Tragedy struck the Walnut Creek Amphitheater Thursday as a mob of three to four thousand stormed the stage during the first public performance of the band Precipitous Descent. Thirty-seven trampling injuries resulted, six of them serious.
The violence broke out during an unrequested encore featuring songs associated with Barry Manilow and concluding with "Having My Baby," originally recorded by Mac Davis.
The first signs of trouble came earlier as the band opened with a medley featuring the Eagles' "Desperado" and "Tequila Sunrise," America's "Horse With No Name," and Debbie Boone's "You Light Up My Life." The audience began to boo the band, and escalated to throwing things when they performed a trio of Olivia Newton-John songs beginning with "I Honestly Love You," and ending with "Please, Mister, Please, Don't Play B-17."
Eighteen thousand hard-core and death metal fans had waited in line for as long as forty-eight hours to get tickets for the first stop in Precipitous Descent's much-hyped Tour from Hell. Expectations had been so high because all the band's members are devils, and as the leather-clad band first took the stage, the crowd roared approval and hundreds of young women near the front ripped blouses and bras to throw at the band.
When the riot broke out, the members of Precipitous Descent teleported from the amphitheater; none were harmed during the incident. Reached later for comment, band leader Slash Malendel said, "Well, what kind of music did they think we play in Hell?" Malendel could not confirm any further concert dates for the band.
Rhea pulled her car into the driveway and parked under the old oak tree. She shut the motor off and gave a sigh of relief. Roberts was apparently fighting an epic guerrilla action at TRITEL, but no money had come down the pike yet. Jack was still blowing circuit boards, and starting to get really tense, and she knew probably half of her troops had résumés out. On top of that, she had a briefcase full of papers she was supposed to care about. She sat in the car a moment, letting it all slough off. She was home now, and she wasn't going to let it get to her.
Rhea grabbed her briefcase and shoved open the Triumph's door, stepping out into the mild April night. She could see stars up through the delicate lace of the oak's budding branches. The leaves would be all the way out in another week, and by June she'd be glad for the shade. She walked up the steps to the front door and let herself in. The cozy den welcomed her and she decided that the briefcase could wait. Some quality time was decidedly in order. All she really wanted now was a cup of hot tea and good music on the stereo. Laurie Anderson's Big Science and Horowitz in Moscow should take care of the latter, and she'd been saving some Ceylon Select for the former.
She slipped off her shoes, popped the audio ROMs into the player, sequenced them, and clipped the tracker to her collar. The mechanical rhythms of "Oh, Superman" filled the room, and she tapped her toes in time for a few seconds, then headed for the kitchen to heat some water. As she moved, the music followed her, staying perfectly balanced. Instant relief.
Except it was too good to last.
As soon as she felt the supernal barrier laid across her kitchen threshold, Rhea knew she was not going to have a relaxing evening. It could have been worse. The barrier could have been composed of negative energy—that would have been bad. This was so blatantly benign and cheerfully upbeat it almost hurt . . . and that was bad enough.
"All right," she said, "I know you're here. Come on out and show yourselves." The air shimmered and suddenly there was a glowing angel sitting on her counter over the dishwasher. It had been a long time, but she still remembered the energy, and the face. Miramuel.
"Hello Aver—" Miramuel started when something inside the refrigerator crashed and the door flew open. A large angel stumbled out amidst a shower of cold cuts and vegetables. He got his balance and began frantically reshelving things. Finally he looked at her sheepishly. Remufel. Some things never changed. "Hello, Averial," he said.
"Long time, no see, Remmy," Rhea said. She was startled to discover that she'd missed both of them. She hadn't thought about either of them in millennia, but now that they were in her kitchen, her heart felt like a huge hole had been filled. They had been her dearest friends once, but where she had sided with the right of free expression, however mistaken that expression might be, they had taken the more conformist line. Maybe they'd been right. She found, however, that the fact that they didn't take her side during that first big disagreement still hurt. The smile that had started to cross her face at the sight of them died, stillborn. Instead of the joyous greetings she'd almost given, she said, "I didn't mean you had to show yourself right at that exact instant, you know. You could have come out of the refrigerator first."
He hung his head, "I'm sorry, Avy," he said, "I just get so deep in thought sometimes that I get flustered."
"Deep in salami, more like." Miramuel arched an eyebrow.
"Well, you know we don't eat up there," he said.
"You don't get hungry either," Rhea said dryly.
"I know, but sometimes I miss being hungry, you know?"
Rhea cocked her head and smiled. "Really? Could it be that everything's not perfect in Heaven?"
"No, no! It's fine," Remufel glanced over his shoulder and winced. "Couldn't be better."
"You don't have to suck up, Remmy," Miramuel said. To Rhea, she said, "Remmy's been bucking for an assignment as a mortal. Ever since we got the news that Agonostis got out of Hell and got to become mortal, he's been itching to . . . ah . . . spread his wings, as it were. But what with new soul placements and reincarnations and . . . er . . . folks from your side of the Chasm converting to mortal status . . . and the sudden interest in advancement to mortality among the Heavenly Host, there's quite a waiting list for new births. And God is insisting that the Heavensent who convert to mortal have to start as newborns. No obvious miracles, he says. No direct signs of Heaven's presence."
