Falling From Grace (78 page)

As Robert moved closer to the two figures, the heat from the light began to scorch his skin.
 
He looked down and felt the stinging of a pain he’d never felt before on the tips of his fingers.
 
He looked up and immediately shut his eyes to the intense light that threatened to burn him blind.
 
His wings quickly, instinctively pulled around him, blocking out the light, but not the screams.
 

Through Robert’s ears, what had sounded like bells to me was the same shrieking cries that had incapacitated me when I had stabbed Sam; I could feel the blood in me start to churn again, though the pain was much duller with Robert there holding me, shielding me from the full force of the destruction that I was far too familiar with.
 

I could hear the thoughts in Sam’s mind as his body twisted in wretched agony, the expletives that streamed out were harsh and grating, and the images in his mind were not of remorse for his acts, but at taking too long to kill me
—
he was mad at himself for being selfish and greedy in wanting to draw out my suffering.

In the darkness of Robert’s winged shelter, the smell of something burning was palpable. Only when the microscopic slivers of light were gone did his wings unfold, allowing him to take in the scene that lay before him in.
 
In a fraction of a second, he was able to see the damage done to the field.
 

Grass that was in desperate need of being cut had been pushed down in a wide arc, but otherwise completely unaffected by the heat that the light had used to singe his fingers.
 
There was a book bag in the middle of the field, and a large, black feather lay on the gravel that looked as though it had been dipped in gold.
 
A pool of gold had solidified next to it.
 
A few feet away, the gravel was stained and speckled with the reddish-brown that he knew was blood.

He rushed over to the smaller of the two figures laying on the ground, and gasped as he saw the blood soaked jeans and the dried blood on her face.
 
Her eye was nearly swollen shut; her bottom lip was split open near its apex.
 

A gurgled sound was trapped in his chest as he saw the dark bruising around her neck; the grip had been so strong he could see each finger, each crease in the palm that had tried to crush the tiny throat.
 
He took in her blackened fingers where the blood had pooled and congealed, the bruising across her chest from the impact of being hit by the force from the opening of the other’s wings, and the odd angles that her limbs lay out around her.

He could see within her, and the scene was familiar:
 
The injured organs, the broken bones, the bleeding were all sights that he had seen before.
 
And there in her chest, her weak heart, struggling to beat.
 
There had been too much lost blood, and its faint pulsing was slowly waning.
 
Everything was familiar but this; if this heart stopped beating, he knew it as sure as he knew his name that his life would end as well.
 
She was his heart, she was his soul
—
if she ceased to exist, then he would, too.

Gingerly he picked her up and cradled her, the frail and broken body hanging limply in his arms.
 
He brought his wings forward, wrapping them around him, as though to protect her from any more dangers from his own kind, and in the darkness gently hugged her to his chest.

When she gave no reaction to his holding her, he couldn’t hold his emotions back any longer and buried his face into her hair, the sorrow of a friend’s betrayal and the threat of a lost love tearing down the dam inside him.
 
His whole body shook with each sob, and each one tore from him a silent prayer that he could save her, that he’d not lose her, that she’d live to see another day, even if it meant rejecting him for what he was.

And taking his love and faith in his hands, he began to kiss her, the ebbing heat from her dying body still warm enough to give him hope.
 
He felt the sparks of feverish need grow in him as he pressed his lips across her face, not daring to go near her mouth, but feeling the pull much stronger than anything else he’d ever experienced before.
 

Finally, unable to fight it, his will lost among the countless other emotions he had tossed out to make room for the overwhelming feeling of love he felt for her, he brushed his lips against hers, intending only to give them a fleeting moment of contact.
 
Instead he leaned in, pressing harder, and by some miracle, she found the strength to raise her hands, to hold him, to weave a fabric of ownership with her fingers and his hair.

He rejoiced when he could hear her heart beating strong and fast, hear her thoughts, feel her response to him.
 
He pulled away as he heard one of her thoughts, the reality of the situation suddenly screaming for center stage in this second act.
 
The heroine was now safe, but the villain needed to be dealt with, and swiftly.
 
He placed her feet on the ground.

Time was not on his side.
 
She was upset, he felt it.
 
“Grace, don’t.
 
I cannot stay.
 
I will already have to answer for what happened here with Sam.
 
I have to bring him back with me.
 
I just wanted
—
I need to make sure that you are safe, that you are well,” he told her, and slowly opened the shelter of his wings, easing her arms off of him with no effort at all.

She was hurt and confused.
 
“Robert, I have far too many questions for you to leave me now.
 
You have to-”

He had to cut her off.
 
“I cannot answer your questions right now, as much as I want to
—
and yes, Grace, I do want to.
 
What Sam did will anger many of the others who would seek to blame someone other than him for what happened, and I have to try and fix this.
 
I have to fix this for us,” he told her, unable to bear hearing her voice so pained.

He bent down to pick up the wasted remains of the fallen angel that cowered on the ground.
 
Even in defeat, his thoughts were defiant.
 
With his burden in his arms, he turned to face her, a good-bye poised on his lips.

The shock and recognition that filled her eyes silenced him, as she uttered the phrase that caused more fear in him than seeing her broken and bleeding had done.
 
“You really are Death.”

He watched in horror as she crumpled to the ground.
 
He rushed to her, dropping the body in his arms to the ground with a thud, and quickly picked her up
—
the exchange swift and heart wrenching.
 
