Peter W. Prellwitz - The Angel of St. Thomas vs. The Galactic Good Guys

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The Angel of St. Thomas vs. the Galactic

Good Guys

Peter Prellwitz

CARIBBEAN ANGEL SERIES: CARLITA

The Angel of St. Thomas

Vs. the Galactic Good Guys

By Rachel Ann Prellwitz

Karen Babcock, editor

Chapter One

Midnight Angel

A beautiful night. Starlit skies above, crystal waters below, showing their blue color beneath a full moon.

A light breeze played across St. Thomas harbor, teasing the reflection of Charlotte Amalie's skyline into a

late night dance. It should have been a night of romance, happiness and of bright colors and sounds. Not

a night of sadness, fear and evil.

I was moving across the harbor at about twenty miles an hour, having come from the Havensight docks

on the eastern side. My feet were less than two feet above the short waves, my head only three feet.

Normally I “stood” when flying, but I didn't want the kidnapper to see me, so I flattened out.

Lieutenant Lewis’ bulletproof vest was bulky and hot. I wished he hadn't talked me into wearing it. Still,

he wouldn't let me go in unless I wore it, so I adapted. I was still sleepy when the call came through and

in my rush to get here, I'd forgotten to bring the one made for me. Next time I'd remember.

The comlink crackled.

"You're coming in fine, Carlita,” Lt. Lewis reassured me. Himself, more like, I smiled to myself. I'd been

helping the police for ten years now—the last two as a member of the force—but he was still nervous

when I went into action.

"Thanks, Lieutenant. I'm at the beach and turning west."

I reached the sharp white line of the shore waves and cut west, toward Trompeter Gade. The burglar

had taken the little girl into Samson's Auto Repair around midnight. He hadn't intended on kidnapping

her, just robbing her family's home. She happened to catch him in the act and things got out of hand. For

a six-year-old girl, I could think of nothing scarier. I was going on eighteen and it scared me.

There'd been a determined but brief chase by the police down to the harbor before he fled here. He

didn't have any demands; he just didn't know what to do. I was supposed to keep him from doing

anything.

The second floor window was open, so I went up to it and quietly lifted it just enough to squeeze

through.

"I'm entering at the second floor,” I whispered into the mic. “I'm going off-line now."

"Roger,” he replied. “We're outside and in position. Good luck, Carlita."

"Thanks. Over and out.” I clicked off the headset and stored it in the vest. I needed to look just right.

Not for vanity, but for safety.

A storeroom. Good. Nice and quiet. I almost landed then, but decided not to. It was risky to stay in the

air—especially if this guy knew anything about me. But if I landed, I wouldn't be able to go airborne

again while in the building. Staying aloft offered more choices for me and more chances for the girl.

It was very dark. I increased the amount of sparkles that were a side effect of my flying. The room

brightened, and I waited. Sooner or later one of us would make a sound, and I wanted it to be him.

It wasn't him. It was Liza, the little girl. I heard a stirring noise, followed by a small whimper of fear. The

burn of anger flared inside me but I reined it in.

"Quiet down!” He had a hissing, desperate voice. This was bad. There was almost no chance of talking

our way out of this. I continued listening, but floated slowly toward the door and into the hallway. The

voices were coming from downstairs.

"Are you going to let me go?” she asked in a trembling voice that made me want to race down there and

protect her. “Please!” she pleaded. “Let me go!” I located the stairs and drifted down them, into a neatly

kept repair shop that smelled of oil and fresh tires.

"Shut up!” he growled. “You're not getting out of here unless I do. You better hope they let me go, too.

Whatever happens to me, it'll be worse for you."

"There is nothing worse than what's going to happen to you,” I said in a haunting voice. I'd practiced that

for a long time. I didn't have the voice to sound intimidating, so I tried to spook them. “Release her and

you'll have mercy.” I flew into a shaft of moonlight coming from a window, flying upright about three feet

above the floor and trailing a shower of sparkles.

"The Angel!” Liza gasped. She was in her jammies and was tightly clutching her doll. But her eyes lit up

even in the dim garage when she saw me. I smiled gently at her.

"Hello, Liza,” I said in a voice very different than the one I'd just used. “Don't worry, little one. The police

are outside and I'm here with you."

I glanced back at the kidnapper, giving him a very different kind of look, the kind that freezes the soul.

