The Guardian's Playlist

by J Powell Ogden

  Suddenly free, I collapsed on the cliff top path. My left arm throbbed from my shoulder all the way down to my fingertips, and I cradled it close to my chest, shivering and struggling to breathe. I remained there, motionless in the fading light, stunned by what I’d just seen.

  Jason let go of my wrist.

  In that split second of blinding light, that voice had broken through the insanity he was suffering, and he’d chosen to let me live. Now he was dead, smashed on the rocks below.

  I moved then. I pulled my knees up to my chest and sobbed. Only my sobs were soundless, starved for air. I had to get back to the car, back to my inhaler, or I was going to die.

  I tried to stand, tucking my feet underneath me and pushing up with my right hand, but my lungs were sucking quicksand and my strength was gone. Who was I kidding? There was no way I was getting up. No way in hell.

  No phone. No inhaler. No air…

  And I panicked. I should have known better. But my fear rose unchecked, a crushing mudslide, obliterating all rational thought. I was going to suffocate, just like Mina. Oh, please no. Not that. Please not that. My heart pounded. My pulse raced. I couldn’t think. I let my forehead drop down into the icy snow, gasping, “Oh God, please help me!”

  And then I heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

  Michael’s voice.

  “Oh, baby, please…you have to focus…”

  I lifted my eyes to find him crouched before me, completely transformed. His ragged shorts and sleeveless shirt had been exchanged for a pair of light blue jeans and a black T-shirt. His Claddagh was now double looped through a thin leather choker around his neck, and what appeared to be a tangle of windswept roots was slung across his back on a wide leather strap. His hair was longer, waving well past his ears, and he no longer flickered. He was rock steady and shone with his own pale light. Most remarkable of all were his eyes. Instead of gray, they were silver, and they were brilliant.

  Those beautiful, silver eyes filled with confusion and then wonder as I focused on his face.

  “Holy Christ…” he whispered. “You can see me.” He glanced up over my head, and then he looked back at me, deep worry settling into his eyes. His familiar woodsy fragrance filled my nose as he bent down closer. “Baby, listen to me. You’re safe now, but you have to slow your breathing down. Help is on the way.” His assurance only fed my fear. It would take at least a half hour for anyone to get back here. I’d be dead. I’d be—

  “Listen to me, Catherine.” He’d lowered his voice and slowed it down. “It’s Claire.”

  Claire could run two miles in—

  “Twelve minutes. She has your inhaler. You’ve already made it this far. You can make it a little longer.” He twisted around slowly to sit beside me, brushing tentative fingertips across my upper back. They no longer tingled, but they were warm. My muscles relaxed, and I was breathing again, but barely.

  “See?” he said. “You’re getting more air than you think you are. Just like when you were little. Just breathe. In…out…in…out…”

  He wrapped his right arm around his knees, and I was surprised to see his fingernails and forearm healed. And all ten toes were now protected by a brand new pair of white Converse tennis shoes. Had God healed him when he’d vanished at the edge of the cliff and then sent him back to me? I longed for enough breath to ask him, but it took everything I had just to keep air moving.

  He answered my question anyway.

  “Something like that,” he murmured, his lips turning up slightly.

  Could he read my mind now? Deep forest shadows stretched across his face, but his silver eyes shone like hammered steel in the moonlight. Their luster was somehow more familiar than even the gray had been. They drew me in.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Eyes on me. Breathe with me. Focus.” But my ears were ringing. Black spots were crowding out my vision. I was dizzy…lightheaded…

  He flicked his eyes to my hand. My nail beds were dusky blue, and I anxiously clenched my hand into a fist around a handful of snow. Then I was far away, seeing another hand—a much smaller hand—clutching a white tufted quilt in a pink Cinderella bedroom. I was a small child again, sitting on my bed and fighting for air. I looked up into the mirror above my dresser and saw Michael standing quietly behind me, a soft light beside him. He lifted silver eyes to stare at me.

