by Alicia Ryan
“Why don’t these people seem more interested in you?” he asked.
Price’s wings disappeared, and he pulled open the glass front door of the building. “They can’t see my wings, and they couldn’t see either of us until just a moment ago. People don’t notice much, you’ll find out. Just don’t pop up unannounced into someone’s living room or anything like that – then they might notice.”
“Huh. You can do that?” Herman asked, following Price up a flight of stairs.
“So can you, eventually.”
Herman dutifully followed until they reached the third and uppermost floor, where it appeared from the key Price inserted into the door that they were to be sharing an end-unit.
Herman followed Price in. “How long have you been here?” he asked, seeing that the standard beige apartment décor had already been taken over in places by things that could only have come from Price.
“Just since yesterday. Have a seat, why don’t you?” Price waved a hand in the direction of a red velveteen sofa. “I’m going to shower, and you should really read the damn file Norton gave you.”
Herman cast a baleful eye at the couch, but did as Price suggested. As he pulled the file from his pocket, he glanced around the rest of the apartment. The living room, dining area, and kitchen were really one big room. Two rows of cabinets with a pass-through and a faux stone countertop separated the kitchen from the rest of the living space.
Off either side of the kitchen there was a doorway. He could see nothing through the further door, the one through which Price had disappeared. Through the other door he glimpsed what must be a bathroom and probably a bedroom. Hopefully Price hadn’t decorated them, too, he thought, because the living room left a lot to be desired.
He didn’t mind the rock band posters or the velvet couch, but was that really an inflatable chair? Herman shook his head. That would have to go. For one thing, it was clearly unsafe. For another, it was neon blue. He shuddered.
The kitchen appeared, based on what he could see through the pass-through, to have escaped Price’s decorating spree, and Herman held tighter to the fervent hope that Price hadn’t decided to do him the favor of fixing up his room.
For the moment, he was too afraid to look, so he focused on the file. It did, indeed, explain that Charlie Woodson was a were-beaver. Herman closed his eyes briefly and vowed to be more diligent from now on. These were, after all, people’s lives.
There wasn’t much else of interest that he hadn’t already figured out from the day’s events, although it appeared Charlie had a so far unrequited love interest in a woman who worked at Office Supply HQ.
Price emerged from down the hallway dripping wet and poured into a pair of trendily faded jeans. He was clean shaven, but still brushing a white towel back and forth over his sandy hair. It curled around his ears and nearly reached his collar, which was to Herman’s way of thinking, far too long.
“So, H, see anything else we missed?”
“My name is Herman, thanks. And no, not really. He’s a were-beaver all right.” He looked up again at Price who had discarded his towel onto one of the two non-descript bar stools taking up space in front of the pass-through. He was putting on a red t-shirt that read “Got Wine?”.
“And there’s some woman at his work that he seems to like quite a bit, but the file doesn’t mention if she’s interested.”
Price laughed. “You’ve seen him, right? Would you be interested? That’s probably why we’re here.”
“To get Charlie a girlfriend?”
“To turn Charlie into the kind of man a girl would actually want to befriend. And fuck. Let’s not forget that. Man cannot live on friends alone.”
Herman shook his head as Price chuckled. And what would he know about that? Nothing. If that’s what they were here for, he would be a sorry advisor.
“Are you sure about that?” Herman asked. “The kid just tried to kill himself. Maybe getting him laid is not the top priority.”
Price laughed. “I’d say that makes it the ultimate priority, and we need to work fast.” He pulled on some light brown cowboy boots Herman hadn’t seen by the door.
“Say, did you see your room?” Price asked. “I didn’t do anything to it. Figured you’d want to do your own thing in there, you know?”
Herman nodded in grateful appreciation. “Thanks. I’ll take a look when we get back. Shouldn’t we head to the hospital?”
Price nodded. “Yeah. Want to fly or take my motorcycle?”
