Not Quite An Angel
By ralst
Part 15
Nikki had walked back to her flat, muttering about the injustice of death and the twisted little shits who ran the place, in something of a daze. The car crash, topped by Helen's rejection, had left her with a splitting headache and a strong desire to curl up in a dark corner and wait for reincarnation.
It should have been the happiest time of her death; there she was, a famous film maker, with women lined up to jump into her bed, and more money in her bank account than she'd be able to spend in two lifetimes. Yet she was miserable.
* Stop moaning, * said Thomas, his voice overly cheerful and reeking of heavenly superiority. * Thanks to me, your troubles have been averted. *
* You mean you've given me my old life back and promise never to talk to me again? *
* Better! * Irony really was wasted on angels. * I've chased off the 'bear mountain' and preserved Helen's virtue. *
Nikki laughed. * I think you're a bit late for that. *
* What? * There was a scuffling on the line, followed by a series of beeps and whistles. * No, I've checked, he's out of the picture. *
Nikki really couldn't be bothered to explain. Retrieving her keys, she quickly entered her, thankfully empty, flat and prayed that her conversation with the heavenly harbinger of gloom was at an end.
* Aren't you going to thank me? * Thomas asked.
* No. *
* But I stopped Helen from sleeping with him. *
* Whoopie-doo! *
Nikki ransacked her bathroom cabinet and came up with five aspirin and a throat lozenge. It wasn't much but, as the pounding increased with every word out of Thomas' gob, it would have to do. She threw the handful of aspirin to the back of her throat and began chugging water directly from the tap.
* You do realise that you should only take two of those at a time. * Nikki ignored him. * It says so on the box. *
Pulling her ruined shirt over her head, Nikki slumped down onto the couch, and let her eyes close and body relax. She'd had a shit day and the only thing, barring unwanted heavenly intervention, that could help was eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
* Nikki? Nikki, are you okay? *
The tall woman began to make tiny snoring noises.
* We still haven't discussed strategy, * he whined. * And I never told you how I dealt with that big oaf. *
As Nikki continued to sleep, Thomas cut communications and, in a huff, went to find Saint Peter and gloat about his latest intervention.
Helen finished picking up the last of her blouse's buttons, before slumping down onto her couch and letting out a disconsolate sigh. She had thought, when she'd first met Nikki, that her luck was about to change; her abilities as a writer were finally being taken seriously and she had a gorgeous and talented director eager for her charms. Then, within the space of one afternoon, everything came crashing down around her.
She'd well and truly ruined things with Nikki on the romantic front; and even if the woman was a complete lunatic, there was just something about her that made that realisation hurt. And with her actions, she'd no doubt also put pay to any chance of them working together; not that she thought Nikki vindictive, but she'd hardly want to spend months and months in her company after what had transpired earlier.
"Fuck!"
She reached for a handy bottle of vodka, the sharp taste a punishment and a balm. She would have to apologise, there was no alternative, and then maybe, just maybe, she could salvage their working relationship.
Helen upended the bottle and took another healthy swig. She knew she was meant to, but somehow she couldn't care less about their working relationship, all she cared about was that she wouldn't get to see and flirt with Nikki any more. It just wasn't fair. One minute the woman wants her, and then she doesn't. First she's looking for a quickie with no strings attached, and then a lifetime commitment and all that entails, only to revert back again at the first sign of competition.
"Fuck!"
Helen's scream made the windows rattle and the neighbours sit up and take notice. She didn't need all that confusion in her life. She was perfectly happy before, going from one pointless relationship to another, and having her work dismissed as so much claptrap. She didn't need Nikki.
As more vodka found a home in her stomach, Helen began to replay her evening with Steven, and the disaster movie her life had become. She didn't really want the man; even if his attentions were good for her ego, but she didn't want to miss out on a chance to show Nikki exactly what she'd been missing, either.
"Bloody Nikki Wade."
Helen's words were a slur. The repetition of Nikki's name the only coherent sound until she finally succumbed to sleep.
Thomas couldn't sleep. Not because saints couldn't, although there had been a century or two when it was frowned up, but because the actions of his latest charge were weighing heavily on his mind. Nikki would probably laugh at the very idea, but he was actually starting to worry about her and, by extension, Helen. Not that worrying about the destiny deficient wasn't his job, but with Nikki it had started to become personal.
"Annoying human," he mumbled.
Taking a peek onto the earthly plane, he could see both women sound asleep and, unbeknownst to even themselves, sharing very similar dreams. He blushed a deep red from just a glimpse, having never realised Helen shared Nikki's talent for the explicit, before averting his heavenly eyes.
"Two very annoying peas in a pod."
It really shouldn't have been that difficult. All Nikki had to do was help Helena, and herself, fulfil their destiny and he could wash his hands of the pair of them and start work on his next case. He'd seen tax inspectors and Greek warriors do it in half the time. Only he was beginning to suspect that anything, even remotely connected with Nikki Wade, was a disaster waiting to happen.
He needed a plan. A Nikki proof plan.
Turning over on his cloud, he put in a call to down below.
"Hello, Jim, it's Thomas. I need a favour."
To Be Continued