The Messenger Read Free

that it froze him solid. There was no alarm to the sound, only power. It did not frighten. It beckoned . Manny stood in wide-eyed wonder and watched as the machine’s edges began to shimmer. The shimmering grew brighter and brighter and brighter until he could no longer see the machine itself, nor the street, nor anything except that incredible silver-white light that reached out now, farther and farther, drawing him into the tunnel of brightness that had suddenly appeared where the machine had been. Pulling him in and sweeping him along, faster and faster and faster.
    ****
    â€œExcuse me,” she said hesitantly, leaning over the grimy counter.
    â€œYeah, what is it?” The balding, overweight officer was too busy with his pile of papers and wad of gum to look up.
    â€œI was told that you could help me.”
    A fleshy head lifted to fasten her with a stony gaze. A flicker of interest over the white-blond hair, the fresh face, the uniform, then dismissal. “So what’s the problem?”
    â€œI was,” she stumbled over the word the woman who directed her to the desk had used, “pickpocketed.”
    â€œHang on.” He reached to one side, plucked a sheet from one of perhaps a dozen tall piles. “You a foreigner?”
    â€œYes,” she said, more definite this time.
    â€œThought so. Where’s home?”
    â€œHeaven.”
    â€œNever heard of it.” He tested the pen on his thumb, bent over the form. “Okay, name?”
    â€œAriel.”
    â€œFirst or last?”
    â€œAh, first.”
    â€œLast?”
    She was silent a moment, then, “Messenger.”
    â€œAddress?”
    â€œI’m just here.” She waved her hand toward the door. “At the Providence General Hospital.”
    â€œThat’ll do for now.” He scribbled down the words. “Okay, what’d you lose?”
    â€œMy pass.”
    â€œTrain, subway, what?”
    â€œNo,” again the stumble, then, “higher.”
    â€œHigher? Oh, right. Your plane ticket home. What about money, jewels, credit cards?”
    â€œNo, just my pass.”
    He stopped writing. “Were you mugged?”
    â€œI’m sorry, I—”
    â€œAttacked,” he said impatiently, glancing at the line forming behind her. “Hit, slapped around, that sort of thing?”
    A shudder ran through her body. “No, nothing like that. I don’t even know who did it.”
    â€œA pro,” said a voice behind her. She turned, saw a heavyset woman with eyes of eternal weariness seated on a bench alongside the wall. “Nice to see somebody taking pride in their work.”
    â€œYou’re lucky, honey,” said the grimy man sprawled next to her. “Most of the jokers out there hit first, search later.”
    â€œBut it’s my pass home,” Ariel said fearfully.
    The police officer asked impatiently, “Does this pass have your name on it?”
    â€œNo,” she replied sorrowfully. “I was warned not to lose it.”
    â€œSounds like good advice to me. You shoulda listened better.” The police officer tossed her form in the wastebasket at his feet. “Next.”
    â€œCome on, sister, move aside.” A young man with a fishnet T-shirt and skintight jeans weaseled up. “You’re not the only one’s got problems.”
    â€œTell me about it,” the police officer said, his voice eternally bored. “Okay, so what’s your beef?”
    A hand tugged at Ariel’s elbow. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but hear.” Bright eyes peered at her from beneath a stiff navy-blue cap, one quite different from those worn by the police surrounding them. Her blue uniform had emblems on each lapel which Ariel immediately recognized. “I’m Sister Clarice. What seems to be the problem?”
    â€œI was supposed to just go in and see someone at the hospital and leave,” Ariel said. “But now