Fallen Angel (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

Michael was waiting for me at school the next morning.

“Where were you last night? I was so worried about you,” he said before I could even get my locker door open.

I quickly scanned the hall to make sure no one was listening. Fortunately everyone looked just as rushed as I was; I was seriously late for Miss Taunton’s class. “My parents caught me,” I whispered.

“Caught you?” Inexplicably, he seemed confused.

“Caught me trying to sneak out.”

A look of horror crossed his face. “They didn’t see you—”

I knew he was about to say “flying,” so I cut him off. “No, they didn’t see me do that.” The words were technically true—if not accurate. My parents knew about my flying; they just didn’t witness it last night. Why didn’t I tell him?

I wondered why I felt uncertain. I’d woken up confused about what my parents had told me, and mad that they’d kept such secrets from me. But at the same time, I retained that sense of lightness I first experienced when they told me, at the thought I might be part of something better and bigger than myself. That hopeful sensation stayed with me as I got ready for school and drove in with my mom—even when she fended off my relentless questions with assurances that we’d talk later and even when I started to get angry at her withholding explanations. All morning, I could barely contain my excitement to tell Michael what I’d learned about my identity, our identities. Despite my promises to my parents to the contrary.

Yet now that the opportunity was at hand, I wavered. There was something different, even off-putting, in Michael’s manner—something I couldn’t quite describe—that made me hesitate. And I hadn’t hesitated with him for a long time.

“Thank God for that,” he said.

“Thank God.” I smiled a little; the phrase had taken on new meaning.

He took me by the hand and asked, “Do you think you’d be able to get away after school today? I know it’s tough with your grounding and all, but something happened last night. I want to tell you about it.”

“I don’t know, Michael. The grounding isn’t my only problem. After my parents caught me trying to sneak out last night, they specifically told me I couldn’t see you anymore.”

He withdrew his hand. “Me? Why?”

“They guessed that I was going to meet you. Not that I admitted it.”

“Great,” he said sarcastically. “Now we’ll only be able to see each other during the supervised school hours of eight thirty to three thirty and after midnight. Assuming your parents don’t camp out in your bedroom.”

“Assuming they don’t camp out in my bedroom,” I repeated, sadly. Although, given what I knew they knew, I was pretty certain that’s just about what they’d be doing.

Michael grabbed my hand again and pulled me away from the throngs of students racing to class. He led me down a dark corridor that led to the empty auditorium. Backing me up into a niche holding a set of double doors, he breathed into my neck. “Ellie, I won’t be able to stay away from you at night. One night was hard enough. Say you’ll meet me at Ransom Beach after school.”

All morning, I’d experienced a sense of lightness, like the black fog in which I’d been living had lifted. But now, with Michael so close, I felt the bloodlust again, along with the intoxication of the darkness. And I knew I’d find a way to meet him after school.

I made it into Miss Taunton’s classroom just before the bell finished ringing. Weaving down the crowded aisle to my seat in the back, I tried to ignore the hateful stares of my classmates. In fact, I tried so hard to ignore them that I tripped on a foot that had been outstretched for that very purpose. I pretended not to hear to delighted giggles—among them, Miss Taunton’s—as I picked myself off the floor and dusted off my pants.

Settling into my seat, I rifled through my bag for the paper due on Edith Wharton. The text icon on my cell flashed, a rarity. With my hands still in my bag, I clicked on it. To my surprise, it was from Ruth.
Are u ok?
she asked.

That text was the first time she’d communicated with me since the night of the dance. Immediately, I texted back.
Fine. Used to it. Thx for asking.

Want to meet for coffee after school?
she responded.

I raced to answer her.
Yes!
Just yesterday, if she’d asked me to coffee, I wouldn’t have cared. The darkness’s hold had been that firm. But now that a sliver of light had poked through the clouds, I felt excitement at reconnecting with Ruth. Plus, I had another reason to be thrilled: I had my way to meet Michael.

I negotiated with my mom for a limited—very limited—exemption from my grounding, a negotiation that required I pass my cell to Ruth for her confirmation that we would be making a quick stop for coffee and that she’d bring me directly home. On the car ride to the Daily Grind, we didn’t broach the rift between us. Instead, we talked about our classes and the heaping piles of homework. I waited until we sat side by side in our two favorite club chairs, with steaming coffees in our hands.

