by A.L. Crouch
Chapter 5
I climbed into the Mustang and brought it growling to life as the first drops of rain began to fall. If I hurried, I could make it home before the storm got too bad. Thankfully, the majority of the road would be down hill. I didn’t want to chance punching the engine on the slick road until I was more comfortable with the car. I eased back onto the road and started the descent into town.
I made it about halfway back when the skies opened up and dumped rain in blinding sheets, which bounced off the road and hood of the car. Backing off the gas pedal entirely, I let the Mustang coast, keeping my foot ready on the brake as I wiped at the fogging windshield, only to realize that the fog forming outside was just as thick. It became impossible to see the curves in the road.
Deciding it would be best to just pull off to the side of the road until the storm passed, I looked for a place to stop. It wasn’t worth making a wrong move and either slamming into the mountainside on one side of the road or worse, driving off the steep embankment on the other side. Both thoughts made my stomach clench and my palms sweat.
I hit the brake and heard a pop and a hiss. Nothing happened. The pedal slammed all the way to the floor with no resistance. I stomped the pedal again and again, but the brakes were useless. Horror rose up into my throat as I downshifted, earning an angry snarl from the engine. It did little to slow the car.
I searched the console for the emergency brake and couldn’t find the lever. Footbrake! I pushed it down with all the strength in my left leg. The car slid across the wet pavement, the rear end fishtailing back and forth. The road was slick with the heavy rain and the car was gaining in speed with the steep incline despite my efforts. I used both feet to push down on the footbrake, but it was a futile attempt against the forward momentum of the car.
Leaning as far forward as I could in order to see the curves in the road, I knew that I was going to crash or go over the side if I didn’t do something fast. Helpless, I did the only thing I could think to do. For the first time in years, I prayed.
“Okay, God. Where is your guardian angel now? I need your help,” I pleaded. “I know what I said before . . . but I don’t want to die, not today, not like this. Please help me, I need you.”
I wiped the windshield again in a futile attempt to better my vision. The yellow lines of the road were disappearing beneath the rain and fog and I could no longer see where the road was going. I cried out, a mix of unbridled panic and unleashed rage.
“Where are you? Did you ruin my life just to kill me off like this? Where are you now?”
The trunks of trees charged towards the windshield. Jerking the wheel to the right, I screamed as the tires squealed and clawed and the edge of the tight curve. I fought to see some clue as to which way the road would curve next.
That is when I saw it.
A white blur suspended in the air in the distance. As the car soared forward, white, outstretched wings became visible.
“The statue!” I cried out.
It stood out against the rain and fog like a beacon ushering me to safety. I knew then what I had to do. Now that I had a clue as to where I was in relation to the road, I had to crash the car on purpose. That was my only chance. If I didn’t stop the car right now, it would gain speed in the downhill turns coming into town and I would run off the road. This was my only chance.
I steered the car towards the statue, remembering that it was resting on a jutting rock that protruded above the road. If I could aim the car to the right of the statue I could scrape against the side of the mountain to slow the car to a stop. If my aim was off though, I could hit the mountain head on. I wasn’t sure I could survive a head-on collision at this speed, but I had no time to think about it. I focused on the statue, on the majestic face, and prayed as the car careened towards it.
“God, if you are really there, please get me through this.”
When I saw mountain side fill the windshield, I turned the wheel and braced myself as the car jolted against the swiping impact. The wheel fought back but I held it as still as I could as metal scraped against rock. The friction forced the car to the left. I had to keep it steady or else I would be bounced right over the edge on the other side.
Bracing my left foot against the driver side door, I pulled the wheel to the right, the leather burning welts into my hands. The passenger side windows shattered and I ducked as shards of glass and sparks flew into the cabin. Hooking my arm through the steering wheel, I held it steady and mashed the emergency brake with my foot.
At last the car came to a crunching stop with one final jolting crash which smashed the windshield and threw my head into the steering wheel. For a second, the world around me spun out of control and then faded. The last thing I heard was a gentle strumming beside me before everything went black.