Herman’s brows went up as he wondered which choice was less life-endangering. Then he remembered he had no life to endanger, so he picked the motorcycle, figuring he wouldn’t have to hold on quite as tightly on the bike as in the air.
Situated on the back of the black Harley, in what Price gleefully told him was called the “bitch seat”, Herman wondered if he’d ever been more uncomfortable in his life. Then he remembered it was still Tuesday, and decided to stop wondering. Just in case his bad luck had made it past the grave.
“How did you get this?” he asked as Price pulled the bike away from the curb.
Price looked at him over his shoulder. “Norton really hasn’t told you anything, has he? All our stuff is just a physical manifestation of a spiritual desire.”
Herman puzzled that over until they came to a stoplight. “You mean you just think it up, and it appears?”
“Pretty much,” Price yelled. He turned to grin at Herman. “Pretty cool, huh? Let me know when you want your own wheels, and I’ll show you how.” He looked down at Herman’s khaki pants. “Though maybe we should start small and just get you some new clothes first.”
He gunned the engine on the green, and soon they were pulling into a spot very near the front door of County Memorial Hospital.
“Memorial makes it sound terribly final, don’t you think?” Herman asked.
“Well, that’s the one thing you know it ain’t, right?” Price replied, waiting for Herman to get off the bike before swinging his own leg over. “So no point getting all down about it. At least not for the ones who are dying. Feel sorry for the ones who are living with terrible pain or as vegetables or whatever.”
Herman let out a breath. “Gee, thanks, Price. I hope you don’t plan to say that to Charlie when we get to his room.”
Price turned around. “I’ll say whatever I please. I’m the senior angel here, remember. And I’m also the Bad angel. It’s my job to put things in perspective from that point of view.” He started walking again. “And it’s your job to put the other point of view into perspective for the poor bastard.”
The hospital gave Herman the blues as soon as they entered. Outside, where the sun was shining, summer and glad tidings seeming to waft on the air. Inside, skies were gray, as were the less metaphorical walls, floors, and ceilings.
“We’ve got to get him out of here,” Herman muttered as they approached the nurses’ station.
“Him or you?” Price asked. “Don’t like hospitals? You’d better get used to it. Your new job description calls for being in places like this quite a bit.”
Herman looked around and shuddered. That was one good thing about his own death, he thought. He hadn’t had to linger in a place like this. He thought briefly of Price lying for weeks in a hospital bed, but couldn’t make the image mesh with the wild and smiling angel-man now talking to the nurses.
“He’s on the third floor,” Price said, coming back. “Not sure why they’d put a jumper on a high floor, but evidently such calculations aren’t routinely considered when determining bed placement in this fine facility.” He glared over his shoulder at a broad-faced, red-haired nurse.
“Come on,” he said, “we’d better get up there.”
“I thought you didn’t care if he jumped and wound up dead?” Herman asked as they stepped into the elevator.
“Not really,” Price replied as the doors shut.
“But why not?” Herman asked. “Are you just evil?”
“Look at us, Herman
. Death is not so bad. In some cases, it is even preferable to life.”
The doors opened, and Herman followed Price to Room 326. They gingerly pushed open the wooden door. Charlie had a private room, a typical hospital bed, with a little food tray attached, and two burgundy plastic chairs for visitors.
“At least they’re not gray,” Herman muttered.
Charlie was hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV, and appeared to be resting peacefully.
“Look at him,” Price said, taking a seat in one of the chairs, but turning it so he faced Charlie’s bed and could rest his booted feet on the white metal radiator under the window. “He’s like a babe in the proverbial woods.”
Herman’s brows shot up. “I didn’t think you knew words like ‘proverbial’,” he commented.
It was Price’s turn to look surprised. “You’re the Good angel here, remember?”
Herman smiled. “Sorry. It just popped out. You’re right. I don’t know you well enough to make judgments like that.”
