"Hi Sarah. Glad to see you're O.K." Billy offered her one of his golden smiles, but Sarah ignored him and brushed past him brusquely. She didn't seem pleased, which was nothing new. But given her recent brush with death, perhaps Billy had expected some chink in the Iron Bitch's emotional armour.
But who was he kidding?
"You'd better have prepared those briefs, Weil."
"Worked on them all weekend," Billy assured her.
Without any acknowledgement or a thank you, Sarah snatched the proffered stack of papers and disappeared down a side hallway, deftly ducking a mob of reporters. The mob only turned around in time to consider Billy, and then turned away quickly, as if he'd suddenly become invisible.
Billy had half a thought to sell them some b.s. as a way to get back at his boss. But realizing that he would never carry such a delicious thought through, he casually headed the direct way, having to cut through the paparazzi, back to his desk. Still, betrayal was a sweet consideration.
Assistant D.A. Sarah Fynn flew into her office and tossed the briefs that her assistant, Billy Weil, had given her down onto her desk. She paused to consider the blinking light on her phone. It's pulsing red cadence reminded her of a deep deep drum beat. It was her direct line, her personal line.
Fumbling with the buttons (she was terrible with technology), she heard Daria's voice on the other end, a melody, a scorching whisper that evaporated from reality the moment she heard it. The handset was hot and it burned Sarah's hand. So absorbed was Sarah in the painful but beautiful tones that screamed at her, she failed to notice that her secretary, Janet, had walked in. Startled, Sarah let the phone drop.
Before Sarah could say anything, Janet picked it up and listened. Daria's whispered melody sung out from the handset. It's power caused the pens on Sarah's desk to vibrate. Janet just shook her head.
"Hmm, I guess whoever it was hung up." She offered the phone back to Sarah, who took it back, glaring at Janet. Fortunately, thick apes like Janet and Billy couldn't hear the sounds of the Symphony when revealed in true form, even when it was blasting in their ear.
Sarah hung up the phone. "Has protocol just vanished over the weekend? Whatever happened to knocking?"
Janet ignored the question. She was remarkably thick-skinned, even for a monkey. And she was possibly meaner than Sarah, for which Sarah gave her some begrudging respect.
"You have forty-five people who want you to perform a miracle for them, twenty-four calls from newspaper reporters, three men and one woman who want to ask you out on a date." Janet paused. "I like this one. It's from the American Enquirer. They're offering you fifty-thousand for your story. Girl, what couldn't I do with fifty grand, uh-huh." She reflected, mentally shopping for a moment.
"If you keep blabbering, you might find out what you can do in the unemployment line," Sarah growled.
But Janet seemed non-plussed. "Uh-huh, I only have one word to say to that - Union." She continued to list off all the phone messages. "Oh, and here's one from Alexis Vandervoort. She said she was returning your call. Hey, isn't she that reporter off the T.V. news? The one on channel six?"
"Did she leave a number?" Not waiting for an answer, Sarah snatched the memo out of Janet's hand. There was a number, a different one than the one she'd been calling all weekend. "That'll be all, Sarah nodded to Janet."
Janet pursed her lips, which had a wrinkle of contempt in them, and just walked out, mumbling "All I can say is, I'd better see some money next review for putting up with this sh...." Sarah heard no more as Janet had closed the door.
Sarah, technically challenged as always, had to dial the number three times before she heard a woman's voice on the other end.
"Vandervoort."
Sarah didn't speak directly into the phone. Instead, she used a voice synthesizer attached to a computer to effect her words. "Ms. Vandervoort?" Though Sarah was feeling strained and impatient, the synthesizer always gave listeners the impression that she was nonchalant about everything. "This is Assistant District Attorney, Sarah Fynn calling. Thank you for finally returning my call."
"What can I do for you?" Vandervoort sounded suspicious.
"This is off the record, alright?" Sarah waited.
There was a long pause. "All right," Vandervoort agreed.
I want you to kill the story you're running tonight," Sarah told her.
There was a choked sound on the other end, as if Vandervoort had just caught herself from laughing. "I'm sorry, I can't do that. Your threat of legal action managed to delay it all weekend, but my editor tells me I can run it tonight."
"You can't run this story," Sarah told her. "How about we make a deal?"
"Sure," Vandervoort agreed, her voice mocking. "I have footage of you being run over, not once, but three times. And you get up with hardly a scratch as if nothing happened. Furthermore, when we process the video, there's some, uh, manifestations apparent on the video in perfect keeping with all of the photos taken by witnesses to the scene. This spot is going national, Ms. Fynn. I'm going to have everyone from Ayatollah to the Pope shitting in their pants come morning, and you want me to kill this story?" She paused. "I don't think so. Short of offering me an exclusive to the Second Coming, I don't see how you're going to top this one with some deal."
