Angel's Messiah (24 page)

“You’ve never had any sort of drink that left you with a milk moustache before?” John asked in astonishment.

“No.”

“Where have you been all your life?”

“I was brought up in a very isolated place. That’s why I was home-schooled.”

Gina took another sip and looked at John, who was smiling at her. Behind his eyes she could see he was masking pain.

“You’re not well, are you, John?” she said out of the blue.

His face dropped. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got something growing inside your head. You get blood noses sometimes, don’t you?”

“How could you know?” John whispered, looking to either side of the table. “I only found out about the tumour a few days ago. I went to the library today to do some research — hard facts, not Internet bullshit. You know, I wanted to find out more about the disease and possible treatments. It was the blood noses that led to the tumour being found.”

“Yet you took the time to be kind to a stranger, when you have much to be worried about,” Gina said.

“Just because I’ve been diagnosed with a brain tumour doesn’t mean I have the right to be a total arsehole when someone asks for help.”

“Have
you
asked anyone for help?” Gina asked.

“That’s why I went to the doctor, for help. I’ll be seeing a specialist on Monday to discuss more tests and an operation. Truthfully, the whole thing scares me to death.”

“Have you asked anyone else for help?”

“Gees,” John leaned back in his chair, a little wary now, “you’re not a bible-basher, are you?”

“Why would I want to bash a bible?” Gina asked, totally confused.

John laughed. “Okay, you really were brought up in relative isolation, weren’t you? What I meant was you’re not going to try to sell me God and Jesus and all the religious crap, are you?”

“No. I just thought I’d ask though. I’ve heard the power of prayer can work miracles. I’d like to find
someone
who believes in miracles.”

John’s nose began to bleed and he reached in his pocket for one of the many tissues he now carried with him. Gina felt particularly sad for John. He was young, nice and dying. In some ways he reminded her of a mix of her father and Uncle Drake. He had lots of potential.

He leaned forward, holding a tissue to his nose. “Gina, I sure could do with a miracle about now.”

Gina reached out and touched John’s free hand, which was resting on the table. His skin tingled where she touched it. She could feel the tumour through her touch, and told it to go away as it wasn’t welcome in his body. John’s nose stopped bleeding. Gina smiled at him, and he smiled back.

“You can have
my
miracle, John. I won’t be needing it.”

“Thanks Gina, I’ll hold you to that. I can’t wait to see the look on my specialist’s face when the next lot of tests show the tumour has disappeared,” he said half-heartedly, not really believing in miracles.

Gina laughed. “He’ll either be very surprised or blame faulty hospital equipment.”

“How long are you staying in town, Gina? I’d like to see you again.”

“I’m sorry, John, I’m leaving later today. I’m on a bit of a road trip to see the world, and all that. There’s so much to see and do, and not enough time. The world is still a big place, no matter what people think.”

John scrawled a phone number on a serviette and handed it to Gina.

“If you’re ever back in this neck of the woods give me a call. I’ll tell you all about how I beat this tumour thanks to your miracle, and exactly what the specialist said to try and explain my recovery.”

“It was nice to meet you, John.”

“Gina,” John began hesitantly, “why did you come into the library looking for books if you knew you were leaving today?”

“Why, to make a new friend of course,” Gina said. She touched John’s hand again, smiled and stood to leave. “You’ll have a long and happy life, John. Make the most of it.”

Gina left John sitting there and walked away. She’d given him the gift of life. He would never forget her or the miracle she’d performed with a simple touch, though he’d never see her again and have the opportunity to thank her personally. He would become one of her biggest supporters and tell all how a perfect stranger had changed his life.

After Gina left she thought it would have been nice to press her lips softly against his, just once. It would have been something pleasurable to remember him by.

The streets were crowded with late-afternoon shoppers. Gina had never seen so many people rushing about, jostling and pushing each other, snapping and complaining. It wasn’t a nice scene at all. She felt like she was trapped as she was pushed along in the same direction as the crowd. She saw stairs leading down from the street and took the opportunity to separate herself from the crowd by running down them into the subway. She leapt over the barrier at the bottom and fled to the ladies at the other end of the ticket holders’ area, locking herself in a cubicle. At least here it wasn’t crowded.

Gina figured that now all her social media accounts had been set up she would send messages to be displayed on those sites much the same way as she did everything, with a single thought.

Message to social media accounts:
It’s wonderful to love and be loved.

Gina laughed. The Internet was fun. So what if she didn’t access it the usual way. Who was to know? She sought her email account and found a number of new mail messages, all from the sites on which she’d created accounts, welcoming her. Nothing interesting there at all, but then it had only been twelve hours since she’d created the accounts and added her first message. There were bound to be more interesting messages soon enough.

Where shall I go now?
she thought.

Gina summoned a world globe and it floated in the air in front of her. She spun it around, faster and faster, until the colours and countries blurred. When it started to slow down she closed her eyes and pressed her finger against it, causing it to stop suddenly. She would go to whatever place was hidden under her fingertip.

Take me there.

Gina and the globe vanished. Later that day the cleaner was left wondering how someone had managed to escape from a locked cubicle.

18.
The Buzz

Message to social media accounts:
There is always hope.

Gina opened a cubicle door from another public toilet in another place. The ladies washing their hands were speaking English, though it was with a strange accent.

