David stepped into the shadows of the alley his eyes straining to see the deity that he could hear calling his name. He finally found her, once more a little girl with the Shirley Temple curls and rosy cheeks. "Now why in the hell did you have me taken in by the cops?" he snarled, not in the best of tempers. It had been a very long, very bad day and he was tired and wanted nothing more than to go home.
God barely deigned to glance at him. He pulled a jump rope from behind his back and began jumping, singing one of those cutesy ditties that kids sing when they jump. He only stopped when David reached out and wrenched the rope from his hands. "What?" he growled.
"I was taken in a police car, in
handcuffs
and then frisked by a very big cop who'd eaten garlic
very recently
. I was
held against my will
and questioned. What the fuck are you thinking?"
God crossed his arms and tried looking down his nose at David, a feat made pretty much impossible since he was a good two feet taller than He was. "There are reasons for what I do, David, reasons that I do not have to explain to you. But in this instance, I will. It was imperative that you meet Detective Hunter. And she had to be able to authenticate your background. You'll be helping her with some of her cases so she had to become familiar with you. Detective Hunter is one of those people that a certain Carlie that you keep thinking about has on radar. You must be with her to keep her from harm."
David felt his teeth grinding even more. "For how long?" he snarled, wishing he could wrap the jump rope around the little girl's neck and pull hard.
"Until I feel that the danger is over," God said with a shrug of his thin shoulders. Then he reached out, taking the jump rope back and turning David around at the same time. "Hurry, you'll miss your ride!"
David found himself standing in the middle of a busy street, cars careening around him from both sides. His eyes grew wide and he threw himself to one side to miss being squashed by a bus. "Damnit, God! What the fuck?"
"Language, language," an old man on the side of the road said as he finally made it across. "What would your mother say if she could hear you say things like that?"
"My mother's been dead for centuries." He shrugged his shoulders and dug his hands into the pocket of his coat. A stray piece of paper was thrust deep inside his coat and he pulled it out slowly, seeing an address printed on it in neat block letters.
"1302 E. Banger Street," he said aloud, jumping when the old man spoke again.
"That's one street over," he said. "That way."
David stared at the direction that the man had pointed and then waved a thank you, heading at a quick trot toward the address. It was a neat brownstone, flower boxes sitting on the front steps that were filled with gay-looking bright, red flowers. "Okay, I'm here, now what?"
As if in answer, a scream came from inside the building and David started up the steps, breaking the long panel of glass beside the door handle to reach in and open the door. He stood in the small foyer, seeing a mailbox that had six names along six slots. As he was standing there, he heard the scream again. He tipped his head up, seeing the stairs and began taking them two at a time. By the time he got to the third floor, he was a bit winded. The door in front of him was ajar and he pushed it the rest of the way open, stepping into a well cared for living room. Moans and groans were coming from down the hallway and he took off toward the sound.
A huge bathroom was ahead of him and he stopped, hearing the sound coming from behind the semi-closed door. "Hello?"
"Ahh, God, help me, please!" the voice screamed and David pushed open the door. A very pregnant woman was laying on the bright white, hard linoleum floor. Her dress was pushed up and her thighs were spread. He could see a full head of hair that was pushing out from between those thighs and he took a step back, staring up at the ceiling.
"You've got to be kidding me?" he growled softly. "I don't know nothing bout birthin no babies, boss."
But the woman didn't care. Her face was screwed in a grimace of pain and strain as she pushed against the contractions that were coming quicker and stronger with every minute that passed. "Help me," she growled, holding her hand out toward him.