The theme is angels in the World of Darkness as a variant. It's part of an ongoing chronicle at my web site (see profile) using a shared character. If you would like to contribute to this chronicle, please stop by. Otherwise, any helpful hints and critques are most appreciated. - Cheers, Sol.

Prelude

Meagan liked the ball. It's shiny plastic stripes made interesting swirls as she tossed it up the stairs, and let it bounce back down to her. It was softer than her other balls and she could grab this one better. Big people looked at her as they came by. Any time, she expected that they would come take the ball away. But they did not. Her Mommy was in the smelly room. Meagan didn't like it there. Not only did it stink, it was dark; and the flowers there made her sneeze. Mister O'Rourke came in from seeing Daddy's box. His eyes were red and puffy, like Mommy's. But his were different. He wasn't pretend hurting. But he was like all the other big people that day. He just patted her on the head and went upstairs to where all the big people were standing, talking in soft voices, like they were at church. Mommy had already gone up. She'd had been alone by Daddy's box and when other people weren't looking, she had stopped her pretend crying. Meagan knew that Mommy had really cried, but that it was pretend anyway. She knew it and sort of admired how her Mommy could do it so well. Mommy had taken a drink from a bottle in her purse when no one but Meagan was around. She had seen Meagan staring at her and she yelled at Meagan. She told her she was a bad girl because she didn't cry. Meagan thought this was silly and went to walk away. Then Mommy had tried to take the ball but Meagan let out such a yell, that other big people had come looking over the railing. Mommy let go and just walked up the stairs. But the mean look in her eyes, it made Meagan scared a bit. So she tried to forget and she played some more with her ball.

"Well, how's my angel today, eh?"

Meagan smiled and looked up at her Uncle Roger. He wasn't her real uncle, just the grocer she and her Daddy used to visit when they were buying fruit or vegetables. Sometimes they played cards at Uncle Roger's house. He was a nice man and Meagan liked him.

But he was in error, and she felt she had to let him know. "I'm not an angel." She said this while continuing to play with her ball.

"Oh, of course you're an angel. Believe me, I know. I've seen plenty and you're the prettiest angel I've ever seen."

Roger's statement seemed to confuse Meagan a bit. She stopped bouncing her ball, glanced back at the viewing room and then started back again with her game. But her look was puzzled, as if she were working out some dilemma.

"But I'm not an angel, Uncle Roger." She smiled at him, a face full of innocence, framed in red curls.

Roger tried to smile, but it came out weakly. He brought out a handkerchief and held it to his quivering mouth. His hands trembled a bit. They never were the same since he had come back from Korea.

"Oh, maybe you're right. But I thought surely you must be an angel. I know your Da always thought you were his angel."

Meagan glanced back at the viewing room. She shook her head and wrinkled her nose, as if she did not like this idea.

Roger was worried about her. She hadn't cried, according to all who'd been with her. Even now, she seemed oblivious to the severity of her situation.

"The innocence of the lambs," Roger muttered.

"Daddy's talking to an angel."

"I'm sure he is," Roger told her. "I'm sure he is. If ever there was a man destined to sit with the angels and the Lord, it was your Da."

"He's not sitting. He's standing. And I think he and the angel are arguing."

"Oh, is that so?" Roger smiled. The girl's fantasy would have been engaging, were it not for the circumstances. But as it was, it just reminded Roger that she was due for a rude shock when she discovered that her father was not coming home again.

"Tell you what, Meagan, how about you come with me while I go say good-bye to your Da, eh? Will you keep my company?"

Of course, what Roger really wanted was for Meagan to say her good-byes, maybe even shed a tear, which was only natural. It bothered him that she had not cried yet. He felt she was in for a hard time if she didn't come to it sooner than later.

Roger led her into the now empty viewing room. The casket with its white lining lay at the opposite end of a number of angled pews. The parlour was a cheap place, old and musty, not helped by the profuse amounts of lilies that filled the small room.

Roger led Meagan up to the casket and picked her up. He stared down at the waxen face, stiff and cheaply painted in a mockery of life. A very bad paste job had filled in the holes in the cheek and forehead where bullets had fractured the face. It was a cruel thing to show a child, but Roger believed that if Meagan did not accept her father's death, that it would haunt her later in life.

