The Angel In The Darkness Part 8

He raised the gun, pointing it high, at the stars; then brought it down, slowly, aiming at her face.

Then he lurched sideways, as Uncle Porfirio came from nowhere and leaped on him. The second shot went wide, spurted dust harmlessly ten feet from the car. The two men were a blur of motion and hideous noise on the ground, in the white light and black shadow from the Buick's headlights, and dust rose in the beams like smoke.

The man in the s.p.a.ce suita"No!a"the man in the Armani suit was walking toward them. He was tall, dark-visaged, with autocratic good looks. He might have been an Egyptian high priest, or a Roman senator, or an English headmaster. He wore the frown of a judge about to reprove an unwise counsel. When he spoke, clear across that amphitheater in the silence of the night, Maria heard the measured tones of Patrick Stewarta"No! But something very like them.

"If you please, gentlemen," he said. "Stop that at once. Get to your feet."

The blur rolled apart. The two men struggled upright. Their clothes were torn, they were gashed and bleeding. As Maria stared, the wounds began to close. The bleeding stopped and their edges flowed together like melting wax.

Uncle Porfirio folded his arms, looking as much like a scornful Satan as she could ever remember, even in his ruined suit. Emrys, by contrast, smiled and bowed, rubbing his hands as though in gleeful antic.i.p.ation.

"I brought him, Labienus," he said. "See? I knew you wanted him, and I found a way to get him for you! Isn't this a coup? Isn't this a feather in my cap? You can excuse a few little quirks of independence, can't you, for such a prize?"

But the dignified man was shaking his head. "Emrys," he said, "you really are a loose cannon."

Emrys lost his smile at once.

"Don't call me that," he said.

"Are you raising your voice to me?" inquired the dignified man. "I think you'd better not do that."

"You ungrateful cretin!" Emry's voice became shrill. "Don't you know who I am?"

"I know who you were, Emrys," said the dignified man. "Nowadays you're simply a nuisance. On your knees!"

Maria jumped at the change in his voice on the last command. Emrys folded at the knees as though pushed from behind. He looked up at the man in astonishment, rage fading into fear. The man stepped closer, and spoke quietly once more.

"You were warned repeatedly, Emrys, weren't you? We did give you every chance, in view of your not inconsiderable talents. But you've become a liability to our organization, I'm afraid. This really has been the last straw."

"Buta"you wanted him." Emrys, beginning to sob, waved a hand at Uncle Porfirio. "And he was perfect. He has a weakness you can exploit!"

"I wanted a Security Technical," said the dignified man. "Not this one. He has entirely the wrong psychological profile for our organization, however talented he may be. However vulnerable his personal arrangements make him. And you were told that, weren't you? Yet you disregarded orders, Emrys.

"You took it on yourself to stage a bizarre and highly theatrical recruitment campaign. Were you aware that the police have tracked you down? They're waiting at your office. They're waiting at your apartment. I myself had the honor of a conversation with a plainclothes detective, not six hours ago. I had to spin them quite a story."

"As though, we care what the mortals think!" said Emrys.

"That is not the point." said the other. "You have drawn unnecessary attention to our organization, to say nothing of contravening some of the most elementary laws concerning Company security in general. I am extremely disappointed."

How grave, how sorrowful was his voice.

"But I'm useful," Emrys wept. "I'm a genius.You need me."

The dignified man just shook his head.

"Genius? I've never seen such an amateurish job in my life. A Section Seventeen violation, for heaven's sake!"

"What? No!" Emrys looked up, startled. The dignified man arched his nostrils in disgust.

"Security Technical, kindly explain a Section Seventeen violation to the prisoner."

"I know whata""

"It's 1991, a.s.shole," said Uncle Porfirio. "You sent a mortal a digital image inkjet-printed on paper."

"Buta"within another few yearsa"even monthsa""

"But not now," said the dignified man. "You are guilty of an anachronism," and he spat the word out as though he hated the taste of it, "that any neophyte would have been able to avoid. To say nothing of deliberately revealing the Company's existence to a mortal. This business is finished. Bow to me, Defective."

Emrys began to cry, really bawl like a child, but he leaned forward. The dignified man reached into the inner breast pocket of his coat. What he brought forth was small, silvery, only glimpsed in his hand as he thumbed a b.u.t.ton. He swung his hand over Emrys's neck.

There was a flash of blue and Emrys's head fell off, not with the expected sputter of wires and broken circuits but with a fountain of blood, and the headless trunk flopped forward. The dignified man stepped back to avoid being splashed. He tucked the unseen instrument back in his pocket.

Uncle Porfirio did not move.

"What happens now?" he asked.

