by G.M. Shephard

The police have had little luck finding Liz and Ashley leaving Michael/Karen skeptical that he will ever find his wife and daughter. To make up for his loss, he sets out to use the gift he was given to help others in need.

Angel S:1.5 E:9 “Needle in a Haystack”
By G.M. Shephard
Copyright 2012
Edited by: jeffusually
kiitylover

Episode 9
“Needle in a Haystack”

----police station---

“Hi, I am here to see Detective Reid,” I said to a desk sergeant I had not seen before. He stayed engrossed in his paperwork and talked to me without looking up.

“Can I tell him who’s asking for him?”

“Yes, my name is Karen; he knows who I am.” His eyes remained fixated on his work as his hand reached the proper distance and came to rest directly on the handset. Without glancing at the keypad he dialed an extension and waited a second.

“Reid, I got a --,” He finally looked up at me, paused a moment, and smiled, “-- a pretty little lady named Karen out here to see you.” He listened a minute before hanging up. "Have a seat over there, miss, and the detective will be out in a few,” he said pointing at the row of chairs.

This wasn't a doctor's office — the station didn't have magazines or complementary coffee while the guests waited; it was boring and sterile. I had been here so many times over the past month that I knew I was becoming a nuisance to the police. Sure, it was obvious they had bigger cases on their plates, but still I wanted answers, and my faith in law enforcement was diminishing the more I interacted with them. I had been here on Tuesday, but was turned away after waiting for twenty minutes. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the sergeant staring at me, enjoying the pleasant visual feast my image was giving him.

Ignoring the stare-down as best as I could, I recalled my experience yesterday where I ventured back to the Midwest in search of the missing crystal. The search was hopeless, and I gave up just as soon as I started. The early snowstorm that hit the Midwest destroyed much of the country's corn crop just as the farmers were in the middle of harvest. The snowy landscape made identifying the field where I had made my embarrassing crash landing virtually impossible. The weather conditions were so poor that farmers left the destroyed stalks in the ground, where they turned white from the snow. Any gouges in the fields made by impacting meteors were covered from view, and nothing in my visual range could detect them. I visited many fields searching for some of the landmarks, all of which were hidden in the white powder that made identifying their precise location almost impossible.

Even without the snow, everything looked different. Most of the areas I had covered in Oklahoma had only scattered fields. My memory of that morning was distinct — the landscape was nothing but cornfields, leading me to conclude I had been further north that morning than I thought.

I checked my compass and headed northbound at 25,700 ft., staying well below the normal cruising altitude of passenger aircraft to avoid any more run-ins with commercial aircraft. Knowing my precise altitude and direction could help me avoid further near-misses. Eastbound passenger craft would be flying at odd-numbered altitudes, one of 33,000, 35,000 or 37,000 ft., while westbound craft would travel in even-numbered altitudes with 1,000-foot separation between them and the eastbound flights.

Looking below, I noticed that the snow layer was getting thicker and thicker the further north I headed. “This is pointless,” I said aloud in the privacy of the clouds, “this is worse than a needle in a haystack.” There is no way I could have ventured this far north, but as I looked below, the density of frozen cornfields was increasing. In the end, I decided that wherever that crystal was, it wasn’t going to be found this time of year. In a couple of months, the ground snow will start melting and the landscape will become recognizable again, making searching possible.

"Hi Karen,” Reid said, snapping me out of my deep thought, “I'm really sorry I haven't been getting back to you. There is a lot going on lately and we are really busy. Come back to my desk and we can go over a few things." Reid led me through a maze of cubicles and desks. The sound of typewriters and modern computer keyboards filled the room as detectives typed reports. Several other detectives had others at their desks taking statements regarding their own cases.

"Here, have a seat. Can I get you anything?"

"No thank you; I am fine," I said as I took a seat at his desk.

"Probably a good idea; the coffee here sucks. All things considered, how was your Christmas?" He opened a drawer and reached all the way into the back for the Owen file.

“It was okay; how about yours?”

“I had to work. Supposed to be a happy time of year, but lots of burglaries and domestic disputes. I did get to sneak away with my girlfriend for a few. How about you? You spend it with anyone special?”

“No, just a good friend of mine,” I said rather too quickly, surprising him.

“Well, keep that quiet around here. These guys will be all over you, and as my girlfriend will tell you, dating a cop is only cool for so long.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

"So the last time we talked, we went over some of the false reports we received. I had you look over the names to see if anyone seemed familiar. It takes a long time, and we are stretched thin, but we checked out the ones that seemed to stand out; each one a dud." I was getting used to disappointment.

"So where do we go from here?"

"Well, this is complicated. The good news is, due to your brother’s international status, the Feds are now involved. I don't particularly like turning cases over to them, but they have better resources and could help us out. The bad news is there is simply no sign of foul play, and they too are prioritizing the case under the pile with a fair amount of leads. Elizabeth and Ashley just up and vanished on or around October 17th, leaving nothing behind as a clue."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

Reid shuffled through the thin stack of papers within the folder. "Here, take a look at these. These are the phone records for your brother's house. See all the calls coming in, along with their durations? The length of calls started getting shorter and shorter, following your theory that she was becoming withdrawn. Now, notice anything strange starting on October 17th? Calls continue, but she's no longer answering. Everything from her phone records, banking, social activity — it all suddenly stops on this day." I scanned all 10 pages of data, committing every date, time and phone number to memory. After I was done with the phone list, I switched to the banking records.

"Don't you find it strange that the banking stopped? There were no sudden large withdrawals, no closing of accounts. Nothing. Someone that was planning on taking a trip somewhere would have taken cash out."

"You are very bright; that's good detective work there. That bothers me too. The best case, she voluntarily ran off with someone and left her old life behind. It happens — "

"No, my…my sister-in-law wouldn't just leave!"

“Karen, I am not saying she did. I am simply running through all possibilities. That’s my job, to think about things that seem unthinkable.” This meeting was going nowhere; it was obvious that this case was going to get shelved into the cold-case files in record time. I had to change the subject.