"Look at him. I shall miss him so. I expect you'll miss him even more, won't you, Meagan."

But Meagan wasn't looking down at her father's body. She was straining her head to look over Roger's shoulder.

Poor dear, he thought. She can't bear to see him like this. And I can't say I blame her. Roger put her down, feeling ashamed of having tried for force Meagan to accept this terrible vision.

Roger felt a tug on his slacks. Meagan was pointing to a dark corner of the room.

"If you want to say good-bye to Daddy, he's over there Uncle Roger."

Roger glanced into the corner. Of course there was nothing there, except dust and perhaps the hopeful imagining of a poor lost child.

"Ah, yes, I see." Roger nodded. "Well, shall we go over and say our good-byes then?"

"You'd better wait until Daddy and the angel have stopped."

A sour expression came over Meagan's face so suddenly, Roger couldn't help but to ask, "Meagan, what's the matter?"

"That angel, he uses very bad words. If I used words like that... I don't think Daddy likes his angel."

"What's the angel saying?" Roger asked her. He supposed humouring her at this point couldn't do her any harm.

Meagan listened for a bit. "He's saying that Daddy was a stupid mother-fucker for encoorjing me to see angels." Before Roger could comment on the expletive, she turned to him and asked, "What's encoorjing mean?"

Roger was dumbstruck. "Where did you learn that terrible word, Meagan?!" You must promise me to never say that word - ever!"

"It's not my word!" Meagan protested. "That angel, he talks like that all the time. He's a very dirty angel." Meagan nodded as she whispered this, as if imparting a deep secret. She stopped to listen and added, "He says that if the dark ones finds out, I will be taken." She puzzled this out. "What does he mean? Who are the dark ones? Does he mean Mrs Jones. She's a negro. She's very nice. She gives me cookies whenever I go to her store."

Roger nearly dropped Meagan. The first horrible thought that came to his mind was that the girl was possessed. Roger crossed himself and drove the thought from his mind.

"Dear, Meagan. You've got to stop this kind of language. You're in a church for Christ's..." Roger bit his lip.

"You've been hanging around with the wrong crowd, that's for sure. Those are very bad words you used just now, very bad."

"They're not my words," Meagan calmly told him again. "I told you, that dirty angel. He talks that bad way all the time. It always makes Daddy mad. Daddy tells him to stop but the angel says that Daddy is a butt-banging idiot. He says..."

Roger clamped his hand over Meagan's mouth. He glanced around to see if anyone had overheard.

"Shhhsssh. What has gotten into you. I never did hear words like that coming from you before. I think you were right, young lady. You are indeed no angel."

Meagan looked relieved.

"Promise not to say those words no more?"

Meagan nodded. When Roger moved his hand, she added, "I promise."

Roger was perspiring so he took out a handkerchief and dabbed his sweating forehead. Meagan was looking up at the corner. Then she looked back at Roger.

"Uncle Roger, Daddy wants me to tell you something."

"Oh, and what'd that be, Dearie?"

Meagan listened for a bit and then nodded.

"Daddy says that I should tell you that you are a real good friend and that Daddy.., Daddy says he appeeshates you."

Roger didn't really believe Meagan was talking to her dead father. But still, hearing the words, Roger's eyes began to tear and he turned away lest the child see him cry.

"Daddy says to tell you he's sorry but that the angel has fucked things up and it might be too late for you. He says you're in danger now."

Roger blinked, and he wiped his eyes. He turned back to the little girl.

"What was that you said, Meagan?"

Meagan put her hand in front of her mouth and spoke through her fingers. "Sorry, Uncle Roger. Daddy said the 'F' word, not me."

But the colourful language wasn't what had caught Roger's ear. It was a nonsense statement, but the hair started to rise on the back of his neck. He tried to swallow but his throat had gone dry.

Hoarsely, all he could croak out was a guilty question, guilty for the silliness of his playing along with Meagan's distasteful game. "What does your Da say about us being in danger?"

Meagan glanced back at the corner. Her eyes tracked along as if following an invisible walker, and finally came to glance just behind where Roger was kneeling down. Roger's eyes moved to his left, straining to see something. He felt a strong chill and dared not move.

