Chapter 6

Once again, Hope woke up feeling very drained and very sore all over.

She didn't want to remove herself from the comfortable position on the couch but there was a knock on the door. It was all too persistent for far too early in the morning. All the girl wanted to do was just let the world fall away as she did so as well into the dark comfortableness of sleep.

"LAPD OPEN UP!"

That had her bolting her upward in fear.

Her eyes glanced around her apartment, finding the room in a strange state of disarray, what with her sword and the daemonic blade that she pilfered from the defeated demon…. the protective markings on the window sill and doorframe…...books about Daemonic beings and Lucifer himself…all of them lying about. It would look really suspicious if someone of human nature came in and found even one of these things there, especially with all the evil doings that were going on. Hope kept her panic down, but only barely, as she dredged up a bit of her Holy Power. With a snap of her fingers, the two blades and the books disappeared and she hoped that the power that she expelled was enough to cloak the sight of the markings from the human's sight.

Adrenaline running through her veins, and more exhausted than ever, Hope staggered to her feet. She hopelessly ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to make herself look presentable but there was nothing she could do for her appearance. Hope hobbled over to the door with as much hurriedness as her sore and tired being could muster, desperately running fingers through her mane, before grabbing hold of the door handle and pulling it open.

She blinked owlishly at the sight of a woman, just a couple feet taller than Hope herself, the woman, while petite and lithe, had a face of hard seriousness that was offset by the squaring of her jaw and annoyed stance that she held. Hope glance up and down the woman quickly, noting the pistol that was on display at her hip, accentuated by the woman resting her hands near it.

Stay calm, Hope, she ordered herself. Don't do anything that Mr. Crowley wouldn't do. Or would do.

Okay. That wasn't helping.

"Hi, Chloe Decker, LAPD," The woman said, flashing a badge that looked legit with an air of impatience. Hooking her badge back onto her belt, she asked, "May I come in?"

Hope was silent as she nodded, allowing the woman entry. Her eyes went up to the now invisible markings, watching them closely for a reaction. While the sigils on the door lit up, Chloe Decker entered without so much as a wince or the slightest bit of hesitation. Strange…

Chloe Decker examined the room with some slight curiosity and full wariness. "Is it just you here?"

It didn't process to the young angel's mind that the human was talking to her until she repeated the question. "Oh, yes ma'am. Is there a problem? I haven't upset the landlord, have I? If so, it would've a bit more prudent for him to have spoken with me a bit more directly rather than calling on the police. Though I don't think that there has been anything that I could've done to have someone call the police in the first place."

A surprised look that passed over her when her words were being spoken was not missed by Hope but it disappeared with the "I'm not here for a noise complaint."

That was a bit of a shock. "Then, may I inquire about your reason for being here, Detective?"

"Are your parents around?"

She was caught off guard by the answering question but as sure as her stance in battle, she shifted easily and wasn't caught off guard for too long. "Ah, no ma'am. They are still back in London."

"They let you come here by yourself?"

"Indeed. My parents trusted me to make this sojourn alone. A little respite from the suffocation of the city after….an ordeal that I recently went through."

There was no pity in her eyes as she scanned the living room with a close gaze. Hope inwardly sighed in relief when the woman's eyes didn't linger on the window sill or the doorframe even as the markings burned lightly as a warning of the remnants of supernatural energy.

And whether that energy being Holy or Otherwise was to remain to be seen.

"And, uh, how long have you been in Los Angeles?"

"Not six days passed, Detective Decker."

Her eyes darted back to hers, which she quickly adverted. This woman, her coldness, reminded her sorely of the Archangels, beings that she had no wish to deal with right now. Her fingers curled around her rumpled shirt in fear as she willed her heart to calm itself, for fear of it bursting out of her chest like some little creature.

"Where were you, the night of the seventh?"

Hope had to do some mental calculations. The seventh was when she arrived in Los Angeles and she spent most of the day and half the night getting to know the new Soddom. She had yet to check in to her little temporary home.

"I do not recall where I was." Hope was happy that she wasn't stuttering. Her nervousness was probably clear in her voice but it wasn't betrayed by her stumbling tongue.

The Detective looked as if she didn't believe her. Hope kept her eyes adverted.

"May I inquire what this interrogation is all about?"

"There have been a couple of murders. Ritualistic ones." Detective Decker moved towards her little bookshelf. Hope drew a little bit more on edge, seeing how those books on the occult were there disguised as old books of love poetry. The human woman ran her fingers along the spines and Hope's heart raced a little faster.

If she picks up one of those…...the illusion would be broken and Hope would be in irons.

But no.

The detective moved on, her face kept in that scowl and puckered lips.

"We got an anonymous tip that someone in this apartment building had something to do with the murders. We're doing an initial sweep."

"Detective, I swear to you on the Holy Cross, that I have never, now or in the next life, have the stomach for murder."

"You don't need the stomach for it," the Detective shot back. "Just the need, ability and motive for it."

"I'm sorry Detective. I wish I could be of some help but I don't have either of those things."

She turned toward Hope, and the young angel felt the folly of her actions, of her boldness. Hope had a feeling that her time spent with Star had whittled away at her timidity. That or she was growing more and more confident as a Holy Soldier should be. But still, her eyes were diverted by the intenseness in the human's eyes that could've had the Thrones backing away in wariness.

"Right." She pulled out a pen and pad of paper. "I'm going to need your information."

"What type of information?"

"Name, birth date, place of birth, etc."

"Oh, right….uh." Hope thought quickly. "Please allow me to go and grab my passport."

"Okay…." Detective Decker looked a little unsettled as the Messenger left the room and went into the little kitchen. It made her head ache and stomach turn with over exertion as she miracled into existence a false passport, bearing a false date and place of birth. It looked legit but her breath was shaky and beads of sweat dotted her forehead. Hope's vision titled a little bit.

Mustn't do any miracles for a while, she told herself as she leaned against the sink to steady herself. When she managed to get her breathing under control and the room became a little bit straighter, Hope turned back and made her way back towards the living room. The Detective cocked her head, seemingly noticing her sudden weakness.

"Are you alright?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Hope was shocked when the woman, whom she judged much too soon, came up and held her elbow as her legs wobbled. "You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine." Hope assured, and lied through her teeth. Something dribbled from her nose.

The Detective pulled out a handkerchief. "Your nose is bleeding."

Mortified, Hope gently snatched up the handkerchief and pressed it against her nose. She sank to the couch, unable to keep her breath steady. "Oh…. just, it's just a little nose bleed. Please forgive me."

The woman looked more than a little worried about her situation. But Hope felt that it was just over-exertion after such a big blast of Holy Energy that Hope wasn't quite used to using as of yet.

"Do I need to call a doctor?"

"No. No. I-I'm fine. I assure you."

"I'll go and get you some water."

Hope nodded, stretching out fully on the couch, closing her eyes to keep herself steady and to stop the slow rolling of her stomach. She heard the faucet turn on in the kitchen and the water running. A few minutes later, the Detective returned with a plastic cup of water in hand. Slowly, Hope sat up and, with shaky hands, took the water and took a sip of the water. Immediately she felt better.

"Does this happen often?"

"No." Hope chuckled as she wiped the rest of the blood that dribbled down her nose. There was a dry chuckle. "It must be the desert air. I'm not used to the dryness and humidity."

"Yeah, it takes some getting used to."

Hope sipped her water. "I would show you to the door, but, uh, I fear that I haven't got the strength."

"Don't worry, I know the way." The Detective reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a little thing of paper. She offered it to her. "Here's my number. If you need anything, don't be afraid to call."

Hope took it with a smile, though as her fingers brushed the card, she caught a scent of brimstone and sulfur. There was a quick rush of energy, ready to fight and defend herself but the woman only smiled, patted her shoulder, bid her good day and left. When the door had shut, Hope felt a flood of relief rush through her that so intense that her hand stopped working and the glass that she held in her hand shattered on the ground.

But the Messenger was just far too tired to care.

For the next three hours, Hope laid on that couch, trying to talk herself out of up and leaving the city of Los Angeles and heading back to London, Archangels be damned. All she wanted was to be home, with Mr. Crowley, with Mr. Aziraphale, with her friends and all the books that the Principality had managed to collect throughout time. During her debate with herself, Hope let the tears fall down her face silently as she didn't have any energy to sob.

How am I not a pile of ash? She thought to herself.

Her mind went to the incident in Tadfield, when Faith and two demons tried to take her down. That was the time when it felt that her…for lack of a better word…powers started to grow beyond the threshold of what a Messenger was capable of. Her miracles were getting stronger and she had an ability that no one, at her level at least, had. Even Mr. Aziraphale had commented on it before she left, when she was practicing her miracles.

Was this the purpose that I was created for, Lord? She silently asked the ceiling. She had no clue or evidence if the Almighty was even listening. It felt like She had left Hope, leaving an empty feeling inside. Is this what Mr. Crowley feels like?

Hope didn't have the energy to do anything but slide her eyes shut and she fell into a slumber so deep that Apocalypse: Round Two wouldn't have woken her.