Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1

by C. J. Sullivan

  "Hey, man, come on in," Harry said, sitting on his bed with his back propped against the wall.

  Gidyon smiled and introduced himself as Mr. Kramer, then observed the movie posters on the walls: Indiana Jones, Star Wars. Beside Harry's bed there was a nightstand with several bottles of medicine sitting atop its wooden surface. A metal chair was unfolded in front of it. A small TV with a tall antenna sat on a short dresser across the foot of the bed. The room was odorless and clean. Adam probably did what he could to help keep any germs away.

  "Thanks for coming," Harry said. "I guess Adam told you how into acting I was. I still am, but—well, I'm not doing too well." His hair was combed, but his skin was pallid and seemed to stretch over his thin, frail body. "I, uh, don't really know what the future holds."

  "What?" Gidyon said. "You kids. Always playing like you're sick. Look at you. There's nothing wrong with what I see." He shrugged.

  Harry forced an unconvincing smile.

  "So," Gidyon said, walking to the space between the bed and the television, "you want to know a few things about acting?"

  "Yeah, sure, if you have time."

  "Well, I had no idea I was going to become an actor. It was thrust upon me one day."

  "Really? That was pretty lucky. How'd that come about?"

  Gidyon hated lying. "Err, long story. One day I was minding my own business, and the next, I was thrust into this, ah, doctor's role? Yeah, for a show, I played a doctor, you know, healing people. It wasn't that good. Didn't get much attention."

  "Oh, yeah? Adam seems to think you're pretty good. Sounds like you're just modest." He smiled, and Gidyon saw in him the little boy from Max's home video. His heart ached. "So what's it like being in the public eye? Adam said that there's talk around town about you and that other actor, Mr. Sampson. I'm sorry I haven't seen anything about you guys on TV yet. I, uh, sleep a lot."

  "Well. Being in the public eye—sometimes it's hard, because they expect you to do everything right. And we actors are pretty talented in what we do, but we're not God."

  Harry gave a quiet snort and looked down at his outstretched legs.

  That simple laugh was enough to explain depths to the angel.

  Softening his voice, he asked, "What is it?"

  "Oh." Harry's averted eyes sparkled with traces of tears. "Just—God."

  "God." Gidyon nodded, folding his hands in front of him. Very well. They would skip the small talk. "You feel like He abandoned you, don't you?"

  Harry closed his eyes. He looked at Gidyon, who stared into his soul from the foot of his bed.

  "You can't blame Him for that," the angel said in a near whisper. "I know how scared you must feel."

  "No, you don't know! All right? Everyone says that they know and that they understand, but they don't! How can they know? They're not the ones who are dying—and from a disease I happened to get from a night of stupidity!"

  "Humans are all dying, whether they're eight years old or eighty. Those who realize that they're alive now, and that's all that matters, are the ones who find contentment."

  "Look, man,"—he sharply turned his head away—"I don't even know how we got to this conversation, and I'm sure you're just trying to help. But—please—I just—" He grabbed at his stomach, closing his eyes. "Sometimes I wanna see my dad so bad!"

  "I know."

  "I screwed up, man. I totally screwed up. It was the stupidest mistake. I knew the next day that something was wrong."

  Gidyon watched him shake his head, and he focused his energies on the boy, on his mind, where his memories were stored, and picked up bits and pieces of what happened that night.

  It was a dare. Boys that age lived on dares, didn't they?

  Harry had been spending way too much time with Tyler Allen. Everyone knew Tyler was a problem. He continually got suspended from school for getting into fights and skipping class.

  They were hanging out on a boring Saturday evening, messing around on the computer, when Tyler offered a few pills to Harry. Harry didn't particularly want to take them, but he wanted so desperately to become close friends with Tyler. Tyler knew the hottest girls in the school, including Jamie Preston, the girl of Harry's dreams.

  Taking a few pills wouldn't hurt if it got him introduced to Jamie.

  But after they entered his system, he didn't care about her—or anything. It was actually quite nice, not being so anxious about life, not having a single worry. Every fiber of his being was ecstatic. He was happy to be alive and in this moment. Really happy. Even the skin on the back of his hands fascinated him.

