Princes of Arkwright

by Trafford, Daniel

  Tucker stared into Victoria’s eyes, causing her to look away.

  “Tuck,” she said, “there’s something we need to talk about.”

  “You mean last night? I told you it’s OK. I know you’re not ready for a relationship right now.”

  “But I’m still uncomfortable, Tuck,” said Victoria. “I can’t take this – knowing how you feel. It’s like I’m still leading you on, or taking advantage of you since you’re so good for Lenore.”

  Tucker wrinkled up his eyes and shook his head.

  “No, Tuck, listen,” continued Victoria. “If you’re going to be my friend, I have to be honest. I don’t want you to have any false hope. You have to understand that we’ll never be anything more than just friends.”

  Tucker sat for a moment, squeezing his eyes.

  “I’ve always hated that expression,” he said at last.

  “What expression?”

  “Just friends,” said Tucker. “I hate it. It implies that friendship is unimportant.”

  “Well,” said Victoria, “I just mean that we won’t be more than that. We won’t be lovers.”

  “Victoria,” said Tucker, standing up, “friendship is the greatest form of love. It’s impossible to be more than that. So please don’t feel uncomfortable. I don’t want or anticipate anything from you, OK?”

  “You’re very deep,” said Victoria. “Oh, God, I feel so much better now. I was so afraid you were going to hate me.”

  “Well relax, lady,” said Tucker, “I could never hate you. But if you ever start acting like Aly, we’ll have to talk. Anyway, I should get going. Give Lenore my best and tell her I will see her soon – if she can stay awake.”

  “I’ll do that, Tuck,” said Victoria, hugging Tucker and putting her head on his shoulder. “And thanks for everything. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  As Tucker closed the apartment door behind him, his smile collapsed into a frown. The only sound that could be heard in the long dark hallway was the word “damn,” which he whispered as he stared at the closed door.

  17. THE ARCHANGEL URIEL

  Tucker Bromley paused at the crosswalk in front of St. Michael’s Church, searching for a break in the traffic. He was dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a black tie. He still hadn’t returned to work, but he didn’t have many casual clothes, and they were all in the laundry right now.

  The violent wind had stripped most of the remaining leaves off the red maple trees, making them look like mammoth wooden skeletons. The wind slapped pedestrians furiously and toppled a pillar in the middle of the crosswalk that read, “Yield to pedestrians.”

  As one car slowed to turn into a parking lot, Tucker ventured out into the crosswalk and bent down to straighten the pillar. The screeching of brakes and the sudden appearance of chrome in his line of sight caused him to drop the pillar and fall backwards.

  “What are you trying to do, kill me?” he bellowed as he pulled himself off his back and limped around to the driver’s side of the car. “You know,” continued Tucker, now shouting at his own reflection in the windshield, “It’s state law that you have to yield to pedestrians in a crosswalk!”

  Tucker was about to pull out his badge when the window rolled down. It was Roland Lemieux. His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet with tears.

  “I’m sorry, Tucker,” he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “I’m on my way to the hospital.”

  “Roland!” said Tucker, “Are you OK?”

  “I just got a call from Victoria. She rushed Lenore to the hospital. It doesn’t look good. I think her life is despaired of.”

  “Oh my God!” said Tucker. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Pray for a miracle,” said Roland. He rolled up the window and drove off down the street.

  “I can do better than that,” said Tucker, still standing in the middle of the road and watching the Chevy Lumina battle the traffic. “I know someone who barters in miracles.”

  Tucker broke into a sprint, heading for the Lovecraft Street bridge which was now closed to everyone. Tucker jumped the jersey barriers in front of it and raced to the other side.

  Wallbangers was closed. The windows were dark. The red-white-and-blue ‘open’ flag that usually flew in the front was gone. Tucker pressed his face against the window, but could see nothing inside but the glare off the red tile floor.

  “That’s right,” said Tucker to himself, “she was supposed to work tonight. There’s no one else here.”