Meagan concentrated, as if listening. Then she nodded. The other-worldly look in her eyes, the blue vacant stare, like deep water, was murky and clouded.

"Daddy says that he hid something with a friend. You need to go down to The Swede's. The bartender, Lou, he has a bag. Tell him you've come to claim it for Daddy and when Lou gives it to you, don't go back home. Never go back home. There are... things waiting there for you now. They know you were Daddy's friend and they think you have it. Go straight to the bus station and hide yourself - and me."

Meagan's eyes brightened up. "Daddy says I'm to go with you!"

"Wha..?" Roger blinked his eyes. "This is ridiculous. I can't believe I'm listening to this nonsense. Me run off witch a little girl. They'd rightly string me up for being a child stealer were I ta do such a thing."

A heavy thump nearly stopped Roger's heart. He looked behind him. The casket lid had slammed shut.

"Oh, my poor babe, what will become of us?"

Marjorie O'Neill sobbed and carefully tabbed a dry silk handkerchief at her eyes. She wore an almost tasteful black hat of the latest style found in the back adds for movie magazines. Father McElheney offered her a sympathetic shoulder and the Ladies' Choir was all around her. Casting her eyes over the wash of black, Meagan could see the interested eyes of Patrick Duggan and Leslie Dunne looking over at her. Now with poor Thomas destined for the boneyard, his widow was in sore need of comfort which each of them, unknowing of the other, felt it was his particular duty to proffer.

Marjorie offered a thin quick half-smile to each and then went back to gathering all of the offers of sympathy and support. She spied Roger Collins coming upstairs with Meagan. Smiling in turn at Patrick and Leslie, she carefully made her way leisurely through the small crowd of sympathizers and laid a white wispy hand on Roger's tweed jacket.

"Mister Collins. I wonder if I could prevail on you for a favor. Do you think you and your wife can look after poor Meagan tonight? I know Tom thought you his dearest friend. I just don't think that I'm in condition to attend to her the way she needs right now."

"Wilma left me three years ago," Roger reminded her.

"Oh..." Marge just smiled. "That's right."

"Of course," Roger sighed. "I'll bring her back to you tomorrow morning then?"

"Thank you" Marge mouthed silently. Then she quietly but quickly added as an afterthought, "Not too early.".

With a look that said she would not brook no for an answer, a tight lipped Marge kneeled down to face her daughter. "Meagan, you're going to stay with Uncle Roger and Aunt Wilma tonight."

Roger winced at this mention of his wife's name, despite what he'd just been forced to remind everyone of.

"Now, you're going to be a good little girl for Mommy, aren't you."

"Yes, Mommy." Despite Marge's early harshness to her, Meagan seemed very distressed but resigned at the same time.

Marge offered Tom a generous smile and made her way back through the crowd. Roger could still pick her voice out over the noise of the gathering.

"Give me a ride home, won't you Pat?"

"We'll be at my place soon," Roger told Meagan. It was a lie. Traffic had then going at a crawl when they were going at all. It was early rush hour on a Friday afternoon. "What do you want for dinner? How about some spaghetti? Or, how about Chinese? You like fortune cookies?"

He figured he'd better feed her. Nothing was more cantankerous than a hungry kid. He wondered how his kids were doing. He hadn't seen them since Wilma left him. Thinking about his boys used to tear him up inside but he let it go long ago, leaving only that lumpy slow burn like a coal ember that lasts long into the darkness.

"I like Chinese," Meagan told him.

Roger settled into his seat, trying to think if he knew any Chinese restaurants nearby. Anything would beat sitting in traffic. Deafening horns honked around them, not that they had much effect to part traffic.

"Are we going to go to see Lou, Uncle Roger? Daddy told you to, Meagan shouted, holding her hands over her ears because of the horns."

"Not today, Meagan. I'm not going to take you to a bar, " Frank shouted back.

"But..."

"Yeah, I know. Your Da, he told you. Alright, dearie. Don't take it so to heart. I just don't need that kind of place right now. Don't get me wrong. I certainly would want a drink right now. But Uncle Roger hasn't gone into a bar for a three years now and I don't plan to start in anytime soon."

Meagan glanced up at the window and scowled. She shook her head, looking very cross.

"Who are you...?" Roger stopped when the car gave a lurch.

