Falling (15 page)

We make it to Redmond, Washington in the morning, though you
would hardly know it. A thick bank of clouds hangs heavy in the sky, their
faces gray and threatening. Pale light trickles through the cover and casts a
pall across the lush forestry that lines the highway. The air smells wet and
earthy.

Gabe guides Tarren to a motel, and I wait in the SUV while
they check in. I hum to myself. Gabe’s habit must be contagious. I don’t know
what song I’m humming, so I supply my own words.

Monster Maya eats bunnies

Wants to kill you too

Angel girl in the floppy hat

What’s a monster to do, do, do

The brothers argue about rooming arrangements as soon as
they think I’m out of earshot. I try not to listen by only kind of straining to
catch their words. Tarren proposes one room with two beds and a rotating watch.
He doesn’t say what they’re watching for. Gabe proposes that Tarren is a
paranoid tight ass and that this is Maya they’re talking about. He points out
that the little incident back there was nothing really and that since she (me)
is terrified of Tarren seeing as he tried to kill her (me) that one time not so
long ago, it would be best for everyone if Tarren took a second room and
stopped being a total prick if at all possible.

“Do you really trust her?” Tarren asks his brother.

“We have to,” Gabe says. “How else is she going to get
through this? We’re all that she has, and fuck, look at us. That ain’t much.”

* * *

The room is done in beige, nice and impersonal. I scan the
carpet but find no immediate sticky black globs.  I also notice that the
television remote is not bolted to the table. It seems we’ve moved up in the
world.

I put my gray duffle bag on the bed nearest to the window
and unzip it, curious of its contents. I see jeans. Something black. Tennis
shoes, not wide. A pack of underwear. Gabe lied, they’re plain and white. Some
t-shirts and other safe Target buys. I sigh.

“What?” Gabe drops his own bag at the foot of the other bed.
He already has his laptop out.

“I want to buy my own clothes. I already have grandma
underwear.” I wave the package at him.

Tarren takes this opportunity to step into the room and
glower at me. I have a mad urge to throw the underwear at his head. His energy
field is low and hazy, and reading the exhaustion he tries to hide gives me
some pleasure.

Tarren sets down the hutch of rabbits near the door, which
is to say, as far away from my bed as possible. Their odor fills the room, and
I can’t help but glance at them longingly. I’m already missing the sun, and
we’ve only been in this state for a couple of hours. Washington blows.

“I like that one.” Gabe is looking at a rabbit standing
separate from his huddled, shivering companions. The animal has soft,
silver-gray fur, the color of the clouds hanging over the city, and a splash of
white across his forehead that dribbles down the bridge of his nose. His ears
hang down on each side of his face, giving him a sad countenance. Mr. Brave is
clinging onto the mesh with his front paws and pushing his nose through the
wire. He seems oblivious to my evil monster vibe.

“Don’t get attached,” Tarren says. I give Gabe a sheepish
oops, sorry I’m a killer of small and adorable animals smile
.

Gabe shrugs and puts his laptop on the desk. “Alright,
here’s the deal. We got two bodies. Both found at Marymoor Park. Three days ago
it was a dead homeless guy lying in the brush. Called it a heart attack. He was
32. Day after that, they have a concert in the park. Guy goes off to pee in the
woods, doesn’t come back out.”

“Another heart attack?” Tarren asks.

“Bingo, Yahtzee and Connect Four. Guy was 44. And get this,
a runner just went missing yesterday.”

“In the park.” Tarren says. It’s not a question.

Gabe nods. “They’re searching for her now.”

“Police suspicious?”

“Nah. Heart attacks all around so far. If they find that
runner they’ll call it the same thing.”

Gabe is at the desk, pulling up windows on his computer, and
Tarren sits on the bed behind him. They have melded into a cohesive unit,
speaking quickly, plugging into the same thought pattern. Even their energies
seem to be syncing — Gabe’s speeding up, Tarren’s smoothing down. The envy
inside of me is sudden and sharp. They’ve had each other all these years; a
brother to depend on, to worry about, to argue with and care for. All I got was
a damn guinea pig.

I stand next to the bed, trying to look serious and engaged.

“This is one big ass park; we’re talking perfect angel
killing ground,” Gabe continues. “Over 600 acres filled with people wandering
off by themselves. Kids, dog walkers, runners, hikers, those crazy bird
watching people. Total nightmare.”

“But why isn’t the angel moving on or at least spreading out
the kills to multiple locations?” Tarren asks.

