Angel Dares

by Joss Stirling

  So many times I have claimed, without really thinking of the words, that I’d ‘never been more scared in my life’ but this time I had no doubt I’d found a whole new level of terror. Sensing my horror, the water nearest me tried to keep away, bending into a bubble shape, preserving the little air for me to breathe. Yet I knew that the molecules could only resist so much pressure from the weight of the ocean to which they were connected. I was one small savant; they formed one vast sea wrapping the world in its blue embrace.

  Angel, Angel: are you OK?

  No, I’m not OK, Marcus: I’m in a container going down like the Titanic.

  How much air? We can see bubbles.

  Yeah, that’s my air escaping. I’m in a kind of bubble inside but it’s rapidly deflating.

  Hang on in there.

  Why do people say such incredibly obvious things to you when you’re dying?

  You’re not dying.

  Tell that to the rising water level. I’m so tired. My thoughts were drifting, a sense of unreality stealing over me, cold catching up as I had stopped swimming. Is this like some really weird dream?

  No, it’s not. I wish it were.

  So tired.

  Angel, come on: you mustn’t give up.

  Give up what? Just then, hitting the bottom of miserable, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get out of the container, not if it meant facing the complete mess-up that was my life. I’d compromised savant safety with my photographs, fallen in and out of love with my soulfinder in the space of twenty-four hours, and missed out on the biggest break of my career.

  Angel, don’t. Summer had joined Marcus in my mind. In fact, I knew he’d invited her there, feeling he wasn’t enough for me. We’ll get you out. We’ve your fabulous Benedict boys on your side, remember?

  That provoked a flicker of a smile, hearing my nickname for them.

  And Alex too, said Misty. He’s gone with Victor to get control of the crane. They’ll be lifting you out any moment now—you’ve got to believe it.

  I closed my eyes and swallowed against the lump in my throat. I do if you say it.

  Marcus spoke again, his voice so much closer somehow than even my best friends, like the difference between skin and clothes. Summer says you’re exhausted—that you need energy. Can I … can I try and give you some of mine?

  The air had become little more than a diver’s helmet around my head. Only the faint light glimmering through murky water showed which way was up. I was getting disorientated, lulled by my favourite element. Soft cold fingers of sea brushed my limbs. It wouldn’t be so bad to drown. One of the better ways to die, I’d heard.

  Stop it! Marcus’s message was like a slap in the face. Angel, you are going to snap out of this. It’s not you—you’re about life.

  But I’m just not strong enough.

  Together we will be.

  Perhaps. Maybe. How are you going to help me?

  Summer thinks that I connect best through music. So I’m going to sing to you. I could hear his private thoughts, the ones muttering that of all the bizarre and stupid things he’d done in his life, this one took the prize, but he ignored all those protests for my sake. Any requests?

  I don’t want … I don’t care … What was I saying? I really was drifting off like a capsized sailor flat out on the upturned hull of her boat in the middle of the Pacific.

  You’ve got no choice as I’m gonna sing anyway or Misty here will scratch my eyes out; only flexibility is the song.

  I said nothing, too cold even to imagine what I would ask for.

  All righty, my choice then. Demon Angel, got my soul on the rack …

  A little energy woke me out of my daze. No, not that one! I hate that song.

  He was pleased: he’d done it on purpose to shake me out of my lethargy. It’s a good song.

  I hate that it’s about me.

  Then ask for another.

  OK, if I have to. Stay Away, Come Closer.

  He started to hum the intro, then softly sang the words. His gift stole along our connection. My friends tactfully retired from our shared mind-space so he could nestle me to him in the melody, wrapping it around me like a blanket. The warmth flowing from him reached my skin from the inside out, then spread a little further, helping hold the air pocket against the press of the ocean.

  Hold steady, baby, he said, interrupting his song, you’re about to get rescued.

  But he’d already rescued me, hadn’t he? Not that that changed anything fundamental about what was wrong between us. If anything I resented him for it.

  The container began to creak and groan as it was lifted, the payload of water stressing the cables. I could feel the water reluctant to let me go but I had a counterweight now: Marcus, my anchor on shore, and I helped nudge it away.

