by Amy Cross
Rushing across the room, she grabbed the extinguisher just as she heard a crashing sound from the far end. Turning, she saw that the door had begun to fall away, allowing flames and smoke to fill the lock-up. As she struggled to remove the extinguisher's safety pin, she saw the silhouette of the figure stepping through the broken door, with its two large wings – one broken, one not – burning over its shoulders. Struggling to breathe as smoke filled the air, Katie dropped to her knees as she aimed the extinguisher at the figure and pulled the lever, firing flame retardant foam straight at the angel's burning body.
***
“You've got the map upside down,” he said with a sigh, pulling it from her hands and turning it around. Jabbing at the top, he turned to her. “See? That's where we are, not down the bottom.”
“Are you sure?” she replied, squinting. “We're facing north, I swear! 'Cause the sun's more over there, isn't it?”
“Oh, give it here,” he muttered, pulling the map away from her with an impatient tug. “If we're gonna get to the Planetarium before the rush, we need to get a move on and -”
Hearing a noise nearby, they both turned just in time to see a young girl, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, stumbling out of an alleyway and coughing as if she'd swallowed a lungful of smoke. Staggering to a nearby payphone, the girl took a coin from her pocket, juggling it for a moment as if it was too hot to handle before slipping it into the slot and then dialing. She coughed a little more as she waited for someone to answer, while smoke began to rise from a nearby building.
“Robinson!” the girl screamed into the phone a moment later. “Get down here! Now!”
***
“That's an angel,” Katie said firmly, covered from head to foot in ash and soot. “I don't care what you say, but that is a goddamn angel.”
Frowning, Robinson continued to walk around the motionless, kneeling figure in the doorway to the lock-up. With every inch of its flesh having been burned, and even its two large wings partially destroyed, the figure seemed strangely tragic, while the entire area had been charred. Nearby, an empty fire extinguisher lay on the floor, surrounded by foam.
“I won't get my deposit back for this place,” he said finally.
“What?”
“The door's been destroyed,” he continued. “I'll probably have to move my archive too, this is incredibly inconvenient.”
“I saw the box of my sister's stuff, by the way,” she told him.
“The what?”
“My sister Rachel, remember? You've got a box with some of her stuff in it.”
“Oh, probably,” he replied. “I try to keep a few trinkets from every case I look into. You never know when you might have to go back and take a look at something again, as this incident today is proving.”
“Rachel was my sister,” Katie reminded him. “Couldn't you have...”
He turned to her. “What? Given you the photos and the hair-clip and whatever else is in there? Do you want it?”
“No, but -”
“So what's the problem?”
“I just...” She paused, trying to work out an answer. She didn't know why she felt so strange about there being a box for Rachel's things, but she knew that deep in the pit of her stomach there was a distinctly uneasy sensation.
“You can take it,” he said finally. “If you want.”
She shook her head.
“Sure?”
“That's an angel!” Katie said firmly, exasperated as she pointed at the motionless figure. She wanted to change the subject, to get back to more important matters.
“It certainly looks like an angel,” Robinson added. “I can't disagree with you there. It's got the whole wing thing going on, which is a key characteristic. I'm sure it was more impressive before it was burned to a crisp.” Reaching out, he brushed his fingers against what was left of the wings, causing flakes of scale-like skin to fall away and drop to the ground like fine dust.
“Oh, it was impressive alright,” Katie told him. “It was like... an inferno.”
“And it just showed up here?” he asked with a frown. “Seems like quite a coincidence, don't you think?”
“It followed me,” she continued. “It said something about my satchel and then it started going through it. Do you know what I think? I think somehow it could sense that bone I brought here, and that's what attracted it. When it was looking through my bag, it said something about a brother screaming across the city.”
“Makes sense,” Robinson replied, still walking around the burned figure. “That's probably why it was in the church crypt, it must have sensed that one of its so-called brothers had been there before. And then it kept asking for help, you said?”
“Over and over,” she told him. “And the flames... I don't even think that was intentional, it was more like it couldn't help what was happening. The flames seemed to be erupting from its body, like they were breaking out all over its skin. One of its wings looked like it was broken, too, even before the fire. I think...” She paused, still trying to make sense of everything that had happened. “Robinson, I think it was in pain. I was scared, but I just think it couldn't help itself.”
“It,” he replied, “or he?”
“Well, it... I mean, it seemed like a man.”
“Fascinating.”
“Fascinating?” she continued. “I almost got burned to death!”
“Only almost,” he pointed out. “Try not to blow these things out of proportion. Well done with the fire extinguisher, by the way. Not many people would have thought to use such a mundane thing to put out a flaming angel. I'm actually rather surprised that it worked.”
“If it hadn't,” she replied bitterly, “I'd be toast. I think I'll be taking those combat training classes now, thank you.”
“All that energy,” Robinson continued, looking around at the scorch marks on the walls and ceiling. “It's hard to believe that it all came out of one human-sized body.”
