CHAPTER TWO

A flutter of bright blue caught the corner of Bobby's eye. For a moment, he feared the cops had returned, and he scrambled awkwardly down from the rail. A figure emerged from the snow. The bright blue came from a scarf around its neck. Bobby couldn't tell if the figure was male or female. It was difficult for him to recognize much about the figure. It wasn't particularly tall or short, fat or thin. It wore a pale grey coat and hat which blended with the snow. The scarf stood out vividly against this lack of color. Bobby could think of only one reason for anyone to be on the bridge at this time on this night—the same reason he was there.

"Are…Are you all right?" Bobby called tentatively.

"Yes," the figure responded in a gentle, deep voice.

"What…What are you doing here?"

"I've come to answer you, Robert."

A dull ache behind his eyes joined the throb of Bobby's bruise. He couldn't quite make out the features of the man who spoke to him. The man was white, very white, so much so that his face glowed. Bobby saw a remarkable pair of blue eyes—almost as bright as that scarf—looking kindly at him. Although the man stood right in front of him, Bobby couldn't definitely see any of his other features. Bobby had the impression the figure was very handsome.

Bobby blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How…How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot of things about you," the man said. "I've known you all your life."

The man's gentle and concerned voice kept Bobby's anger at bay. "Look…Who are you? I'm sorry…But I don't remember you…"

"You wouldn't," the man responded. "You've never met me. My name, at least for tonight, is Michael." He stepped closer to the rail and looked out. "I love this city…I think almost as much as you do. Whenever someone says different kinds of people can't work together, I point to New York City."

"Yea," Bobby said softly. "How do you know that about me?"

"The same way I know that you're considering throwing away the greatest gift you have," Michael said. "It would be a great loss, especially since you're used it so well."

Bobby's suspicions and confusion grew. "I…I don't understand…"

"I've been sent by someone who's also named Michael…Someone who cares a great deal about policemen…Especially good and brave policemen…"

Bobby's head spun. He tried to recall if anyone named Michael had been a good force in his life. "Michael? Do you mean Mike Logan?"

Michael smiled sadly. "No…Not Mike Logan…Although the Michael I work for certainly worried about him…Still does, sometimes…You need to do something you do really well, Robert, and think beyond the usual…"

"Michael…Michael the Archangel…Is one of the patron saints of policemen…" Bobby mumbled. He stared at the figure, which smiled warmly at him.

"It's finally happened," Bobby murmured. "I've lost my mind…" He stepped closer to the rail.

"We were afraid you might think that," Michael said. He placed his right hand on Bobby's shoulder. A great, warm, and comforting sensation flooded through Bobby. "I'm not a hallucination, Robert. I may not be what is usually part of your life, but I'm real."

"If I have lost my mind," Bobby muttered. "I really…" He stared down at the water.

"But you haven't, Robert," Michael reassured him. "And your life is worth quite a lot. You've helped many people. You're a brave and good man."

Bobby shook his head and pulled away from Michael's grip. "You know so much about me. You must know that anyone I've ever cared about…I've hurt them…My presence in their lives wasn't a good thing…" His head pounded, and Bobby rubbed his eyes.

"Robert. You can't believe that. You possess a great intelligence."

"How can I not believe it?" Bobby asked. His voice was without anger or bitterness, but filled with a terrible resignation.

"You truly believe that your life hasn't been for good? That it would've been better if you'd never been born?" Michael asked.

Bobby closed his eyes. Alex's words of "It's too late now" echoed in his brain. "Yes…"

Michael sighed. "I'd hoped to avoid this. It's almost a cliché. It's so painful for everyone. But Mr. Dickens knew how to use parts of it in his story, and there's truth and power in it." Michael closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them. "All right, Robert. You've never been born."

"Yea…Right," Bobby said. "Well, I'm not Jimmy Stewart, and you're not Clarence…"

"I like that variation," Michael said agreeably. "Although I think Bedford Falls might've shown George Bailey a little more appreciation before he got into such a mess."

Bobby suddenly realized his head didn't hurt. He touched his forehead and was stunned to find there was no bruise above his eye.

"You didn't get hurt because…" Michael began.

"I don't exist," Bobby said slowly. "All right…How does this work?"

"Touch the scarf," Michael said.

"I…I'm not Ebeneezer Scrooge," Bobby said.

"No." Michael smiled. "No more than I'm Charles Dickens, unfortunately."

Bobby hesitated. "Well," he said. "Whatever happens, I deserve it. And I'm not doing anything else tonight." He grasped the end of Michael's bright blue scarf. He was just able to register that it was the softest and warmest material he'd ever felt before the world spun around him and he was flung into light and sound and sensation.

END CHAPTER TWO