by Fall, Carly
It was an intimate moment, or so she thought. At least that’s the way it felt to her. She’d never experienced such closeness with another human except her husband and her parents. However, she wasn’t going to let Liam know his close presence affected her or he would simply tease her about it. Pulling her legs closer to her chest, she shrugged. “I feel as though we’re in a holding pattern waiting for this other angel.”
“I didn’t hear Evangeline say we couldn’t get started. You want to go next door and introduce ourselves?”
Adela glanced out the window at the gray skies and blowing snow, not wanting to do anything but burrow down further into the couch and maybe take a nap. “Maybe when the weather clears,” she murmured.
They sat in silence for a while, Liam’s upper body covered by her blanket, her feet inches away from his thigh. His legs were stretched out in front of him and his feet, covered in gray socks, were resting on the old oak coffee table. Silence filled the room as the snow fell outside, the crackling of the fire the only sound. It was peaceful, calming, and it was an atmosphere begging its visitors to take a nap.
After what seemed like an eternity, and just as Adela’s eyes closed, Liam asked, “If you could live in any era, Adela, which one would it be?”
Adela was startled by the question simply because the quiet had almost lulled her to sleep. As she stared at the dancing flames, she considered her answer.
“You’ve seen a lot,” Liam mumbled, his voice quiet. “From 1673 and on. There have been many inventions, wars, changes and progress in the human world. If you could live as a human in one era, which one would it be?”
It was true, she had seen a lot.
She had witnessed the invention of the car and electricity. She remembered her first encounter with electricity. It would have scared her to death, if she hadn’t already been dead. It was 1880 and Mr. Matthew Frisk was scheduled to die in his bedroom at 8:32 p.m. As she waited for him, she studied the bedroom. It was simple with humble furnishings. When Mr. Frisk entered the room and a light came on from overhead, Adela just about fainted, and wondered if the Creator was visiting from above. She didn’t have time to contemplate much beyond that as Mr. Frisk died, and Adela had to go to work.
Her first encounter with a car had gone much the same. A woman had been run over, and as she lay in the middle of the road succumbing to her injuries, Adela had been fascinated by the vehicle, and studied it with abject wonderment. The human mind, its creativity, and its pursuit of said creativity, was an amazing feat.
She had enjoyed watching the frivolity of the “speak-easy” era, or the roaring twenties, although death seemed almost as prevalent as the good times due to the fights over territories between the alcohol distributors.
Adela had been there for the bombing of Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima, and closed her eyes to push back the memories of the carnage of both incidents.
The simplicity of the fifties had intrigued her. It was a quiet time of families and values. Elvis and other musicians had turned the world upside down with their new brand of music, causing many to believe that he was responsible for the unraveling of the moral fiber of society.
The sixties had also been interesting with the “sexual revolution” and the hippie movement. She had many deaths from drug overdoses during that era.
The decade of decadence, the eighties, resembled the twenties in many ways, except for the awful hair. So many times she had looked upon a death and wondered how they had gazed in the mirror that morning and decided the huge, hair-sprayed strands was becoming.
So many different times—so many different sets of values—both in a political sense and society as a whole. If she could belong to one of them, which era would it be?
The fact of the matter was, at her very core, she didn’t belong in any of them. She was human in the 1600’s, and didn’t really feel she would fit in any other decade.
Perhaps people had a place in time where they were supposed to be. Her time had been the 1600’s, and Liam’s had been five years ago. She recalled a death not too long before she had become an Angel of Affection. The old man had been sitting with his wife at dinner, both eating chicken soup. She couldn’t remember his name, but she remembered what he had said before he had choked on a piece of chicken as they discussed their thirteen-year-old grandson: “It’s a different time now, one where I don’t belong, anymore. The world has bypassed our understanding.”
And that was how she felt—she couldn’t have said it better herself.
“I’m not sure how to answer, that, Liam,” she murmured. “However, I do know I don’t belong in this time. I don’t belong among the innovations and miracles humans have created. They are strange to me. They make me uncomfortable.”
“Maybe you’re just uncomfortable because you’re so unfamiliar with them. Maybe you could learn to adapt.”
He turned to her, a small grin on his face. Her breath hitched as she watched his eyes, and he reminded her of the Devil. His dark hair and dancing eyes with flames in their center brought back memories of stories from her past of the Devil and his evil ways.
According to her parents and her church, he was everywhere, and here she felt as though he was staring right at her.
However, she knew different. Although he may look devilish, Liam was a good soul.
Liam turned, staring into the fire, so she continued.
“I think there comes a time in a human’s life where they no longer belong,” she said. “The world changes. People change. And that person cannot expect to adapt into the ever-evolving world around them. I don’t belong in this world living as a human. I belong in Heaven in whatever capacity they allow me to be there. For me, it’s best to have lived the short life I had been given, and go on to the afterlife with grace.”
“Has there been a lot of grace for you, Adela?”
She thought about her job as an Angel of Death. It had been such a jarring experience at first, but one she had adapted to quickly. It was a world that she had to detach herself from, a world where she couldn’t get bogged down in the emotions. Closing herself off to her job, to the souls she delivered to the Fringe, had worked for centuries.
