Help Her: The Celestial Service, #2

By J L Wilson

Hello, dear reader: My name is Florence Pruitt. I'm a guardian angel. I was tasked with assisting a newly chosen angel learn the ropes (so to speak). He and I were given a mission – to save a young man who was in danger of his life.

 

Tommy Boyd here: what Flo is trying to say is we were sent out to make sure nobody messed with Calvin Booker, an up-and-coming Army officer. His life was in danger and it was our job to make sure nothing happened to him during an upcoming field exercise.

 

Flo again: yes, we are an unlikely pair to be sent on a rescue mission, but it was not our place to question The Powers Who Be. Somehow we managed to adopt a kitten along the way, we learned to trust each other, and we (ahem) discovered our own attraction for each other.

 

Tommy: oh, yeah. We did. Heh.

 

Flo: And we learned that there are many kinds of rescues, both for angels and humans.

 

As long as I was willing to give my life to make it happen.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: J L Wilson
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201394875

J L Wilson

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Chapter One

THE CALL CAME IN ON a crystal-clear January afternoon, just as dusk was beginning. I was driving through Bloomington, a suburb of the Twin Cities, when the Service contacted me.

Barnum was on duty. I don't know if that was his real name or not, but he certainly looked the part of an exuberant showman with his shaggy white hair, round face, and jovial personality.

Dearest Florence, we have a job for you, he announced via my Trouble Tracker, his voice booming through my car's stereo speakers.

I turned down the volume using the buttons on the steering wheel as I navigated a snowy turn onto Lindale Avenue, a busy north-south thoroughfare now clogged with going-home traffic.

Does someone need an intervention? I was a Saver, a rank in the Celestial Service that dealt primarily with rescues. We handled lost or in-danger children and animals, the occasional wayward teen, or sometimes an adult who, like George Bailey, needed reminding of the goodness in life.

An enormous SUV driven by a petite blonde shot past me to fishtail into place in front of me. My little blue Chevy SUV was no match for such a monster. I let it kick up salt and sand while I mentally told the driver what I thought of her.

You need to help a Helper. Barnum barked out a guffaw. Ironic, eh? I could imagine him behind the desk at HQ, leaned back in his office chair, grinning amiably out his tenth-story window.

I'm a Saver, Barnum. I'm not a babysitter. I glared at the black SUV in front of me. It now had decided to idle in the street while the driver and her passenger engaged in a long, passionate kiss. I couldn't go around them easily because she took up more than her share of the ice-encrusted two-lane road.

But you're good at it, Florence. This is a newly made angel. He needs assistance with acclimation. You're such a good representative of our Service.

Helpers were beginners at the angel game and often required quite a bit of hand-holding. I had assisted two other Helpers, one early in my forty-six years as a Saver, one in my previous incarnation as an Advisor during the first World War.

Send me the coordinates. I edged out of the lane to peer around the monster SUV.

Done. And I sent a file to your Glory Guard account, so you can read his details.

His? I began a cautious foray into the left lane, which was rutted with snow and grime. The Blonde Bombshell must have noticed me in her side mirror. The passenger door opened and a man exited even while the SUV inched forward.

I gunned my motor and squeezed past.

Nimble beats stupid and slutty any day. I squeaked through the traffic signal ahead and left the lumbering SUV in my wake.

What's that you say? Barnum wheezed.

Nothing. I hazarded a glance at the entertainment system display, which now showed a map.

He's coming in at the park? I asked incredulously. We have a foot of snow on the ground and it's not even ten above zero. He'll freeze.

We can't very well drop in a fully-grown man in the middle of the Mall of America, Barnum said.

I don't know why not. Nobody would notice in that madhouse. I made a sharp left turn and headed west for Hyland Park.

He'll come in outside the Nature Center. You have an hour, Barnum assured me. Plenty of time to read up on him. Call me when you've made delivery. Upper Management is interested in this one.