He was of medium height but very thin. His emaciated looks told many stories about the drugs he used.

Sad stories all, but no excuse for this.

"If you want to be a free man before you're an old man, let me have the girl now. I'll take her outside and

tell the police you let her go. They'll be a lot nicer to you that way."

He had been staring at the space between my feet and the ground. He wasn't from the islands, or he'd

know me. That could work for us or against us.

"Wh ... What are you?” he stuttered.

"She's the Angel of St. Thomas,” Liza told him in the matter-of-fact tone children have about what they

believe in. Much of her fear was gone. “An’ you gotta do what she says or you'll be very very sad you

didn't do it."

"I'm a messenger, come to give you one chance,” I said, keeping a ghostly lilt in my voice. It might still

work without violence. “But one chance only."

"No!” he shouted, pulling a knife and yanking Liza in front of him. “This is some kind of a trick! You can't

be flying! It's impossible!"

"Not for our angel!” Liza said, worried but still calm. “You gotta b'lieve her, mister, cause she always tells

the truth! An’ even if you're a bad man, she can still help you! But she watches all us kids an’ you been

bad, taking me away from my mom ‘n dad!"

"This is crazy!” He moved the knife to Liza's throat. Enough. I drifted in slowly. “Stay back! I'll kill her!"

I looked into his eyes. Fear. Desperation. Confusion. Evil.

"I believe you,” I told him gently. “But I can't let you."

"Get out of here! Now! Tell the cops if they want to see her alive again, then clear out!"

I smiled at Liza. Inside, my heart was racing.

"Do you trust me, Liza?"

"Course I do!” she said in a small voice. She must have been terrified of the knife at her throat, but her

eyes were completely trusting. “You're the Angel!"

"Clear out or I'll kill her! Now!"

I looked up at him. My smile faded and I shook my head. “Didn't you hear me? I said I believed you."

I was tempted to move back a little, to ease his desperation. But to do so would only scare Liza. I raised

my hands to my shoulders and moved them out. Fireflies of light danced around my hands, making a

swath of gleaming sparkles in front of me.

"Stop it!"

I ignored him, instead looking at Liza. She was wide-eyed at the “magic” lights dancing about me. I was

careful to keep them close. Any approach to this madman would start something very bad. For him. He

didn't know that Liza was already safe.

Suddenly, he gave a wail and pulled the knife across Liza's throat. Nothing happened. It couldn't because

I'd put an impenetrable gravity field between blade and flesh.

He went from desperate to maniacal and raised his knife to stab Liza. She was safe, but I wanted her to

feel safe, too. I shifted movement of the forces that pulled on us from all over, and his grasping hand

yanked free of her. I quickly put a pillow of sparkles under her and whisked her behind me.

"No!” he screamed. He shifted the grip on his knife and came at us. Liza gave a scream; I reacted harshly

and quickly. I pointed my left hand at the floor of the garage, seized the air and pulled up, hard.

Concrete snapped and growled and shot up six feet toward the ceiling. Unable to stop, the man slammed

into it full force, his knife flying free. He staggered back, but he was unconscious. One step, two, then he

fell to the ground.

Liza grabbed me around the waist and squeezed hard.

"Thank you! Oh, thank you!” She was laughing and crying with relief. I was, too. We floated over so I

could check on the kidnapper. He'd keep until they got him to the hospital. Too bad, I suppose, to have

to be so violent with him. The loving hugs from Liza, though, told me I'd made the right decision.

I put my arm around her.

"How ‘bout we go out and see your mom and dad?"

"They're here?” she asked, happy and surprised.

"Of course they are, Liza. There's a whole bunch of people who wanted to see you safe.” I hugged her.

“Including me.” I smiled and winked at her. “Why don't we fly out? Give them something really cool to

see."

She gasped with a wide-open mouth and nodded vigorously. I couldn't erase tonight completely for her,

but maybe I could make it tolerable.

I moved us toward the front door and called out.

"Hey, Lieutenant!"

"Carlita?” he called back. “Is everything okay in there?"

"Yep! Liza and I are coming out now."

"What about Williams?"

"Who?"

"The kidnapper."

"Oh. He's..."

"He's sleeping!” Liza yelled out, causing chuckles among the police, reporters and even her parents.