“Detective, I have a request.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“My brother’s place has some serious signs of neglect. The lawn is overgrown, the gutters are filthy, not to mention that the inside could use a little work. I would like to be able to go over there and maintain it a little, if anything to give it an appearance someone is home.”

“Let me look into that for you. I believe we have swept the house several times, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Let me just make sure we have what we need, and we can open it back up. As long as you have access, I don’t see the harm. Let me pass this by a few people here — ” Before he could finish, the phone rang.

"Reid," he paused, listening. "Okay, I will be right there." He hung up the phone and cleared the files off his desk.

"Karen, I have to attend to something. It won't take long if you want to wait, otherwise I can meet with you tomorrow and I should have an answer for you." I didn't have any intention of letting him out of my grasp; he was avoiding me enough, and I wanted answers.

"Thank you; I can wait." He opened his drawer and withdrew his service weapon, securing it in the shoulder holster he was still wearing and put on his white sports coat. He looked as if he had been watching too much Miami Vice and decided to throw out the typical western attire of Texas for a more ‘trendy’ look.

"If you need anything, you let someone know." He left me alone while I stared at the contents of his desk. Across the way, two beat cops were sitting starting at me, whispering to each other.

“If she needs help, I would be glad to mow her lawn for her,” one of them said to the other. They laughed and high-fived each other. It was sickening and it pissed me off. It’s bad enough being gawked at constantly, but having to hear the disgusting chauvinistic banter from these jerks lowered my self-esteem to unbelievably low levels. I couldn't take hearing this anymore, and struggled to tune them out any way I could. After a while of manipulating my jaw as if trying to clear my ears in higher altitudes, I finally found that sweet spot. It took many further tries, but I eventually found I was able to adjust my hearing the same as my vision. Like working with a sound mixer, I found I was able to filter out sounds. Trying to ignore the two cops, I concentrated, and found that I was able to filter them out and focus in on other conversations.

As I listened to other interviews, I found my situation wasn’t unique. There were so many others that were desperate for police help. It was depressing as I listened, realizing the police had many other cases they couldn’t do anything about. In the cubicle next to me, a husband and wife, Carl and Cindy, had been burglarized on Christmas Eve. The thief was a heartless wretch and stole all the presents they had bought their two children. Someone must have seen them store the toys in the garage and when they left for the night, the thief broke into the side door leading into the garage. Cindy was in tears, as they had been struggling to make ends meet and now they had nothing to give their children for Christmas. The detective handling the case tried his best to comfort them, but he had no leads. He knew that even in the unlikely event that they caught the thief, the merchandise would be long gone, and this poor family still would be out of luck.

I listened closely as the couple ran through a complete, itemized list of everything they had bought their two kids that was stolen out of their home at 2112 Jim Bowie Dr. I thought about how I might be able to track down the person that did this to them, and if there were a way, recover the toys for this poor family. Dolls and Star Wars toys simply weren’t on the police’s top priority list, but I had the time to make it mine. I redirected my hearing and scanned the array of conversations.

A few cubicles down, a woman was pleading with the officer taking her statements. She was clearly upset and desperate for help. Of all the people seeking help this day, this one touched my heart more than the rest. For some reason, her troubles drew my attention. She was crying and begging the police to help her.

"Mrs. Millbourne, your husband tells a different story. He said you fell — "

"I didn't fall, I didn't run into the door, and my son didn't accidentally throw a baseball at my face — the fucking bastard is beating the shit out of me, while you assholes have your thumbs up your asses. You really gonna — "

" — Mrs. Millbourne, let's calm dow — "

" — Calm down?! I won't calm down! I'm scared, I'm living in fear every day, and the very people that are supposed to protect me think my husband's standing in the community is somehow more important."

"Why don't you just leave?"

"Really, that's your answer?! I can't; he would cancel my accounts and leave me penniless. I have no one to turn to, and even if I did, he would come find me." She had had enough and grabbed her bag, storming out of the room.

As she left, I caught a glimpse of her and studied her face. I, too, uncertain that the police gave a crap about me, got up and left, trailing her into the parking lot. She hurried past the cluster of cubicles and made her way toward the front desk before finally exiting into the cold. I made my way to the edge of the parking lot while tracking her. There were too many cameras and people around for me to take off, but if I could position myself across the street, I might be able to follow her on foot until I found a place I could safely take off without being seen. As I crossed the street, I watched as she got into a metallic blue BMW. I focused my eyes out of the normal scope at which people could see, and observed her sitting in her car for ten minutes crying through my peripheral vision. She was far away and there was too much traffic for me to hear anything she was saying, but it was clear she was afraid. Finally, she turned the engine on and drove out of the parking lot.

-------

Cindy finished clearing the table while the kids went to watch TV. Carl sat in silence, pouring the last of the cheap wine he and Cindy had had with dinner. He was still beating himself up over leaving the side door open that had allowed the thief to enter the garage and rob them blind. Cindy saw the torment her husband was going through and came over, taking a seat on her husband’s lap. She put her hands on his cheeks and kissed his forehead.

“Honey, it’s not your fault,” she said, trying to comfort him.

“But it is! I should have closed the back door and locked it.”

“Come on, one shouldn’t have to make sure we lock our back door when we go out. This is a safe neighborhood; things like this don’t happen here. Please, you are going to make things worse by letting that bastard get to you. We have each other, and we are all together, that’s what is really important.” She sat on his lap and hugged him, “I love you.” Carl reached up and held his wife.

“I’m glad I have all of you too. You’re right, all the material stuff isn’t important. Still, it’s heartbreaking to watch them robbed of what should have been a pleasant Christmas memory. I think we should tell them the truth.”

Cindy had a strange look on her face. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetie, right now, they think Santa Claus screwed them. They’re great kids and they know that. It’s crushing them, thinking that the big man doesn’t care. Besides, this is a great time for us to start teaching them that there are people out there whose greed overcomes their sense of right and wrong.”

“So we are going to instead rob them of their childhood? I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Cindy said with reluctance. “In a few months, we can make it up to them. They will get over it.”

“I disagree; I think it’s a good time to talk to them about it. Besides, they are eight and nine; we are not going to be carrying on the Santa routine that much longer. It’s a silly fantasy anyways.”

