Ellen Datlow - Off Limits

“Hey, hey. Don’t be frightened. I just tied you up so you wouldn’t try to walk or anything. I couldn’t tell how hurt you were in that fall. Here… let me untie you.” He noticed the angel’s eyes were black, like onyx marbles. She seemed to be looking at him with marked incredulity.

Once untied, the angel crawled off the bed and stood in the corner of the room. He could feel her wonder, where am I?, her eyes wide.

“You’re in my apartment. I found you in the woods when you crashed. You fell from the sky.” He put his hands behind him, full of humility. “I saved you.”

She searched the room until she saw the doorway, then moved toward it. Her movements were awkward, as if she was trying to stay on the ground. He watched her go down the hall, into the living room, and followed. She was staring at the television.

“It’s a football game. Don’t you have those in heaven?”

She shook her head, turning toward the kitchen.

“That’s my kitchen. Food? Are you hungry?”

She nodded, moving buoyantly in that direction.

Frank opened his cupboards. There were two cans of SpaghettiOs, an open bag of chips, a nearly empty jar of coffee, and an unopened box of animal crackers. Trying the fridge, he found a six-pack minus two cans, the doggie bag from the restaurant he’d taken Sharon to, and an apple so wizened, it looked like a large walnut.

He grabbed the doggie bag and set it on the counter. “I don’t have much. You can have the leftovers.”

Suddenly, he was aware she needed water. He poured her a glass. She drank voraciously, the sound of her gullet like a cricket chirping. She shivered as she swallowed, her wings trembling behind her. He held up the barbecue chicken from the bag. She turned away. With that, he started on the leftovers himself.

After she’d consumed two quarts of water, Frank watched her glide over to the sofa. Her hand went over the nubby fabric, pressing, testing, before she sat down.

“Hey, you want to talk or something?” Frank sat across from her in the vinyl recliner he’d inherited from his stepfather.

Her voice twittered and tinkled in his mind. Where on earth am I? Where is she, my OTHER, who I am to meet?

Frank grinned. “You’re in Denton. It’s a suburb of Henderson. The city’s about a twenty-mile ride northeast of here. I work in the city. At a big hotel.” Frank paused. “You’re supposed to meet somebody?”

She nodded. An image of a pale, stiff-looking, professor-type woman flashed in his mind. She wasn’t familiar to Frank. He didn’t travel in intellectual circles, he thought, chuckling.

“You must be her guardian angel, huh? Sorry you ended up with me, but I’m sure I need you more than she ever could.”

A question slid into Frank’s mind. He snorted. “How do I need you? As God is my witness, I’m having one serious shortage of faith. Started way back when I lost my dad. I’m a fucking spiritual nightmare, right now. That’s how I just know God sent you to me. That woman you’re supposed to meet? She has to be a mistake.”

The angel glanced around the room, disinterested in Frank’s banter. She put her hands to her nose, sniffed them. The angel wanted to know what she sensed on her.

“Oh, that. I bought some nice-smelling bath stuff for my last girlfriend and it was in the water I used to clean you up. Hope you don’t mind. It smells pretty good, huh?”

The angel cocked her head. He felt something searching under his clothes, over his skin, like a feather brushing lightly on the surface, from his feet up to his chin. The effect made him horny again. His erection did not go unnoticed. The feather touch seemed to concentrate there, lapping over the taut skin, then traveled up his body, and away.

“Jesus.” Frank felt as if he was about to come. He looked into and away from her obsidian eyes, sensing her curiosity with his prick, and displeasure with his scent.

“Oh, sorry. I took a cold shower. No soap. I forget shit like that. Go to the store and buy everything but…” His erection shrank. “I’ll pick some up later, really.”

The phone trilled, making Frank jump. He was suddenly wary, the boundary of his apartment walls dissolving into full exposure. Everyone will know. He grabbed the receiver.

“Yeah?”

“Is that how you answer the phone now?”

He slumped against the bar that divided the kitchen and living room. “Ma. What is it?”

She sighed audibly. Frank steeled himself.

“We missed you at church today. That makes three Sundays in a row. I wanted to know what in the devil you’ve been up to?” Her tone went from benign concern to grand suspicion in a few seconds.

Frank gritted his teeth. “Ma, I’ve got a life, you know. I went to another church. Across town. With my friend Andrea.”

“Oh?” It was her incredulous ‘oh,’ not her resigned ‘oh.’ “Which church was that?”

“Grace Baptist. I know it isn’t our church, but God was still there.”

“God, and apparently this Andrea.”

“I told you about Andrea six months ago, Ma. She’s the woman from the shoe store.” He’d buried her two months ago, September. It had been a Sunday then, too.

“Oh, yes. Well, bring her over to dinner one night. Your stepfather and I really enjoyed that girl you brought over last month. What was her name… Susan. No, Shelly. No, Sharon.”

“I don’t know, Ma. Sharon didn’t work out for me, and Andrea isn’t anything to me anymore.”

“Frank, you’re my only boy, now. Will you ever settle down and get married? Have grandchildren for me?”

“Ma, don’t start.” Frank glanced over at his angel. She sat still, her eyes on the football game. He turned his back to her.

“Lord, you’re just too picky. What was wrong with Sharon?”

Everything, he thought. She wanted what she wanted, when she wanted it, and when she couldn’t get it, she cut him off. Trying to control him. Regularly. Just like all the others. “She was looking for someone more ambitious. I’m happy doing what I do.”

“Well, then good riddance. You’re a baker. That’s an honorable profession. If that’s not good enough for her, then you’re better off. God…”

“Ma, do you believe in angels?”

“Of course, Frankie, why?”

“Do you think they ever fall from heaven down here, to earth?” Frank glanced back at his angel. When she began to look at him, he turned away.

“Why don’t you ask Reverend Dooley? He’d know.”

“But, do you think so?”

Her silence told him she was either going to make up an outrageous fabrication or admit she didn’t know.

“I believe they can fall to earth, but only after they’ve committed some form of blasphemy in heaven. Then they’re cast down to hell, but might hit earth accidentally.” She didn’t know. “So, why do you want to know?”

Telling his mother would ruin it. “The sermon this morning. Baptist stuff. I wondered was all.”

“Baptists. Hmph. Oh. I see your stepfather’s finished his beer and supper’s ready, so I’ll say good-bye. And I hope to see you next Sunday.”

“Next Sunday.” If he had ever doubted God’s existence, the angel had changed him forever. He’d go to church. He’d never miss it again.

He felt a light touch on the back of his head. He spun around to find the angel there, her fingertip drawing back from him, her face unreadable. He smiled at her.

“That was my mother. Nosy lady. I didn’t want to tell her about you. You don’t mind, do you?”

She shook her head. She sent him the thought that she wanted to rest, that she needed to be ready to meet her OTHER in the place where Frank had found her. Tomorrow.