The Awakener (15 page)

Micah sat
up, gasping, his hands gripping his shirt, and then searching his chest and stomach. There was nothing, no gaping wound or gushing blood.

Just another horrible vision, but it felt so real
,
the pain unbearable.

The apartment was quiet as he trudged to the kitchen, the terracotta tiles cool on his bare feet.
His mouth was cottony, his tongue feeling thick and swollen.

Just need a drink
, he consoled himself. He downed three glasses of water before setting his glass down with a clink on the granite counter. Sighing, he debated between sitting at the kitchen table or returning to his room. Lately, his bed felt more like a prison, a deceptive cocoon of bedding, which only trapped him in nightmares night after night.

He longed for a dream of Eden, even if it caused him heartache.
It’d been three weeks since he’d emailed Eden. Emailed her good-bye, it’d felt like.

Still, he’d gladly see her now.
I can handle emotional pain… these new dreams are way too physical for my taste. Demons and more demons and now I get to see the prince demon leaders.

He shuddered.
Not wanting to wake anyone, he made his way back to his room. Lying on his back, staring at the white ceiling, he tucked both hands under his neck
.

It has
to get better, right? I’m doing everything I can. All I do, every day, is search for that temple. I’ve stopped thinking about what I want. Or, at least I’ve tried…
Eden came to mind. He tried to push her face from him.
She’s not for me. There are bigger things than what I want.
Like the fire coming,
he reminded himself for the thousandth time.

“Micah,” a male voice called in his dark room.

Micah bolted up. “Who’s there?” He searched the darkness.

“Don’t be afraid, Micah.”
The voice was rich, full, yet calming at the same time.

“Ok, I’m not afraid, but where are you?”
He didn’t see anyone.

“I’m with you now. Listen to my voice.”

He cocked his head to the side.
There was something so familiar about his voice…

“I’m listening,” he whispered
. “Who are you?”

“I am the Captain.”

He gasped. “The Captain?”

“Yes, and I am pleased with your
service, Micah. You have sacrificed everything, and have been willing to sacrifice even more. I’ve come to tell you it’s time.”

“Time? Time for what
?” he asked, excited, yet terrified, by the implications.

As if to answer him, Sage appeared.
Micah’s eyes adjusted to her brightness as she smiled back at him.

“Sage will tell you
all
you need to know,” the Captain’s voice continued.

Micah gaped at her.

All I need to know…
like the…

“Yes, the location of the Enoch’s temple,” the Captain finished Micah’s thoughts.

“Prom’s in a few weeks, going with Andrew. I guess that’s no big surprise though, since we’re dating and all,” Eden said to her empty bedroom. She set her hairbrush down. Her hair was silky from all the absentminded brushing.

“So what do you think of my family moving?
I’m excited. We’re moving back into our old neighborhood, but we won’t be on the same street.”

Won’t be on Micah’s street again.

“Can’t believe it’s April already,” she announced, trying to change the subject with herself.
Of course, April made her think,
Micah’s finally coming home!

Her homework was done, but she didn’t want to leave her bedroom yet.
She glanced around, feeling listless.

“Are you here still?
Can’t you appear again? Just sit with me. I’d love to learn something about you. Like your name.”

She waited.

Nothing.

She grabbed her Bible, now a regular fixture on her nightstand.
She tried not to force her own actions, hoping her hands would move on their own. The result—the book sat unopened in her lap.

She grunted, “Fine,” opening it up to the beginning, in Genesis.

She scanned the first few chapters: the Creation, the story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden, and then, in the third chapter, something caught her eye.

“So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.”

“Flaming sword? Like your flaming sword?”

She felt the good feeling.

“So is this you? Are you one of those Cherubim?”

Good feeling.

She grinned. “That’s so cool! I can’t believe you were in the Garden of Eden.” She scanned a few more verses. “So you blocked the way to the Tree of Life, and kept Adam and Eve from eating it. You defended the Garden of Eden, and now you just guard me?”

She glanced around, deciding for some reason to look directly at the empty spot next to her on the bed.

“Why would you be with
me
?” she whispered.

The good feeling engulfed her,
and her eyes stung. She wasn’t sure what it meant.
Other than he must think I’m worth guarding.

She grinned at the air, raising one eyebrow.

“
Well, one thing’s for sure, you angels sure age well.”

The good feeling was mingled with something
. Perhaps he’s laughing.

Entering the
always-stuffy Biology room the next day, Eden slid into her small, wooden desk. The square classroom felt hotter than usual, the smells of past dissections assaulting her nostrils. She was rifling through her folder, looking for today’s homework assignment, when someone touched her arm. She turned, and stared into Damon’s chocolate eyes. Dumbfounded, she focused on the pencil held between his black fingernails.

“You dropped this.”

“Oh, thanks.” She grabbed it and, embarrassed, glanced away. She felt his gaze on her for a brief moment, and then the desk was creaking behind her as he moved into it.

