The Complete Zagzagel Diaries

by Bryl R. Tyne

  Nothing thrilled me more than knowing I’d receive Papa’s blessing, and yet at the same time, each assignment He handed down made me despise being told what to do, how to do it, when and where, just a little bit more. From that revelation alongside my current actions, I should’ve noticed something was different, but I didn’t, and I continued, even when I found I wasn’t being paid to do so…

  Fishnet, black and finely woven, stretched taut on a pair of snow-white legs that went on forever… Now, there was a sight worth emblazoning to memory. Not as if I’d never come across stockings or legs that fine. Nonetheless, something about this woman captivated me.

  From the way she leaned half into the open car window to the way she backed away with a jerk and a snap, flipped both her purse and her hair over the same shoulder in the span of a breath, I was hooked. As she stalked my way, I continued to gawk, mouth agape…pleading with my brain and my eyes to turn away, mind my own business. Common sense failed: I couldn’t do it.

  She crossed the first intersection…and she didn’t turn. I stepped back into the shadows of the darkened ma & pa breakfast joint and pressed against the wall. Oddly, I froze, arms straight, palms to the bricks on either side of me, as if holding my breath might help. I held the pose, a strange foreboding washing over me, yet with the sudden adrenaline, I’d never felt more alive. Tongue nervously playing with my bottom lip, I peered around the corner—she’d passed the second intersection…two buildings away—I groaned, smacking the back of my head against the wall in my hasty return. With her nearing footfalls, panic consumed me, a feeling I’d never known, and I felt excited and yet so utterly alone all at once. Whatever the reasons for my reactions, I didn’t understand. My heart raced.

  She rounded the corner of the building.

  Our gazes locked…beguiling amber eyes carried me back to a memory I didn’t want to claim but could not deny.

  Bowed at Big Papa’s feet, forehead pressed to His knee, I’d wept. Ages ago, His robes had calmed my rage, absorbed my tears and anguish…and I think, at the time, I cared for Him as much as I felt He cared for me. Somehow, circumstances—or maybe life—had me forget.

  “No greater love exists than that which I have for you, Papa.” Try as I might to show my reverence, my words had sounded unconvincing, even to my ears, and I recall bracing myself for the swift action I’d anticipated in His reply.

  Papa’s hands caressed the back of my head, however, surprisingly gentle, and His chuckle sounded even more so. “You knew the day would come, Zagzagel,” He’d said, His voice somber.

  I did? Yet, as I concentrated on His words, took them in—probably, for the first time since that era long forgotten—I acknowledged Big Papa was correct.

  “I did,” I said, though exactly when I’d come to the realization, I was not sure.

  Get out of my head! My bewilderment hardened with the thought, and I heard a maniacal sort of laugh that didn’t come from the lips of the woman with the amber eyes and fishnet stockings, but came from her, nonetheless. My mind reeled, as I was held to the wall, enthralled by a simple look, unable to move if I’d have wanted…but as she held me in place, I realized I didn’t want to go anywhere.

  “There you are!”

  The shout pulled me from the world’s most perfect hypnotic lure and from the bricked-in wall to a face familiar yet miles away in my recall. As the young lady appeared to drift over to me, threw a blanket about my shoulders, and secured me inside, I remembered her angelic face. “Chloe?” The single word came out on barely a breath.

  “Damn it, Zag.” She pulled the blanket tight, pressed the edges into my hands. “You can’t keep wandering off like this until I get you oriented.”

  Dressed in white, from her head to her shoes, she looked like an angel—an angel? Had I failed her? “I’m sorry,” I said, attempting to clutch my spinning head, my vision suddenly distorted.

  “My God, Zag.” She started leading me, stumbling deeper, into the darkness of an alley.

  I looked over my shoulder, but the woman with the fishnet stockings had disappeared.

  “One dramatic scene to another…” she continued her mumbling as she dragged me along.

  Her words registered finally, and I wondered how many times I’d wandered, and where I’d wandered from or to…and how Chloe was so—so old…?

