Color of Angels' Souls

by Sophie Audouin-Mamikonian

  “Of course,” Jeremy agreed. “If I had started hearing voices, I would have asked for a nice padded room myself. And what about the living dead?”

  “Who?”

  “I mean, what about people who die and then come back to life? You know—people who only spend a few minutes in our world. When they return to the world of the living, they often talk about seeing a light, people waiting for them, or Angels.”

  “Ja, ja,” Albert finally said. For a moment, he’d been wondering why Jeremy wanted to talk about zombies. “They really can see our world, but aren’t sure that it’s real. What they say is true—to a certain extent anyway.”

  Jeremy nodded, happy to have finally gotten a few answers to his questions.

  “You’ve already cleared up a lot of things for me. But if we put aside all this stuff about multiple universes and get back to God creating the Universe, then why do you think He sent us here? And you said you’d met the ‘disciples of the great prophets’: Does that mean you’ve never met Moses, Jesus, Mohammed, or Buddha, for example? Nor any of the Archangels like Gabriel, Michael, or Raphael?”

  Albert pursed his lips. “No,” he said with evident frustration. “Haven’t been able to find them, and believe me, I’ve looked everywhere. As for the reason why we are here, I haven’t the slightest idea. We can’t recreate a civilization, because anything we build here disappears almost immediately. And we keep poking and prodding the living, provoking them to do more and more outrageous things so that we can feed off of them—”

  Without warning, the annoying woman beside them tossed her glass right through Einstein, spilling its contents all over the man sitting next to her. She laughed hysterically as she leaned over to wipe the stain on the poor guy’s pants, her hand lingering suggestively near his crotch. The red Angel hovering beside the man began quickly whispering in his ear, and the Mist that began to rise from him left little doubt about his intentions.

  “Which explains why there is so much infidelity and jealousy on Earth,” Einstein growled. “Even though most people would be more than happy to just be part of a couple. It’s not just a chemistry thing. The Mist of pure pleasure is white, and both colors can eat it, but blue Angels couldn’t care less. As long as they have enough to live on. However, it’s true that most Angels just float above the living, or their apartment buildings, eating to their heart’s content. There are millions of Angels in the city of New York, but I would guess that only about ten thousand of them actually take any interest in what’s going on around them. And the most obstinate ones come here, to Rose’s & Blues.”

  Einstein suddenly grew quiet, as he mulled over his words with bitter resignation. Jeremy waited for him to continue, but as Einstein looked to be lost in his thoughts, he finally asked him another question: “So you think we just ‘pass over’ to this world to … to feed ourselves? That’s a bit simplistic, isn’t it?”

  Einstein raised his head.

  “Well, you could say that it’s the same thing we were doing when we lived on Earth,” he smiled sadly. “I don’t want to sound too cynical, but we were born, we lived, and then we died. In the meantime, we nourished ourselves and felt different types of emotions. It’s exactly the same thing we’re doing here.”

  Jeremy contemplated the blue and red Angels, remembering how he had seen one of the Reds disappear just after he passed over. He told Einstein about it.

  “I don’t know much more about it than you do,” Albert replied sadly. “The reddest and bluest Angels disappear. That’s just the way it is. Which is why I try to avoid eating emotions that are too extreme, because, for the time being anyway, I don’t want to leave this world—even if, in my opinion, it would only be to ‘pass over’ to another universe.”

  Jeremy found their discussion extremely interesting, but he still hadn’t forgotten why he had come to Rose’s & Blues. Metaphysics and cosmology would have to wait for a while. If someone as brilliant as Albert Einstein hadn’t been able to prove the existence of God in fifty years, there was no way that puny little Jeremy Galveaux was going to figure it all out. The whole idea terrified him anyway. If you could prove that God existed, then you could also prove that the Devil existed, which was something he didn’t even want to think about.

