Enticing An Angel

by Leo Charles Taylor

  "It's just better this way," she said to herself and she put her finger into the poisonous paint and began to swirl it. She cared nothing for the lead content, and as she moved the oils, she added more fingers. She needed wisps, and she set about making them.

  Chapter 14

  Susan watched her son move morosely about her kitchen. He was a handsome man, made even more so in his Sunday best. Currently he was upset, she could see that, but he had yet to talk about it. He had just called the previous evening and asked to join her for church. It was an unusual request, but when Mrs. Angel could get one of her boys to a sermon, she gladly took it without question; those would come afterwards; they always did.

  For the entirety of the service, he had remained stoic. Afterwards, he had been minimally sociable, even when people came to say "hello." It had been a long time since they had seen him. Michael of course was polite, but withdrawn, and Susan was glad to get him back to her house.

  She began to make tea and coffee and then suggested lunch. Michael passively let her make the meal. He didn't offer to help; he just remained thoughtful and lethargic. After several minutes, he spoke.

  "Melanie and I broke up," he said.

  "Oh," she replied. She was facing away from him and hid her smile well. It was not a large smile, but it did appear when she heard the good news.

  "I'm sorry to hear that. How did that happen?" she asked.

  "It was my fault really. I just did something stupid," Michael said.

  "Oh?" his mother replied with confusion and curiosity as she turned to him.

  Michael caught her look and absently shrugged his shoulders. He then proceeded to tell her about the events of Friday night. When he was done, his mother was livid. She clenched her teeth and turned back to her lunch preparations.

  That little tramp, she thought as she moved about the kitchen.

  She understood exactly what Melanie had done, and her fists clenched with rage. Melanie hadn’t wanted to be the bad guy, she had made that clear, so she had waited until Michael made the tiniest error and used it as an excuse to blame this on him. Hell, she probably didn't even care about her stupid artwork.

  Susan wanted to smack the girl, but knew that would not be possible. The joy she had felt just moments before had now turned to anger, and she worked to control herself. The bright side was that Michael wasn’t dating her anymore. He might be hurt, but he would get over her, and now they could move on.

  "I tried to call and text her all day yesterday," he said, "but she won't answer. I just wish I could fix this."

  "Michael, maybe it's for the best. Melanie's a nice enough girl, but you and she just don't fit. You have nothing in common, she has no sense of responsibility, and she can't even focus for five minutes. Do you really want to be with someone like that?"

  "Mom, Melanie is an amazing woman, and you're wrong on all your points. You just don't know it."

  "Michael, I'm not wrong. I have seen that girl several times. Trust me, I can tell many things about other women, including whether they would be good for you. You just haven't seen her faults yet, Lord knows why."

  Actually, Mrs. Angel did know why—sex. However, she was not about to have that discussion with Michael. He was a grown boy, but she knew when he was thinking with the wrong head. The topic of conversation at her dinner table during Joshua's birthday party told her that Melanie was a little too free with her body and her thoughts.

  "Mother," Michael said, as he used a more formal address. "You just don't get it. But it doesn't matter anyway," he sighed. "She was very angry. I don't think she'll ever want to see me."

  "Trust me, Michael, you're better off. You deserve a woman like Jennifer." Susan thought about her comment and had to chuckle lightly even while her son was in pain. "Well, maybe not Jennifer, but someone like her," she said.

  Michal chuckled lightly with an odd sort of amusement. "Yeah, Melanie said the exact same…" he replied and didn’t finish his sentence.

  Mrs. Angel had been putting away the bread, and she turned to her son as he trailed off with his sentence. He was cold in his look, and as she watched him, his jaw set, his eyes turned to slits and his fists clenched. He was no longer passive; he was angry.

  "What did you do?" he asked through clenched teeth.

  She thought about lying and even opened her mouth to say something, but she paused, unsure what to offer as a lie. That pause was all that Michael needed to know the truth. He stood fully to attention and shook his head.

  "What the hell did you do?" he yelled.

  "Michael, I didn't do anything," she protested meekly.

  "Bullshit, Mother, now what the hell did you do?"

  Mrs. Angel wasn’t used to her sons talking to her this way, and she was not about to have them start now. He had cursed in her presence, and that was bad enough with Brian, she would not have that from Michael as well.

  "I took her to lunch and told her that she wasn’t good enough for you. I told her to break up with you, and she agreed, Michael."

  Michael shook his head in anger, looked to the ceiling, and then paced for a moment.

  "Oh, God damn it, mom," he cried.

  Susan suddenly angered beyond control. She took two steps and swung her arm fully, slapping him hard across the face. The noise was loud and her hand stung with the effort, but she ignored it. She took that same hand, clenched it, and pointed a finger at her eldest son.

  "You will not blaspheme in this house, young man," she cried out to him.

  Michael turned to her and rapidly grabbed her outstretched hand. Her finger was still pointing, and she could do nothing as he squeezed it tightly; her finger bent backward in pain as he crushed her hand.