Cindy considered their ages and came to agree with her husband. He was right about everything. She did love the Santa routine, as it was one of her favorite memories when she was a little girl, but she was about eight when one of her friends at school spoiled it for her and told her Santa wasn’t real.

“I guess you’re right; someone is going to tell them at school, and we will become bad parents for lying to them.” Cindy saw the look in her husband’s eyes that he indeed wanted to go through with it. She hugged him and gave him another kiss, then turned to her two precious kids.

“Kids, turn off the TV and come over here. Your father and I have something we need to talk to you about.” Both of them groaned as they were just getting into their TV time. Like a pair of juvenile zombies, they dragged their feet toward the kitchen table.

“What do you want, Mom?” her son Danny asked. She patted the empty chair as her way of telling him to take a seat. Once they were settled in, Carl took the lead and began talking to them.

“Kids, I know this was a bad Christmas, and I know you are blaming yourselves, thinking this was something you did. Your mother and I have something we need to say.” He paused, suddenly lost for words. After a minute of trying to find the right thing to say, Cindy took over.

“What your father is trying to say, is, you two have been very good, and in no way, is any of this your fault.”

“But how come Santa didn’t come this year? All our other friends got stuff.” Cindy was about to respond to her daughter Emily, when a loud noise sounded from above. Something hit the roof. Carl scooted his wife off his lap and got up, listening. The kids became alarmed and ran over to their parents. Carl reached behind his chair for his Louisville Slugger and started preparing for a second meeting with the sick bastard that ruined his family’s Christmas.

“Stay inside,” he ordered his family and he opened the back door.

“Carl, don’t go out there — it’s not worth it. Let’s just call the police.” He ignored her; being the man he was, he went out anyway, scanning his dark backyard for the would-be thief.

“Come out, you bastard!” he yelled as he looked up on his roof not finding anything.

“Carl, come inside,” Cindy called out. He wasn’t going to listen. “Do you see anything?” Carl was about to chalk it up to a meteor hitting the roof when he turned around to find himself staring at a tall blonde woman in a Santa suit holding a large sack. He became frightened at her sudden appearance from out of nowhere. He had just scanned the backyard finding nothing, yet here she was standing and looking at him. He raised the bat, ready for action. She was unafraid and had a very confident presence before him. There was something about her, something almost divine.

“Who are you?” he asked as his family slowly ducked their heads out to see the strange figure. She smiled at him.

“Carl, your troubles have been heard, and someone wants to make sure your family has a good Christmas. It’s a little late, but I think I have everything you want in this bag.” The bat fell out of his hands and onto the grass as his wife and children took a position beside him. Cindy was choking up at what she was hearing. Upon seeing the children, the woman unslung the heavy bag and set it on the grass, squatting next to it. She motioned for the kids as she opened the bag, revealing a sack full of wrapped presents.

“Santa is a little tired, but he wanted me to come make a special delivery,” she said to the kids as they saw every Christmas wish finally came true.

“Are you Mrs. Claus?” Emily asked.

“Something like that. Danny, Emily, you have wonderful parents who love you very much. I know you two have been very good, and Santa’s very sorry he missed your house yesterday. You two keep being good, you promise me?” The little boy and girl both nodded in agreement with wide eyes. Carl, never showing emotion, was tearing up.

“I can’t believe this — this is a real miracle,” the woman cut him off before he said too much.

“Carl, Cindy, the big guy wanted you to have something special as well. You two take care and have a very Merry Christmas,” the stranger said as the kids, excited, started tearing into the bag laying the packages on the ground. Carl and Cindy, not wanting the paper getting wet from the grass, bent over to stop them.

“Not here, wait. Let’s take them inside. Say thank you to Mrs. Claus here,” Carl said as he pointed to the woman. He looked up, finding his hand pointing at nothing. They all looked around the yard, but no trace of her remained. She just vanished. Suddenly Emily shouted, pointing towards the sky.

“Look!” Carl, Cindy, Danny and Emily all tilted their heads back in time to catch a red blur streaking across the sky. Their kids’ expressions were featureless compared to their parents’. It was completely normal for children to believe what they just saw, but Carl tried desperately to comprehend what he just witnessed, truly a Christmas miracle, one that turned him into a believer.

-------

I ascended into the cold winter night watching the family below me. My actions made me proud and I enjoyed watching them as their Christmas tragedy became a holiday story the kids will tell their grandchildren someday. It felt great being able to do something for others. What I couldn’t do for my Liz and Ashley I was able to make up for by helping make someone else’s Christmas special. The officer was right; finding that thief would be near impossible. Instead, I used some of the money I would have used in the hotel and spent the better part of the day tracking down everything on the list those desperate parents read off to the detective. Everything and then some, all so that those children would have a Christmas to remember. Even the poor parents — I left a little of my father’s money so that they could get back onto their feet. It wasn’t much, but my needs were little these days. If I wanted to, I could live without a home, happy and free with no need for shelter to keep me warm, or give me a place to sleep. I could travel the world without spending a dime, and food was a pleasure, since I received most of my energy from the sun. If I wanted to, I could live on very little, and it made my day to help a poor family have the merriest of Christmases.

I headed north following the streets, looking for another family that needed a miracle.

-------

"Mommy, if we’re all that's left, why do I need to study and do homework?" Ashley, thinking very rationally, asked her mother.

"That's a good question, but let me ask you: What if we're not the only ones, what if there are more out there hiding just like we are? Don't you think it would be beneficial to have a good education? Think about it — you might be the smartest girl on earth."

Liz needed to keep herself and Ashley occupied and took to spending a better part of the day schooling her. It was difficult without resources and she hoped Dwayne would be able to find some books somewhere. Before Ashley was born, Liz had taught at the Jr. High level, having earned her BA in education, and taught English and History for five years before giving it up to be a full-time mom. She missed the classroom and hoped that when her daughter was older, she could resume, but being a mom was very satisfying, and now she could do both. It helped speed up the days, as it occupied their minds, distracting them from the horrible truths that existed outside the heavy steel door.