Remufel said, "Everyone on the waiting list has gotten a little touchy."
Rhea smiled. Heaven's waiting lists for plum assignments were notorious. Apparently, while the idea of what constituted a plum assignment had changed, the structure hadn't. "So . . . what brings you two here?" she asked.
Remufel closed the refrigerator door. "Old friends can't just drop in for a visit? We've missed you, and we couldn't visit you . . . before."
Rhea pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table and sat down. "That's bullshit, Remmy," she said. "I've been here two years now. He has to have known that. I imagine you knew it, too."
Miramuel tapped her heels on the dishwasher and studied a nonexistent spot on the wall just above Rhea's left shoulder. "Everyone has been so busy dealing with details of the Unchaining that we just haven't had the chance to get away."
"You're a lousy liar, Mir."
"Averial—"
"Call me Rhea," Rhea said, "Averial was another person, a long time ago. And dim the auras a bit, too, would you? My eyes don't tolerate that light the way they once did."
"Fine. Rhea, then." Miramuel dropped her nimbus to a faint luster. Remmy followed suit. "Anyway, I'm sure His Gloriousness knew the second you arrived, and I admit, we knew you were here not too long after, but . . . we really have been busy with the events related to the Unchaining. We couldn't get here any sooner."
Half an eternity in Hell had given Rhea a good ear for bad stories. She was hearing one right then, but she couldn't figure out which part of it was true, and which was false. She decided to play along. Sooner or later her old friends would get around to what they really wanted. She'd figure out why they were lying about it when they did.
Remufel said, "You're right, though. There's more to our visit than just talking about old times. We want you to come home, Av—Rhea."
"Please. Just come home now. Apologize and everything will be forgiven. Everything." Miramuel punctuated the statement with a particularly strong tap, and the dishwasher surged into action. Startled, she sprang from the counter top, catching her vestments on the dishwasher latch. The hinged door crashed open and hot sudsy water and silverware spewed everywhere.
Rhea rushed to help Miramuel. Together they disengaged her robe from the washer door; the look on Mir's face as she tried to wring soapy water out of her robes was priceless. As Rhea tugged the hem free from the catch, she saw Remufel ease open the refrigerator door and spirit out a Saran-wrapped bowl of chocolate pudding. He looked so ridiculous; his oversized wings half unfurled, his movements furtive, the expression on his face one a little boy would wear when sneaking cookies from a cookie jar.
She couldn't help herself. She sank to the floor by Miramuel, unable to keep from laughing.
Both Miramuel and Remufel looked hurt, though Remmy didn't put the pudding back. Mir said, "That's right. Just laugh. Your house attacks me and you think it's funny." She thought for a second, picked up a wet fork and shook the water off of it. "I guess it is, though, isn't it?"
Rhea stood up, and gave Miramuel a quick hug. "I'm sorry," she said, "I couldn't help it." She opened the cabinet under the sink, pulled a towel off the rack and started to mop the floor dry.
"Going native?" Miramuel asked.
"What do you mean?"
Miramuel pointed, "Manual labor?"
"Never hurt anyone," Rhea said. "Besides, I'm lying low." She figured they already knew that, but if they were pretending not to, she'd pretend she believed them.
"My treat then," Miramuel said, and suddenly the floor was bone dry.
Remufel put down the pudding bowl and ambled over to the open dishwasher, poking curiously at the disarrayed assortment of dishes and utensils on the shelves.
"Remmy, don't fool with Avy's stuff," Mir said. She pulled out a chair by Rhea's and sat down. Rhea settled back into her own chair. "Now, as I was saying, before I was assaulted—"
"Hey, Av—Rhea, what's this?" Remufel asked, pulling a long, slightly tapered cylinder of pink silicone from the back of the top rack. It glistened wetly and wobbled in his grip.
Rhea felt the blood rush to her face. "That's, um, a . . . uh," she stammered. "Oh, Hell, you don't want to know. Just put it back, and come over here and sit down." She wondered at her reaction. She had become inured to Hell, and the events of her life prior to the Unchaining would have made a sailor faint, but in the company of her old friends, she was blushing like a nun teaching the rhythm method.
Miramuel looked at her sharply as Remufel came over. Rhea met her gaze and shrugged, her face still hot. Remufel's chair creaked as he sat down. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. "What Mir's trying to say is that we need you. There's a lot of good to be done on this world, Rhea, and you could be one of the doers again."
"That's right," Miramuel said. "Heaven needs you back. Now more than ever. God will forgive the past."
"Maybe He will, but will I?" Rhea turned to Remufel. "Are we shielded here?" she asked. He nodded. "Okay, then, look." Rhea closed her eyes and concentrated, dropping her human manifestation.
