"It's better this way..."
The door into the diner made a very unique noise. It wasn’t the expected ring of a bell or the creak of an old door, desperate for a squirt of oil - it was just a noise. To that end though, everyone that worked there, as well as a few of the regular patrons, knew the sound very well.
It was morning and the sun was just reaching above the building opposite, shining onto the front façade of the diner. It meant that when Angelica arrived for her shift, she was outlined with a golden halo in the shape of the doorway. The sight was made all the more heavenly by the reflective nature of her pure white hooded cloak. She paused, as she always did, just for a fraction of a second on the threshold, like she knew about the sun’s effect, and then stepped through into the establishment.
“Where have you been, Angelica?”
Aristotle, the overweight owner and head chef of the diner, called through from the kitchen. Leaning forward to see through the serving hatch set into the wall behind the counter was starting to give him back pain. Admittedly, the large proportion of his 22 stone bulk pulled him forwards when given the opportunity, and straightening up again was the main cause of the discomfort.
“Have I ever let you down, Aristotle?” Angelica flashed him a smile that pushed aside any agitation and placed her bag behind the counter. In what felt like a single rotation, with a flourish she removed her cloak and tied an apron around her waist. Most people that saw it happen had their eyes glued to the beautiful young woman herself - when they did turn to look at the cloak, they only just had time to see gravity settle it into inertia.
“Let me down, no,” the large cook admitted, “but you have been known to cut it close.” He gently shook his palate knife at her, flicking warm grease in her direction. As was always the case, not one single drop of it landed - Aristotle was amazed that it never did, but never brought it up.
“Oh Aristotle,” she started sweetly, “do you think I would dare run the risk of letting Norman down?”
She gestured at the septuagenarian sat at the counter, in the same spot every day for over 8 months, since his wife had passed away. She stepped back out into the diner and planted the most gentle graze of her lips on Norman’s cheek.
“Good morning Norman. Do you think I would ever let you down?”
“Heavens me no, Angelica! Aristotle knows full well you’re the only reason I come here!”
“Precisely!” Angelica affirmed, as she gathered up a few sauce bottles and napkin dispensers from the tables to refresh.
Aristotle threw his hands in the air in mock defeat, spreading yet more spots of grease around his already slippery kitchen, and returned to his stove top.
Angelica brought the sauce bottles and napkin dispensers across to the counter and set them out with the intention of replenishing them. Norman, not much more than an arm’s length from where Angelica was dutifully at her work, leaned across and pleaded with her in a hushed tone.
“Could I trouble you to be an angel for me?” He pointed at the still full coffee cup sat in front of him on the counter.
Angelica’s face lit up at the suggestion, “Oh, that’s no trouble for you, Norman!” She gave him the broadest smile - all perfect white teeth and bright eyes.
Norman put a finger to his lips, indicating for her to lower her voice and peered past her left shoulder, to make sure Aristotle wasn’t watching or listening.
“Aristotle made the coffee this morning, when you were running behind and…” he tailed off and hoped she took his meaning.
“Oh!” Angelica said, instantly understanding. She looked at the coffee cup, pulled a mock face of disgust and removed the offending drink. She then stepped across to the mostly still full coffee pot, checked for herself that Aristotle wasn’t looking and emptied the contents down the sink. She set about making another batch, with a new filter and freshly ground beans.
“Whilst it’s very true that you are the reason I keep coming back to Aristotle’s diner,” Norman had retained his hushed and conspiratorial tone, “you’re coffee forms part of that! It’s like nectar from heaven, with a mule’s kick for good measure!”
Angelica beamed that smile at him again, “It would make me very happy to be your angel, Norman!”
Upon hearing the machine finish its percolations, Angelica turned and started to pour Norman’s fresh cup. She caught a brief glimpse of her reflection in the pot and breathed a sigh of relief that no-one had ever seen the crimson colour each entire eyeball was. It was only visible in her reflection though. Mirrors were not her friend; a tricky concept in a 50’s themed diner.
At that moment, Aristotle put his head round the kitchen door and, in an effort to maintain the fresh coffee charade, Angelica missed the cup and poured molten coffee all over her hand. Both Norman and Aristotle called out in alarm simultaneously, but it was 3 full seconds before Angelica realised the cause of their shouts.
