I stare at my phone for a few moments. I wonder if I’m still dreaming as the phone vibrates a third time in my hand, the ringtone buzzing it’s normal melody as it starts its second round. I look around, I see no horrors from my childhood nightmares, no holier-than-thou angels. Just before I fear the call will be lost to my voicemail forever, I answer it.
A chill runs down my spine as I pick up the phone, “H-Hello?”
There is some static. “Sofia?” a thick Boston accent asks.
“Yes?” I glare at no one in particular, getting pissed. This isn’t Timothy’s voice. “Who is this?” I demand.
“I know you want to see Timothy again,” he asks.
I feel the pit of my stomach drop.
“If you want to see him again, You have to go to the following address in 24 hours.”
I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. “I’m sorry, what?”
“If you want to see him again, you need to be at this address in 24 hours, got it? Get a pen.”
“Who the hell is this?”
“I don’t have time to tell you. All I can give you is the address and your window of opportunity. You don’t have much time.”
I frown, wondering if this was some kind of sick ploy. This stranger clearly knew Timothy’s number, but his number was unlisted. Disregarding my misgivings, I got a pen. “Give me the address. If you’re lying, I’m going to kill you.”
“517 West Mill Street, Winchester, New Hampshire,” he says. “Get there within 24 hours. I’ll meet you there. It doesn’t show up on any map. Just go to the street, head to the end, there will be a gate at the back of the street. The combination on the lock is 5, 21, 24.”
I jot down the information as quickly as possible. “Now, who are you?”
The call ends.
I frown as look to the phone. Could this be real? I dial his number, desperate to reach someone.
“The mailbox is full and cannot accept messages at this time. Goodbye.”
“No! Shit no, no no!” I scream, shaking the phone like that will somehow help. “Tim! Fuck, come back!” I dial again, hearing the same message.
“The mailbox is full and cannot accept messages at this time. Goodbye.”
I close my eyes and head to Cat’s shower. I am going to need a cold one before I get on my way. I map out my trek, a good 3 hour trip without traffic or stops. I had a day to get there, so I decided I was going to be prepared for just about anything.
I grab my car from the bar, head home, and get a change of clothing. I also grab some ammunition, my rifle, my sidearm (it’s a Desert Eagle but it’s still a pistol), and I bring along some other tactical gear, just in case. I even throw in some MERs. I doubt I will need them, but I need to be overly cautious.
“I’m coming for you, Tim…” I say to myself as I start driving.
…
Being stuck in traffic on I-295 to Manhattan is a very anticlimactic way to start a journey. But here I am, sandwiched between several tractor-trailers and a shitload of other cars all trying to escape the island and get to the mainland.
While stuck in deadlock traffic, I think back to the first time I met Tim. He always seemed off a little, I guess. Maybe that’s why I was attracted to him. Who wants ‘normal’ and ‘boring’ in their life?
It was a night where I was tired of getting hit on at the bar and I resolved to do some of the hitting myself. It was an odd drunk girl decision, but I spotted some guy sitting at the end of the bar who looked absolutely out of place.
I walk over to him, sat down on the empty barstool, and just started talking. “Waiting for someone?”
He looked at me timidly and smiled. “Yes. Though I guess they aren’t going to show up.”
“So you’re free then?”
He laughs. “Assuming that my friend doesn’t show up, yes.” He smiles. He has a nice smile.
I slap the bar top. “Hey, Barkeep, a couple of beers - Sam Adams!”
The bartender nods from across the way and starts making two pints.
The guy with the nice smile looks to me. “I’ve been trying to get his attention for the better part of an hour.”
I smile. “You need tits.”
He laughs again. “I guess.”
As the beers show up, I grin at him. “So, you’re buying, right? If not, that means I need to start hitting you with pick-up lines.”
He took the beer, flashing that smile. “I’ll hear a few for a free drink.”
I roll my eyes, “Okay…“ I tried to think of a cheesy pick-up line and one just popped into my head, “So, I think I might be dead.”