  Not today, I told the sea.

  Not ever, said Marcus.

  The container cleared the surface and rivulets streamed off the sides. Salt water raced for the exit, helping me by escaping through the cracks as fast as it could.

  That’s beautiful, said Marcus. I could see what he saw: water spurting from all directions like the rose spout on a watering can, glittering white against the fiery orange glow of the setting sun. My prison swung over the jetty and lowered smoothly to the ground, landing with a clunk. It was still half full.

  Careful! I warned whoever was going to open the door.

  The large bolts bottom and top were released and the doors swung open. The remaining water gushed out, washing me with it. Cushioned by my element, I landed on the concrete like a fish on the deck of a trawler, gasping and shivering. I was plucked from the ground and wrapped in two strong arms.

  ‘Don’t you ever do anything like that ever again!’ whispered Marcus fiercely. He hugged me to his chest, helping warm me with his body, though he too was soaking. I guessed he had been the one to reach the door first.

  A silver foil blanket was pressed around both of us as Summer and Misty moved in to the group hug.

  ‘Th … thanks, guys,’ I managed to say through chattering teeth.

  ‘Let’s get you somewhere you can warm up,’ said Will.

  ‘W … what’s h … happening here?’

  ‘Vick, Uri, and Alex are staying to deal with the crane driver and the local police.’

  ‘Davis an … and Jennifer?’

  ‘We don’t think they were on site. It was all done remotely. Don’t worry: we’re onto them. Your job is to recover: get warm—rest.’

  ‘O … OK.’ To be honest I was too cold to care.

  ‘Come on, baby, I’ve got you.’ Bundling me up in his arms, Marcus carried me over to the car. ‘Seems as though I’m making a habit of this.’

  ‘It … it w … won’t happen again,’ I said, meaning I wouldn’t involve him next time.

  He wilfully misinterpreted my words. ‘Of course it won’t. You, Angel, are not getting within a million miles of Davis and his crew again even if I have to sic a squad of bodyguards on you.’

  I didn’t have the energy to argue. In the middle row of seats, he pulled me onto his lap as the other passengers took their places. There was a tangible tension in the vehicle: our driver, Will, was absorbed with talking telepathically to his brothers, picking their path through the crisis; Summer and Misty were painfully aware of my misery; Marcus by contrast was clueless how to handle me. Even in my upset I had to allow that he’d been dropped in the deep end—ha ha—discovering his connection to me during a live concert before an audience of thousands and then having to ride to the rescue. Most soulfinders get a little more space to adjust to their new reality. Physically it felt so right to be curled up with him like this; emotionally I felt we were poles apart. He was sending out such contradictory signals, still so angry, thinking of his gift like being diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder, a sentence of artistic death. He couldn’t see it for the wonderful bounty it was. Cheat and fraud: these were two of the terms he was applying to himself. What must he think of me, then?

  ‘After
tonight, you’ll need therapy,’ I muttered, in a broken-winged joke.

  It flapped clumsily between us. ‘Yeah, I think I do.’ He leaned down and brushed a kiss on my wet hair. ‘I’m just relieved you’re alive.’

  ‘So am I.’ I spread my fingers against the damp cloth of his T-shirt, wanting the contact despite myself.

  We passed the rest of the journey in silence. By arrangement with Margot, Will drove the car right into the performers’ zone and parked at the steps to Marcus’s trailer. Margot hurried up just as we arrived.

  ‘Oh Angel: you’re really all right? I can’t believe what they did to you! They have to be mad.’

  ‘I guess that about sums it up,’ I replied, shuffling out of the car.

  ‘You get warmed up in Marcus’s shower. Marcus, how are you, sweetie?’

  I watched enviously as Marcus went to Margot for a hug. Of course, she was like an older sister to him. That was the problem with soulfinder relationships, I was discovering: you felt as though you should be close but there was no shared history, no depth to support it.

  He’s not ready yet, said Misty softly, seeing my expression, but if you let it grow, it’ll come. Alex and I got off to a rocky start too.