Gabe turns in his chair and shrugs. “It’s possible we’ve got
a newbie here. Doesn’t know the tricks of the trade yet. Then again, this angel
really doesn’t need to move. This whole state is filled with humongo parks.
Lots of people running alone, hiking away from others.  Heart attacks happen
all the time.”

“What’s the history here?”

“High wealth area. You got Microsoft and Nintendo just
around the corner. Lots of executives and well-paid engineers. These guys know
the right people and could definitely buy their way in. Wait a minute.” Gabe’s
eyes get big. “Do you think it could be Bill Gates? Oh my god! All those
mosquito nets for African orphans were just a cover. Diabolical!”

Tarren ignores his brother. “First thing we’ve got to do is
confirm we’re really dealing with an angel. Could just be some heart attacks.”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Witness statement describes our dead
homeless guy as ‘ice cold.’ Dude got touched by an angel in a very bad way.”
Gabe smirks and looks up to his brother.

“Alright, then we’ve got to move fast,” Tarren says.

“Yeah,” I say. Both brothers ignore me.

“I call park,” Gabe says.

“I did the morgue last time,” Tarren scowls.

“Yeah, because you never call it. Them’s the rules. Maya and
me’ll sweep the park, see what we can find. You get a look at those bodies.
Radiation is confirmation.”

“Yeah,” I say again.

Both brothers turn to look at me for the first time. Tarren
sifts through his huge arsenal of expressions which includes such favorites as
grimace, scowl and glower, and determines a slight frown will do the job now.

“Be careful,” Tarren says softly to his brother before
turning to leave. He pauses at the door. “You too Maya.” It sounds like a
threat.

At Marymoor Park, Gabe and I present ourselves at the
check-in table to participate in the search for Sunshine Bailey, the runner who
went missing yesterday. I scrawl
Mercedes Dantes
onto
the sign-in sheet. We accept a park map, two orange vests, a bright red whistle
and a folder filled with emergency numbers, a guide to constructing a splint
from a tree branch and missing person flyers.

While we receive instructions from a search organizer, I
keep my head down and pretend to study the flyer of Sunshine’s smiling face.
The missing woman is pale as milk, has dark, pretty eyes, round cheeks, and
short curls. The combination of her features immediately strikes me as someone
whose profession requires scrubs: nurse, dental hygienist, something along
those lines.
Sorry Sunshine,
I think.
You are dead. No tree branch splints for you. How do you feel
about some sweet vengeance in the near future? I might be able to arrange that.

Gabe politely declines to be included in the larger search
groups. “We’ll just go our own way and whistle if we see anything,” he tells
the woman at the table.

Her chins tremble. “Bless your precious hearts.”

We don our orange vests, a perfect complement to my hideous
straw hat, and make our way into the park. The air is chilled and soggy; Gabe
is underdressed in a t-shirt and jeans but doesn’t seem to mind. The clouds
give up sunlight in sporadic hiccups that aren’t worth chasing.

We follow a wide path past trimmed fields and what a sign
tells us is a community garden before finding a trail and moving into the
woods. I notice posters flapping against trees. Missing Sunshine. Missing dogs.
Lots of missing dogs. Gabe pauses to tear down a flyer for a lost golden
retriever named Buckeye. He tucks it in his pocket before continuing on.

The forest is alive with chirps and scrapes and gnaws and
smells that light up my brain. I follow closely behind Gabe, trying not to
wobble as I catch more scents and attempt to process the cacophony of new
sounds around us.  We tramp along the trail, and Gabe half-heartedly calls
Sunshine’s name while I get myself in order. I hear other voices across the
park raising the call. Stupid hope.

Gabe pulls us off the main trail, following small veins of
beaten dirt through thick hedges of spruce and pine. Birds take wing overhead,
and I can’t help but turn my head toward each new noise. My hands are pulsing
with heat, and I ball them into fists. Though I can still hear the other
volunteers nearby, I suddenly feel like we’re alone and vulnerable. A branch
snaps behind me, and I shiver. Gabe’s energy is smooth and controlled, though I
notice it moves fast and tight around his body.

“Do you think it’s here? The angel? In the woods somewhere?”
I ask him.

Gabe looks up from his map and shrugs. “Don’t know. Probably
not. It seems to come out in the evening.”

“Does any of this ever scare you? I feel like we’re in the
opening credits of a cheesy horror flick.” I step over a twisted root.

“This is kind of my hobby, remember?” Gabe smiles. He seems
to have a lot of different smiles. Some are sad smiles, and some are thoughtful
like the one perching on his lips now. Some hide things. Gabe and his smiles.
Tarren and his frowns. Maya and her sighs.