  “Since you’ve been able to learn so much about this universe, maybe you could help me with something,” Jeremy continued. “Do you know how to scare off, destroy, or eliminate an Angel who is trying to make a human go crazy?”

  “What?”

  He quickly told Einstein about what was happening to his half sister—but didn’t tell him everything, as he didn’t entirely trust him yet. The young boy began to pensively scratch his thick mop of brown hair.

  “We Blues all have the same problem,” he said. “These damn Reds keep ruining the lives of the living and those of the dead.”

  He gave Jeremy a very concise explanation. Feelings of love and joy were just as strong as feelings of sadness and hate, which meant that the Reds were no stronger than the Blues. They were just more violent. But there was no way to stop a Red from haunting a living human being.

  At least, that’s what he said.

  It was almost imperceptible—something about the way he shook his head, and then looked down, avoiding Jeremy’s eyes. In his business dealings, Jeremy had become an expert in reading body language. He could sense when someone was lying, or hiding information from him.

  And Einstein was lying. Or else trying to hide something from him. That much was sure.

  With a sigh, Jeremy decided not to pursue the matter. He started to grow suspicious. There must be a way to stop the red Angel from bothering Angela, but Einstein didn’t want to talk about it. Why not?

  Suddenly, Jeremy perked up with relief: His father and grandfather had finally arrived. He waved at Paul and James, and the two men smiled and made their way over to him.

  “Ach, a family reunion, I suppose,” said Einstein, remarking the resemblance between the three men. “I’ll be on my way then, but if it’s OK with you, I’d like to meet again here from time to time, OK? I’d like to know how things work out for you.”

  Impatient to see his father again, Jeremy nodded hurriedly and Einstein disappeared in the crowd. Luckily for them, the unbearable woman and her companion also left and the three men had the whole booth to themselves, without having to sit in the lap—or rather, inside the lap—of any living people at the club.

  “My son,” Paul said as he warmly took Jeremy into his arms. “My son!”

  For a moment, Jeremy was so overcome with emotion that he was incapable of speaking. All that mattered was the warm and reassuring embrace of his father. He no longer smelled like that old aftershave he always wore, but more like freshly cut herbs and spices. He took a step back and could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, and was hardly surprised to see that his father was crying as well.

  “Enough of that now!” James snapped caustically. “Are you two men or little girls? Blubbering like that in front of everybody! Come now!”

  Jeremy raised his eyes in exasperation. So did his father. It looked as if things didn’t really change much after you died: His grandfather was still a thick-skinned old tyrant. Both of them sat down and Paul looked at his son sheepishly.

  “You … you were at the cemetery?”

  “Yes,” Jeremy replied. “They buried my body.” No one could find the appropriate words.

  “I … I’m sorry, Jeremy,” Paul finally said. “I think I kind of lost it.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Dad,” Jeremy said with a wave of his hand. “How do you feel now?”

  “When I’m not with your mother, I’m OK,” he confided. “But it’s very difficult for me when we’re together, and I can’t stop myself from going to see her. It’s … it’s really hard for me. I wish she’d hurry up and die because I can’t take it anymore.”

  Jeremy could only stare at his father, shocked by his words. Paul immediately realized what a horrible thing he’d
said, then ran his hands crazily through his brown hair.

  “I’m sorry, sometimes I say the stupidest things. But tell us about you. You’re so young, Jeremy; what happened to you? I still don’t understand. I thought I heard your grandfather say something about a sword?”

  Jeremy told them about how he’d died. When he mentioned Allison, James was so surprised he almost swallowed his cigar. It disappeared due to his excess of emotion, and the old man grabbed some blue Mist to make himself a new one.

  “By all the angels and saints!” he swore. “That’s absolutely mad! My grandson was killed by a nutcase who wanted to knock off some blonde? Have you been able to find out why?”