  Tucker walked to the side of the building and around the rear, making a circle back to the front. There were a couple of other doors, but they were all locked.

  “Damn!” he said, remembering the words of Uriel: “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

  “How can I find you if I can’t even get inside?” he mumbled.

  Since the bridge was closed, this section of Lovecraft Street was quiet. Tucker turned with his back to the door and jammed his elbow hard through the plate glass window, shattering a jagged hole in it. Craning his neck to make sure no one had seen or heard, he reached inside and opened the latch of the heavy door. He swung it open and stepped inside the bar.

  The chairs had all been placed upside-down on their tables and the floor was swept clean. The last wisps of twilight permeated the bar with a dim light, which reflected off the tile floor, giving the place a faint red glow. All the stools were upside-down on the bar, except for the one at the very end, where the archangel sat, staring at his bottle of Narragansett.

  Tucker approached the archangel slowly but deliberately and stood next to him. The angel made no attempt to acknowledge him.

  “Uriel,” said Tucker. “I need your help.”

  The archangel made no sound or motion.

  “Lenore – Victoria’s little girl – she’s sick. She’s dying,” stammered Tucker.

  “I know,” said Uriel.

  “You do?” said Tucker

  “Yes,” continued the archangel. “That’s why I’m here. That’s my mission.”

  “Oh, thank God,” said Tucker with a sigh. “Shouldn’t you get going if you’re going to save her life.”

  “You do not understand, Tuckerbromley,” said the angel.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not here to save her life,” said the angel, still staring at his beer. “I’m here to claim it.”

  Tucker stood as still as a statue, certain he had misheard the angel. “What?” he said in a whisper.

  “I am here to see that the child dies,” said Uriel.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” said Tucker. “Oh my God. Aly was right. You’re no angel at all. Who are you?”

  “My name is Uriel,” he said, “one of the seven archangels who enter and ...”

  “I don’t believe it,” interrupted Tucker. “You wouldn’t …”

  The archangel turned around to Tucker with a fire burning in his eyes. “WHAT DID YOU EXPECT, SON OF MAN?” he screamed.

  “I expected you to be compassionate,” said Tucker. “I thought angels were here to help people, like you helped me. You healed me of my kidney stones.”

  “I did what I did because it was the will of God,” explained Uriel. “Had it been his will to cut you in half, I would have done that too.”

  “So it’s the will of God that a little girl die?” yelled Tucker, “Then he’s a cruel and childish god! Why would he want to hurt a little girl?”

  “In all my existence,” said Uriel, “I have never asked why.”

  “Is this because Victoria wouldn’t give her a baptism?” asked Tucker.

  “What is a baptism?” asked the angel.

  “You can’t do it,” persisted Tucker. “You have to save her. I know you want to. Deep down inside you want to.”

  “Deep down inside,” said the angel. “I want to do the will of God. That is why I exist.”

  “You just do everything you’re told – like a Nazi?”

  “What is a Nazi?” said Urie
l.

  “It’s someone who just follows orders and doesn’t question.”

  “Well,” said the angel, “then I am a Nazi. You wanted to be an archangel. What did you expect?”

  Tucker slinked away, clinging to the bar. “When are you going?” he asked.

  “As soon as I finish my beer,” said the archangel.

  Tucker glanced at the bottle, which had less than an ounce left in it.

  “I can’t let you do this,” said Tucker.

  “It is the will of God,” said Uriel, calmly. “There is nothing I can do to stop it.”

  “Well, maybe there’s something I can do,” yelled Tucker. He ran toward the angel, throwing all his weight and strength against him. The barstool crashed to the floor, and Uriel winced as his head smashed against the tile. Tucker jumped on him, screaming, “If you want to get at her, your path lies over my corpse.”

  Tucker grabbed Uriel by the shirt collar, slamming punch after punch onto the angel’s face. The archangel gave Tucker a sharp blow to the chest, throwing him off and into a table, sending the stacked chairs crashing to the floor.