“Well it did!”
“I suppose that explains the heat in the church,” he muttered. “See? I told you it wasn't a flamethrower.”
“At least a flamethrower would have made more sense.”
“And my archives are okay?” he asked, glancing through the melted lock-up door and seeing that a few of the plastic boxes had been damaged.
“Everything's fine,” Katie told him bitterly. “The first thing I did, after I put out the burning angel, was check your bloody archive! Oh, and I'm fine, by the way. Barely a scratch on me, and only a small amount of smoke inhalation.”
“You're my most resilient apprentice yet,” he said with a smile.
“What happened to the other ones?”
“Well... They weren't so resilient.”
“But they all survived, right?”
“Of course,” he replied quickly, “what do you take me for? Every single one of them...” He paused for a moment. “Well, they all retained consciousness in some form or another, or are expected to do so one day... Depending on your view of different spiritual realms. Pain is so transitory, don't you think?”
“But -”
“We have to get this back to my office,” he continued, stepping closer to the burned figure and leaning down to examine what remained of its face. “I'll get Quix to bring a van, this isn't the kind of thing we want to be seen carrying around in broad daylight, is it? People might start asking awkward questions.”
“You think?”
He nodded.
“And then what are we going to do with it?” She waited for an answer, but Robinson seemed too busy picking a few flakes of charred skin from the figure's shoulder. “Robinson?” she continued. “What's the plan? Are you going to...” She paused, suddenly struck by a horrifying idea. She didn't even want to say the words, but at the same time she felt that this would be a perfect opportunity to prove to Robinson that she wasn't as weak or lily-livered as he seemed to believe. “Are you going to dissect it?” she asked finally.
He tu
rned to her.
“I think you should dissect it,” she continued, keen to prove her mettle. “I'll help. We'll... We'll put him on your examination table and we'll cut him open and see what's inside.”
“Really?” Robinson replied, clearly a little shocked.
“Really,” she said firmly. “It's the only way to really get to the root of whatever's going on. Let's not delay things. We should start as soon as possible.”
“But don't you think that would be a little...” He paused, as if he was searching for the right word.
“Disgusting? Sick?” She shook her head. “It's necessary. We can't hold back, and don't worry, I won't throw up.”
“I was going to say... cruel...” he replied. “Don't you think a dissection would be rather cruel?”
“Cruel?” She paused again. “It would?”
“Certainly,” he continued, taking a step back. “Considering that the poor thing isn't actually dead, I think dissecting him would be indefensible.” He turned to her. “You've got a real mean streak in you, haven't you?”
“Not dead?” she replied, staring in horror at the burned husk.
“Vicious,” he added, taking his phone from his pocket. “Almost cold-hearted, in fact. A totally new side to you. I'm impressed.”
“But -”
“Quix,” Robinson continued, with the phone against the side of his face, “I need you to bring a van to the arches. I'm afraid we've got a badly-injured, burned angel to take home. He's not dead, but he's not exactly active, either. Katie wants to cut him open while he's still alive -”
“No, I don't!”
“- but I told her it's out of the question. There are some levels of cruelty that I simply won't consider, although I must admit, I'm glad she has the stomach for such things. Anyway, be here as soon as you can, and put something down to cover the floor in the back of the truck.” Cutting the call, he turned to Katie. “I'm sure she's impressed too,” he added with a faint smile. “A live dissection, indeed. What is this, the nineteenth century again?”
Chapter Eight
“Do you hear me? I know you're out there. I know you know my name.”
Lost in her own dreams and nightmares, Meg tried to blank out the voice that was spreading like smoke through her thoughts. She twisted and turned, trying to get away, but the voice swamped her quickly, curling against her bare skin. Even when she tried to focus on old memories, the voices of other people in her life – her parents, her siblings, her friends – started to become distorted until eventually they boomed warnings at her, filled with the same harshness she'd been trying for so long to escape:
“Don't be afraid. We're the same, you and I. More or less, anyway. There are a few subtle differences. I have been here for so long, and you're so new. I have a great deal to teach you, but I am a good teacher and soon you will start to understand the truth.”
“What are you?” she asked, her voice filled with fear.
“I am Subject A,” the voice replied, “and you are Subject C.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we are kin. Now that Subject B and the others are gone, we need one another more than ever.”
“I want to get out of here.” She tried to turn again, but all around her there was nothing but darkness. After a moment, it occurred to her that perhaps her eyes weren't open, but then she realized she couldn't even find her eyes, or the rest of her body. It was as if she was simply a set of thoughts, or a sensation floating through the void. Suddenly an image burst into her mind: a bin, with a burger at the bottom. She heard the sounds of the city all around her, echoing in her thoughts before starting to fade again.
Somewhere nearby, a heart was beating.
“I sense your fear,” the voice continued. “I was like you, once. I was lost and confused, struggling to come to terms with my new form. I had no-one to guide me, but this time... You are lucky. You have me and I am such a good teacher.”
