by Ireland Gill
“Marlboro Lights, eh?”
“Yeah, so?” he snapped at me.
I pursed my lips. He could be so damn defensive. It was sort of annoying. “Just took you more for a heavier brand kind-of-guy, I guess.”
“You want one or not?” He shook the box in my face, irritated.
“Jeez, okay.” I pulled a Light from the half-empty box. He chuckled darkly and lit me a match. I was secretly pleased as I leaned in to inhale the flame into the end of the cigarette. After the first hit, my head started buzzing. “Thanks,” I muttered.
He licked his thumb and middle finger, then quickly put out the flame on the match. “You think you have me all figured out, don't you?” His tone sounded of disgust.
“What?”
He looked out to the direction of the street and shook his head. “Come on. You had me pinned the minute you heard my hillbilly-ass accent.”
I gave him a brief appalled stare before speaking. “You have a serious complex.”
“About knowing when I'm being judged?” he spat.
“No,” I leaned forward to get a better look at his expression; one of blank stare into the horizon again. “About thinking you are being judged.”
“Everyone’s eyes say it loud and clear. It's always been like that for me.”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “Then I was right. You do have a complex. A serious complex involving reverse judgmentalism.”
“That's not even a thing.”
“There’s a word for it. Just can’t think of it.” I retorted.
He shook his head. “Jesus,” he huffed under his breath.
“We can just call it insecurity, then,” I corrected.
He took a huge gulp of his coffee and a drag of the cigarette, then stood and walked out into the yard. He drew out three of his throwing knives from the inside of his coat and started throwing them toward a target propped up against the closest tree. I hadn’t noticed it there before. It was a square piece of plywood with a red skull painted on it. Blane threw each knife with such speed and uncanny accuracy, hitting each of the hollow sections of the eyes in the skull while the third hit perfectly in the middle between the top and bottom rows of teeth.
“That’s amazing,” I said in awe.
I envied his talent. I watched him repeat his routine of throwing and retrieving, throwing and retrieving. He ignored me, and it wasn’t surprising. Maybe I’d encroached on his space according to his perception, because he had been outside before me on that quiet morning. I wasn’t invited. But I stood amazed, unable to retreat back to the house before I asked my question.
“Think you could teach me?” I asked.
“What, this shit?” he pointed to the tree with embedded knives, and I nodded. “No way.” He walked to the tree to retrieve his weapons.
My eyes narrowed. “Why the hell not?”
He guffawed. “Because you’d just be a pain in my ass.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” I turned and made my way back to the porch. I’d tried to be nice to Blane. I tried to chisel away at that stony attitude he’d given us since the day he showed up, and to no avail. But of course, since it wasn’t going as planned, my stupid mouth had to get the last word.
“What’s so special about you anyway?” I muttered loud enough for him to hear.
I walked up the porch steps toward the left side in order to avoid Blane’s mug and immediately came to an abrupt halt when a dark object flew only inches from my face into the beam to my left. Coffee splashed onto my hand, but my eyes were locked on the long, black blade that stopped me in my tracks.
“I never miss my target,” Blane articulated his words with conviction. “Does that answer your question?”
I wondered if I’d offended him beyond repair. I only partly cared, but I learned extremely quickly that Blane was the type of person with very few words and did not like to communicate much at all. I decided I’d just leave him alone and let him do his job, the job he was meant for. I ducked my head and walked to the door.
“I have my reasons for being who I am,” he said pointedly between each throw of his knives. I turned to him, thinking I’d finally get a small piece of his story. “But I don’t owe anybody an explanation, and I sure as shit don’t owe you anything.” He walked to the target at the tree, yanked the last knife from the plywood and turned to me, giving me a steady glare.
I shook my head in disappointment. “I never said you did, Blane.” I put the cigarette out into what was left of my spilled coffee. “And, for the record, you’re the one who showed up on day one with the attitude of an asshole. Why would I care to know you at all, anyway?”
I was almost back up to the door to go back inside when the great Trevor Blane spoke again.
“You know, before you go, I was wondering. . .” he paused. “Where do you keep them?”
I only half turned, not giving him my full respect or attention. “Keep what?” I answered unenthusiastically.
“Hayden’s balls.”
My slightly heated blood reached boiling point in an instant. “Fuck you, Blane!”
I didn’t turn to see his reaction, I just walked into the house listening to the repeating sound of knives hitting that target at the tree until I slammed the door shut. I thought about creating a personal storm cloud just for the Phantom Hunter, but what good would it do? Thicken the wedge between us even more? I didn’t know how to get through to that one, and frankly, I didn’t really want to try anymore after that day.
I threw the mug into the sink and went back upstairs to find Hayden awake and sitting at the edge of the bed. He was hunched over, looking down at something.
“Good morning, Angel-man,” I said, sliding onto the bed and hugging him from behind.
I looked over his shoulder and saw that he was holding the sketchbook of my most recent drawings, and that top page was the sketch of him in the chair, wingless. He must have found it peeking from under the bed since I was always sloppy about putting things back where they’d belonged. I moved next to him. His silence and expression were enigmatic for what seemed like forever until he finally spoke.
