Back in his room, Maxwell opened the window to let in some fresh air and poured himself a glass of water for the cough, which seemed to be getting worse. The water didn’t help. If anything, it made the cough even worse. In a moment he exploded into an almost painful coughing fit and felt something rise up his throat, burst out of his mouth and shatter on the floor.
“Lord love a duck and his grandmother!” he exclaimed to himself. “What was that?”
On the floor lay dozens of shards all shimmering away in a disturbingly ethereal way. He had never seen – let alone coughed up – anything like it.
“I do believe I have just coughed up my soul,” he said, without knowing why he knew this. At least his cough had gone away.
As he was on his knees studying the pieces of his presumed soul, the door burst open and the angel came in with a case of wine in her arms.
“I have brought us a case of Pingus,” she said with obvious pride. “But I had to kill a man to get it.”
“What year is the Pingus?” asked Maxwell.
“2018,” said the angel.
“Wow, that is a good year. I suppose it was worth killing a man over.”
“That’s what I thought. He didn’t suffer much pain,” she said.
“Then I expect it’s okay,” said Maxwell, who vaguely thought he ought to have rather stronger feelings about the angel’s actions. He wondered if it was the lack of a soul, lack of sleep or both that left him indifferent.
Wendy peered into the open door, then walked into the room.
“I have brought us a case of Pingus,” said the angel.
“What is that?” asked Wendy.
“Why, it is one of the finest wines in the world,” said Maxwell.
“Holy fuck! What has happened here!?” exclaimed the angel, upon seeing Maxwell’s soul.
“I think I coughed my soul up,” said Maxwell.
“Did it hurt?” asked the angel.
“Just for a moment,” said Maxwell.
“How can you cough a soul up?” asked Wendy.
“Well, you just sort of cough a great deal and out it pops. Mind you, this was my first time, so I don’t know if this is how it normally happens or not.”
“Can you put it back inside?” asked Wendy.
“I really don’t know,” said Maxwell. “I’m new at this. I’ve always kept my soul safely inside my body – or wherever it is one keeps one’s soul.”
“Yes, I think it is possible to put it back,” said the angel. “But it is not easy. I think I know someone who can help.”
“Well, let me put it in a bag or something until we can find your someone,” said Maxwell.
“No, you cannot do that!” scolded the angel. “A bag is too ugly for your soul. We must find something more beautiful.” She looked around the room, but saw nothing suitable. “I will go to the market and get you something. Don’t go away.”
“Okay,” said Maxwell. “But don’t take too long. And no killing anyone, okay? Do you need some money?”
“Money?”
Maxwell took out his wallet, pulled a couple of €50 notes out of it and gave them to the angel. “Use this.”
The angel took the money, walked swiftly to the open window and jumped out. For a split second she fell; then she slowly pumped her wings and flew off towards the town centre.
“Wow, that is impressive,” said Maxwell, watching her fly away.
“Yes,” said Wendy, with a hint of envy.
Wendy returned to her room. Maxwell put Bach on the sound system and lay back in the bed to think.
The current chaos level was higher than he liked and would only get worse when Phinny got out of prison – which could be any time. Moreover, Phinny could probably trace them to the Valley of Dreams, thanks to the tracking device – but no further, anyway. Maxwell was beginning to regret not having put the tracking device onto a vehicle headed south, but it was too late now. The best thing to do would be to leave the valley and head towards Flanders as soon as possible. Once Maxwell got back to Erps-Kwerps, he would feel safer.
As these thoughts swirled around in his mind, aided by Bach’s violin sonatas, he soon dozed off, only to be woken a short while later by a kiss on the forehead and a gentle caress on his cheek.
He opened his eyes to see the angel looking down upon him with a smile upon her face. “My goodness, you look almost motherly from down here,” said Maxwell.
“I have bought a box and put your soul into it.” The angel pointed to a lacquer box sitting on the bedside table. It was a warm black in colour, with a flowery motif. At its front were two brass latches.
“It’s very nice. Thank you,” said Maxwell.
“You’re welcome,” said the angel.
“But it looks awfully small. Were you able to fit all those pieces soul into that box?”
“Do not be ungrateful! Do you think I would throw away some of your soul?”
