Gideon

by Sharon Hamilton

  She stopped to listen to it carefully. “He’s being taken to the lab, but he’s in custody.”

  “Who is Francis?”

  “My Gideon’s best friend.”

  At last they reached a courtyard bathed in a red glow from overhead lamps. The air was steamy, but pitch black. She followed the little bots as they pressed themselves close to buildings until they came upon a path leading through a garden of some kind. Water was running in the distance.

  “Sound familiar?” she asked Rose.

  “Maybe. I can’t tell.”

  Persephone squinted since it was difficult to make out the little swarm. “Can’t see you,” she whispered. Several red dots appeared as the little bugs illuminated their bodies.

  “Ingenious. Where are we going, Persephone?” Rose whispered.

  “Their maker has a lab here. I’ve asked them to find him.”

  Below, they heard music and voices of people who had gathered. Some laughter and whistles like at a sporting event. But the two angels continued on the garden path until they saw a huge metal warehouse illuminated by bright lights with a large circular driveway in front occupied by several large delivery trucks. It appeared to be some sort of construction yard, filled with pallets of material from lumber, bands of wire, and metal tubing. Metal grates and storage bins of various sizes were stacked along one outside wall of the building. The whole area was fenced, but the bots found a cut in the fencing material and bent back a section so the two angels could make their way through without catching their clothes.

  The gnats didn’t head for the front door, as Persephone had assumed, but formed the head of a spear and tapped against a window spewing bright yellow light over a barren blacktop area.

  They heard rumbling of chains from inside as a small roll-up door no larger than a picture window was raised. Inside the warehouse waiting for them was the clockmaker. His black rubber apron nearly touched the ground, the metal helmet with clear visor and oversized black gloves extending to his elbows made him look more like a welder than an inventor. In the background, a dozen workers were working with saws, hammers, and welding equipment, with opera music playing in the background. They were oblivious to their new visitors.

  “Come, come, quickly,” he whispered. When he saw Rose, he stopped her with a glove to her chest. “Wait. What’s this?”

  “She’s with me. We escaped together,” Persephone insisted.

  “No, no, no. That’s not the plan. She must go back,” Manfred said.

  “Please, sir. They’ll kill me. I’ll help in any way you wish. Just give me a chance to help save myself.”

  Manfred examined her gown, which was now ragged and dirty, and eyed her bare feet and muddy calves. He motioned for her to step forward into the light where the clockmaker studied her face. “You are fallen. Who is your maker? You have no chain.”

  “Dimitri. He was to meet me here. Promised to meet me here.”

  “She was double-crossed, Manfred. We must help her.”

  “No, that wasn’t the plan and you are not wise to divulge it. Not sure who we can trust, angel. But it’s too late.” He searched the room. “You both will have to stay very still. I do not want the crew to discover your presence.”

  “I will not let you down.”

  Manfred grunted as he lowered the roll-up door behind them. Inside the warehouse there were hanging parts of dolls, toys, statues, wings, and other objects, some looking real, others grotesque like gargoyles. The opera music seemed odd to Persephone, as would a cherub choir. An electric saw buzzed, a nail gun compressor kicked in and several drills were working. Background chatter punctuated with laughter trickled in the air around the industrious place.

  “You will have to find hiding places amongst the parts. We are going to have visitors soon. The Red Queen is on her way.”

  “I felt Francis’s message too,” said Persephone.

  “Francis? He’s here?”

  “Unless my telepathy has been able to crack your barrier. I sense nothing from on top, so I assume he’s here somewhere.”

  “What about Gideon?” Manfred asked.

  “I hope that he is safe at home, but the bots sent me a message from him.”

  “Hope he stayed away. Hurry, find places over against the wall where you will not be noticed.” He cupped a few gnats between his gloved hands and poured them into Persephone’s breast pocket. “Send them to me if you have to.”

  The little bots tucked down into the seam of the pocket and were still.