“This is me,” he said quietly, disappointment in his tone.
I didn’t answer. I just sat there next to him like an idiot, dumbfounded and unable to dissect his thoughts, much less my own. I was confused as to why I’d felt like I’d done something so wrong, yet I knew exactly what the drawing meant on that paper.
“Yes,” I finally answered.
The silence between us was deafening. I ached for more of his words, and for him to give me a clue as to what he was thinking. He just studied the sketch of himself. The drawing of a man leaning over his broken wings on the floor, holding his head and wearing the freshly bleeding scars on his back after those black feathers had been ripped from his body.
“I seem regretful of something. Is that what this means?” he asked pointedly.
I was silent. I was mute. I was blindsided. I knew then that he knew; my sketch of his guilt of Fading for me, guilt of breaking his wings to become human. I’d never considered that anyone could just find my sketchbook and read into them enough to be upset with me. They were just drawings. But Hayden knew me; I didn’t just draw things without purpose. The same went for writing and playing music. Everything was with a purpose for me.
I’d considered all of those things as I sat there saying not a word. Not a goddamn word.
Hayden nodded slowly. “That’s what I thought.” He closed the sketchbook, and slid it back under the bed.
Was he going to ask me any more questions about it? Would I have the answers? I sat frozen as I watched him stand, put on some shorts and his dark t-shirt, and then leave the room without looking at me even once.
My stomach twisted, giving me an instant sick feeling. I noticed my mouth had been agape, ready to explain myself. No words would come out to save me at that moment. No words came to my rescue. Nothing. There was probably a million things I could have said to him be
fore he walked away and out of that room. Good or bad. Anything. But I said nothing. And that will probably go down in history as one of my own deepest regrets, because the worst kind of haunting is committed by words left unsaid.
Chapter Nine Routine: Save, Sleep, Repeat
For the next week or so, life in that house continued like a well-oiled machine. Wake up, eat breakfast, save the dead, socialize with everyone in the house except Hayden and Blane, maybe eat dinner, maybe take a walk, then go to bed and get hardly any sleep. It was all structure and routine with hardly any words spoken unless coming from Jaxon or Luka. They talked the most, but even then, it wasn’t much. Maybe they could sense the tension and just wanted to say as few words as possible in order to keep from getting in the middle of anything.
Hayden and I picked up where we left off with the “saving,” but it wasn’t the same - for obvious reasons. He was distant, almost cold to me. And sometimes, he’d act as if there was something he wanted to say to me or ask me, but after deliberating for a while, he’d only muster up a few words that had nothing to do with our relationship at all. It was usually about when dinner was ready, or something about the grocery list, or mention of the next time on our itinerary we’d have to throw the castors out to invite the dead. It was all routine.
Nighttime and going to bed was never at the same time for us anymore. I’d often feel my eyes fall heavy, so I’d head to our bedroom. But Hayden would be elsewhere, most of the time outside in the dark, wandering the yard or out onto the dock or hogging the television in the living room. I would sometimes watch him from the window, keeping myself hidden in the darkness. Most of the time, I’d see him staring up at the sky, the clouds, the stars, and sometimes out into the distant horizon over the ocean. The majority of passersby most likely perceived that he was at peace and very much content. I perceived differently.
Although I wouldn’t have dared to ask him what he was thinking, I’d wondered if my sketch of the angel wasn’t too far off course. Had he been regretting his decision? When he went on those little walks by himself and stared up at the clouds, could he honestly say that he didn’t miss the hundreds of years he’d perched on them to look upon the world below? Didn’t miss the magical abilities with which he was granted as a Guardian Angel? Could he truthfully state that he no longer yearned to have those dark, majestic wings upon his back again so he would be able to take flight into the sunset one more time? And, if asked, would he actually be able to declare with complete candor, that I was worth his losing all of those things? I certainly didn’t feel worth it.
I would dart to the bed as soon as I saw him heading back to the house. Pretending to be asleep when he came into the room just felt like another terrible secret I was holding from him. It ate at me, this tiny white lie of faking sleep. But I waited and waited and waited for days for him to give me some sort of sign that he’d forgiven me. A sign that gave me a clue that I’d be able to talk freely with him about our relationship. Some sort of sign that we’d be back to normal again.
It wasn’t like him to let things fester and hold his thoughts in. And his not showing any sort of sign that he would be willing to discuss the matter led me to believe something even worse was brewing on the inside. I was afraid to strike that chord. I was afraid to know. There was a feeling I had inside that things between he and I would never be the same, that our love could never be mended. I actually contemplated about how strong our love for each other was; how could our bond be broken over some dumb drawing? How could something so strong be destroyed so quickly? Not being able to determine his thoughts was driving me insane. And my being so afraid to talk to him about it was killing me. I hated myself.
Day after day, night after night, our separate schedules left us only with time to stick to the routine of our daily “saving of the souls.” It was becoming maddening.
Due to Hayden’s and my only communicating on a “professional” basis, I had plenty of time to go and talk to Luka. He was always the one I could count on to give me the truth, and he knew Hayden the best out of anyone I’d met so far. They were best friends since the beginning of their existence.
