Chapter 14: Interviewing an Angel

Well, I tried to be good. Really I did. I wanted to spare my sister the embarrassment of having her brother subject her to more of his aberrant lifestyle, but I just couldn't help myself. I mean, put any self-respecting teenager who's been doing without for the last half dozen years in bed with two beautiful women and just see what happens. I dare you.

What happens is, he thinks he's being clever, and while the sister tries to sleep on the nearby couch he slides under the covers, after an appropriate amount of time kissing and cuddling above them, and proceeds to munch on his two girlfriends. Pardon me; they don't like it when I call them 'girlfriends'. Supposedly I'm saving that for when I get back and find someone my own age. However, when I'm going down on someone I figure that gives me the right to call them whatever I want while I'm down there.

Needless to say, my nocturnal activities didn't go unnoticed. I really tried to keep it quiet, but the combination of fumbling under the sheets, the moaning of my bedmates, and the general wafting of certain female scents around the room left no hope for continued secrecy. About the time I felt Shani's legs wrap around my head I heard the muffled sounds of Cate sighing, followed by her grumbling as she headed out to sleep in the small living room area.

The girls didn't let this unfortunate event dissuade us, especially not Shani, who was grinding my face into her crotch while her head thrashed and she was taking the Lord's name in vain. Allison wasn't much quieter either. She was busy feasting on Shani's breasts, plowing her own soggy quim, and preparing for her own ravishment. Neither one seemed particularly concerned with maintaining the proper decorum.

It was only after I'd managed to do proper service to both women and crawled back up from under the blankets—my face literally dripping with their appreciation—that I could confirm that Cate was no longer there. But by then I was too busy receiving my return blowjob to care overly much what my sister was doing at that moment. Needless to say, we all went to sleep happy campers that night. Well, everyone except Cate, I guess.

The next morning I awoke in a very good mood, well refreshed, energetic and raring to go. It didn't hurt that I woke up holding a couple of lovely breasts while their mates lay nestled against my chest, various sundry hairs tickling my nose. I just had to proceed to tickle the two women responsible awake, which no doubt alerted the whole household. Aside from her strange bedroom furnishings, Allison also had an extra-large shower, which we all appreciated. I especially appreciated the dual-blowjob I received and they appreciated the shampoo I gave them, both the fruity bottled one and the special 'protein' based one I provided them with.

When we finally made it out to the living/kitchen area, everyone was awake. Seemed they'd been waiting for us to finish so they could get access to the shower. I hadn't stopped to consider that at the time. My father simply smiled, seemingly unperturbed. Mom rolled her eyes theatrically, and Cate simply didn't say anything to me. Again.

Our folks were nice enough to allow Cate to make a dignified exit to the shower before them. My father proceeded to tell me that it wasn't very nice of me to humiliate my sister with my incessant moaning all night long, or to subject her to a similar treatment in the morning as well. I hung my head but couldn't keep the shit-eating grin off my face for long. The girls weren't much better. Soon my parents and we were telling a series of ribald jokes and laughing over scones and jam with orange juice. Cate didn't look pleased when she eventually came out bearing a bedraggled expression and a wet head. Allison directed her towards the hair dryer while I fixed her some breakfast.

Those two things managed to make up for a fair amount, and she proceeded to grace us with a grunted acknowledgement. However, we couldn't keep the grins off of our faces. While my parents proceeded with their shower, the rest of us headed back into the bedroom to get dressed for the day.

We had agreed to meet at a little neighborhood café, so there were a lot of people when we arrived. I was glad to see everyone, still maintaining my happy mood from both my dual dual-blowjobs as well as my relief from Shani's revelations concerning Cate last night. However, that was soon dissipated when Patricia handed me the morning newspaper.

Frowning, I opened it, looking for Mr. Rodriguez's byline. When I found it, I began reading to the assembled crowd while someone else ordered our food.

