Color of Angels' Souls (16 page)

He bent his head expectantly as he asked the question, like a dog waiting for a bone.

“I need you,” Jeremy replied. “It's a question of life and death. If I answer your question, will you help me?”

“Of course,
ja, ja
,” the boy said, giving him a radiant smile. “My pleasure! When you say it's a question of ‘life or death,' I assume you're not talking about an Angel but about one of the living?”

Jeremy nodded and pointed down at his loincloth.

“From what I've been told, it's impossible for a blue Angel like me who just passed over to make his own clothes.”

“Absolutely,” Einstein agreed. “It took me several years to learn how to do it.”

He took some of the Mist floating nearby to transform his jeans and T-shirt into a toga, then into a tuxedo, then into a pair of shorts and sandals, and then finally back into a pair of jeans. Jeremy was suitably impressed. It took him ten times longer than Einstein just to make his stupid loincloth and ridiculous safety pin!

All right then, now it was his turn to show the scientist what he was capable of. He raised himself up on his tiptoes, concentrated with all his might, and grabbed a piece of Mist. Einstein was already surprised by the fact that he could even hold onto the Mist. Jeremy made a warm blue ball and cradled it in the palm of his hand. Then he started to stretch it out like dough, and after a little work he created a solid blue piece of cloth. It was just a simple sheet, but judging by the stunned look on Einstein's face, it was already quite a feat.

“
Unglaublich!
” Einstein uttered.

He gave a suspicious look back over his shoulder at the other scientists, who were gesticulating energetically above their heads. Then he led Jeremy off to a quiet corner of the club.

“That's not normal,” he said. “Not at all. I am very intelligent, and I mean
very
intelligent, and it still took me years to learn how to do what you just did. It was so difficult that I had to depend on other Angels to make clothes for me. I will say it again: You are an exception, Jeremy. Which leads us to a very interesting question: Why you?”

Jeremy had no idea, and also had so many reasons to feel terrified and lonely in this strange new world that he didn't have the luxury of wondering why he was supposed to be so special.

“You're the genius. You figure out all the whys and hows. I held up my half of the bargain, so will you help me? I absolutely must save my friend Allison. The hit man found her! He stuffed her apartment with—”

“Stuffed?” interrupted Einstein in surprise. “Why would he stuff her apartment?”

“No, he didn't stuff it, he bugged it! Filled it with hidden microphones. He wants to find out who she's talked to and then he'll kill her! I have to find a way to warn her!”

Jeremy told Einstein everything that had happened since they last saw each other.

“If you weren't so … special, I wouldn't help you.” Einstein scowled after Jeremy had finished his story. “But now I really don't have a choice. C'mon, let's go.”

“So what are we going to do?” Jeremy asked, still beside himself.

“You and I can't do anything. But I know someone … maybe …”

“Who?” Jeremy asked impatiently. “And how can he help us? I didn't think it was possible, that no one could interfere with the world of the living!”

Einstein just looked at him and smiled, looking very frail in his slim-fit jeans and blue T-shirt.

“Oh yes! We're just going to have to find a Poltergeist for you, that's all!”

The Poltergeist in question didn't live in New York, but in New Jersey. Jeremy was a bit nervous about leaving Allison alone for such a long time, but he had to go with Einstein. He really needed his help. He didn't tell him about his hesitations though, as he'd already taken enough crap from the other Angels over how he'd fallen in love with a living girl.

It took them hours to reach their destination. They had to find cars that were going their way, and then quickly change to another when the vehicle started heading off in the wrong direction. Jeremy got a crash course in dematerializing. He followed Einstein's example and jumped from one car to another without even thinking about it. At first it was … difficult. Actually, it was painful more than anything else, and Jeremy was soon covered with bruises. Einstein only laughed at his plight.

“You young Blues,” he sniggered. “You still don't know how to heal yourselves on the spot. You act as if your body had actually hit something!” But then Albert looked at him more seriously. “Unless you've figured out how to do that as well? After all, you've already accomplished some amazing things—why not one more?”