  Tyler told Harry all about Tyrone Wilson, the tattoo guy, and in his haze, Harry thought going to visit him was a marvelous idea.

  They skateboarded from the bad part of town where Tyler lived to a worse part of the city, the ride there like a fuzzy dream. He felt on top of the world, the gravelly sound of his board's wheels entrancing him.

  When they got to Tyron's place, a rundown home with a broken screen door, they hid behind the bushes and waited. A loud, masculine voice came from the back yard.

  Words like "money" and "my woman" and "cheated me" filtered in through the back door.

  Tyler suggested they sneak inside the house.

  Harry followed. This was the greatest game ever.

  They peeked out back and found Tyrone on his cell phone, waving his arms wildly, pacing back and forth, and smoking a cigarette.

  He had no clue his house was being invaded.

  There was a guy on the couch in the living room. He was passed out, his bandaged arm lying out to the side. Probably a fresh tat under the bandage.

  Empty beer cans littered the floor. Harry caught himself staring at the intricate curves of one of the can's tabs. He was going to decorate his entire bedroom in can tabs. They were incredible.

  He didn't realize what was making the buzzing sound until Tyler raised the tattoo gun. It'd been set up with black ink—Tyron no doubt had just done the guy on the couch.

  "Double dare ya to let me give you a tattoo," Tyler had said.

  Harry stepped up to him and pushed back his sleeve.

  This was going to be so cool...

  Gidyon spotted the jagged line of black ink on Harry's forearm. So the dirty needle was how he'd contracted the disease. He took Harry's sweating hand in his.

  "Harry?" he said. "I need you to close your eyes and think of the most beautiful and peaceful place you've ever been."

  "What?"

  "Just try. It's an acting method."

  Harry closed his eyes, tears streaming out of the edges. "It's hit me abnormally fast, you know. What I've got, this illness, normally isn't this brutal on people, at least not this early. I just got really unlucky." He let out a bitter laugh. "Sorry, I'm trying to think of a nice place, but it's hard."

  Adam appeared in the doorway and cried. "Harry? Are you crying?"

  "Go get me some water," Gidyon said in a clipped tone. "A cup of hot water."

  "What? What for? What's going on?"

  "Just do it."

  Adam ran out of the room, tripping on his own feet. Harry grabbed onto Gidyon's hand with both of his.

  "When I think of a nice place, I think of home," he said, closing his eyes tighter, squeezing the moisture out. "And what sucks is I don't think I can show my face there again. The shame is just—the regret, it's—" His jaw began to tremble. "I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear about it."

  The angel took a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes. Then, he laid his free hand on Harry's shuddering chest. He concentrated every bit of his energy into the boy, his crystal glowing brightly as he searched for the disease inside. Harry's eyes shot open and he breathed in, his eyes on the ceiling.

  Gidyon's fingers spread wide until they too started to glow. The cloak fell off his wings as all his energy was directed at the boy. Usually when he located the origin of an illness, he exuded all power into it and attacked it until it dispersed. He had found the sickness, but it fought back against
his magic with rude force.

  NO. This MUST work! Don't tell me that mistake was destiny.

  Adam entered the room and came to a dead halt, dropping a plastic yellow cup of water on the carpet. He stepped back, staring at Gidyon's wings.

  A bright luminance filled Harry's room as the last bit of power within the angel surged into the boy. Harry's wide, teary eyes stared at the light. Gidyon could feel the illness begin to break.

  "That's it!" he said. "Just a little more!"

  Suddenly the boy's body went limp. His eyes slowly closed. And Gidyon pulled away, stripped of energy. The light of his wings faded as he caught his breath, and the bright glow of his hand dimmed until it too was gone. Harry fell into a deep sleep, his face peaceful. Gidyon, however, breathed heavily, his eyes exuding concern.

  Had he gotten it? He wasn't sure. It had resisted him with a lot of force, mainly due to Harry's resignation and hopelessness. Sometimes humans gave so much focus and energy to the very things that ruined their lives, things that would've dissipated if they only believed they'd get better.