  Manfred pointed to the side wall and the two angels tiptoed quietly to the edge, being careful to stop anything they’d caused to start swinging or tipping over. They each found a stool and sat, using a white sheet draped over one of the hanging dolls to hide under. It was the perfect cover because they could see through the fabric without being seen, as long as they didn’t move.

  “Thank you,” whispered Rose.

  “Thank me when we’re safe. We’ve a long way to go.”

  Manfred returned to the center of the production line and started barking orders. Persephone felt something down at her leg and saw Tabby stretching to scratch her sides against her ankle. The red luminous eyes inspected her, with Tabby’s tail clicking in the background.

  Rose squeezed her hand. “What the devil is that?” she whispered.

  “You’ve never seen a cat before?” Persephone returned. She put her finger to her lips.

  Rose leaned in to her. “Not like that one.”

  Tabby flipped her head from side to side, sitting on her haunches in front of Rose, appearing more casual than Persephone knew she was.

  “Scat, go away, Tabby.”

  The cat remained and didn’t pay any attention to Persephone.

  The sound of a door opening and several deep voices entering the room caught Tabby’s attention as well, and she ran off to investigate. All work in the shop suddenly stopped. They saw Manfred through the maze of hanging body parts, make his way over to the sound of the front door.

  “Welcome, visitors. We have been expecting your arrival.”

  A female voice cooed something in return.

  “What have you brought here?”

  Persephone saw Francis being shoved to the ground by one of the Red Queen’s brothers.

  All work stopped in the lab. The queen’s brothers shifted from side to side, scanning the crew, which outnumbered them three to one.

  “Ah, I see you have found my lost pet. Thank you, my dear,” Manfred said.

  “He belongs to me now. I understand you can repair his damaged wing?” she barked defiantly.

  “Yes, yes, I can. But then it was I who removed it.”

  “Why?”

  “Insubordination. The angel is a worthless tool, or haven’t you deduced that by now?”

  “You will fix him for my sister, but she will retain custody,” a deep male voice boomed.

  The room began to fill with clucking noises and a few whispers of protest from several of Manfred’s crew. Persephone noticed several men had grabbed a metal pipe, a wrench or hammer and formed a small crowd behind Manfred.

  “It’s quite all right, men. We’ll give them the tour, and then send them on their way. If you insist, you can keep your pet.”

  Francis moaned in response to the sound of someone’s boot kicking him.

  “You mistreat a pet and they will turn on you, Queen. Even in the Underworld there are rules of conduct.”

  She scoffed. The sounds of her little feet stepping on the gritty concrete floor echoed throughout the room. No one else made a sound.

  “So you are building a doll, Special Forces I see?” she said with disgust. “An army of dolls. And for whom?”

  Persephone could see her bright burgundy cape flowing about her thin body like a veil of smoke. She was sure it was some sort of protection device and apparently it worked in the Underworld.

  “A new contract, Queen.”

  “For whom? Answer me,” she barked.

 
“We are building several new bots.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was contracted and hired.” Manfred’s voice was becoming strained. Persephone felt the bugs in her pocket becoming agitated.

  “You work for Guardians and Watchers now, clockmaker? And why do they call you clockmaker when you make dolls?”

  “Warrior dolls. Special bots for various purposes. Some for pleasure. Some for pain. Which is your preference?”

  “I wish to own the warriors Francis said you are building.”

  “These?” The clockmaker tried to make it look like a joke. “These are harmless. I could build others for you. Perhaps even more enhanced. Your specifications and tastes.”

  Somewhere in the shop a tool dropped and Persephone felt tension rise in the room. The red vamp quickly turned in that direction. “What is it that moves over there?”

  Manfred stood beside her. “That’s my cat.”

  “That’s not a cat.”

  “You are mistaken, my dear. That is my cat, Tabby. I take very good care my Tabby.” He bent down. “Come here Tabby, show yourself.”

