Part 43 (1/2)

I started s.h.i.+vering in the elevator, a delayed reaction to the night's events. n.o.body was going to believe me when I told them what had happened up there.

The doors dinged and whooshed open to the Emerald Plaza lobby. I found myself staring at a police officer. From the c.o.c.k of his head he'd monitored the elevator's descent from floor to floor on the lighted panel.

Blocking my exit, he looked me over. He noticed the s.h.i.+vering. I smiled and rubbed my arms as though I was cold. When he finished sizing me up, he stepped back and motioned me out of the elevator. ”Have you been anywhere near the roof tonight?” he asked, hooking his thumbs in his utility belt.

”I just came from there,” I said.

He glanced at my pants. I looked too. The knees were soiled and still had bits of gravel embedded in them.

”What were you doing up there?”

”Looking around. Contemplating my future.”

”Anyone with you?”

I chuckled. ”That close to heaven . . . just me and the angels.”

He asked to see identification and wrote down my name and contact information.

”Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.,” he noted. ”Are you here because of the president?”

I told him I was.

”Staff? You weren't on the bridge, were you?”

”Freelance writer. I knew people on the bridge.”

”Still can't believe what happened,” he said, shaking his head. ”Plenty to write about though.”

”You don't know the half of it.”

He let me go. As I crossed the lobby to the front doors I heard him reporting in. ”This is Sharki,” he said. ”I'm going onto the roof to check it out.”

I pushed through the lobby doors and emerged on Broadway. A distant din of rescue and salvage equipment could be heard coming from the bay. The streets were deserted except for the occasional car or homeless person pus.h.i.+ng a grocery cart.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I started toward Horton Plaza. My legs were tired, but I felt the need to walk. I figured I could make it as far as the shopping center, where I could call a cab.

I didn't think or ponder as I walked. My brain was mush. There would be time to take stock of everything that had happened after I'd slept for two or three days. I might not make it that long, but I was going to give it a good ol' college effort.

As I stepped from the curb the squeal of brakes and the blast of a horn startled me. In my mindless state I thought I'd ignored the signals and crossed against the light. But I hadn't. The light was green.

Car doors flew open. Women shouted my name. And the next thing I knew I was being squeezed to death by three exuberant beautiful ladies. It was paradise.

A pa.s.sing convertible carrying four sailors honked. The sailors whistled and howled and hooted.

When I am old and gray and think back on this day-the day I witnessed a president a.s.sa.s.sinated, the day I met Lucifer face-to-face, the day G.o.d rescued me from a host of demons-it is this moment, this hug, I'll remember first. I'm not sure I'll ever understand all that happened on the rooftop. Hugs I understand.

Having found an all-night fast-food restaurant, we sat in a circle in the professor's living room with empty wrappers and cartons strewn about like so many discarded bones. We'd pushed the couch against a bookcase and rearranged some chairs to accommodate us.

Christina and Jana shared the couch. Sue Ling sat in a kitchen chair next to the professor. I slumped, my belly full, in an overstuffed blue chair.

I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I got a first whiff of French fries in the drive-through. While scarfing down a couple of burgers and supersized fries, I described the battle of the bay bridge, the battle neither camera nor human eye could see.

Jana described the incident on the bus. Christina thrilled us with her description of what it was like to dangle out a helicopter door over the bay. Everyone on the helicopter was convinced they were going to die. Tears filled her eyes when I described how angels came to her rescue and sacrificed themselves to save her.

Not a sound was made, not even a breath, as I related the scene on the rooftop of the Emerald Plaza. A couple of times I had to pause as my emotions threatened to get out of control. I blamed it on being tired.

”I can't believe you met Lucifer,” the professor said, his voice hoa.r.s.e from shouting. ”We need to talk more about this later.”

”I can't believe I dated Satan's lieutenant,” Jana said of Myles Shepherd. ”Are all the good-looking men devils?”