“Oh, shut up,” Price said. “We’re supposed to be talking about Charlie, and whether he’s better off dead.”
“You can’t really think that.”
“Well, he might be better off dead,” Price replied, “but I think it’s clear he’s not better off trying to do himself in. The boy can’t seem to do anything right, really. So, unless he gets struck by lightning, I’ve decided we’re in agreement on this one. We want Charlie-boy here to stay alive.”
Herman sat down, smiling. “That’s excellent.”
For a long time they both watched Charlie, neither of them speaking.
“Now what?” Herman finally whispered.
“What do you mean? We wait for him to wake up.”
“But shouldn’t you be going?” Herman asked.
“Why?” Price shot him a sharp look. “You don’t really think you can get along without me?”
“But you just said you agreed he’s better off alive. Aren’t you supposed to be trying to get him to do evil? If you’re agreeing with me that Charlie deserves a chance to be Charlie, shouldn’t you just shove off to the next case or something?”
“Brother, have you got a lot to learn. Tell me, genius, how are you going to get new clothes for tomorrow?”
Herman looked down at his khakis and blue shirt. “I…I’ll have to go to the store, I guess.”
Price shook his head and rolled his eyes. “No, you don’t have to do that at all. And even if you did, where would you get the money to buy anything?”
Herman pulled out his wallet. “Norton gave me some cash and a credit card.”
“You got a credit card?” Price demanded, dropping both feet to the floor. “Are you kidding me? They gave you – you – a credit card? Do you know how long I’ve been asking for one of those?”
“I guess my credit is better than yours,” Herman surmised.
Price turned around, folded both arms across his chest and adopted another unusual silence.
“Oh, come on,” Herman said after a few minutes had passed. “You’re not really going to sulk over it like an eight-year-old, are you?”
“It’s my credit, and I’ll sulk if I want to,” Price replied, poking out his bottom lip.
Herman couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t be such a girl,” he ordered. “We’re here to help Charlie, remember?”
“I’m also here to help you,” Price declared, “whether I like it or not. So it doesn’t matter that we agree Charlie here shouldn’t go offing himself. You’re stuck with me for the duration. Someone has to teach you how to be a proper angel.”
“So it wasn’t a dream.” Charlie’s voice arrested their attention. “Or maybe it was a dream, and I’m still dreaming. Why are you two still in my dream?” He looked up. “Can’t I get Angelina Jolie or something?”
Price laughed. “Play your cards right, Charlie, and you never know. We are angels, remember.”
Herman shot Price a look. “We can’t really deliver up Angelina Jolie can we?”
“The real one? Well, who knows? Maybe she’ll bite it while we’re working on ole Charlie here, and I could call in a few favors.”
“Well, that’s something to look forward to, at least,” Charlie said.
“Charlie, there’s lots to look forward to,” Herman insisted. “You can’t start thinking like that again. Today is a new start for you.”
“With you two? My guardian angels?”
“That’s right.”
“My Good guardian angel,” he said, nodding at Herman, “and my evil guardian angel.” He nodded at Price. “I’m sorry. I still don’t believe you. That makes no sense. I don’t know who you two really are, but please leave my room.”
“We’re not leaving,” Price said. “Not even if you call Nurse Battering Ram down here to throw us out. So just start getting used to the idea of having us around.”
He waved a hand at Charlie’s IV and heart monitor. “I mean, it’s not like you’re doing so great on your own, Charlie-boy. Even if we’re two escaped lunatics, the fact is we’re here trying to help you get your life on track. Is anyone else trying to help you?” Price looked around. “I don’t see a stream of visitors, Charlie. There’s not even a single sorry flower arrangement in here. Who else is going to help you, if not us?”
“I don’t need help,” Charlie declared, just a little too fiercely.
“Of course you do,” Price said. “You’re a mess. You just turned into a beaver and then fell off a building, for Christ’s sake.”
He looked up, crossed himself and muttered an almost inaudible, “sorry”.
