Fallen Angel (Hqn)

by Eden Bradley

  It wasn’t that the image was sexually graphic. And he had some idea that this creature was the demon she’d talked about weeks ago. But he thought she’d let that shit go, and obviously it was still in her head. It was still happening, her seeing this demon thing. But what disturbed him the most were the words she’d written across the bottom.

  My teacher. My lover. My enemy.

  “Angel, tell me what this means.”

  He didn’t mean to sound so hostile. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t know why he’d felt so instantly certain that this was more than some fantastical image to her. Why he felt immediately threatened by it.

  She slipped from his lap, pushing off him and retreating into the corner of the sofa. She pulled a pillow over her, covering her stomach, her bare breasts, like armor.

  He couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t stand to see the fear on her face. Part of him wanted to reach out, to comfort her. But he knew in some strange way that this picture meant something. Something he wasn’t going to like.

  “Who is this?” he prompted, making an effort to keep his voice low, his tone calm. He knew what her answer would be. But he had to hear her say it. Had to have her tell him the truth. Maybe he was testing her. Fucking unfair, but he couldn’t help it.

  “It is Asmodeus,” she said softly, biting her lip, her hands fisting in the ends of her long hair.

  “Asmodeus,” he repeated. “Why are you drawing him now?”

  “This picture is meant to be…a sort of…tribute. A way to remember him. A way to bring him here, into my…reality. To help myself figure it all out. His existence. His role in my life, in my past as well as now.”

  “What do you mean ‘now’?”

  He wasn’t liking this. Was she still caught up in those old delusions? And what did that make him, what he’d done with her, if she was…mentally unstable? He was shivering all over.

  She shook her head, her long hair falling like a curtain around her body, her face.

  “I have to figure out if he has a place in my life now. He has been with me since I was twelve years old, Declan. He is not so easy to give up.” She parted her hair and looked at him then, her blue eyes blazing with hurt and fear and something else he couldn’t figure out.

  His stomach was pulled into a tight, gnawing knot. All he could do was shake his head.

  “He isn’t all bad, Declan. He taught me the ways of love. He prepared me for you.”

  “Come on, Angel. It wasn’t for me. Was it?”

  “Not at first, no. But I’ve come to realize that even though I was trained to a different purpose, my true purpose was to love you, Declan.”

  There were tears in her eyes now. He couldn’t fucking stand it.

  “I don’t understand all of this, Angel. I need to know what this Asmodeus means to you. If you still think he actually exists. If you still see him in your head. If you still want to. Why would you want to, for God’s sake?”

  “Declan, I was raised to believe in him. And I have. Until recently. Now I am…unsure. Being given this new life has given me a new perspective, but I still don’t know what to trust in. I mean myself. If my perceptions are correct. About the world. About what my life has been. And mostly about Asmodeus. I feel on some very deep level that he does not exist. That he is a product of my imagination and the drugs and the lies The Grandmother fed me. But how do I know for certain? And even knowing, how do I say goodbye to the one familiar piece left of this bizarre puzzle that is all I’ve ever known?”

  The tears pooled in her eyes, spilled over. He couldn’t stand it one moment longer. He reached for her, pulled her into his arms.

  “Christ, I’m sorry, Angel. I’m sorry. This is all so damn weird to me. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know how to handle it. And I don’t like that. I don’t like that you kept something from me. Especially something that’s so big for you.”

  “I was going to tell you, Declan.” She paused, shook her head. “No, that’s not true. I wasn’t certain yet if I should. If I’d need to. But, Declan, you aren’t without your secrets, either.”

  He was quiet a moment. He felt like shit suddenly. Because she was right. Because he was being such an asshole about this Asmodeus thing. “No. I haven’t told you everything. There are some things I don’t talk about.”

  Angel lifted her head, wiping her tears with the back of one hand. “There are things which, if kept to ourselves, poison us. I believe you have been poisoned. At least I’m trying to let it out. To figure it out, to put my life in perspective.”