  “What are you talking about?” I no sooner got out the question than my world went black.

  …My name is Zagzagel. My Father is all knowing, all caring, omnipotent. He created me, admittedly, because both He and you needed me. I’m sure He wanted me to make him proud. You, on the other hand, asked only for my protection, my service…for me to give a rat’s ass. I sucked at my job, or I wouldn’t be here, but ultimately, I sucked worse at being His son…

  Taunting, alluring, the strange woman’s stare returned, boring into my dreams, my past, my conscience, with intent and words that dripped like honey from her lips… “I told you so,” she whispered.

  I bolted upright, blinking, gasping, clutching my throat. “Where am I?” I croaked out the words to no one, managing on wobbly legs to stand. My head intervened with the more pertinent question—what’s wrong with me?—as I fell back to the bed…to silk sheets?

  “Should be a pair of pants that fit in the closet. T-shirts are in the second drawer from the bottom.”

  Through my fogged-over brain, I didn’t recognize who called to me from another room until the voice resounded louder and clearer for a second time.

  “Just ‘cause you’re out of a job doesn’t mean you’re going to lay around here all day.”

  Throat as dry as parchment, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and tried focusing on the womanly silhouette in the doorway. I’d been asleep? I’d never slept…hell, I couldn’t recall ever having the need.

  “Come on, Rip Van Winkle. No lounging on my watch.”

  The proffered cup held inches before my face felt cool to the touch. Condensation clung to the bright red coating, making it slippery as I wrapped my fingers around the drink. With half the water downed and my vision clearer, a taller, mature, more heavenly endowed Chloe came into view. “Chloe…”

  She looked upon me with a smile. Cup in hand, with my other arm, I pushed to sit on an extremely cushy mattress. Her mother never would’ve afforded a bed this nice. The realization hit me, alongside a tremendous pain in my gut. “How old are you?”

  “Oh, Zag.” An exasperated toss of her arms followed her words and the roll of her eyes. “Of all the questions you could ask. That’s what you’re most concerned with?”

  Truth awakening alongside me, I stopped partway through a nod. Was I concerned? I stared at the hands in my lap—my hands—and noticed a hangnail before noticing I could use a manicure in the worst way. Did I care? Did I feel anything for the woman, once my charge, who now stood before me, a warm palm across my forehead?

  I’m not sure which frightened me more, the fact that the obligatory concern I once held for her no longer existed inside me, or that I didn’t seem to care it had vanished as if never present.

  Between her thumb and two fingers, she held my wrist. “Vitals are good—”

  Cold metal touched my back off-center from square between my shoulders; I jumped.

  “Would you sit still?”

  She stumbled to regain her footing, as I twisted abruptly to look over one shoulder, then the other. What happened to my—?

  “They’re gone.” Simple but effective, she stated the obvious.

  I might have panicked had she not.

  Apparently, my attitude had made it through the transition unscathed. I, however, no longer had wings…defrocked, like one hated or abandoned…or maybe human…. No point in deciphering semantics, I was officially without employ…and in severe pain! I doubled over, arms wrapped around my middle.

  “Not entirely true, Zag.” Ignoring my pain, she shoved me upright. “He doesn’t hate you. Now, quit acting like a child.” Her voice had grown as stern as the look marring h
er once concerned expression. She slung her stethoscope around her neck. “You’re not quite human, I have to admit. That’s the tricky part.”

  As I pondered how her power to read minds seemed to have sharpened over the years, my stomach let out an unholy noise, like some monster from the pits of Hell; the pain clawed at my gut as if trying to break out. I glared, moaning as I rocked back and forth, holding my stomach. Chloe swore she tried to hide her giggle.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “You’re hungry, silly. You’ve been asleep for almost a week.” She took the empty cup from me and set it on the chest of drawers. “Not sure how your body will adjust to actual food, but get dressed, we’re going out.”