“Oh, shoot!” She exclaimed, almost nonchalantly, and placed a napkin over the wet area of her hand as Aristotle ran across to her. Norman was also off his stool, as fast as his elderly form could manage, but Aristotle gestured for him to stay whilst he surveyed the damage.
Aristotle guided Angelica across to the sink and ran the cold tap fast, pushing Angelica’s hand under the rushing, ice-cold liquid.
“You hold that hand there, I’ll go get some ice!” Aristotle was the owner, chef, first aider and also the one most likely to try and avoid a lawsuit from the HSE.
“It’s fine, Aristotle!” Angelica called after him, as he shuffled and wobbled his way to the walk-in freezer, returning with a handful of ice wrapped in a towel that, somewhat uncomfortably, Angelica suspected used to be white.
Angelica withdrew her hand from the faucet and, to Aristotle’s surprise, the remaining droplets of water evaporated instantly.
“That hand must still be boiling,” Aristotle started, “you’ll probably need to go to A&E.”
At that moment, it seemed like Angelica’s very own angel entered the diner - in the form of Nurse Nadia, complete with her infant sidekick Baby Nevis in the pram. Nadia was on maternity leave, due to complications Nevis had experienced when born, but she was back doing single observation days at the hospital in preparation for her return to work.
Aristotle gestured for her attention, but Norman was already halfway to Nadia.
“Come quick, Nadia!” Norman’s tone was more panicked than was necessary, “I’ll keep an eye on Nevis for you.”
Nadia un-looped her scarf from around her neck and threw it on the table in front of her, before moving behind the counter. Norman assumed her place behind the pram handle and made a combination of gurgling noises and gurning faces at Nevis. To be fair, Nevis did much the same back at Norman, although less deliberately.
“What seems to be the problem, Angelica?” Nadia asked, although given the way Aristotle was staring at and cradling the waitress’s hand, complete with its dirty and cold compress, it seemed fairly obvious. “Burned?” she enquired.
“Horrifyingly so!” spluttered Aristotle, “The coffee was scalding and the poor girl’s hand evaporated the cold water we ran over it!”
Nadia lifted the greyish towel and took a good long look at Angelica’s hand. It looked perfectly normal. Aristotle started and was first to speak, his tone inquisitive. “It looks fine?”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Nadia affirmed.
Aristotle looked at Angelica’s face, expecting her to be wincing, but her countenance was as bright as ever.
“You worry too much, Aristotle!” she chided him gently, “I’m fine!”
“You’re sure it’s okay?” Nadia enquired and placed a couple of fingers on the suspect area. “I can’t feel anything more than a gentle warmth.” Aristotle repeated the same action and nodded in silent agreement. He clearly wasn’t sure and kept looking at her hand, but half turned as if to return to the kitchen.
“Aristotle,” Nadia caught the retreating chef’s attention, “could you get me the usual please? Wheat toast, poached egg white and a dry-fried mixed veg rosti?” She paused, then added with a wink, “Maybe Angelica can rustle up a piece of peach pie to go with it?”
“Oh, shoot!” Angelica said again, “The peach pie! I’ll fetch that straight away.” She turned back as she started toward the kitchen, “You want coffee with that, Nadia?”
“I’ll get that for you,” she smiled and nodded in Norman’s direction, “I’ll sort Norman a cup too.”
“Thanks Nadia,” Angelica called over her shoulder, her voice fading as she moved further away, “You’re a doll!”
When Angelica returned, order was restored - Norman was back on his stool, a fresh cup of Angelica’s coffee in front of him, and wearing a worried expression on his face. Nadia was sat at her table, absent-mindedly rocking Nevis’s pram back and forth.
An additional patron had arrived and was sitting in the far corner with an open laptop in front of him. Angelica gave a puzzled frown and moved towards the new customer. She made no move to produce her customary order pad and stubby pencil.
“Isaiah?” she enquired, “What are you doing here today?” Her voice carried a worried undertone that she failed to mask.
Isaiah lifted his head, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he did so.
“I had some work to finish…” he tailed off as he saw who had asked the question, “Oh. Hi Angelica,” he stammered, but didn’t continue.
“It’s Tuesday, Isaiah,” Angelica’s tone was unusually curt and brusque, taking Isaiah aback somewhat, “Mondays and Fridays are your days to come here.”
