Escaping Heaven

by Cliff Hicks

  Edward smiled like he was about to instruct a young child in something very rudimentary. “The flock can’t see us unless we want them do, Jacob. Part of the advantage of being an angel on Earth is that we are invisible, in fact intangible, just the same as the Cherubim who picked you up, unless we choose to be solid.” Edward reached over to a stack of trash and moved his fingers through the can as though it wasn’t there. Then he focused for a moment and brought his fingers to close on the handle of the trashcan lid. Jake could see the angel’s form shimmer slightly before his hand closed on the handle and lifted the lid. Half a second later, the angel shimmered again and the can fell through his hand and back onto the trashcan. “We can move among them without any worry of being disturbed. You have no need to be afraid of them. They cannot harm you. And if even you chose to be solid and they did cause you harm, the worst that would happen is that your form would dissipate and you would reform back in Heaven, simply to start your work all over again.” The very idea of that sent shivers down Jake’s spine, but he did his best to conceal them. “So you see, you are in no real danger while we are down here and at work. Even the agents of Hell, should we encounter them, could do no worse than send us back to Heaven. Although I would imagine they could make it somewhat painful before they did.”

  “Yeah, well,” Franco said, pulling Jake with him towards the end of the alleyway, heading towards the street proper, “I wouldn’t worry about that. The Hellfiends tend to keep to themselves. We have our charges and they have theirs and rarely the two should mix. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get our mark and be back home again before you know what hit us.”

  “How are we supposed to find this guy?” Jake asked them. He was trying his very best to look comfortable, hoping they would simply write off his impatience as nervousness. In his mind, however, he was running through the options of how he could just get loose from these two and how to prevent them from tracking him down after he’d lost them. To be fair, he wasn’t so worried about losing them so much as he was about them finding him again later. He’d already figured out the first few steps of his plan. “That compass thing?” He figured the more ignorant he seemed, the more he would learn and the less likely he was going to have to go back to Heaven.

  Edward nodded with a timid smile. “It came with the orders. I’ve never known exactly how they work, simply that they lead us to the particular person who has escaped back to Earth.” This put Jake slightly at ease. It would mean they would have to have a compass for him specifically, and would not just be able to use any old compass to find him. And before a compass could be issued for him, they would have to know he was missing. Jake felt like if he played his cards right, that wouldn’t be for a very long time indeed. He was sure the angels he’d locked in the cell wouldn’t want anyone above them finding out, and would do their best to keep his escape quiet on their own.

  Franco shrugged. “It’s another thing in Heaven that just works and I don’t question it. Like the blade. If I stopped to question it, the very concept of it would drive me crazy, trying to figure out how the flame appears and where from. So I just accept it – I don’t know how it works. It just does.”

  Jake chuckled. “That’s a lot of faith. What happens if it breaks?”

  That elicited another shrug from Franco. “Never has yet.”

  “It ever pick up rogue signals? One of theirs maybe?” Jake said, tapping his finger downward.

  “Never has yet,” Franco answered again. Franco liked to keep things simple. He was a man who didn’t like things more complicated than point and shoot. He did what he was told, he chased who he was told to chase, he sent back who he was told to send back. He’d met other Taggers like Jake before, newly conscripted and full of questions, but after a period of time, that passed and they learned to focus on the job at hand, whether that be retrieving a loose soul from the halls of Heaven or the shores of Earth, or finding ways to keep themselves entertained while they waited for another task to be given their way.

  Franco felt the job gave his life purpose, and he was good at it. He and Edward had been retrieving loose souls for over three hundred celestial years, and they did so with maximum efficiency. Franco always felt that someone higher up the food chain would notice their abilities and put them in charge of training new Taggers, but that day hadn’t come yet. Franco didn’t particularly worry, though – the paperwork in Heaven was insanely complicated and took what seemed like eternities to process. Franco was just glad that Edward handled all the paperwork from their retrieval jobs. It seemed to be the kind of thing Edward enjoyed and after their first celestial year or two as partners, Edward had offered to take over the paperwork “now and then” for Franco. That was the last time Franco had touched a sheet of paper. Now Edward brought them the cases and filed the paperwork, and Franco did the dirty work.

  “It is keyed to our target, Jacob, so there is no worry of it detecting anyone other than the person we are meant to find,” Edward replied delicately. Edward considered himself meticulous, and after the first few months of his partnership with Franco, Edward had taken a look at one of Franco’s reports before turning it into Dispatch. The report had been riddled with slight inaccuracies and inconsistencies. Nothing important was wrong, but many of the minutiae were incorrect. Edward wondered at that point if Franco’s reports had been preventing them from getting more casework. To test this theory, Edward relieved Franco of paperwork detail on a job where it had been Franco’s turn to write up. Sure enough, the next job had come much faster, and Edward found a sense of pride in having identified where the breakdown had been. Edward didn’t particularly mind the paperwork, even if he wasn’t all that fond of it either, and anything he could do to relieve their boredom made his day better. “We simply must have faith in the tools that the Lord has provided us with.”