When I came to, the world was a blur. I felt a sharp pain in my temple where my head rested against the steering wheel. The rain had stopped and dust swirled in a thick, black cloud around me. I dared to move my head to the right. That side of the car was smashed inward like a stomped soda can, curving the interior into a gruesome frown. Shattered glass and dust covered the once supple leather seats. But I was alive.
I raised my head off the steering wheel and assessed the large lump forming above my eye with shaking fingers. A gust of wind sent the dust around me spinning and my eyes locked with the white eyes of the angel statue. It looked down on me from where it landed, face down, on the hood of the car.
“Okay.” I breathed out the words. “I believe.”
Sirens wailed in the distance and grew louder as they approached. I stumbled out of the car and took in the damage with shock just as Sulley’s truck charged down the highway towards me, sirens flashing. He barely waited for the truck to come to a stop before he jumped out and ran to me. He paused and gawked at the wreckage and then rushed to me and gave me a once over. He gripped my shoulders, shock evident on his face.
“You should be dead! What happened?” he asked exasperated.
“I’m fine, I think. The brakes . . . they went out. I couldn’t see the road . . . then I saw the statue. I knew I had to crash it. I’m so sorry . . . I had to crash it, it wouldn’t stop,” I rambled as another car, sirens blasting, pulled up and then another.
Sulley pulled me into his arms and held me against him.
“Ssshhh. It’s alright kiddo. I’m just glad you’re okay. When I got the call, I thought . . .” he shuddered. “Are you hurt? Is anything broken?”
I stepped back and checked myself over. Aside from a few scratches and a massive headache, I seemed to be unscathed.
“No, I’m fine. I hit my head, but . . .”
“What the HELL happened?” a shrill voice interrupted.
I knew it was Will before I turned around. He was staring, mouth agape, at his wrecked car. His fingers trembled at his temples. He walked around the car in disbelief before he strode back to me and gave me a once over before surrendering to furry.
“What the hell did you do? She’s totaled! You could have killed yourself!” he screamed at me.
I took a step back from him. “The brakes went out. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t see and I was losing control . . . I’m sorry . . . I–”
“You’re sorry? Sorry doesn’t fix this! What were you thinking?”
Will closed the gap between us, but Sulley stepped in and forced him back.
“I’d say she was thinking about saving herself since your precious car almost got her killed!” Sulley’s shouted and then took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Now walk away deputy and make sure someone’s coming out to get this heap off the road.”
Will stared straight into my eyes and let out a frustrated growl. Then he threw his hands up and walked back to his squad car. Sulley tuned back to me and swept the hair from my forehead in order to get a better look at the blackening mass forming there.
“Okay, now I want to get you home and get some ice on that lump,�
�� he said walking her towards his truck.
I looked up at him, tears forming in my eyes.
“He’s right to be mad. He loved that car . . . but there was nothing else I could do,” I said.
“Yeah well, he shouldn’t have loaned it to you in the first place. I don’t know what he hoped to gain . . .” Sulley got into the truck next to me and pulled back on the road, slowing down to talk to the tow truck as it pulled up.
“Hey Hank. Just tow her on down to the shop. Looks like she’s totaled. Do me a favor though, get a good look at those brakes, will you? Seems they went out while she was driving. Give me a call directly on my cell once you do.”
“Will do. Glad you’re all right, Ma’am.” Hank nodded to me and I thanked him before we drove off toward the house.
After being fussed over all afternoon, I was finally able to pull up a seat at my kitchen table and relax. I hadn’t gotten even a second to think about the events of the day, and what it all meant: my baptism, my “gift”, the statue. Sulley had insisted that the town physician come out to take a look at what was now a purple knot above my right eye. Sulley threatened me with a trip to the Hendersonville ER if I argued.