“I…I…” he stammered again, “I had a paper due and figured I would come here to get some work done, instead of being stuck at home.” He looked down at the table like the chastised teenager he probably felt, “Could I get a cup of coffee please?” He looked at her over the rim of his glasses. Those are some serious puppy-dog eyes, Angelica thought.
“But you always have tea?” Her firm tone was verging on commanding.
“I know, but I’ve been up all night working and I need…” Angelica didn’t give Isaiah the chance to finish his sentence this time.
“I’m getting you tea, Isaiah. Coffee will only dull your reasoning abilities and we all know that your work on socio-economic factors affecting Eastern Bloc countries during the cold war is of the highest calibre.”
It was Isaiah’s turn to look puzzled, “How did you know that…?” But Angelica was already gone, returning moments later with a pot of tea and a mug. She quickly added a jug of milk and a sugar dispenser.
Isaiah said nothing, but stared after her a little longer than he probably should. Love will do things like that - Angelica had a soft spot for Isaiah too, but she didn’t do the whole ‘love’ business.
Angelica returned to her replenishment chores, casting the occasional glance at her few customers, taking particular note of Norman and Nadia taking their coffee. Nadia could drink her coffee boiling hot and Angelica had refilled her cup before Norman even took his first sip; he preferred his ‘just drinkable’, he had declared. Aristotle came and went with Nadia’s healthy cooked breakfast, collected a bottle of water on his way back to the kitchen and promptly disappeared again.
Angelica instinctively looked up from what she was doing just in time to see the most annoying customer walk in. “Oh good lor…″ she began, but was drowned out by the sound of the door.
“Dinah in the diner!”
The source of the noise, which miraculously did not wake Nevis up, was Dinah - a very obnoxious regular who made a point of coming in only to scream that stupid phrase every time. Angelica was not a fan; she had a feeling that Dinah’s companion, whom she dragged in daily, wasn’t either.
Dinah was in her early 20’s and interned at a big marketing firm. They paid her virtually nothing and it was only her father’s rapidly dwindling fortune that kept in hair dye (this week it was pink!) and expensive lunches at the exclusive restaurant on the corner. Dinah believed she was going places - Angelica suspected she needed to come down at least two octaves before that had any chance of coming to fruition.
The companion was Tej (real name Terrence and you could see why he changed it, thought Angelica) and he was quieter, thankfully. Not that he could get a word in edgeways, even if he wanted to. He worked in the next building over, in the post room, and probably had a crush on the hippyish nature that Dinah tried ever so hard to put out. Angelica figured he was probably better without her, but they were a funny pair.
“Can I get a coffee please, Angelica?” Dinah thrust her over-sized travel mug at the usually buoyant waitress. “Did you realise that your name has, you know, the word ‘angel’ in it?”
Angelica was facing away from Dinah when she rolled her crimson eyes, spying her reflection in the coffee pot again.
“Yes Dinah,” Angelica started as she turned to hand the travel mug back, “spelling my own name was an early success for me.” Too much sarcasm? thought Angelica and then inwardly corrected herself - you can never have too much sarcasm.
“Yeah, well…” Dinah started, obviously flustered by Angelica’s reply. Angelica didn’t stop though.
“Did you realise, Dinah, that your voice is, you know like, one of the most annoying noises on the face of this planet?” Angelica smiled sweetly with all those teeth again.
Nadia’s back was turned, so no-one saw her smile; Isaiah had his pods in and his face buried deep in his laptop and didn’t hear anything; Norman held a hand to his mouth and coughed away the laugh he couldn’t suppress.
Tej wasn’t so lucky. He began to snort a laugh but was quickly checked by Dinah’s elbow, jabbed hard into his ribs. An uncomfortable silence settled over the diner, as all the laughs died away and Dinah struggled to think of a comeback. Only the very faint hiss of heavy metal sounds from Isaiah’s corner broke the quiet.
“Come on Tej,” Dinah said as she turned away from the still smiling Angelica, “we’re out of here.’
“I’m getting my smoothie, Dinah.” Tej sounded almost authoritative for once, like he’d seen a light he was previously unaware of.
“Hurry it up, Tej,” Dinah’s now less commanding tone didn’t abate, “I’m not hanging around.”
“Have you got that new smoothie flavour I’ve been waiting for please Angelica?” he asked.
“The guava, blueberry and lemon grass limited release?” Angelica managed to feign the excitement she knew Tej had for the long-awaited beverage.