  Jake considered pressing the matter, finding it impossible that anyone could eventually just accept that things worked “on faith,” but it didn’t seem wise to keep asking questions, so he nodded in return, keeping in step with Franco and Edward while the three of them walked out of the alleyway and towards the busier street. “Fair enough. What’s it say, Edward?”

  Edward smiled as Jake used his full name, not the nicknames that Franco used. Jake could tell that slight thing annoyed the crap out of Edward, but that the senior angel was too stoic and, well, prim to say anything. Edward looked back down at the compass, considering it for a good moment before looking up and pointing down one street. “That way. Judging by the width of the needle, it’s still a little bit away. Maybe a mile or two.”

  Franco started moving down the street before the other two, not in a hurry, simply unaccustomed to waiting around, wanting to get on with his job and get back to Heaven, where for some incomprehensible reason he was more comfortable. “May as well get walking then. Did the paperwork imply he’d ever gotten out before?”

  As Jake and Edward stepped quickly to catch up to him, Edward was looking down at the file he’d brought with him. Jake was mildly distracted when Edward simply walked right through a guy without batting an eyelash, a reaction that made Franco grin. Edward paid no mind. “Doesn’t look like it. Says the guy just died and was in the line before he made a run for it. Seems like the typical runner profile, except he wasn’t in line very long.”

  Jake cocked his head quizzically. “Typical profile?”

  Franco glanced around, as if trying to keep an eye for something or someone out of place. “Seems like all the runners come from the lines rather than the domiciles. Most of the time it’s that point between turning in their clothes and the final gateway that they sprint from.”

  “Maybe they all have a deep seated fear of togas,” Jake offered.

  The two Taggers smiled. “I think once they get past sorting, they’ve pretty much found their way in Heaven and are comfortable enough to spend the rest of their time there,” Franco said. “I don’t think anyone’s ever broken out of the domiciles, so I guess people are happy when
they get there.”

  Edward allowed himself a small chuckle. “Mmm. That, and the domiciles are much better contained. Why, with the lines the way they are, it’s actually a surprise to me that there isn’t more work for us these days. I know Franco here does not have a fine memory for such things, but I make it a point to study where the runners come from, and the waiting line to get into Heaven proper really can be very taxing on someone who is still in a bit of shock. I have recommended to the more senior angels that they implement some better security measures in these areas if they cannot implement some way of hastening a person’s entry into Heaven, but, as they say, one angel’s opinion does not a choir make.”

  “But nobody’s ever gotten out of the housing units?” Jake asked, as the trio crossed a busy street, letting the cars pass through them harmlessly. Jake had flinched at the first one, but was now starting to get more accustomed to the state of intangibility.

  “Not that we’ve had sent to us, that I can recall,” Franco said with a shrug, “but like Edward said, my memory’s crap. Ed?”

  Edward snorted. “Have I told you how much I hate when you call me that?”

  “You have, repeatedly,” Franco said, “but you’re still not answering my question.”

  “I realize that.” Edward inhaled a long breath, scrunching his face up as he considered, sorting through his long, indexed memory. “You know, I do believe you are correct Franco. There never has been anyone who has broken out of the housing units, at least not who’s been assigned to us.”

  Inside, Jake took a small measure of pride from that. He’d never really been a trailblazer, but ever since he made that run at the door, he’d been doing things he never would’ve thought he was capable of. He was bluffing, conning, evading and outwitting every person he could find. All without them ever knowing. He wondered how much of it was sheer luck and bluster, just having the gumption to try something no one else apparently had. “There’ll come a day,” Jake said, as the compass pointed them deeper into downtown, “that you guys will probably find yourselves going after someone who’s gotten out of the units.”

  Edward waggled a finger his direction. “It could very much be you chasing after the escapee. Although you really should get yourself a partner at some point. It makes the chase so much easier.”

  Franco stopped for a second, and Jake could feel the suspicion get thicker in the air. It was the first time Franco turned that intent stare on Jake for any reason other than poker, and Jake didn’t like how it felt one bit. “Yeah, now that I think about it, where is your partner, Jake?”

  Jake knew he had to be quick on his feet or the game would be up, but thankfully Jake had been preparing for this ever since he ran into Franco. The Taggers moved in either pairs or choirs, a choir being made up of seven Taggers. Jake, on the other hand, was solo, which meant he had to have a reason at hand for it. “There was an odd number of people in orientation, and you know how paperwork is around Heaven.” It was true, practically universal everywhere he went in Heaven, that the paperwork was insane, it was wrong, it was lost, it was illegible, or it was sitting on someone’s desk, awaiting a stamp, a signature, a confirmation or even just a set of initials. He had yet to meet someone who didn’t have a paperwork story, and Jake had ended up talking to a lot of people as he’d been navigating the labyrinthine hallways of heaven. Jake was learning to rely on the obvious, the overstated and the unspoken. If people asked a question, fall back on the things everyone knows – Heaven is a mess, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

  Franco laughed and patted Jake on the shoulder. “Should’a figured. Don’t worry; they’ll get it all figured out soon enough. And if they don’t, well, we can always use a hand. Franco and I get bumped around so much, we haven’t been part of a choir in a long time. It’s nice to have someone we wouldn’t mind keep around longer. After as long as we’ve been together, Edward and I know all of each other’s stories. We probably know more about each other than anyone else in Heaven.”