Yet, even after all that effort of disengaging herself, her new role as an Angel of Affection was even more disarming and upsetting, and she found herself close to Liam. Yes, she had definitely grown feelings for him, however, no one would ever know. Just as she had allowed herself to feel something for him in their last assignment, he had gone and slept with a human woman.
One thing she wasn’t equipped for was the sexual freedom of this decade. When she had been married, she had been dedicated to her husband, even if she really never felt any love. In these days, there didn’t seem to be any commitment between lovers. It had become a world very different than the one she had known —the one she had known as a living, breathing human.
She was about to answer Liam when she heard soft snores next to her. Liam’s head was against the back of the couch, his full lips slightly open. His face looked peaceful, which was something she had never seen. He always seemed as though he were running from something—his mind constantly churning, his body always in motion.
His strong jaw held a five o’clock shadow that crawled up to the bottom of his cheek bones, and the worry crease between his eyes had eased just a little from earlier.
She stared at him for just another minute, and felt sleep tug at her. It was so relaxing to be curled up on the couch in front of a crackling fire while the wind and snow whipped around outside. However, it didn’t feel right to go to sleep with Liam on the couch next to her, so reluctantly, she got up. After laying the blanket over Liam, she walked down the hall to her room. She shivered at the drop in temperature and quickly crawled between the sheets.
They would definitely have to go and introduce themselves to their neighbors, but first, it was apparent that they both needed a nap.
Chapter 6
Someone was in her room.
Fear
ripped through Adela as she came to consciousness. She heard the footsteps on the hardwood floor. She faced away from the door, and panic had her frozen in place.
She knew it wasn’t Liam. His footfalls weren’t that heavy, and he had never entered her room without knocking, except that one night she was having a nightmare. No, this was someone else.
Opening her eyes, she realized she had slept the afternoon away and nighttime had descended. Adela turned her head slightly, trying to confirm her suspicions. A black form stood in the doorway. She couldn’t see any facial features, just an outline of a large, hulking man—a man much larger than Liam.
Who was it? Was it the man who had yelled at her earlier in the day? He had seemed very angry that she had witnessed the fight he had with the woman, but would he be angry enough to break into their house? It seemed ridiculous, but she couldn’t help but wonder.
As she tried to get a hold of her fear, her heart beat so loud she was sure the intruder could hear it. She tried to think of what to do. Should she stay where she was and hope that the man hadn’t seen her? Or should she try to scare him and hope he ran away? She had nothing around her that could be used as a weapon, except for the pen on the bedside table.
Okay, so she had something she could use. Where was Liam? Had the intruder hurt him and now came for her?
He took two steps toward the bed and pure terror raced through her. Her limbs shook, her breath hitched in her throat. She was taken back to that fateful day of her hanging, and she felt the men’s rough hands grasping her arms as they led her up to the gallows, their grips tightening as she struggled against them. She smelled the acrid breath of the man who had put the noose around her neck, and she knew that she would never allow another man to hurt her again. The form in her bedroom took another step and something overcame her. With lightening fast speed, she reached out, grabbed the pen and turned on the intruder. “Liam!” she shrieked, hoping she could buy enough time until Liam could come to her rescue.
The pen connected with his arm and he screamed, then took a step back. She got out from under the covers and realized he was now back in the doorway, blocking her only way out. She stood up on the bed and lunged at him again, yelling for Liam as she did.
The man caught her hand before the pen could connect with him again, but her momentum had him crashing into the door. She fell on top of him, fighting with everything in her as she stabbed the pen at him. The man rolled on top of her, grabbed her hands, and pinned them on either side of her head. Adrenaline rushed through her and she turned and bit his wrist, hoping for the taste of blood on her tongue. She realized then that she was in some type of rage.
“Stop it, you wench!” he yelled.
Adela saw another shadow over the intruder’s shoulder, and then the weight disappeared off of her. She scooted away from the grunts and sounds of fists connecting with flesh and went to the other side of the bed. Feeling around, she finally found the switch to turn on the bedside lamp.
The illumination in the room stunned the two men, and Liam’s fist stopped in mid-air before it connected with the invader. His face went from rage to confusion in seconds.
Recognition dawned on Adela, and she gasped.
“Gunnar?” Liam yelled. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter 7
When Liam woke to Adela’s screams, he thought she was having another nightmare until he heard the scuffling. No, that didn’t sound like a nightmare, unless she was having an all out fight with herself.
When it sounded like a freight train had come through the wall, Liam had run down the hallway and was shocked to see another person in Adela’s room. Adrenaline and anger coursed through him, and he reached out and pulled on the hulking form.
No one broke into his house, assaulted a woman, and got away unscathed. In fact, this guy was going to be lucky to walk out at all.
His fist connected with what felt like a scruffy chin and he took a good jab to the gut, which only pissed him off more. He got in two more punches, took three more, and then the lights came on.
He thought he would pass out from the shock of seeing Gunnar standing in front of him, his lip bleeding, breathing heavily.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Liam panted, taking a step back. He bent over and put his hands on his knees.