“That’s the one!” Tej beamed at her.
“Give me a minute. They arrived yesterday and I put them in the fridge in anticipation of you stopping by.” Angelica headed to the kitchen, leaving the awkward silence in her wake.
In reality, Angelica was gone for just over two and a half minutes. However, when she returned, holding the guava smoothie, Dinah and Tej were gone and a small pile of money was sat on the counter.
“Where did Tej go?” Angelica asked Norman, not really bothering to concern herself with Dinah.
“Oh, they took off.” Norman replied, taking a sip of his now temperature-ready coffee. “Tej poured himself a takeaway coffee just before Dinah dragged him out of here. He left the money on the counter for you. The young lad in the…” he tailed off at the sight of her intense look.
Angelica said nothing, but whipped her head round to look at the now close to empty coffee pot. Norman started as he saw her; surely that would have given most people whiplash?
Angelica put the smoothie on the counter and started towards the door quickly, muttering to herself. “Oh, no no no no no! That’s not right, not today!”
“Angelica?” Norman called after her, although she wasn’t hearing him, “What’s the matter?”
As she reached the window and looked out, searching the sea of commuters walking past the diner, she spotted Dinah’s hair first. She quickly saw Tej next, walking beside her…drinking from his takeaway cup. Angelica turned from the window and took small slow steps back towards the counter, shaking her head and muttering again, “Well, that’s it. The die is cast.” Norman was taken aback by her air of finality and turned to enlist Nadia’s support.
“Nadia…” he quickly stopped talking. It looked like the poor girl had fallen asleep, chin in her hand. It seemed that Nevis was similarly still in a state of slumber - that’s what they say, thought Norman, sleep when they do.
The eerie quiet that settled over the diner was suddenly broken by the sound of screeching brakes and smashing glass from outside. Norman got off his stool, again as quickly as he could, and headed over to the window to see what was causing the commotion. Aristotle peered out through the serving hatch and saw Norman moving across the dining area swiftly.
“What’s going on out there?” he called, but Angelica still wasn’t hearing anyone and Norman was clearly focused on making the window. As Aristotle wobbled his way over to the window, he passed the preoccupied Angelica and heard a shuffling of papers coming from Isaiah’s corner. Why is that young man here today? thought Aristotle, looks like he’s taking a sleep break from that paper Angelica’s been telling us about.
What Aristotle saw when he joined Norman at the window was horrifying. Two cars had clearly been involved in a minor prang, nothing doing really with both drivers stood around looking healthy. What didn’t look healthy were the two inert forms lying close together on the floor, one them sporting pink hair. Norman put a hand to his mouth in shock; Aristotle didn’t move at all, not even the features on his face.
Dinah had collapsed into the road, causing the two now damaged cars to come together to avoid her. Tej was flat out on the pavement, his spilt takeaway cup inches from his open, and very still, hand.
Norman was the first to speak, his voice cracking and shuddering as he struggled to get the right words together. “Are they d…?”
“Dead, Norman.” Angelica interrupted him. “Yes, they are very dead.”
“But how?” Norman blurted, “And why?” Aristotle started to turn around, but the sound of Norman crumpling to the floor like a piece of paper caught his attention instead. Aristotle didn’t need Nadia’s nursing training to know that Norman clearly wasn’t breathing - his eyes and mouth being wide open were something of a giveaway. As Aristotle opened his own mouth to ask the inevitable question, Angelica spoke first.
“Yes, Aristotle. Norman is dead too.” She paused and looked across at the supposedly still sleeping nurse with the pram. “And Nadia as well.”
Now Aristotle moved, in the direction of the phone behind the counter. “We need to call for an ambulance!” he declared.
Angelica put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “There’s no point, Aristotle. They are both very dead.”
“What?” Aristotle shot out a hand of his own, to steady himself with the counter.
Angelica guided the over-sized cook to Norman’s stool and poured him a cup of coffee. He nodded a silent thanks and sipped the now barely tepid brew. He winced slightly at the silty texture of the beverage but drained the contents in one.
Angelica had gone to check on Isaiah and see if he wanted a fresh pot of tea. Isaiah was slumped on his laptop, his own eyes and mouth wide open. Angelica gasped in genuine shock before the vague smell of coffee caught up with her. Spying the dregs in his cup, she gathered up the crockery and lightly sniffed the minute contents. Coffee.