There was a dull popping sound. The car bounced, bounced once more, and then black smoke came out of the engine. Roger quickly turned off the motor and jumped out. He opened the hood and waved his hands to help the smoke dissipate.

Shaking his head, he came back. "I'm afraid the engine has something wrong with it. I'll have to call a tow truck. Meagan, you wait here in the car. I'll be right back as soon as I make a phone call."

A tow truck drove up.

"Problem, Mac?"

Roger blinked. "Well, Mother Mary! Where did you come from?"

The driver hopped out, blocking traffic in his lane. After a couple of obscene gestures at the horn honkers behind him, which Roger hoped Meagan had missed, the driver came over to Roger's engine to take a look.

He shook his head. "No oil. Your cylinders are fucked. Your engine will need to be rebuilt." He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Hey, tell you what. I know a mechanic nearby. He'll fix you up right. You can even have dinner at a Chinese restaurant next door while he works on it. How about it?"

Roger blinked. This sounded too good to be true. A job like the one the driver was describing would take time. "That's the pretty strange coincidence. But I'll pass, if you don't mind. Can you take me to my mechanic? He's in South Boston."

"In this traffic? No can do, Mac. Gotta get home myself. It's the local guy or you can wait for the next tow."

Roger looked at Meagan, who was shaking her head."

But the driver proffered his service at such a reasonable price, Roger's frugality led him into agreement. And the man didn't lie. With Roger and Meagan, who sat in the front scowling, the driver zipped through traffic, employing some dubious scare tactics which drove some cars up on the sidewalk. In this adventurous fashion, it was a short drive through to an alley that Roger was unfamiliar with. The streets seemed near empty.

Traffic doesn't seem so bad after all, Roger thought.

The tow driver zipped them into a large clean garage. A young man with red hair came out from back, wiping his hands on a blue towel. He smiled and Roger couldn't help thinking that his teeth were too large, like a horse's.

Meagan, being shy, ducked behind Roger. The young man was looking at her, smiling. He turned to Roger and smiled even wider. Not even looking at Roger's car, "Fix ''er right up for you."

Again, the price quoted was reasonable, and the promise was that the work would be done in an hour. Roger didn't believe him, and thought that maybe this had all been a scam of some sort. But he had time enough for dinner now and he could sort the rest out later. The tow truck, meanwhile, zipped off so Roger really had no choice.

He escorted Meagan next door. He'd noted also that the tow truck driver had stated the truth. A brightly lit, garish red Chinese restaurant stood just next to the garage. The aroma of spiced oils and deep fried wonders leaked from the open windows.

Roger felt a chill. Not only for fear of booze, but the coincidences were stacking up much too neatly, much too fast. It was like that Serling show, where strange things happened to decent folk like Roger. Somehow, he always wondered if those stories weren't true, and here he was, walking through the..."

"Twilight."

Roger jumped, coming back to his thoughts. A man in a fine worsted grey suit, crowned with a fine felt hat of the same colour stared at him with twinkling blue eyes. He carried a tray of cheap toys and wore expensive white shoes. He didn't look like the average street vendor.

"It's twilight already. My favorite time of the day. It doesn't seem so hot anymore now, does it."

Roger, strangely for the first time, noticed that the heat had gone. It was mild, and a faint breeze was in the air, smelling nothing if not of rose water.

"Can I sell you something, sir?" The man who Roger had not seen standing there raised his bowler and bowed to Meagan, who only scowled disapprovingly back.

The man's tie and suit were outdated, seriously so. But they were pristine, having been kept in immaculate condition. The man stepped forward in front of Roger.

"How a lovely little music box? Something pretty for your daughter? I think she would like a music box, don't you?"

"No thank you," Roger said curtly. He tried to step around the man, but the man appeared in front of him once more.

"Excuse me, but you're standing in my way."

The man only smiled and adjusted a white carnation in his jacket. He plucked it out and put it in Roger's lapel. For some reason, Roger let him, watching as if it were being done to someone else.

"I really think you should buy the music box. It has such a lovely tune. And your daughter could really use some cheering up, don't you think?"

Roger came to his senses and tried to pluck the flower free, but his finger was pricked by a thorn. But when did carnations have thorns? "She's not my daughter. If you will excuse us."