What? Who in Upper Management? I didn't like the idea that someone in the levels above me (Protector, Punisher, or Avenger) might have an interest in me and this hapless Helper.

The highest level. Barnum's voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. One of the seven.

Oh, for heaven's sake, I breathed. One of the seven could only mean one of the Archangels. Why are they involved?

No idea, but there you are. Call me. My Trouble Tracker faded. My stereo, tuned to an XM oldie station, resumed.

Well, this was a pickle. I didn't want to be under the scrutiny of anyone in Upper Management. I had been flying under the radar, so to speak, for almost half a century. I was content to continue flying there.

I wasn't anxious to advance to the Protector level, which required more physical intervention than I was comfortable with. No, Saver worked fine for me. I wanted to keep it that way.

I was on lesser-traveled streets now. Last night's snow lay in pristine drifts by the side of the freshly plowed pavement, the brilliant sunlight giving everything a sparkling glow.

I enjoy winter because with each snowfall there's a new beginning, a new freshness. I glanced at the temperature reading on the dashboard and winced. Five above. I knew there was a wind chill today. I hoped the Helper was dressed properly.

I got to the park, nestled in the heart of the busy Bloomington suburb on seven-hundred acres of lake, ski slopes, and hills. I drove south to the Visitor Center, reasoning that I may as well enjoy a cup of hot cocoa while I reviewed the files.

I went inside the cozy building, got my beverage and took a seat at a little table overlooking the snowy patio behind the center.

I opened the Glory Guard app on my iPad. GG was rather like a combination of Facebook and Google Docs for us angels. I set my status to Engaged and found the file Barnum mentioned.

Thomas Boyd stared at me from the corner of the typed data sheet. He appeared to be a stocky, broad-shouldered man with cold gray eyes and cropped gray hair. He had a tough-looking thin face and the sort of scowl I associated with Mafia hitmen.

According to his file, Tommy the Bullet Boyd had been a career Army man, having joined the service out of high school in New Jersey. He achieved the rank of Colonel and was a crack shot, an expert in hand-to-hand combat, and was fluent in multiple languages. He did several tours of duty overseas, with occasional postings to the states for training.

Well, I wouldn't be using a nickname that denoted ammunition. I'm sure Mr. Boyd had received a thorough briefing about what was expected of him. Combat skills were not high on the list of requirements for Helpers. I checked the details of his death. December 1972. Da Nang, Vietnam. Age 55.

What a coincidence. I was murdered in 1917 during the suffragist movement and was brought back as a Saver in 1972 when I was fifty-five. Of course, age was irrelevant, but that's what it said on my driver's licenses for the past forty-some years.

Was there a chance I met Tommy Boyd during my first year as a Saver? I discounted the idea even while I thought it. I was brought back in Texas originally, moving around the country in the decades since then to disguise my lack of aging.

Upper Management was very careful to keep our pasts separate from our present, which is why decades always passed between incarnations. No, this was just one of those odd happenstances.

My timer chimed, reminding me that in ten minutes I would meet Mr. Boyd. I dropped my paper cup into a recycle bin and hurried to my car, tucking the tablet into my handbag. Five minutes later I pulled into the parking lot of the Nature Center, just a half-mile north of the Visitor Center.

Several cars were in the lot. I spied a bundled-up child running at breakneck speed for one of the exterior exhibits, a grouping of statues depicting a fox stalking a goose.

They were all wearing merry red scarves and hats, which lessened the bloodthirsty nature of the display. The parents stood just inside the door watching, wisely keeping warm while their offspring cavorted in the cold.

I went into the building. The interior was a large space with several openings on each side with nature-themed dioramas of animals in the woods. These were combined with animatronic Native Americans in rustic settings.

I spied Mr. Boyd at the far end, sunlight angling in on him like a spotlight. I was relieved to see he was dressed appropriately in a puffy winter coat over a black-and-white flannel shirt and black jeans with sturdy brown boots. At least I wouldn't need to worry about frostbite.