He was torn between fulfilling his duty to return his former friend, and seeing her safe.
 
Knowing that she wasn’t in any danger, he sent out his thoughts to the one person who he knew could hear him and who he trusted.
 
He waited for her to appear and spoke wordlessly to her as he again picked up his withered burden.

He looked on as the beautiful angel who had arrived gently lifted the fainted girl from his arms and, nodding, flew off in the direction of the girl’s home.
 
Satisfied, he then took off himself, glad for her safety, and saddened by the betrayal that had nearly cost her life.

Robert lifted his forehead from mine, the vision gone.
 
He lifted his hand to my face, cradling it and gently caressing my cheek with his thumb.
 
I turned my face into his palm, kissing the deep line that marked it.
 
He sighed, and pulled me towards him again, pressing my head against his chest.

“So it wasn’t you-”

No.
 
I don’t know who it was that came to help you.
 
Your prayer for help…there are those whose calling is to answer prayers such as yours.
 
I just don’t know who it could have been.
 
Their thoughts have remained hidden from me.

I nodded, and half-smiled at the mystery that just added to the endless list of questions that I wasn’t sure would ever be answered.
 
There never seemed to be a moment without complication for us; whatever fate had decided for the two of us, it certainly wasn’t supposed to be a walk in the park.

Robert’s hand brushed against my cheek, and wrapped against the column of my neck, holding the pulse point against the deepest and longest line in his palm, its steady rhythm soothing him somehow.
 
I have so much to apologize to you for, so much to make up for, Grace.
 
I do not know where to begin, but I will do whatever it takes to make this up to you.
 
You’re the only thing in my life worth protecting.
 
I would give up an eternity in Heaven for just one moment with you.

I pressed my hand against his lips, knowing that he’d understand my intent.
 
“You have me.
 
Don’t you dare give up what you have been waiting so long for just for me.”

My sweet Ianthe, don’t you see?
 
I’ve already fallen, and it’s for you.
 
Heaven is only where you are.

I smiled and laid my head on his chest.
 
“And mine is with you, Angelo.”

Christmas time in my house was never so lively
—
or so decorated.
 
Janice had gone to great lengths to set up as many baubles, knick knacks, and wreaths as one could possibly fit into our little house, with wrapping papered doors, and garland draped over windows.
 
Every table had a green and red something or other.
 
This was also the first year since mom had died that we had a tree in the house.
 
It was fake, cost three times as much as the real one Graham wanted to chop down, and came with built-in lights that did not blink, and were all white.
 
Oh.
 
And it spun around, slow and lazily, like a drunken, demented top.
 
This, of course, made Janice very happy, and so Dad made sure I said nothing.
 

The most noticeable difference this Christmas, however, wasn’t the abundance of faux greenery bedecked with ribbons and glass around the house, or the white fiberfill blankets beneath miniature towns that graced the only bookshelf in the living room.
 
It was the fact that Janice was with us, as was her very prominent belly.
 
It seemed impossible that it had grown so large in just a few days, but there was no denying that she now fit the description of rotund quite nicely.

Robert, Lark, and Ameila were once again invited to the house for the holiday meal, and they brought with them this time a bright red jell-o mold in the shape of a wreath.
 
Ameila held the jiggling form up proudly and announced that it was the first time she had ever made one; her impossibly white teeth poised in the perfect smile while I shuddered as I recalled the images of what she could do with that smile.
 
Janice thanked her as she took the mold, and placed it in the refrigerator.
 

They had brought with them more gifts than we’d had under the fake, spinning tree to begin with, which made me feel wholly inadequate, but Dad and Janice were very gracious as we sat around and opened gifts, Robert and I seated on the floor near the tree, passing them to each recipient.
 
Janice marveled at the teardrop shaped crystals that adorned the earrings that she received from them, while Dad seemed to be quite pleased with his authentic writing quill.

“I can’t believe how perfect this feather is.
 
Look at its color.
 
What a gorgeous shade of ebony.
 
That gloss is a sign of a very healthy bird.
 
I’m thinking Ostrich,” he said to me, while I nodded knowingly, trying very hard not to laugh.

I received a skirt from Janice in the same style as the one she had lent me.
 
“It’s perfect for your figure, and I thought that if you were willing to borrow one, maybe you’d be willing to own one as well,” she said when I thanked her for it, a genuine smile on both of our faces.
 
Of all the changes that have occurred in my life these past few months, this was the one that I still felt the least comfortable with, but that was my problem and not Janice’s; she was a good person with a good heart, and she loved my dad.
 
That was more than enough.

Dad had done his usual thing and simply gotten me a gift certificate to my favorite thrift store.
 
I thanked him profusely.
 
I was in need of some new
—
okay, so not exactly new
—
shirts after the past few months.

 
I glanced over to Robert to see his face, and knew that he was trying not to think about that almost as much as I was.
 
I just wasn’t sure if it was for the same reasons.

I handed Dad and Janice their gifts; Dad’s was a stopwatch
—
for counting the contractions, I told him
—
while Janice’s gift was a scrapbook for the baby.
 
“I figured you’d want to start doing that whole collecting of memories thing that so many parents do now,” I told her, shrugging my shoulders when she held it up with a puzzled look on her face.
 
“You know, this was your first Easter, first Halloween, or first hangover.
 
The stuff that parents like to remember.”