Dr. Andrews concluded that I had a mild concussion and gave me a bottle of Percocet to ease the throbbing in my head. For that I was grateful, though the first pill made me sleepy. I fought the urge to crawl into bed and sleep for the next few days. There was too much to think about.
I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, but Sulley doted after me like a concerned parent. He tried to insist that I come home with him, but I refused to be a burden to him or to Gram. He had enough to worry about there. He settled for making me dinner. The canned chicken soup was bubbling away next to the skillet filled with melting cheese sandwiches. Sulley had not inherited his mother’s cooking ability, I mused, but it would do. With all of the excitement, I had skipped lunch and was starving despite the drum solo being performed beside my temple.
“You sure as hell gave me a scare today, you know,” Sulley said and flipped the sandwiches on a plate and brought them to the table.
I sipped my water. “I know. Gave myself one too.”
“Smart what you did though,” Sulley chuckled. “I still can’t believe you rammed Will’s Mustang into the side of the mountain.”
I gawked at him. “Oh, are we laughing about it already? He was seriously pissed!
“I’m just amazed at your survival instinct is all. Not sure most people would have thought to do that.” Sulley dished up the soup and came to the table. “And don’t you worry about Will. He is just as much to blame, if not more so, for that car getting smashed up. He should have kept up with those brakes.”
I sipped my soup, considering. “Yeah, but he was being nice by letting me drive it in the first place, even if it did turn out to be a death trap.”
“Yeah well, I’m not sure he did it all out of the kindness of his heart to begin with.”
I set my spoon down. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’m just saying . . . I’ve noticed the way you two look at one another. I’m not so sure he wasn’t just trying to win some favor with you.”
“Are you suggesting that I am interested in Will? That’s ridiculous.” I scoffed embarrassed that my intrigue with Will had been that transparent.
“It IS ridiculous,” Sulley agreed. “He is much older and let’s just say he’s not much of the dating type.”
I thought about that for a minute and wondered why I was feeling defensive. “Intrigued with” and “interested in dating” were two different things, first of all. And second, I didn’t give a flying flip how old Will was, he wasn’t THAT much older than me.
“What do you mean, he’s not the dating type? Not that I would want to.”
Sulley set down his sandwich and glared at me. When I didn’t back down, he continued.
“Look, I love the guy like a brother, and you know that’s hard for me to say. But the man’s got a past. I don’t want you to get mixed up with him is all.”
I didn’t know what bothered me more: that Sulley thought I wanted to date Will, or that he thought he had the right to forbid it. I cleared my throat and glared at him.
“I think you are forgetting that I am a grown woman and if I wanted to date him I would. But I have no interest in dating him, or anyone else for that matter, until I figure out what it is that I want to begin with. So this is really a moot point.”
“Well okay then.” Sulley chuckled and bit into his sandwich.
After finishing dinner in comfortable silence, Sulley wiped at his chin with his napkin and sat back in his chair.
“So, have you thought any about what you are going to do? With this place, I mean?”
I tossed the last crust of sandwich onto my plate and sighed.
“I have, a little. To tell you the truth, when I first got here all I wanted to do was find a buyer and then get back on a plane to Chicago.”
So much seemed to have happened since I first arrived, even though very little time had actually passed. I stared out the kitchen window at the sun dipping below the tree line.
“But now, I don’t know any more. I’m sort of finding myself again . . . if that makes sense.”
Sulley nodded. “It does, and it’s a good thing. Your mother would be happy that you’re at least giving the place a chance.”
“Yeah, and I took the week off from classes, but I could always find a long-term substitute if I needed to. II I think I might need to take some more time to really think about it, to figure out what’s best,” I said with a sigh.
Sulley chuckled as he shook his head.
“I still can’t believe you’re teaching social studies. You know, the elementary school is always looking for a good music teacher.”
I waved him off and cleared the dishes. My head began throbbing again with the movement.
“No, that was Mom’s thing. Before a couple of nights ago, I hadn’t even played in years.”
