Angel Realms

by Malynn, Vivienne

  “No Liv,” I reply. “They won’t be coming back.”

  A small grin pulls at the corner of her mouth, resisting the quivering of her chin. She wipes her eyes. “You’re a good liar, Kyra,” she says.

  We sit there in the quiet of the night, listening to the nothing and finding comfort in it. I think of the possible outcomes to our present situation. We are not going to be able to carry the angel back to town. Even if we did get him back, what would we do with him? But we can’t just leave him here either. Besides, conscious or not, I feel safer with him then wandering the forest alone.

  As I am weighing the options, I notice the slight glint of light in the distance, little reddish-orange ember floating in the black. My heart begins to sink. The hounds are back. They’ve found us. I put my hand on the angel’s arm, trying to shake him awake, but it’s no use. Liv sees the lights in the distance and begins to panic. “What do we do?” she whispers, desperately.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Should we run?”

  “We can’t run with him,” I say defensively, making it clear that I will not be leaving him behind. I think for a moment. “They’re after me,” I say.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Trust me, I do know,” I reply, raising to my feet. Liv looks at me confused. “I will go out and try to lure them away. They should leave the two of you alone. When it gets lighter, he should be stronger. You both head back to town and get help.” I begin walking toward the lights.

  “You can’t go by yourself,” Liv calls out.

  “I’ll be fine,” I lie and continue walking toward the red embers in the distance. My heart pounds furiously in my chest. The lights are moving erratically now as I stare at them in the distance, closing in on me. I feel something touch my hand. I glance down to see Liv scooping my hand in hers.

  She looks at me with an unsteady smile. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Together we stand, silent as statues, awaiting what is to come. I can feel a tremor from Liv’s hand and I put my arm around her to calm her. In the distance, the lights get closer and we can now hear sounds of movement through the brush. Then we hear a voice. It’s calling out something. “Liv,” it says. Then another. “Kyra.”

  The lights are not the eyes of the hounds, but lanterns of those searching for us. An exhilaration of hope comes over us. “We’re here,” I exclaim. Tears of gratitude rush to my eyes.

  “It must be the townspeople,” Liv says.

  We call out some more. They seem to hear us as their pace quickens toward us. Soon the light of their lanterns surround us as a handful of men come into view. Two of the men I recognize as Jeff and the pastor, the rest are not familiar to me. “Kyra,” Jeff exclaims.

  “Daddy,” Liv exclaims as one of the unfamiliar men breaks from the others. He grabs Liv by the arm, not with love but with harshness. By the expression on her face, I can tell his grip hurts her.

  “What were you thinking,” he says angrily. Though I am a distance away, I can smell the stench of alcohol. “You know you don’t wander into the woods after dark.”

  She lowers her head fearfully, muttering like a frightened animal, “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

  The pastor steps forward, putting his hand on the angry man’s shoulder. “Now, now, Roger. She’s safe now. There’s no reason to get upset.”

  He looks at the pastor with the look of death. “Don’t tell me it’s safe. You know as well as I do it’s not safe. I’m leaving this place and suggest all of you do the same.” He takes Liv and drags her off into the darkness. A few of the others go with him.

  Jeff turns to me. “What would possess you two to wander into the woods at night?”

  “We were chased by a pack of dogs,” I say, though I don’t suppose anyone will believe me. “It was the shadow people.”

  A laugh erupts from the group, except the pastor who maintains a stern look. “Did Liv tell you about the shadow people,” Jeff says. “It’s just an old wives tale.”

  “It’s true,” I insist.

  “Now, Kyra,” Jeff says. An expression of disappointment on his face. “Don’t lie. I thought I could expect more from you.”

  “It’s alright,” says the pastor. “The woods can play tricks on the mind at night. Maybe thought they did see shadows moving in the woods. Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.” He looks around at the other townspeople. They begin to laugh.

  “You don’t believe me. I’ll prove it to you,” I say, defiantly. “There was a man there. An angel.”

  “An angel,” the pastor exclaims. He seems more surprised than amused.

  “Kyra,” Jeff says in a dissatisfied tone.

  “He’s over here,” I say, grabbing Jeff’s arm and dragging him along. “He was too weak to walk.”

  “Must have been a long flight from heaven,” someone says. I take no notice of it, certain that I would have my proof to put them to silence. However, as we move to the spot where we had laid the angel down, it becomes quite clear that there will be no last laugh for me. He’s done it to me again. There is no sign of him anywhere. This is just getting mean, I say to myself, knowing how insane I must look now.