  A moment passed before Adam quietly asked, "Mr. Kramer, what's your real name?"

  Gidyon turned around. "You spilled the water."

  "Whatever. Looks like Harry doesn't need it anyway." His face was filled with awe.

  "It was supposed to be for you," the angel said as he stood. "Get me another glass, and I'll make you something to help you sleep."

  Adam grabbed the cup off the floor and ran into the kitchen. Gidyon followed, feeling weak. Clark still played on his guitar, oblivious to the happenings inside the house. Adam handed Gidyon the new cup of water, his hand shaking a little. Gidyon, his demeanor remaining deathly serious, touched the surface of the liquid and it swirled with golden light. Adam brought the cup to his nose and sniffed a spicy aroma like cinnamon.

  "Drink it," Gidyon said. Adam would not stop staring at his wings. The angel folded the appendages tightly. "You'll sleep better. I know you won't be able to if you don't."

  "What is your real name?"

  "It's Gidyon."

  "Gidyon, did you heal my sister?"

  "You know that answer."

  "Gidyon?"

  "Yes, Adam?"

  "Did you heal Harry?"

  A cloud of tension overshadowed the room. Gidyon blinked. Finally, Adam gave a nod. He drank the drink and placed the empty cup amidst the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Grabbing the edge of the counter, he closed his eyes and leaned over it.

  "I feel—kinda tired," he said, turning to the angel and smiling a drugged grin.

  "Good," Gidyon said. "That means it worked. Go to bed, Adam. I can find my way back to Max's. Harry will sleep well tonight. You need not worry."

  Adam nodded and stumbled his way to bed. Without saying goodbye to Clark, the angel walked out the front door and away from the young men's home.

  ***

  Noam

  As Noam flew into Max's front yard, he saw Gidyon sitting on the porch, his body hunched, his face that of a mourner.

  "What's wrong?" Noam asked, slipping his wings under his brown duster coat.

  "I found Harry."

  "You did? Did you tell Max?"

  "No. I promised I wouldn't." He looked up into Noam's compassionate brown eyes. "You must promise, too."

  Noam nodded. "What happened?"

  "He's got an illness—that I tried to heal—but…"

  "But?"

  "I don't know."

  "Destiny?"

  "I'm not sure, but it could be. I think it was more his state of mind."

  "Any demons attached to him?"

  "No, not yet. He hadn't gotten to the point of Hell on Earth. But he was close."

  Noam knelt down beside his friend, and their eyes met. "If it is destiny, then you cannot blame yourself."

  "Yes, I know. But Max—"

  "Be strong, Gidyon. You're getting too involved." He thought of Christine. "We both are. We've been here for too long. We must remember our true place." Gidyon closed his eyes and nodded. "Anyway, you promised not to say anything. It could be worse if he knew that his son was dying."

  "That's what Harry thinks."

  "Well, maybe Harry's right. Humans seem to prefer ignorance anyway." He stood to his feet. "I don't mean to change the subject, but I found another body. Whatever is doing the killings is biting its victim's necks like a folkloric vampire. I think it's probably that small angel, Kiazmo. He's sloppy."

  "Noam?"

  "What?"

  Gidyon stood to his feet and sighed, his beautiful face was like a dying flower, wilted with sorrow. "I just want to do the right thing."

  "We all do."

  "Do you think I'm doing the right thing if I don't tell Max about Harry?"

  "I think," the Thanatakran said, smiling gently, "that you will always know the right thing to do, Gidyon, because you desire to do the right thing." Gidyon smiled back. "Now, let's go inside and get a little sleep before the princess wakes up."

  ***

  Malynko

  Kiazmo hadn't said a word all the way back to the base. Malynko didn't ask him why he was crying; he knew. He'd almost been brought to tears, also. The little angel skipped steps as he ascended the stairs and disappeared into one of the rooms, slamming the door behind him. The Elitist stood by the grandfather clock, watching the minutes pass as the golden hand made its rotation around the face. What sweet songs Earth had. It made him wonder. He raised his eyes to the kitchen door.

  Laphelle.