Sulley stood, a smile spreading across his face.
“So you played the piano? I knew you would if I brought it down here.” He turned me to face him. “Play something for me?”
“No. No, I can’t,” I said shrugging away from him. I immediately regretted saying anything.
Sulley took the dishes from me and set them in the sink, then took me by the hand.
“Pretty please,” he said leading me into the living room and motioning me to sit at the piano. He sat on the couch anticipating. “Please, just a little something. I know it will be wonderful.”
Sighing, I lifted the lid covering the keys and stared blankly at them. I imagined my mother’s fingers dancing over the keys once again while I sat and watched in awe. I would never be able to play like her. Was it doing a disservice to her memory to even try? Unsure, I placed my fingers on the keys and met Sulley’s expectant eyes. For Sulley, I decided.
I imagined my mother sitting at the piano and held the memory as I played the first movement of Moonlight Sonata. I fell into the music, my hands taken over by the echoes of a past performance. My first recital which had earned me a standing ovation, and on the way home, admiring smiles from the front seat of the car. A tear slipped onto my cheek as my thoughts wandered from memories of twisted metal to lily covered graves under a darkening sky. I saw heavy rain and fog, and the white outstretched wings floating above the road on a cloud of mist. I saw the stone grey eyes of a statue staring into my soul.
Above the music, a different beat sounded in my ear. Gentle at first. I couldn’t identify it right away, only feel the gentle rocking of it as my fingers relaxed on the keys. Then I recognized the strumming. The realization threw off my rhythm and broke my focus.
I opened my eyes and there he was. Reflected in the piano once again, was the figure of the man I had seen before. He stood behind me, glaring at me with those blue eyes. In the piano, I watched him turn and walk to the staircase. He motioned fo
r me to follow.
I gasped and jumped back from the piano, ending the piece on a harsh note. I looked to Sulley who was gaping at me admiringly. He stood, eyes wide.
“Why’d you stop? That was beautiful . . .”
I glanced nervously behind me and saw no one.
“I just . . . my head hurts,” I said turning back to Sulley. “I think I should go lie down now.”
“Please, just a little more,” Sulley pleaded.
“I really can’t . . .”
“Just one more minute? You play just like her . . .” Sulley insisted, coming toward me.
I shot up from the piano, suddenly furious. A storm of emotions raged and pounded in my head and I spoke before I could hold it back, not knowing what I was saying until I had said it.
“I told you I can’t! I’m not my mother. I’m not her. She was murdered a long time ago and now we BOTH have to move on. You can’t bring her back through me, Uncle Sulley. Now please, just stop!”
Sulley recoiled as if I had punched him in the gut. He lowered his head wounded.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. You’ve had a really long day and I’m just making it worse.”
“Please, I just want to be alone,” I whispered, not looking him in the eyes, afraid to see the hurt of my words in them.
“Yeah, sure Kiddo. You need to get some rest. I’m sorry.” He nodded and turned for the door as I stood frozen in place, unable to react.
“I’ll be by around eleven tomorrow,” he continued in a soft voice. “I thought you’d like to come to church with me and Gram. Maybe come by the house for lunch after?”
I nodded to him, still overcome by emotion and afraid to speak again. Sulley opened the door and turned back to me. This time I looked him in the eyes.
“I know you’re not your mother. I know that. You just . . . you remind me so much of her. Having you back is like getting a little piece of her back,” he said smiling. “I miss them too, and I know they’ve been gone a long time. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of them and wish that things could have been different. It’s a hard thing to get over Kiddo, but you being here is a major step . . . for both of us. Get some rest Kiddo,” he said and then shut the door behind him.
I stood there for a second not knowing what I felt more: pain, longing, or raw guilt. I sank to the floor where I stood and sobbed, unable to do anything else. I knew that Sulley missed Mom as much as I did. They had been best friends for years. And Gary. Gary had been his baby brother. But I just couldn’t play another note. It was too painful. Sitting at that piano connected me to a happier time, a time when life made sense and I wasn’t afraid that I would fall into pieces at any moment. A time that was gone forever.