  Twenty years older, at least. In a week? I could remember being…awake—the word felt foreign now that I’d actually slept, but I knew at one point I had been awake. I could remember walking the streets and amber eyes that seemed to sear my soul…and at the time, I hadn’t known I was naked. I shook off the memory. “So, you’re a doctor, now?”

  Chloe beamed at my statement, obviously proud of her achievement.

  Tugging a purple T-shirt she’d rummaged for me from the chest of drawers over my head, I asked, “And your mother?”

  Smile gone, she turned toward the only source of light in the room: a sheer-paneled window. “Twelve years ago,” she said. “In the end, drugs not the sex did her in—shared a dirty needle.” With a shrug, she turned and disappeared into the closet. “Here!” She chucked a pair of jeans my way. “My last boyfriend left these here when he took off. They look like they’ll fit.”

  “I’m thinking of trying donuts.” I dragged one pant leg up and over my knee and was working on the other when my stomach rumbled again. Not like I’d never eaten, but it’d happened so rarely and only out of curiosity that it amounted to simply a nibble here, a taste there. “You know, the chocolate ones, with those colored sprinkles…or…or how about one of those heat-up burritos sold in plastic wrappers, maybe?” Those were two things I’d noticed you humans eating with frequency. Both had to be delicious, because you seldom do anything you don’t enjoy. With no clue how long I would be in this form, I was prepared to take full advantage of what little time I might have here.

  With a look of annoyance, she returned to me. “I don’t know why you’re blocking. He did what you asked.”

  “Still smoke?”

  “You’ve lost all sense of propriety,” she said, but returned with a pack of Marlboro reds and an ashtray. She handed me a cigarette. “As a physician, I have to advise you against taking this up.”

  “Just give it to me.”

  “I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever see you again, but a promise is a promise, and He did promise to bring you back.” She flicked the lighter my way. “I came home from work one day and there you were, on my couch…”

  Bring me back…? I lowered the cigarette, my gaze fixated on the lighter’s flame. “He’s not letting me come back home”—I met Chloe’s gaze—“is He?”

  Exasperation scored her features as she took the unlit cigarette from my trembling hand, shoved it into the box, and reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my left ear. “He went easy on you, really. I thought you’d be a lot happier.”

  Funny. I’d always thought I’d be a lot happier down here, too…

  “I’m going to change real quick, and then we’ll go,” she said, disappearing into the hall.

  I wanted to ask, “Go where?” but found myself unable to speak. Here I was, in one of my former charge’s homes…nursed along, attended to…ordered around…the world as I’d known it, both yours and mine, turned upside-down—my stomach on fire—no skills, no means to survive here, and no shoes. Something about relying on others grated on me. If only I’d been able to plan for this, do it my way. I sighed. Maybe that was my problem. Reluctant, I looked to the ceiling. I wouldn’t blame you for not listening, but I could use a hand here. I think I’m… I rubbed my eyes dry. I’m scared.

  Chloe whipped around the corner, into the room, startling me from my thoughts. A pair of sandals were thrust my way. “I forgot all about shoes. Sorry, Zag.”

  A sound, something between a laugh and a cry, escaped me as I took the shoes from her hand. Yeah. I felt my shoulders sag. Some answer.

  Her grip was firm on my upper arms, and she gave me a shake that definitely caught my attention.

  “What?”

  “Stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You know what,” she said, her gaze locked with mine. “This is not the time to jump to conclusions. Pull your head out of your ass and do what you need to do to survive long enough to find the answers!”

  What if I didn’t like the answers? I wanted to ask her but held it inside. A pissed-off Chloe was downright scary.

  “Still as impatient as ever.” She shook her head in a motherly fashion…well, from what I could recall of children and their mothers—I’d never had one. With a sigh, she released me and instructed me to don my shoes. “I’m taking you out for something to eat. You’re hungry.”