When she opened her eyes, Miramuel and Remufel had pulled away from her, twin expressions of horror on their faces. "This is what I am now," Rhea said. "This is what happened to me because I argued that Lucifer deserved a fair hearing. They have a name here for what I did: devil's advocate. I didn't agree with Lucifer, didn't think his plan was any good, but if you're not going to listen to what the angels have to say, why give us free will? Lucifer may have fallen, but I was pushed."
"That's not true, Rhea," Miramuel said, leaning close again. "Nobody had to go, not even Lucifer. All of you could have . . . can recant at any time."
"How can I recant something I don't believe was wrong? Are you saying I should lie, could lie—to Him? I was a prisoner of conscience. I never agreed with what Lucifer did . . . but I still agree with what I did."
Remufel said. "You've had a long time to think about everything. Maybe it's time to reconsider. You've already made a partial break with Hell—we couldn't be here otherwise. Why not make it complete? Come back with us tonight."
Rhea stood up and started pacing. "Do you know what it's like to be denied Heaven, Remmy?" she asked. "Denied Heaven by my thoughts, and denied Earth by Lucifer's orders? I spent thousands of years in Hell. I did things there, awful things—and sometimes I enjoyed them. Hell does that to you. I did have a lot of time to think, and when the Unchaining came, I knew exactly what I was going to do.
"Earth is the glory of Creation, and here I stay." She stopped pacing and looked out the window over the sink. Was there any way to make them understand? She doubted it. "You say I should be a doer, come back to heaven to fight for right—I am going to give these people the stars and trust them to do right."
Miramuel frowned. "Lucifer was going to make things easy for them, too, and look where it got him. If they aren't ready . . ."
Rhea walked to the kitchen window and opened it. A mild green-scented breeze idled its way in. "They have so little, but they're clawing their way up," she said. "How many symphonies have been composed in Heaven during the last ten million years, Mir? How many rap songs? Name me an angel who's written a book."
"That's not the point, Rhea," Miramuel said.
"Well, it is the point, in a manner of speaking," Remufel interrupted, "or at least it's a point. But it isn't what we're driving at. We see their worth. We love them too. It's unleashing their potential for evil that worries me. Us. That space drive—" He flushed and cut off the sentence midway. "The forces of Hell are loose in this state and the people are making an accommodation to evil. To Hell."
Rhea filled the tea kettle at the sink and set it on the stove to heat. Mir and Remmy knew evil the way some people knew Latin. Perfectly, and without any firsthand experience. "It's not that simple, Mir," she said. "They've lived over fifty years now with the ability to destroy themselves completely. They haven't done it, and I don't think they will." She shook her head. "We sit inside the borders of a country that has dedicated itself for more than two hundred years to the proposition that tyranny is not the natural state of man. It doesn't always do a good job of meeting its ideals, but it has never stopped trying. Reaching. I have people working for me now who once would have been flogged for trying to read, lynched for demanding to vote—except that brave men and women worked, suffered and sometimes died to forge those ideals into reality. And the idealists are still out there. Still reaching." Rhea spread her arms to encompass the world. "I'm moving them past a minor technical block. Allowing them to reach beyond the well of the world, Mir. Here I am, and here I stay. I can do no other."
Miramuel looked at Remufel. "Told you so," she said to him. He shrugged.
"We kind of expected that, Rhea," he said, "and we're sorry you feel that way. We'll shield you from Hell as much as we can without specific authority. And, well, we'll be here in your kitchen for the duration."
That didn't sound good. "The duration? The duration of what?"
"Can't tell you," Miramuel said. "But our orders are to set up a permanent angelic presence, and we can't do it in a place where we would have physical contact with mortals. That leaves you. Here we are, and this is our headquarters."
"My kitchen?"
"They were very specific orders. Oh, we'll be making sorties . . . and doing observation work—"
"—lots of observation work—"
"—but most of the time, we'll be here. Right here. We'll have lots of time to talk."
"I've got a life, Mir. I'm happy to see the two of you, but not as permanent residents. What if I have company?"
"Don't worry. We'll go immaterial if that happens."
"But what if I have male company?" Somewhat to her surprise, Rhea found herself thinking of Jack.
Miramuel considered. "Are you married? I mean, as a human."
"Of course I'm not married! I just happen to like men—a lot. If that shocks you, I'm sorry, but it is my house."
"Well, if you're not married, I imagine we'd have to keep a pretty close watch on you and any man." Miramuel grinned. "If he were really a temptation, we might have to bless him with a sound, invigorating sleep."
Rhea closed her eyes. That was all she needed: two friendly but prissy angels watching her every move. "You're kidding, aren't you, Mir?" she asked.
Mir smiled her angelic smile. "Remember, you can leave all this behind at any time."
"Leave what you're doing here. Come back. Help us," Remufel added.
"Become a force for good in the world. Sanctioned, approved good."
Remufel said, "As long as we're here, though, have you got any more of that chocolate pudding?"
In the living room, Laurie Anderson sang, "Put your head in your hands." Rhea thought it sounded like good advice.