  The sound of the cat’s paws were so light Persephone had a hard time hearing anything at all. Rose’s face was squinting to watch what was going on. They watched Manfred pick Tabby up and present her to the red vamp.

  “Fascinating, but ugly as hell,” she said as she took the animal, cradling her in her arms. “That tail is disgusting and,” the Queen leaned over to sniff the non-existent fur, which Persephone knew was a huge mistake, “she smells horrible.” The Queen was going to toss her, but before she could, Tabby reared back and flung herself onto the vamp’s face, digging her claws into her flesh. The vamp screamed, shattering one of the skylights. Pieces of glass fell into the room like rain.

  The workforce began to grumble as the queen’s brothers sprang into action, attempting to remove the cat from her face and neck. One by one, they were repelled. Large arcs of blood sprayed in several directions as the cat’s claws had success with the devilish vamp brothers’ flesh.

  Manfred shouted, “Outrage! You disrespect our work here and you shall pay!”

  This signaled the crew, who moved into action, creating a fray resulting in parts flying and crashing to the ground, bodies of workmen as well as parts of the brothers flew and landed limp on table tops, pieces of sinew and strings of gut dripping blood on innocent-looking doll faces.

  In the commotion, Manfred hauled Francis up and shoved him in their direction. Persephone caught the Guardian and held him tight. “Thank goodness you’re okay.”

  He returned the hug and then stared back between the two angels. “How did you get here?”

  Persephone put her finger to her lips again. Rose handed Francis her palm and whispered, “I’m Rose, fallen angel.”

  “Francis, broken angel, friend,” he whispered in return. He turned to Persephone, ducking to avoid being hit by a metal wrench that had flown just over the top of his head. “You got my messages, then.”

  “Yes. I hope soon we can leave. I worry about leaving Gideon up top on his own.”

  “Not soon enough, angel.”

  “Should we help them?” she asked.

  Before she got an answer, she ran to the Red Queen, and threw dust she’d been collecting in her pocket, right into the vamp’s face. Tabby had scrambled off somewhere, but as the dust hit her, she fell backward.

  Thinking quickly, she decided to try something she’d been considering. Holding the Red Queen’s forearm, she picked up the arm of one of her unconscious brothers and held the two limbs together. White light confirmed that the healing would occur, but the bones, and flesh would be fused. She left the queen kicking her brother, trying to wake him, as his dead weight made it impossible for her to fight.

  One of the other brothers was starting to elevate. Manfred shouted to Francis, who came running from the corner, and pulled the beast down, and hit his skull with a hammer.

  It took several minutes for the fight to subside. The three angels waited at the edge of the fight, until they were convinced Manfred’s side had won.

  Manfred approached, bloody, but sporting a grin from ear to ear. “We recycle everything here because it is so difficult to get material. It all has to be shipped in. Do you suppose Gideon will mind if part of his army is made up of some spare parts we managed to procure this evening?”

  Persephone stood in shock at the mayhem.

  “My dear, if you ever change your mind about living down here, I could certainly use your quick-thinking skills.

  From under a table, Tabby strutted proudly, chewing a part of a red leather wing.

  Chapter 22

  Gideon lay in the cold cell by himself. His shoulders were swollen, his body burning up with fever from the infection started by the fouled claws of the winged creatures that had carried him to the Underworld. He was not healing, would probably never heal here, and in all likelihood would die soon.

  Good riddance.

  He’d failed again. Failed to adequately protect Persephone, and his friend Francis, and possibly plunged his other more distant friend, the genius clockmaker who had also risked it all to try to support the rescue, into an eternity of pain and suffering.

  He only hoped that some of the Red Queen’s brothers had somehow found a fiery grave somewhere. The guards had told him the angel who had been held for the Director had fought back, sliced the legs from their fellow guards and met her end by the Director’s fireball. They said his beautiful angel flamed blue, and then was reduced to an oily spot on the ground.