He appeared bemused by his surroundings, turning slowly to look at each area, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled frown. I approached him with what I hoped was a reassuring expression.

Mr. Boyd, how do you do? I was sent to meet you. I hope I haven't kept you waiting.

He regarded me warily. I wasn't expecting anyone so no, you didn't keep me waiting.

I held out my hand. I'm Florence. Florence Pruitt.

Flo? He shook my hand with a firm grip. I was glad I wore mittens as a buffer against his squeezing.

Florence, I repeated.

Where the hell am I? He turned again, looking at the exhibits.

Didn't they tell you? My phone chimed from my handbag. I dug it out.

As I expected, it was Barnum. I fumbled off my mittens, jamming them into my coat pockets while I answered. Package received.

What's that? Boyd stared at the phone in my hand, still with that wary expression.

It's a phone. I held it out so he could see the phone face. An iPhone, actually.

What do you mean it's a phone? Where's the cord?

Oh, dear. Didn't you get any orientation at all?

Orientation? Boyd was starting to look angry. I glanced over my shoulder. Luckily there was no one else in sight. I edged toward a diorama of two people squatting near a teepee with a faux campfire. Boyd followed me.

Yes, when you were selected, didn't someone talk to you? Give you details? I heard a squawk from my phone. Hold on, Barnum.

Some gook met me, told me I was chosen, and that I was needed. He didn't say where or what for or when. Why was I chosen?

Believe me, I have no idea, I muttered. What do you mean, 'a gook' met you?

Some Asian guy.

Heavens. That's Joel. Joel was one of the seven archangels, the one who looked out for Helpers. Uriel was the angel affiliated with my level, the Savers.

I had never met her or any of the other archangels. If Joel participated in Boyd's initiation into the ranks, that meant something Big was up.

So what is all this? Boyd held up his hands. Where am I? When am I? Am I really some kind of angel? Are you an angel?

I heard another squawk from my neglected phone. I put it to my face to speak softly and urgently.

Barnum? We have a problem. The package is rather damaged. I glanced at Boyd, who stared sullenly at me. He's had no orientation whatsoever.

Ah, yes, I was told that it was somewhat rushed. I'll make sure you get the right program. He can absorb it tonight when he sleeps.

Where is he assigned? I'll drop him off.

He's assigned to you.

What? I was distracted by Boyd, who had somehow gotten closer to me when I wasn't watching. I had the impression he was eavesdropping. He can't be assigned to me. What am I supposed to do with him?

Well, for now, take him home and help him get oriented.

I struggled to contain my indignation. Take him home? He's not a stray puppy I picked up on the street. Where am I supposed to put him?

I'm sure you'll figure something out. I was told we'd get instructions soon for what you're to do.

But I've never done this before.

You're our best, Florence. I'm sure that's why you were chosen. Call me later once he's started the orientation. I want to make sure it goes smoothly. This one is important, I know it is.

An icy feeling gripped me. If Joel was actually involved, then Barnum was probably right.

Okay, I said reluctantly. I'll handle it. I ended the call and dropped the phone back in my bag. I gestured toward the door. We may as well discuss this on the way.

Why would I go anywhere with you? he demanded.

Well, he had a point. Look here. I pointed to my cheek where my celestial symbol was visible to those who had the ability.

He peered closely at my face. What is it?

I'm a Saver, I said with as much patience as I could muster. That's our symbol. I raised a finger to point at his cheek. He intercepted my hand and pushed it away. You're a Helper. There's your symbol.

He stared at me and his wariness was replaced by what appeared to be incipient panic. Or maybe it was anger. Boyd had the uncanny ability to disguise his reactions behind a flat, dispassionate façade. Why am I a Helper and you're a Saver?

Could we discuss this somewhere else? It's not something that we talk about in public. I nodded toward the exit. There are other people here. I'd rather not be overheard.

He stared at me, his hands clenching and unclenching. Then he abruptly nodded. Okay. I have questions and I want answers.