Jeremy frowned at him. Didn't Einstein realize how bad it hurt?! He tried to concentrate on healing himself, but he must have been too preoccupied with Allison because none of his bruises went away—not the ones he could see at least. He could only imagine what the rest of his body looked like. The pain shooting through him didn't seem to want to leave either.

Einstein looked disappointed, but didn't insist. On their way to New Jersey, Jeremy was surprised when the scientist started grabbing any Mist he could get his hands on—blue or red—and making a bunch of multicolored ropes. He stuffed them all in a backpack that he had also quickly thrown together. Jeremy could hardly believe how easy it was for Einstein to make the two objects, and decided he better get busy learning how to make things himself as fast as possible.

They finally reached their destination.

The two Angels stood in front of the house, which was bathed in the pale moonlight. The place gave Jeremy the creeps. It looked like a haunted house out of some horror flick.

“Poltergeist 24 was last sighted here,” Einstein told him in a low voice. “Quiet now; he can be quite … hostile.”

“I had my hands full back there with all that car hopping,” Jeremy quipped. “So I didn't have much time to ask exactly what it is we're looking for. Poltergeist 24? What else are—?”

“We're not looking for anything. We know exactly where to find him. He's the twenty-fourth Poltergeist exercising his craft within a five-hundred-mile radius of New York. We have an extremely precise map indicating the location of all Poltergeists that have managed to make contact with the world of the living.”

Well really? So now the Angels are keeping track of the Poltergeists. With a map. Made of Mist? Oh great. Jeremy was just thrilled with his new life, and all the surprises it had in store for him. And all the aches and bruises as well. The way his body looked, it was no surprise they called him a “Blue.”

He managed to overcome his momentary bout of cynicism and paid attention to what Einstein was saying.

“Yeah, that's what you said before,” Jeremy muttered. “But I thought it was impossible to make contact with the living!”

“Impossible, no … extremely hard to do in any organized manner, yes. A Poltergeist's chance of success is about one in a thousand, which means they can never get across a coherent message.”

“But how come they can get through, and we can't?”

“Because we're not mad. They are. Stark raving mad. And so, we're going to capture one and transport it back to the apartment of your living friend. Once he's there, he won't be able to make contact with her, but let's hope he can put enough of a spook into her to keep her on her guard. And if she
is
on her guard, maybe she'll catch the killer by surprise. And if she sees the killer, maybe she'll recognize him and report him to the police.”

“That's a lot of
maybes
,” Jeremy said glumly.

“Have you got a better idea?”

“No, no, I'm sorry, I'm just …” Jeremy shook his thick brown hair. “I'm just tired, that's all.”

The scientist muttered something in German under his breath, which Jeremy supposed was a curse of some sort, and then the two of them tiptoed up to the house.

Once inside, they didn't notice anything out of the ordinary at first. It looked as if the rooms had been decorated in the 1960s and had never changed since—except for the worse. It was dark and damp, and strangely enough, Jeremy caught himself shivering.

“Who lives here … I mean, besides Big Number 24?” he whispered.

“An elderly couple. In my opinion, they'll probably be passing over themselves in a short while. Both the owners are deaf as posts, and no one can figure out why ‘Big Number 24,' as you refer to him, keeps trying to communicate with them. But he must have a monumental grudge against them, because he's been knocking on their pipes for a good thirty years now. Their children have brought in dozens of plumbers, but none have been able to find the problem—go figure.”

Jeremy stopped in his tracks.

“You mean to say that all those unexplained noises you hear about—haunted houses and all that—are really Poltergeists? Crazy Angels?”

But then both men were startled by “Boom! Boom! Boom!” noises that rang through the house at irregular intervals.