  “And I need to do the same. I know. That was one of the things I wanted to tell you about seeing my dad today.”

  “Let us make a deal, then. I will tell you of Asmodeus. And you will tell me about your father.”

  “I can do that.”

  Her arms went around his shoulders, slender and warm as she buried her face in his neck. She whispered against his throat, “I am coming to understand that part of loving someone is holding nothing back. History. Emotion. And I love you, Declan. All that I am must be yours. And all that you are must be mine, if we are to love completely. Ruth does not necessarily agree with me, but this is how I see the truth of it.”

  “I’ve sort of come to the same kind of conclusion lately. Maybe just today.”

  “Tell me what you’ve discovered, Declan, about your father.”

  He looked into her eyes, as blue as the summer sky and twice as beautiful to him. He would tell her. And whatever she had to tell him about this demon creature, he would handle it. It was part of her. He would be there to help her figure it out.

  He pulled a soft throw blanket from the back of the couch over them both, making a cocoon of heat and flesh. She laid her head on his shoulder, her cheek warm against him. And he began to talk to her about the things he had never discussed with anyone, never faced. But with Angel, it all seemed a little less difficult.

  “Some of this you know already. The logistics of what happened when my mom got sick. How I felt about the decisions my dad made. That she made.” He wrapped his fingers up in her hair, the softness soothing him. “You were right about me needing to hang on to the anger. Because as long as I’m angry I don’t have to face the loss and the grief.”

  He thought about his conversation with his father today—all that he’d come to understand, all that he still needed to wade through.

  “I’m realizing that, really seeing it,” he told her. “But it’s mostly on a cerebral level right now. I know there’s more to explore there. It’s all been buried under this bullshit that runs through my head every day. Like this blanket of denial. I don’t really want to know what’s under there, I’ll admit that. But I know I have to start dealing with it. I have to start letting go of the anger at my father.”

  “Yes,” Angel said. “But you have to find a way to do it without blaming yourself too harshly.”

  “I feel like I’ve been such an asshole to him all these years.”

  “No, Declan.”

  “Oh, I have been. But I can’t wallow in that shit. I just have to work through it because the blaming isn’t constructive. And it’ll make me keep my distance from him, which is what I want to stop doing. I did it a little tonight, at his house. Stopped blaming him. Myself. Let the anger go. Maybe I did it a lot. We talked about it tonight and he called me on it. Made me see it. Had a hell of an argument that was a long time coming, but we needed to do it. Hash it out. And, Angel, I have to tell you, you are the catalyst in all this. This would not be happening without you in our lives.”

  “That makes me happy.” He heard her soft sigh, knew she had more to say. She took his hand in hers, twining their fingers together. “Declan. Tell me now about Abby.”

  He was quiet a moment, his mind spinning a hundred miles an hour. “What do you want to know? You heard the story. You know what happened to her.”

  “I want to know what happened to you. I want to know the emotions, Declan, as you’ve just shared with me about your
father.”

  He pulled in a long breath. “Okay. Fair enough.”

  He had to think for a moment. To sort it out. He still wasn’t clear about how he felt when it came to Abby. How much was old pain that he was hanging on to because it was familiar and how much he still actually felt about it.

  The whole thing seemed like a million years ago sometimes. It had been a long time. And he hadn’t really let it go yet, had he? But talking about it with Angel now seemed easier than it had ever been, with her warm body pressed close to his.

  “I think when Abby died, I was still grieving for my mother. It was too much. I mean, seeing something like that would be too much for anyone, but for me…it made me shut down. I haven’t…” He had to stop, shake his head, take in a breath. “I haven’t let myself love anyone, not even my own family, since then. I guess I’ve been afraid that I could lose anyone I loved, so it was safer not to.”

  Shit. Had he just said that out loud? But there was some relief in getting it out, dumping it out of his system. Getting rid of the poison, like Angel had said.

