Eternity (3 page)

Chapter Five

When the last bell rang, I walked Michael over to the football field for his practice, as I would any other day. We needed to stick closely to our usual activities and schedule. Just in case any of the fallen was watching and waiting to see what we knew.

Before he headed into the locker room, I leaned in to kiss him, as I always did. Today, instead of the usual “see you later,” I heard him whisper, “Good luck.”

I needed it.

I walked over to the parking lot to meet Ruth for an after-school coffee. I knew I had to face Ruth sooner or later, so before our final class I texted her that my cough had subsided and I felt up to our regular meeting. It sickened me to lie to her; we’d always told each other everything.

Amid all the cars and all the kids preparing to bolt from school, I didn’t spot her at first. Then I caught a glint of her red hair against the backdrop of the gray day. I hustled over to her used, green VW bug, not sure what reaction I’d get. Did she remember seeing me fly, or didn’t she? How was I supposed to behave?

“You look
really
ready for a latte,” Ruth pronounced, sounding very normal.

“I am
really
ready for one,” I said, attempting to match her light tone.

As we got into her car, I thought how pretty she looked under those wire-rimmed glasses. I smiled a bit, thinking about how shocked our classmates had been when Ruth unleashed her inner runway model at the fall dance, only to tuck that beauty away again for school on Monday. Loyal, whip smart, yet incredibly reserved, Ruth loathed any unnecessary attention. She saved up her animation and lovely smiles for a select few, and most of Tillinghast High School didn’t make that cut. I hoped that the frank conversation I planned for our after-school coffee wouldn’t wipe the pretty grin right off her face.

I tried to mask my nervousness as we rode to the Daily Grind, and bolstered my courage by remembering the words of Michael’s first letter that day. We chatted away, mostly about a benign argument she had had with her new boyfriend, Jamie, about his chronic lateness. The conversation continued as we ordered our coffees and settled into two brown club chairs that sat side by side. As I feigned interest, I lifted my latte to my mouth for a sip. Suddenly, I noticed that my hand was shaking. I put the cup down on the table; I didn’t want Ruth to see and wonder why. Not quite yet, anyway.

Once she finished, I waited until the Daily Grind buzzed with noise. Then I scanned the room to make sure no one was paying us the slightest attention. Leaning over the arm of my chair, I slipped a piece of paper into her lap.

I prayed that the information we divulged within wouldn’t shatter her world. More fervently, I prayed that after she read the letter, she wouldn’t decide Michael and I were crazy and alert my parents to the disclosure, in an effort to “help” us with our delusions, of course. That would undermine everything that Michael and I were trying to accomplish.

Either way, it was a gamble we had to take.

Ruth stared down at the letter sitting in her lap, and said, “What’s this?”

“Read it, Ruth. Please.”

Laughing, she said, “So we’re passing notes now? What are we, in the third grade?”

I bit my lip and motioned for her to read the letter that Michael and I had so painstakingly crafted. I thought about the words we had carefully selected to describe our natures, so as not to upset her too much. We used vague phrases like “special, angelic gifts” instead of describing our ability to fly or, worse, the power of blood. I considered the language Michael and I had used in begging Ruth to help us better understand who we were and what the end days were. We had written about the “mystery of Nephilim selves” and the “looming troubles.” And I deliberated on the way we’d explained our inability to do the research ourselves—that others might be watching us and the importance of our pretending to be normal. In the letter, we told her everything we knew . . . but with kid gloves.

Hesitantly, she picked up the letter and unfolded it. I held my breath as she started reading. Even though Ruth had been my best friend for nearly ten years, I didn’t know how she would respond to our plea for help researching the nature of the Nephilim and the impending apocalypse. Even though we’d been careful not to use “apocalypse,” Ruth was no dummy. How could I possibly predict her reaction to the claim that I was an angel of some sort, no matter how prettily phrased? That our world teetered on the edge of annihilation?

Ruth cleared her throat, and whispered, “So you
do
remember?”

I was flabbergasted. Nothing in her behavior had given me the slightest hint that she remembered anything. “You do too?”

Ruth leaned toward me. In a voice so low that I could barely hear it, she said, “I remember watching you and Michael fly. And I remember taking you to the train station a few days ago. Today is the first day I’ve seen you since. I’ve been so worried about you and Michael, but who could I ask? Certainly not your parents.”

Relief coursed through me. I reached over to hug her, and said, “Thank God.”

As my hands touched her back and shoulders, I received an intense flash. I saw Ruth pacing her tiny bedroom. Her eyes were red rimmed, and she was staring down at her phone. Desperate with worry over my and Michael’s disappearance, she was willing it to ring.