  Jeremy told them how he had followed Allison, and eventually realized that she had been a witness to his murder. The link between the two of them was his half sister, Angela, who had given his business card to the young teacher for some unknown reason. That’s all he learned so far. Now he thought that Allison would be the killer’s next victim, just as he had killed another woman Jeremy didn’t know: Annabella Dafing.

  “Well there’s some hope then,” James said, lost in his thoughts.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That this Allison woman will die,” his grandfather said bluntly. “Then she’ll be able to tell you why you were killed.”

  Jeremy was stunned by his grandfather’s words.

  “But Grandfather!” he finally managed to say. “I don’t want her to die! I want someone to tell me how I can protect her! I have to find a way to let her know her life’s in danger!”

  James contemplated his grandson, then stared intently at the tip of his cigar until it caught fire. He started blowing smoke rings with obvious pleasure before stating in a deadly serious voice: “But you can’t.”

  Jeremy was about to argue with him but quickly realized that there was no point: James was right. Allison was no prophet, nor was she a lunatic. He would never be able to affect her subconscious. He slumped back on his seat.

  “There’s nothing I can do. Is that what you mean?”

  “Of course you can, Jeremy; don’t listen to him,” Paul said, frowning at James. “You can make her worried. Whisper warnings in her ear. It’s what I did with your mother. I knew that Frank was an arms dealer. I spent years planting a seed of doubt in her mind—and in yours. You were more receptive than Claire, and you were the one that had him investigated. But all those doubts and all those suspicions you had came from me. Over and over I whispered them in your ear. It was driving me crazy to look on and do nothing while you and your mother were in such danger.”

  James could only nod sadly in agreement. Yes, it had certainly driven him crazy. Jeremy was trying as best he could to find some kind of link between his stepfather, his mother, Allison, this Annabella Dafing, and the killer. The problem was that he had two different theories, and no way of knowing which one was correct. Maybe his dad could help him. The red Angel back at the mansion had said that he had been killed by Tachini. Jeremy highly doubted that his classy stepfather would have stooped so low as to dirty his own hands. He must have called on the services of a professional. If his suspicions were true, and if he had called in the same man that had killed Jeremy, then he would have his proof.

  “Dad, maybe you know who that red Angel is? The one who’s tormenting Angela?” he insisted.

  “No,” Paul said. “He showed up about a year ago. I never really understood what happened, except that he claims Tachini killed him. He refuses to answer my questions.”

  “Didn’t you try to make him leave her alone? For Christ’s sake, Dad! He’s driving Angela completely nuts!”

  Paul only looked away.

  “There’s nothing I can do about it,” he murmured weakly. “She’s not my daughter. It’s not my problem. The only thing that matters to me is Claire. Do you think this killer might go after her as well? That would be fantastic!”

  Jeremy could feel the lump in his throat as he rose to his feet. He had made a mistake. His father was completely mad, beyond all hope, totally obsessed by one idea, and one idea only: getting Claire back.

  “I’m sorry,” he said coldly to Paul and James, “but I have to go. I suppose that you come here often?”

  “Yes,” James nodded. “We Angels have quite a bit of free time on our hands. And as you must have heard for yourself, the music at Rose’s & Blues is excellent. You can find us here if you ever need us. Oh, and Jeremy?”

  “Yes, Grandfather?”

  “Find a way to get rid of that red Angel. There’s always a solution. Don’t give up hope. It’s true, this may be a crazy world we live in, but don’t let appearances fool you. A piece of advice for you, my boy: Keep on fighting!”

  6

  The Taste of Desire

  Jeremy could hardly believe his ears. It looked as if death had softened up his grandfather’s steely character. He had actually shown some compassion. Unbelievable. Jeremy smiled gratefully and said goodbye. His father, who was lost once again in his thoughts, only waved awkwardly at his son. It was already eleven p.m. Jeremy walked out of Rose’s & Blues, and, after thinking it over for a moment, decided not to go home (to his mother’s home, that is), and instead went back to Allison’s. He suddenly felt the urge to see how she was doing.

