by Ian Withrow
Dread filled Lauren at the thought.
How many times had Lauren lain on Erin's bed chatting through the doorway while she changed from one black outfit to another?
For a moment, Lauren could hear Erin's voice, she was complaining because she couldn't decide what to wear. The sounds of clothes being tossed aside played out clear as day from behind the closed door of the closet.
She reached a shaking hand out, grasping the handle of the door. With a bated breath she yanked it open. A vision of her best friend stood there, in her mind at least, for the briefest instant. A single frame in the film of her life. Had she looked happy? Sad? Hurt? Lauren couldn't tell.
Behind the illusion, the closet stretched only seven or eight feet. It was filled with neatly organized dresses, shirts, and slacks. Each outfit sensible and conservative.
Erin would've hated it.
Shirts turned out to be another obstacle. After a half dozen failed attempts to creatively tuck her wings within the confines of a shirt she gave up. Instead, Lauren chose the dress with the lowest back and stepped into it.
Sliding it up she was pleased to find it left her shoulder blades, and therefore her wings, uncovered. The garment itself was a simple thing, a cool blue sundress with a bright floral pattern near the bottom. It was light and thin, made for the heat of summer more than the cold of winter, but it would have to do.
Lauren was examining herself when a soft knock at the door interrupted her.
“Lauren?”
Caroline's voice was soft, as though she were trying not to wake someone up.
Lauren strode over to the door and reached a hand out to open it but stopped. She stood there a moment, hand outstretched.
She's harmless. She probably just wants to check if I'm ok, Lauren thought to herself.
Lauren from a year ago would have answered the door. Maybe even Lauren from a few days ago.
But that Lauren was gone.
She let her hand fall and turned her back on the door, and Caroline, choosing the quiet embrace of sleep instead.
Her mind raced from one horrific nightmare to the next, repeating over and over. First Gabriel, and then Erin; both haunted her dreams, begging her to save them. They were screaming, drowning out her voice as she tried to tell them she couldn't, that she didn't know how.
She woke screaming and drenched with sweat. She didn't know what time it was, but she knew if she fell back asleep they would return.
The windows were dark, she must have slept the entire day away.
Lauren lay in the bed until her breathing returned to normal and her heart stopped pounding. All was quiet in the church, nothing but a gentle wind outside to disturb the silence of the night.
That silence grew and grew until her own heartbeat sounded like the firing of a cannon, her breath like the roar of a jet engine. Unable to bear it any longer, Lauren crept from the bed to the television set, finding a remote on top of it.
Lauren padded softly back to the bed. Wrapping herself up as best she could into a nest of blankets, she pressed the power button.
The TV came to life, sound blaring through the room. Lauren jumped and reflexively muted it. After waiting for a tense moment, listening for any sound that she had disturbed her host, Lauren turned the volume down low and pressed the mute button again.
A pair of reporters were reading the late night news as a ticker tape ran across the bottom of screen, condensing the events of the world into short, bitesize phrases.
“...which marks the nineteenth bombing in Jerusalem this year by the extremist group known as the People's Army of the Lady of Light. We'll head over to our chief political consultant in Israel, Dr. Aldridge Borowitz...”
Lauren hadn't watched much television since she disappeared from the public eye. Her parents didn't have cable in the house and Erin's news-junkie nature had never rubbed off on her. As the hours ticked by Lauren began to understand why her parents hadn't wanted her watching. Violence raged across the whole world it seemed. Groups proclaiming to fight in her name had sprung up in Europe, the Middle East, Africa, even South America. The People's Army of the Lady of Light, the Militant Order of the Christ-Child, the Army of the Divine Daughter, the list went on and on.
The relentless 24-hour news cycle fed her a steady diet of beheadings, fiery oratory, conspiracy theorists, and commentary by so-called experts. The upswing in recent violence was blamed on this year being the tenth anniversary of the 'miracle child's' disappearance.
The history channel was even running a special on her, featuring a number of interviews from people who had wildly varying theories on where she had gone.
“She's a government experiment, a test-tube baby with supernatural powers,” claimed one man, a wild-haired professor of political science from a small-time university. “Her case has all the hallmarks of a CIA operation gone awry. Mark my words there will be a false flag soon, if the supposed sighting in Illinois isn't it!”
“She was a reincarnation of the Lord Jesus Christ, sent among us to determine if we were worthy yet of His salvation, and we failed his test,” a representative from the Church of Latter Day Saints said.
“The wickedness of men has damned us, yet again. Only God knows when we might have another chance.”
“...she's an alien, and the government is keeping her from us...”
“...It was a hoax, hysteria brought on by an abundance of media hype and too little research...”
Lauren watched with fascination, not noticing as the sun slowly crept up over the horizon.
A knock at the door startled her. She jumped, sending the remote clattering to the floor. The sudden noise broke the spell of the television and she rubbed her sore, dry eyes.
“Lauren?”
Caroline's voice came through the door again, this time with a little more urgency.
“Come in,” Lauren said, feeling awkward that she had to allow the woman into her own room.