“I want...” She tried to continue, but her lips stopped suddenly, as if a layer of frost had begun to spread all across her body.
“What you want will change,” the voice continued, moving closer to her ear and then finally entering her head. “I will change it for you, and then you will be content.”
“Help me,” she whispered. “Somebody help me...”
***
Hearing a beeping sound from one of the monitors, Doctor Leach glanced over her shoulder and saw that the patient's body temperature had dropped by one tenth of a degree.
“Great,” she muttered, getting to her feet and heading over to the window, through which she could look down at the vat where Meg's naked body was twitching a little beneath the gel, as if a mild electrical current was passing through her limbs. She watched for a moment, showing no particular hint of emotion on her face other than faint boredom, as she observed the girl's body.
Sighing, she hit a button on one of the monitors, before heading back to her seat and resuming work on her latest report. The beeping sound stopped, but she didn't even bother to look over this time to check that Meg's body temperature had returned to normal. She trusted the machines, and she knew that they would work as intended. After all, she had designed and built the entire system herself, so the chances of an error being introduced were, in her mind, close to zero.
Beyond the observation room, down in the vat, Meg was still twitching, but one other thing had changed: her eyes were fully open now beneath the vast expanse of gel, although her pupils had rolled up and out of sight as her mouth slowly opened and her head began to tilt back.
Chapter Nine
“Left,” Robinson muttered, swiping at the phone's screen. “Right. Left. Left.” He paused, squinting slightly. “Left. Right.” He paused again, before glancing over at Katie. “It is swipe left to dismiss and right to accept, isn't it?”
Looking up from the laptop, she frowned. “Are you doing online dating? Right now? Seriously?”
“Do you think Inspector Milhouse prefers leggy blondes or larger women with shaved heads and piercings?”
“Is that his phone?”
“Uh-oh,” he continued, “I'm out of women in the five-mile area.” He tapped a couple of times. “I'll switch to men and keep looking. Milhouse is always complaining about the women he meets for dates, maybe he should try shaking things up a little.”
“I don't suppose you want to hear about the angel's medical condition, do you?” she asked. “Or should I save that for when you've finished with more important things?”
“Hang on,” he replied, swiping a couple more times before setting the phone down and heading over to join her. “I thought you'd be flattered that I trust you enough with this sort of thing. Would you prefer it if I was constantly peering over your shoulder and double-checking your every move?” Looking over at the metal table on the other side of the examination room, he stared for a moment at the charred body, complete with large, broken wings that draped down on either side. “And don't refer to him as an angel, because he's not.”
“You didn't see him in action,” she replied, clicking a few times on the laptop.
“Appearances can be deceptive.”
“Or they can be totally right,” she pointed out, before glancing at the screen again. “His body temperature is three degrees above normal.”
“Well, he did just burst into flames,” Robinson pointed out. “Give the guy a break, why don't you? Jesus, first you want to cut him up while he's still alive, then you're complaining because he's not losing heat fast enough. You're quite a hard task-master, aren't you?”
“I can't even get a reading for his blood pressure,” she added, ignoring his attempt to wind her up. “I'm assuming he has some, but the machines can't pick anything up.”
“That doesn't really matter too much,” Robinson continued, taking the mouse from her and bringing up a few other screens. “He's breathing, that's good. Brain activity is surprisingly normal, so he's not comatose. If anything, it's more like he's
sleeping it off, and I certainly don't blame him for that, but there's no way his body can handle so much damage. On a cellular level, he's completely cooked.”
“You don't think he's going to make it?”
“I think we have to be realistic.” He brought up yet another screen. “Tox screens are negative, there are no drugs in his system, but those wings...”
Katie waited for him to answer.
“What about them?” she asked finally.
Reaching into his pocket, Robinson took out a small glass vial, at the bottom of which there were a few blackened pieces of skin.
“I took these directly from the wings,” he explained, “and I examined them under a microscope while you were doing all this unimportant stuff.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “What did you find out?”
“The wings, if they really are wings, are made of a complex synthetic substance that seems to utilize human cells within a lattice or scaffold formation. In other words, a basic framework is attached to the man's skeleton via incisions on his back, and various methods are used to encourage the growth of not only skin but also muscle and fat across that framework, even to the extent of forming working pieces that can furl and unfurl the wings at will. It's a remarkable feat of biomedical engineering, and to be honest it's quite beyond anything I've ever seen before. It's also gross.”
“So someone made him grow wings?”
“Yes, but I don't see what use they'd be. They couldn't possibly support his weight for any kind of flight, in fact they'd merely drag him down and be an all-round inconvenience. Whoever did this, they either didn't think ahead, or they were only bothered about ornamentation.”
“Maybe he did it to himself,” Katie pointed out. “I mean, people do weird stuff all the time. Body modifications, that sort of thing...”