"I guess so, but what if we are really alone?"

"Ashley, you can't think like that. You know there are over 5 billion people on the planet? That’s a lot of people; I bet you at least 20% are hiding somewhere else. We won't be alone forever."

"Are you and Dwayne going to get married?" The question surprised her; she had been careful not to be seen alone with him, but young kids are very observant and she was obviously picking up on the fact that she and Dwayne had been a little friendlier than at first. Truth was, she didn't like him much, and she knew Ashley didn't either. He had done a lot for them, to keep them safe, but Liz felt much shame offering herself to him as repayment. She owed him her life, but not herself, and it pained her deeply that Michael wasn’t really able to see what she was doing. She was hurting deep inside, and the brief moments of pleasure did release some of the pain, but soon after, it returned, stronger than before. If Ashley was detecting even a hint that she and Dwayne were shacking up together, it could be very traumatic as she too was hurting inside; all she had was her mother to comfort her. Ashley couldn't escape into a bottle, or share in the intimacy of another's embrace. She was fragile at this age, and everything she watched her mother do would be embedded into her life, possibly duplicated down the road.

"Ashley, honey, I don't love Dwayne — I love your father. I miss him every day, I really do. Never forget that. Dwayne has been very good to us and keeps us safe. I am just trying to take care of him; he's alone too. I hope you understand."

"Kinda. He is nice, he brings me stuff, but he mostly ignores me when he is here."

"I'm sorry, honey, you know I will never ignore you, right?" She nodded, "Good, now give your mother a kiss and let's get back to work. Thirty more minutes and we can stop for the day. Deal?"

-------

I hovered above the house, listening. It was a large, fancy house, one owned by Clint Millbourne, a wealthy Texan who struck it rich in the oil business. After the police station, I followed Victoria Millbourne to the home of her friend who was watching her two sons. Overhearing their conversation, I learned that Clint had been traveling and hadn’t been home for three days. He was due back sometime tonight, so I returned and waited for him. The house sat on a sizable chunk of land and didn’t have any immediate neighbors.

I scanned the house in infrared while listening for any activity. It felt wrong having such access to people’s private lives. Their every movement and every whisper were mine, making me slightly uncomfortable. Using these powers would require restraint to keep them from corrupting me. It was simply too easy to invade people’s privacy. Even attempting to keep one safe, there was still a line I felt I shouldn’t cross.

The house was quiet and the two shapes inside seemed to be asleep. The smaller of the two that I guessed was the woman’s young son slept in his own room down the hall, while the husband was nowhere to be seen. After about twenty minutes, around 10:30 p.m., Mr. Millbourne's Ferrari pulled into the driveway. Clearly drunk, he stumbled out of the car and made his way toward the house. Mrs. Millbourne’s white silhouette sat upright in bed the moment she heard her husband opening the front door. She ran to the bedroom door and listened for a moment. She then returned to a sleeping position, most likely pretending to be sound asleep to avoid any confrontations. It was no use; he was already yelling at her and he hadn't even made it up the stairs yet.

"Where are my shirts?!" he yelled coming into the room, "Wake up, get the fuck out of bed! I asked you a simple favor, to pick up my shirts for tomorrow, and you can't even do that! You have very little expected of you around here." He grabbed her and pulled her out of bed.

“NO! STOP IT, PLEASE, STOP IT,” she begged. I didn’t need any super hearing to hear every word she was saying. I had seen all I needed. He was indeed a prick. He didn’t give a crap about his shirts; it was just an excuse to dominate her. He likely had a father that beat the crap out of him when he was a kid, and instead of breaking the chain, decided to add another link to the long line of family abuse. This bastard was a poor example of a man. For the first time, I found myself preferring being the person I was now, than being a male asshole.

I floated outside the window watching as the situation slowly escalated. Time to do something.

______

Millbourne easily blocked the feeble attempts of his wife’s counter attack. She tried fending him off by throwing things at him.

“Stupid bitch, you can’t hurt me. Try all you want, you’re too weak,” he paused in thought, bringing a smile to his face. “Tell you what, I will let you have a free shot at me. Hit me in the face as hard as you want and I won’t do anything to stop you.” Millbourne presented his face to her, leaning forward while putting his hands behind his back. She clenched her fist as if falling into his trap. Her weak punch would do little to hurt him and would likely hurt her more in the process. Either way, his dominance will be clearly established.

“COME ON, DO IT, HIT ME YOU BITCH!”

She wanted so much to take advantage of this free offer—if it were indeed free—but it would only give him an excuse to beat her harder. She wished she were strong enough to fight back and resented her weakness, her sense of complete helplessness
to the situation he constantly kept her in.

“That’s what I thought. Let me get something straight with you: I own the police, I get one more call you went to go see them, and you will wish you were dead, you ungrateful bitch.”

She was crying and terrified, truly wishing for death rather than going through another night of this. She had tried leaving so many times, but she hadn’t worked since she was 19. He made all the money, and any time she tried to run off with the kids, he would simply make a call to the bank and freeze all her accounts. She had no family to turn to, and after a night exposing her kids to the homeless in a shelter, she was forced to go back to her tyrant husband.

In the beginning of the marriage, he was kind and gentle; a true gentleman. They were in love, but after she started having kids, things started falling apart. The custody issue trapped her into his control and she played right into the game he had in mind all along. Once she was totally dependent on him, his abuse started to escalate, eventually turning violent. After the first couple of beatings, she tried to run, but he was simply too powerful a person. She hated him, she hated herself. Suicide would have been an option if it were only her, but the idea of leaving her sons behind where they would grow up in his despicable image would be unthinkable. If there were anything she could do, it would be to tough it out and make sure her two boys knew to love and respect women.

“I’m superior in every way, and you will start respecting me. Haven’t you learned by now, that you can have a good life if you just do as I say?” He raised his hand to hit her when his car alarm went off. He paused for a moment, making sure it was indeed his alarm. Instead of hitting her, he pushed her onto the bed.

“Stay put, I’m not done with you,” he said, pointing at her as he ran down the stairs and out the front door, grabbing the remote to his Ferrari’s alarm on the way out.

