The Angel's Words

"Do you know any stories?"

Ralph looked upwards. He squinted against the light of the helicoptors and saw the silouette of their captor.

Ralph wiped the sweat from his brow. "Wh- what kind of stories?"

The thin man shrugged and sat down in a chair, letting the semi-automatic rest on his leg. "I dunno, any kind, really. I just like stories, I guess."

Ralph looked around the small room at the rest of the hostages. They were asleep, or pretending to be asleep.

"It's strange," he said.

"Hm?" their captor asked.

Ralph shrugged. "Well, I guess I sometimes fantasized about something like this happening to me. Think about what I'd do, how I'd react, you know. Work out the whole scenario. Kept me entertained on long subway trips, or something."

"Really," their captor said, softly. "And how would it end up?"

Ralph looked up. "I beg your pardon?"

"How would the fantasy end?"

Ralph looked away. "Well, I guess I always got away, you know. Figured out a plan."

The captor nodded. "Do you think you'll get out of this one?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'm sort of a little angry that it happened to me in the first place. I was on my way to pick my daughter up, you know. From her soccer practise. I dunno how long she's been there before she'd call my wife. And hell, I wonder what my wife is going through. I bet this is on all the news channels."

"Yes."

"I've been, uh, I've been kinda afraid to ask you this-"

"Yes?"

"Why?"

"Why? You mean, why did I take hostages?"

"Yes. You don't seem, like, well, you know, a terrorist... and uh-"

"Terrorists," the man laughed. "Terrorists go about things in entirely the wrong way."

"Do they?"

"Oh they cause fear, and terror, all right," the man said. "But in the end, what are they trying to accomplish? If they have any real goals, it's not like the government will negotiate with them after they've terrorized. In the end, they are only like little children, throwing a tantrum because they can't have their way."

"So then you are?"

"I never intended to have hostages, you know. I never intended. I bet, in the end, we all never intend for hostages. Four years at this and I've never needed hostages."

"Four years?"

"Four years. Two of preparation, and the final two for execution. It was only now, at my final, complete phase that someone noticed me. That someone brought the police down on me."

"That was when you stopped my van."

"Nah, I took the girl first, then the old woman, then you."

"You killed the cop."

"I wounded him."

Ralph knew he didn't want to get this lunatic angry, but still it spilled out from him : "You killed him."

The man was silent for, perhaps, minutes. Then : "Yes, perhaps I did."

Ralph turned away. He felt, for the third time since he had been trapped in this room, sick. But there was nothing left in his stomach.

"What do you do for a living, Ralph?"

"I sell computers," Ralph replied.

"On what scale?"

"What? Oh, like, in a store."

"Oh."

For the fourth time since he had been captured, Ralph looked at the strange, bulk in the corner of the room. It was covered in a blue, plastic tarp, and draped in shadow. It seemed out of place, and simply looking at it sent a chill down Ralph's spine. He didn't enjoy its presence.

The man shifted his weight in the chair. "You said you had a wife, Ralph. What is she like?"

Ralph shrugged. "Oh, well, she's okay, I guess. She's looking for a job, but I think we should wait until Shelly is old enough to come home to an empty house, you know?"

"Do you love her?"

"What?"

"Do you love her?"

"Yes. Very much."

"Pity, then."

"What?"

"I was married once."

"Were you?"

"Yeah."

"What was she like?"

"Very pneumatic."

"Oh."

The man pulled back his sleeve and glanced at his watch, as he had done many times over the hours they had been together. "Almost time."

Ralph faced him. "I, uh, I need to ask you a question."

"Yes?"

"But I'm afraid of the answer."

"A terrible predicament, indeed."

"Are we going to get out of this alive?"

"No."

Something tightened in Ralph's stomach, tightened in his throat. He had heard the answer perfectly. Nevertheless, he asked : "What?"

"We all die in the end, you know. Everyone we know and love will die. And for how long do we last? A year goes by in a heartbeat, and we only get fifty, sixty, maybe eighty, if we're lucky."

"But..." Ralph said, that same something holding his throat. "But, shit, no, but, I can't die."

"I beg your pardon? We all can easily die."

"But I don't want to die."

"No, we never do. And isn't that strange? I mean, of everything in this world, only death is solid, is something tangible. We fight over abstract concepts, over ideas. We inflict pain, we kill, we love and we destroy for things that simply do not exist."

"B- but, no!"

The man looked up at Ralph sharply, and Ralph shut his mouth, backing away.
"Ralph," the man said. "In a hundred years, where will you be? Where will I be? Where will anyone today be? Dead."

"But-"

"It's no wonder that mankind has evolved and became so screwed up. Their lives have no meaning, because even conciousness is abstract. The idea of life, of pain, are simply brain signals, yes? So mankind does grasp onto these concepts, these ideas, and hang onto them for dear life. Hang onto them, for if they let go, they'll be swept into oblivion."

Ralph backed away from him, stumbling over the sleeping people. They began to awake.

He backed into the strange tarp-covered bulk.

Their captor pulled back his sleeve and glanced at his watch. "Very soon, now."

"Wha- wha?" a woman asked, sitting up sleepily.

For a instant between dream and reality, there was a single, blissful moment of complete amnesisa.

It passed.

Ralph was shaking his head. "There has to be another way."

"Another way?" the man asked, then laughed. "I asked myself the same question a few years ago."

"And-?"

"An angel appeared to me, Ralph. A beautiful, shimmering angel, with wings of dossamer and eyes like a whirling storm. He told me what to do, Ralph. He told me what to do."

Ralph slowly sank to his knees, and as he did, the tarp from the bulk began to pull off.

Beneath the tarp was a large metal device, filled with wires and tubes. Ralph had seen them in movies.

"Holy shit," he said.

"Four years," the man said. "A lot of travel. I had to build at least ten of them. Several places in coastal cities around North America. I wanted to do the world, but I'm only one man."

One of the women screamed.

Ralph turned and ran for the man, anger, like red fire, pouring in behind his eyes.

The man didn't reach for his gun.

Ralph grabbed him by the throat and began to squeeze. "You... asshole! You fucking asshole! Why?!"

"The angel said-"

"Why'd you listen?!"

"So I'll never have to grieve again, Ralph. None of us do."

He pulled back his sleeve and glanced at his watch. "Very soon now, Ralph."

Ralph was aware of tears. "No, he said. There's always time. There's always time to save people."

The man looked at him. "Is there?"

There was a bright flash.

And then nothing.