“Excuse me,” Gina said, “could you please direct me to the local hospital. I must visit someone and I’m lost.”

“My poor dear, you’re miles away. You should catch a taxi,” one of the two ladies said.

“I don’t mind walking if you could point me in the right direction, please.”

“Helen, we could drop her off on our way to Stuart’s. It would only be a ten minute walk from there,” the other woman said.

“Marilyn,” Helen whispered, “she could be an axe murderer for all we know.”

“Helen, she has no bags and I hardly think she has an axe shoved down her top.” Marilyn turned to Gina. “You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

“I don’t understand,” Gina said, perplexed. “Why would I murder an axe?”

The two ladies laughed.

“She’s obviously a comedienne, Helen. Granted, not a good one. If all her gags are like that one they’ll be what kills us. She won’t
need
an axe.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “Fine, Marilyn. We’ll drop her off, but you have to sit next to her to make sure she doesn’t stick a knife in my back.”

“My name is Gina, and I don’t understand why you would think I’d stick a knife in your back.”

“Gina, the world is not a safe place,” Helen said, “and I want to live to be very old.”

“Is ninety-eight old?” Gina asked.

“Considering no one in my family lives part eighty-seven, yes, that’s old,” Helen said.

“Then you shall live to ninety-eight,” Gina said smugly.

The two ladies laughed again. This girl was either very naive, very brilliant, or possibly both, though she could also have been a talented actress and was having them on.

“Come along, Gina,” Marilyn said, “we have places to go and people to see.”

It was only a short trip in their car — less than ten minutes — and Gina didn’t have much time to find out about the two women. When the car stopped Gina hesitated for a moment.

“Marilyn, please tell Stuart not to catch his usual bus tomorrow morning. He should catch a different one, just for a change.”

“Pardon?” Marilyn said.

“The bus will have an accident. Stuart should catch another,” Gina said, and opened the car door. “Thank you so much for the ride.”

Before Marilyn or Helen could ask Gina any questions she had gone, walking quickly in the direction of the hospital. The cars banked up behind the two ladies began tooting their horns to get them to move. Marilyn told Stuart of the strange conversation and he, being very superstitious, took Gina’s advice. The bus he usually caught collided with a fuel tanker. The fire from the resulting explosion killed everyone on board. Stuart believed it was a miracle he was alive.

Message to social media accounts:
Eden without the tree of knowledge is a true paradise.

Gina stopped at the hospital’s gift shop and bought all the helium balloons that said
Get Well,
before heading to the children’s ward. She could smell the sickness in the air and had difficulty keeping her composure. It was not God’s fault these children were ill, yet that didn’t make it any easier for these small, innocent souls that were suffering.

Little Mother talked about pain and suffering. There is too much of it in this world. It has to heal.

As she handed each child a balloon her fingers briefly touched their small hands and they tingled. She chatted to the children and asked them if they could make one wish, what would it be. All of them agreed that to be better again and home playing with their friends is what they’d wish for. Gina was glad their wishes were within her power to grant. In a day or so all of the children would be well. None of the doctors would be able to explain how, though the children would tell the story of the pretty lady with the balloons and it would become something of an urban legend.

Message to social media accounts:
Why do men feel the need to make war upon one another?

Gina travelled to another place, in another country. The language spoken here was familiar — French — but as Little Mother’s native tongue was English, everything she heard was translated back to English, and anything she said she’d hear in her head in English.

Message to social media accounts:
You must believe in yourself before you can expect others to do the same.

No matter where she went the problems seemed to be the same — hunger and famine, illness and disease, greed and hate, apathy and abuse, drugs and crime.

Message to social media accounts:
I bring a message. Do you know what it is?

Gina decided it was time to add a picture to her social media accounts. Not her real picture of course — she had to keep people guessing — but something she felt represented her and what she was about. She needed an avatar. Naturally she chose one of an angel.

Load to social media accounts:
angel picture.

Some places were harder to walk among than others, particularly those in Third World countries or poverty-stricken areas in developed countries. Nearly everyone had problems. Very few were content and happy. Most people were looking for
something
, though they didn’t know what it was.

They’re looking for me, if not our Father.

Message to social media accounts:
Hope.

Hospitals and hospices were difficult to visit. She could not save them all. It was not her job to heal all of the people. She was here to heal the world, and while the two overlapped to some degree, she needed to be careful about whom she chose to touch. People with good hearts, capable of much love, were always her priority. Yet in one hospital she was drawn to a young man who had tried to commit suicide after murdering his mother and sister.

A police guard sat to the side of the door. Gina stopped in front of him.

Message to social media accounts:
If a parent can love their child, they are also capable of loving another person’s child.

“You can’t go in there, Miss,” the policeman said.

“Why? He can’t hurt me.”

“He’s under police guard. Unless you’re a nurse or have authorisation you can’t go in there. He’s still a dangerous criminal.”

Gina touched the policeman’s shoulder and it tingled. “I think it would be all right if I visited with him for a few minutes. He needs my help.”

“Okay, Miss, but make it quick.”

The policeman went back to reading his magazine and Gina entered the room. A frail looking boy — he wasn’t even a man yet — of about seventeen was on the bed, arms bandaged and a drip delivering fluids. His food lay untouched. Even now it was plain this boy wanted to die.