“Shhhhh! Not so loud,” Einstein hissed. He walked on tiptoes, hugging up against the wall. “Yes. It's much more difficult for them to make noise in newer buildings, because the plumbing is all encased. They have to be in direct contact with the pipes. There are other types of spirits as well. Electricity Poltergeists, for example, who like to mess up electrical currents. In the old days, they used to get a kick out of blowing out candles and leaving everybody in the dark. Now they play havoc with electricity meters, pop light bulbs, and short-circuit refrigerators, washing machines, televisions, and computers. They turn lights and stereos on and off. No one knows why they do these things, but it looks like they have a hell of a good time. And last but not least are the Ectoplasmic Poltergeists. They are able to project an image of themselves on the other side, and on rare occasions, the more perceptive humans can see them. But it requires such a great effort that these Angels can't attempt the exercise again for several months after. Sometimes they even disappear. Some houses have more than one Poltergeist. Here again, no one knows why they pick certain places to reunite, and not others. They are almost always Reds, and they feed off the fear and uneasiness that they themselves create.”

“Why don't you tell the new Angels all this stuff right away?” Jeremy snapped, hardly able to contain his anger. Allison was in danger and crucial information had been kept from him!

Einstein could sense his anger. He replied in a calm voice: “Because almost all the Newcomers like you normally have only one thing on their mind: eating. You truly are an exception, Jeremy. Life is hard on Earth. When the Angels arrive here, they're tired. It's such a relief for them to be able to just have some fun, sleep as long as they want, and spend time with others while they feed off the Mists. No fighting, no survival of the fittest, no competition. Only those who seek revenge, who have obsessions, or who are driven crazy by jealousy, love, or hate try to communicate with the living, or try to ‘warn' them. The older Angels tend to avoid talking about these cases with the Newcomers, as we'd rather not have too many Poltergeists on our hands who lose control.”

Jeremy remembered that Tetisheri had talked about these kinds of Angels, the “Avenging Angels” she had called them.

Albert stopped in front of the door leading to the cellar.

“OK,” he said as he pulled the ropes of Mist out of his backpack and quickly transformed them into a strong net. “Now we're going to pass through the door. Number 24 is sure to be there. And believe me, you'll soon see for yourself why two of us are necessary!”

The two cohorts passed through the door and started making their way down the stairs to the cellar. Jeremy was really on edge now, and could feel the tension mounting with each step.

The red Angel was there, just like Einstein had said. He was too busy smashing away at the pipes to hear them approaching. It was very odd, because only some of the impacts seemed to have any effect. The Angel struck over and over again, but only about one out of every ten hits made any noise in the real world. He wasn't all that big, not so fat and bloated as some of the other Reds Jeremy had seen. His hair was disheveled, and when he turned his head and looked at the two intruders, Jeremy shuddered. His eyes were like two bright lakes of blood.

“Aaaarg!” The Angel howled with rage and charged at them with the enormous bar of Mist that he'd fashioned for himself.

Jeremy attracted his attention by hopping around the cellar and gesticulating, while Albert got in position to throw the net over the enraged Angel. Jeremy had to jump quickly out of the way to avoid the big bar as the Angel brought it crashing down. He had no idea what would happen if the lunatic actually managed to land a blow, and had no intention of finding out. No. 24 finally passed beneath Einstein, who was floating in the air waiting to spring his trap, and he threw his net over the madman's head.

The Poltergeist was so incensed that it took him some time to realize what had happened. He kept running after Jeremy, and Albert, who hadn't been expecting him to lunge forward with such energy, realized too late that he probably should have released the net. He was dragged along behind the mad Angel like an unsuspecting fisherman who had hooked an enormous swordfish. The scientist couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, and since Big No. 24 must have weighed more than double that, there was no way he could slow him down. He began to curse angrily in German, all the while being tossed about behind the Poltergeist like a rag doll.

If the situation hadn't been so desperate, Jeremy would have been tempted to laugh. But as the furious Red continued to thrash at him with his humongous bar, what he regretted most was that Albert had chosen such a bony little body for himself.

He stepped aside as the bar came crashing down yet again and yelled out: “Einstein! He won't stop! What should we do now?”