Angel

by L. A. Weatherly

Page 9

 

  I stared at her. “What are you saying?”

  There was a pause as Beth gazed down at the dining table, tracing a pattern on the lace tablecloth. Finally she took a deep breath and looked me squarely in the eyes. “I’m thinking of dropping out of school and joining the Church of Angels. ”

  I opened my mouth and then slowly closed it again, at a loss for words. The Church of Angels was this massive church that had sprung up out of nowhere in the last couple of years. More like a cult, really. I was always seeing their commercials on TV: lots of blissed-out-looking people going on about how the angels were pure love and had helped them with practically every problem known to humankind.

  “Yes, and helped them empty their bank accounts to boot,” Aunt Jo always sniffed.

  Beth was still talking. “Now that I know angels exist, I want to be with people who know what I know, who’ve seen angels, too, who understand. And my angel’s told me that if I join, we can really be together. But then when I think of my parents . . . ” She trailed off, her eyes bright with tears. She fumbled in her purse for a tissue. “I tried to talk to them about it, you know. Joining the Church, I mean. It was awful. They said I’d be throwing my life away and that if I was that ungrateful for all the advantages I’ve had, then they wouldn’t lift a finger to stop me. ” Choking back a sob, she dabbed at her eyes, shaking her head. “I don’t know. When I’m away from the angel, it all feels sort of — unreal. But at the same time, it’s the most real thing in my life. How can I ignore it?”

  She looked up at me, her gaze pleading. “Willow, can you tell me what to do?”

  At a loss for words is an understatement. I’d never felt so taken aback in my life. “Let me see what I can find out,” I said finally.

  Closing my eyes, I pushed away my turbulent thoughts and went deep within myself, searching for Beth’s possible futures. They grew before me like a tree, branching and dividing with each choice she might make in her life. Mentally, I blinked. With most people, this map of what might come looked golden and glowing, but Beth’s was dull. Stunted. Even worse, her tree had only two main branches: a pair of twisted, spindly boughs that grew up from the trunk in a wobbly V shape.

  I stared at them in dread. How could this be? Beth’s future held only two likely possibilities . . . and neither of them looked great. I explored the first branch and felt my heart clench. Oh, my God, poor Beth. Praying that the second branch would be more hopeful, I turned to it — and felt a strange chill settle over me. Images flashed past, but they were jumbled; any details just slithered away into a cloud of gray as I tried to focus on them. Even so, I caught my breath at the sheer, bone-wrenching coldness of this future. Whatever the gray cloud meant, it felt utterly final, like a gravestone with mist curling over it.

  My eyes flew open. “Beth, you’ve got to listen to me; the angel isn’t good for you,” I said urgently, my words tumbling over each other. “It’s hurting you. The best thing you could do is to never go back to that stream again. It might still find you, but there’s a chance it’ll let you go, and then you could —”

  Beth gasped, yanking her hand away from mine. “No!” she cried. “You’ve got it all wrong!”

  “Listen to me! In one path, I see you taking my advice. You try to forget about the angel and choose school and college. You . . . well, it’s not a bad life,” I faltered. “You major in politics, and —” And suffer on and off from depression for the rest of your life, always wondering whether you made the right choice. I couldn’t say the words. “And make a real difference,” I finished weakly.

  Beth’s face was stone-cold. She stuffed the tissue back into her purse, not looking at me. “What about the other path?” she asked. “Do I join the Church of Angels?”

  “Yes, but it’s not good for you. You seem to get sort of sick. ”

  “Sick?” She glanced up.

  “Like, tired all the time. Exhausted. ”

  “Does it make me happy, though? Being there?” She leaned forward, her expression very still, very intent.

  “I think so,” I admitted reluctantly. “It was all sort of mixed up, but — yeah, you seem to encounter your angel again, and then later there are other angels, too. You’re accepted by the people in the Church. For the first time, you feel like your life has meaning. ”

  Beth’s eyes were shining. “Willow, that’s wonderful!” she said, breathless. “That’s exactly what I needed to know! It wouldn’t be a mistake, then. ”

  “It would!” I snapped. My voice was like a harsh whip, and Beth’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Trust me: it’s not a good path. Everything just . . . felt cold. ” My heart beat faster as I remembered the slithery gray clouds. Words suddenly seemed so totally, stupidly inadequate.

  Beth sat motionless, staring at me. I could hear the TV going faintly in the other room and the low murmur of the caregiver’s voice, saying something to Mom. Finally Beth cleared her throat. “What do you mean, cold? You mean, like . . . death?”

  I scraped my hair back in frustration. “I don’t know! I’ve seen death before, and it wasn’t like that. I don’t know what it was, just that it wasn’t good. ”

  Beth seemed deep in thought, her eyes troubled. She shook her head. “I — I don’t know what to think. What you’re saying . . . it goes completely against my own gut feelings. I know that the angel is good for me. I can feel it, in here!” She thumped her hand on her chest. “I don’t know what you saw, but —”

  “There’s a part of you that’s not sure, though, or else you wouldn’t be here,” I broke in desperately. “What about the tiredness, Beth? It all started with the angel, didn’t it? You’re still feeling it even now! Your muscles ache, and you feel draggy and worn out and —”

  Beth flushed. Without meeting my gaze, she pushed her chair back and stood up, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “Thanks for the reading, Willow,” she said flatly. “What do I owe you?”

  I leaped up. “Wait! Just ask yourself, please — if something is really good for you, then it wouldn’t make you feel like that, would it?” I gripped the back of the chair with both hands, my voice pleading.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Beth, keeping her eyes down. “I feel fine. Here, is this enough?” She took a leather wallet out of her purse and thrust a twenty toward me. When I didn’t take it, she put it on the table, tucking it under the sugar bowl. “OK, I’d better be going now. ”

  “No!” I clutched her arm. “Beth, please, please listen to me. That thing is killing you!”

  Her eyes flashed, and she jerked free. I fell silent, my spirits sinking. I’d gone too far, and now I’d pushed her away from me. Damn it! Damn it.

  “Thanks for the reading,” she said again, her voice cool. “It was really interesting. Don’t bother seeing me out. ” And then she was gone, pushing open the French doors and disappearing down the hallway. A moment later I heard the front door shut, harder than necessary.