  “Your feelings for your father must have been very confusing. The anger and resentment and love you were pretending not to feel.”

  “Yeah. Exactly.”

  Angel said gently, “Yet those emotions are always there. I think emotions are things. Do you know what I mean, Declan? They exist. They don’t just go away. You cannot talk yourself out of them. You can only bury them, sometimes.”

  “For a long time, in my case.”

  “And maybe in mine, as well. I’ve been remembering lately…just a few things. A few moments. Emotions.”

  Declan squeezed her hand, but she seemed okay. Calm.

  “What do you remember, Angel?” he asked.

  She could see the memories in her head, like the television playing, even with that same flickering glow. Like the lambent flicker of sunlight through the trees.

  She closed her eyes, tried to recapture those images. “I remember a man’s face. And a woman’s. They look so much alike. Pale hair and skin. His eyes are blue, but not as blue as mine, as blue as hers. I’ve seen her before. Remembered her before. She’s the one whose language I couldn’t understand. They’re talking to me. Laughing. We’re all laughing and playing with a small boy. He’s maybe…two or three years old. He has the same blue eyes and blond hair as the rest of us. And we are…together, all of us. I take his hand, the boy’s, and we go for a walk in the forest. We are all together. And then we run ahead, the boy and I, through the trees, into an open field. There are wildflowers and sunshine. And then he’s gone.”

  She stopped, rendered quiet by what felt like a dark wall coming down in front of her eyes. Anxiety speared her body and she held tighter on to Declan’s hand.

  “Angel? What is it?”

  “I can’t seem to get past that point. I don’t know what it means.”

  “You’re sure this is a memory and not a dream?”

  “It feels different than a dream.” She pulled back to look at him. “Declan, do you think it’s only a dream, but I want to make it a memory?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you can ask Ruth.”

  “Yes. Maybe she can tell me.”

  “But, Angel, it’s definitely possible it is a memory. I should tell you what else my dad and I were talking about tonight.”

  She nodded, feeling a strange sort of anticipation building inside, making her shoulders pull tight, her pulse race. Liam stood and nosed at her hand, whining quietly until she stroked his big head. He wagged his stubby tail, helping her to calm a little.

  “Okay,” Declan said. “I don’t want you to get too excited because we don’t know anything for sure yet. But we have some leads as to who you might be, Angel. Your name, your family.”

  “Oh…”

  “Are you all right?” Declan leaned in, his hands going to her cheeks. “Jesus, you just went pale as a sheet.”

  “Yes. I’m fine. I just…it’s a shock to think of it. After all these years of being…of having no identity. Of being nothing more than The Gift. The Grandmother’s nurse and cook and housekeeper. And then spending these last few months finding myself. Figuring out who I want to be. And now…it’s so strange to be faced with a past that isn’t my own, and yet is, somehow. I’m sorry. I’m not making sense.”

  “No, you are,” he soothed, stroking her cheek, her hair. “It has to be a hell of a shock. But you might have a family, Angel. And if you do, we’ll find them.”

  Why was her heart hammering in her chest as though it wanted to burst free, escape?

  “Declan, I know this should be happy news. But it scares me.”

  “What are you afraid of, baby?”

  “These people who may be my family—I don’t know them. They don’t know me. I have family. And that’s you and Liam.” She smoothed her hand over the dog’s sleek black coat. “And your father because he’s your family. I’m not sure I’m ready for more.”

  Declan pulled her in, his arms closing around her body, and she relaxed into that lovely, familiar warmth and strength.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured. “We’ll take it one step at a time. We still have some tracking to do. It’ll take a while. You’ll have some time to get used to the idea.”

  “Okay.”

  “My dad will have a picture tomorrow, of the little girl who went missing. The one we think might be you. Will you look at it? You don’t have to do anything but look. You can have Ruth there with you, if you want. If she’s not available tomorrow we’ll wait until she is.”