He twinkled at me. “Why’s that?”
I smirked. “Because I’m looking at an angel.”
His face got rather serious. “I’m… what?” He looked behind him for a moment, and then at me. “You know?”
I snickered. “Yes, I know.” I laughed “Man, you fell hard into that one! How many have you had already?”
His face softened. “Oh… hah… yes. Sorry.” He sipped his beer, “Sorry, I normally don’t drink.”
“So you haven’t had anything yet?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“So you’re just a dork then?” I liked his fumbling with his words, the nervousness, and innocence.
“Well… I guess that’s a word you could use to describe me.”
“I like dorks,” I reassured him. “Much better than the assholes I normally deal with.”
He nodded “I imagine a beautiful woman like yourself runs into her fair share of jerks.”
I took a good gulp of beer. “Nope, far more than my fair share. I have a very disproportionate number of jerks that head my way. I keep talking to the other beautiful girls about how unfair it is, but apparently, I need to take one for the team.”
A sly look crossed his face, “I guess I have no choice but to take you off the market, make things fair again.”
I beamed. “Big words for someone I’ve barely finished a beer with.”
He just nodded, his face flushing. “Yeah… well worth a shot right?”
I took another swig of beer. “I think you’re on target though.” I hadn’t thought much of it, but I was thoroughly enjoying myself with him. “Sofia, I’m a Captain on the base. You?” I offered him my hand.
He gingerly took it. “Timothy, I’m a Major.”
“A Major what?” I grinned.
He smiled. “A Major Dork, apparently.”
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.
“You’ve got a beautiful laugh.”
“You’ve got a way with words.” I leaned against the bar. “Tell me more about myself.”
I order several more rounds of beer, most of which I drank. We talk, laugh and drink for hours.
…
Traffic was finally moving, and I head out over the Throgs Neck Bridge, Connecticut bound.
I am refilling my car somewhere in Connecticut when I realize I am nearby an old friend in Stamford, Josh. I wonder if he would have some time to help me figure out what I might be dealing with.
I pick up my phone and dial him. He was an IT guy I knew he had a specialty in networking, voice over IP stuff specifically. More than the tech stuff, however, I need someone to verify something important for me.
Josh picks up, sounding happy. “Hey, Sofia, what’s up?
“I need your help.”
“You know, most people start with, ‘Hello’.”
A few minutes later, I’m at Josh’s place. He opens the door, short brown hair, brown eyes, wearing a band t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. “Long time, no see,” he says.
I nod. “Please tell me you can help me out,” I say, heading inside.
“Well, what do you need?” he asks.
“Can you track a number?”
He ponders this for a moment. “Well, it’s all dependant on when the call comes in and from where. But, if you’re talking a call that’s already happened, not really.”
I heave a sigh. “Then can you at least tell me who the last person who called me was?” I hand my phone over to him.
He looks at me curiously and then checks my phone. “Timothy Crestfall. What kind of name is Crestfall?”
“Good. I’m not going crazy then.” I walk into his kitchen and get a glass of water. “I got a call from that number yesterday, and someone on the other end gave me an address. He told me if I wanted to see Timothy again I had to head over there.”
Josh cocks his head. “Tim’s your boyfriend, right?”
“Was,” I gulp down the water.
“You two break up or something?”
I shake my head, putting the empty glass of water down. “No, he’s dead.”
Josh looks shocked. “Wait so, when did he die?”
“About a week ago,” I explain. “And that call came in yesterday.”
Josh glances at me with concern. “I mean… maybe someone spoofed the number? How do you know if they aren’t trying to trick you?”
“I don’t, but I’m kind of desperate. But you did help me out with the last part. At least I’m not completely insane.”
Josh looks at me, confused. “So someone called you from your dead boyfriend’s number, gave you an address, and told you if you wanted to see him again to head to someplace?”
I nod, “Yeah. This is insane, isn’t it? He even gave me a deadline: in the next 24 hours.”
