by S. L. Naeole
My hands in his were brought mere millimeters from his face as he looked at them, his eyes flitting from finger to finger, before bringing them to his cheek, the cool skin resting against the warmth of my own. “A song that spoke of your name in death began to play in my mind. And why wouldn’t it? You had escaped dying. No one does that; no one who is meant to die survives. You were a miracle, a physical miracle.
“I made a decision then not to alert Sam of your presence. I kept you a secret, my secret. I couldn’t bear the thought, even after such a brief encounter, the idea of you no longer existing in this world. I didn’t care about anything else, nothing else mattered but knowing that you were safe, that you would live to see another day, and then another.
“The night of Hannah’s wedding, I told you that I had hoped to be given the call to heal, because the truth is, all I wanted to do was be able to heal you. I prayed for it, wished for it, needed to know that no matter what, I could keep you safe, keep you alive and with me because my feelings for you run more deeply than blood. They run deeper than life, than time.
“You were right about my not trusting you, but it had nothing to do with you, Grace—never you. I knew, knew without a doubt that I should trust you, but I simply couldn’t. How could I, when simply by existing you had already seduced me into breaking the divine laws?
“But the irony here is that, with all of my secrets, I was the one who was undeserving of trust. I was breaking the laws of my own kind, one after the other, and all because I knew in my soul that so long as I loved you, it was justification enough for anything to keep you safe.”
My voice sounded unfamiliar as it asked him what he meant by anything, what it was that he had done.
I held my breath as he answered.
“The song that played in my mind that first day, the song that spoke of you in death, wasn’t just another part of being an angel, Grace. It wasn’t me seeing your past and mourning along with you for the things you’d lost.”
He stopped, his body stilling as his words filled up the quiet that followed.
“It was my call.”
I pulled my hands out of his, the chill that ran through me seeming to come directly from his touch. His pewter eyes had lightened to an almost silvery-white, nearly colorless except for a ghostly ring circling the outer iris. “You told me that angels don’t get their call until they receive their wings—how could you get your call before getting your wings?”
“I didn’t understand it either. I didn’t recognize it for what it was because I’ve been led to believe that the call can only be heard by those whose wings have emerged. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that the call presents itself to each angel when their hearts and minds finally open to what it is that they were meant for.
“From the moment I saw you, I knew that I was meant for you. Healing, being an angel, all of that became secondary. I had to have you, know you…love you. There can be no greater desire than for what you cannot have, and there can be no greater love than for what you are destined for. You are both, which conflicts with what I have to do.
“I am Death, personified and embodied. I am the reason life is both meaningful and meaningless, and why nothing in this world should hold any value to me. But I am not whole, not as an angel anyway, until I complete my call. I am not full until I fulfill the song’s intent.”
In the split second it took me to figure out what it was he had yet to do, he acted. We were now in his room, the stark black and white interior a dramatic change from the brightly colored walls that had been Lark’s. I was as I had been in hers, standing by the bed, two bags placed there, now blending in rather than standing out. He, in turn, was by the far wall, near the large windows that overlooked the back of the house.
Seeing how he would not be able to voice the deed himself, I did. “You need to kill me,” I said in an ironic voice, sad yet glad that I was finally hearing the truth, even if it meant that it would be the last thing I heard.
“I can help millions of people die, send their souls to rejoice in Heaven, or to wither in the deepest recesses of Hell, but by keeping you alive, Grace, I am, in all essence, avoiding my call, ignoring it.”
“So, that means you’re a fallen angel?” I asked, not fully understanding.
“No, Grace, I am not. The fallen still choose to answer their call because it keeps them connected to their divinity. They’ve gone against the very reason we are angels, they’ve destroyed humanity’s faith in us and to lose their place in Heaven is one of the worst fates an angel can suffer. But, there does come a time when being judged as fallen is the lesser of two evils.”
My grunt of disbelief sounded like a gunshot in the serious quiet between us. “When? What exactly is worse than being kicked out of Heaven?”
Robert’s voice, steady and calm, belied the words that he spoke as he looked at me with an almost unwavering sadness. “When I heard the song for the first time, and I ignored it, I set into motion the beginnings of something I did not understand, could never have known. By ignoring the call before my ascension, even for a short period of time, I let the darkness of the Innominate enter into me. This darkness taints everything it touches, Grace. It is a black stain that spreads, causing me to see and feel things that I otherwise wouldn’t when I’m with you—anger, hatred, jealousy.”
He reached for my right hand, turning the silver band that clung to my fourth finger. “When I saw that you weren’t wearing your ring, I knew that it wasn’t because you had thrown it away, I knew that you wouldn’t have done that. But this overwhelming feeling of anger took over. I only knew how to accuse, how to hurt, and I hurt you. I can never forgive myself for not being strong enough to stop myself from doing that. There’s no other way to stop this, Grace, other than to finally answer the call. But I can’t do that.”