  Laphelle hadn't shown up for the meeting.

  Sighing, Malynko swung open the wooden barrier and nearly ran into the rogue.

  "Oh," he said. "You're still here. Why didn't you come to the Wiccans'?"

  "I tried. I got lost."

  Malynko accepted the lie. He didn't have much of a choice. Damn it all. There was no way he could force Laphelle into submission, not unless he wanted things to get ugly.

  But before leaving the room, he said, "Earlier, did you hear—"

  Laphelle raised his brows, his stare uncaring. Before finishing the question, the Elitist pondered the rogue's possible responses. Of all that came to mind, none were pleasant. Very well. He would keep this to himself. It was too precious a song to be tainted by insults. Even if it did come from a human's hands. He turned to depart and softly said:

  "Never-mind."

  ***

  Laphelle

  The clocks rang the hour through the day and now announced 5:00 p.m. Laphelle blinked and raised his head.

  Why was it still so early? Time never passed this slowly.

  He got up from the table and walked through the house. His blood coursed faster with each step until he stood face to face with the front door. Taking in a deep breath, he grabbed the handle. In the back of his mind, he was glad it wasn't a church door. His hand still stung from his attempt to reach Gidyon and Noam by taking hold of that Edenton chapel's handle. He should have known better. He opened the front door.

  "Why!" he cried, slamming it shut after a beam of sunlight nearly blinded him. He turned to the grandfather clock and growled at it. "Tick, tock, tick, tock, hurry up."

  The clock made no effort to comply. Laphelle huffed there for a moment, the club of impatience beating him across the back. He had to leave. Now. But first, he needed to find something to shield his eyes. So he tore through the house to look for a pair of sunglasses.

  ***

  Malynko

  Upstairs, Malynko opened one eye as his sturdy frame lay spread out on the black satin sheets of John's bed. Glass shattered downstairs, followed by Laphelle's colorful cursing. Looking at the clock on the cherry nightstand next to him, he opened both eyes and wondered, with a fair amount of angry curiosity, why Laphelle was awake at such an hour. He closed his eyes and shifted to his right side, sliding his wings out from under his back until he fell into a comfortable position. Then he dozed off once more.

  ***

  Laphelle

  "Aha!"
Laphelle said, holding up a pair of shades he found in the pocket of one of John's coats.

  He placed them on his face and raced to the front door. As he ventured outside, daylight hit him like a speeding freight train. He could see objects around him, but they were blurred from the intense illumination from the sun. Creatures of the night were not supposed to be out during the day. His defenses were down, and yes, if Noam caught him he would be a dead angel. But he was far from caring. He had one thing on his mind. And as he walked up Mannsway at rapid angelic speed, he soon forgot about the sun entirely. He only desired to confront the man who was able to stir such emotion in him.

  Jack, I hope you're scared, because if you're not, you will be!

  He found Jack kneeling down by his front door, polishing a new knob, which he apparently had also just installed. He wiped the sweat from his face and stood up, staring at his handiwork. He brushed his hands against his blue jeans then took a step towards the doorway, when Laphelle cleared his throat. He turned to the angel, whose wings were invisible, and gave him a serious look. He didn't even flinch.

  "Well!" he said. "Look at you! Out in the daylight!"

  "Did you think I was too weak to come out in the day?" Laphelle's face was dark, and his eyes squinted to see the man in the bright light. "Well, you were wrong—"

  "Come inside. I was just heading in."

  Jack entered the house, and Laphelle's mouth dropped open. He was doing it again. Either that man was a complete fool, or he was one of the most fearless humans in history. The angel stormed in after him and slammed the door shut. Sweet darkness soothed his stinging eyes. Jack turned around in the hallway to face his grumpy guest, and his lips parted into a confident grin. Laphelle's rage grew with the gesture, and he took off his sunglasses. Hooking them onto the V-neck of his jacket, he removed the cloak on his wings. Jack raised his brows.

  "Well, there they are!" he said. "Nice trick. I was wondering how you got about without people seeing those things."

  Laphelle wanted to spit on the man. But before he could say anything, Jack said: