“Kathleen.” Randall’s voice? Diaphanous vision. She could hardly keep her eyes open.
“Kathleen. Give me the coins.” Tidal blue water cold splashed on her hands. It felt good.
Other hands long slender, nails pearlescent touched her. Walnut leathered flesh. Corded tendons, pliant fingers thinly webbed, hypertrophic musculature. Hands capable of crushing, were now appraising parsing her soft flesh. Carefully elevating her from deviant vanilla leather seating stained now red with her blood. The Platinum Coins had cut her.
“Look away. To the East.” The angel commanded. “The River Arielle! Come now.”
She blinked away grainy visual refractions. Saw Level Three photochromic plate-glass falling, turquoise shards upon polar white marble floors. Acrid air saturated stinking of steel, copper, and strawberry. Archaic crumbling limestone interior walls growing weaker. The very tall one spun her pushed her anti-clockwise down dark iron teak steps.
Kathleen James ejected like a 60’s pinball machine playing piece through the Arielle Level One Exit. Fresh air. People. Outside! Are Edward, Angelique, and Randall with the people?
The River Arielle glowed softly deeply past the asphalt parking, transmitting safety. Kathleen James turned to identify her savior. The Tower was definitely settling, falling into the earth, crushing the pretty green landscaping. Randall?
Randall her friend was built like a light, tight, battle-tank. All angles and edges: a liquid diamond edged stealth-fighter. But: Randall was far shorter in height than that one meeting her eyes from inside the portal of the sinking structure.
An androgynous entity dressed in simple garments soft silken alabaster luminescent. Her redeemer shone from within, like the lovely River Arielle she thought she would never again see. Look East the angel had told her. The lofty enigma which had cast her into the light, crossed muscular hands over its robust frame. Night winds stirred raven dark hair blue coal black.
The shining one’s prominent hairline had a ‘widow’s peak’ vee shape, definitely not Randall, whose physical perfection hadn’t included hair at his age. Definitely not Randall Osbourne. The being uncrossed, then straightened furrowed muscular limbs; turned palms toward Kathleen, aligned at waist level. Much tall. Not Randall…
The Platinum Coins. The ones that hurt her cut her mesmerized her mind. Likely the discs left with Edward C Fraser, Angelique’s Husband. Gone like Edward A James must be; he wasn’t outside. That left Angelique and Randall and her. If Kathleen could even find them.
Steadily gazing golden retinae elliptical vertical pupils gazing. Reading her thoughts. Golden Eyes comforted Kathleen wordlessly. The eyes and the night breeze explained.
The coins had seven stars with seven points. They were exactly like the spokes on the huge magnesium wheels of Joule, Edward James’s custom Hot-Rod Mountain-Motored Drag Car. With the Morrison Computer Cores alive and then some. Kathleen feared Joule. She’d hated Joule.
Kathleen knew Joule contained multiple personalities. One a simple metal machine soul. Another part of Joule felt warm a friendly parish priest. That third, the Witless Evil One.
Joule’s previous owner, Diane Roth knew about a Nameless One inside. Edward James hadn’t picked up on The Nameless One… Some folks couldn’t. They weren’t sensitive…
Golden Eyes nodded. There are many kinds. There is a Nameless One. There always are Nameless Ones. Like there are always rivers and mountains and nightime suns called stars.
Golden Eyes was growing shorter. Like the ancient tower… A dissolving angel of brilliance transfiguring into a featureless black blob. Kathleen could smell vanilla roses, chlorine bleach, and black flame fire.
Golden Eyes projected into the night: Kathleen. Goodbye.