“No, of course not.”
“But I did have to squeeze it a bit to fit it in.”
“Oh my! Is that not bad for souls?”
“Not yours. Yours is very...What is the word? Malleable.”
“I see. Perhaps that is why it came out so easily.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps you fucked the wrong person. Someone like me.”
“Would, um, making love with someone like you be bad for my soul?”
“It could be bad, very bad for your souls.”
“Souls?”
“Yes.”
“Plural?”
“Yes. Now I must go. I will see you at dinner, no?”
“Yes.”
Maxwell wondered where the hell a confused angel would need to go in the early evening.
At dinner, Maxwell, Wendy and the angel decided to walk into the town to look for a place to eat. The found a pleasant pizzeria with outdoor tables looking out on to the town square. Once again, the angel drank prodigious amounts of wine while seeming to remain sober. She ate little. Maxwell also drank considerably, as was his habit, but mopped up the wine with a vegetarian pizza. Wendy opted for a pasta and seafood platter.
Upon returning to the hotel, Wendy and the angel headed upstairs to their rooms. Maxwell decided to take a table at the hotel bar and have a glass of wine before retiring. He had been inspired by the walk through the town and wanted to sketch some ideas before he forgot them. He pulled the notebook out of his jacket pocket and began drawing.
Three pages later, a Japanese woman looked over his shoulder.
“You are very talented. Are you an artist?” she asked.
“Yes, I am,” said Maxwell, as he drew three more lines. Then he looked up and smiled at the woman. “And you?”
“Me?” she asked.
“Yes, are you an artist?”
“No,” she laughed. “I am an biologist.”
“And what brings you here? Studying the strange species that supposedly lurk in the Valley of Dreams?”
“Oh, no!” she smiled, “I am here on holiday with my friend. We are travelling across Europa. I wanted to visit the Valley of Dreams.”
“And your friend? Have you dumped her? That kind of thing can happen when you take a trip with a friend. Everything seems hunky-dory to begin with, but time together, differing interests, snoring – they can all drive a wedge between friends and spoil a trip. One day, you pick up a weapon and solve the problem, to your friend’s detriment.”
She laughed again.
“Oh, no! She is very tired and went to bed already.”
“Are you sure? Because there are a lot of open, desolate spaces in the Valley of Dreams. Makes it easy to dispose of a body, you know.”
“Oh my God!” she looked at Maxwell, then burst out laughing. “No. No. Really, my friend is just tired. She went to bed. So, I decided to have a drink and see if anyone interesting is here.”
Maxwell looked around.
“I’m afraid it is only me.”
Once again she laughed. “But you seem interesting.”
“I’ve heard rumours to that extent, but I have my doubts.”
“You are being interesting right now!”
“I am? You’re sweet to say so.”
“Thank you.”
“And you’ve got incredible lips!”
“I do?” she said, touching her lips.
Suddenly, the angel burst in between them, stared the Japanese woman in the eyes and exclaimed in a deep voice: “He’s mine, bitch! Keep your hands off!”
The woman fell off her stool, stumbled to her feet and ran back to the bar. Then the angel took Maxwell’s hand and said to him, “no fucking tonight. You need a good night’s sleep. Come on!” She led him to the lift.
“Egads, Angel!” exclaimed Maxwell. “What’s got into you?”
“The fucking determination to get you to bed with no fucking any girls tonight. That’s what’s fucking got into me.” She walked to Maxwell’s door, somehow opened it without a key card and led Maxwell to the bed.
“How about you, then? You’re very attractive...”
“No!” she roared. She turned around and left – but just before she closed the door, she turned back to Maxwell and said, “and you fucking better not sneak out, or I will rip your head off and mount it to the gatepost of the hotel.
“Yes, dear,” said Maxwell, with a trace of sarcasm that completely escaped the angel. Still, he recalled the angel’s skill with decapitation and decided not to test the threat.
Once she left the room, the angel said in her normal voice to herself, “that woman downstairs, she wants to be fucked tonight and I shall fuck her gloriously.” As she spoke, she transformed herself into a handsome young man, went downstairs to the bar and started flirting with the Japanese tourist.