"Ah," said the dignified man, smoothing his lapels. "Why, it's a stalemate, isn't it? Surely you see that. You know of the existence of our organization. We, on the other hand, know your little secret." He nodded toward Maria and Philip. Maria just stared back at him, mechanically rocking Philip, who had subsided into sniffles.

"I want my family left alone," said Uncle Porfirio. The man looked pained.

"Please," he said, with a dismissive gesture. "So long as they exist, we have a certain leverage with you. Isn't that so? And while I'd never be so foolish as to pressure you to help us, I do expect you to look the other way from now on. You may, in fact, be called upon to be absolutely blind on one or two occasions."

Uncle Porfirio said nothing for a long moment. Far off across the city, the first faint sirens of the morning started up. Somewhere, robbery or rape or murder was in progress. Somewhere, some bright new policeman with a bright new badge believed he could do something about it. Uncle Porfirio sighed.

"What about him?" He nodded at Emrys's body.

"Do as you please," said the dignified man. "Take his head, perhaps? Consider it an earnest of good faith on our part. And leave his body here a few hours, to let the coyotes eat their fill of him. That's what I'd do.

"I suspect you'll do the honorable thing and deliver his parts to the Company. Another defective rounded up and deactivated! Bravo, Security Technical Porfirio. One more success in your distinguished record of service to Dr. Zeus."

Smiling, he turned and walked away a few paces; then stopped and turned back.

"A word of advice," he said. "As part of our mutual avoidance policy. Get your family out of Los Angeles. We're going to be rather busy here, over the next few years."

He vanished into the shadows.

Uncle Porfirio walked back to the Buick.

"You have a spare in the trunk, right?" was all he said.

"Yeah," said Maria. "Who was that? The Lord of Evil?"

"Something pretty close," said Uncle Porfirio, reaching past her for the keys. "We're not going to talk about it anymore, okay?"

She got out of the car and stood under the pale stars with Philip, who had fallen asleep, while Uncle Porfirio changed the tire. As he was putting the flat tire and jack in the Buick's trunk, Uncle Porfirio asked: "What's in this plastic bag?"

"My box of laundry soap."

"I need to use the bag, mi hija."

"But I hate getting detergent spilled all over the inside of the trunk."

"Better that than something else."

"Oh. Okay," she said, and watched numbly as Uncle Porfirio walked back toward the cave. A moment later he returned, carrying something in the green bag, and set it in the trunk beside the jack.

"Soa I thought he was an immortal," said Maria.

"He is," said Porfirio, slamming the trunk. "Too bad for him. Get in the other side, mi hija. I'll drive back."

Maria sat beside him, watching as he backed the car down the trail, as he expertly pulled out on the paved road, drove away from the realm of flying saucers, giant mutant tarantulas, and creatures out of legend. And yeta here, at the wheel of her car, was an undying creature who had seen twelve generations pa.s.s into dust. She looked furtively at his Aztec profile.

She was silent until Franklin Avenue, when she said: "Please, tell me. Is there a G.o.d? Do we have souls? Is there any f.u.c.king point to this life?" His voice was flat with exhaustion. "How would I know all that, mi hija? I don't know. n.o.body I've talked to in four hundred years has told me, either."

"Then what the h.e.l.l do you know?"

He looked sidelong at Philip as he drove. Reaching out, he touched the child's sleeping face.

"That this is all we have, mi hija. And it doesn't last, so you have to take good care of it."

The Virgin of Guadalupe was still on duty, in her cloud of rose perfume. Tina still lay where she had fallen, in the silent house, but she was breathing. They lifted her onto the couch and covered her with a blanket. While Uncle Porfirio was cleaning up and changing into an old suit of Hector's, Tina became foggily conscious. Maria told her she'd been sleepwalking and fallen down the stairs. When Uncle Porfirio came back, he pretended to be an EMT, checking her vital signs and asking her questions about how she felt.

Maria left him sitting beside Tina, speaking to her in a low and soothing voice, while she went upstairs and bathed Philip. He woke crying, staring around; but, seeing no monsters, he calmed down and let her put him in fresh diapers and a sleeper. It took twice as long as usual with only one hand. When she carried him downstairs, in the pale light of dawn, Tina was sitting up, smiling if gla.s.sy-eyed.

"There's my little guy!" she said, reaching out for Philip. "Mommy fell down and went boom! Were you scared?"

Philip wriggled into her arms, beginning to cry again, and she hugged him. Looking over his shoulder at Maria, she added: "I don't think that new medication Dr. Miller prescribed was good for me, you know?" A shadow crossed her face. "Ia don't think I want to go back to Dr. Miller. I had a really creepy dream about him."

"Okay," said Maria. Uncle Porfirio cleared his throat.

"Ms. Aguilar, I need to give you a list of symptoms you need to watch for."