As he walked down the path, his eyes were focused on finding the right button to silence the ear-piercing alarm. Finding it, he pressed the magic button, killing the sound that was more annoying than useful for deterring thieves. “It's pointless in this neighborhood,” he thought. This was a very wealthy area of town, loosely filled with expensive homes on large acres of property. Most of his neighbors were too far away to hear him roughing up his wife, and any alarms going off were always the result of some small scurrying animal. The alarm drove him nuts at times; he knew he could easily afford to replace his ride, but Clint Millbourne’s Testarossa was his girl, and he pampered his baby like nothing else that belonged to him. He walked around the car, inspecting every inch, ensuring it was as spotless as he had left it twenty minutes ago.

He stood looking toward the street, trying to locate any signs of any intruders into his secure property. Satisfied it was just an animal, he turned to walk back to finish his business and perhaps get a little something after. As he faced the front door, he was startled by the sudden appearance of a tall woman standing between him and the front door. She was beautiful with long flowing blonde hair and a slender face. The stranger was clothed in all-black clothing.

“Well hello, pretty.” She was silent and just stood there. “You got a name, angel?”

“Good guess. How did you know?” She answered back.

“Angel? Really? Well, you sure look it.” Clint approached the strange woman standing on his walkway. She walked past him, brushing him as she walked toward his car.

“Quite a ride you got,” she said admiring his car.

“Hell yes she is — she’s my pride and joy.”

“Most guys with a ride like this are trying to compensate for other areas they are lacking in. You’re not lacking anything, are you, Clint?”

“Hey, don’t touch her!” he shouted as the woman put her gloved hand all over the hood, caressing the sleek curves. “Are you deaf? Get your fucking paws off her!”

She retracted her arms and stood to face him. “I’m curious, Clint; you treat this piece of shit car like a woman, and you treat your woman like a piece of shit. Your priorities seem a little out of whack.”

“Hey, fuck you! How do you know my name?! Who the fuck are you, and what business is it of yours how I treat my whore? How the hell did you get over the gate?” he said, slurring his curse words, still drunk from his night out.

“Such a tough man you are. Bet it feels so good knowing you can beat the crap out of weak defenseless females.” Her mouth was starting to enrage Clint. He had never had a woman dare talk to him this way. “You know, Clint, I am starting to think that you are indeed lacking in the manhood department. You like beating up weaker people? Is that how you make up for what you lack between your legs, or is it your Ferrari Testicle here?” He walked over to her with his fists clenched. “Aww, what’s the matter, Clint, or should I call you Clit? Did I strike a nerve? I tell you what, you pussy, let’s play a little game; see if you can man up. I will let you get your first shot in; go for it. Land one right here as hard as you can; that’s if you have the balls.”

“Get the fuck off my property or I will call the police.”

“Jeez, is that the best you can do? I thought you were tough. You might as well have your wife take you shopping for a dress tomorrow, because you belong in one, you wuss.”

That was it. Clint snapped, falling right into the same trap he had laid out for his wife just moments ago. In his rage, he drove a hard right hook to her face. His hand accelerated with all the force he could muster in his drunken state. As his hand got closer to the target, he noticed with his blurry vision that she remained still, not flinching. She was really going to let him hit her. As his hand impacted her right cheek, he was hoping it would shut her up. Instead of her face giving under the force, his hand came to a sudden stop, buckling as if he had just punched a concrete wall. He could hear and feel the bones in his hand and wrist shattering followed shortly after by searing pain shooting up his arm. He doubled over, fighting the agony, trying desperately to keep from screaming.

“Really, that’s all you got? Jeez, Clit, no wonder you need to hit girls — you hit like you are one. You seriously just broke your hand hitting this face? Damn, you’re pathetic.”

Now he was really pissed. He must have misjudged his last hit and hadn’t tightened his fist enough. This time he would go for a softer target. He lured her closer until her stomach was within reach. With his remaining good hand, he punched the bitch hard right in the abs. Again, instead of a soft target, his left hand crackled from the solid impact. Not nearly as bad as the first, but his left hand was now clearly broken as well. She approached, still unafraid.

“Stop, don’t come any closer,” he shouted as he tried to back up. As his car blocked his escape, she reached out and grabbed him by his suit jacket and lifted him effortlessly off the ground as he kicked helplessly. “Who the fuck are you? Let me go!”

“Let’s just say I’m your wife’s guardian angel,” she said. Before he could laugh, he felt himself being whisked high into the air. The ground disappeared below him as the mysterious woman flew high into the night sky, carrying him with her. He was screaming when she came to a stop in the clouds some 10,000 feet up. Below, the lights of the Christmas-decorated houses illuminated the dark landscape. At this height, it was freezing and Clint's teeth were chattering. His hands were throbbing from the pain induced by the fractured bones shifting around inside.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Simple, I'm going to drop you. Better grab hold of something. He tried to manipulate his mangled fingers when she let go of him. Gravity took hold as he plunged toward the city lights below. He was at terminal velocity in a matter of seconds. His screaming increased as he wondered how he went from the predator to prey in such a short time. He was about 1,600 feet off the ground when the angel's hand grasped his swelling wrist and slowed his decent. The pain was too much to bear as his weight was now being supported by his damaged appendage. She took him back up to 10,000 ft.

“Please, it hurts. Let go of my ar—”

“Really bad choice of words there,” she said, releasing her grip on him again, this time only letting him fall a few hundred feet before grabbing ahold of his ankle holding him upside down. A wet spot appeared in his pants and traveled up his inverted body, soaking his shirt with warm wet urine. “Aww, we gotta get you diapers now too?”

“PLEASE STOP, IT HURTS! PLEASE!” He was broken and pleading with her to stop.

“Why? Your wife pleads with you all the time to stop, yet you smack her around more just for asking you to stop. I say we keep going.” She let go again, following him to the below the minimum chute deployment altitude of 1,000 feet before slowing his free fall, bringing him to a stop at 20 feet. New foul smells permeated the air as his fear loosened his bowels.