We came out then, showering lights and reflective rainbows. Much more than needed, but it was for Liza.

I delivered her to her parents, floating her into her father's arms. He was crying in relief and hugged her

close. I gave them their privacy and floated over to Lieutenant Lewis, finally landing.

"Here you go, Lieutenant,” I said, handing him his vest. “Thanks, but that thing's scratchy! I need to

remember mine next time."

He chuckled. “It would make all of us feel a little better, yes. I think there's enough money in the budget

to have another one made for you, one we'll keep for when you're forgetful.

"Thanks, Lieutenant."

"It's the least we can do for our angel.” He waved his arm toward the building, and five officers entered

the building to put Williams into custody. And probably traction.

"If I were a real angel,” I pointed out, “I wouldn't need a vest at all.” I made a face. “And I wouldn't have

to fill out all those picky reports at the precinct."

"You're a different kind of angel,” he admitted. “Flesh and blood like us, but an angel nonetheless, even if

you do have to fill out reports.” He nodded toward Liza and her family. “Try telling them different."

Liza saw us looking at them and she ran to me, her parents right behind her.

"Carlita!” she shouted, jumping into my arms and almost knocking me over. “Thank you for saving me!

And for the really neat flying!” She hugged me again.

"Yes. Thank you so very much,” her mother said, also hugging me. “We were so worried about our Liza.

I still can't believe she's safe!” She began weeping and took Liza.

"You're welcome,” I said simply. What else was there to say?

Liza gave me her doll.

"Miss Jenny is still a little scared. Could you watch her ‘til the bad man's in jail?"

I stroked the doll's hair gently, then handed Miss Jenny back to Liza.

"You don't have to worry about Miss Jenny, Liza. Your parents will keep you and her safe. You mom

and dad are very good, very brave people."

Reassured, Liza hugged Miss Jenny, then me again.

A soft puff of wind broke passed by us, calling to me. Time to go. I backed up and waved.

"I'll see you at the precinct, Lieutenant. G'bye, Liza!"

I turned and ran into the breeze, laughing at its touch. I jumped into the air and felt it pulling me up. It

caressed me once, then released me. I soared back out over the harbor until the small crowd of people

looked like another small light that shone on the water.

Chapter Two

Daylight Angel

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. I rolled over in bed, refused to admit it was daylight, and let it ring.

So it rang. And rang. And rang. Couldn't Francis get it for me? He knew I worked late last night. Beating

up the bad guys.

It still rang. Would the caller give up? No, I decided six rings later, all the while wishing I had enough

money for an answering machine. Defeated by the telephone, I opened my eyes and reached for it.

"Hello?” I said in groggy voice, just a little mad. The bright, hot sun poured in through my open window,

and the chirping birds and street noise told me noon had arrived. Unless it was noon tomorrow, it was

too early for me.

"Good morning, Carlita!” the cheerful voice answered. Robert Dobbins, my boss at the St. Thomas

Construction company. He always woke me up, sometimes like this on the phone, sometimes at work

with his smiles and laughter.

"Hey, Bobby Dobbie,” I said, losing my mad. “It's only noon! Don't you read the papers? Can you

read?"

"I can read well enough to sign your paychecks,” he countered with a laugh. “Yeah, I saw the papers.

Front page again. You okay?"

I yawned and stretched, then stood. My bed was a mat on the floor. It was the only way to sleep.

"Oh! Excuse me!” I said, finishing a loud yawn. I carried the cordless to the closet and selected a top and

skirt for the day. And shorts. Always shorts. “I'm fine. Just a little tired. Rookie at the station kept me

forever."

"Say no more,” he said, understanding. “Listen, I hate to call you after the night you had, but we need

your help at the mansion site."

"I figured. Hang on a second.” I entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. Satisfied it was cool

enough, I went to Francis’ room and pounded on the door. “Up and at ‘em, little bro'!” I put the phone

to my ear. “Give me half an hour, Bobby?"

"Thanks, Carlita! See you in thirty! And make sure to go around the ball park this time, okay?” A click

and the line went dead.

"Hey, little bro'!” I shouted, banging on his door again. “I have to go to work! Can you make me

breakfast, please?"

The door opened slowly and my little brother stood there, rubbing sleepy eyes.