“Oh no, Isaiah!” Angelica was so very sad now, “I told you to drink tea! When did you even get this?” Then she remembered the smoothie and the pile of money on the counter. “That’s what Norman was trying to say - you came and got a cup whilst I was out back.” She shook her head in sadness. “It wasn’t your time, Isaiah.”
As she walked back towards the counter and a now very confused Aristotle, he couldn’t help but ask the inevitable questions.
“What wasn’t his time?” he asked tentatively.
“To die, of course.” Angelica’s tone was very matter of fact.
“And all these others were due that fate?” Aristotle gestured at the motionless forms in the diner and out in the street.
Angelica pulled a stool behind the counter and sat opposite Aristotle, folding her hands into her lap.
“Ultimately, yes. Slightly earlier than the universe intended, but not by much.”
Aristotle shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out in confusion. He said nothing though.
“Let’s start with the old, lonely man in his seventies, shall we?” Angelica spoke like she was reeling off a recipe. “He was originally set to die in around 5 months, of liver failure.”
“But Norman was healthy and loved coming here,” Aristotle had found his voice, “mostly to see you!”
“It was going to come on quickly. He would have suffered terribly and, as the only regular people in his life now that Norma is dead, we would have shared that suffering.” She paused as Aristotle gaped at her, “It’s better this way, for him and us.”
“And new parent and nurse Nadia?” Aristotle gestured with his thumb over his right shoulder.
“Her husband was going to leave her,” her eyes flicked briefly to the calendar on the wall, “next Thursday.”
“And she couldn’t have been a successful single, working parent?” Aristotle pleaded for sense from Angelica, before a thought struck him. “Wait, Neal was going to leave her?”
“He’s going to run off with his personal trainer.” She paused before she continued, “Nadia was set to die in about a year, of an overdose on antidepressants. A combination of post-natal depression and being left with the kid, she just wasn’t strong enough, I guess.”
Aristotle’s face registered instant horror as the gravity of mass death in his own diner could be about to get worse. “What of Nevis? Please tell me that he is okay?” He brought his hands together as if in prayer for the infant’s safety.
“Nevis is sleeping.” Angelica remained calm as she spoke, “I’ll alert the authorities before I leave.”
“So Neal will have to stay and be a father to the young boy?” Aristotle enquired.
“No, he still leaves.” Angelica’s indifference to the situation was frustrating Aristotle. He said nothing, so Angelica went on.
“Social Services will have him adopted to a very loving family, who raise him to be a fine young man. He will pass away peacefully in his eighties, surrounded by five generations of his own family.”
“How do you know that?” Aristotle couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The stress of it all was getting to him and he instinctively massaged the area over his heart. “The boy isn’t even 12 months yet!”
“I know these things.” Angelica smiled slightly and quickly tapped the side of her nose with a finger.
Aristotle looked puzzled all over again, but for a different reason this time. He knew that Angelica was kind of pale and thin, but her hand looked vaguely skeletal?
“If nature had taken its course, the couple that adopt Nevis wouldn’t have been available next year and he would have had a torrid time growing up. It’s better this way.” She repeated the words again.
Aristotle raised a finger, but Angelica cut him off. “Let’s get through this a bit quicker shall we. Dinah was going to die on New Year’s Eve, at a party. During the frivolities, she tumbles over a balcony and falls seven storeys to her messy death.” Angelica used air quotes around the word ‘tumbles’.
“Tumbles?” Aristotle raised an eyebrow as he asked, but then coughed a little as his discomfort grew.
“Probably pushed, you know how annoying she is.” Angelica disliked people - it came with the territory - but Dinah properly annoyed her. “Funny story - her hair is blood red at that time and the paramedics struggle to find where she is bleeding from.” Angelica allowed herself a slight chuckle at the ironies of life. Aristotle struggled to contain his disgust at her countenance toward death.
“Tej wasn’t supposed to go today,” Angelica went on, “but then he only had around 6 months left anyway. He gets run down by a bus, crossing the road to catch up with Dinah.” This clearly made Angelica angry, but she shook her head with that sadness again. “I told him that he could do better than ‘Dinah in the diner’!” she mimicked the dead girl’s catchphrase as she spoke. “Terrence was supposed to take the smoothie today.” She pointed to the still present bottle on the counter.