The teacher, Mr. Biggs, began explaining how pumps and valves shuttle ions in and out of cells
, and she tried to listen.

She thought she was paying attention until she heard Mr. Biggs repeat, “Eden, can you give me an example in the human body of when myocites beat in unison?”

Her mouth went dry.

Damon mumbled, “The heart
.”

“The heart,” she repeated like a parrot.

“Correct.” Mr. Biggs continued with his lecture.

She twisted in her seat to face Damon and mouthed,
Thanks again
.

She supposed the arched eyebrow she got meant
,
no problem
. After class ended, she rotated to face him.

“Thanks for saving me.”

“No worries.”
He didn’t make eye contact as they both stood.

Enough of this
, she decided.
Forget what happened. I’m sick of awkwardness.

“Hey Damon, do you remember when you used to throw spit wads in my hair?” she asked
, and then forced a laugh.
Way to break the ice, Eden.

He stared at her.
“Kind of hoped you forgot about that.”

“No way, it was the only attention I ever got from a boy.
I think it’s funny now.”

“It wasn’t very nice attention, sorry.”

“Don’t be, we were kids.” She smiled at him, feeling something strange stirring inside.

She was so out of her comfort zone just talking to
Damon, she didn’t realize what
that
feeling meant until it was too late.

Her mind groaned as her arms reached forward, like a stiff, unbending robot.
She had no choice, her body moved on its own accord, hugging him.

She stepped back quickly, noting he did not return the hug.
His brown eyes were staring back at her now, his mouth ajar.

He’s in shock.
Is he breathing?

“Ah, sorry, I like to hug… people,” she mumbled.
Of all the people!

His mouth closed, his black brows relaxing slightly.
“Looks like it. See ya.”

And he walked out of the classroom.

No one was left, not even the teacher. No one, but her guardian she supposed, could see her collapse into her seat, legs shaking uncontrollably.

He’s never missed a day and I should know. I haven’t either.

As much as Eden was mortified by Monday’s hugging, she was even more embarrassed that Damon missed over a week of school since it.
Does he dislike me that much?

Wednesday, Damon staggered into the classroom, his face down, his hands shoved into his pockets.

Nervous,
yet relieved, she peeked over at him. His face was pale, almost green, and his eyes bloodshot.
Man, he looks miserable.

“Hey Damon, were you sick?” she asked as he passed.

“Yeah, sure,” Damon grunted, not looking at her.

So much for getting rid of
awkwardness—I just made it worse.

As class wore on, she heard him muttering under his breath a few times.
She tried to understand what he was saying, while sort of feeling bad for eavesdropping, but she couldn’t pick out any recognizable words.
Doesn’t sound English.

When class ended, she asked again, “Are you feeling ok?”

He gathered his stuff.

She waited
, and then repeated, “Damon, are you still sick?”

He glanced at her as if he seeing her there for the first time. “What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”
He strode from the room.

Micah could see sweat trickling down the boy’s neck, the back of his dark gray t-shirt wet.
The boy swiped his palms down his jeans. As an unseen passenger in the back, Micah watched the car stop. The boy with black hair jumped from the front seat, already bolting for the house.

“Damon,” the woman in the driver’s seat called after, “
don’t make yourself scarce. You father needs help in the yard today.”

Damon, Micah assumed, turned, removing the ear buds from his ears.

In his dream, Micah followed the woman as she approached her son.
“I know you’ve been sick, but I think some fresh air would do you good. I need to get all the weeds cleared out of my flowerbeds, and your father’s itching to get his garden cleared and ready. You know how he likes to plant too early.”

Damon shrugged his shoulders
. “Ok,” he said, replacing his earpieces.

Micah observed him working for a long time, wondering why he was seeing such an uneventful vision.
From what he could tell, there was nothing unusual going on here. Damon had just finished stuffing the last garbage bag full of the weeds.

“Thanks,” his mom
said, walking over.

“Sure.
Is that all?” He hefted the bag onto the other bags.

“Well, your dad’s wrestling with that silly stump again.
He wants his garden to be a few feet bigger this year. You remember the little stump next to it? He’s got it in his head that he can move it all by himself.”

Damon looked in the direction of the loud grumbling.
“I’ll go help him.”

“Heaven knows he needs it.
I’ll get supper on. How does fried chicken and cream corn sound?”

“Good,” Damon called as he jogged around the house.
Micah followed him, curious.

Approaching, the grumbling became a stream of profanities.
Micah grunted.
Guess the stump’s winning.

“Why don’t you take a break
and let me try, Dad?” Damon offered.

Damon’s dad glanced up with sweat was dripping off his nose. “
All right. Knock yourself out, kid. I need some lemonade.”

The man marched away, still griping under his breath.
Damon and Micah studied the stump. It wasn’t big, perhaps six inches in diameter. Damon’s dad had dug out all around it.

Damon picked up the shovel and dug deeper.
After a few minutes, he tossed the shovel aside and, getting down low, grabbed the stump, pulling hard.