Jeremy could see clearly that it wasn’t anger that was rising out of Frank: It was terror.
He threw himself at Claire’s feet and grasped her knees, despite her efforts to push him back. Jeremy could feel nothing but disdain for his stepfather, but the man’s display of emotions made him feel uneasy. There was still something that didn’t make sense about the whole business though. He forced back his feelings of disgust and stayed to hear more.
“Claire, I’m begging you, Claire; if you leave me I’ll die! Just as surely as if you cut my throat! Claire, please! You’re all I have to live for. Give me some time. I’m all through with that business that makes you so scared. Everything’s legal now, Claire: completely transparent!”
Claire recoiled from her husband and pushed him away. He slowly got back to his feet.
“Nothing illegal!” She almost choked with rage. “You sell weapons! What an idiot I’ve been! So blind, so meek and obedient, so in lo—” Out of breath, she left off before finishing the word, refusing to pronounce it as if it were some sort of poison. “When I think that it took me eight years to find out the truth!”
“Thanks to your dear son, who had me investigated. Oh yes, I know,” Frank replied, his emotions now colored by bitterness and anger.
“Your construction company was nothing but a façade!” Claire said, ignoring his accusation. “How could I keep on trusting you after you’d lied to me for all those years?!”
“I only did it because I loved you so much!” Frank pleaded, holding out his hands entreatingly. “If I had told you the truth you never would have married me. And if I’d been poor I couldn’t even have talked to you! I was backed into a corner, Claire; I didn’t have a choice. My family has been in this business for generations. When Dad died I started to go straight. We were happy together for years, we were a great couple, and now I feel like I’m a stranger in my own home! You’ve become so cold, Claire; I can’t stand it anymore. You won’t let me sleep in the same bed with you, you ask me for a divorce ten times a day—it’s unbearable!”
Claire glared at him, her eyes slits. She was just as upset as him.
“If you can’t bear it anymore, then do what I ask!” she hissed. “Let me go.”
“Uhh, Mom, judging by the color of his emotions right now,” Jeremy whispered nervously, “I think you should maybe talk about this some other time! The man is dangerous, Mom; don’t make him lose his temper!”
Jeremy was right. A dark, menacing red Mist was rising from Frank. He was furious and desperate—a very bad combination that often makes people say exactly the opposite of what they’re really thinking.
“Very well then,” he raged. “If you hate me so much, then I don’t suppose anything I do will make any difference. Then I’ll give you the choice. You can leave …” He made a brusque gesture with his hand at Claire, who was about to speak.
“… but I keep Angela.”
Jeremy saw the gleam of hope fade in his mother’s eyes, as the color drained from her face.
“You … you wouldn’t possibly—”
“Without hesitation,” he replied coolly, despite the anxiety that was roiling inside him. “You don’t have any money, Claire, and you don’t have a job. You are nothing but the very lovely and respectable lady of the house. To which one of us do you think a judge would grant custody of Angela?”
Frank was wrong. Judging by the colors of her emotions, Claire felt no hate toward him. She was just tired and distraught, fed up with having to worry just as much about him (something she had carefully omitted) as she did about her daughter. But after what he’d just intimated, everything had changed. Claire’s love for her first husband, Jeremy’s father, had changed her, and then she had changed again when she fell in love with Frank. But beneath the surface, the woman of the world had remained a fighter. She was courageous and tough as nails.
She was visibly shaken, but then regained her resolve.
“My son just died,” she said in a flat voice.
“I’m aware of that,” Frank retorted, visibly trying to remain calm. “What of it?”
“You still don’t understand, Frank? My son has died. My father, James, disinherited me when I married Paul Galveaux. Paul the painter, Paul the weakling, Paul who was nothing but a whining little worm in the eyes of that shark. But James also set up a trust for Jeremy. My father made millions of dollars. Billions. But Jeremy refused to touch a penny of it, because he wanted to make it on his own. But now … he’s dead.”
Frank opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find any words. The Mist rising from him reflected his disarray.
“I am Jeremy’s only heir,” she added. “I’m sorry, Frank.”
There was nothing left to say. Without another word, she left the room. Jeremy felt like crying. What a waste! He understood now that the two of them had really been in love, so in love in fact that they couldn’t find a way to separate without hurting each other. He was still furious with Frank, but now he was starting to get really worried about his mother.
Because Frank didn’t hold back his tears any longer once he was finally alone (or so he thought), and the Mist emanating from him had now turned a menacing orange as he contemplated his revenge.
Jeremy recoiled from the vapor. He couldn’t get anywhere near it. He fled from the room through the door that his mother had luckily left open, and caught up to her in the hallway. He managed to slip into her bedroom with her just before she closed the door. She threw herself on her bed and began sobbing. Her Mist was a thick, chocolate brown, and smelled absolutely delicious. He moved off to the side to avoid it.
“Aw, Mom, I’m so sorry,” he groaned sadly. “I’m dead now; I can’t protect you. You’re trapped and there’s nothing I can do. Mother, listen to me: this guy is really dangerous. You’ve got to be very careful what you say to him, or he’ll have you knocked off just like me.”