Caroline opened the door and walked in with the same mannerisms a child might have when walking into her parents' room.
“My Lady-”
“Lauren,” Lauren interjected firmly.
“Um, Lauren, will you be joining me for breakfast? I don't, ah, don't know if you need to eat? Or wish to?”
The way she asked the question struck Lauren as funny. Why wouldn't she need to eat? Then again, she'd never really gone without either.
“Yes, please. I do need to eat. I think.” Lauren's stomach growled loudly, reminding her of another time, a different place.
Lauren tried and failed to shake the memory of Erin's laughter.
“Is something troubling you, Lauren?”
The woman's concern seemed genuine, but Lauren was unwilling to share her emotional burden with a stranger.
“No, I'm ok.”
Caroline turned to walk away but Lauren called out to her.
“Do you mind if I come along? To... help you cook or...?”
Caroline smiled and nodded fervently, clearly pleased, “It would be my pleasure.”
Lauren, still wearing the dress she had fallen asleep in, followed Caroline to a humble kitchen. The pair chatted awkwardly while Caroline cooked eggs and bacon on the old gas stove.
Caroline seemed to believe she was an angel, the immaculate child for which this church was named. She spoke to Lauren with reverence, and had to be reminded several times that she didn't want to be called 'your grace' or anything similar.
Lauren didn't know how to respond so she was mostly quiet, preferring to let Caroline do the talking. The conversation was getting smoother as the two became more comfortable, until she asked about Lauren screaming in her sleep. Lauren fell silent, looking out the kitchen window at the icy dawn.
“I...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have intruded,” Caroline apologized.
“No, I'm the one intruding. Here I am in your home, taking your bed, it's a fair question. It's just not... not one I'm ready to answer yet,” Lauren replied softly.
Ca
roline moved to speak again, but Lauren interrupted her. Lauren's once warm eyes locked with Caroline's, causing her to pause.
“What if I told you I'm not an angel, and that there is no God?”
The woman looked like someone who'd gone to sit down, only to find there was no chair.
“A-are you telling me that? That there is no God?”
Her surprised look was quickly replaced with a stubborn half-frown.
“Because I believe I would pass that test, as the evidence of His hand is before me now.”
Lauren wanted to see if her faith really was that strong, to tell her the truth. To crush this woman's hopes as her own had been destroyed. She wanted someone else to know the pain of having their world torn away.
But she couldn't do it.
“No,” Lauren did her best to smile, but her eyes lacked sincerity. No god had answered her prayers for Gabriel, for her family. She turned and left the kitchen, wanting suddenly to be alone.
Chapter Eight:
Lauren looked out over the cold, misty field. She had been spending time each morning practicing with her wings. Stretching them. Testing the muscles. It gave her something to do and helped ease her constant worrying and self-loathing.
The morning frost glistened on the trees and sunlight sparkled across fresh snow. She could feel goosebumps on her legs and arms where the wind caressed her bare skin.
She cleared her mind as best she could
Slowly, deliberately, she spread her wings out wide. She concentrated on each muscle in turn, teaching herself as she went.
Open. Closed. Open again. Faster and faster.
She pulled the feathery limbs in tight once more and paused.
“Ok.”
She closed her eyes tight and took a long, slow breath.
With an audible snap, she spread her wings as wide as they could go. She examined each tiny breeze as it rustled against her feathers.
“Don't wuss out, don't wuss out.”
Lauren gave a tentative flap of her wings. Even moving slowly she was surprised by the amount of wind she generated. She could feel the powerful downdraft around her legs rustle the hemline of her dress.
Her heart fluttered with fright and curious excitement.
Another downbeat, stronger this time, and she could feel herself grow light. The power she produced left her nearly weightless.
She shivered, half from the cold and half from the prospect of what she might be capable of.
Lauren steadied herself, her heart pounding. She looked self-consciously back at the church behind her, but she was alone.
“Well, there goes my excuse to bail.”
Lauren moved her wings again, flapping up and down with increasing speed. Air whipped around around her and sent snow swirling away in powdery spirals.
She felt herself grow lighter until suddenly she found herself several feet above the ground. Startled, she wobbled unsteadily for a moment before losing her concentration and returning to the ground.
She landed on a patch of ice uncovered by her powerful wings and her feet slipped out from under her, sending her crashing to the ground.
Lauren scrambled to her feet, rubbing her sore behind. She didn't know which was bruised more, her pride or her tailbone. Frustrated and embarrassed, she returned to the church.
Lauren had been staying with Caroline for nearly a week. She spent most of her time inside, wrapped in blankets in front of the television, eyes glued to the train wreck of society. Rumors had started to spread surrounding the mysterious girl who had scratched and bit medics at the scene of Erin's death. Three separate people, all first-responders on the scene, had come forward saying they had been injured only to find unbroken skin where tooth marks and bruises should have been.
The media had descended on the small town within a few days, and it wasn't long before they caught her trail.