  "You have lost all right to discipline me, mother," he said with clenched teeth as the woman that gave him life began to buckle under his assault. She contorted to an odd shape as he moved his grip; her elbow tried to bend in a way that it was not designed to do, and she cried out.

  "Michael, you're hurting me," she said meekly. When he did not reply, she yelled his name.

  "Michael!"

  Her son suddenly let go of her hand, and he pushed her back as he did. She stumbled but maintained her balance. When she was able to, she stood fully and faced a man that was so angry she actually feared that he might cause her physical harm. This was not a side of her son that she had ever seen. It was unfamiliar, and it scared her.

  He took a step towards her, and she braced herself. The familial roles were now reversed, and for the first time in their lives, he chastised her.

  "You had better hope this can be fixed," he said as he pointed his finger at her. "You had no right to do what you did."

  "I'm your mother," she seethed.

  "You're an embarrassment," he spat out in words that cut her deeply.

  "I have put up with your meddling in my life long enough," he continued. "I have met the girls you chose, I have come over here to help with your house when you asked in a conniving manner, I have assisted you in many ways and cared for you in others, but this is my life, not yours. I will choose who I date, and you will stay out of it."

  "You would choose that tramp over your own mother?"

  Michael's face contorted as he comprehended the remark, and his arm swung back rapidly.

  "Michael!" she cried as she put an arm up to defend herself.

  He recovered quickly and didn’t strike his mother. His arm relaxed, and his finger pointed to her.

  "At this moment in time, Melanie is a saint. You’re the one in need of the confessional," he said, and then flexed his hands in and out.

  Never in her entire life seen had she seen her son this angry—not with his brother, not with the bullies at school, not with anyone. She had not imagined him capable of this level of passion, and certainly didn't imagine that the anger could be directed at her.

  He moved away from her and paced rapidly.

  "Why, mother?" he said quietly as he began to gain composure.

  "She's
not right for you, Michael. You just don't see it," she said.

  "Maybe, but now we'll never know will we?" he asked her. He thought more on the matter. "So what, I'm supposed to take your word for it?"

  "Oh, grow up, Michael. You’re an adult. Stop thinking with your penis," she shot back.

  "You want me to grow up? That's rich," he said as he continued to pace. A thought seemed to come to him and he stopped his pacing and turned to her.

  "You're right, Susan, perhaps I need to grow up."

  Fear took hold of Mrs. Angel, and she didn’t know if she wanted to hear the next words. She had no idea what her son was about to do, but he had never in his life addressed her by her first name. That fact scared her more than the threat of physical harm.

  "Perhaps, I need to grow up and move away from my mother. I need a life of my own. One without you in it."

  He was cold. He was calm. And worst of all, Mrs. Angel knew he was serious.

  Michael looked about the kitchen. He was searching for something and when he spied it, he moved. He walked to the counter near the end of the kitchen and retrieved his car keys.

  "You would choose this woman over your own mother?" she asked quietly.

  "I would choose the one that doesn't make me choose. Melanie never once told me of your lunch," Michael said as he shook his head and then snorted slightly. "Let me guess. It was last week sometime. Probably, before Friday."

  "A week ago, Wednesday."

  The lunch that she was stressed about, thought Michael, and it all made sense.

  He shook his head and his mother watched as he wrapped his mind around what she had done. He would forgive her, he always had. He must forgive her; that's what families do.

  "If you leave like this, then you automatically choose her," she said.

  "No, Mother, you do. Melanie is not asking me to choose, and that simple action makes her the better choice. I don't know if Melanie and I could make it work; we might date for a week or a year. However, if you tell me as my mother, that it's your way or the highway then I will pack my bags. You do NOT have the right to give us ultimatums like that," he said. His anger was on the rise again.

  "Your brothers don't seem to mind," she stated with defiance as she straightened her back.

  Michael moved rapidly to her, but she did not flinch.

  "Oh, yes they do, Mother," he said with clenched teeth and a pointed finger. "We just put up with it, but you have pushed this son too far, and if you keep it up, you will push the others too far as well."

  He turned and headed for the door. Before he left, he paused with his hand on the knob. He called back to her without looking.

  "Tell me, Mrs. Angel. Of your five boys, exactly which one of us is a Mama's boy? Which one us would put up with this kind of personal intrusion?" he asked. "Hell, it took all of us to save Joshua."

  He twisted his head back to look at her. She could only see one side of his face, but the eye that he cast to her did not offer a pleasant feeling. She thought about her response, but before she could say anything, he was gone.

  Mrs. Angel considered chasing her son, but she would not. How dare he speak to her like that? She might have overstepped her bounds, but she certainly did not deserve the animosity her son had just displayed. She moved to a window and watched him leave.

  You better not peel out and leave tire marks on my driveway, she thought. He did not, and her eyes closed to slits as she watched him leave.

  Heading back to the kitchen she opened the microwave, inserted a plate, and pushed the door closed. It hit the latch and bounced back; she hadn't closed it hard enough.

  "Damn it!" she screamed, and when the door had bounced open all the way, she put her palm to it and slammed it shut as hard as she could. It closed with a bang and broke on impact. It bounced back again and she re-tried, but the latching mechanism was destroyed. After several more slams, she screamed again, removed the plate from the microwave, threw it in the sink, and stormed out of the kitchen.