“Ruth, I’m really sorry about ruining the dance for you and Jamie.”

“It’s all right, Ellie. I was furious when it first happened. I mean, I knew that you hadn’t actually set up that Facebook page. I knew that Piper and Missy must have done that. But why on earth did you race up to that stage and take credit for such a hateful thing? It seemed so pointless and . . . out of character. And, of course, it totally ruined our night. But I’m not mad about it anymore. I haven’t been mad about that for a while.”

I didn’t want to ask the logical next question, but I had no choice. “What have you been mad about?”

“The way you’ve changed.”

“What do you mean?” Again, the question had to be asked.

“Since the night of the dance, you’ve become distant and cold. You’ve been walking around like you’re in a different world. I understand that you had to put up some kind of barrier to deal with the anger of the other kids, but with me? Especially when I tried so hard to break through to you.”

Now that perplexed me. I knew that I hadn’t much cared about anyone but Michael, but I honestly didn’t recall any special efforts on Ruth’s part to break through my barrier. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You really don’t remember me trying to talk to you after English? Or walking with you to the school assembly?” She sounded baffled.

I shook my head; I had no recollection of such things. Then, for the first time since all the madness, I touched her hand. In a rush, I watched the past few weeks through Ruth’s eyes. I witnessed my rejection of her overtures, felt the sadness and loneliness that overcame her with each rebuffed approach, and experienced her nightly tears. I could tell that there was more, but Ruth quickly withdrew her hand.

I started sobbing. “Ruth, I am so sorry. I—”

She interrupted with a hug. “Ellie, I know you’re going through something difficult, something obviously I can’t understand. Let’s talk about it when you’ve calmed down, okay?”

Squeezing me tighter, she said excitedly, “Can I tell you all about me and Jamie instead?”

We spent the next half hour chatting like nothing bad had transpired between us. I heard all about her budding romance, and I loved watching the happiness in her face. It made me wish that I was normal, that Michael and I could hang out with my best friend and her new boyfriend like ordinary teenagers.

Ruth glanced at her watch and jumped up. She’d made plans to meet Jamie at the library, but would drive me home first.

“Ruth, I have a favor to ask, but I’m hesitant after everything I’ve put you through.”

“Ellie, you are still my closest friend. I’ll always be happy to help you. You know that.”

“It will require that you disobey my mom’s specific request to bring me home after coffee.”

“All right,” she said hesitantly.

“Would you mind dropping me at Ransom Beach when we leave? And not telling my parents if it ever comes up?”

Chapter Thirty

Ransom Beach looked more isolated and less welcoming than I remembered. The craggy cliffs seemed to drop more precipitously into the white-capped ocean, and there was not a soul in sight, it being late fall. From the inside of the car, Ruth and I could tell that the beach was colder and windier than town. We could even hear the loud cry of the seagulls through the closed car windows, and they sounded lonely, rather than the normal friendly harbinger of summer. The whole scenario made Ruth visibly uncomfortable.

“What are you guys doing out here?” she asked skeptically.

“We just like to walk along the beach,” I lied. I felt a little bad about it, but being with Michael was more important than not telling a white lie.

“In this weather?” Ruth wasn’t buying it.

Before answering, I hung my head down. I didn’t think I could tell her yet another lie while looking her in the face. “It’s the one place we can really be alone to talk.”

I could tell Ruth didn’t believe me, but she wasn’t going to challenge me any further. Still, she refused to let me out of the car until Michael appeared. We spent several long minutes making small talk while she looked at the car clock—she didn’t want to keep Jamie waiting, I could tell—and I scanned the otherwise empty road for Michael’s car. When he finally arrived, we both let out a sigh of relief.

She was reluctant to go. “Are you sure you’ll be all right, Ellie?”

I smiled assuredly. “Of course, Ruth.”

“It doesn’t seem particularly safe out here . . . ,” she said.

“I’ll be with Michael.”

“Okay. But don’t be afraid to call if you need me.” She paused, then added with a smile, “And please go home within the hour like we promised your mom. I don’t want her mad at me. She can be scary.”