  Then I was slammed back into the woods, collapsed on my right side with my cheek pressed into the snow. My hair was wet, and snowflakes had collected on my lashes. Confused and afraid, I looked around for Michael.

  “I’m here,” he said, kneeling beside me. “I’ll never leave you.”

  “I saw you! I…” I coughed violently. Each spasm sent exploding pain through my mangled shoulder.

  “Shh,” he soothed. “I know it hurts. Don’t try to talk. You were right before. I can hear your thoughts now.” And my thoughts unleashed themselves, desperately seeking him out.

  We’re mind-melded?

  “Yeah…” His lips turned up a little under worried eyes. “Yeah…just like Spock and Kirk.”

  I saw you. You were in my room when I was little.

  He ran his fingers uneasily through his hair, then reached out his warm fingertips and melted the ice crystals on my lashes. “Just…keep breathing,” he said, but an anvil had settled on my chest. A thousand pounds. My eyes drifted closed, and I flashed far away again. I saw silver eyes behind bars…so beautiful…I wanted to touch them…

  “No! Damn it, Catherine!” Michael cried. “Look at me!”

  My eyes crawled back open, gritty, freeze-dried.

  “For Christ’s sake!” he cried. “You didn’t fight off demons for the past seventeen years, avoid driving off a bridge, and escape that psycho-ex-boyfriend of yours just to give up and die tonight! You fight! You FIGHT!”

  My fast-beating heart stalled. I hadn’t told him about the demons or what happened on the bridge. He wasn’t there. How did he know? His eyes softened as he followed my thoughts.

  “Catherine, you’ve always known you had an Angel or something watching over you, right? Playing you music? Sending you dreams?” He paused and then leaned in closer. “That was me. I’m your…or something.”

  I don’t understand.

  “When I disappeared back there at the edge of the cliff? God didn’t just heal me and send me back here to you. He healed me and sent me back in time to you.”

  What are you saying? How far back? A day? A week?

  He sighed softly, his eyes glistening. “Oh baby, I was there when you were born.”

  My eyes filled. My chin trembled. You’ve been with me my whole life? My Playlist? It was you?

  He nodded. “Well, me and your Angel. And yes, you have an Angel. God, she’s beautiful, Catherine, a pain in the ass, but beautiful. She’s here now,” he said. “Now hold on to my voice. We’ll pull you through this.”

  He chose a beautiful song, a perfect song. Then he was singing it just for me.

  The road is long, as long as all your life

  It’s pain, It’s dark, it’s hurt, it’s strife

  I’ll go ahead before you in the Storm

  You Breathe Your Chest is Tight

  You Beg with all your Might

  “Can we just take another try?”

  Truer and richer than before, his voice now held a resonant, mythical quality unlike any human voice I’d ever heard and yet, my heart recognized it, adjusting its rhythm to beat in time with it. And as I melted into his voice, my skin began to glow. The soft, silvery light illuminated Michael’s face, and I was frightened.

  Michael layered his thoughts over the lyrics in my head. Baby, no…don’t do this to me! Listen! Breathe…please…

  But I couldn’t feel my lungs anymore.

  Each day I’ve seen you

  Hardly believed it true

  Emotions proud ‘cause you are mine

  I’ll shield you from the Storm

  Keep us safe and warm

  Stay awake t
o guard you in your Sleep

  The light within me grew steadily. A distant, symphonic humming filled my head. It grew louder and louder.

  We’re all we’ve got now

  Now is the only time we’ve got

  To fill your bags with all you’ll need

  In the center of

  Your gorgeous grey blue eyes

  Lies the fire flowing from my heart

  Now maybe in the past

  Telling this story Last

  Can always know I’ll never leave

  When the light was too bright for me to see his face anymore, I heard his anguished cry split the night. Then his voice broke as he whispered, “Now? Should I do it now?” No one answered, but Michael carefully reached beneath me, gathered me up off the ground and pulled me in close to his chest.

  Utter silence descended.

  Peace.

  “Shh…I’ve got you.”