But when he thought over what Frank had said, what he’d done … there was still something Jeremy couldn’t understand. Something that had struck him … something not quite right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He stayed with his mother until she regained her composure, trying to touch her so that she might respond to his words, but she was too distraught. Nothing he said seemed to have any effect on her. Jeremy suddenly felt completely drained, discouraged by the whole affair. He finally pulled himself away from his mother, managed to get through the door, and walked off to find a guest room.
There were quite a few in the huge mansion, but he settled on his favorite, the one with creamy yellow wallpaper decorated with hunters on horseback, chasing foxes through butterflies and flowers. He stretched out on the bed, which was covered with the omnipresent velvety fabric, so soft and strangely comfortable. He saw that his body left no mark on the bedcover and then … dropped off to sleep.
When he woke up, it took him a second to remember where he was.
This wasn’t his apartment. Why was he in this bedr—? Suddenly, it all came back to him and he snapped straight up. He was dead. Completely and definitively. For heaven’s sake, how many times would the realization hit him like a slap in the face?! He couldn’t get used to it. He was dead.
And he was naked.
These Mist clothes certainly didn’t last very long. The Angel Flint had told him as much, but he had forgotten. He suddenly felt completely miserable. None of this made any sense. It was all so unfair. He felt so defeated he rolled up into a fetal position on the bed. He had lost everything: his friends, his life, his family, even if they hadn’t been very close. The tears began streaming down his cheeks. He wiped them away, still amazed by it all. He had never cried much, but ever since he’d arrived in this strange new world he’d been bawling all the time.
While Jeremy was contemplating his wet fingers, lost in his thoughts, the bloated red Angel that he had seen the day before passed through the room, looked down at him with contempt, and then slowly continued along through the far wall.
Jeremy shuddered
, as if something cold and slimy had touched him. Then he realized that the Angel could only have come back for one reason: to continue with his long and patient annihilation of Jeremy’s half sister. He immediately jumped to his feet to follow the Angel, and bounced off the wall.
It hurt like hell—especially since he hadn’t been expecting it.
Well, it looked as if he hadn’t yet perfected his “walking through walls” technique. Luckily, the door to the guest room was still open and he went out into the hall. He told himself that he absolutely must perfect his ability to dematerialize, or else he would end up getting stuck somewhere for good one of these days.
It wasn’t too difficult to guess where the Angel had been headed. Jeremy would follow him—but not right away. He was hungry. When he walked by a window he saw that night had fallen, which meant that he had “slept” the entire day.
Jeremy still didn’t understand the rules that governed this new world. He “ate” people’s emotions but never had to go to the bathroom, which didn’t seem right. If he started to run, he would soon be out of breath, but he never sweated. He could cry, and the tears would get his hands and cheeks wet, but he couldn’t feel his heart beat. It was as if his new body were nothing but a projection of his original self, as if his soul had assumed the form that was most familiar to him—more out of habit than anything else—and had adopted the limits that went with it.
Just then, he would have given anything for a pair of underwear.
Flint had told him that he could make clothes out of the Mist. He had also said that it would take some time before Jeremy would master the technique himself. But there were no Angels around except for the horrible Red, who hardly seemed willing to help others. No, Jeremy would have to do it on his own.
He went down to the kitchen, startled each time a living person walked by without seeing him.
The cook and the butler were sitting together, laughing as they read the newspaper. Jeremy walked up to the white Mist rising from them and, almost reluctantly, took a bite for his “breakfast.” It wasn’t the same color as the Mist he had eaten the day before, but the sensation was exactly the same, and just as overpowering. It made his knees wobbly for a second, but this time he didn’t fall over (just to play it safe, he had leaned against the wall before taking a bite).
Once the rapturous sensations had subsided, he realized that the more he ate the less vapors the two people produced. He’d better stop—he had more important uses for that Mist. First he tried to grab some with his hand, but it slipped right through his fingers. He formed a cup with his hands, but the vapors managed to find a crack to escape through.
He tried to grab hold of some Mist for a good twenty minutes while the two of them finished reading their newspaper, but to no avail. He grew more and more frustrated and started to lose patience. Flint had warned him, after all. Which was exactly why he had to succeed now. Throughout his short life, he had always fought against preconceived notions—especially when they concerned his young age. This attitude had made him a very unique and stubborn person. He began to concentrate hard on the problem, so hard that his head hurt, but he ignored the pain. He bent his will harder and harder, using all his rage and resolve to gain control over the Mist.
Suddenly, it was like something clicked into place inside his head. The Mist started to collect in his hand, almost as if Jeremy’s rage had brought it to a halt there. Jeremy swallowed hard, still concentrating with all his might. It wasn’t his hand that was holding the Mist. It was his mind. He could shape the Mist with his mind! Shaking due to the exertion, he relaxed his hand, and his mind.
The Mist remained in place, curled up in the palm of his hand like a warm and cuddly little animal.
“Yeeeessss!”
