by Lisa Olsen
Don’t get me wrong, like I said before, I love my mother. I just can’t stand to be in the same state with her. It’s not that she’s a horrible person, or she beat us with coat hangers or anything like that growing up. It’s… complicated. Let’s just say there were a lot of promises broken over the years, so Matty and I learned not to rely on her. It didn’t help that I’d never been able to give up hurt feelings easily and she’d never learned the art of delivering an apology without a backhanded criticism. But that’s a whole other story and one I don’t enjoy telling.
“Hi, Mom,” I injected a note of cheer into my voice.
“Merceline! Thank God, I was so worried about you. Haven’t you been getting any of my calls?” She instantly burst into tears and I bit back the sigh of frustration that rose to my lips.
“I’m sorry, Mom, I’ve bnt om, Ieen taking it easy, you know? I didn’t even have the phone with me until now, it was in my purse at work.” A white lie, it was better than arguing over it for a half an hour or even worse, hurting her feelings.
“Do you need me to come up there, baby? Because I could borrow some money from Marie and fly up there if you need me to…”
“No! No, I’m fine, I swear.” My tongue almost tripped over itself trying to cut off that particular idea before it picked up too much steam. The last thing I needed was my mother staying in my apartment with me, watching me like a hawk. “Like I said, I’m taking it easy, and Matty’s here with me so there’s no need for you to…”
“It’s not the same as having your mother there to take care of you, baby.”
Don’t I know it… “Yeah, I know, Mom, but I’m fine, really. I’ll email you a picture so you can see how fine I am, okay? Besides, you can’t afford to borrow more money from Aunt Marie, and before you know it we’ll see you for the holidays right?” Of course by then she would probably have some perfectly plausible reason not to come up and see us. That had held true for the past three years at any rate.
Her crying jag kicked up a notch, and I held the phone away from my ear, trading looks with Matty. We’d descended into the ‘poor me’ part of the conversation already. I guess I should be surprised I was even a little surprised. Somehow I thought her concern for me would last a bit longer before she turned the conversation back to her.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I wish I could be there for you, things have been rough lately.” What followed was a fifteen minute monologue about how she had her hours cut way back at work, and how her boss didn’t like her. How she had trouble driving at night because her glasses were getting old and she hated going to the eye doctor. And how her on again off again boyfriend was off again and she wasn’t sure if it would ever work out between them.
This was the part of the conversation where literally all that was required was to make the occasional sound of acknowledgement. She didn’t actually want any helpful suggestions, that would only prolong things. Matty had long ago learned how to do this, and would actually put the phone down and do something else for chunks of time. Me, I could never quite get the hang of it. Something in my natural temperament kept me from tuning her out completely, and it took all of my restraint to bite back my side of the conversation. What do you say to someone who has an excuse for everything wrong in their lives? Nothing. That was the lesson I’d been trying to learn for the past twenty-six years.
So, I made little noises of support and let her talk until she ran out of steam. Only then did I try and steer the conversation again. “Well, I’m glad we had a chance to talk, Mom.”
“Me too, baby, me too. We should talk more often.”
“Yeah, we really should. I’m gonna go now, Matty’s making me dinner, I’d better make sure he doesn’t need a hand with anything.” Matt gave me a look at that, but I held my finger up, threatening him not to say anything to the contrary that she might overhear.
“Alright, take care of yourself, Merceline. Make good choices.”
“I will, Mom, I love you.”
“Love you too, baby.”
I fell back against the couch as I hung up the phone, more drained from that one conversation than I had been from my entire hospital escape.
“You want Golden Grahams or Spaghetti-O’s for dinner?” Matty raised a brow.
“Funny.”
* * *
I was leaving Matty’s place when I spotted my stranger. Instead of lingering or watching for me, I got the sense that he was just walking, intent on something else. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, as though he didn’t like the light drizzle that had sprung up during my visit with my brother.
For a moment I watched him, stunned to run into him in that part of town. My own neighborhood, while not exactly upscale, was a good deal safer and nicer than Matty’s. I didn’t like to visit him at night unless he walked me to my car. There were still at least two hours until dark, and my teeth worried at my bottom lip as I tried to decide if I had the guts to follow him as he’d been following me.
In the end curiosity won out, and I found myself tracing his footsteps. I’d never followed anyone before, but I reasoned the more furtive and sneaky I looked, the easier it would be to get spotted. So instead I walked along after him like I knew where I was going, albeit at a slightly slower pace to make sure I was far enough behind him fah behin that I didn’t show up in any store windows he might happen to look into. It was difficult to get the speed right. Too slow and I risked losing him when he turned the corner, too fast and he’d spot me for sure and God only knew what would happen then. But I was desperate enough to see where he was going that I threw caution to the wind, hastening my pace.
