“
I need a scrap of your quilt, about two inches by two inches,” Bob said, moving into the room.

“
What would ye need something like that for?”

“
Never mind that. In return, I’ll give you about a hundred articles of clothing for your project.”

Roddy leaned his head back in surprise. “All tha’ for just a bit of cloth? I kin do that, lad!” he agreed eagerly, pointing a finger upward. “Y’need any particular bit, or will any ol’ bit do?”

“
Give me the bit that uses the most different threads,” he said, as he watched Roddy pick up his scissors.

“
Doesn’ matter if it’s from a rather ugly bit, then?” Roddy asked as he started to shift the massive quilt on his lap over, tracing his eyes along the edges, looking for a bit he didn’t care for, before he stopped, holding it up to show a section with thousands of different threads woven together into a prismatic, garish mess. “Say, this bit here?”

“
Good enough. Give it here. I’ll have your bags for you in about an hour, okay?”

Roddy nodded, cutting out the section then handing it over to Bob. “S’ok, Bob, I know yer good for it. Just soon as y’can.”

Bob grinned from ear to ear. “You’re a lifesaver, Roddy. I owe you one!” He tucked the scrap of cloth into his pocket, picked up a couple of Roddy’s big empty laundry bags and started moving. The Cherubim hurried down about a dozen or so doors and opened the door to his own room, looking around quickly before grabbing a large handwritten manuscript off the top of his desk and darting out of his room, kicking the door shut behind him.

About ten minutes later, Bob had made his way to the entrance to the large warehouse like area where all the personal belongings people had on them were dropped off in Heaven. The area normally didn’t see very much action, but had been one step shy of Grand Central Station the last few days. Bob strolled up to the guard at the doorway casually, offering her a slight wave. “Hey Bolormaa, how’s it going?”

The Tibetan woman rolled her eyes at Bob. She was a massive woman, egg shaped and huge on every level. “Busy for us, boring for anyone else. Six different Tagger groups have been in here in the last week! You’d think the lines weren’t doing their jobs,” she said with a distasteful sigh. “Roddy talk you into getting more clothes for his big project again?”

Bob laughed softly, trying to look as casual about it as he could. “Yeah, he did, but I also need to go through a specific guy’s things, because I think he had some of my paperwork in his possession when I brought him up here.”

Bolormaa shook her head at him. “That’s pretty careless Bob. I probably should report you to your supervisor, y’know.”

The Cherub tried to offer an embarrassed smile up at her. “I figured maybe you could tell about where I was heading, and then forget I was here, so I wouldn’t have to explain it to her.”

The large Tibetan woman smiled knowingly at him. “And why would I do that?” If there was anything Bob was known for in Heaven, it was being the guy who knew how to keep his friends happy, and she liked to think of Bob as her friend.

Bob pulled the handwritten manuscript from behind his back. “Because I’ve got Edith’s new manuscript here, and I know how much you love her books.” Edith, one of Bob’s fellow Cherubim, had become something of a minor celebrity in Heaven, writing wonderful novels filled with action, romance and drama. Because she handwrote them, there was only one copy of each manuscript floating around at a time, and people had been known to wait months, even years, before getting a turn at her newest works. Bob, of course, was one of the first people in line each time a book was nearing completion, because they were great trading commodities. “If you can give me a hand in locating where the box might be, and forget you saw me here, I can give you this manuscript right now, bypassing the months you’ll have to wait to get on it.”

Bolormaa’s eyes were wide and she was pinching her fingertips together eagerly as she stared at him. “Tell me who it is and we can go look for it together if it means I can have that book. I
love
Edith’s writing. The ending of
The Last Consort
had me weeping for days. I have to have it!”

“
The guy’s name is Jake Altford.”

The Tibetan woman smile broadened, and then she chirped in glee as she snatched the manuscript from Bob’s hands. “HA!” she shouted in excitement. “I know exactly where that is! Come!” She motioned for Bob to follow her and she thundered along the rows, counting in her head before turning. “Bunch of people have been looking for this guy, so your odds of the paperwork being there are pretty slim, but you’re welcome to look all you want.” She lumbered down the row for five minutes or so before stopping in front of a section, pointing to Jake’s box. “After the second time they were here, I figured I’d better learn where this box is, in case they come by again. The second bunch was pretty scary.”

Bob tossed the empty bags down on the ground as he started to climb up the ladder to get Jake’s box. “Thanks Bolormaa. While I’m here, I’m going to grab a bunch of stuff for Roddy’s collection. You don’t have to hang around while I’m here. I’m sure you’d rather be reading.”

She had been holding it against her chest from the minute she’d gotten it, her arms folded over it, as if someone might try and take it from her. She nodded with a big smile. “Sure sure, Bob. Doesn’t matter what you take, as long as you leave the Tagger sample in each box.”

The Cherubim was carting the box down to the ground, setting it down as he waved her, while she started to walk way. “No worries, Bol, I know the rules. I won’t forget.” As soon as she heard that, her walk turned into a sprint, or as much of a sprint as her massive form would allow, and seconds later, she was gone from Bob’s view.

He looked down at the box, peering at the picture on the front of it for a good moment before he started laughing so hard he was nearly crying. Heavy fits of laughter wracked his body, and he started banging his fist against his thigh, trying to force himself to breathe as his eyes watered up. “Oh, man, that’s rich.”

After he caught his breath, Bob grinned to himself and opened Jake’s box. He took all the clothes from it immediately, stuffing them into one of the bags he’d gotten from Roddy. Attached to the inside of the box lid was a smaller box marked “TAGGER SAMPLE – DO NOT REMOVE” in heavy block print. It would be easy to overlook the box if you weren’t looking for it, but Bob knew immediately what it was. He opened the smaller box and inside was a scrap of clothing about two inches in size, which had been cut from Jake’s boxers when they’d been turned into collection. Bob fished the scrap of cloth out of the tiny box, then took the scrap of quilt he’d gotten from Roddy, putting it back in its place, closing the smaller box up, then the big box itself.

Over the next half an hour, Bob looted every box he could reach on the ground level, and took all the clothing from within them and stuffed it into the two large laundry bags before returning the box to the shelves. As he did, he tried to find clothing that was about Jake’s size, and set aside a few shirts, a few pairs of jeans that matched the size of the ones he’d taken out of Jake’s box and a few pairs of shoes that matched Jake’s size. He kept those separated and when he came across a backpack in one of the boxes, he put those clothes inside of it, slinging it over his shoulder. When the bags were just about full, he pulled the drawstrings closed tightly, and checked again to make sure all the boxes were back on their shelves.

He grabbed each of the bags by the drawstrings and started to drag them back to the entranced. As he walked past Bolormaa, he saw she was already deeply engrossed in the manuscript, reading it intently. “Thanks Bol,” he said as he dragged the bags past her. “Remember, you never saw me.”

“
Silence!” she barked, not looking up. “Reading!”

Bob left her and maneuvered through the corridors and stopped back at Roddy’s room, tossing the two massive laundry bags inside of it. The Scottish angel wasn’t there, so Bob grabbed a bit of paper from his desk and scribbled “Thanks” on it and left it atop of the two bags, closing the door behind him.

             
After he departed the dormitory, he reached into his pocket and fished out the earbud headphones, popping them into his ears as he pushed play on the tiny MP3 player in his pocket. As the Stones burst to life in his head, he grinned, heading to the Fillmore to see who’d leave a note for whom first.