"Sure." Maria picked up the TV remote, handed it to Tina, took the baby from her arms. "Why don't you find some cartoons to watch, okay, mi hija? I'll get breakfast for Philip."

They left her happily watching Bugs Bunny. In the kitchen, Maria made coffee while Uncle Porfirio looked into Philip's eyes, spoke to him in a voice so quiet Maria could barely make out what he said. Philip was tranquil after that, feeding himself, eating Cream of Wheat with his right fist while carefully holding the spoon in his left. He watched, in mild interest, as Uncle Porfirio fashioned a sling for Maria's arm and made her take two aspirins.

"What happens now?" Maria inquired in a murmur.

"Now I steal your gun. And your car," said Uncle Porfirio. "Too much to clean up, mi hija, and you won't want it back when I finish what I have to do. It's insured, right?"

"I haven't paid the premiums in a month. I'm unemployed right now," said Maria, bemused. The night and all its horrible wonders had receded like tidewater, and the mundane rock of her old problems stood exposed again, quite unchanged.

"I'll send you money," Uncle Porfirio told her, as though reading her mind. "I have some saved. Buy another car. No SUVs, okay?"

"What's an SUV?"

"You'll find out. Get another Buick, maybe, or a Volvo. Put the house on the market with a Realtor. Take Tina and the baby and go, get the h.e.l.l out of Los Angeles. Find a place in Taos, near Isabel. She needs to meet her grandson."

"Oh, she'll love that, being reminded she's a grandmother!" Maria grinned involuntarily. But he wasn't smiling.

"You're serious, aren't you? About what that guy told you. Labienus."

Uncle Porfirio flinched. "Don't even mention his name." He gulped his coffee and stood. "I made a deal with a devil, so I'm not about to waste any inside information I get from him."

"Buta you're not really going to just look the other way, when he wants you to?"

Uncle Porfirio shrugged into his coat, not answering.

"But what you told me, about what those people doa doesn't that mean innocent people will die?"

"And other innocents will live," he said. "There's a price to pay for everything. But I made the deal, mi hija; not you. That weight, you don't have to bear."

He stepped to the back door and opened it.

"Keep the family together," he said, and slipped out, and was gone into the morning.

She never saw him again.

One month and an epic garage sale later, Maria stood on the front porch of the house on Fountain. Tina was buckling Philip into his car seat, in the newa"well, 1986a"Buick Skylark, which was crammed to the roof with all their remaining possessions. But it was solid, dependable, insured, had side mirrors and a good spare, and there were no severed heads in the trunk.

They were leaving late. The last-minute packing had taken longer than Maria had expected. All the same, she lingered on the porch, turning the key over in her hand. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Acrid smell of dry rot, old plaster, dead leaves. The place of her childhood was long gone.

This place would be a parking lot, in another year. The Hollywood sign would look down ona what? Riots? Epidemics? Ruins? This cycle of time was ending, but what could she do about it? Run through the streets shouting a warning, like the man at the end of Invasion of the Body s.n.a.t.c.hers? As though anyone listened to the Maria Aguilars of this world.

She walked down the front steps, scowling up at the hazy sky. Summer was gone, too; the late sunlight gave no warmth where it slanted, and the green leaves looked tired, frayed. Far off to the west, a few rifts of fog were drifting in from the distant sea. It would be a chilly night, and an early winter.

But the family would be somewhere else by then, safe in a new place. When the new cycle started, that had been paid for in blood, they would endure.

And she had to admit she felt less of a weight on her shoulders, now. Somebody else remembered her parents, so that Hector was more than a gravestone and Lupe more than a flickering black-and-white image in an old movie. Somebody else knew about Abuela Maria and the ranch in Durango. Somebody else was the guardian of their past, kept the family's story safe, a long and perfect and unbroken chronicle. It could never be forgotten, and maybe it would never end.

Doggedly she walked to the car, refusing to look back.

"Auntie!" Tina was leaning out the Buick's window, her face shining with awe. "Look at this. The Blessed Mother's in the car!"

"She's in the trunk," said Maria, going around to the driver's side. "I packed her in with the bath towels."

"No, I mean the one that got stolen with the old car!" cried Tina, pointing. Maria slid behind the wheel and halted, staring. There on the dashboard was the plastic Virgin of Guadalupe, robed in the starry heavens, crowned in the glory of the setting sun.

"If that isn't a miracle, I don't know what is," said Tina, wiping away a tear. "You see? Everything's going to be all right now. It's a sign that somebody's watching over us."

Maria nodded slowly.

"I guess so. Fasten your seat belt, mi hija."

She closed the door, fastened her own seat belt, adjusted the mirrors. Pulling carefully out into traffic, she headed for the nearest freeway on ramp.

Unseen, five cars behind her in a Lincoln Continental, Porfirio followed.