  “Yes, I’ll look at it. And I’d like for Ruth to be there, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Truly, Declan?”

  “Yeah. I’m working through that.”

  “That’s good. Your father deserves to be happy.”

  “Ruth makes him happy,” he admitted. “I know. I know how important it is. You make me understand that, Angel.”

  “I meant what I said, Declan. About you being my family. Do you know how important that is to me?”

  “I’m beginning to.”

  He stroked her hair from her eyes, and in his was everything she needed to know. Strength. Support. Love.

  She wasn’t certain she wanted to know about some family of strangers, but she also understood she needed to find out who she was. Who she’d been. Because then she would truly be free to move forward, to who she wanted to be.

  * * *

  ANGEL WAS EXCITED TO BE GOING to Oran’s house. She was looking forward to seeing him. But she was nervous about what else she might see.

  She loved his house the moment they pulled into the gravel drive. It was homey-looking, surrounded by roses in full bloom. Declan led her to the door.

  “You okay?” he asked her, keeping an arm around her waist.

  “Yes. This is just a little scary. Strange. As if there are all of these possibilities suddenly. And it might be good, or it might be frightening, or it might be nothing at all, which is perhaps the scariest part.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” he told her.

  “No, I do. Not only for me, Declan, but for you, too.”

  “What? I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

  “No, it’s not that. But I think we can only have a life together after I get past this. And I want that, Declan.”

  She looked up at him. His brows were drawn together in concern, but there was love shining in his gaze. It made her heart trip in her chest in a way nothing else ever had.

  “So do I, baby.”

  “Then let’s do this. Let us see if today will tell me who I am.”

  He nodded, knocked on the door. Ruth answered a moment later, her face wreathed in smiles. She took Angel from Declan’s arm and pulled her in, hugging her close.

  “Angel, I’m so glad you’re here. And, Declan, thank you for coming.” She released Angel and pulled Declan into her arms for a brief hug. “It’s been too long since there were young people in this house. Jus
t us old folks tottering around in here.”

  “Speak for yourself, woman,” Oran joked, coming up to hug Angel. He stepped back and patted Declan on the shoulder in the way she’d come to know men did with each other. “Come on in. Have you guys eaten? Can I get you something to drink?”

  “We had dinner, thanks, Dad.”

  “Angel, a cup of tea?” Ruth offered.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Peppermint with honey, yes?”

  “Yes.” She smiled to Ruth and they all moved into the kitchen.

  It was a cozy room, made warmer by the wood cabinets, the big, worn table, the ceramic bowl of fruit on the counter. It felt like a home. She was glad Declan had grown up in this beautiful house.

  She sat at the table, Declan right next to her, keeping his hand on the back of her chair. Ruth made tea and Oran opened bottles of beer for himself and Declan before sitting down.

  “So…” Oran began. “Angel, Declan’s told you what we’ve found?”

  “He told me there’s a photograph of a missing girl who disappeared around the same time I did. He told me her family was from Norway, that she was taken from the Yosemite Park. We looked at these places on a map.”

  “Does any of that ring a bell with you?” Ruth asked her.

  “I was telling Declan last night about a memory I’ve had recently. About being in the woods. About…my family. At least, I think they were my family. No, I’m sure of it.” Ruth nodded, waiting for her to go on, as she often did. Angel stopped to sip her tea; it was warm and sweet on her tongue. Comforting. “Maybe I should look at this picture before I say more. Is that all right?” She looked to Ruth, then to Oran.

  “Of course.” Ruth smiled and covered her hand in hers.

  “Whatever you want, Angel,” Oran assured her.

  Behind her, Declan’s arm slid from the chair to her shoulders. And suddenly she wanted to cry. Not because of her nervousness about the picture and what it might mean, but because she was so overwhelmed by this sense of family. Solidity. She understood how much she’d missed in her emotionally sterile life with The Grandmother.