Josh heads into the other room. “Then you’ve got time for me to tag along then?”
I sigh. “I don’t need help, I have my hand-cannon, I can take care of myself.”
Josh walks out of his room, sliding a coat on and pulling on a pair of boots. “Then you can at least go for some company. I’m not doing anything for the next day.”
There’s no fighting with him and it is probably a good idea to bring someone else along for the ride. Whoever was expecting me was, after all, expecting just me. If it was some sort of trap, I’d be having a hell of a time.
“Fine.” I relent.
…
The last leg of the journey I had Josh along, of course. Aside from a fairly shitty taste in music, he was alright. He grounded me. He was the little piece of sanity I had on this insane trip.
“How much longer?” Josh asks as we cruise around the local streets, buildings growing further and further apart.
“Not much longer,” I say as I spot West Mill Street. The street itself seems poorly maintained. There is a smattering of houses here and there before we finally come to a gate. I stop the car and get out.
Josh gets out as well, looking at the gate. “That… is an old ass place.”
I look to the padlock, putting in the combination. 5, 21, 24, then click. I undo the chain and open the gate. I turn around to see Josh getting back into the car.
As I get in, Josh looks to me.
“So… you ever see The Haunting?”
I nod, driving forward. “Yes.”
“Mmmhmm… getting some real ‘Hill House’ vibes from this place,” Josh explains.
We head up along the driveway, the car bouncing about as we drive along the potholes and overgrown path.
At the end of the path is a giant derelict mansion: a huge three-story building standing with a disheveled roof and crumbling walls. The windows are boarded up and the front doors look like they’re barely hanging on by their hinges. Leaves and puddles surround the building and I can even see some of the foliage inside.
“You sure this is the place?” Josh asks me.
I get out of the car, pulling out my Desert Eagle from my shoulder holster. “Yes. The combo worked on the lock just like he said.”
“Holy shit Sofia, what’s with the hand cannon?” Josh says, staring at my piece.
“It’s my, ‘no one fuck with me’ stick.” I move towards the mansion, checking my six and all the corners. It’s clear to me no one is here. I holster my gun and sigh, walking away. “Nothing.”
Josh leans against the car. “Now what?”
I sit against the hood, arms crossed. “We wait.”
“Wait? For what?”
“For Marky Mark to show up.” I throw my hands up. “I don’t know! But I’ll be damned if I show up here in the timeframe this guy said, just to turn around because I might have missed him or he’s running late.” I open the trunk, grabbing an MRE, “Hungry? We’re kind of camping here for a bit.”
Josh frowns. “What’s that?”
I toss him an MRE package. “You asked to come on this trip. I brought supplies.”
He looks down at it. “What’s wrong with Burger King?”
“You buying?” I ask, sitting in the driver’s seat, my legs hanging out of the car door as I look around at the overgrown landscape around me. Maybe I was going insane. This whole trip certainly was. I crack open the package, pull a water bottle out from the back of the car, and start cooking lunch.
After a few hours, I close the car doors, and we kick the heat on. I lean back and look to Josh doing the same. “You going to pass out?”
Josh nods. “Out of sheer boredom.”
I lock the doors. “Fair enough.” I close my eyes, starting to doze off.
Before I know what is going on, there are three knocks on the window. I sit up, looking to my left. Standing there is a cop, full uniform, green eyes and brown hair, He makes a motion to roll down the window.
I grumble and roll it down. “Problem officer?”
He speaks in a thick Boston accent, and I’m thinking, is this the same guy I spoke to on the phone? “This is private property. Can I see some ID, ma’am?”
My brows furrow. “Can I see yours?”
He flashes a badge at me.
I pull out my Military ID Card.
He looks it over. “Well Captain, what are you doing out here with your…” he pauses for a moment, “boyfriend?”
I object quickly. “He’s just a friend.”
Josh pipes up, “Is there a problem officer?”