It turned out I worried over it for nothing, as he seemed to be lost in his own world, hardly looking up at all as he walked with brisk steps down the sidewalk. He tuned into a multi-story apartment building and I felt a flare of panic.
How in the hell was I gonna figure out which one was his?
Pretending I knew what I was doing, I slipped into the building, noting the row of mailboxes next to the elevator. As I watched, the elevator continued its journey up, stopping on the fourth floor. “Okay, Columbo, what now?” I murmured.
It was crazy. I was in a bad part of town, following a guy who may or may not be real, into an unfamiliar building… to what end? Still, I found myself pressing the elevator button, toes tapping with impatience for it to arrive. The car was empty when it stopped on the ground floor and I stepped inside and pushed the button for the fourth floor. In for a penny, in for a pound…
The ride was short, and the elevator doors opened to reveal… nothing.
I was about to rethink heading back to my car when two doors down, a little boy, maybe eight years old emerged, his arms loaded down with trucks he unceremoniously dumped onto the hallway floor.
Bingo.
I’ve never been one to approach strangers of any kind, remembering what my mother instilled upon me since birth. At that moment, I hoped the kid’s mom hadn’t been quite so strict.
Approaching the boy hesitantly, I gave him what I hoped was a harmless looking smile, not in any way predatory. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
The boy didn’t look up, he was too busy lining his trucks up into two meticulous lines, facing each other.
Undeterred, I forged on, nothing to lose. “I’m looking for a friend of mine, he lives on this floor, but I forgot which apartment is his.”
Still no reaction from the kid, maybe he was deaf? More likely the cars were much more interesting than I was.
“He’s tall, with blonde curly hair and blue eyes, he wears a long brown coat most of the time, have you seen him?”
“You mean the magician?” The boy asked without looking up.
Interesting… I quickly tried to decide if I wanted to play dumb and hope he’d offer more details. “Magician? What makes you call him that?”
“Because he does tricks sometimes.”
“What kind of tricks?” Curiouser and curiouser.
The boy looked up at me, his interest sparked. “Once I saw him help a bird that flew into the window.” He pointed to the window at the end of the hallway that was halfway open. Thick metal security bars stood on the outside of the casing. “It crashed into the window and fell on the sill and its wing was all messed up. I saw him reach through and touch it and the bird got up and flew away.” There was awe in his voice and from the look on his face I could see he believed every word that he said, verbatim.
The imaged sparked a memory for me, of the man standing over my bed, his hands on my abdomen... “That’s him,” I nodded absently. At least I’d found another person who could see him, and that was a relief in and of itself. “So, which one is his apartment again?”
The boy pointed to the unit all the way at the end of the hall, near the window.
“Thanks kid,” I smiled, my stomach fluttering nervously as I walked to the door in question and knocked. My heart beat like a jackhammer in my chest, the butterflies in my stomach having grown into swallows as I waited in anticipation.
Nothing happened.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I knocked again, my annoyance growing when still no answer came. I pounded stubbornly again. “I know you’re in there. I’m not going away until you talk to me,” I called out in frustration. For a moment I thought he’d completely ignore me but then the door opened and there he stood, still in his brown coat, clutching the door handle as if it was his safety line.
“Hi,” I said simply, not knowing what else to say as we stared at each other across the threshold. an>He stood unmoving, just looking at me, an unfathomable expression on his face. Then when I thought he might actually shut the door in my face, he turned and walked away, leaving the door wide open. Taking that as the closest thing I was going to get to an invitation, I stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
To say that his apartment was sparse would be an understatement. It was laid out as one big room that combined the kitchen, living room and dining room. A pair of pocket doors on one side led to another room, intended to be a bedroom I assumed but it was difficult to tell what it was being used for with the lack of furniture. There was no couch or television, no table or chairs, no furniture of any kind save a series of tall bookcases, filled to overflowing with books, one scarred and beat up recliner chair and a writing desk, piled high with more books and papers.
“This is your place?” I asked softly, stepping deeper into the room. The walls were a dingy gray and I suspected they had once been painted white but had faded over time. The wood floors were scarred and pitted, in need of refinishing and the kitchen’s appliances were dated, perhaps twenty years old or more, no sign of stainless steel or digital readouts in sight. Still, the apartment didn’t look dirty exactly, just old and in need of a coat of paint, and maybe a good dusting.
“I live here, yes,” he nodded, his voice soft and low, as though he didn’t speak very often at full volume. His eyes were on everything but me, as if he was afraid to meet my gaze.
The silence stretched between us as I looked around and when I realized he wasn’t going to say anything else, I took the direct approach. “Why were you following me?”
“Why did you follow me?” he countered, his eyes finally looking up to m"Tiking upeet mine when I spoke, curiosity written all over his face.
“I asked you first,” I insisted stubbornly.
“I asked you second.” He said this very matter of factly, not being a smartass about it at all, which was the only reason why I didn’t turn on my heel and march out of there.