I gave her a hug—thankful for the ride and the bridge back toward friendship—and hopped out of the car. Immediately, I was grateful she hadn’t let me out sooner. The salty air was bracing and strong, practically slapping me in the face with its cold dampness. If I wasn’t so confident in my flying skills, I might have clung to the road instead of braving the cliffside path nearest to Michael’s car.

Ruth was still waiting, so I raced over to his car. Waving good-bye, I opened the door and slid in. Straightaway, Michael pulled me toward him, and over the gearshift, he kissed me. I’d been feeling guilty about deceiving my parents and using Ruth to help me, but his lips and his hands wiped all that guilt away. I needed to be with him.

“So where are we going? In an hour, I have to be home.”

“Actually, I thought we might stay here, down in the cove.” He smiled. “It’s where we had one of our first dates, after all.”

I laughed. “You’re calling that a date now?”

He laughed too. “So are you game? Or is it too cold for you?”

I could tell he was daring me. After all these weeks where I taunted him and pushed him, he was turning the tables back on me. I had to rise to the occasion. “It depends on how we’re getting down there,” I answered coquettishly.

“I think it might be the right conditions for an afternoon flight.”

We’d never flown in daylight before. It was too risky. But if ever a safe time and place existed for the gamble, Ransom Beach in late fall was it. “Let’s go,” I said.

Checking to make sure Ruth was gone, we got out of the car and walked over to the edge of the cliff. For a moment, that first, terrifying experience of watching Michael jump from the very spot—not knowing that he could fly—revisited me. I felt a little dizzy at the intensity of the memory, and I stopped to steady myself.

“You haven’t become afraid of heights overnight, have you?” Michael asked, teasing me again.

I squared my shoulders and looked down the sixty-foot drop. “Of course not.” Just to prove my point, I grabbed his hand and dove.

Flying during the day was different. All the shapes and sounds and smells we normally guessed at were clearly discernible. All the hidden dangers were made apparent. Daylight made the experience more exciting and more frightening—simultaneously. By the time we landed on the sand, I wanted more.

But Michael declined my invitation for another flight. He wanted to stay in the cove. Its protective boulders made the temperature surprisingly warm, and Michael’s arms made it even warmer. So instead, we stood for a long minute in our sheltered spot, holding each other and staring out at the rough sea.

“There’s something I want to tell you—need to tell you—about last night,” he whispered softly in my ear.

He had mentioned this earlier. But, in the chaos of the day, I hadn’t given it much thought. Particularly since I had my own news that I’d decided to share with him.

“There’s something I need to tell you, too,” I said.

“I think I should go first,” he persisted.

“All right.” I suddenly felt uneasy and sick, like he was about to confess that he’d hooked up with another girl last night.

Michael took a deep breath and opened his lips to speak, when—over Michael’s shoulders—I saw another person amble down the beach in our direction. A man. He wore jeans and a fleece, but he was barefoot and had his shoes slung casually over his shoulder as if going for a beach stroll on a beautiful summer day. What was he doing out here?

I placed my finger on Michael’s lips and said, “Wait. Someone’s coming.”

He craned his neck to see who it was. Spinning back to face me, he clutched me tighter—as if he was worried I’d fly away—and said, “It’s okay, Ellie. He’s here to meet us. He is what I wanted to tell you about.”

Even though Michael’s words registered in my head and he intended them to be a comfort, I couldn’t stop staring warily at the man as he came closer and his face became more distinct. The blond hair, the blue eyes, the handsome, chiseled features—I knew I’d seen him before.

He was the guy in the coffee shop several weeks ago, the one I’d bumped into. The one that Ruth couldn’t take her eyes off of. The guy who stood by Missy’s side at the Fall Dance, and the one I saw in shadows in flashes. He was Zeke.

What on earth was he doing out here? Meeting us?

The guy noticed my gaze, and smiled that creepy, disconcerting smile. And I got really, really scared.

The urge to escape became irrepressible. I felt my shoulder blades start to lift and expand, just like they did before flying, though now the motion was involuntary. Michael must have sensed it, because his grip tightened. Trying to wrench out of his grasp, I dug my nails into his arms. “Michael, what’s going on?”

“Ellie, his name is Ezekiel. And he’s going to tell us who we are.”