Free Angel Among Us by Katy Munger

door.
    A narrow stairway led down into the darkness on the other side. As I drew near the end of the steps, I begin to hear a hum that grew louder and separated into individual voices. I made my way along a narrow, dimly lit hallway that wound back beneath the rectory and under the parking lot to the basement of the church itself.
    As I approached a set of double doors at the far end of the underground corridor, the voices grew louder. I could distinguish the deep tones of men from the higher cadences of women and the shrieks of children at play. The sea of emotions I was feeling burbled and boiled, filling me with a strange affection for what I might find on the other side of the double doors. Light leaked out from the crack between them and I followed it like a beacon.
    Inside that basement room, I discovered a secret world. A vast space stretched out as far as I could see. It was filled with row after row of neatly made beds, some separated from the others by screens for privacy. Everywhere I looked, people sat in clusters, talking, holding their children, reading books, lying on their beds sleeping, clustered around small television sets or eating at a long, narrow table pushed up against a wall. Every single one of them had the dark skin tones and distinctive features of Mexicans who come from Aztec stock. There must have been a hundred or more people in that basement, not counting the children who chased one another between the rows of beds.
    Two nuns walked calmly among the rows of beds, handing out towels and pillows to their weary-looking guests. Some of the people seeking sanctuary at St Raphael’s were old, some were young, some were yet to be born. Many looked tired, but all seemed grateful. Relief pervaded the room. I was staring at a refugee camp.
    I would never have pegged Father Sojak and the old nun in the hallway as people who would blatantly break the law. I would not have thought the two young nuns helping people settle down for the night could be so cheerful about being part of it. But you did not build a haven this large, or filled with so many beds and other supplies, without knowing exactly what the consequences could be. They had created a sanctuary for illegal immigrants below the very marble floors of St Raphael’s. They had to know the chances they were taking.
    I became aware of a burning sensation and I knew what that meant – it is the feeling I get when someone on the other side, the side of the living, can see me. I looked around the room and saw an impossibly old woman with a shrunken face collapsed in on itself staring at me as her fingers flew over her rosary. Her nearly toothless mouth was contorted in silent prayer. Her eyes filled with fear as she stared at me standing in the doorway. I nodded at her and she nodded back.
    I backed from the room, my eyes never leaving hers. I was not Death, but I knew Death would visit her soon. That always happened to people who could see me.

NINE
    D espite my side trip to the basement, I still beat Calvano to the car. He had lingered to talk theology with Father Sojak. I was glad Calvano was not there to witness what I saw before he arrived: Maggie screaming into her cellphone, as angry as I had ever seen her.
    â€˜How did you get this number?’ She sounded furious. ‘Don’t ever call me again. You are not going to get anything from me and you should have known better than to try.’
    Calvano reached the car and she hurriedly disconnected, setting her phone to silent and storing it away. By the time he slid into the front seat next to her, her anger was under control. ‘Find out anything useful?’ she asked him.
    Calvano nodded. ‘Apparently, Arcelia Gallagher is a major stop on the Mexican Underground Railroad.’
    Maggie looked confused.
    â€˜Seriously? You don’t know what the Underground Railroad is? The network of hiding spaces people used to hide slaves in who were leaving the South and fleeing to