  Chapter 15

  The click of the intercom was audible, even if no one answered. Michael knew Melanie was listening as he stood at the entry to her building. She wouldn't let him in and no amount of calling and texting could accomplish his goal of seeing her.

  "Please, Melanie, just for a min…" An audible click could be heard, and he knew that she had signed off.

  He debated about pushing the button again, but it had taken three presses just to get this far; and now his texts were being bounced back. How she had managed that, he couldn't guess. Sighing heavily, he decided to take drastic measures; he really hated social media.

  Pulling out his phone, he activated an app and then typed a message. Amber was his best bet, but the girl did not respond immediately. Waiting on the doorstep didn't speed up the process, so Michael surrendered his position and went home.

  It was getting later in the day, and his Sunday was shot. An unsettling day at church, followed by the worst argument he had ever had with his mother, then an hour of phone calls and useless texts, followed by standing outside Melanie's building. He shook his head at the stupidity.

  Approaching middle age and it still feels like high school, he thought.

  Later that evening, his desktop computer beeped. Entering his office, which was a converted bedroom with a large table for drafting, a workable desk with dual computer screens and several computerized artist tools, he took a seat and checked the system. One screen displayed a browser open to social media sites and the second screen had a balloon popup signaling an incoming message. It was Amber.

  Michael typed in his request and hit the send. A minute later, he received a childish response. Michael frowned and shook his head.

  No games, he typed. We are all adults. She is understandably upset, and I am asking for a simple favor. Either you will or you won't. Yes or no?

  Yes, was the typed response. But you didn't get it from me.

  Understood.

  The two typed for a few more minutes and made arrangements for the following day. Michael was pleased with this result. His only other option was to try to visit Melanie at work, but once again, they were adults. To interfere with her work was unacceptable to him. He debated about giving her more time, but as it sat, it had been two full days. She might require another two or maybe a week or perhaps never, but he suspected that half the battle was the trouble with his mother. If he could at least talk to her about that, perhaps they could break up on better terms.

  The idea of a break up bothered him, but not as much as the idea of Melanie truly hating him. He didn't believe that she did. But he decided to put out quiet overtures and hope for the best. He hadn’t attempted to call her since he was at her building and the thought of calling her again was not entertained for long. If she had not answered the few calls he had made then she wouldn’t be inclined to answer one more.

  Sleep was rough for him that night. He kept thinking about the next day. It reminded him about being anxious for a test at school, or a project deadline at work. Melanie must still be upset, but at least she didn’t have twenty-four hours to worry about an upcoming encounter; if Amber was smart enough to keep her mouth shut, then Melanie wouldn't know to expect him.

  The night ended and his workday began, only to drag on incessantly. There were a few bright spots as he completed his work and took congratulations when offered by his co-workers, they were all impressed with the client proposal.

  At the end of his day, he packed up his belongings and made his way to downtown Seattle. Parking was easy at this time of day—not on the streets, the bar patrons took up those spots, but he was able to find a lot not too far from Melanie's loft and paid the machine. Walking to a nearby café, he frowned as it began to rain. It was not a downpour, but it began to pick up its pace.

  As he approached the café, he saw Amber sitting outside at a small wrought iron table. She was under an awning, protected from the rain, and drinking some kind of mocha. Not sure whether she saw him, Michael moved to
her position. There was no need to address her, for as he closed to her, she held her hand aloft and in it was a shining key sticking up into the air. Michael smiled. It reminded him of how she had held out Melanie's panties at the Rave.

  He walked on past, grabbed the key as he did, and said, "Thank you."

  Amber didn't look at him. She simply took a sip of her drink and said, "Yep."

  Chapter 16

  The knock on the door caught Melanie's attention, and she looked up from her prone position with confusion; she was currently searching under her bed. Amber and Dagger were not expected, but then again those girls could show up whenever they wanted. Of course, the other option was that they had notified her and she was unable to receive the text.

  Once again, Melanie looked to where her phone should be, and once again was disappointed to see that it was missing. She frowned.

  Where is that damn thing, she thought.

  The knocking on the door came again and she rolled her eyes.

  "I'm coming," she said as she headed down her ladder, casting her eyes about her place in a vain attempt to spot her device.

  She had been carrying her phone with her incessantly, and each time it rang displaying Michael's number, she debated about answering it. However, each time she hit the ignore button. His texts were treated the same way until she was able to get a friend to teach her how to shut them off. Of course, that became a moot point when she lost her phone yesterday. It had been in her hand as she paced her loft thinking about Michael, and the next thing she knew the phone was gone; she couldn’t find it anywhere—not even in the freezer. The task was made more difficult due to the fact that she had turned the sound off in an attempt to calm her nerves; when it rang she worried about answering it, when it didn’t ring, she hoped it would. With the sound off, she could live in a happier state of ignorance. Her carrying the device around in her hand made that tactic seem rather silly, but now it was lost and she was frustrated with herself.