Warrior Angel by Robert Lipsyte Page A

overnight flight to New York. George Harrison Bayer’s credit card wouldn’t send up any red flags for a while. Sleep on the plane, cab to Harlem, then back up to the top of the stairs and the Warrior Angel.

10
    A LLY WANTED TO KNOW why they were heading east now, where they were going.
    â€œI told you, to save Sonny.”
    â€œThat’s what, not where.” There was a sharpness in her voice he hadn’t heard before.
    The sharpness reminded him of the razor blade in the binding of the book. Once, he had sat on his bed and drawn the edge along his wrist, then across his throat, leaving red trails but not breaking the skin. Then he’d opened his shirt and pressed one pointy corner against the left side of his chest where he thought his heart might be. That had left a red pinprick mark.
    He had felt good, in control, knowing that if the Voices ever became unbearable, he could cut them off forever.
    â€œCut what off?”
    â€œToo many questions.” It came out more harshly than he intended, but it shut her up.
    Driving through Pennsylvania in the Neonhe had hot-wired in the motel parking lot, he relaxed. The highway was wide, the farms on either side green. Ally found a radio station that played heavy metal. The music had a throbbing beat that kept the Voices out of his head.
    â€œI used to play the violin,” said Ally.
    â€œNo kidding. You ever get those red hickeys on your neck?”
    â€œAll the time. How’d you know about that?”
    â€œThere was a girl in my class, they always made fun of her. Said she was making out, when all she did was practice.”
    â€œThat was me,” said Ally. She laughed. She started telling a story about how much she loved playing in her junior high school orchestra, being a part of the music, but her voice faded as he remembered how that red spot on the girl’s neck had scared him. He had thought it was the mark of the devil. He couldn’t keep his eyes off it. Finally he’d tried to rub it off her. That was the first time they sent him to the hospital.
    â€œHospital?”
    He switched gears. “Alfred went into the hospital after Sonny won the title. He’s a paraplegic, got shot in the spine. Then Jake got sickand died, and things turned bad for Sonny. All the important people in his life disappeared. He became vulnerable to Hubbard.”
    â€œI was in the middle of telling you a story.” She sounded annoyed. Her mouth snapped shut.
    She is going to be a problem, he thought, making an effort to keep the thought inside his head. Got to get rid of her now. He spotted a sign for a big truck stop in ten miles. Food, rooms, showers. It was a sign from Upstairs.
    Â 
    Starkey had the skateboard dream. No surprise. During a Mission you always have dreams that are really messages from the Archies. One of the main ways they communicate. But you have to decode the dreams, figure them out.
    The skateboard dream began at the skate park, Sonny wowing the crowd on the half pipe, popping Ollies, and riding the lip and coming closer to a double McSick than anybody in town ever dreamed of.
    Most of the kids in town are wearing the same colors and brand of helmet and elbow and knee pads that he’s wearing. Red andblack. Sonny’s the champ, a hero.
    And then Starkey sweeps by, no helmet or pads, in his blue-and-white Skate and Die T-shirt, and Sonny sees him and knows what he has to do, and he comes down the ramp and trails him back to the old mill on the edge of town. All the kids follow, they try to talk to Sonny, but he is shaking his head and stripping off the helmet and pads, no street skater is going to show him up. The champ, the golden boy, the favored one.
    The caretaker, the guy who watches the mill at night, comes out, shakes his head, and goes back into his dusty little room.
    Starkey starts slow and easy, gliding along the stone landings, then down the concrete steps on the side of the old mill. Sonny can do