  But she wasn’t home. Only Frankenstein was there to greet him with an inquisitive bark. Jeremy bent over to pet him, knowing full well that it couldn’t feel his hand, but he figured that would calm the dog down. He stretched out on the bed. He wasn’t hungry, as he’d eaten some Mist at the club. He felt uneasy: Where had Allison gone?

  He finally dropped off for a few minutes, only to be awakened by voices in the apartment.

  Allison had returned … and she wasn’t alone.

  There was a young man with her.

  And two Angels floating above the floor: one blue and one red.

  They both waved at Jeremy before turning their full attention back to the stranger and Allison.

  Jeremy jumped quickly to his feet. The man was quite handsome. Jeremy didn’t pay much attention to men’s looks, but he had to admit that this guy was much better looking than he was. In fact, he was in a whole other league, by a long shot. Jeremy suddenly realized that he had already seen his thick brown hair, big smiling green eyes, square jaw, broad forehead, and aquiline nose somewhere before—but where?

  Jeremy swallowed hard: What was he going to do if Allison and her boyfriend suddenly jumped on her enormous bed and started passionately making love? But then the words the man was saying finally sunk in: “Oh my God, dearie, your decorating is absolutely pathetic! I feel like I’m in a secretary’s office!”

  Jeremy suddenly felt faint and had to sit down on the bed. Ah, now he remembered where he’d seen him before. He was the famous model whose six-pack abs had girls all over the country drooling. His name was Clark something or other.

  “Oh Clark!” Allison exclaimed, as if echoing his thoughts. “If you could keep your snide comments to yourself for a second, I would appreciate it. I need your help right now, not your … highly questionable decorating skills.”

  Clark ran his hands through his gleaming hair, winked one of his green topaz eyes, and set his cashmere jacket on a chair.

  “I’m all ears, my love. Because of you, I’m missing the cocktail party for the launch of the new BB, and Naomi is going to have an absolute fit because I’m the only man in her entourage who isn’t a dwarf, and she wanted me to be her escort tonight, so I might as well make myself useful here.”

  The blue Angel sighed with regret and gently placed his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.

  “He’s actually a very bright boy, you know. It drives me crazy the way he always acts so flighty to make people think he’s not so smart!”

  “Were you his first love?” asked the red Angel with sudden interest.

  “No,” replied the blue Angel regretfully, slightly taken aback. “Not his first. But I really loved him, and after I died I decided to keep in touch w
ith him. His life is filled with emotions, but you obviously know that since you feed off of him as well!”

  The red Angel only smiled. And so did Jeremy.

  So Clark was gay. Fantastic. Jeremy immediately began to consider Clark with a much kinder eye. But he was still somewhat at a loss to understand why he felt so jealous.

  That’s when Clark did something that really threw him for a loop: He grabbed hold of Allison and gave her a long, passionate kiss on the mouth.

  Both the Angels were so surprised by the spectacle that they forgot to feed themselves and lowered themselves down to the floor.

  “Oh my God!” one of them exclaimed. “Did you know he was bi?”

  “Not at all,” the other replied excitedly. “I can’t believe it. What a scoop! I know quite a few girls who’ll be furious that they didn’t know it when they were alive! But they all had so much plastic surgery done that old Clark wouldn’t have given them the time of day!”

  Both Angels laughed.

  Jeremy, on the other hand, clenched his teeth, doing his best to resist the urge to try and separate the couple.

  Allison finally managed to push Clark away. She looked shaken up.

  “Clark!” she yelled, red in the face and out of breath. “What did we say about that?!”

  The young model shook one of his finely shaped hands excitedly. He didn’t feel guilty in the least.

  “It’s the forbidden fruit that I find so enticing, honey. I swear, you’re the only girl I know that makes me want to do something like that. And you’ve been chaste for so long now, Allison, with your ridiculous fairy-tale dreams about Prince Charming. Believe me, he doesn’t exist!”