"Work?” he asked sleepily. He always stayed up when I was out late at night. “I left a message last night

that you'd need today off."

"I know, but it's a special job. Out at the mansion site."

Francis walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Did they say what?” he asked while pulling

out eggs, cheese and vegetables.

"No, but you know the drill,” I said with a shrug. I waved at him and ducked into the bathroom.

“Thanks!"

Twenty too fast minutes later, I was sorta clean and sorta dry and sorta dressed. I ran my brush through

my long black hair, tied it back with Mom's bandana, put on my earrings, necklace and bracelets, then

dashed to the kitchen. We had the upstairs apartment of a two-apartment building in the snug but friendly

Staari section of Charlotte Amalie. It wasn't a big apartment, but there were only two of us.

"Omelet and juice!” he announced, placing the plate on the counter. I sniffed the wonderful aroma then

dug in. Francis was only eleven, but he already had a cook's touch.

"Great omelet, runt!” I said between bites. I had to hurry. The mansion site was way out on Cabrita Hill,

and twenty-five of my thirty minutes was gone.

"What time will you be home?” he yelled after me as I raced out the door, slinging my purse over my

head and shoulder. I hated dropping my purse. Especially from several hundred feet.

"Hopefully in a couple of hours!” I shouted back. “Hit those books while I'm gone!"

He shouted a feeble protest. It was summer, and the salt was in the air. But if we were going to make

something of ourselves, it would be through books and study and hard work.

And a little something special.

I jumped off the last couple steps and into the bustling street. Plenty of tourists today, which was unusual

for a Tuesday. I would be forced to wait a few minutes. Bobby Dobbie understood, but if the client was

from the States, well...

"Morning, Carlita!” Big Marie had the street cart with the brightest objects and tastiest fruits. She

watched over the entire neighborhood, but especially Francis and me since we were orphaned years ago.

Because of that, I called her Momma.

"Good morning, Momma! A nice breeze today!” She smiled and nodded. It was our little code. Reaching

up, she began ringing an old, ornate bell hanging from her cart. It rang with the beauty of a nightingale and

all the persistence of a telephone.

"Big Marie gots the best in town! All on sale! You got five minutes! Hurry up! All half off!” She kept

ringing the bell.

Many of the tourists stopped and looked. When they saw the locals rushing to the cart, they followed,

thinking they'd found a truly great chance to buy authentic Caribbean goods. Which was true. They just

wouldn't have a lot of luck getting the half price; our neighbors knew the routine and were the first to

gather round, “buying” things they would later return. We watched after our own in the Virgin Islands.

Seeing no one was looking at me, I picked up my pace, then jumped into the air. The gentle breeze

caught me in its arms and lifted me up. Inside me awoke my special something. The breeze released me

gently and I was flying.

Picking up speed slowly, I went higher. My wonderful home lay before me, mountains and sea and

beautiful, beautiful forest. I turned and headed northeast, ascending as the mountains rose. I was leaning

slightly forward, the normal way I flew. This was why I always wore shorts under my skirt.

Lee Hill crested beneath me, so I turned east, using Highway 40 as a guide. When I was twelve I

discovered it was easier to remain “hidden” by flying directly over a busy road. Lee Hill was eight

hundred feet above sea level, as was the mountain ridge highway, so I went up an extra thousand feet. I'd

look pretty small from here. Besides, only we natives knew what to look for.

It was a quick and wonderful flight. Of my special abilities, flight was my favorite. I could fly pretty fast,

limited only by the need to see and breathe—about sixty miles an hour. I suppose if I had the right

goggles and goggles and breathing gear, there'd be no limit It was the same for altitude. I could fly as high

as I wanted, until the cold or lack of air stopped me. Normally, I stayed under 5,000 feet. Though on

really bright days when only a few puffy clouds dotted the sky, I'd play for hours at higher altitudes.

The neatest thing about flying is the view. And what a view! The sparkle of the water, the shine of the

town at night, the motionless glide of birds flying above, beneath and around me. Stunning! Most hearts

raced just thinking about it, and here I was doing it!

The ridge dropped off after Wintberg Peak and the highway turned north, but I kept a straight line. I was

less than four miles from the mansion site and flew for it. I didn't go down, though. Not yet.

Tutu was almost beneath me. I waited until I reached the Garden Arts Center, then went south for a

couple minutes before heading back toward the mansion site. This way the ballpark was way off to my

left.

