Angel

Written by Isabel Night

This story is dedicated to everyone who put up with my crazy writing habits over the years! Thank you for all the love and patience you have shown me!

Sitting at the bus stop, I pull out my third cigarette. Ignoring the stinging sensation in my lungs, the only thing I can’t overlook is the weight of the gun in my right pocket. Squashing the half-smoked butt, two thoughts swirl through my mind: hunger may hurt. Eviction hurts even more.

The lingering smoke burns my lungs. Focus. You have to do this! All you need to do is work up the courage to get up and cross the street to Birdies, the local convenience store—

“Mind if I join you?”

I look up. To my surprise, there’s a woman standing in front of me. Short, stocky, maybe five feet tall. She’s wearing a white t-shirt, jean shorts, and a big ol’ smile on her face. Heh. Must have zero cares in this world…

“Uh, sure.”

“Waiting on the bus?”

“Yeah.” My fingers tap nervously on my thighs.

Taking a seat beside me, she begins digging around in her purse. A flip phone? Not only that, but a pre-2010 type. So outdated, even I don’t use one. Opening it, she begins texting. I think. Interesting. Whatever she’s doing, she’s doing it like a pro.

“Where are you headed?” She asks.

“Fourth Street.”

“Not much to do around there.”

I say nothing.

“Listen… I know this is going to sound weird, but do you need help?”

I look at her. Confused.

“Oh! I’m sorry! It’s just… you look sad. Also, you were chain-smoking earlier. Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine,” I answer curtly.

She shrugs. “Okay, well, the bus is here.”

Well, I’ll be damned… it turns out that the Fellows Four Route bus is heading our way. Getting up from her seat, she puts her phone away before flagging down the bus. “C’mon! This’ll take you to Fourth Street! Unless you want to be sullen and wait another hour!”

So much for my attempt to rob Birdies—

“Get on!” The bus driver yells after he opens the doors.

Right away… uhm… I look around. Not only has the woman vanished, but somehow, my fare’s already been paid. I say that because the fare box in front of me has a medium-sized, green-lettered display that says, ‘paid.’ Checking my right pocket… there’s no gun! How… How’d that happen?! I don’t remember getting rid of it?!

The bus’s radio is blasting Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door by Bob Dylan. Cool tune! Yet, pissed-as-hell driver. His station is filled with many Vanillaroma-scented trees draped over the air vents. But what really grabs my attention is the driver’s hands. Those thin, almost inhuman-looking fingers positioned on the steering wheel… From there, I think I hear a light: Tap. Tap. Help…? That’s not a good sign. Should… Should I get on? Or start searching for my gun—

“Come on, already! If you don’t hurry up, you’ll miss your appointment!”

Appointment?! What appointment?! I didn’t schedule any appointment?! What’s going on? First of all… yes, my gun is missing, and somebody already paid my fare. Given those two things, it’s clear somebody wants me on this bus. At the same time, I have nowhere else to go. Sigh. I’ll think of something. Might as well climb on, get my shit together, and go to this appointment some mysterious person has scheduled for me. Dammit! Today’s gonna be a doozy! I just know it!

As soon as I’m situated… odd? It’s quiet. Too quiet. Usually, someone’s busy texting on their phone or has their earbuds in, jamming to loud music. These riders look bored; zombie-like expressions… staring out the side windows…

Sssssh…

Static noise!? Calm down. Probably the driver’s just changing music stations. Hmmm. Y’know… that sounds about right. Strange. No advertising announcements. Instead, an unknown DJ jumps right into their playlist, cueing up Dream On by Aerosmith. Good choice. I highly recommend it—

Get off this bus!

Huh?

Get off this bus!

What’s going on?

Get off this bus! Now!

Wait a minute. Who’s telling me to get off the bus—

“It’s not your time.”

Crap! Who said that?! Nobody’s sitting next to me… and I haven’t spoken to the other passengers!

Looking around… just as I suspected… the same zombie-like expressions and silence from before. If they haven’t spoken to— much less noticed me, then where’d that voice come from…?

Focus! Pull yourself together! It’s a prank… by a ventriloquist… using a disembodied voice… Right? Right?!

Sssss…

For the…! Another round of static noise! Fuck drivers who enjoy radio rotation! Pick a damn station already! It’s… making my confusion worse! Okay, why am I thinking that…? Moreover… wait… this song sounds familiar. Serious, poignant; the lyrics talk about missing someone…

Oh shit! Now the chills begin traveling down my spine. One Sweet Day by Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men. I first heard it at my mother’s funeral! How could I have been so stupid!? Each song means something! It must! Hearing all these songs before, but never taking their messages to heart…

Add in that voice from earlier… and these three songs playing back-to-back… Could it be that I’m being told to think about the long-term consequences of my actions? Possibly. But… That’s when it hits me. What would’ve really happened if I had successfully robbed Birdies? Arrested? Subjected to a manhunt? Killed in a shootout?

Stop! We’re getting into the stuff of the local evening news! And people featured on the news are remembered as failures. No way am I going to share their fate! That aside, it still doesn’t explain this ride…

Am I dead? Wait. No. Why am I asking myself that question? However… Ouch! Pinching my arm worked. I can still feel pain, so I must have a body. If I’m not dead… or… in some kind of… limbo… if you want to call it that… then who told me ‘it’s not your time’? To be honest… that sounds like something the Grim Reaper might say. Come to think of it, the Grim Reaper definitely wouldn’t say that to someone in the passenger compartment. I… I’d be more likely to believe… the Grim Reaper is the bus driver… who purposely picked those songs as a warning: had I succeeded…

Don’t panic. If you start panicking, you’ll never be able to calm down. Remember? Last time, they had to take you to the hospital—

I don’t care! Goddammit! Not funny; blindly scrabbling for the yellow cord! Nothing. Fuck! Where is it?! Where’s that damn cord?! This is insane! Get me off this bus— “Social Services Building, Fourth Street.”

“What the…?!”

THE END

Other Works by Isabel Night Published by Diagonals Literary Festival

Vampire

About the Author

Isabel Night, the pseudonym of Adrienne Furio, is an author living in Leonardtown, Maryland, USA. When she isn't busy writing, Adrienne enjoys shopping online, reading stories, surfing the internet, and going for walks outside on nice days.

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