  I should’ve felt better now that she’d spelled it out to me in that slow, sarcastic drawl, but I felt only like the stupidest fool in the world for not understanding that “going out” meant “going out to eat,” especially since she was fully aware of my plight. She led me through the house and out the door. We piled into her car, after five minutes of me trying to maneuver the concepts of door handles and hinges. I’d never had to use them, so I’d never paid much attention.

  Chloe remained silent as she wove in and out of traffic. We crossed miles of highway, and still she did little to ease the tension. Did I really want her to? I doubted it, but something inside me hoped she’d at least try.

  Something about the part of town she’d taken us into multiplied the already present anxiety by four. She slowed after taking a right, and even more as we neared a stretch of homes that felt familiar but looked like nothing from my past. “Right over there.” She pointed to an overgrown, vacant lot. “That’s where you saved my life.”

  She said nothing further, for which I was thankful. The scored-into-my-brain image of Chloe at fourteen, in my arms, draped across my lap…broken beyond human repair was enough with which to contend at that moment.

  Five blocks later, she pulled onto a graveled lot, parked the car. The seedy, out of the way joint looked like a typical back alley bar, and if she hadn’t popped open her door and the heavenly aroma of deep-fried cuisine not drifted into the tiny space between us, I would’ve questioned if this place actually served food. “Wow…” I couldn’t find much else to say. My stomach had rolled over at first whiff and was begging to be scratched. Despite the grill and frill’s shady appearance, I smiled.

  Chloe wasn’t smiling.

  Part of me told me to say something—anything. This wasn’t the Chloe I remembered, so full of life, undaunted by doubts or fears. Another part of me, a place I could tell housed my own fears, including that of the unknown, which had been dogging me since I opened my eyes, convinced me I was better off in the dark.

  “I’m okay, Zag,” she said, patting my arm as we stepped inside.

  The haze of cigarette smoke and residual stage smog assaulted me as she led us to the far side of the bar. Regardless of her words or her calm demeanor, I knew she wasn’t being honest with me. “Two specials,” she said, holding up just as many fingers, as the bartender moved our way. Chloe looked at me; a searching gaze I could feel more than see brought my attention from taking in the stage lights immediately to her.

  “What?”

  “Beer good?”

  “I don’t know, is it?” Wasn’t trying to be funny. I’d never tasted beer. Wine, even a couple different liquors, but never beer.

  “Two Mich Lights. Hold the mugs.”

  French fries, catfish, and deep-fried pickles, but no donuts ended up adorning my plate or hers. She’d yet to speak further than those few words upon entering. I hadn’t found the wi
ll to muster the nerve to pry. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t about food or nursing me back to health…deep-fried pickles are amazing. Beer wasn’t too bad either, and after my third plate of the all-you-can-eat nightly special, I was contemplating how much more I could hold of both when the sound system blasted a two-second-long shrill noise.

  I’d never heard shorter fanfare than the five-beat drumroll. Beer in hand, I turned toward the short stage behind me in time to catch the emcee take the mic from the stand and introduce, “…the lovely Jade!”

  “Zag.”

  “Yeah?”

  I held my beer to my lips one second, and the next, Chloe had snatched it from me and set it firmly on the bar. She met my questioning gaze. “We need to talk.”

  “But the show’s—”

  By the way she forced my attention back to her with a grab to my chin, I knew she meant business.

  “You two finished?” The bartender interrupted our stare down.

  I could’ve used another helping of catfish, but I wasn’t about to risk the scene promised me by the look in her eyes if I had done so. With a wave of my hand, he carried away our plates.

  Chloe took my hands in hers. “You do realize that from the time I was five, I had the biggest crush on you….”

  I stared at her moving lips, listening to her confession, and knew in the back of my mind that somewhere in my past I indeed had known how she felt. Of course, I’d never entertained the idea for a number of reasons and circumstances. For one, I simply had never been keyed that way. Music began to filter through her words, and I found myself pulled back to the stage. Fishnet stockings drew me, and with a flip and a swish of the entertainer’s lavender boa, Chloe’s words faded into background noise. From behind the mic, painted lips faded into amber eyes, which held me enthralled.