"'Continued Angelic Events In Our Fair City, ' by Albert Rodriguez," I began. "Our little angel—the one that I reported has been the talk of the town for the last several days—has been busy since yesterday's report. It seems he decided to do a little miracle while he was at it. He apparently astounded local medics, assembled police and hospital staff when he resurrected someone who was considered dead on the scene of a heart attack. I admit it was an impressive event. The man had been unconscious and unresponsive for some 30 minutes. While the medics were still doing CPR, the local police had written the man off, assuming there was no way to revive him. It was then this 'Angel' walked up, leaned over and proceeded to revive the man. The man simply sat up, wide awake, surprised by the attention around him. Not only that, the hospital could later find no signs of any brain damage due to the extended time without blood flow to his brain. His wife and children certainly think of it as a miracle, as does the ever increasing crowd of eager fans throughout the city. Previously this group was congregated in the French Quarter, where he seems to be spending most of his time, but as he's started to spread his magic angel dustings around town, so too have his fans spread as well. It's now possible to find them throughout the city, and it seems that everyone is eager to talk about him, although few admit to ever having seen him, much less having talked to him.

"Still, as a reporter, one has to ask for more credible evidence of a miracle than a few ad hoc reports. Apparently he has already performed the easiest miracle, reforming lost prostitutes. I am looking forward to his next miracle; say curing lepers or turning water into wine. If any of you have any spare lepers lying around, I am sure he would be interested, as they are hard to come by here in New Orleans.

"Technically, the only remaining leper colony in the entire United States is nearby in Baton Rogue, Louisiana. However, he's proving to be such a focus of interest, we hate to lose him for even a day trip there, so if anyone is driving by Baton Rouge, and happens to pick up a leprous hitch-hiker, maybe you could bring him by, just to give our friendly angel something to do while he's here in the city—besides saving attractive young ladies, that is.

"He is also not above taking suggestions. After my report yesterday, he apparently reconsidered his stance on equal opportunity disciples. After leaving his hotel room at 'Le Sursis Petits'," I read, telling everyone he'd listed our chosen hotel by name, "he was approached by a young man quoting scripture. Apparently not liking hearing his scripture secondhand, he rejected the man out of hand. However, when a second man approached him, he took him into his little group. Apparently he takes after many Christian leaders in recent years in his appreciation of the benefits of both men and women."

"I can't believe he made that kind of statement in a city with such a large Catholic population," Peter stated, sounding angry at the affront to the church.

"I can't believe he made that statement about me," I replied, just as emphatically. "Hell, I'm not a public figure, asking for attention in order to sell something. I'm an under aged private citizen!" With that off my chest, I continued on.

"Apparently our angel is not looking for his fifteen minutes of angelic fame. I managed to speak briefly with him. He stated that 'I am certainly no angel, ' apparently referring to his behavior with his many female followers. I'm looking forward to his next staged event, as he's certainly providing the city with significant free entertainment."

I lowered the paper with a heavy sigh.

'Wow, that's pretty harsh, ' Anh stated, leading to some quick whispered translations for Peter and my family.

"I think he's trying to provoke you, Alex," Allison cautioned.

"I agree, it certainly sounds like he's trying to egg you into doing something," Shani suggested, "as he seems to make a point of mentioning several private facts about you. Especially when he chose to cast aspersions about your character."

"I think you're right," I conceded with a sigh. "Still, I feel like I should say something. Apparently talking to your friends last night didn't do much," I told Peter, glancing at him to see if he had any ideas.

"I got the word out," he protested, but then he seemed to reconsider his response. "You know, it sounds like most of that info was from before we got the word out."

I considered that. He had me there. "Just how organized is this whole Watcher movement?" I asked, trying to figure out how exposed we were—both the women around me, myself and my family, and also the Watchers themselves.

"Quite," he responded simply. "We can't get enough information about you. Given how much you keep moving around, we have to communicate just to figure out where you're going to be. However, we've also made it a point not to try to interfere or be obnoxious. We figured you were looking for specific people, and we knew we weren't the ones you were looking for." I had to frown at that thought, as it wasn't what I had been trying to convey.