  “This is enough nonsense, Kyra,” Jeff says, his patience obviously worn. “We’ll talk about this when we get home.” He takes me by the hand, his is not a harsh grip though. I don’t know that Jeff could ever know violence. It’s against his disposition. As angry as he may be, he still remains gentle. As we pass by the pastor, he says to him, “Sorry for all this.”

  The pastor nods. “Nonsense. We are just glad they are safe.”

  Together we head back toward town in silence. A few of the men meander behind and their roars of laughter can be heard from time to time. The pastor watches the woods around us nervously, swinging his lantern from one side to another. He stops occasionally to tell the others to catch up. Assuring that he does not allow anyone else getting lost tonight.

  As we reach the edge of town, the way is lit by torch lamps, flickering in the night. They are hanging from the poles that the workmen had installed earlier in the day. They line the whole edge of town. It’s strange for a town to still use open flame lamps. But after what we just experienced, my spectrum of weirdness has expanded. The pastor stops at the lamp pole, waiting until all have come. He looks one last time into the darkness behind us and gives a sigh, as if relieved.

  Jeff and I don’t talk on our way back to the house. I’m sure Jeff doesn’t know what to say and I have no desire in striking up a conversation. As we get closer to the house, we can hear Liv and her father. They are standing at their door. She seems to be trying to explain something to her father, but from his appearance, he is not willing to listen.

  “You’re lying,” he yells at Liv, not caring who hears. She makes more appeals to him too quiet to be heard. “Shut up,” he screams. He takes her hair in his hands and rips her head back. Pointing a finger in her face, he says, “there are no angels and I don’t want to hear anymore about your mother.”

  The sight sickens me and I can’t bear to see it. I look to Jeff in hopes that he will do something, but he pretends not to see. I turn to say something, but he has already let her go. Seeing her sobbing, he must have let her go as if he realized what he was doing. “She’s dead,” he mutters, barely loud enough for us to hear. “There’s no coming back. You’re a fool to think any different.” He goes inside, leaving Liv on the step crying.

  “Are you okay,” Jeff calls out.

  Liv jerks her head up, startled by Jeff’s voice. She wipes her eyes quickly, as if embarrassed that anyone had witnessed the scene, even though it was not her fault in anyway. But that’s the problem with the abused; they always seem to blame themselves and never the one who should be blamed. My lower lip quivers with anger and hatred toward her father. It’s not the first time I have met men like him.

  “I’m fine,” Liv says in a forced nicety. “Just a little shaken up that’s all. I’ll be fine.” She sta
nds and goes in, not allowing a response.

  Sensing my concern for her, Jeff assures, “She’ll be fine.”

  “You believe that,” I say coldly.

  “It’s not our concern,” Jeff replies. “Roger gets a little gruff when he’s had too many, but he doesn’t do any harm.”

  “Not our concern,” I scream. “He’s abusive. He’s going to kill her.”

  “He doesn’t do anything serious,” he says. “He mostly just yells and then it’s over. Besides, Roger’s been through a lot since his wife died.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  “Maybe not, but what would you have me do. Call family services. Put her in foster care. That seems to have done you a lot of good.” As soon as he says it he pauses. A look of regret crosses his face.

  My lip bunches and the anger returns. “That’s not fair,” I say. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. What she’s going through.”

  “No I don’t,” he says this time more calm. “Look Kyra, we’re just trying to help.”

  “It’s kind of hard to help someone when you’re judging them.”

  Jeff steps closer, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Kyra. I didn’t mean…”

  It’s too late. I don’t want to hear it. Pushing his hand away, I walk past him to the house. “Just leave me alone,” I mutter as I pass. I don’t care anymore. They can send me to Juve' if they want. It was only a matter of time anyway.

  Justine is there at the entryway to meet us as if she has been waiting there for our return. It’s apparent by the worry etched in her face that she has not slept at all. Her eyes, though blood shot from crying, are not angry, only concerned. She reaches out to me, but seeing my anger, hesitates. No one ever seems to know what to do with my anger and so they always stay away. It’s better that way. The farther people are, the less they hurt me.

  As I walk up the stairs to my room, I hear Justine say, “Let us help you.”

  “How am I supposed to believe that,” I say, not looking back, “when you won’t even help Liv.” There is silence as I walk up the stairs, the same silence that killed my foster sister. The same silence that keeps Liv in her hell. As I lay in my bed, brooding in my anger, I look up at the ceiling as if to peer into heaven. I hear the same silence there too. Only this time, I know there is someone looking on.