I watched silently as he walked over to the collage of photographs above the bed, images of the two of us collected during the various stages of our relationship. I realized that there were more, now, some that included Lark, Stacy, and Graham.
“You never said it, but I knew that you wondered why I had put this up, why an angel would need photographs of anything when we can see and remember everything in our minds. I’ve put this here because when the darkness finally does take over, I want to be able to see that once, I was capable of loving, and that I had been loved in return. I won’t know what it means, but I pray that it’ll be enough to keep me from hurting you.”
“Is this why you wanted me to turn, Robert? The real reason?” I don’t know why I asked the question, but I felt it needed to be asked, if only because I needed to hear my own voice, convince myself that I was truly here.
“It’s part of the reason, though only a part. You staying alive means more to me than anything. I’m willing to sacrifice my very soul to keep you alive, Grace. I fear that when the darkness finally takes over, I won’t be able to stop myself or anyone else from taking your human life. But, if you were to turn, you wouldn’t be susceptible to death and dying the way that you would as a mortal. Turned, you’d be safe. Even from me.”
And it was at that moment that everything inside of me changed. Everything that I had thought, everything that I had known up until that point was now inconsequential.
Because, though I had been angry, though I had been hurt monumentally, it had happened with the knowledge that whatever the consequences to me, at least Robert would continue to exist in this world. It was, I suppose, a testament to the permanence of love that I could accept dying, regardless of the manner involved, so long as I knew that he would live.
Because I did love him—there was no denying or avoiding it. I loved him in a way that defied the very logic of it. It made sense, yet didn’t, flowed through my veins like my very blood, and yet coagulated all the same, thick as sludge and unmoving with the weight of its own intensity. It consumed me, and demanded to be consumed in return, and the more I accepted it, the more I welcomed it, the more I knew that I couldn’
t exist without it.
And when he looked at me, when the silver of his eyes met the burnt umber of mine, there was an understanding. It wasn’t met with words, or with gestures, but with the imperceptible darkening of the irises.
He moved beside me then, kneeling before me, his hands once again taking mine and bringing them to his face, his cheek fitting into the heart of my palm, my fingers grazing his ear. “Grace, I cannot take back what I’ve done to hurt you. I cannot undo any of it, no matter how much I want to. I can only tell you that from this moment, from this very moment until I can no longer see you for the love I have for you, I will be honest with you, I will tell you everything—there will be no secrets left between us.
“All I ask is that you forgive me. I don’t expect you to allow me back into your life. I won’t dare to ask for it or even hope for it. I only ask that you forgive me for the wrongs that I have committed against you, for hurting you despite your love, despite my own.”
The feeling of his cool skin against the heat of my own was distracting, but it could not sway me from saying to him the thoughts that echoed like a vicious riot in my head.
“Robert, please, look at me. I cannot say this without being able to see your face.”
As though merely thinking about it wasted too much time, his head snapped up, his hands dropping from mine, giving the impression that I now wielded the control.
His eyes were unblinking at the thoughts in my head, but I could see the raw emotion in them, the barest hint of hope tinting his eyes an almost antique pewter. “And so you do, Grace. I’ve denied it to you for so long, left you with the barest of truths and the results haven’t kept you safe. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions is the saying, and I’ve added my stones with my lack of faith in you and in myself.
“I didn’t trust you, not completely, but the hypocrite in me, the bastard that I am demanded that you trust me unequivocally. And all the while I was the one who was deceitful, while you had always remained truthful, more divine than I, and I paid the price for it by losing you.”
My fingers moved from the side of his face to his mouth, pressing down to silence him so that I could speak.
“Robert, please. Listen to me before I lose my nerve because I don’t know if I can do this again before my mind starts to wander and I think of every single reason why I shouldn’t.
“I do forgive you. It’s difficult to understand why, but I do, and I won’t question it, not when there are other answers that I need more than this one.
“I love you. I love you and I can’t ignore that. I’ve tried. When I close my eyes I see your face, every thought that I know to be mine, every memory that I know to be real is filled with you and I hated it. I hated it so much because it felt like no matter what I did, I couldn’t get away from you. It was like I had been cursed to see your face for the rest of my life as a reminder of what it was that I had dared to think I deserved.
“I mean, look at me. I’m not beautiful, I’m nothing special, and yet something inside of me dared to hope that you’d truly find me to be worth giving it all up for—and now I learn that in a sense, that’s exactly what you’ve done.
“As much as you were selfish in your actions, so was I. I treated you like were human, expected you to have the same human reactions, the same human conditioning and when you didn’t, I took my frustrations out on you rather than understand them.
“See, I’m a hypocrite, too; I condemned you for thinking so little of me because I’m human while I expected so much more from you because you’re not, and it was me who had been thinking so little of myself this whole time. It’s a typical human thing to do, I guess, to be so self-deprecating, but that’s what makes it all the more galling to admit, because I kept blaming you for making me feel that way, only so that I wouldn’t have to blame myself.