I let my head fall into my hands and continued to weep, the bitterness of loss bubbling up from neglected places within me. Then I heard it again. The gentle strumming which seemed to retrieve me from the darkest of places. I lifted my head to listen. The strumming was coming from upstairs.
I stood and wiped my face, and with head pounding, walked up the stairs and down the hall. My limbs were trembling with anticipation, but this time I was not afraid. I was ready to face whatever I’d find waiting for me. I reached the end of the hall and went into the master bedroom where I heard the strumming. I flipped on the light, but there was nothing there. Not a thing was out of place.
I stood still and listened. It was coming from the bathroom. As I approached though, the strumming turned to a steady dripping. I flipped on the light and saw that the shower faucet was dripping in a steady thud against the ceramic bathtub. With a sigh I turned the knob to quiet the leak, my heart rate returning to normal. Then on second thought, I turned the shower to hot and let the bathroom fill with steam. A hot shower was exactly what I needed.
Closing the door, I spotted the Percocet bottle on the counter where I had left it earlier and decided that it was indeed time for another. I washed it down with a cup of water and then undressed and soaked in the hot spray until my muscles eased and my senses dulled. My head stopped throbbing and the tension from the day ran with the soapy water down the drain.
When I pulled back the curtain, the bathroom was filled with steam and I inhaled it in long, deep drags. I dried off and pulled on my bathrobe and running a brush through my hair, opened the bathroom door. The steam rolled out behind me in wispy clouds that filled the bedroom with a misty haze. I glanced at the clock and noted it was late enough in the evening to justify climbing into bed. Then something reflected in the antique mirror caught my eye. I dropped the brush to the floor.
Through the haze that had formed in a moist sheet upon the mirror, I saw the man standing beside me. Though his sudden appearance startled me, this time I stared unafraid. Glancing behind me at the room, I saw that there was no one there and this time was not surprised.
I turned back to the mirror and saw through his blurred reflection that he ran a hand across my forehead. I heard the strumming and closed my eyes. Warmth, ever so slight, embraced the wound on my head. I opened my eyes and his reflection was still there, beseeching me with those ocean blues.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
“Who do you think I am?” he answered in a deep, melodious voice as smooth as glass.
I groped for an answer. No matter how I worded it, it still felt unreal.
“An angel.”
The man in the mirror nodded and grinned at me as if amused by my hesitation at the word.
“I am a Guardian, yes. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Deep down you’ve always known.”
I searched my memories. That voice, it was so familiar. I heard it whisper to me through the fleeting memories of my childhood and I knew that he was right.
“Why can I only see you like this? In reflections?” I asked motioning to the mirror.
“That is the only place your mind will allow me to exist to you,” he said.
“I . . . don’t understand,” I groped.
“You won’t let yourself believe that I am real, that I can exist in your world. So, I exist here,” he motioned to the mirror around him, “in a reflection of your reality. The same, but separate.”
I sat on the bed beside where the man stood according to the mirror’s reflection. I looked across from me, stared at the spot where he should be, but I could not make his image appear.
“I want to see you,” I whispered.
“And you will, when you are ready. Right now you are half convinced that your concussion, mixed with that pain pill, is causing you to see things that aren’t there.” He sighed. “But part of you believes, and that is why you can hear me, see me in reflections. You limit yourself.”
He was right, I knew it. My rational side was telling me that this was not possible and it was searching for a reasonable explanation. But I wanted it to be true. I wanted more than anything to lose myself in the fanciful side of me that had been lost for so long. So I started with questions.
“So, are you from . . . heaven then?”
“Not exactly,” he answered. “I exist in a place between here and there.”
“What, like purgatory?”
He laughed, a melodious sound, warm and vibrant.
“Not so drastic, no, but similar. I exist in the spiritual realm, while you exist here in the physical. I am there every bit as much as I am here with you right now.”