“Uh, maybe this isn’t…”
“Shut up, Herman. I’ve done this a thousand times before. No one ever wants to believe we’re angels. And why not? Wouldn’t you want two angels on your side,” he asked, turning to Herman, “if you were in as bad a state as Charlie here?”
Herman looked at Charlie, then back at Price. “Definitely,” he answered.
Price turned to Charlie. “See, even he thinks you’re being silly, and he’s the Good angel.”
“You mentioned escaped lunatics,” Charlie pointed out. “How do I know you’re not just that. I mean, you do look more like…well, not him so much, but you definitely look like you should be in some kind of clinic.”
“Ouch,” Price said, grinning. “Our boy’s not quite toothless. I’ll ignore that because I think it shows progress on your part. And remember, I am the Bad angel. I don’t have to look the part. Though you have seen my wings,” he reminded Charlie.
“Right. Was that real? Cause I had convinced myself I was hallucinating from nerves and being off my meds.”
“Oh, yeah,” Price said with a certain amount of pride as the dark grey feathers materialized around him, “they’re real. Check ‘em out if you want.”
Price stood, and one of his wings extended itself to agilely tickle the space between Charlie’s nose and upper lip.
“Hey, cut it out,” Charlie said, laughing and waving the feathers away. “Okay, I believe they’re real at least.”
“And what?” Price demanded. “I’m some were-chicken instead of the angel I keep claiming to be?”
Charlie shrugged. “You can see where I might want to believe that, right?”
“Were-chicken!” Price grumbled, his clothes immediately dissipating into a dark grey robe of the cloudy type Herman had seen Steven wearing on his introduction to the judgment chamber.
As the robe writhed and swirled around Price like a distant but approaching storm, Charlie let out a breathless, “Whoa.”
Heavy footsteps in the hall alerted them to an incoming nurse, and Price was back in jeans and a t-shirt before she opened the door.
It was the large red-head from down stairs.
“You gentlemen will have to step outside for a moment,” she ordered. “It’s time for Mr. Woodson’s enema.
“Enema?” three voices echoed at once.
“Hospital policy on suicides,” she droned. “Th
e new administrator believes it will make them think twice before they wind up here again.”
Herman and Price turned to each other with wide-eyed disbelief and started backing toward the door.
“Uh, guys? Wait,” Charlie called out, “aren’t you supposed to be helping me?”
“Not with this,” Price said, shaking his head. “You’re on your own for this one. Herman and I will just pop down to the cafeteria for a bit. You know, see if they have any were-chicken on the menu.”
With that Price was out the door, leaving Herman just far enough behind to hear Nurse Battering Ram say “were-chicken?”
Out in the hall they managed to get three doors down before exploding into laughter.
Herman was still doubled over wiping tears from his eyes when a watery vision stepped out of the elevator and straight into his heart.
He stood and sucked in a deep breath. He hadn’t seen her for almost twenty years, but he’d know Mary Louise Johnson anywhere.
Price seemed to notice his sudden stillness. “Friend of yours?” he asked.
Mary wore a pastel flowered frock with a light yellow sweater and green flat-heeled shoes. She looked like springtime, and Herman felt winter lift in his heart.
“Could you tell me where I can find Charlie Woodson?” she asked a passing attendant.
The man pointed in their direction and muttered an inaudible reply.
Mary came toward them. “Are you friends of Charlie’s?”
“Yes, yes we are, Ms…?” Price answered, stepping forward to grasp her empty hand. The other hand carried a small arrangement of blue hydrangeas.
“I’m Mary Chavez,” she replied.
Herman’s heart sank. She was married. What had he expected? That she’d been waiting for him all this time? Since junior high?
“I don’t know Charlie all that well,” she was saying, “but a few of us at the office took up a little collection to get him some flowers. Such a terrible accident, him falling off the roof after chasing after that stupid animal.”