“And when I think about the choices you had to make, knowing that I was placing on you my own inability to accept myself for who I was when compared to you, I can’t help but feel like such a jerk.
“And I want you to know, I understand now why you did what you did about Sam, because if the places were reversed, I’d have done the same thing-”
He shook his head, denying my admission. “I don’t believe it for a second. You’d have been honest with me from the beginning.”
“If it came down to telling you and risking your life, or keeping it from you and lying in order to keep you safe, I’d lie, Robert. I’d take that secret with me to the grave if it meant that you’d live,” I argued.
“I cannot imagine you no longer being a part of this life, not when your existence is vital to the balance of this world. What am I but a short blip in the grand scheme of things? I’m not meant to save souls or save lives. I’m only good at one thing and I haven’t been doing such a good job at that lately.”
I got down on my knees and, still holding his face in my hands, pressed my forehead to his.
You have to do what you need to, Robert; for your mother, your sister, and for yourself. You can’t risk yourself for me any longer. You have to answer your call, you have to kill-
He pulled away from me violently, his hands gripping my wrists tightly, painfully. I tried to break free but I might as well have been trying to sprout wings and fly, the attempt was so futile I knew that my wrists would snap like twigs.
You will never ask me to do that again, never think it. I’d sooner watch the entire world burn down than let myself or anyone else hurt you.
His eyes had hardened into cold, unmovable steel as he glared into my own, undeterred and unyielding. I will never answer that part of my call; never. Your life is too important, too valuable to me to destroy. Do not be selfish in denying me this, Grace.
“And what kind of life will I have, watching you turn into a monster all because of me, dying because of me?”
His grip loosened and my hands dropped limply to my sides, throbbing and achy. “I won’t do it, Grace.”
“Does Ameila know about this?” He nodded. “And Lark? Does she know?”
“She will if she doesn’t already.”
“And they’re okay with this? They’re okay with you sacrificing yourself to keep me alive? A human?”
“They want what I want, Grace. They know that I cannot live with the idea of you no longer being here, and they understand that.”
I scoffed at such a simplistic response, the ignorance that tainted it shocking. “They don’t want to see their son, their brother die because of a human girl, Robert; I don’t care what they say. This is the only way and you know it.”
“This is not the way, Grace; not for me. I chose to go against the laws of my kind, knowing what the consequences were. I broke rule after rule, and ignored the very thing that I had been waiting fifteen centuries for because for the first time in my existence, I had doubts about what it was that I was meant to do, what I was meant to be. I couldn’t see why your death was so necessary in order for me to fulfill my destiny, and I realized that I didn’t care, either. I still don’t.”
I felt my fingers curl in to my palm, forming fists that shook in frustration at my sides. “But I’m going to die, no matter what you do. Don’t you see that? Sam isn’t going to stop trying to kill me, not now, even if I turn; you know that this is no longer him fulfilling his destiny—this is personal. And if I don’t turn, I’m still human, Robert—anything could happen to me. You should know that by now.”
“Do you want to die? Is that what you’re saying? You want to leave behind your father, your brother, your friends just so I can continue killing people?” There was anger in his voice, anger coupled with disappointment, and I shook my head.
“Of course I don’t want to die, but I understand and accept that there’s simply no choice here. Not for me, not when I feel this way. Even if Sam gave up, even if I turned, I wouldn’t be living. You told me once that before me, you were simply existing. You didn’t begin to live until you met me. Can’t you see that that’s how it is with me, to
o? Until you came along, I always felt out of place, like the part of me that would help me fit was missing somehow. If you’re not here anymore, things won’t go back to the way they were; they’ll be worse because I’ll know what I’ve been missing. I’ll still be living, but I won’t be alive.”
He moved slowly, his arms coming around me and pulling me into a gentle embrace, my head resting against the curve of his neck, his scent unbelievably strong here. One hand stroked my hair while the other caressed the small of my back. He sighed when my hands went around him to hold him, and the circle grew smaller as he pulled me in tighter.
“I know. I know.. But you must understand, if there was any other way to keep you safe, it would have been done already—I would have made sure of it. But I’ve exhausted every option.”
He gave a sort of half-hearted chuckle then, followed by a sorrowful sigh of acknowledgement. “I’ve even angered the Seraphim by accusing them of knowing how to stop this and simply refusing to tell me out of spite. Even if they did know, however, I cannot hold it against them for not revealing any of it to me; they’re disappointed in me for refusing to follow the call and for preventing Sam from following his. It doesn’t help matters that I turned into a delinquent the moment I met you.”
I felt my head incline once in understanding. “But you kept yourself from breaking one rule, didn’t you.” It was a statement, not a question. A point that I never thought I’d be able to bring up, and now here it was, and I was shaking with the implication of it, the sheer enormity of that one rule weighing far more heavily than all of the others combined—the consequences of it burned into both of our histories. As soon as the thought escaped my mind, I wanted to snatch it back and bury it forever under mounds of useless memories, but it was too late.