Kent Dailey was the first to corner her father. The resulting interview was looped round the clock. Daily surprised him as he was pulling into the driveway of what had been her home.
“Mr. Corvidae, Mr Corvidae!”
John looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. After Allison left he had picked up a second job, not because they needed the money but because it was easier than being home without her. With Lauren gone too it looked like he was avoiding sleep altogether.
“Where is your daughter, sir? Did she kill that girl?”
The interview was brutal. Kent barraged her dad with questions. Why had he kept her gift for himself all these years? Where was his wife? Where was he keeping Lauren? Did he know if she was involved with the death of Erin Engle?
Lauren quickly grew frustrated with the television and switched it off in search of another outlet for her restlessness.
She made her way from the bedroom to the church's small kitchen. Lauren was quite familiar with the place by now, and so she quietly began to prepare breakfast.
Caroline was a gracious host, and Lauren made sure to impose as little as possible. So far their arrangement had worked out perfectly. Lauren was left mostly to her own devices. Caroline was used to long periods of quiet and solitude, which suited her guest just fine.
As she assembled the ingredients for pancakes, she found herself humming softly.
“Amazing grace... how sweet the sound....”
“You have a lovely voice, Lauren.”
Turning, Lauren saw Caroline standing in the doorway in her nightgown.
“Oh. Good morning.”
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Please continue?”
But Lauren was too shy. Instead, she turned on the small television on the kitchen counter and continued cooking in silence.
“...taken to the streets for the sixth day in a row. Officials in New Delhi say that upwards of two-hundred thousand celebrants are participating in what is being called the Revival of Light. So far the largest festival marking the return of Lauren Corvidae, it's certainly the most colorful...”
The grainy image showed thousands of people dancing excitedly and singing in the streets amidst a riot of colorful clothing.
“... In less comforting news, peace talks between Pakistan and India were marred by violence early this afternoon. Pakistan has again accused India of aiding Reformed Christian Missionaries in their attempts to convert the largely Muslim population of the Punjab Province...”
Caroline smiled at the news.
“You see, Lauren? The world celebrates your return.”
“They don't even know what they are celebrating.”
“You represent hope and certainty for so many people, Lauren. You are a symbol. A living, breathing reminder of the power of the Lord.”
Lauren slammed the skillet she was using down onto the stove.
“And how does that work exactly, Caroline? Christians in Rome say I'm a messenger of God. Muslims in in Saudi Arabia call me a demon. Israel says I am the angel Ariel. Professors and skeptics around the world say I'm an alien, or a government project.”
“But, Lauren...”
“No, really, explain it to me,” she continued angrily. “Where in your magic book does it talk about me showing up and causing people to riot and kill each other and burn mosques and churches and temples?”
Caroline snapped her mouth shut, looking down at her hands and avoiding Lauren's accusing eyes.
Smoke brought Lauren's anger back in check and she looked down at her now ruined pancakes.
“Damnit.”
Throwing the smoking pan into the sink, she stormed out of the room. Caroline stepped obediently aside as Lauren passed, but didn’t say a word.
Lauren went back outside, breathed the cold winter air and tried to clear her mind again. She too wanted the answers she demanded, unfairly, from Caroline.
What the hell am I doing here.
“Lauren?”
Caroline took her by surprise, usually when Lauren lost her temper she was left alone for a while. Lauren turned towards the door of the church
to see her standing there in a thick winter parka.
“Lauren, don't you think you ought to do something?”
Lauren looked back at her vacantly.
“Like what,” it was more a statement than a question.
Caroline shrugged.
“Like help. People out there need you, they are calling out for you.”
Lauren rolled her eyes, turning back to the field. Let them call then, Lauren had done enough.
That night the Corvidae home was vandalized. Townsfolk calling themselves Defenders of the Faith threw bricks and molotov cocktails, demanding that Lauren be 'set free' and allowed to do God's Work. John was dragged from his bed and paraded through town by an angry mob. Cobden's tiny police force seemed unable or unwilling to step in and stop the madness.
Lauren watched the news in horror as her father was tied to a hastily erected wooden cross in the center of town, bloodied and bruised from his mistreatment.
A man calling himself Disciple grabbed a reporter’s attention and spoke for the group.
“Sir, sir can you tell us what's happening? What are you doing to this person?”
“This man,” he gestured to John, “stands accused of denying God's gift to the flock. He has willfully withheld an angel of Jesus Christ, an instrument of the Lord. For his sacrilege and blasphemy we, the people of God, sentence him to the same death our beloved Savior suffered.”
The stunned reporter backed away from the man, disbelief in his eyes.
“You're going to kill him? You plan to… to crucify him?”
The man looked directly into the camera, his eyes ablaze with conviction.
“I am a blessed disciple of the Lady. She has spoken to me in my dreams since the day she healed me, twelve years ago. I do not question her will, I carry it out.”
With that, the man turned to the hundreds-strong crowd, who roared with approval.
“He dies!”
His words broke the spell Lauren was under.
She ran from the room. Leaving the door swinging in her wake, she sprinted barefoot from the church and into the field.