“That was fun, wanna do it again?” she asked. He was crying profusely and begging to be let go. The angel set him down. He was too much of a mess to try running, although the thought crossed his mind. She grabbed his upper arm tightly and spoke directly to him.

“Listen up, you prick. I got the sad duty to follow you everywhere and watch everything you do. I personally don’t like the sight of you, but I don’t pick the humans to watch over. From this point forward, you will respect your wife, and treat her with dignity, submitting yourself to her. Otherwise, when I see you step out of line, you and I are going to have another encounter that will make this one look like a walk in the park. Do you understand me?” He quickly shook his head up and down. “Good, because you will not be able to see me, but I will always be watching. I can disappear, and become anyone I want. You will never know where I am, and no one on this earth can protect you from me,” she said as she opened the door to his precious sports car.

“What are you going to do?” Clint asked as she sat his soiled pants on the leather seat and buckled him in place.

“We are going to fix your priorities tonight. I recommend aspirin for the headache.”

“What headac—” he tried to ask before she hit him quickly on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

---

It was the middle of the night and no one was awake; the balconies were empty, not a soul in sight to see me return. As fast as I could so that I would only appear as a brief streak, I flew into the open door, coming to an instant stop the moment I was in the cover of darkness. I was getting better at controlling my speed, now able to exceed the speed of sound and stop on a dime without causing any structural damage to property. I walked over to the phone and dialed.

"Front desk," a voice answered on the other end.

"Yes, can I get a wakeup call for 7 a.m. please?"

“Sure thing ma’am.” After declining any further assistance, I hung up the phone and got comfortable. If Clint were smart, he would keep his mouth shut. If things worked out to my favor, he would now be the one living every day in fear that I am constantly watching him. He would have about six months of healing before he could resume any abuse, but paranoia would set in, keeping him on constant edge. The fear of his wife’s heavenly protector appearing at any moment would be enough to stop his violence. With any luck, he will see that even though he doesn’t deserve it, she will show compassion for him, and he will learn to love her. All this was wishful thinking; his type change briefly in response to getting caught, quickly reverting to their evil ways after a few weeks. Clint will need a few more visits to knock some sense in him. If he turns out to be stupid, he will blab that he broke his hands punching a woman fitting my description, who afterwards threw his car into a rock wall and put his drunk ass into the driver’s seat. A story like that will land him in the nut farm real fast, and problem solved. Still, to be cautious, I checked into a cheaper room at my favorite hotel in DC earlier in the day. I spent time in key government buildings with thick security hoping to imprint my image onto the many thousands of cameras.

The hotel staff knew me. Bernard, happy I chose to come back with no hard feelings, made sure I was comfortable. After a brief explanation that I was ditching my married name, and a nice tip to avoid further questions, I checked in under the name Karen Santucci, using my mother’s maiden name. Clint’s story, even if the police believed it for a second, would fall apart after my alibis checked out, bringing him closer to the rubber room. The simple answer would have been to disguise myself with a wig, some makeup and maybe some thick glasses, but the perfection Kaaren’s face radiates would be needed to convince him, along with my supernatural abilities, that I was indeed who I said I was, and there was no force on Earth that could protect him should he step out of line. My plan was solid. People lie and make up strange stories when confronted with their misdeeds. Crashing his car while driving drunk is enough to pass his fairy tale off as anything other than just that. As for my description, what angel isn’t a tall blond heavenly beauty?

I lay down on the bed, proud of the good I had done this week. Megan is right: I do have a gift, and it’s time I stop feeling sorry for myself and use what I have been given to help people. All these powers and abilities I possess, and yet I am just as helpless as the police. It’s understandable that they can’t do much for my situation, but in so many cases where they can make a difference, they either can’t do anything or don’t want to do anything. Carl and Cindy have two happy children and a little boost to get them back on their feet. Victoria…well, she is free. Whether she uses that freedom to escape, or to show compassion to a man who never knew what it is like to be loved growing up…well, that will be her decision to make. A big smile came over my face as I stared up at the ceiling.

“Kaaren, wherever you are, I hope your mission is working out better than mine is. I know you can’t hear me, but I’m sorry for the things I said to you. This isn’t working out the way I thought it would when I stepped into that chamber, but I am not going to throw away what you gave me. I ask you, if you can hear me: I need your help finding my family. The crystal is gone, and I don’t know what I am capable of. If there is something that can help, please help me.” It was stupid talking to her, but it was comforting. There was no way that she could hear me, or even see me, but I liked to think she could. Before passing out for a while, I shifted my attention and prayed to God the same prayer. I drifted to sleep hoping that one of the two would hear my cries.

----

It was a quiet Thursday morning, and the museum had not yet filled up. While content on my own, I joined a small group of aviation-enthusiastic early birds on a guided tour. The tour guide was an elderly man, Jack, as he insisted on being called. He was in his sixties and had flown the F-6F Hellcat in the Pacific against the deadly AM62 Japanese Zero. He took pride in telling us about the time an ace Japanese pilot with 9 kills mistook his powerful new plane for the weaker Wildcat, hoping he would stall out, making his helpless aircraft an easy kill. The Hellcat had the power to make the climb, and when the Zero finished its loop expecting a tenth kill, it became the first of many Hellcat victories. I loved listening to everything this old man was saying. I felt as if all the femininity I was living with for the last couple months suddenly vanished, and I was back to normal, shooting the breeze with my buddies. Having Megan in my life was wonderful, but I was missing talking to the guys. This old man had no care in the world how beautiful I was — he was faithful to his first love, and gave all his passionate affection to his planes. I wanted to take him out for dinner and let him talk for hours.

“This here is the Wright Brothers’ famous plane, where on that morning of December 17, 1903, Orville flew a whopping 120 feet when he landed and realized his luggage was missing.” The crowd was in an uproar laughing at just how true that statement is in the modern aviation world.

Half way through the tour, I began to shut up, much to Jack’s disappointment. I was impressing him with my aviation knowledge, but simultaneously pissing off the crowd of supposed know-it-alls. I was getting snide looks, and the comments I could hear being whispered between the guys was worse. The only one that treated me like a human was Jack. The tour progressed through his favorite era and into the modern age, before finishing at a full scale mockup of the Space Shuttle’s forward fuselage where guests could sit in the flight deck.