“So you’re in two places at once? I don’t understand . . . that doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes any sense,” I reeled.
In the mirror, I watched him set his hand over mine. I could again feel the tingling warmth where he touched me, slight and gentle.
“That’s the biggest problem with humanity,” he said. “You think that seeing is believing.”
“So you’re saying that believing is seeing then? Isn’t that a bit cliché?” I asked a little more sarcastically than I had intended.
&nb
sp; “It’s much more than that, more than just believing. It’s accepting.”
I shrugged at him through the mirror, not understanding. He smiled patiently at me.
“You only think a thing is real if you can comprehend it,” he continued, “if you can make sense of it or understand how it works. You have to know how it’s possible before you will believe that it is. Humanity misses out on so much beauty because it refuse to accept that things exist beyond the realm of reason or understanding. When in fact, that is what makes some things so glorious – not understanding how they can possibly exist, but just relishing in the fact that they do.”
“Like you?” I asked.
“Or you.”
For a long moment we just stared at one another through the mirror, like those taking in the changed features of a long-lost loved one. I followed him with my eyes, afraid to take them off of him for fear that he would be gone.
“You need your rest. I need to let you sleep. I know you have a lot of questions, but there’s time. We can talk more tomorrow.”
I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want this moment to end. What if it wasn’t real? Would I see him again? What if it WAS just the concussion or the pain medication making the impossible a reality?
“You’ll be back tomorrow?”
He smiled. “I never really leave you, Alexandra. I am always with you.”
I thought about that for a moment. My cheeks flushed when I looked to the bathroom, just now clearing of steam.
“Always?” I shrieked.
The man laughed and shook his head. “When you need me, that is.”
I relaxed a bit. It was so much to take in, and he was right. I had so many more questions.
“What if I need you now? There’s so much I don’t understand . . .”
“I was sent here to look after you, Alexandra, and right now you need sleep. The answers will come. Give yourself time,” he said and through the mirror I could see him motion for me to get into the bed.
I hesitated, still trying to make sense of it all. He was sent here? By who, God? Could that be right? I had so many questions. But he was right. I wished he wasn’t, but I was beginning to feel like I could fall over where I stood. The excitement of the day and the pain medication in my system was hitting me with full force. I couldn’t fight it any more.
Still, I didn’t want to let go of this present reality. I was afraid that if I slept, the man would be gone and the calm that his presence gave me would vanish with him. Somehow, now that I had spoken with him and seen him more clearly, the familiar feeling of comfort and love that he emitted made me feel more like myself than I had felt in fifteen years.
“Please Alexandra, you need sleep. You’re going to need a clear mind,” he pleaded.
I went to the bed and climbed inside as quickly as my heavy body would let me and then looked back to the mirror. I was relieved to see him smiling at me in the reflection.
“It was you the other night. You helped me into bed after the wine . . . at the piano.”
“Yes.”
I laid my head on the pillow. “And it was you that night . . . the night of the accident, in the car. You told me to sink further into my seat.”
“Yes,” he said, and a sadness washed over his features, and then lowering his head, his image began to fade.
I stared into the mirror, hoping he would return, but my eyes were weighted down by impending sleep. I closed them, focusing on the swaying rhythm of the strumming that seemed to vibrate against me.
“I know you’re still here. I can hear you,” I whispered.
Teetering on the brink of consciousness, I heard only the strumming reply.
“Did He send you? God?”
“Yes,” came a soft whisper.
“What if you don’t come back tomorrow? What if I don’t believe that any of this actually happened in the morning?” I couldn’t give in to the sleep that was overtaking me until I was sure.
“You will. You have to.”
Yes, I had to. He had to come back to me.
“I . . . don’t even know your name,” I mumbled, losing myself in the soothing darkness.
I heard his voice whisper to me from the edges of deep sleep.
“Donovan.”
Then the strumming faded away and all consciousness with it.