“Well, the gate was opened and we had reports of someone swinging by here. Sometimes there’s looters or trespassers.”
I look around, not spotting a squad car anywhere nearby, “Officer, how was it you said you got here exactly?”
Josh looks at me. “Uh, Sofia, why are you back-talking the cop?”
I turn to Josh. “Do you see a cop car anywhere?”
The cop chuckles, looking over my ID, “Oh yeah. Well, he did say you were a smart one.”
Josh is standing outside of the car now. “Who are you?” I turn as I hear the sound of a gun’s safety being clicked off, seeing Josh holding a small pistol. When did he get a gun?
The cop pulls his own sidearm, pointing it at Josh.
I get out of my car, looking at both of them in a stand-off, stepping away from the potential crossfire.
“Kid, drop the weapon.”
“You’re not a cop!” shouts Josh.
“I am, that I can swear. My name is Detective Jason Miller, Boston PD. Now drop the weapon.”
“Boston PD? What the Hell are you doing all the way out here!” Josh shouts.
I look to Detective Miller., “That’s a damn good question!”
“I was meeting with Captain Vázquez here on a private matter, what are you doing here?”
Josh narrows his eyes, “I was helping her. So you called her? What do you have to do with this?”
Detective Miller clicks the safety off his pistol. “I’m the one that arranged this meetup, but it didn’t have you in it… lets both lower our weapons, okay? Count of three?”
Josh looks to me, then Detective Miller.
Detective Miller starts to count down, “One… Two…. Three.” He starts to lower his weapon.
Josh does the same.
Detective Miller is about to holster his gun when Josh lifts his right back up. In a movement, I can only call a blur Detective Miller’s hands are back on his gun and he’s fired a round at Josh, catching his neck with the bullet.
Josh freezes for a moment, grabbing his neck, gasping, and then falling to the ground.
“Fuck me running…” Detective Miller says as he runs over to Josh, kneeling beside him as he tosses his gun away. “Fucking idiot.”
I bolt over. “Fuck, Josh what the Hell?”
Detective Miller looks at me. “I’m sorry.”
I glare at him, “Back off!” I place my hand on my own gun, “Just step back, okay asshole?”
Detective Miller regards me briefly before his attention turns to Josh. “Oh shit…”
I lean over and I see Detective Miller’s concern, “That’s a lot of blood.” I fret, trying to help Josh keep the pressure on the wound. “Hold on Josh.” Great, now I’ve gotten a friend of mine killed, it seems.
“Shithead’s gonna bleed out if we don’t treat him.” Detective Miller turns to me, “I’m not going to hurt you. Please, believe me, this was an accident.” He moves to pick Josh up, but I intervene.
“Listen ‘Detective’, you’re the one who did this, call it in and get an ambulance!” I demand.
Detective Miller shakes his head, “He’ll bleed out by then. Please, trust me? I have someone inside who can save him right now. I’m asking you to help me make this right, please?” he’s oddly calm and sure of himself.
I’m personally sure that, even if an ambulance was called, it wouldn’t get here by the time Josh bled out. “Hurt him and the next person applying pressure to a gunshot wound is going to be you,” I warn.
Detective Miller nods, and then with surprising ease, lifts Josh up in his arms, carrying him towards the dilapidated mansion.
I give a curious look as he starts walking toward the mansion. I shout, “There’s nothing in there!” but as I look at the mansion, the front doors are different. They’re heavy and look like they’re made of stone. They’re no longer hanging from their hinges but look fresh and clean. The rest of the mansion is still in severe decay, but the doors are not.
Detective Miller looks at Josh. “Keep the pressure on it.”
Josh whimpers, “I feel dizzy…”
Detective Miller turns to me. “Can you get the door, sweetheart? My hands are full at the moment.”
I run over to the doors and push them open. My eyes widen as I see a huge marble foyer. Everything is white and pristine, two massive angel statues tower from the floor to about thirty-feet into the air. The ceiling has to be fifty-feet tall, also covered in marble. Every inch of the place is white marble.