“Anyone know anything about the Space Shuttle?” The crowd started pointing at me, but I swallowed my pride and declined. It would only be showing off if I offered it up. It was clear that Jack’s knowledge of modern aircraft wasn’t as good as of the earlier planes, but it was still impressive nonetheless. The tour ended and the group ran off to the gift shop, more interested in souvenirs than actually learning about aviation history. I was then alone with Jack.

“Mighty impressive knowledge you have there about aircraft, miss. You impressed the hell out of this old man, and that’s not something most men I know can do.” I was flattered by the way he worded his compliment, taking great care to elevate me above the elite.

“Thank you, sir. I rather enjoyed every moment. I usually never take tours, but today, I am glad I did.” He reached out to shake my hand and I quickly offered it into his tender care, but he gave me the honor of a man’s hand shake.

“Very pleased to meet you, Miss …?”

“Karen. Quite honored to meet you, sir,” I said, instantly reverting to my military protocol and addressing superiors with the respect they deserve.

“So how does one as young as you know so much about aviation?” he asked, appealing to my age rather than gender. He was such a gentleman, and I felt very comfortable around him.

“Well, I must have been a pilot in a past life. That and I do much reading on the subject of aviation.” It was the best I could come up with.

“Is that so? Well, that’s quite a memory you have there. I would love to keep talking with you, but I have another tour starting up in a few and I am meeting my nephew for lunch after. Please, promise me you will come back and see me sometime.”

I agreed, shaking his hand again and saying goodbye, and headed toward the bank of cabs, foregoing a painless two mile walk back to the hotel. There was a short line of people waiting for a cab and I was debating walking when I heard someone calling my name. It took a while to register, as I wasn’t used to being called by my female name, but after a couple of times, it became clear there wasn’t someone with my same name being called. Turning to see what the commotion was about, I saw a twenty-something year old guy pushing through the line, making his way toward me. I looked around to see if there was someone else he was approaching.

“Karen?! Oh my god, it is you.”

I turned back to face him and saw that he was the bartender from Nieuport 23. He was out of breath, having looked like he ran cross-country to catch up to me. My jaw was wide open in shock that I was being chased down by a guy excited by me suddenly reappearing in his life. I was suddenly very afraid where he thought this chance encounter was going to lead. Playing dumb sounded like my best defense as he came to a stop huffing and puffing directly at my 12 o’clock.

“Karen, I never thought I would see you again.” Okay, this was creepy; he probably hadn’t stopped thinking about me the moment I left the bar.

“Um…” was all I could say.

“Mike; remember me? A couple months ago, you came in and cleaned my bar of some lousy customers?” Playing dumb wasn’t going to work with him.

“Oh, yes, Mike, of course I remember. Good to see you.”

“It’s really good to see you again. Were you just visiting the Smithsonian?”

“Yes, just finished up at the Air and Space. I was going back to my hotel before I head back out of town later.” His heart sunk a little when he heard that I wasn’t a resident. It was a good thing; better he know now.

“Quite a place, isn’t it? I was just heading there now. If you would like another tour, I would be happy to take you on a personal tour.”

‘Okay, now what can a bartender know that Jack didn’t?’ I thought to myself. “Thank you, but I just took a rather pleasant tour.”

“It wasn’t with a sixty year old geezer with one too many stories about the Pacific, was it?” Now my stalker was taking potshots at a real gentleman.

“Hey, that guy knew what he was talking about. I enjoyed his tour very much.” He was laughing.

“Relax, relax, you were in great hands. That geezer is my uncle. He and my grandfather taught me everything I know about flying.”

‘Son of a bitch,’ I said to myself as the gentlemen behind me started yelling at me.

“Hey lady, you wanna move forward, please?” The person in line said in an aggravated tone.

“Sorry,” I replied as I moved toward the front of the line, Mike following along. How the hell was it that I can’t find Liz and Ashley, yet this kid could find me in this big haystack of a city, and turns out he was the nephew of the nicest man this body has yet to meet?

“You are his nephew that he’s having lunch with?”

“Yes, that’s my Uncle Jack. Quite an extraordinary man, isn’t he? You should really get to know him. Oh, the stories he can tell. Say, I don’t know what your schedule is like, but come have lunch with us.”

“Oh, thank you, but I don’t want to interrupt your time together.”

“Nonsense; he would love it. Besides, I still have your change from the bathroom repairs. It’s not much, maybe enough for a small drink at the cafeteria. Come on' what do you say?” I was speechless, searching frantically for a way out, shy of just taking off in front of the whole crowd.

“Lady, you gonna take the cab or what?” The door was open and I was next. My head looked back and forth, deciding between airplane talk with two guys, or escape from being asked out.

“Mike, look, I appreciate it, but —” the crowd started chanting…

“GO WITH MIKE, GO WITH MIKE, MIKE, MIKE.”

I was holding up the line, and they wanted to see some helpless romantic score. It was clear that I was starting to piss off the cab driver who couldn’t care less about my love life, so I made everyone happy and pulled Mike aside. The guy behind be hurried for the cab as the rest applauded, cheering Mike on for his victory.

We made our way away from the mob to a little area in front of the museum. I was scared hanging out with a guy that was buying me drinks a couple months ago in a bar. Still, my life since then has had nothing but a constant female presence. I loved Megan dearly, but I longed to hang with the guys again. My ‘inner’ me just wanted to feel normal, but the ‘outer’ me always attracted, in the wrong way, the very guys I wanted to hang with. I felt alienated, unable to sit with my fellow bros without one of them targeting me in their gunsights hoping to score a victory with this attractive body. I was as straight as they come and any thought of being with a man scared me to death, yet as afraid as I was, I was still lonely. Jack allowed me to be a man again without the carnal interest. He was as respectful as Mike was that night at his bar. Sure, he liked me, but he did allow my inner male to emerge. For the first time, I had a faint sense tingling in the back of my mind as if I could read his heart. It was almost as if some kind of super female intuition was starting to surface. He was sincere and seemed safe as far as I could detect. I decided to give it a shot, but to be sure, there was no harm in laying out some clear expectations, something I felt other women needed to learn.