  Wrapped together in a corona of brilliant light, he and I were bathed in balmy warmth. He’d lifted me up out of the bitter cold and pain. And his love for me…it poured into my soul like the ocean. Just like…

  “…when you were five,” he breathed into my forehead. And I could feel his lips and his breath mingling with my hair. I could feel him.

  “You were there?” I whispered. “You were the one who held me when my nightmares ended?”

  He nodded, rubbing his cheek against the top of my head. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

  The heat from the curved muscles of his chest radiated through his T-shirt, and I rested my cheek against him, feeling safe for the first time in months. All my emotions came boiling to the surface, and I broke down and sobbed. There had been so much pain, so much fear, so much to regret. He kissed my temple and pulled gently on the curls at the back of my neck with his fingertips.

  “Shh…” he hushed over and over, softer each time. “You’re okay. I’ve got you now.”

  When I finally looked up, his eyes were brewing a bittersweet mix of joy and devastation.

  “You were on the bridge tonight, too? You played ‘Turn the Page’ for me?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Catherine, I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but not like this. Not now. Christ, you’re only sixteen. You shouldn’t be here yet.”

  And where was here? All I could see was light. My heart leapt into my throat. Was I dead?

  “No! You’re not dead…not yet. You’re still holding onto my voice…still breathing. I don’t know how.”

  What did he mean I was still breathing? Of course, I was breathing. My head buzzed with confusion, and I looked down. My wet, bloodied clothing had been exchanged for a white dress with a soft, stretch cotton camisole and gently flaring skirt. My silver ring lay gleaming upon my chest, my legs and feet were bare, and my skin was faintly glowing. If I wasn’t dead, was I healed then?

  Sorrow pulled Michael’s brows together. “I’m holding your spirit, the light within you,” he said. Then the circle of brilliant light that shielded us from the world began to fall away, and I could see my body lying on the ground beside us, covered in snow and spattered with Jason’s blood.

  “Oh, God!” I cried. “But Claire should be here by—”

  His deep sigh cut me off. “Time has no meaning here. Minutes…hours here can go by in only seconds there. But there’s still hope. You’re still breathing.” Then he brought his lips in close to my ear and whispered, “And see? Your Angel is with you.”

  He held me tighter, protectively, and nodded toward the deathly quiet me on the ground. Bending over my body was a creature of inestimable beauty. She looked up and beamed at me with an inhuman intensity that penetrated my soul, and I pressed back into Michael’s arms, afraid. The Angel’s eyes were huge and fairy-like, a deep iridescent blue, her hair was shorn close, the whitest blonde, and her pale, heart-shaped face shone faintly.

  “It’s okay, Catherine,” Michael said. “That’s Roshan. She’s your Angel.”

  The Angel, Roshan, lifted her chin and vanished, leaving a cloud of tiny water droplets behind, then reappeared instantly a few inches in front of me, crouched low and up on her toes. She wore a white cotton T-shirt and ivory suede leggings. Her shoulders, chest and shins were encased in creamy leather armor, and a slender silver strap crossed over her chest, holding what looked like a sword with a twisted silver hilt on her back. One hand was resting on her bunched up legs, the other was outstretched to touch my face.

  “Don’t be afraid, Catherine,” she said, her voice deeper and richer than I would have expected. “Michael’s right. There is still hope. You may yet live.”

  “I have to live, Michael. My mom…” I bit down hard on my lower lip to keep it from trembling.

  He held me closer. “I know.”

  And I knew then that he did know. He’d been there. He’d seen the whole freaking mess unfold. My mess. I looked away, ashamed. Dark memories rose from the wreckage I’d left behind—the demon’s taunts, his wicked grin—and my fear rekindled. I shivered. “I think there were demons, Michael.”

  “I know,” he said. I looked back, startled. “I’ve been watching them. They’ve been trying to break you since I died.”

  “But you’re safe, now,” Roshan added firmly. Her tone was confident, but she and Michael kept shifting their gaze from me to the foggy light that surrounded us, as if they were watching out for something. My scalp prickled.