Jeremy cried out victoriously, and was surprised when neither the man nor the woman reacted to the noise. He was beaming, and released the Mist, watching it float up through the ceiling.
“OK,” he said quietly to himself. “Now I know how to stop it. Let’s see if I can shape it.”
It wasn’t easy, and the fact that the emotions of the two people kept fluctuating between amusement, indignation, and compassion didn’t help matters any. But the majority of their feelings were positive, so Jeremy didn’t have to worry about which ones he used. After an exhausting hour of work, he finally managed to put together a white, blue, and gray loincloth that didn’t look too bad. The funny thing was that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make a button, but had no problem conceiving a safety pin. Probably because the strongest Mist came from the cook, who was a very practical woman. The safety pin did a good job holding on his loincloth, even if it wasn’t the most manly arrangement.
Jeremy had to stifle a laugh. He looked ridiculous. But he had done it! Flint had told him it wasn’t possible. He felt much better after his minor victory. For the first time since he had found himself in this strange new world, he realized he had at least a little bit of control over his fate. He whistled his way up the steps at a leisurely pace, but his good humor quickly evaporated when he remembered the red Angel.
Angela was reading when he entered her room. A light brown Mist rose from the little girl. He could tell she was sad. Her face was all puffy, and it looked like she had been crying all day long. In fact, she was still crying, and had to wipe away her tears as she tried to read.
The red Angel hung from the ceiling, looming above her. He was rubbing his hands with delight, but he scowled when he noticed the intruder. He had been so busy eating the day before that he hadn’t even noticed Jeremy. He didn’t look any too happy to see him.
Once again, the mere sight of the Angel made Jeremy feel sick to his stomach.
It was more than just his hideous appearance and the crazed look in his eyes. It was as if he radiated an appalling energy that corrupted everything it touched. Jeremy took half a step back, and the slight movement made the Red snap around. He pounced on Jeremy and grabbed him by the neck, forcing him up against the wall. With his gargantuan strength he almost pushed the young Blue halfway through.
“You little piece of Blue shit!” he hissed. “What the hell you doing here?”
He tightened his grip, and Jeremy wondered if he weren’t going to strangle him on the spot.
“I saw your picture on the kid’s nightstand. You’re her stepbrother, ain’t ya? The outcast. Whadda ya want?”
Jeremy was quavering. He lowered his eyes to block out the face, twisted with hate:
“Good evening. … Excuse me, I didn’t want to bother you, sir. I was just passing through and …” He stopped, pretending he’d just thought of something: “Hey, why aren’t there any blue Angels around Angela?”
In fact, there weren’t any other Angels in the entire house. Jeremy began wondering why.
“Because I chased all those little maggots away,” the Angel sniggered. “I’m getting my vengeance on that little girl over there, and all the negative energy makes you little Blues sick! They shot out of here faster than a bullet from a .357 Magnum. Ha ha ha!”
He eased up on Jeremy, floating halfway between the floor and ceiling.
“Can’t you feel it, little Blue? All the hate, all the rage? Usually it makes you Blues sick!”
Jeremy understood why he felt so queasy when he was around the Red, all bloated with hate. But actually he was more disgusted than anything else, and would have loved to squash his fat red head. He wondered if the Angel was going to kill him—or if he even could, since he was already doing his best to strangle him. And if he died a second time, then where would he go?
He heard Angela sniffling over in her bed, and quickly snapped out of his philosophical musings.
“Actually, I was wondering why you seem to be so angry with her,” he said.
“Because of her father!” bellowed the Red, making Jeremy jump. “The bastard had me knocked off: that’s why!”
“All right already! No need to yell! I’m not deaf, you know! And why did he have you killed?”
The Red opened his mouth to reply, then stopped short and gave Jeremy a suspicious look.
“What’s it to you, Blue?”
Jeremy had to think quickly. He needed more information, needed to find out just how deeply involved his stepfather was in his murder. He would have to tell what he knew.
“Because I was murdered too,” he said calmly.
The red Angel stared at him with his mouth agape for a few moments. Then began chuckling.
“And you think that your own stepfather, Frank Tachini, is responsible? Then you’re gonna have to get in line, buddy, cause you certainly ain’t the only one!”
Jeremy suddenly realized what the Angel was trying to tell him. Up until now, his stepfather’s shady business dealings had made him angry, and he had broken almost all ties with his family. But he hadn’t been afraid. Only Claire had been worried sick by her husband’s work. Jeremy knew what arms dealers like Frank were like. They made their fortunes working just within the limits of the law. But now he realized in a flash that his stepfather was more than just an arms dealer. He was also a dangerous murderer.
Except there was still something not quite right about the whole thing. He had no problem imagining Frank wheeling and dealing to make money through his family business. But he had a much harder time imagining him having people killed in cold blood.
“Anyway, you’re just a Blue,” the Angel sneered. “If you want to get revenge, if you want to influence his wife’s feelings, if you want to get his employees to steal from him and lie to him, you’ll have to become a Red. You’ve got a long way to go.”
Color of Angels' Souls Page 5