Sarah rubbed her forehead. What were the odds that a reporter covering a bunch of vegetable stands would catch her in the background and capture the entire event on video, not to mention broadcasting it live. Fortunately, hardly anyone ever watched noon-time news broadcasts.
"There's a logical explanation to all this," Sarah told her. Of course there was, just not one Sarah was wont to divulge.
"I'm sure there is," Vandervoort agreed. "I mean, I don't know what is going on, but given your reputation, I'm sure its not what it seems. All I know is that this is feature is generating enormous buzz, just the kind to get me out off covering fishermen strikes and farmers' markets, and into New York or Washington where the real news is happening. You're not going to be able to offer me anything, but feel free to try."
"Ms. Vandervoort, Alexis, again this is off the record, but what if I told you what you were seeing wasn't a trick. What if I said, it was just what it seemed?" Sarah hummed, putting out feelers, imagining in her mind what Vandervoort was doing. Sarah formed a picture of the woman sitting in a crowded office, sitting at her desk, holding an unlit cigarette.
Again, there was another pause, followed by laughter. "Not a very good try. Just because it's news, doesn't mean that I buy it for myself. I'm not some religious nut who sees the face of Jesus in a doughnut, Ms. Fynn."
"I can prove it," Sarah told her. "If you hold off on that story for just 24 hours, give me some time to prepare, I'll give you an exclusive. I'll give you an exclusive along with photos, if you will just agree to delay running that tape for now."
"I can't do that," Vandervoort countered. "Even if I could..."
Sarah countered. "Yes you can. Look, let's finish this conversation on the roof, shall we? Just make sure you come alone."
"The roof? You want to come here to meet on the roof? Wouldn't you rather we just meet for lunch?"
"Leave now. I'll be there."
"Wait, you're here in the building?"
Sarah didn't answer. She hung up the phone and ran out. "Hold my calls," she yelled to Janet. Turning to Billy, "Billy, I want you to attend for me at Judge Schulz's hearing. Just stall him and ask for an extension."
"Me?" Billy blustered. "But...!"
Sarah had already run out and was on the stairway up to the roof.
Alexis hung up the phone. She looked over at Max, her cameraman.
"I just had the oddest conversation," she told him. She stashed her unlit Marlboro and took out some nicotine gum. "Hey, where's that footage with Fynn on it?"
"It's on your desk," he told her, absently reviewing some digital video clips on his monitor.
Alexis looked at the lumpy envelope in her in-box. She opened it and took out the large industrial beta tape and hefted it. She handed this to Max. Tell Gregory to lock this up until we broadcast tonight. No wait..." she thought for a moment. "Better make some copies first, then keep one, bring one back to me and lock the master up in Gregory's office."
"What's the big deal?" Max asked her.
"No big deal," she told him. Feeling a bit stupid, she added, "I'll be right back."
The moment she hit the stairs, Alexis had a craving for a cigarette. She took out her gum and stuck it under the handrail, and popped the cigarette she'd been fondling all morning into her mouth and took a few dry sucks on it.
It was only a couple flights up to the roof, but Alexis was surprised how winded she was. One of the reasons she was giving up smoking, she guessed.
The day was the kind where the sun was bright and hot, hotter still on the flat asphalt roof. Alexis took out a mini tape recorder and turned it on, just in case. The air had a tarry burned taste to it. She watched a sea gull drifting overhead, but it didn't consider landing on the empty wasteland of the roof, filled as it was with only vents and large machinery for cooling the rooms below. Off in the distance, the brown hills of Prunedale were seen through a brown haze. The gull headed for the harbour, voicing a mournful cry, while nearby, the Moss Landing Power station sent spirals of white smoke drifting upward. Every now and then a breeze would appear and send the smoke drifting over the sun, clouding it out into a hazy polluted screen of ash and burnt bright air. Alexis looked around, licking a bead of sweat off her upper lip.
"Thank you for coming."
Alexis shrieked. Clutching her chest, she turned around. Assistant D.A. Sarah Fynn, dressed this time in a Halston, walked up, seemingly oblivious to the heat.
"Careful," Sarah warned her. "You'll have a heart attack."
Alexis clutched her chest even tighter, wrapping her blouse around her fingers in a knot. Her chest seem constricted and tight. She winced as a sharp pain shot through her arm. Having trouble breathing, she looked at Fynn, who seemed to be interested in her sudden condition but who offered no help.