  The circle of light continued its retreat, leaving behind watery trails of silvery blue flames that leaked into the surrounding forest, revealing hazy figures cloaked in light pacing around us. More and more of them could be seen as the light pushed back farther.

  “Who are they?” I whispered.

  “More Angels,” Michael said, “They’re protecting us. An army of demons couldn’t get past them.”

  But someone was walking past them. A tall figure dressed in distressed jeans and a multi-zippered leather jacket stepped out of the retreating wave of light. He moved toward us in slow motion, picking up speed as he approached. A shock of wild dark hair flopped down over his pierced eyebrows and sharp brown eyes, and a weathered iron cross made from two tiny nails pierced his nose. He crouched down to whisper in Michael’s ear and then leaned forward on a gnarled oak root staff and stared at me, silent and motionless as a gothic tombstone. I swallowed, hard.

  “Back off, Berwyn.” Michael scowled in his direction. “You’re seriously freaking her out.”

  “Ah, right,” Berwyn said, settling down on the snow with his huge, long legs stretched out in front of him. He set his staff down at his side.

  “You have to forgive Berwyn,” Michael said, nodding in his direction. Berwyn was still staring at me, and Michael rolled his eyes. “The stare comes with the whole Guardian Angel…thing.”

  I looked from Berwyn to Roshan, who was also observing me carefully, and then back again. “I have two Angels?”

  Roshan laughed. Berwyn snorted.

  “No, Genius. Berwyn’s my Angel,” Michael said. He looked over at Berwyn and grinned wryly. “It takes a while, but he grows on you.”

  Berwyn’s eyes flashed at me, tiny bronze flames.

  Okay. Right. Sure. It all made perfect sense. My best friend was a ghost who’d been haunting me since I was born. Demons were real. Guardian Angels were real. We all had one, of course, though some of them were Goth and Scary. My ex-boyfriend was a closet heroin addict who just tried to kill me…did kill me…I was still confused on that point…

  “Catherine…shh…” Michael soothed, but my overloaded mind ignored him. My heart started to pound, and I closed my eyes to get a grip. That’s when I felt the shift. It was like my consciousness suddenly expanded. It was reaching out all on its own to explore, and I was suddenly swamped by a deluge of images filling up the dark space before me: indigo light…a silver sword…a burning palm…a flaming staff…an acoustic guitar…huge dripping, thorn-filled fangs…

  “The second stage is starting, Roshan,” I heard Michael whisp
er.

  I stretched my eyes open wide, but the images remained. Panicked, I blinked rapidly until they disappeared, and I found myself still in Michael’s arms. Berwyn was behind us now, his back pressed up against Michael’s, scanning the perimeter of the woods, and Roshan was beside me, holding my hands. She and I were becoming brighter by the second.

  Michael stroked my bare shoulder with his thumb and forefinger and whispered to his Angel, “Are you sure we’re clear, Berwyn?” Berwyn gave him a terse nod. Roshan ignored them both.

  “You’re all right, Catherine,” she said. “Your light and the images you see are part of your Luminarch.”

  “What’s that?” The word was completely foreign to me, and their behavior was making me nervous.

  She moved in closer. “Luminarch is your transition phase, your light beginning. Humans are hybrid creatures. They are born both flesh and spirit. During the first stage, your spirit breaks free. In the second, you finally see all of the things God has done for you during your life. Humans call it a flashback.”

  More images were waiting, and their pull was overwhelming. I felt an instinctive urge to let go, to find out what was waiting for me, but I was worried. There was only one place all of this could be leading. I asked, “What happens when the flashback is over?”

  “Final Judgment,” Roshan said gently.

  My stomach dropped. I wasn’t ready to be judged, and I definitely wasn’t ready to die.

  Michael, I need to go back! I was so horrible! I have to make things right!

  Mixed emotions crossed his face. Then he looked pleadingly at Roshan. “Can’t you delay it a little longer?”

  “She’s ready to see what He wants her to see, Michael. It’s not up to me. You know that.”