“Listen, Mike,” I started, “you seem like a great guy and I wouldn’t mind having someone to hang out with, but I am going to be honest with you: I am not looking for anything romantic. I have had some big life changing events happen to me recently that I need to sort out. If you can respect that, then I would be happy to hang out.” His eyes lit up.

“Hey, you don’t need to pull the friend card. I like you, I find you fascinating, but I am too busy these days for a relationship. I would be thrilled if we can be friends."

"Well, okay then. So you're into planes, too? Guess it's no accident you started working at that bar," I said leading the conversation.

"Accident? Not a chance. I grew up there. Uncle Jack and my Dad own it although it's pretty much just my dad's place now. I just help out a few nights a week."

"Why an obscure French aircraft?" I asked.

"You know that's a plane? I'm impressed; most think we named the place after a brand of cigarettes and got the spelling wrong." That brought me a chuckle. He was funny just like his uncle. "My dad and uncle named it after the plane my grandfather flew in the Great War."

We continued until we reached the museum entrance where Jack was finishing his tour. Mike killed time by sharing his knowledge of aircraft, which as I discovered was pretty impressive for such a young kid. It was confusing; I was his senior, and junior to his uncle, but now, I felt like the baby, a few years younger than Mike's apparent age.

"Hahaha, watch out for her, she's trouble," Jack said as he saw us approaching while the last of his tourists left, "I'm so glad to see you found my favorite nephew,"

"Uncle Jack, I'm you're only nephew."

"See, I'm right; that makes you my favorite." They exchanged as if they were quoting lines from a play. It was clear they had a strong relationship.

"If you don't mind, I invited Karen along."

"Mind? Heck no, but I will be damned if you are going to take her to a food court. Let's go someplace else. Hell, I will even cough up a little extra retirement money and treat the both of you." After a fierce debate between the two, they settled on a small pub a couple of blocks away.

The three of us spent several hours listening to Jack’s stories and drinking beer. I was having the time of my life and, for once, all my troubles seemed so distant. Mike and I hung out another hour after his uncle left before I decided to end the day on a good note, still fearing Mike was going to try taking it further.

"Well, Mike, thank you, but I have a flight I need to catch," I said, putting a false urgency behind my departure.

"You know, we know quite a few people in the airline industry; it would be a shame for you to spend top dollar on airfare. You let me know next time you come to visit, and I can get you an awesome deal on first class."

"Thank you, Mike, but I get a pretty sweet deal already."

"Well, unless you get to fly for free, you're gonna have a hard time beating the deals I can get." I simply smiled and didn’t argue.

"I will take it into consideration." I reached out to shake his hand. He repeated the shake he gave me at his bar.

"Will you be back in DC soon? Can we keep in touch?"

"I will be back sometime soon. Currently I don't have a phone, but if you give me yours, I will let you and that geezer uncle of yours a heads up that I am coming back." That made his day and he quickly scribbled his phone number on a napkin and handed it to me.

"I'm really glad we became friends. I hope to see you again sometime. Have a safe flight back home,” he said.

“Thank you; I will. I will talk to you soon,” I said as I walked out the door wondering if I really ever wanted to see him again.

------

The house was empty and Megan's car was gone. Her driveway had a couple of newspapers piled up to indicate she had been gone more than a day. I set the newspapers on the center island in the kitchen and began going through them. Sure enough on the morning's front page, bottom half, was the headline "Wealthy Houston Oil Tycoon Hospitalized after DUI Related Accident." Below the headline was a photo of the wrecked Ferrari, its front destroyed after the impact with the rock wall along a quiet road a few miles from Clint’s house. The reporter arrived on scene just after emergency crews and got a great shot of him being removed from the car, pant stains and all. Due to his public standing, the authorities didn't give up much, but the media filled in the blanks just fine labeling it an inevitable self inflicted accident resulting from drinking and reckless driving. I read the rest of the paper and put it back in order for Megan to read when she got home. As I got up to get a drink, I noticed a blinking light on the answering machine. The display read that there were five messages. I hit the play button and waited through the date and time stamp to hear an undesirable soft feminine voice sound through the house.

"Hi Megan, it's me. I'm in DC again and will be here a couple of days sightseeing. If you need to get ahold of me, I am back at the Marriott, room 4625. Hope all is well, and I will bring back some goodies." The message ended with a beep. It came to my attention that that was the first time I had heard my own recorded words coming out of Kaaren's mouth. It sounded different than how I hear it every day. It had been a couple of months and I still really wasn't used to my new female voice. I could tell it was me based on my speech patterns and the way that I pronounced words. It was clearly Kaaren’s voice from the way I remember it in the ship, but it was different. Kaaren’s speech had a hint of an English accent, which had me baffled until I concluded that whoever surveyed the Earth prior to her arrival must have picked up their English from a Brit. Why do we always assume that the USA is where all alien landings occur? It was also possible that the USA didn't exist at the time of their visit. She never told me how long ago her people came to Earth. The next message began playing.

"Karen, it's Megan. Sorry I haven't been around, but I will be over at JSC for several days on business. I will tell you about it when I get back, but I won't be able to call much until I get back. I should be back by New Years Eve and we can drink ourselves silly as '86 vanishes into history." It sounded as is if there was more to her visit than simply confirming her resignation. I personally didn't want her to resign, especially if she had some notion to suspend her aspirations for my benefit. Yes, I needed help adjusting to my new life, but not at the expense of her dream. The final three messages put me into panic mode. All three were from the same person, and sounded almost identical, almost as urgent.

"Karen, Detective Reid. When you get this message, can you please call me, you got my number." It was late, but the urgency in his voice and the implication of who he was calling about demanded an immediate response. I picked up the phone and dialed his number from memory.

To Be Continued....Episode 10 “Rodina”

Join my mailing list for announcements or send feedback, questions, editorial mistakes or comments to: [email protected]

Like "Angel" on facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Angel/507706609254340