Michael pointed to the ticket dispensers. Catching his meaning, I scurried to the protected alcove between the two machines. I slid sideways between the humming dispensers and rested my arms against the cool metal.
The bus shelter erupted with noise; shrill screams of terror turned to guttural cries of anger. Around Michael's bulk, I could see all the eyes around us filled with dark emotion. The woman who'd been huddling in the corner with her child leapt up. The child, too young to have a LINK implant, looked bewildered.
"Michael," I said, "it's the LINK-angels. We've got to get out of here."
Turning to face me, Michael's arms were around me in a second. "I will do it. For you. Shut your eyes, Deidre."
"Why? Wha ..." My words were swallowed by a torrential wind. Lightning stabbed my eyes.
"Shut your eyes, Deidre," a calm voice intoned, as I felt myself rising, as if separating from my body. I had the distinct impression that if I were to look "down," I would see my body crumpled in the bus shelter. "We're going back."
" 'Back'? Back to heaven?" Panic made my voice tight.
Bob Courtland reporting in real time from Manhattan, in front of Carnegie Halclass="underline"
Bob:
"Thanks H.C. The crowd here is enormous. There are people stretching in both directions for kilometers on the pedestrian tube near the main entrance to Carnegie Hall. Police have had to arrest an unconfirmed number of adults who were attempting to gain foot access to the vehicle traffic level apparently trying to be the first to witness what type of vehicles in which the presidential candidates will arrive. To say the mood here is chaotic and exciting is an understatement."
H.C.:
"Tell us a little bit about what's happening down there, Bob."
Bob:
"Well, it's amazing. People have unplugged in a serious way. I've been talking to some of the crowd and several have said they joined the crowd just out of a need to be with other human beings on such a historic moment. Let's talk to this young lady. Hello? This is Bob Courtland from LINK-politics, can I ask you a few questions?"
Woman:
"Wow. The Bob.Courtland.pol LINK? You look so much shorter in real time. Do you think Letourneau is shorter than he seems in VR?"
Bob:
"It's hard to say. Is that why you're here today?"
Woman:
"I guess. I heard about all the people gathering here and I thought maybe it was some kind of sign or something, you know? I mean, if Letourneau is the Second Coming, then, maybe this moment is like the whole sermon on the mount/bread and fishes thing. Who would want to miss a thing like that? I mean, I want to be able to tell my kids I was there, you know?"
Bob:
"Thank you. Let's ask someone else. Ah, here, excuse me, sir, I'm Bob Courtland from LINK-politics, can I ask you a question?"
Man:
[waves] "Hi, Mom."
Bob:
"What brought you to Carnegie Hall today, sir?"
Man:
"I'm a big Grey supporter, see?" [points to tee shirt bearing slogan "Grey in 76 – REAL people's choice!"] "I've been to every one of Grey's talks. It's kind of an event, you know, getting out and meeting realtime people. I used to be this total plug-head, and I've had this epiphany, see? It's time to unplug and experience real-time real life ...
Bob:
"Uh, right. Moving on ..."
Chapter 24
Flames licked and danced along the deep green bay leaves without burning through them. I found myself on a rocky desert plain; various hues of browns and yellows extended to the horizon. Above, the sky was cloudless. Heat brought prickles of sweat to my body, and the air was still. The crackling snaps of the fire were the only sound.
Michael stood in the center of the shrub. Like wax, flesh dripped from his body, sizzling and spitting in the fire. His expression was sad, yet peaceful. Michael's hands stretched open in supplication; his posture reminded me of Joan of Arc at the stake. Light, as sharp as a laser beam, punched through the skin over his heart. Tears of pain and joy evaporated in the heat 'I am, who I am.' "
"No," I cried, watching Michael's body tumble into seven pieces. "Don't go!"
Swallowing his flesh, the fire popped with joy. A hiss from the bush seemed to say, "We love you."
"No!" The coolness of the air startled me, and I blinked. The houselights were up, and people moved through rows and rows of plush seats. The curved vaulted ceilings bounced the sound of voices around the hall until the noise jumbled together into a pleasant and excited thrum. Carved columns supported the proscenium arch of the stage. A crew of people were busily setting up podiums and positioning LINK-sensory camera connections.
I blinked again, even though part or me knew I wouldn't see him, I whispered, "Michael?"
"Deidre, darling!" A tall Asian woman waved at me from the central aisle. Her bobbed haircut bounced around heavy dream-catcher earrings as she made her way up the row of seats to where I stood under the balcony – blinking and bewildered.
Reaching me, the woman gave me a measured look through long lashes. Her dress was tie-dyed and shimmered under the houselights. Putting her hands on her narrow hips, she frowned at my trench coat. "You're a little underdressed, honey, but it'll have to do."
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I looked past the woman to the stage, where workers were adding velvet drapes to the podiums. The chill of the theater's air-conditioning reminded me of the absence of a hot desert sun; even the bright stage lights lacked heat.
"I'm Ariel," the woman said, startling me by dropping her voice an octave. "The archangel Uriel. I'm here with some boys I think you know."
She pointed to the edge of the stage. In a turban and tux, Jibril's dark features stood out in the crowd. Raphael nodded in agreement to something Jibril said. "Where's Michael?" I asked.
"Oh, the poor lost lamb. He's ..." Ariel's smile crumpled at the edges. "Let's just say, karmically, he couldn't make a return trip ... just yet."
"Karma?" I looked Ariel up and down. "So, what are you? Buddhist or something?"
The tips of her black bob swished, and her earrings shook to and fro. Her smile showed crooked, masculine teeth. "Honey, do I look like a bodhisattva to you?"
I shrugged, moving out of the way as a couple stepped into the hall to find their seats.
"Well, I am. In the flesh, as it were," she said with a broad wink.
I nodded, but I wasn't really listening to her. "Michael is gone for good, isn't he?"
Dark lipstick became a sharp line. "I like to think positively, you know, PPT: 'Power of Positive Thinking' and all that," she said. Lightly taking hold of my elbow, she herded me into the hall. "The boys like to obsess on the Old Testament – all that flooding and Sodom's destruction – but don't listen to them; it'll only raise your blood pressure. I believe, ultimately, that whatever higher power there might be is a forgiving, loving entity. You have to trust in it."
I made the appropriate uh-huh noises, but I was thinking of Michael consumed by the holy fire. I would never see the Michael I knew again, I was sure of it. If there was one thing Michael forced me to appreciate, it was that our flesh defines us. Even if he came back, he would not be in the same form; I had lost him.
The boys, as Ariel had called them, seemed to know it, too. Raphael's eyes watched mine warily, sympathetically. Jibril shook his head sadly, and said, "It's the final hour, Deidre. Are you ready?"