“I’m waiting for you to answer me,” I tried again, exercising my patience.
“I felt… responsible,” he answered after searching a moment for the right word.
“You were there in the hospital, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You were dying.” His voice held profound sadness, and I wondered how he could feel something so deeply about a complete stranger. We stood closer to each other, though I don’t remember either of us moving.
I swallowed, looking up into those brilliant, blue eyes, the exact same shade as mine. “If I was so close to dying, then how am I here now?”
“I could not let you die.”
“What do you mean you couldn’t pan’t let me die?”
“I used what Grace was given me to restore you, but it wasn’t enough.”
“I don’t understand…” Though part of me did, I just wasn’t ready to accept it quite yet.
“I gave you more than I intended, it is forbidden…”
“What is? Are you saying you’re responsible for healing me?”
“I couldn’t let you die after you helped me. I don’t know why…” There was a puzzled look on his face as he reached up to brush my cheek with the back of his fingers. The touch surprised me, but clearly disturbed him on a much deeper level and he stared at his fingers as if the touch burned him.
The conflicting emotions I got from him confused the hell out of me, but he looked just as troubled and walked away, turning his back on me. “You should leave,” he said in a pained voice.
He obviously didn’t know me very well.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell you’re talking about,” I snorted.
That got his attention and he turned to face me again from the safety across the room. “What do you know of hell?” His head canted to one side as he studied me.
“Why do you always answer a question with a question?”
His lips quirked a bit. “You just did that very same thing. It is… frustrating.”
“Yeah, no kidding… hence my asking you repeatedly to tell me what you’re talking about.” I raised a brow at him expectantly.
“I healed you… but the Grace clung to you, changed you… do you feel it?”
“Feel what exactly?” I did feel different, but couldn’t begin to verbalize it in terms that made sense to me, let alone trying to explain it to someone else. “What did it do to me? This… Grace.”
“It has made you something new,an>” he answered simply.
Made me something new? I took a deep breath, fighting the rising panic as it sounded like something a little more life altering than being healed. “Can you please try and be more specific?”
“I cannot say. New is… new.” A helpless shrug was given, and he looked back at me so earnestly, I let go of my frustration with him. He seemed as lost as I was.
Instead I moved over to his desk to sit down, my eyes sweeping over the books there. A large number of them were religious texts, but some were on other subjects from gardening to popular fiction. The largest of them lay open, the page only half inscribed, an inkwell and old fashioned writing stylus sat on the desk beside them.
I turned back a few pages, finding more of the precise script with remarkably detailed illustrations depicting angels with wings outstretched. But not the glowy angels with halos who appeared with trumpets and words from above, or sweet cheeked cherubs shooting valentine’s hearts at people, but fierce angels armed for battle with swords drawn. Every bit as fearsome as they were beautiful.
“Those are not meant for human eyes.” He was suddenly at my side, pressing the book closed. His statement seemed to imply that he was not, in fact, human. A concept that grew/font> easier to accept by the moment.
“Are my eyes still human?” I looked up at him, worried by the flicker of doubt that crossed his face at my question. Picking up another book, I opened it to the place marked by a red silk ribbon.
Jude 1:6 And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.
Written in the margins in the same flowing script was inscribed: And now I fear I am doomed to remain Fallen…
“Fallen…” My lips moved as I r
ead the last word. Was my mysterious stranger a fallen angel? My eyes flew up to his face. He certainly was beautiful enough to be an angel, and he had an otherworldly quality about him with his mannerisms and speech. There was the fact that Alexei hadn’t been able to see him in the market, and he’d healed me when I’d been at death’s door.
It was clear he didn’t live like a normal person, there was no bed in the bedroom, no real furniture and I was willing to bet if I opened the fridge or the cupboards in the kitchen I’d find them bare of food. And then there was the golden glow that emanated from him. I hadn’t seen anything like it among anyone else I’d encountered since I’d started seeing the auras or whatever the glowing colors were.
“You’re an angel?”
“I was.”
“But you’re not anymore?” I hadn’t even known such a thing was possible. “Is that why you’re Fallen? Because of what you did for me?” The thought occurred to me suddenly.
“n>No.” He didn’t elaborate, and I got the distinct impression it wasn’t an open topic for conversation.
“So, what does that make me now?”
“I do not know, I have never seen the likes of you before in all my long days.”
“Can you take it back?”
He seemed intrigued by the question. “Would you want me to?” His head cocked to the side again.
“Well…” Without knowing what it was exactly, it was hard to answer the question. My mind attacked the problem as it always did, trying to find some order in the chaos. “Let’s try to figure out what it was you did to me. You said something about Grace… that it clung to me and changed me. Changed me how? I mean besides my eye color.”
“You are no longer human, you are more than human now.”
I sucked in a breath at hearing it spelled out so calmly. “So, I’m an angel?”
He shook his head. “No, you are a new thing.”