Chapter One: Mother of Exiles
A faceless woman in a hood, whose enchanting wings are the crawling things, and her name, Angel of Vermin
Send unto me your wretched, your damned, your repulsive throng longing to breathe their last.
Send these, the destitute, the fallen, the heart-ripped and broken to me.
I lift my wings for them to crawl into my cold embrace, my sanctuary in shadow…
The Angel Protects
There were no words at the base of the alley's guardian, no plaques or poems telling of liberty and opportunity wherever this twisted colossus stood.
At either side of her great and detailed form in spray paint and chalk, were the street signs for "Safe Camp" a simple X with a line across the top and two peering eyes on either side. Beneath those markings were the signs for "Be Quiet" two connected, four sided blocks at angles. Also present was the horseshoe-like symbol for "Good place to sleep".
There was also the unique symbol of a female stick figure with outstretched arms ending in crudely drawn claws and possessing angel wings, this symbol simply meant "Angel Watching" and reminded all those who dwelt here or passed by, that the place was part of her territory. The territory of an alpha predator who might tolerate the presence of others, but would not tolerate hostility. The simple stick figures were more commonly found, but in certain neighborhoods, street artists would use their talent to paint the Angel of Vermin in greater detail.
The spray-painted Guardian stood on the corner of a dark New York City street, at the entrance to an even darker alleyway, one of many places both above ground and below, where she stood in silent vigil, lit only by a dim, flickering street light and, in some cases, by a single, guttering candle.
The Candle would soon go out, as moisture filled the air, soon the wind would kick up and the rain would begin. A storm was coming. When the candle went out and added more shadow to the corner, she would collect her "offering".
This had always been a tough neighborhood, but in recent years had also become a tent city when night fell. The guardian took the form of a faceless, hooded woman, the only details beneath the hood were the glowing green eyes in a pitch black void. The image of the guardian stood twelve feet tall on the wall, painted with the kind of intricate detail and raw talent only found on certain streets.
There were several of these intricately painted visions throughout the city, always in the darker places.
The Guardian was dressed in torn rags. From her back sprouted two great angelic wings… but these were the wings of no ordinary angel, for each feather of each wing was not a feather, it was a snarling rat with menacing red eyes.
The woman's hands were not hands, they were razor sharp talons dripping with the blood of any who dared enter this place with ill intent.
At the base of the verminous angel in graffiti form, lay several cans of food, some bottles of alcohol and strong spirits. An offering to the angel for protection.
This unique vision, this urban myth, had first appeared in Detroit, a little under seventeen years ago, in the area around the old Packard Auto Plant. Then, not too long after, it appeared again, in the vicinity of the abandoned Westinghouse electric factory in Cleveland.
The graffiti, and the myth had crawled its way across the Midwestern region and into New England over the course of seven years. The graffiti appeared again in Chicago, near any entrance to the abandoned freight tunnels beneath the city, and then in Boston in the vicinity of the abandoned Streetcar Loop, however, where it had truly taken root was New York City.
In all cases, wherever the angel appeared were downtrodden neighborhoods and semi-derelict areas riddled with crime, places where the vulnerable were preyed upon. In all instances, once the angel appeared, usually through word of mouth, the violent elements became the prey, and savagely expelled from the area.
She didn't like aggression or commotion. To that end, she tolerated no challengers or incursions by those with hostile intent. If they took advantage, or otherwise bullied, threatened or started conflict in her territory, she would show no mercy, as was her way, the only way she knew.
Once the first "Angel" markings appeared in Detroit, they had followed her wherever she chose to base herself for any prolonged period. It was in New York where the offerings began, and the candlelight vigils by the city's downtrodden, those people cast out and damned by society.
A great colossus had stood in the harbor of this city, welcoming newcomers since 1886, but in recent years, another, much darker colossus had made her home in the city's shadows.
Wherever she made her presence felt, symbols would eventually be chalked or painted nearby in the local Hobo Code. Signs and symbols that read:[SAFE CAMP] [CAMP HERE] [GOOD PLACE TO SLEEP] [LADY HERE] [BE QUIET] [ANGEL PROTECTS]
The one who they called "The Angel of Vermin" had arrived in the city from the west coast years before, and had made her home in the city's shadows, in its alley's, its tunnels, its abandoned buildings and long forgotten, disused subway stations beneath the teeming streets.
In New York, the one they called The Angel had chosen not to base herself in one single location, but to create a vast network of bolt holes and hideaways, she learned how it all connected, and adapted herself to moving unseen through the vast urban maelstrom. Over time, the rumors and stories grew, until she had become an urban myth in her own right.
