Traynor. The name is familiar, but I can’t place it right now.
“What did Traynor tell you that you could get?” Abe asks gently.
He swings the gun back and points it at Abe. “I told you to shut the fuck up,” he says coldly. “I will kill you, man. I’ve done worse. I don’t fucking care.”
“I’ve only got a hundred bucks,” I say loudly, trying to get the guy’s attention off Abe and back to me. “It’s yours if you take it and leave now.” I hold it out to him across the counter, both of my hands visible.
He twitches again, the gun coming back in my direction. He takes a step toward me then stops, narrowing his eyes. I can see something stirring in his mind. Whatever it is can’t possibly be good. Cal! I scream again. My heart is starting to pick up in my chest and my palms feel clammy. But I’m also pissed, maybe more so than I’ve been in a long time. This is my store. This is my father’s store. He worked his ass off to make sure this place stayed afloat and I’ve done the same since it became mine. Who the fuck does this guy think he is, walking in here, waving that fucking gun around? This place was my father’s. It is now mine. This is my home.
“Maybe I don’t believe you,” the man says slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “Maybe I don’t believe you about the safe.”
“The bank comes the same time every week,” I tell him, a sneer on my lips. “Just because you’re tweaked out of your mind doesn’t mean I’m lying to you.”
“Not a good idea to upset the guy with the gun,” Abe mutters.
“There’s no money in the back,” I tell him again, my voice hard. “Either take what I’m offering or get the fuck out of my store.”
“I’ll fucking shoot you, you goddamn asshole!”
“Take the money and get out.”
“Benji,” Abe pleads.
I look the guy straight in the eye and say, “Get. Out.”
I think, Cal.
I can see it all, those next few seconds stretched out so that they feel like days. His finger tightens around the trigger, the hammer inches back. A bead of sweat drips down his forehead, slides between his eyes and off the side of his nose, leaving a track like a tear under his sunken right eye. His lips tremble. His shoulder shakes. His finger jerks and the gun fires, the sound surprisingly muffled in the store. Cal, I think again.
The world around me suddenly darkens with a loud rush, and I smell earth, raw and pungent.
Silence.
Then:
A low snarling noise rumbles near my left ear.
“Holy mother of God,” Abe whispers.
The would-be gunman moans.
I open my eyes, unsure of when I closed them.
It’s dark, which confuses me for a moment. Wasn’t it just daylight? And then I wonder if I’ve been shot in the face and am blind. There’s no pain, but I’ve never been shot in the head before, so I don’t know if it’s supposed to hurt. Maybe I should be relieved there’s no pain. If there is no pain, then there can be no sorrow.
The earth smell hits me again. It’s overwhelming and a lump forms in my throat. I don’t know why. This earth is my home, I think, not knowing where it comes from. Then the black ruffles against my face, light and soft scratches. The rumbling near my ear gets louder. Oh, I think. Oh. This? This is…. He’s….
Wings.
The darkness parts in front of me, light forming down the middle and spreading toward my face, the cocoon splitting, the shelter cracking in half. The ruffling of feathers is almost as loud as the rumbling from behind me. They part, the great wings rising above me. Blue. The feathers are so blue, so deep and dark and wonderfully blue that the lump in my throat grows bigger and my eyes burn.
The rumbling turns into a full-on growl and I turn my head to the left. Only inches from me is the face of the angel Calliel, coming slowly into focus. His head is so close to mine I can smell my soap on him, even through the scent of musty earth. The stubble on his head blends into a sideburn that turns into the light beard across his face, a deeper red than I’ve ever noticed before. His eyes look almost completely black. His lips are parted, his teeth bared in fury. The rumbling is coming from him. His chin scrapes my shoulder, and only then do I notice his arms around me protectively, his right across my right shoulder and chest, his left around my waist.
Something catches the corner of my eye and I look up, over his head. The wing above me seems massive, pressed against the ceiling and bending back down toward the floor. A tip of the wing, which I now see is the left, falls toward me. It stops moving down about a foot overhead. The wingtip is still for a moment, but then it starts to shake, twitching back and forth. Something falls. I reach up with my only free hand and catch the object. It’s hot in my hand. I lower it to see.
A round disc of burning metal, squashed flat.
The bullet.