  Yeah, but at least he wanted to be a savant.

  Give Marcus time to adjust. It’ll work out.

  But I’m not even sure I like him, I replied truthfully—I couldn’t lie to Misty about something like this: she would know. He didn’t want to come save me.

  But he came. And it’s not quite true, Angel, that you don’t like him. Right now, you’re angry with him, explained Summer, joining in our little girl chat as she helped me up the stairs and into the Winnebago. He’s angry with us. Neither of you can see clearly what else you might feel.

  I guess he’ll need to write a few more bitchy songs about me to get it out of his system, I said bitterly.

  If he has to, you should let him do it. You’ve had a lifetime to get used to being a savant; he’s had, like, five minutes?

  Summer was always so reasonable; was she right this time?

  I guess.

  At least you found him. She tried a smile but I couldn’t find one to answer her—probably a first for me. ‘Go on: in the shower with you.’

  I stood under the warm spray and let the salt wash from my body. It felt cleansing, like I was a snake casting off a skin. Some of the old wide-eyed Angel broke away from me and swirled down the drain. Instead of new tender skin under the old, I decided I would emerge with a thicker hide to bear with my disappointment. At least, that was the plan; the reality was somewhat different.

  Wrapped in a towel, I stepped out into the living room area. Misty and Summer were waiting for me, sitting tensely on the sofa. I looked around. ‘Where’s Marcus?’

  ‘He … er … he had to go and finish his concert,’ Misty explained. ‘Margot insisted and Will thought it for the best—less chance of rumours spreading about him and his gift.’

  If I strained my ears I could hear that Black Belt had indeed resumed their concert after a good hour of interruption. ‘Well then, good for him. Did you get me any dry clothes?’

  Summer handed me a bag. ‘Margot dug these out for you.’

  ‘Great: the ever-efficient Margot. Thanks.’ I went into the little bedroom area I’d not visited before and closed the door.

  You will not cry, Angel. You will put on these new things, smile and carry on.

  Oh damn, I was crying.

  Stop it, you spineless idiot. Where is your pride?

  I’d never really been that bothered by pride before but now it was important to leave this disaster zone with some intact. I pulled on the T-shirt and jeans I had been lent and wiped my face on the Black Belt logo of the top.

  Summer tapped on the door. ‘Kurt’s here, Angel. He wants to check you’re OK and if you are up to playing tonight.’

  Kurt. Funny how my heart no longer leapt over him either. Both Marcus and Kurt had managed to siphon off all my fangirl glee and left me on empty. I came out of the bedroom and found him standing by the door, guitar in hand.

  ‘Hey, darlin’, I can’t believe what those criminals did to you! Glad to see you in one piece.’ He held out his arms for a hug.

  I wasn’t in one piece—more like a dropped Easter egg held together by its gaudy wrapper. ‘Hi, Kurt.’ Staying back, I dug my hands in the pockets of my jeans.

  He frowned as he took in my defensive stance. ‘You … you must be shaken up, right?’

  I nodded.

  ‘So you’ll give the performance a miss then?’

  I dipped my head again, hiding my anger that he could even think I’d be up to playing after that experience. Self-absorbed rock god.

  Kurt clenched his fist then released it. ‘I’m sorry about that but it would be too much, wouldn’t it?’

  I could tell he was hoping for an Angel bounce back to put everything on track to how it had been before all the weirdness had started but I couldn’t oblige. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right. OK. See you later then?’

  I nodded, but I had no intention of doing so. Seeing him standing there had firmed my resolve. I couldn’t return to how things had been a few hours ago: me trying to win Marcus and Kurt over to the savant world like some desperate puppy whining for their attention, rolling over with enthusiasm to make them love me.

  Summer stepped into the awkward silence. ‘I hope the performance goes well.’

  ‘Thanks, love.’ Kurt took one last look then left.

  Summer came over to me and pulled me to her for a hug. ‘You want to go.’

  Of course she knew. ‘I have to go. I want to be home, not here. Will you … ’ I took a shuddering breath. ‘Will you fix it for me?’