“And,” Aristotle started, gesturing up the diner, “is Isaiah dead too?” He almost didn’t want the answer.
Angelica couldn’t bring herself to respond, only close her eyes and nod. A single tear ran down her cheek and she sniffed slightly, “He is very much collateral damage. He was supposed to drive reform at the UN and improve living conditions across Eastern Europe.” She stopped and gathered herself before continuing, “He was destined for a bright future; bright for a lot of people.”
Aristotle had towed the line for too long now and needed some serious answers, “But how has this all come about today?”
“It was the coffee.” The matter-of-fact tone was back.
Aristotle glanced down at his own empty cup, coughed loudly and then struggled off his stool before deciding he was better off retaining it for support.
“But…but…” he stammered, “I made that coffee myself!”
“Aristotle.” Angelica chided, “Whilst I’m sure that brown mud brew that you make could easily be responsible for a death or two, people would actually have to drink it to really suffer.”
It was difficult to tell what was hurting Aristotle more at this point, but probably the deep burning sensation in the whole of his upper torso over some wounded feelings.
“No, Aristotle,” Angelica confirmed, “the coffee was my own special blend, designed to kill in a relatively short space of time. The strongest stuff is in the grounds.” She gestured at the diner owner as he fell to his knees, only the stool keeping him from falling to the floor.
“You?” he spluttered, saliva bubbles gathering at the corners of his mouth.
“Yes, me.” she clarified, “I work in the Grim Reaper’s special projects division.”
“The Grim Reaper?” Aristotle asked, somewhat superfluously, “All black cloaks, scythes and skeletons?”
“For the purposes of a proper infiltration,” Angelica stopped hiding her red eyes and raised her now skeletal hands up for Aristotle to see, “I have found that going in dressed as a goth, with bright red eyes and no flesh or skin can hamper your ability to blend in.”
Aristotle contorted his face in agony as the final throes of death reared their head and the impact of her words sunk in. “You have another job?!” He gasped out the words and gritted his teeth in pain, as Angelica came around the counter to him.
“Oh, Aristotle,” Angelica cradled his head in her hand and spoke softly, as if soothing an infant, “I have extinguished your life and a number of your best customers and all you can think about is how I moonlight as an Angel of Death?” She shook her head and tutted, “Priorities were always one of your biggest weaknesses…along with the chronic over-eating, alcoholism and a bizarre need to kick stranger’s dogs every now and again, at the park…” she tailed off and thought for a moment. “That last one is a bit odd, but the Gatekeeper guarding the entrance to the realm of eternal torment,” she pointed straight down towards the ground to label the point, “can explore that one in more detail.” She beamed now at the thought of infinite punishment - some days it was the only reason she could stand this dreadful place.
Aristotle’s eyes were rolling back into his head as he struggled out one last question.
“But…why…me?” he rasped the question between short breaths, “What cruel fate have you saved me from?”
“Why, death of course, silly!” Angelica struggled with all the questions sometimes - how this species ever became sentient was a mystery to her. “You were going to die in about 3 weeks anyway, of a massive heart attack following an explosion in the kitchen here. By taking you early, the diner is shut and sold before that happens - your family will be well compensated by the people that buy the diner.” She paused a moment, “A recently closed diner is more valuable than a pile of scorched rubble.”
Aristotle nodded slightly and barely whispered his last words. “It’s better this way.’” He groaned out one last breath - apparently, he held on just long enough to hear that his family would be okay.
Angelica stood and brushed her apron down without thinking, before tutting at herself and removing the cloth wrap and leaving it on the nearest table top. Retrieving her bag from behind the counter, she resumed her full human form to check that Nevis was still asleep, watching his little chest rise and fall rhythmically. Sleep, Angelica mused, looks peaceful - I wonder what it’s like?
As she stepped from the diner, she dialled the emergency services and requested they send police and social services to the diner. When she gave the address, the dispatcher advised that they already had an ambulance headed to that location.
“Oh, don’t bother with that,” Angelica said brightly, “just send 2…no, make that 3 coroner transports.”
Hanging up the phone, Angelica held the primitive device in her hand and cocked her head slightly as it disintegrated into nothing but dust. She took one last look back at the diner and faded herself away to nothing. She was sure the next assignment was right around the corner.