I'm sure you do. I tried to sound placating, but I don't know if it worked. He still glared at me even while he fell into step beside me. We left the building and I led the way to my SUV.

Just hop in and we'll go to... I hurried around the car to the driver's side, hoping he didn't hear my lapse. Where was I going to take him? I had a small condo. It was perfectly adequate for me but not for me and a male guest.

Where is this? He hunched his shoulders, obviously cold.

I started the car and the seat belt alarm chimed. Minnesota. We're in a suburb south of the Twin Cities.

I buckled my seat belt and waited for him to do the same. When he didn't, I said, Please fasten your belt.

He looked at my harness. I don't like wearing one. It's too restrictive.

I placed my hands on the steering wheel rather than around his neck. It's the law. Buckle up.

I don't want to.

Then we don't go anywhere. I won't be issued a fine because you're too dainty to wear a seat harness.

He shot me an incredulous look, his gray eyes round and innocent. Dainty?

I didn't reply. I just stared straight ahead, my thoughts churning. Eventually I heard a telltale click and the chime ended. I put the car into gear and we got onto the park road.

Go ahead and ask your questions. I drove slowly on the twists and turns of the blacktop. I'll answer what I can.

You don't have all the answers? Gee, that's a surprise. I thought you did.

I glanced quickly at him, but he was staring out his window so I couldn't tell what that comment meant. I have no idea why you weren't given a proper orientation. I'm sure this is all confusing.

Yeah, no shit. Does everybody get to be an angel?

No, only a few are chosen.

Why me?

Good question, I thought. You must have some redeeming quality that's needed.

Don't sound so doubtful.

I sighed. I apologize. I haven't been a handler for a long time.

How long?

I considered. Forty years? Something like that.

How long have you...I mean, how old are you? You don't look like an angel. I thought they were all blond hair and blue eyes and prissy. You're not blond and blue.

But I'm prissy? I didn't wait for his reply. I'm a Saver. That means that I've died three times before: once before I became a Helper, once when I became an Advisor, and the last time when I became a Saver. Age is somewhat irrelevant for us. When you start to advance in the ranks, you get to choose your appearance. I chose this one.

I felt his eyes on me. I know what he saw. A tiny, middle-aged woman. She had long brown hair shot through with gray done up in an untidy bun and unremarkable clothing.

Why?

Because it's easy. Because it's comfortable. Because it's who I really am.

This was my appearance in my last life. I suppose I'm most familiar with it.

What was your last life?

I was a women's rights advocate at the start of the Twentieth Century. I was Advisor to some of the leaders.

Hmpf.

I detected a distinct note of disapproval. You don't think women deserve equal rights with men?

I think burning bras and marching is a stupid way to prove a point.

We didn't burn bras. We marched, yes, and were thrown in jail and some of us were injured doing so. That's past history. Our work wasn't in vain. We did get voting rights for women.

My hands tightened on the wheel. Although the current generation doesn't appear to appreciate it, given the low voter turnout we've seen. Not to mention the misogynistic bigot who was recently elected.

Who's that?

You'll get all the details during your orientation. I approached the freeway that circled the Cities to merge cautiously with traffic, all of which was going far too fast for my taste. But this was the simplest route to my condo in the far west suburb of Victoria.

What's that? He leaned forward to peer around me.

I glanced out my window. Ice houses. People are ice fishing.

Ice fishing? Why?

I shrugged. It's an excuse to get out of the house and drink beer, I suppose.

Okay. That makes sense. He was silent for a few moments. What about money?

I beg your pardon? I was starting to regret taking the freeway. While the roads were relatively clear of snow, traffic was heavy. People were avoiding the smaller roads that weren't as well-plowed.

Money? Do you work? What do you do? What does a Saver do? What does a Helper do?

"We get a stipend, which is adequate as long as you aren't too extravagant. If we want to work, we can, but it sometimes interferes with our real job. A Helper is someone who assists other people in the background. You're usually assigned to a particular location, like a