  The angel stood up and reached for his last swig of beer. Tucker got up, ran to the angel and jumped on his shoulders, pulling back his arms. Uriel twisted his body, hurling Tucker onto the bar and sending four barstools smashing into the glasses and bottles behind the bar.

  Tucker squatted and propelled himself right at the angel’s chest, knocking him off balance and sending both of them into another table. The angel stood up, lifting Tucker by the legs, but Tucker clung to the angel’s neck. As Uriel lifted him over his head, Tucker pounded on the angel’s back when he suddenly felt something hard and cold. He grabbed for it and pulled the hilt of an invisible sword from an invisible scabbard.

  As it reached the air, it burst into flames lighting up the bar, just as Tucker crashed to the floor behind the angel. He quickly righted himself and aimed the point of the sword right at Uriel’s face. The angel stood still.

  “What do mean to do, son of man?” asked the angel.

  “Whatever I have to do to stop you from killing that little girl,” said Tucker, clutching the sword with both hands like a baseball bat.

  “Then I suggest you do so,” said the angel, making no attempt to resist.

  Tucker swung the fiery sword hard at the angel’s chest, but Uriel fell to the floor to avoid the blow. As Tucker was following through with his swing, the angel lunged with a mighty kick hard into Tucker’s hip.

  The detective screamed in pain as he dropped like a rag doll, sending the flaming sword skidding across the tile floor, leaving scorch marks in its wake.

  Tucker’s hip was completely dislocated and he couldn’t move. He bit the leg of an overturned barstool as the angel slowly walked to the flaming sword. He picked it up and turned toward Tucker, who whimpered at the sight of the angel, whose impassive face made Tucker shiver. He pointed the sword toward Tucker’s head. Then, in one quick motion, he threw the sword over his shoulder, back into its invisible scabbard.

  Tucker clung to the overturned barstool like a toddler with a teddy bear, and stared into the fiery iridescent eyes of the archangel. Uriel walked to the bar and drank his last ounce of Narragansett.

  “I must complete my mission now,” said Uriel. Then he turned and walked toward the door. Tucker said nothing, but continued biting down hard on the leg of the stool. The pain was excruciating.

  When he reached the door, the angel turned to Tucker and said, “I am sorry, son of man. It is God’s will.”

  “What about your will?” choked out Tucker.

  “I have none,” said the angel, his eyes burning more brightly than ever. “Consider yourself blest that you do.”

  The angel left and closed the door behind him, leaving Tucker Bromley alone on the red tile floor, whimpering in pain.

  The detective felt in his pocket for his cell phone. Slowly and painfully he pulled it out, dialed, and put the phone to his ear.

  “Rochelle,” he groaned, “this is Tuck. I’m at Wallbangers. I need to get to the hospital fast.”

  18. MIRACLE

  Tucker Bromley slowly opened his eyes and struggled to figure out where he was.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, fingering the IV tube in his arm, “the hospital still.”

  He tried to shift and take a deep breath, but the pain in his back forbade it, so he went back to surveying the room through the drug-blurred lenses of his eyes. A whirl of dark red slashed through the antiseptic whites and chromes of his convalescent chamber.

  “What are you doing here?” he wheezed. “Did you have to wait till I was in this condition before you could actually win a fight?”

  “Relax, Tucker,” said Aly. “You’re going to be OK.”

  “So I hear,” said Tucker, reaching up to assess his growth of facial hair.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” asked Aly, half-rising from the seat next to his bed.

  “You mean besides the dose of humiliation you’re about to spoon feed me?”

  “What are you talking about?” said Aly, sitting back down.

  “You were right,” said Tucker, as Aly’s features started to come into focus. “Everything you said was right.”

  “Don’t worry about that right now, Tucker,” she said reaching over and jostling his pillow. “You should just rest.”

  “That’s all I’ve been doing,” said Tucker. “Have you seen him?”

  “Seen who?”

  “Who do you think? The archangel.”

  “Well, no Tucker,” said Aly, shrugging her shoulders. “Why?”

