Thomas Sniegoski - Where Angels Fear to Tread

“Who is that?” Deryn asked, finally noticing the man.

“I haven’t a clue, but he seems to know us.”

There was the sound of movement, and Remy turned to see Zoe pull free from her mother’s hand, then run past them into the road toward the stranger.

“Zoe!” Deryn screamed, making a move to grab the child, but for some reason—something in the man’s stare—told Remy to let her go to him.

Remy held on to Deryn’s arm.

“What are you doing?” she screamed, fighting him.

“Wait,” Remy said, watching with a curious eye.

Zoe turned just as she was about to reach the man.

“I have something that I need to give to him,” she said, before turning away from them again and joining the stranger on the other side of the road.

Deryn still fought to be released, but her struggles grew less pronounced as she watched the little girl and the man communicate. They stared at each other, a silent message passing between them.

Zoe finally nodded, squatting down to watch as the stranger dropped to his haunches as well, and proceeded to go through one of his satchels in search of something.

The last time Remy had seen the metal statue of the infant, its chubby legs crossed in front of it and arms spread open in acceptance, it had been on Delilah’s plane in the possession of Clifton Poole.

“That’s Poole’s,” Deryn said, curiosity in her tone.

The man placed the vessel down in front of the child, and she laughed happily, reaching out to hold one of the object’s metal hands.

The stranger and the little girl smiled at each other then, and each nodded. The man reached out a long-fingered hand, and gently tapped the head of the infant’s visage; the vessel snapped open of its own accord.

Deryn gasped at the sudden movement.

Zoe appeared to be in a kind of trance, as the stranger began to hum a simple yet beautiful song. There were no words, but Remy’s mind was suddenly filled with images of a people who had sworn to safeguard a special gift that had fallen from the sky when the world was young, and who today were still performing their duty, as their ancestors had done.

The wordless song also told of a dark time, when their purpose had been lost to them, and how they had sent brave souls out into the world to find their purpose again.

Remy understood now, and by the expression on Deryn’s face, so did she.

Zoe’s body began to glow; a faint aura of yellow at first, gradually building to a nearly blinding white corona, before dissipating in a flash that left both Remy and the child’s mother blinking away blindness that had temporarily stolen their eyes.

When their vision cleared, they saw that whatever had begun was completed.

They watched as the stranger reached for the child-shaped vessel, no longer open, and carefully— lovingly —tucked it back inside his satchel.

Zoe was standing now, watching as the man with whom she had just mysteriously communed gathered up his belongings in preparation to be on his way.

The child finally glanced over at Remy and Deryn, as if suddenly remembering they were there, and gave them a wave, before turning her attention back to her new friend.

The stranger bent down to the little girl with his palm extended, allowing her to give him a high five, before doing the same in return. And all this time not a word was spoken between them, because it wasn’t needed.

They knew what had to be done.

The man watched as Zoe crossed the road. He turned away and started on his journey only when he saw that she had reached Remy and Deryn.

“We can go home now,” she said, standing before them.

Remy looked away from the little girl to watch the man’s progress down the road.

And not surprisingly, he saw that the stranger was gone, as if he’d never been there at all.

A month later

“What are you drawing?” Remy asked the little girl sitting across from him, hunkered over her sketch pad.

Zoe remained silent, busily working on her art.

“ Drawing ,” Marlowe said with a tail thump as he lay at her feet.

“I know she’s drawing,” Remy said to the animal. “I was just curious as to what.”

The little girl laughed. It sounded like tiny, delicate bells happily jingling.

“That’s funny when you talk to the dog,” she said, dropping one of her crayons on the desktop and choosing another from the box open in front of her. “My mommy says he can’t understand you, you know.”

“Your mommy said that?” Remy asked, leaning back in his office chair, enjoying the recently fixed air-conditioning. The chair squeaked loudly, making the child look up from her drawing to stare at him.

Zoe and Deryn had been staying with him and Marlowe since the business in West Virginia; just long enough to get their bearings so they could return to Florida. Finding out that their house had burned down hadn’t helped matters, but Deryn was planning on staying with a cousin for a little while, until she got stuff straightened out with the insurance company, and then hopefully, she and Zoe would have a home again.

“Why’d you do that?” she asked him with a scowl.

“Do what?” he asked her, making the chair squeak again.

“That,” she said. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he asked again, playing dumb. “That?” He made the chair squeak again.

She had started to laugh, even though she didn’t want him to see, pretending to be mad. “That noise, stop it now.”

“What noise?” He bounced in the chair so it squeaked repeatedly. “This noise? You want me to stop this noise?”

She put her head back down, returning to her artwork.

“You’re very silly,” she said, grabbing the blue crayon and scribbling like crazy.

Deryn had gone out to run a few final errands before their flight back to Florida that night, leaving Zoe with him at the office. He didn’t mind; he found the little girl fascinating and had no doubt he was going to miss her.

Remy watched her feverishly working on her project, relieved that everything seemed to have turned out for the best. With the power of creation removed from her, the little girl appeared to have been cured of her autism, receiving a clean bill of health from Franciscan Children’s. It was almost as if Deryn and the little girl had been given a gift from a higher power for their troubles.

“Are you ever going to show me what you’re working on?” Remy asked her as he came forward in his chair.

“Wait a minute,” she said, frustrated by his impatience. “I’m almost done.”

She dropped the crayon she was using and picked up the drawing to study it.

“I’m done,” she said.

“Can I see?” Remy asked.

“You can have it,” she said, casually tossing it on top of his desk. She was already pulling another piece of construction paper from the pad, getting ready to create another masterpiece, he guessed.

Remy picked the drawing up from atop the desk and held it out before him.

He was surprised at what he saw.

“So, what’s this supposed to be?” he asked Zoe.

“It’s you and Linda,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Linda?” Remy began, for the moment not knowing whom she was talking about, but suddenly remembering.

Linda Somerset.

“How would you know about Linda?” he asked, looking up from the drawing to see that she had stopped scribbling with her crayon and was staring across the desk at him.

“I know,” she said, annoyed that he had to ask, and shook her head as she returned to coloring.

Remy studied the drawing again of a man and woman holding hands in front of what looked to be a building. Through the windows in the building he could see other people, sitting at tables, who appeared to be eating.