"Where is the tape?" Fynn asked her.
"It's safe. There are several copies," she gasped through her pain. Alexis didn't know why, but somehow it seemed best to mention that she had made copies, though she was sure that Max had probably not gotten around to it yet."
"Of course you did," Fynn sighed. She cocked her head, as if listening for a bit.
Alexis heard it too. There was a sound playing in the distance. The chords were short and powerful.
Fynn pursed her lips and both the weird sounds and the pain in Alexis' chest ended.
Fynn lit a cigarette and offered another to Alexis. Alexis shook her head.
"Oh, go on, take it," Fynn suggested. "You'll feel better for it."
Alexis took it, held it up to her lips, then thought better of it and put it away. "I already feel better. I'll save this for later," she told Fynn.
The D.A. offered her a wry smile.
"How did you get here?" Alexis asked her. "What, were you just hanging around here on the KSSC roof, hoping I'd hand you the tape?"
"Have you thought about my proposition?"
"Not really. There's no reason for me to not run the story, is there. I mean, why...?" Alexis' gaze had drifted down, admiring Fynn's Jourdan shoes. While wondering how an assistant D.A. could afford them, she noticed that Fynn's shadow was much too large. There was an unmistakable outline of huge wings and what seemed to be a solid band hovering over Fynn's head.
Alexis looked up. Fynn was the same self-righteous D.A. that everyone hated. Fynn had noticed the reporter staring at Fynn's shadow. Alexis looked back and forth, between shadow and the person in front of her, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
An obscuring column of smoke almost blotted out the sun. The shadow disappeared for a moment.
"We usually avoid strong sunlight, or at least are conscious of our shadows," Fynn told her. "We also don't allow ourselves to be photographed, or even to be painted since artistic types have a way of seeing through us if they focus long enough. We mostly manifest at dawn or dusk, and of course at night. Though our true forms vary, here on earth we have much the same manifestation. And no matter how we choose to appear, true light reveals something of what we really are."
"We?" Alexis shook her head. There were others. "Wait, you mean that you really are a, um, a..."
Fynn smiled, not a warm smile, but a more predatory smile, as if she were enjoying the plight of her prey. She stretched her wings out, revealing them and letting them breathe and bask in the sunlight. They were white but had bands of iridescence along the edges and they seemed, no, more than seemed, they and all of Fynn's body glowed, making it hard to look at her. As the sunlight struck her, her body seemed to fade and transform itself into wondrously hued winged manifestation of glory.
"Ahhhh," she sighed. "That feels so good. I hardly ever get to do this anymore."
Alexis Vandervoort dropped to her knees. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the burning bite of the gravel and hot tar but ignored it anyway, captivated by the glory revealed before her.
"So, do we have a deal?" Sarah asked her. "I give you exclusive rights to my story and new photos, in return for you holding off on running the story until I'm ready. If I haven't come through in 24 hours, then you can run the story."
"Wait," Alexis got to her feet. "This is bullshit. I'm sorry, but there are no such thing as..."
Alexis' words caught and died in her throat as she felt the force of hot wind buffeting her face. Sarah Fynn had taken off and was hovering effortlessly above her, her wings wafting powerfully. Without a word and moving silently, Fynn ascended toward the sun. Given the blinding light, it was impossible for Alexis to follow her movement. And then she was gone.
Alexis caught her breath. What was going to happen in 24 hours that Fynn was willing to reveal all?
Feeling slightly toasted, and her dress caked with sweat, Alexis staggered into the shade of an air conditioning unit. Plugging one ear against the constant hum of the machinery, she took out her cell and dialed her editor.
"Gregory, yeah, it's Alex. Look, we've got to kill the Fynn feature. I know, and no I'm not drunk. Just trust me on this. I'm onto something much bigger and we can't run that feature just yet. What? No, I can't give you any details. What? Look, you bastard, its my story. Yeah, I know I told you I would tell Martha if you didn't run it. Only this time, I'll tell her if you don't pull the story. Yeah? And when have you known for me to bluff? - Yeah, that's fine."
She hung up. As she popped the phone into her bag, she felt the recorder. She took it out and played back her conversation with Fynn. Her voice came through fine, but Fynn's voice couldn't be heard. Or could it? Pumping up the volume, the hiss of the tape was as loud as she could make it. Alexis thought she could hear, faintly, the sounds of a strange melody play. The song stopped and began in response to Alexis' voice, as if this was Fynn talking.
Alexis stepped back out into the sun and made her way to the door. Despite the heat, despite the burns on her knees, she was shivering, and she couldn't stop.
story by Solanio