“Irfan!” Detective Miller shouts.
To my shock, a young Afghan man runs out from a hallway in the distance. He shouts in near perfect English, “Brother Jason, what happened?” He’s wearing white robes and sandals, along his belt is a number of rolls of gauze, bottles, and scissors. There’s something behind him. I think it’s some kind of cape or a robe but as he runs faster, I notice it’s a pair of red angelic wings. The wings are huge, folded tight against his back. I see he has a white cap with golden accents around the borders and a substantial black beard.
“Guy had a gun on me, I nicked his jugular,” Detective Miller states.
The angel Irfan shakes his head, looking over Josh as Detective Miller lays him down on the floor. “You prove to be a trigger happy American after all, brother Jason.”
“Hey! I had put my gun down, then this moron brings his back up, what am I supposed to do?” Detective Miller says defensively.
“Duck?” Irfan says.
Detective Miller rolls his eyes as I walk over.
“Actually it was the only thing to do,” I add.
Irfan looks to me as he unrolls a long bandage. “Ah, I’m surrounded by trigger happy Americans.” His smile shows me he’s joking to some extent. He soon unrolls the bandage. He leans over to Josh, “Move your hand, son, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”
Josh gasps as his hand moves, his wound is still gushing until Irfan wraps the cloth around it. In an instant, the blood flow stops. Josh looks pale, however, and is shivering.
“He’s going into shock,” I gasp.
Irfan nods, finishing the bandage and then reaching for a red vial at his waist. He pops the cap off of it and puts it to Josh’s lips. “Drink please.”
Josh drinks the stuff down, his eyes shutting and his color slowly returning.
Irfan picks Josh up with ease as well. “He’ll need some rest. I’ll tend to him for now.”
Detective Miller nods. “Thanks, brother.” He heads back to the doors, closing them behind us. “That was too much drama.” He turns to me, “I guess I should have said ‘come alone’ but… well, at least you’re here.”
I watch the Angel Irfan walk into another room, and then turn to Detective Miller. “What’s with the wings?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah, he’s an avatar of the archangel Raphael,” Detective Miller slowly removes his uniformed jacket. “Means he’s a doctor of sorts.”
“And I’m just supposed to believe that–” I’m stopped mid-sentence as I see what happens after Jason removes his bulky jacket.
Spilling out from behind it, in such a way that it cannot possibly have fit inside the jacket without some form of trickery, is a pair of white angel wings. When the jacket is off completely, Detective Miller’s wings unfurl, absolutely massive white feathery wings spreading out behind him.
“This is the Guardian Temple. It’s a temple where us Guardian Angels meet up,” Detective Miller explains.
My mouth is agape as I stare at him in disbelief.
“You wanted to see Timothy?” Detective Miller asks me.
I nod, dumbly. Maybe I’ve lost my mind, or I’ve died. I must have died and this angel is going to show me to Tim. I’m fine with either scenario, I realize, as long as he takes me to Tim.
He motions over, “Follow me.”
I follow, numbly, almost mindlessly.
“He’s probably by the expanse, he’s always there when he’s upset,” Detective Miller explains.
“Why…” I say softly, finally finding my voice, “Why would he be upset?”
Detective Miller turns to me as we head down a winding staircase, “Because he misses you.”
As we get to the bottom of the steps, I see a huge slab of marble floor leading to what can only be described as the edge of a night sky. Hundreds of stars twinkle in the distance. As I look, I spot a pair of silvery-white wings folded tight, I see short black hair from behind, and a familiar pair of shoes.
“T-Tim?” I shout.
He turns suddenly, his wings still tight against his back, and I see his face: Timothy’s face, black short hair, his ice blue eyes, his pale skin. His eyes look sunken, the color somehow washed out, his face is a mix of depression and longing. As he sees me, his eyes seem to brighten, and he smiles warmly, “Sofia?”