"It's not that I'm not interested in you. Clearly, there are more Watchers, so they'd form a larger contingent of whatever I'm going to build. What's more, the Watchers seem to have a genetic component, so theoretically they'd pass whatever they have to their children. Thus it would make sense to get everyone organized and figure out what you all have going for you. However, it's just a matter of priorities. The people seeking me out demand my attention, and I can do something very specific for them, so it just makes sense to concentrate on them initially, especially since they've given us most of our information that we have about this whole thing. I hope you understand that I haven't been slighting you purposefully?"

"Yeah, thanks for explaining it like that," Peter said, looking relieved, though he was already pretty happy with himself that he'd been selected. "I'm sure everyone else will be glad to hear that as well."

"Look, I'm interested in meeting this one other guy watcher. Not 'guy watcher, ' I guess I'm going to have to watch my language here, but I think you know what I mean. Anyway, let's set up a quick meeting. I want to see if we can find out any more of what's involved with you two if we can. How about we meet at your coffee shop in the Quarter?"

"Are you sure?" Peter asked, looking doubtful. "There's bound to be a lot of people looking for you in the Quarter now after all this publicity."

"Yeah," I replied, finally making up my mind to take a definitive stand, "as long as we keep it low-key and quick it shouldn't be so bad. I'm not afraid of your people," I tried to explain. "It's just that I'm loath to face any unnecessary publicity at this point, while we're still trying to figure out what's going on. I'm not prepared to explain myself to the media when I don't have anything meaningful to tell them."

"I'll give him a call," Peter answered excitedly, his face lighting up at the thought at being able to include his friends, "and his name is David Samuels."

"David Samuels," I said, trying to remember the name as Peter hurriedly began calling. "Thanks, Peter, I think this will help us out a lot."

I turned and regarded Cate, expecting some input from her, since it was her theories that were driving this discussion now, but while she seemed to be actively following the conversation, she didn't seem prepared to say anything at the moment, so I didn't press it, deciding to switch topics instead. "So what's the current thinking?" I asked everyone else as I scanned their faces, trying to spot whether anyone might have any definitive ideas. "What should be our response to Mr. Rodriguez? Confront him or just disappear into the woodwork?"

"I'm not sure. I'd hate to see you get into any trouble," my mother responded, sounding worried about me. "It sounds like he's trying to make you look bad, so I'd stay as far from him as possible."

"Yeah, but sometimes it's best to tackle a problem head on, rather than avoiding it," Dad pointed out, rubbing his chin as he considered different options. "Usually a problem avoided is one that'll come back and bite you in the ass later."

"That's a good point," Patricia said, glancing from my father to me—even though she couldn't look directly at me. "He's clearly trying to get you to react, so he's just going to keep printing more and more fanciful stories the longer you ignore him." I paid attention to her in this regard, since she had more experience dealing with media types than the rest of us. If anyone knew how they thought, hopefully she would.

'I think you should address him directly, ' Anh advised, even though she didn't make any outward motions, merely sitting serenely in her place. 'Trust your judgment. It'll guide you well. I believe you already know what to do, you just aren't aware of it yet.'

"You know, Anh, for all your mysticism, you always seem to have a good point," I replied out loud, causing everyone to turn to her trying to figure out what she said. As everyone began whispering, trying to discover what had been said, I came to a final decision. "OK then, it's settled. I'll talk to him."

"I suspected as much," Allison responded, handing me something even as Patricia explained to the others what Anh had advised. When I looked I saw it was one of those pre-paid cell phones you see sold in stores. "It's untraceable," she explained, "I always keep a few handy because I'm very familiar with underground suspect behavior and how to respond to it," she told me with a sneaky little smile. I smiled back as I made the call.

"Hello, Rodriguez speaking," he answered once I'd gotten through to him, sounding harried and distracted.

"Good morning, Mr. Rodriguez, after reading your latest article I thought we should try and have another little talk."

"Alex? Is this my mysterious Angel Alex?" he asked, sounding quite interested. It was clear that, as harried as he may have been, he put aside all his other concerns as soon as he realized he had me on the line. That, more than anything else, told me to be very cautious, as it intimated that exposing me was his top priority at the moment, and that he wasn't treating it in the jocular manner his news reports suggested.