“Getting the shit kicked out of me,” Gunnar responded, gingerly touching his jaw. “What the hell is that all about?”
“Why are you in my room?” Adela snapped. Her brown eyes were wide, her hair tangled around her. Liam could still see some traces of fear in her face, but overall, she looked really angry.
“I was told to come here,” Gunnar retorted. “They didn’t tell me anything else, so I was looking around for my next soul to be delivered, and when I saw there was someone in the bed, I thought I had found it.”
Adela glanced over at Liam, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was. Was Gunnar their helper?
“What’s going on with me?” Gunnar asked, flexing his arm. “I feel like I just got plowed by a tank. You can throw a good one, Liam, but this feels very strange.”
Adela took a step toward him and put her hand on his arm. “Your arm is bleeding.”
“How did that happen?” Liam asked, standing to his full height and studying the hole in Gunnar’s arm.
“I stabbed him with a pen,” Adela admitted.
“Seriously?” Liam asked, smiling, a swell of pride traveling through him. That’s my girl!
“Yes,” she said. “I’m terribly sorry, Gunnar.”
“There’s something else going on with me besides that,” Gunnar moaned. “I’m feeling very weak, and my joints hurt . . .”
“It sounds like you’re turning back into a human,” Liam said.
“We should get him to the kitchen,” Adela said. “I‘ll clean him up and you can make him some food.”
“Why the hell would I be turning human?” Gunnar argued.
Liam looked at his friend and smiled. Two thoughts ran through his head: the first being that he was glad to see Gunnar, the second was things had just gotten a lot more difficult.
He put his hand on the big Viking’s shoulder. “Looks like you got drafted as an Angel of Affection, big guy. Welcome to the party.”
Chapter 8
Adela and Gunnar took their seats at the small kitchen table that sat four. As Adela dabbed the wound on Gunnar’s arm, her hand shook. The altercation had left her feeling frazzled, but grateful that it had all been a misunderstanding. In fact, she also felt a little guilt, along with some pride. She attacked the man who she thought was going to hurt her, getting the upper hand on him. If only she had done so before her death, perhaps she could have escaped. Never again would she allow fear to rule her life, especially where a man was involved.
Liam stood at the stove, the smell of frying bacon and fresh brewed coffee wafting through the air. Gunnar still wore his Angel of Death uniform—the black leather pants and vest with combat boots. He was just a little bit taller than her, which put him just above six feet. Blond hair fell to his shoulders, framing a hawkish face with sharp cheekbones, a full blond beard, and serious ice-blue eyes tinted with a hint of confusion. He winced as she gently pressed a cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide to his thick arm.
“That . . . feels strange,” he hissed, his brow creasing. “I guess I should say it hurts.”
Adela dabbed it again.
“I haven’t felt pain in a long time,” Gunnar murmured.
Adela didn’t answer. He was going to experience a lot of things again—some foreign and new, while others would seem a distant memory coming back to life. She heard his stomach growl, and he looked down at it.
“If I remember correctly, that’s a sign of hunger.”
“Yes,” she said, glancing over at Liam, who was plating some eggs, bacon, and toast. “It looks like you’ll be able to sate your hunger in just a moment.”
Liam brought over the three plates, balancing
one on his forearm. He set them down and took a seat at the small table.
Gunnar stared at the plate. “This doesn’t look that appetizing,” he remarked.
“It’s eggs and bacon, Gunnar. You don’t get more appetizing than that,” Liam snickered, digging in. Adela smiled and picked up a piece of bacon. She really had to agree with him.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, and after a few hesitant bites, Gunnar attacked his food with enthusiasm. “This is good,” he murmured, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.
“Glad you like it, mate,” Liam said.
Gunnar set his napkin down on the table and looked around. “It’s pretty strange being alive again.”
“Yes, it is, Gunnar,” Adela agreed, laying her hand on his arm. “It was quite jarring for me after being an Angel of Death for three hundred years, so I imagine it’s even more so for you.”
“How long did you serve again?” Liam asked.
“Around seven hundred years, give or take a few. I mean, after five hundred years of delivering souls to Heaven, why keep count?” Gunnar replied, running his hand over the soft wood of the table. “In my time, there wasn’t any finish like this. Wood was cut and rubbed to make it as smooth as possible. It still gave us splinters, though.” He looked at his large hand. “Amazing. Not even a little one.”
Adela watched him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed fascinated by the smooth wood as he rubbed his hand over it again.
“So you think I’m an Angel of Affection,” Gunnar said to Liam.
Liam sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t need to think about it all, mate. I know you’re an Angel of Affection.”
“And you came to this conclusion how?” Gunnar asked.
Liam shrugged. “It’s not rocket science, Gunnar. Evangeline said we’d be getting some help. You’re obviously human again, and my guess is that the transformation began before you even realized it. The fact you were bleeding when Adela stabbed you, I could hear your stomach rumbling when I was by the stove, and the fact that you feel the damn table as a human would are all pretty good indicators that you’ve been assigned as an Angel of Affection, hence, becoming human again.”