  Edward smiled at him quietly, as the three of them moved into some of the less desirable areas of Oakland, heading down towards the docks, an area littered with warehouses. “Yes, well, I would not go that far, Franco, but we do know a great deal about each other.” He raised his hand suddenly as he was looking down at the compass. “A moment.” He lifted the compass up to his bespectacled eyes for a moment then nodded. “He is close. I would estimate… within that warehouse.”

  Franco’s hand moved to his waist, taking the sword hilt off from his belt, snapping his arm out as he flicked the switch to let flame erupt from the hilt. “Let’s go get what we want.”

  * * * * *

  Bob had been trying to get what he wanted for far too long now, but just couldn’t get it. He was starting to feel like a Rolling Stones song. But Bob knew exactly what he needed, and he was Heavenbent on getting it. He’d been gathering up souls as fast as possible, faster than any of the other Cherubim, trying to push through as many cases as he could. He certainly wasn’t trying to impress anyone, and he wasn’t angling for a promotion. In fact, getting promoted was the worst thing he could possibly imagine. But he had been ferrying people endlessly, trying, looking for someone to give him not just what he wanted, but what he needed.

  There had been several people who had been close, but not quite able to give him what he was looking for. Now he was waiting on a street corner in New York City, tapping his foot impatiently. It was late at night, and Bob was waiting by himself as he watched a couple of people shuffle off as quickly as possible. Well, Bob thought, not shuffle off as in “shuffle off” in his line of business, but run off to some place less… dangerous looking. He couldn’t blame them. He wasn’t pleased to be caught dead in this neighborhood.

  He got a file for each person he was supposed to pick up, so he knew a bit about where they were going to die, how and who they were before they died. It let Bob know when he should get his hopes up and when he shouldn’t. And this seemed like exactly what he was looking for. A young twenty-something on his way home from night classes gets mugged, stabbed and dies while police are chasing down the man who stabbed him.

  His target came around the corner and Bob smiled a bit to himself. The guy was short and scrawny, with a shock of black hair and a pair of those trademarked white lines running down from his ears. Bob had been hoping for anything where he could find a pair of headphones, but the last few had ended poorly. He’d had a threesome that died in a plane crash, but the only one of them had headphones on them, and the lines had been cut when the man had, well, been beheaded. This guy, however, didn’t look like the kind of guy who would get stabbed in the neck. He had a jean jacket on over some band t-shirt and wore a pair of ratty bluejeans, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He seemed like the kind of student who had walked this route home from one of the local colleges a hundred times, and didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary. Of course, Bob knew better. Bob knew exactly what was coming, although he’d never really figured out quick how that worked. He just knew that it did, and he had no doubts the man’s death would be right on time.

  Sure enough, from an alleyway in a corner, another man stepped out, his head covered by a dark hoodie, his form stepping right in front of the student, blocking his path. “Yo man, got a light?”

  The student fished out one of the earplugs from his ear, music blaring out of it. “What was that?”

  “A light, man.”

  “Sorry,” the student said apologetically, “I don’t smoke any more. Gave it up.”

  The man in the hoodie fished out a knife from his back, the metal gleaming in the low light. “So give up your wallet, man. Get me my own light.”

  The student looked panicked. “I don’t have any money, man. I can give you the wallet, but it’s empty.” The student lowered a hand to his back pocket, getting his wallet out of the pocket. He started to hold it out to him and as the guy reached his other hand forward for it, the student flung the wallet into the mugger’s fac
e, making a lunge for the knife. The two men struggled for a moment then the knife went into the student’s gut, cutting across his stomach as the mugger tried to pull his arm back. The student shouted out in massive pain, and suddenly from the corner, a voice yelled out “Police! Freeze!”

  As so often happens when someone yells those words, someone started to run. (Bob wondered if “Police! Run!” would make someone stand still, but somehow he doubted it.) The mugger made a break for it, leaving the student bleeding on the street, while the cop started to run out after him. The student whimpered and groaned as he bled out. As soon as the cop was around the corner, chasing after the mugger, Bob darted out from his shade in the alleyway and loomed over the kid.

  The kid beneath him was gasping, spurting his last breaths as the life drained from his eyes. Bob had seen a lot of people die. He’d watched old men and women as their bodies collapsed. He’d seen young children damaged by any number of technological things. He’d even watched as people barely old enough to vote lay down their lives defending freedom, justice, democracy or even just the price of oil. Bob had spent a lot of time watching people die. Sometimes it seemed like it was all he had ever been doing. But as Bob gazed down at the student, just a few weeks shy of his twentieth birthday, it occurred to him that he never really understood why people died. And, for a brief moment in time, he felt a twinge of regret. “Sorry, kid,” Bob said, just before the student died, “we all gotta go sometime.”

  He hovered there in a moment of New York silence, which was eventually interrupted by the spirit of the kid sitting bolt upright, gasping for breath. He glanced around, his eyes flashing with panic, before he turned around to look at the ground beneath him. “Aw, crap,” he said. “I’m dead, ain’t I?”

  “Aren’t you,” Bob corrected.