"It is indeed, although I really dislike that name as I'm not religiously affiliated and bear no Divine attributes."

"Hold on a second," he said while he proceeded to shuffle around. I was sure he was turning on whatever recording device he carried with him. "Well, that's what everyone is calling you, and you're the one raising people from the dead," he replied, getting back to my response.

"No one calls the paramedics Divine," I countered.

"They do when they're newsworthy," he pointed out with a touch of humor to his voice. "I guess you're too young to remember the first open heart surgery case, most of the news reports referred to it as a 'miracle of science'."

"Good point. I'll try to bear that in mind, but it's really not applicable. There's a big difference between describing an event 'miraculous' and calling someone, who explicitly tells you he's not, an 'Angel'. Could you please refrain from spreading disinformation? I find it very disingenuous. I'd appreciate it if you could just convey that I'm only an ordinary kid that has no claims to any otherworldly powers?"

"Ah, you classify yourself as a 'kid' still. I assume that means you're still in school. But most college students are anxious to distance themselves from their childhoods so I assume you must be younger than that?" he pressed before relenting a little, perhaps trying to weasel further information out of me. "But I can do that," he conceded. "So how did all these stories get started then?"

"They saw some things that should have been private that appeared more impressive than they actually were."

"Oh, is that all?" He replied skeptically, again with a humorous hint in his voice. "Like raising people from the dead, I suppose?"

"He wasn't dead," I repeated slowly, emphasizing each word.

"I guess you'd know, since I'm assuming your omnipotent?" he joked, which surprisingly I took to be a good sign. It showed he wasn't taking everything I said quite so seriously. Either that or he was trying to goad me into saying something he could misconstrue.

"I think you mean 'omniscient'," I corrected him, well aware that a newspaper reporter with years of experience would know which words to use in which circumstances.

"Ah, not only a student but a star student as well?" he positively cackled in delight. "Probably a product of a Catholic education as well?" he cackled in glee. "This gets better all the time."

"Maybe they only think it's miraculous that a student can be smart nowadays?" I responded, hoping to keep him talking so I could figure out what his ultimate angle was. I really wanted to know whether he had any plan to report this story honestly or not.

"Good point. Mind if I use that line in the next article?"

"Would it make any difference if I did?" I asked pointedly.

"Probably not," he laughed, "but I want to make sure I get your language correct. I wouldn't want to be sued by God for misconstruing his words."

"I think the devil has better lawyers," I replied, growing a little more comfortable and relaxed with this little verbal sparring. While I was well aware we were both dancing around the issues, trying to get each other to admit what we were trying to hide, the fact that he was willing to admit that he wasn't above hiding things seemed like a break, as it showed he was willing to be honest with me.

"So give me an example of something someone might have seen that could have been misunderstood?" he asked, quite reasonably.

"I think the common thread is several women collapsed to their knees upon meeting me, purely for non-theological reasons," I tried to explain. "I think they all took that to mean they were praying to me or something."

"Interesting," he said, sounding intrigued by what that might imply. "But moving on, what about the reports of a foreign woman speaking in tongues with you and calling you a 'Great Spirit'?"

"Another simple misperception," I argued. "I was merely speaking to her in Vietnamese. Since most people aren't familiar with it, and since most people assume that all young people are idiots, no one could believe I'd know the language."

"A student who studies Vietnamese?" he said, sounding disbelieving. "What, are you studying for a civil service exam in 1962?"

"No, I've got a Vietnamese aunt who taught me when I was a youngster. When I met the woman in question, the one on the street, not my aunt," I corrected myself, "she was so surprised she called me an 'amazing spirit', meaning that I had a unique attitude, not that I was a minor Asian Deity." I was hoping that, between the Catholic school and the Vietnamese aunt, I'd potentially given him enough misdirection that he wouldn't be likely to track me down. I hoped anyway.

"That sounds reasonable," he conceded. "So you don't mind if I write this up as a case of popular mass hysteria?" he asked before pausing. "It's not quite as compelling a story from that aspect, though."