I peeked around the corner and into Luka’s room one night after dinner. I saw him propped up on his bed reading a book, my dog lying lazily on his lap like melted Jell-O.
“What’s up, Evigreen?” Luka asked before I even thought he could see me.
I plopped down on his bed next to Beau. “High levels of misery,” I mumbled as I planted my face into a pillow.
“That bad, huh?”
I turned my head to face him and saw him put his book down on the nightstand. “You can’t possibly not be aware of what’s going on here.”
Luka chuckled. “Oh, I’m aware,” he assured me. “Probably more so than I should be.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Has Hayden talked to you about it?”
He shook his head. “Nope. But he doesn’t have to.” I looked at him, confused. Then he continued. “I’m sort of the temporary Guardian here until he’s set up with someone official once he’s fully human. So, I kind of eavesdrop a little more than I’d like to have to.”
My eyes bugged out. “Oh, my gosh, Luka! I completely forgot that Hayden gets appointed a Guardian after Fading.” I shook my head, disappointed that I’d forgotten one of the most important things about when an angel turns human – they need protection themselves – immediately.
Luka shrugged. “I guess it just never crossed your mind since you’ve been so used to him protecting you all this time.”
I sat up against the headboard, next to Luka, and brought the pillow to my chest, hugging it near. “Guess so.” I narrowed my eyes, deep in thought. “So, you’re temporary.”
“I was the quickest one available since I was already with you guys anyway.”
“Makes sense,” I said, thinking about Luka’s trial. He’d taken a year off from “Guardian Angel” status to live a mock human life. Angels could put in for a trial, and once approved they were relieved of their Guardian duties and able to live freely for a while. Angels had free will just like humans. Although the Creator made them, Angels were permitted to become human if they so desired; a “trial” allowed them to experience life as such. It was, for lack of a better word, a vacation.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
Luka cocked his head. “Sorry for what?”
“Your trial has been all jacked up since I came around.”
He laughed heartily. “Are you kidding me? Hayden’s my best friend. And it’s been one of my best trials yet.”
“Your best yet? You’ve taken trials before this one?”
“I’ve taken two. The last one was about a century ago.”
I smiled at him and nodded. “Well, I’m glad you came back.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Me too.”
We were quiet for a few seconds before Luka looked over at me inquisitively.
“Hey,” he started. “You mind if I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“That sketch you made of Hayden, is that how you feel or is it what you think he feels?”
I hadn’t expected that question. And I wasn’t ready for that type of question. My lips parted as I tried to answer, but I couldn’t find the words to explain myself. Luka was always so intuitive of my feelings, especially towards Hayden.
“I mean,” Luka broke the silence, “I get it if you feel a certain way and just don’t want to talk about it.”
I sighed. “It’s complicated,” I finally said.
Luka nodded. “Yeah.” He smirked. “You’re telling me.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it, it’s that I’m not really sure how to even explain it. . .because I don’t even think I know.”
Luka nodded again and just kept silent, scratching Beau’s belly.
I sighed again and leaned my head back to look up at the ceiling. I tried searching for an answer, not really for Luka, but for myself. I knew Lu
ka wouldn’t push the issue any further; he never did. But then, I heard my mind asking this question loud and clear, forcing itself to leave my lips before I could stop it.
“Do you think Hayden broke his wings for me way too soon?”
He looked over at me, expression unchanged. I wondered why my question didn’t faze him. “It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what he thinks – what he feels. It’s what he wanted.”
“It doesn’t matter?” I shook my head. “You’re his best friend.”
“And you’re the love of his existence, Evika.”
“That doesn’t mean it was the right choice. He could still love me as the angel he was. He didn’t need to Fade this soon.”
“He wanted to.”
“Did he?” I challenged.
It frustrated me that Luka wasn’t realizing the issue I was raising, that he was sort of evading the actual point I was trying to make. Why didn’t he see the flaw in Hayden’s decision? I finally started to realize the core of my worry.
“But it doesn’t make sense to me. Hayden has always been about protecting me from the moment we met, following all of the rules to a T after his trial. He’s been protecting me since the day I was born.” I paused for a moment, realizing I wanted to get to the point. “I mean, he has put himself at risk now. Don’t you see that? His choosing to Fade and experience this transition through which he is more vulnerable now than ever is completely out of character for him.”
“If that’s what you think, then you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Luka said.
I shook my head. “That’s just it.” I looked over at the angel. “Maybe I don’t.”
I deflated as I said those words aloud. Hearing myself admit that I, essentially, had so much more to learn about who Hayden really was felt disconcerting. He walked into my life with such purpose, conviction, grace, and most of all, strength. And he was so great at it – great at his Guardian Angel duties, mission, and his calculated decisions to keep me safe from this new life and world that had become my existence. He was perfect at giving me the balance that was so much needed. It was hard to believe that he’d make such a rash decision, to break his wings and become a mortal like me just to prove his love or honor. A regular human who’d really have no strength or power at all to fight the dark entities that surrounded us for the rest of our lives. I felt regret in my next thought; his choice was almost a selfish move.