  Summer nodded. ‘Misty, can you make Angel a hot drink? I’ll go talk to the others.’

  I don’t know how she did it but Summer persuaded Margot to provide me with a chauffeur-driven car to take me home. As Gifted stepped out on stage to make their headline performance, I was tucked up on the rear seat with Summer beside me, heading back to London. Everyone else was staying to sort out the mess of my abduction: Davis was still on the loose, Jennifer had not yet returned, and the crane driver claimed he had no idea someone was in the container. With no evidence to lay against them—even the live footage had not shown up on any part of the web Victor’s people had searched—it looked as though it was purely my word against theirs as to what had happened. And none of it made any sense unless I could be open about my savant power—which I couldn’t. I’d almost died keeping that secret so I was hardly like to blurt it out now, was I? Doubtless this was part of the risk calculation Davis had made.

  ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing leaving?’ asked Summer softly.

  I watched the trees lining the motorway flick by. ‘Yes. I’m only bringing forward a few hours what Marcus was going to do to me. It’s for the best.’

  ‘It’s not over, Angel. You can’t leave your soulfinder even if you feel better putting a distance between you right now.’

  ‘I know we’ll always be connected by that but, honestly, I can’t bear to stay near him. You and I both know that soulfinder relationships don’t always work out. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t even like me very much. He makes me feel bad inside.’

  Summer touched the back of my wrist. ‘He’s plucked the wings off our butterfly and I think I could hate him for that.’

  ‘Butterfly?’

  ‘That’s how Misty and I think of you—you are so … so happy, it’s a joy to be with you.’

  ‘Not so happy now.’

  ‘Of course not. But you will be again, I promise.’

  ‘I love you guys.’

  ‘And we love you.’

  Mum and Dad didn’t question me when I arrived home—just opened their arms and hugged me, then put me to bed. I think I heard Mum muttering something about Marcus never playing under fine skies ever again, but that was just temper talking. I switched off the light a
nd lay staring at the darkness for a few seconds. Exhausted but not able to sleep: a poisonous mixture. Sighing, I sat up and gave in to temptation, opening iPlayer on my laptop. Searching through the recent broadcasts, I found footage of the night’s concert from Rockport. Thumbing the timeline to the point where Marcus walked off stage, I watched the replay. He was in the zone playing ‘Out in the Cold’ then froze, hand poised over guitar strings. Seeing it from the outside like this, it was incredibly awkward. He was going to have that clip come up again and again in every interview. The stillness and conflict within was etched on his face. I realized then that he had also had the tug of the audience to battle—his gift linked him to those he was playing, like my attraction to the sea. Yet he had done it, hadn’t he? He might not win any prizes for doing it with grace, but he had stormed off with a face like fury to deal with my crisis.

  The footage then cut to coverage of other stages while the commentators speculated on the reason for Marcus’s abrupt departure. Then the conversation moved to the technical problems and some pitying comments at Marcus’s expense at getting the blast from the feedback.

  ‘Of course, that’s standard decibels at a Black Sabbath gig,’ joked one music critic. ‘These modern guys have gone soft.’

  ‘Yeah, but at least this generation will be able to hear when they reach fifty.’

  The footage returned to the stage as Marcus, Michael, and Pete walked back an hour later. Marcus wasn’t smiling—not so unusual for him as he was known to be serious, but neither did he take the front man role as he normally would. Michael made the repeat apology and explained how they were going to finish their set, putting the start time of the Gifted gig back. This didn’t please the live broadcasters but cheered up the crowd. The field that had emptied during the intermission rapidly filled up as spectators abandoned the other stages for the main event.

  I reached out to the screen and stroked the profile of my soulfinder. He looked so vulnerable up there, having to sing when he’d just been through such a confusing episode. As the music started though, he appeared to recover, moving down to take his position at the central mic. By the end, it would have been hard to know that anything was wrong. I couldn’t tell if his gift had been as strong as usual. Maybe he didn’t know how to turn it off? But I did take some pleasure in the fact that he had recovered most of the reputation damage his mission for me had caused.