I descended slowly while still moving toward the mansion site. I could make out a group of people

gathered in a small field on the north side of the site. As I looked, I saw Bobby glance into the sky and

spot me. Hurriedly, he turned his back to me and took the arm of another man. Probably the client. I

knew he was from the States, too, and so wasn't privy to St. Thomas’ long-kept secret. I stopped

forward motion and looked for the right place to land. Bobby was walking the man toward the sea to the

east, pointing at something, covering for me.

Most of the crew were working in the mansion. It was little more than a frame, so I made for the second

floor. About ten feet up, I released my power and the breeze again cradled me. I...

"What in the world is that!” a woman suddenly shouted. Yipes! The client's wife was on the second floor

and staring right at me!

My concentration broke and I fell the last two feet onto the flooring, giving out an “Uff!” Jeff Newton,

our foreman, was helping me up even before I'd finished falling down.

"What was what?” Jeff asked her innocently.

"That ... that girl!” she accused, pointing at me. “I saw it! She just floated down from the sky and landed

right there!"

"Huh?” Jeff looked at me, considering, then back to the lady. “This is Carlita, our office manager. She's a

great office manager, but flying?” He stared at the woman in doubt.

"Sorry, ma'am,” I said, brushing off sawdust. “I tripped and fell."

"No, you didn't!” she exclaimed. “You were flying!"

"Hey, guys!” Jeff called out. Manny, Betts and Big Wally stopped working and looked at him. “Any of

you see Carlita fly recently?"

"Oh, yeah!” Betts said with a laugh. “She's always flying around the island.” Betts snorted, making the

woman blush. “If Carlita could fly, Jeff, d'you think she'd hang around here?” They all laughed and went

back to work.

"Well ... maybe I was mistaken,” the woman admitted slowly.

"Doesn't bother me one way or the other, Mrs. Williams. You're the client, so you're always right.” She

looked at him suspiciously, but Jeff was all honesty and friendliness. No act, either.

"I suppose I did see it wrong,” she decided at last. She looked at me. “Are you all right, young lady?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Williams. Thanks for asking.” She went back to inspecting the work and Jeff led me

downstairs.

"Close one!” he said, breathing out.

"Sorry. I thought it was clear."

"Not your fault, Carlita. I should have watched for you. I had no idea she was even up there with us.”

We headed downstairs, the pleasant whir of saws and pounding of hammers filling the air. I loved my

job!

"Do you know what Bobby wants?"

"Nah. Just that he'd sent for you."

"Okay. I saw him out on the field.” I snatched up a hard hat, having forgotten mine at home. “See ya!” I

said and ran off.

"Are you here all day?” he yelled after me.

"Don't know. I'm still tired from last night!"

"Well, when you head home, just make sure you avoid..."

"The ballpark! I know! Thanks!” I ran to the construction trailer and snatched up my clipboard, the one

with the punchlist for the mansion on the front and the angel wings painted on the back.

Bobby was with Mr. Williams, and they were standing back where I'd first seen them. Bobby saw me

and waved me over.

"We have a special job, Carlita. Mr. and Mrs. Williams want a thirty foot berm between their mansion

and the Zimmermans.” The Zimmermans were the closest homeowners, about a quarter-mile to the

north.

I made a note on the punchlist, then gave them my doubtful look.

"I dunno, Bobby,” I said hesitantly. “When does it need to be done?"

"As soon as possible,” Mr. Williams replied crisply.

"Uhhh ... does that mean as soon as reasonably possible, Mr. Williams?” I asked. “Or as soon as

absolutely possible?"

"What's the difference?” he replied.

"Reasonable means ... two weeks.” He started huffing some and I quickly added. “I can cut it to a week,

but I'd have to pull most of the crew off the mansion."

"And the other option?"

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TheAngelofSt.Thomasvs.theGalacticGoodGuysPeterPrellwitzCARIBBEANANGELSERIES:CARLITATheAngelofSt.ThomasVs.theGalacticGoodGuysByRachelAnnPrellwitzKarenBabcock,editorChapterOneMidnightAngelAbeautifulnight.Starlitskiesabove,crystalwatersbelow,showingtheirbluecolorbeneathafullmoon.Alightbreezeplayedacros...

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