  He told himself he should have more hope, but he was tired, weakened by fighting, exhausted from looking over his shoulder for enemies. Tired of losing. Tired of finding brief glimpses of joy packed on all sides with confusion, heartache, and despair.

  Even if he survived the death camp he was destined for, escaped the Underworld to be able to crawl around the human world in his deformed state, there was still one more confrontation he would not be able to avoid. And he’d deserve whatever the old SB would bring him.

  His one regret was that he’d been unable to say goodbye to her. The bots had been dispatched to deliver his message of love to his lovely Guardian after the poor angel had been destroyed. Everything was too little, too late. Everything was over.

  He willed the infection to rage further. His anger raised his blood pressure higher. The heart beating inside his chest was erratic, and he was forcing it to run off the rails. He was done with the suffering.

  It irritated him the clockmaker had made a point to mention Gideon had given up when he’d chucked his Watcher life on top of the bridge. That day seemed so long ago, and yet it had been barely a week, and now the Universe had turned on its axis.

  But once again, he was failing. Failing to die a good, clean, fast death. A death in combat, fighting for the honor and love of his beloved. No, he’d die from a sickly infection he was too weak to overcome. Being a freak of nature had finally caught up to him. He felt like he was coming apart like one of the clockmaker’s bots.

  The air was foul. The dripping walls were disgusting. He could hear little animals trying to find some shelter from the doom and gloom. Even insects and earth bugs could find no refuge.

  If he raised a stink, perhaps they’d end him quickly. If he could enrage them, perhaps they’d beat him to death. It was far better than rotting away, forgotten, and alone. With difficulty, he sat up, leaned his back against the wall, and attempted to use his wings as cushion and perhaps cover, but the wings stayed stubbornly encased just as if they’d been sewn shut.

  He inhaled and let out a roar that shook the building. He roared again as the visions of his life flashed before him, all the things he soon would no longer pine for, but things nonetheless be forever denied. Failure was such a bitter pill. He wanted the chance to join his angel if that was even possible.

  He reached out to Francis, though their connection had been broken some time ago.

  Tell her I loved her w
hen you see her. Tell her I regret so that she cannot return to Heaven where she’d be safe. Ask for forgiveness from her beautiful heart, her bottomless soul.

  Of course, he got no response. That’s because Francis was probably also dead. He’d be leaving his parting message for the stones digging into his backside.

  Again, he roared because it was the only thing he could do. He thought maybe if he was so loud, perhaps it would send his voice clear through to the human world above, and perhaps beyond, if it were possible. Perhaps he’d cause an earthquake. But no further rumbling lingered after his last outburst.

  He was done.

  Come take me. Bury me.

  Persephone and Rose were seated in the back of the large delivery truck, hidden under tarps thrown over metal storage lockers. Manfred insisted on being driver and Francis was his co-pilot. The fallen angels had heard him give instructions for the cleanup to hide their mini war with the Red Queen and her brothers. It had been a Red-Letter day for the crew, who were eager to put it past them, use the body parts and experiment with warrior making. The room had been buzzing with energy.

  She heard the engine start and the truck began traveling down the bumpy road Manfred mentioned was the back door to the Underworld, a place where deliveries were taken and removed. Only a handful of people knew about this access, he’d told them.

  As they’d pulled away she thought she’d heard a scream coming from down below. She banged on the side of the metal but Manfred hadn’t paid attention, or didn’t hear her. She listened again and heard the distinctive mournful howl that could only come from one being in the universe: Gideon.

  “Do you hear it?” she asked Rose.

  “Sounds like someone being tortured. I will be so happy to get away from all this bleakness, this death and darkness.”

  But Persephone wouldn’t be convinced it was just some anonymous cry for help. She felt the vibration in her heart that he was in pain, and that they were about to leave him behind.

  That was unacceptable.

  She stood, banging on the back of the cab, shouting for the clockmaker to stop. Then she sent a telepathic message to Francis, cursing herself that she hadn’t used that earlier.