  Tucker closed his eyes tightly and put his hand to his temples.

  “Are you in pain?” asked Aly. “Do you need me to get the nurse?”

  “I’m OK,” said Tucker. “So, what are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I’m just visiting you,” said Aly. “Am I bothering you? Do you want me to leave?”

  “No,” said Tucker, “believe it or not, I actually prefer your company to staring at a hospital room ceiling.”

  Aly smiled and touched Tucker’s hand. “How could I not come, Tucker?” she said, with a slight quaver in her voice. “It was very brave what you did.”

  “You mean what I tried to do,” said Tucker. “I just wasn’t strong enough.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Aly.

  “You were right,” said Tucker, snatching his hand away from hers. “That Uriel was no angel. And there’s no such thing as miracles.”

  “How can you say that?” said Aly.

  “You said it yourself,” said Tucker, “I remember your exact words. You said, ‘I haven’t seen any miracles.’ And you were right. All our heavenly visitor did was convince me that God is petty and childish.”

  “Oh my God,” whispered Aly. “How can you be so stupid?”

  Tucker looked at Aly, surprised by her words.

  “I mean, I think you’re great Tucker, but you’re still a bit of a dolt.”

  “Aly,” said Tucker, “after what we’ve seen, after what we’ve been through, how can you just sit there calmly like you’re in Sunday school. We actually met an angel – an archangel – and he turned out to be a total jerk. He could have helped out a little girl. He could have performed a miracle. But he was just fine with letting her die.”

  “Tucker,” said Aly, suddenly grabbing his hand again.

  “And don’t tell me it was all part of God’s plan, or I swear to God I’ll climb out of this bed and kick your ass. I don’t care if you’re a girl. From what I can see, there are no miracles and his angels are a bunch of hoodlums.”

  “Tuck!” said Aly, squeezing his hand with a strength Tucker didn’t suspect she had, “you’re the angel. You’re the miracle.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Tucker.

  “You gave a kidney to a little girl you hardly knew. You saved her life. She’s lying right now in the room next to this one laughing with her mother over knock-knock jokes because of you. An
d you question whether there are miracles in the world!”

  “That wasn’t a miracle,” said Tucker, “that was medicine. Victoria was incompatible, so I offered, and … so …”

  “... so you gave Lenore one of your organs like it was a gift certificate,” said Aly. “No big deal.”

  “But I had to do that,” said Tucker. “Uriel was perfectly content with dragging her to the Netherworld – or whatever it is he does. He – or God – wasn’t interested in saving that little girl.”

  “No?” said Aly, “Did you ever wonder why Uriel was hanging out in the very bar where you would be sure to meet Victoria? Did you ever wonder why he was protecting you?”

  “I had this stupid idea that God was testing me to see if I’d be a good angel.”

  “And you are, Tucker! Not the kind with wings that battle demons. But the human kind that are far too rare.”

  “But he told me it was God’s will that Lenore die. He said he didn’t have a choice.”

  “But you did have a choice,” said Aly. “Maybe miracles are about choices – not angels or supernatural events. Maybe we spend too much time looking to Heaven for miracles when we could be performing them ourselves. Maybe God put it all in our hands, Tucker. Maybe the choices we have are part of his plan.”

  “Yeah?” said Tucker, “And what about Lenore? How does her pain and suffering fit in with this great plan? How did God plan for the complete renal failure of a 10-year-old girl?”

  “By giving Tucker Bromley two kidneys!” shouted Aly, a little rosy hue now showing on her pale cheeks.

  Tucker had no response, so he just continued staring into Aly’s eyes.

  “How’s Lenore feeling?” asked Tucker, after a minute or so.

  “Better every day,” said Aly, the usual pallor returning to her cheeks. “She just can’t seem to stop talking about you. But we’ve learned to put up with it. Victoria can’t stop talking about you either. She may even be willing to date you now.”

  “Forget it,” said Tucker. “We’ll never be anything but friends. I like Victoria, but I didn’t give up one of my kidneys to buy her love.”