Page 103 of Strangers She Knows

Yes, for night still pressed against the window and the storm whistled in derision. How many more hours of suffering before Mara released her?

She couldn’t wait for Mara. She had to save herself.

As she braced herself for another attempt, a shuffling noise and a faint light focused her attention at a crack in the wall.

Kellen blinked, trying to clear the hallucination. But the crack grew wider, became a door. In the door, an angel appeared, dressed in loose white robes with white hair swept back from her soft, wrinkled face.

Had Kellen died?

Her attention fixed on the light the angel carried. A flashlight, not a candle or an eternal flame.

What kind of heavenly battery ran an angel’s flashlight?

Kellen felt a soft snuffling at her free hand, a paw on her leg. She looked down, and there she was: Luna, alive and well and whining anxiously, nudging at Kellen, wanting to comfort her. An angel dog.

Luna’s nose was not spiritual, but wet and cold. Her tongue was slobbery. Her nails scratched at the wood floor; they needed to be trimmed.

Again Kellen cried, tears of joy, and over and over she whispered, “Luna, you’re alive. Luna, my darling dog.” She rubbed Luna’s head, and took comfort from the hard warmth and warm, soft ears.

The angel leaned over them both, and in a voice marked by a delicate tremor, she murmured, “You poor dear,” and in an angrier tone, “That woman is a monster.” She placed the flashlight on the dresser, went to the door and locked it. “We don’t want any unexpected visitors, do we?”

“Please. Water.” Kellen’s voice held the same tremor. “Fresh water she never touched.”

“Trust me, dear. I brought everything.” This was an old angel; slowly she went into the heavenly light and slowly she returned with an old-fashioned thermos. She unscrewed the lid, poured water with a shaking hand into the cup, and held it to Kellen’s lips.

Kellen steadied her, and the two of them gave Kellen a sip. The first taste was clean and wet, and Kellen couldn’t wait. She took the cup and drank it all the way down.

Luna sat and thumped her tail in approval.

“Good for you, dear,” the angel said. “More?”

“Please.” Kellen drank. This was what she’d needed. Her mind really was clearing now, yet she was aware of a vast exhaustion, sorrow, anger. “Now. Can you remove the needle?”

“I can try.” Old Angel reached out a hand, crooked and spotted, and tugged.

The needle twisted.

Kellen sobbed.

Luna whined.

Old Angel pulled away in distress. “I’m sorry! I haven’t any strength, and I never imagined this. This I didn’t come prepared for. I wish I had my scissors. I think we could cut the needle.”

“Yes! Scissors.” Hope blossomed in Kellen. “In the bathroom!”

“Perfect.” Old Angel made her slow, unsteady way toward the bathroom door.

Luna left Kellen’s side and accompanied her, and once when the angel staggered, Luna was there to steady her.

They returned together, and the angel wore an angelic smile. “I have the scissors, but even better—look what I found under the sink!” She showed Kellen a pair of pliers.

“Thank God. Thank you. Hurry.”

Old Angel manipulated the pliers as she did everything—slowly. “Your darling husband does scatter his tools around, doesn’t he? There’s a Phillips head screwdriver in there, too. But I don’t think we have a use for that, do we?”

“I tell him—every tool in its place. But he doesn’t listen.”

“Of course not, dear.” Old Angel wrapped the pliers around the head of the needle. “Can you help?”

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