When Roger stepped around him, towing Meagan protectively behind him, the man added, "Oh, but she is now, Mister Collins."

Roger decided it was best to ignore him. If he started to think about what was going on, he might start to get really scared. And he couldn't get scared like that with Meagan around. He turned to go into the restaurant. Maybe they had a back door when it came time to leave.

Roger led Meagan into the empty restaurant. No one was present to seat them, so Roger led Meagan to a booth after helping himself to a couple of menus. An elderly man appeared with a tray of food and began setting it down.

"No, I'm sorry, that's not our order. We haven't ordered yet."

The man smiled, and kept putting food onto the table. Apparently he didn't speak English, Roger decided. There was too much food but try as he might, the man refused to take it back. Another man, a twin to the first, promptly came with drinks, wine and a strong smelling tea, several glasses worth.

"No, I didn't order this," Roger insisted, thinking he wasn't about to pay for all the food being served. He tried not to notice the wine.

"Compliments of the house, Mister Collins," the man smiled. His English was perfect, better than Roger's.

"Wait, how did you know my name?" Roger tried to grab the man's sleeve as he left, but the slippery silk melted through his fingers like water.

The food smelled very good. But everything was too strange. He'd rather call a cab and then come back for his car. "C'mon Meagan, my dear. I think we'd better be leaving."

One of the old men, Roger couldn't tell which, appeared with some fortune cookies.

"For you," he offered Roger a cookie, but when Roger didn't take it, he set the plate down. There were five cookies on the plate.

"I'm hungry," Meagan protested. Being unusually patient for a child, she didn't help herself to any of the food, waiting for Roger to tell her what to do.

Roger decided to wait for the manager to straighten this all out. He didn't touch any food, despite how good it smelled. To pass the time, he cracked open one of the cookies. The cookie broke with a satisfying snap. Inside was glistening white paper which glittered like diamond dust, with red letters like rubies that seemed to glow as if lit from within. Roger thought it was the fanciest cookie fortune he'd ever seen. He read the letters. They were written in that stylized script that Roger mistook for Chinese, but turned out to be English after all.

You are who you eat.

Roger scowled and cracked open another.

Your world is a wish away. Give in to desire.

Another

Wouldn't you like to have Agnes and the boys back?

That last one made Roger pause. His hands were cold and clammy and his breathing was rapid and shallow. He felt his forehead and noticed he was perspiring. He wanted to leave but he had to open the last two cookies first.

Did you know she fucked Meagan's father before she took off, didn't you? She did things for him she would never do for you.

Roger's breathing increased. He was near to hyperventilating.

Riches, comfort, the satisfaction of seeing that bitch suffer while you knock back a case of Irish whiskey with your boys. How does that sound Ő and that's just for starters.

The paper moved by itself, fluttering in his hand. Roger let out a yell and slammed it down on the table. He backed off, farther into his seat, pushing Meagan behind him.

A man in a tailored suit of what looked like red velvet with black trim and a gold brocade vest stepped forward, his white teeth sparkling in the dim gloom of the restaurant. Roger noticed there were other patrons after all, greedily eating their food. The restaurant appeared to be quite crowded after all, though he was certain it had been empty. There was a lot of meat being noisily consumed, from large bones, bloody bones being sucked clean.

"Is there a problem, Mister Collins?"

Roger looked up at the handsome young Asian man in gaudy clothes. He didn't reply

"You should have a drink. Something stronger perhaps?"

He snapped his fingers and the most beautiful woman Roger had ever seen came up bearing a tray. She was tiny and walked in a strange way. Roger noticed she had impossibly small feet. She was like a doll, with porcelain for skin and dark almond eyes. She poured him a double shot of whiskey, setting it before him along with the bottle, Coleraine Single Malt.

"I'm glad we ran into you, Mister Collins. Some associates of ours are waiting for you at home. But we thought we might be able to be more persuasive than they will allow for. Certainly we can both profit if you're a reasonable man. And I think you are."

The woman walked behind him and started to rub his shoulders then backed off, retching.

The owner, presumably, stepped forward as well and then stepped back again, wrinkling his nose and holding his hand up as if to ward off the smell. He was looking at Roger's carnation.