  Chapter 10

  I see my mother’s face again. She is smiling. I am with her smiling too. We are looking up in the distance at the sun rising over the horizon, the foam from the ocean trickling over our feet. It should be cold, but it isn’t. Everything is warm here. My mother holding me is warm, the sun edging out of its hidden slumber is warm, even the waves are warm. Just like before, I want to stay here with her, the wish of every child. But something tells me that I can’t stay here. I cannot remain a child forever. We all have to grow up and move on.

  Clouds approach from behind and the sun creeps back down into its cove, allowing the darkness to set in. I tell my mother that I am afraid, but she only smiles. “Don’t worry, darling, it will dawn again. Until then, you still have my love in your heart to light your way.”

  “No I don’t,” I protest. “You left me alone.” The darkness comes in, and with it a coldness. Soon I cannot see her, but I can still hear her voice in my head.

  “You are never alone,” she says. “My love is always with you.”

  “But I can’t see you,” I say. Fear grips me in the darkness and I become angry. “Why did you leave me,” I yell out into the emptiness. There is no answer, only silence. And then…

  …the sound of something rustling outside. My awareness is aroused. Opening my eyes, I see the flicker of a lamp on the dresser, casting strange shadows on the ceiling. It was not there before. Justine or Jeff must have brought it in. The sound comes again. Its sounds as if someone is outside. Maybe it is the angel. He must be freezing out there with only that shroud to cover him. I rise from the bed, still clothed. I haven’t changed yet. Walking to the window, I draw back the drapes and peer out. I can’t see anything.

  I take the lantern and walk to the bedroom door. The house is quiet. I silently continue to my foster parents’ room. From the sound of Jeff’s snoring I can tell that he is asleep. I can’t imagine Justine being able to sleep through that, but somehow she is. When I am sure that it is safe to move around without waking them, I head down stairs. Taking some of Jeff’s clothes from the laundry room, I head out the back door. Creeping out past the porch I look over the yard, seeing no sign of him. The night breeze rustles up leaves and spills them about the lawn. Darkness hugs the edges of the light cast down by the lantern. I walk unsteadily forward, having no desire to enter the shadows. Keeping my eyes securely on them, I step back and realize I am not alone.

  I jerk around to see the angel standing there. He does not seem weak as he did before. Instead, he stands upright and statuesque like a chiseled Adonis, reborn from the earth. His eyes look deeply into mine with an intensity that would seem to overpower a person, but his is a soft intensity, more comforting than anything else. Taking a deep breath, I shake myself of my mindless drooling in order to form some thought of communication. “Who are you?” I ask. “Or should I say, what are you? And where did you come from?” I realize that I have been nervously spouting off one question after another without giving him any means of responding.

  The stranger thinks for a moment as if to study out each question. “I believe I told you what I am in the cemetery. And I think you can infer where I come from with that.”

  “Do you have a name?” I say, not amused by his sarcasm. Are angels even supposed to have sarcasm?

  “I do have a name. I am called Ashur.” His muscles ripple along his arm with a shiver. I struggle not to stare at his bare chest. I am not going to get all soft over some guy I just met, no matter how perfectly formed he is.

  “You’re cold,” I say, abruptly. “I brought you some of my foster Dad’s clothes.”

  “Cold,” he says, curious. “I’ve never been cold before.” He runs his fingers up his arm, feeling the bumps along the skin. In a way, he seems to almost be enjoying the experience.

  My heart quakes like a horse biting at the bit. I have to keep myself from watching him, reigning in my juvenile hormones. “Look,” I say, interrupting his study of the current situation, “I am sure that cold is bad for even angels. You need to put these on.” I shove the stack of clothes toward him. He studies these as well. “I assume you know how to put them on.”

  “Of course,” he exclaims like a giddy child. “We spend much time studying the culture and habits of those we watch over.” He looks over the clothes. “Still, it is so much different when you experience it for yourself.”

  “Let me tell you, the novelty wears off fast.” I turn him about and direct him to the shed, touching his tone bristly arms. My knees nearly melt like soft butter. These angels certainly do work out. “It’s probably better if you get dressed without me watching,” I say more as an assurance to myself. He nods his head and begins walking toward the shed, his shroud trailing along the grass behind him.

  I can hear him changing in the shed. To keep my imagination from wandering, I decide to continue our discussion from the cemetery. “So, you told me I was going to die. That’s changed now hasn’t it? I mean you saved me right?”

  He pauses and all is quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.”

  “Didn’t you say you had some sort of angel ESP? I mean you knew I was going to die. Can’t you tell if I am going to die now?”