Those who slept under the gaze of the angel were safer, for the most part. There were two things everyone knew about "The Angel", that she liked it quiet, and that she would tolerate no challengers or incursions by gangs or in some cases even the overzealous cops. She operated on a simple understanding: don't mess with me, and I won't kill you.
Only a precious few had ever seen her in person over the years. Some told stories of a beautiful, but sullen woman dressed in rags, others told stories of a monstrous creature with razor sharp claws, spikes and teeth, with inhuman, piercing eyes.
Some even said they were one in the same, that the woman could become the creature or that the woman was just a camouflage to allow the creature to wander among the people. In any case, there were those who believed she was nothing more than an urban myth among the homeless population, but to those who had encountered her, she was all too real.
Twenty stories above the angel, all but invisible from street level, especially if one were looking up past the flickering street light or nearby neon glare, the woman who went by Nicole "Nikki" Toombs sat perched on the corner of the old building, in her familiar spot between two chipped and broken gargoyles. From here, one of her many spots, she overlooked a network of alleys and narrow streets. Her home, her refuge, her territory.
As the evening wore on, the people would emerge, the night life, they would flock to the neon signs and the pulsing music.
Nobody at street level would be able to pick out the eerie green reflection cast in her eyes whenever the street light flickered. She had made the darker corners of the city her home for the past ten years.
It had been a strange thing to see this image, their image of her take shape, for the most part, she remained indifferent to it, she did what she did for her own reasons, if the ones who dwelt below wanted to make up stories, she was content to let them, it went a ways towards getting her what she liked, some free food, and a little peace and quiet. She only ever took what she needed, and left the rest for others.
There were only a few who knew her by name, and even fewer who knew her real name. Most of the gangs and criminal elements in the city had a degree of knowledge of her presence. In East Harlem, some called her La Llorona, in Brighton Beach they called her the Baba-Yaga, in Little Italy, there were those who sometimes called her La Bella Umbriana.
As for her true nature, her Other form, it had no name, it had no title. It was a part of her, and set her apart from every living thing on this planet, and worst of all, its true origin was a mystery even to her.
Her "Father" and his colleagues in the lab, had never told her what she really was, or why she was different, they had only watched her, studied her, locked her away and observed her. Then one day, they tried to kill her, and forced her to escape.
Instinct and intuition had guided her in those days. Over time, in the years since her "Rebirth" she had gradually learned to control her instinctual side, her "Other" the thing inside that set her apart.
Her real name was Sil, a name, or more of a nickname or code-name given to her in the lab. She had seen the code on her chart on several occasions, S1L and over time, the name stuck until she had learned to respond to it.
The girl who ran away and became a woman, the woman who became a monster, the monster who became a mother… the mother who lost everything and became a Rat… and then the Rat became an angel, an angel of blood, an angel of violence… An Angel of Vermin.
As lightning began to dance its way across the sky and was followed by an immense crack of thunder, the first specs of rain followed, and grew into a torrent.
Sil let the lashing rain wash over her as she sat unmoving in her perch, and thought about that night, the night she had left Los Angeles.
She had bounced around the country before making her way here in the years since her rebirth into this world of pain and torment, and that was the world she now watched over, the downtrodden, the outcast, the lost, people like her.
They came through with fire, with gas, with chemicals. They used lasers and scanners to trace every piece of her old body from the caves and sewers beneath the city. The fire that had been lit in those caves had burned for days, feeding off an oil slick which had formed beneath the streets, what was left of her old body, and the body of her child were gone, boiled away to nothing in that pit.
After the three killers had gone, more men came, men in white, men in masks, men in uniforms, they washed away everything and sealed up the cave, pouring tonnes of concrete into the gap.
Of course they missed what was obvious, the smallest thing, the thing that went unnoticed in the dark, one among many.
She was a rat then. A Rat with an insatiable hunger. The Rat had consumed a piece of her old body, the only remaining piece, and she knew not how, but she began to feel alive again, thoughts and memories flooding back, bringing with them a tidal wave of anguish.
She felt a hunger, the same hunger she had felt on the train into this city, only more powerful. She stalked through the tunnels, the ducts, the alleys of the city, devouring everything and anything that was edible. Rats, Cats, leftovers. She was a rat… until she was more than a rat.
A rat that grew to the size of a cat, to the size of a dog, to the size of a human… and then it happened again.
That familiar itch. That internal shift. Like worms crawling through her insides. The first time, this sensation had terrified her, now she yearned for it, it was a way back to her original skin, out of this form.
The Rat that wasn't a Rat sought shelter in the darkest, dampest abandoned building it could find and waited.
Soon they would come again, the writhing things, the worms that change and I will be me again…
The worms, the tendrils burst forth from the Rat and it gave itself to them, allowing them to spin and twist around itself, enveloping, solidifying into a hardened chitinous shell as it branched out and attached itself to the walls and ceiling.
Here she would wait, wait while her body was broken down and remade, wait to shed this verminous skin and become whole again.
The dreams returned, he returned. Floating in an abyss, writhing in the pleasure he brought her… until the flames came, the flames that burned away the world, burned away her love, her purpose. Now she writhed not in pleasure but in agony. "No…. NO"... NOOOO!"
Her eyes shot open to the sounds of a distant scream, it took her a moment to figure out it was her own voice. The remnants of the worms still coiled around her in her amniotic isolation. She felt strong again, whole again ME AGAIN back in her own skin.
She struggled, clawed and pushed, ripping her way free until she felt the embrace of gravity, bringing herself fourth back into the world in a torrent of warm afterbirth.
The warmth was instantly replaced by cold as she collapsed to the damp, dirty concrete floor in a decrepit building in a rotten, forgotten part of the city.
Sil dragged herself up into a kneeling position and wrapped her arms around herself. She looked down, seeing her reflection in the stagnant water that had pooled in the center of the basement floor, now mixing with the amniotic fluid from the cocoon above. She was back, this was her face, same as before, she was herself again… she was… alone…she had always been alone, but for a few precious moments…
The thoughts, memories rushed in, the scream, the pain, the burning, the agony, her baby, her boy, her world, she had been powerless to do anything but watch as he screamed and burned away to nothing in front of her eyes.
It welled up from the pit of her stomach, driven by the feeling of uselessness. It began as a whimper, and built to a long, rasping moan, a moan of insufferable agony. It built to a wretched, tormented scream, born of the purest form of heartache.
When there was no more air in her lungs, she screamed still, until only a silent, tortured gasp would issue forth. Sil brought her fists down into the stagnant puddle, the immense impact sending the disgusting water and filth up and outward to each corner of the decrepit basement.
She lay curled in its remnants and sobbed for hours until she could no longer. It would be days before daylight touched her skin again. Sil had moved around that wasted industrial district by night only, taking what she needed.
She had wandered around the forgotten district feeding on the vermin, on the leftovers, much as she had done when she had been the Rat, unwilling to go anywhere around people.
It was on the end of the sixth night she heard it. First a loud engine, then a shout, a muffled whimper, a scream. Curious, Sil made her way up from her basement to the rooftop to perch herself on the corner and watch.
A car had arrived near the building, a nice car, a type they referred to as American Muscle. It was also the only car she had seen actually stop anywhere around this part of the city at night.
It was rocking back and forth. She heard two voices inside, one male, the other female. "Anthony, no… I SAID NO!", a few seconds went by and another voice ""Come on, you know you want this! Just let it happen!" A few more seconds went by before "NO!... NOOO!".
Sil tilted her head, stood up and was about to leave when "AAHH YOU BITCH YOU FUCKIN BIT ME!" made her stop and turn. Her attention was not drawn back to the car, or the activities within out of any sense of sympathy or humanity, just an idea forming in her head, she had had of this city and wanted out that car is fast… and I want to be away from here…
Jodie tasted blood and struggled to stay awake as the force from Anthony's punch knocked her back against the seat. She felt his hand slide up her skirt and begin to fumble with her underwear "I told you, just let it happen and I'll make you feel real good".
She felt his hand grip her underwear and his tongue tracing her collar bone and winced. He lifted himself up and she felt her underwear ripped away with an unbelievable force.
Suddenly… he stopped… she felt cool air and allowed herself to open her eyes for just a moment.
Anthony was…. gone, and the door was open.
The lights inside the car made it impossible to see outside, the darkness beyond the empty door frame was an abyssal black. All she heard was a wet cracking sound and a muffled utterance in Anthony's voice, it no longer sounded like his voice.
Slowly she climbed out of the back seat and peered into the abandoned building next to which Anthony had parked. Glancing around, she saw that she was in the old industrial district, miles from anywhere.
That sound came again, that wet crack. "A.. A..Anthony?" she uttered. A shape came flying out of the open side of the decrepit building and slammed against the side of the car, denting the frame.
Jodie spun around to see that it was the mangled body of the man who just hours ago had been behaving like a perfect gentleman on their first date. Abject fear gripped her, Jodie was a Veterinarian, she had seen enough pictures of wounds caused by large animals to know that whatever had done this was large and lethal.
Anthony's head had been all but crushed, slammed repeatedly against something hard, five deep lacerations, like a bear claw, ran from his neck to his stomach still squirting blood as his heart pumped its last. Jodie could see where whatever it was had ripped right through his ribcage.
His body slid down the side of the car and settled into the dirt. Jodie heard something behind her, a low guttural growl followed by a long, deep hiss.
She slowly forced herself to turn, suddenly not knowing what she expected to see, and was absolutely shocked to see a young woman dressed in blood soaked rags, staring back at her with a cold indifference.
"Ooh Who are…" Jodie never finished the sentence. A large clawed hand shot out from beneath the rags and gripped her by the face. "Pl… Please" Jodie uttered as she felt the woman's breath on her neck, she was … sniffing her. Jodie felt the woman's breath on her neck and squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the inevitable… but it never came.
Suddenly the woman's iron grip released and Jodie leaned against the car. She stared at the woman for what felt like an eternity, locked with that cold, unknowable glare. Jodie's eyes eventually fell to what remained of her date… her scumbag date.
"Thh Thank you" Jodie uttered. The woman tilted her head and held her gaze. It was as if the woman had never heard the words Thank you before and suddenly didn't know what to do.
The woman glanced down at the wrecked body of Anthony and then kicked him over. Just a flick of her bare foot brought his full dead weight over onto his back. Jodie watched as the woman knelt down and rooted around in his jacket, the first thing she took out was his phone, she inspected it, smelled it and unceremoniously tossed it over her shoulder before finding his wallet.
The woman snatched the three hundred or so Dollars out of the wallet and threw the wallet away. Jodie stayed frozen in place as the woman looked back at her, and then peered past her into the car. Jodie turned and saw what she was looking at, the keys were still in the ignition.
The woman fixed her with one last cold stare before making her way around to the drivers side and climbing in.
Jodie watched as the woman revved the engine, then looked down and saw that her underwear was still in Anthony's hand, held in a death grip. She leaned down and prized it out of his hand, suddenly realizing that nobody would believe her if she told them. Looking up, she saw the woman was once again staring at her from the driver's seat… her eyes narrowed she was…. waiting.
Jodie knew she was miles from home, in a part of the city mostly abandoned, she had just survived an extremely close call. Who, Whatever this woman was, she was clearly extremely dangerous, bit she was under no illusions what Anthony would have done had she not intervened, so better to accept the ride, than risk anything else by trying to walk out of here.
With no small amount of trepidation and caution, Jodie made her way around and opened the passenger side front door. She was hardly in the seat before the woman put her foot down and the car lurched forward peeling out of the gravel lot. Jodie felt stones hit the souls of her feet and the back of her legs as she swung them in and the door slammed shut from pure inertia.
It wasn't long before they were on the highway, weaving in and out of traffic as fast as the engine would allow. Jodie held on for dear life, suddenly realizing that perhaps she should have taken her chances on foot.
"Please, Please slow down" Jodie begged, whoever this woman was, she clearly wasn't all there, the only reaction to her request was another cold stare.
The woman took an exit at breakneck speed, pulling a feral drift around the off-ramp and then down into a more populous part of LA.
As if sensing that Jodie was just fine to be left here, she slammed on the breaks and Anthony's classic American Muscle came screeching to a halt.
Jodie gasped and flattened herself into the seat as suddenly the woman leaned across her, went for the latch and pushed open the passenger side door. Then she went back to staring straight ahead.
Jodie looked down the street and saw people, then back at the woman, still staring forward through the windshield. "Thh thanks, and I won't say anything" Jodie said again, getting out of the car, trying not to make it look like she was in a hurry, then leaning down to look through the open window.
The woman turned and regarded Jodie now, her expression appeared to briefly soften as she stared back and Jodie felt a sudden urge to ask "Hay.. w.. What's your name?".
The woman's reaction to the question was strange, as though it was the first time anyone had ever bothered to ask her. Her mouth opened slightly, and there was a subtle intake of breath, as if she was preparing to speak… then she appeared to think better of it and gunned the engine.
The engine roared as Jodie watched the car rip away into the night and the woman with it.
Sil remembered every detail about that night, she remembered the smell of the girl's perfume, the terrified look on her face, and then those words "Thank you". Sil thought, if anything, that was the reason why she allowed the girl to get in the car and dropped her off on the way out of the city. Only moments before, she hadn't even considered letting the girl back into the car.
The killers had not come after her again, nor had other authorities, so that girl must have indeed kept her mouth shut.
After letting that unfortunate girl out on the side of the road, she had driven that car out of the city limits and out into the California desert, it was quiet out there at night. She had lit a rag in the fuel tank and watched the car go up in flames before moving on.
From there, she walked until she was able to steal another car, and then another.
For a time she settled on living out of a van, as she traveled she continued to learn, to grow her knowledge of the people and societies around her.
Always, always… she cursed herself. She led them on a chase, a chase that led to a ravine, and then allowed them to blow up and burn the car she had been using, with the body of the woman and a well placed severed thumb to add to the narrative.
She should have just left, she was in the clear, but no, her instinctual side and no small amount of ego had led her right back, she had gotten what she longed for, all too briefly, only to have it all replaced by a pain so profound that it left her feeling hollow.
She had learned from it. The hardest lesson of all. That is why she lived the way she did. The "Angel" had followed her all the way here from the Motor City, she had taken refuge in a disused auto plant, her van had been stolen by a local gang who had picked through her belongings.
The following night they came back for her… they did not live to regret it.
After that, the local homeless had begun to gravitate towards her refuge to avoid predation by other gangs seeking retribution. One in particular, a man they knew only as "Preacher Blood" had called her an Angel sent to mete out retribution to the wicked.
Whenever she was asked who she was, or what she was, her answer remained the same as always "I'm just… Foreign" over time, she had begun to mean it when she said it.
After that, the graffiti started, and it had followed her to every city where she had sought refuge, incident after incident and the myth surrounding her grew. It was only when she arrived in New York that she found how useful it could be.
Over the years, Sil had come into several conflicts, usually with local gangs and on some occasions, with overzealous cops who came into places she used as a refuge and began to harass and abuse those who dwelt there.
As time wore on, she began to see those around her for what they were, while none of them were like her, many of them had been broken by loss, by substances, by sheer bad luck, or in some cases, by their own minds, in that regard, she was no different.
Sil's dwellings were primarily deep beneath the streets in the myriad of tunnels and abandoned stations.
The rain drove the people nearby into shelter, into their warm, dry dwellings, and it was time for her to do the same, to return to the shadows beneath the streets. She let her senses take in the area, and waited for there to be no one around.
At the opportune moment, she stepped off the corner and let herself free fall twenty stories to the alley below.
As Sil made her way across the alley to the graffiti angel to collect the few items that had been left out in this bizarre tradition, she heard the distinctive sound of a zipper being opened.
She rounded and shot a look down the alley, that was all it took to send whoever got curious retreating back into their tents.
Sil knelt and inspected the few cans of food and alcohol that had been left. She took half of the cans and all of the bottles. As she lifted the last bottle, a single apple rolled out of the plastic bag that contained them.
Sil put the cans and bottles into her pack and made her way down the alley. She was about to take a bite from the apple, but then she noticed off to one side, a middle aged man laying out with no tent, covering himself with only cardboard, she had seen him a few times in the area, and he always smiled and nodded. She tossed him the apple and carried on walking until she came to the manhole cover.
Effortlessly twisting and lifting the 110 pound cast iron manhole cover with just her thumb and index finger, like picking up a plate, she placed it off to one side, and let herself fall several feet down the manhole, before reaching out and replacing the lid behind her.
It was a quiet night, rare these days, the gangs were at war, for the most part, she didn't involve herself, but if they brought their conflicts into her domain, she would retaliate.
Sil made her way along the long, pitch black tunnels, hearing the shuffling of the rats in the shadow, staying away as the alpha predator passed by. She made her way deep into the city's underbelly to one of her favorite spots.
A warm chamber near a disused track, she chose it because it still had a heavy metal door, one of only two of her dwellings that had one. Sil had locked the door with a chain she was sure a normal human would have difficulty lifting. Inside, she had a military style collapsible bed and there was an old, worn out armchair that was still comfortable.
Sil dusted off the chair and let herself fall into it. From here she could hear the trains above her and the throngs of people above them, the sounds translating perfectly down the pipes and ducts.
Sil reached into the back and pulled out the first thing her hand found, a bottle of Jack. She sat back, flicked off the cap and took a long deep drink, listening to the sounds above. The amount of alcohol that would send a human to the Emergency Room would only make her drowsy enough to fall asleep beneath the constant din of the city above.
She relaxed into the chair and took another drink, her eyes scanned over her collection of books, stacked neatly on a shelf on the wall, among all the others she had read to educate herself "An Observation of Cross Cultural Practices" by Steven Arden always caught her eye.
She had found it years ago, the homeless exchanged them by leaving them well protected in marked crates. In all the time she'd had it, she'd never opened it, never touched it, no matter how often she promised herself she would. She had no particular feelings for the man, but he had fathered her child, the child she had lost.
Ignoring the book for yet another night, she rested her head back as her eyes became heavier. Taking another drink, she felt that deep sinking feeling and finally drifted into a deep sleep.