"Perhaps we could start by having you remove that inappropriate flower. Su, bring Mister Collins a nice rose for his jacket. That would do so much better, wouldn't it?"

Roger looked down at the carnation in his lapel, only it wasn't a carnation. Instead, it was an overly large fluted flower with a strong but pleasant perfume. He recognized it as something his wife had grown in the backyard. Angel's Trumpet it was called. Certainly it was not an appropriate flower for his lapel, but Roger liked it. He hadn't smelled one since before Agnes had left him.

"I don't think I want your flower," Roger told him. "C'mon, Meagan darling. We're leaving." He got up and grabbed Meagan's hand.

The woman put her hand on Roger's shoulder and pushed him down. She was amazingly strong, especially given her size. However, Meagan, behaving quite badly, stabbed her hand with a fork. She jerked it back, hissing. Then Roger noticed the hissing was actually a spilled drop of blood burning a nasty hole in his jacket. Glancing at the woman's face, he saw that pain had twisted it into a terrible vision which she quickly hid by averting her gaze.

The young man moved forward. The rest of the restaurant patrons and staff had assembled behind him. They seemed bent on keeping Roger and Meagan from leaving. A thin, tinny tune, Debussey maybe, came out of a small hand-cranked music box that Meagan was turning. The effect it had on everyone in the restaurant, obviously not lovers of classical music, was amazing. They howled and grasped their ears as if in pain. The most unnatural noises were coming out of their throats. Roger grabbed Meagan and rushed outside with her.

The same strange old man was there, waiting for them. Only instead of the bowler, he wore a straw hat and was dressed in white. He seemed to have lost his tray, but he had a dandy long cigarette holder which was propped in his teeth, waving about like a divining rod with a glowing red tip.

Roger looked behind him, thinking he should block the door, but it was locked. The Chinese restaurant was gone. Instead, a modest office, closed for the weekend, presented itself. Roger blinked and pinched himself. The odors that had drawn him seemed just at the edge of his senses, but were fading fast. That strange chill crawled back up his spine and raised every hair on his neck and arms.

But Roger had been in two wars. In the first, he had manned an anti-aircraft gun on a destroyer escort during Leyte. He wasn't about to let the situation get the better of him. He knew now, he was in the..."

"It's like a tee-vee show, isn't it?" The man's "vee" drawled out long and slow.

Roger swallowed. He didn't answer but glanced back to the garage. It wasn't there, just more empty office buildings. However, he noticed that his jacket still had burned holes in it.

"I'm afraid your car is gone. Allow me to call you a cab." The man smiled and before Roger could answer, he whistled and held up his arm.

A black and white cab zipped up out from nowhere and came screeching to a halt. Out of it emerged the largest black man Roger had ever seen. Roger couldn't think how he could have fit into the car. The whiteness of his large teeth shone like sparks, seen as they were against his inky bald face. A tatoo, visible as a grey lightness on the man's enormous triceps, showed a winged sword crossed by an olive branch.

"Cab, Mister?"

Nice tatoo, Roger thought, thinking miserably of the faded purple hula girl hidden under his sleeve.

Looking down the empty street, which was the only thing that still remained from the time they'd arrived, Roger asked the old man, "What happens if I don't get in?"

The man's smile thinned a bit. "If you wish. But They will be very put out, of course. It might make things more difficult in the future. But..." The man leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "You still have free will. If you push the matter, there's nothing They can do. They're not like the other kind, you know. They have stricter rules to follow."

"And they are...?"

"Ask the girl," the man suggested. "She knows all about the situation."

Roger looked at Meagan, as if to see what she wanted to do. She looked up at him and smiled, as if to reassure him. She shrugged matter-of-factly, as if to suggest in that one gesture, that this was the best of some poor choices, maybe. Or was Roger just reading this all into nothing?

"Should we get in, Meagan?"

She nodded. "But we need to go by the Swede's first. Daddy said so, remember."

"Free will. You can go on your own. But then who will take care of Meagan? Her mother is gone, seduced by the promises you didn't avail yourself of. She's promised to trade Meagan for material riches. The poor woman doesn't know this yet, but she will. You are all Meagan has now, Roger."

Roger offered Meagan his hand.

"C'mon darlin, let's get this over with then."

They got into the cab.

story by Solanio