“Not ever?” Ferns reach out and brush my socks.

A ruddy flame sparks and dies in Gabe’s aura. The smile on
his face grows wider, and this is how I know he’s going to lie.

“Nah, course not.” He shrugs and keeps walking. “I’m a
warrior, baby. Death, destruction, and impossible escapes are what I live for.
Much like Chuck Norris.” 

“Of course. Forget I asked.” The low hanging branches keep
clutching at my hat, and I have to put a hand on the brim to keep it in place. 
We stop, and Gabe consults his map again.

“They found the homeless guy ‘bout a quarter mile up the
trail.” He shrugs off his backpack and pulls out a bright yellow box. It’s
bigger than a lunch box, with a handle jutting out from the top. I lean over
the machine and watch as a needle beneath its faceplate jumps to attention.

“Do you mind?” Gabe arches an eyebrow. “Radiation detector.
Not very useful with you standing next to me.”

I step back, and something twists in my stomach or the place
where my stomach used to be.

“Gabe, is it safe for you to be around me?” I ask. “With the
radiation?”

Gabe fiddles with the device. “Uh-huh, we started taking
radiation pills for that, and Tarren will test our blood at the end of the
month. It’s cool.”

“Oh.” I tug off a wide leaf and twist it between my fingers.

“It’s cool Maya. Really.”

“Sometimes I forget how weird this all is.”

“Everyone’s weird,” he shrugs and gives me a warm smile.
Speaking of Gabe’s smiles, they are the most powerful smiles of anyone I know,
seemingly able to resist even the most direct onslaughts of reality. “We’re
just slightly weirder than most. At least we don’t collect Beanie Babies.”

I give him the laugh he’s looking for, and we share one of
those moments that are becoming more familiar and more important to me.

“Stay here,” Gabe says. “I’ll sweep and see if I can pick up
a trail.” He takes several steps forward, stops, turns to me and says, “Chuck
Norris does not sleep. He waits. Ponder that,” and then resumes his tracking.

I do not ponder Chuck Norris. I ponder all the little snacks
scurrying up the trees and weaving through the plants. Then I remember why
we’re here and ponder how terrifying it would be if some mad, foaming super
human suddenly dropped down out of the trees and disemboweled me with its bare
teeth. Not that angels disembowel people, but I’ve still got those cheesy
horror flicks on my mind.

I look up into the trees, straining to catch some sense of a
predator lurking up there. Then it dawns on me — the only thing that seems to
be dawning in this dismal state — that if I were an angel, or at least an angel
looking for a human snack, the trees are exactly where I would hide.

I ditch the hat and climb up a thick tree. Needles digs into
my skin and hair. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Claw marks? A convenient
bloody handprint? I stand on a high branch and walk out as far as its strength
will support my weight. Scanning the vast area, I try to imagine what route the
angel would have taken. It looks like a whole valley of Christmas trees fanning
out in front of me. They halt at a wide expanse of river. Moisture hangs in the
air, so does the fresh piney scent of the trees, the animal odors and the fresh
release from the wet forest floor. I breathe in, close my eyes and jump,
letting instinct take my body. I don’t catch a scent, don’t find footprints on
the air, but I know the angel has been here. It’s discovered this same natural
pathway through the trees, leaped along the branches just as I am now, thrilled
at the freedom, the rush of motion.

A while later, my eyes spot an unnatural shade of blue among
the leaves, and I find a snag of clothing on a sharp point in the bark. I’m
seventy feet off the ground, standing on a thick branch that none but the most
dexterous or pick-axe-wielding humans could climb.

I loosen the fabric and rub the soft fleece between my
fingers. The swatch is too small to guess at its origins. A jacket?  I close my
eyes and inhale the fabric’s scent. The angel.  I’m deep in the woods now, not
near any paths, not anywhere even the most rugged woodsman would wander. Why
would the angel come this far away from its quarry? I sit down on the branch
and take in the world around me. My eyes find lush tree tops and foggy mountain
silhouettes in the distance.  Lake Sammamish to my right, dark and placid. The
wind thoughtfully explores my face, touching soft lips to my cheeks.

I think I understand. The angel came here to be alone. As
alone as the hunger will allow. Maybe not a complete monster after all. Maybe
something in between. Like me.

I hear Gabe’s voice calling. I hadn’t realized how far I’d
gone, and I quickly make my way back. He calls out my name again, and I am
unexpectedly stirred by the notes of worry in his voice. Without thinking, I
leap from the tree to land in front of him.

Gabe whips out his gun. His aura flares up, all spiky, dark
and violent. The expression on his face is intent and murderous.