For this very reason, I’d avoided touching anyone since I returned from Boston. Once I made contact with someone, I couldn’t prevent
this
exercise of my powers, no matter how hard I tried.

Unaware of the images I’d received, Ruth squeezed me back and whispered, “I thought you had forgotten what you could do, or that I knew about your and Michael’s . . . abilities. Or that you didn’t want to talk about it for some reason. So when you pretended you were sick earlier today, I kind of backed away from you.”

“Now you know why I haven’t mentioned it.” I tried to apologize. In our letter, Michael and I divulged how our parents had tried to make us forget. And why. To help us, Ruth needed to know everything
.

I felt her nod against my shoulder.

“So you’ll help us?” I whispered.

“Yes, Ellie. I’ll do the research that you and Michael need.”

“You understand that there are risks? Huge risks? We don’t know if we’re being watched. If we are, that means they might start watching you. And we have no idea what else they might do . . . to us or to you!” My voice cracked at even the thought of harm coming to Ruth.

“Of course. That seems very clear.” Even though her voice sounded firm and strong, I wondered if she comprehended the dangers. How could she, unless she’d stared evil in the face, as Michael and I had?

I started to cry. “Thank you, Ruth. Thank you so much for helping me and Michael.”

“Ellie, I’d do anything for you, you know that. This research, though, you understand that I’m not doing it for you and Michael alone, right?”

“No?”

“I am doing this for everyone, Ellie. Because if I understand your letter correctly, everyone is at risk. If it becomes known that you and Michael understand who you are and what you’re meant to do, then you will be engaged in some kind of conflict. And the entire world will hang in the balance.”

Chapter Six

Michael and I waited. We hung around, wishing that Ruth had some news to share. The rest of the school week, the waiting felt interminable. Here we were, armed with the knowledge that we were elect creatures critical to preventing the impending apocalypse, and we could do
nothing
. Nothing but spend our days suppressing our powers and roaming the halls of Tillinghast High School and the streets of our little town as if we were like the other kids. Nothing but spend our nights attempting to sleep in our beds, while succumbing to increasingly disturbing dreams, instead of soaring in the nighttime skies.

I was ready. And restless. All the waiting shook my vulnerable interior.

The weekend loomed long before me. When Michael announced that he’d have to go to an extra football practice on an uncharacteristically sunny Saturday morning—the coach had called for one since they didn’t have a game Friday night—I decided to sit in the bleachers and half watch, half do my homework. I found it easier to pass the endless hours of waiting when I was in Michael’s presence. Somehow, it soothed.

For the first fifteen minutes or so, I watched Michael and his teammates perform drills, while the sunglass-wearing coaches barked orders from the sidelines. Very quickly, the exercises became pretty routine and pretty boring. So I threw myself into my Spanish homework, finding it surprisingly intriguing compared to what was happening on the field.

I was lost in verb conjugations when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I instinctively jumped.

“Hi, Ellie,” a familiar voice said.

It was Ruth. “God almighty, you scared me to death.” As she moved to sit down on the bleacher next to me, she looked so contrite that I felt bad for chastising her.

“Sorry, Ellie. I should know better, right?”

“Right,” I answered with a sigh of relief, as I scooted over to make more room. “What are you doing at school on a Saturday?”

“Yearbook meeting.”

“I should have guessed.” Ruth always filled her schedule to the brim, hoping that all her good grades and all her leadership activities would merit a college scholarship when the time came.

“Hey, Jamie and I are going to the movies tonight. We’re going to see
The Controversy
. Do you and Michael want to join us?”

I paused for a second. Part of me wanted to scold her for not spending every free minute working on our research. Didn’t she understand the stakes? I stopped myself. Ruth was doing us a major favor by undertaking such a risky project; I should be very, very appreciative.

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Ruth.” Michael and I had planned a low-key evening: a movie at my house and takeout. Plus, I didn’t know if I could face an evening of playacting with Jamie. Pretending to be normal was harder than I thought. I needed a break from it.

“Come on, Ellie. You’re supposed to be an everyday, average teenager, aren’t you?”

Ruth had a point. I was reluctant, but I decided to give in. “All right. Thanks for asking us.”

The Controversy
turned out to be a mainstream thriller. Not the kind of foreign or indie film Ruth and I usually liked, but maybe it was Jamie’s turn to pick the movie. All the chase scenes and death threats were too close to our recent adventures in Boston for my taste. Still, it was a relief to check out of my own crazy reality for a while.

Afterward, we headed to the diner to have dessert. Over brownie sundaes and apple crisps, we talked about Miss Taunton and the grueling workload she assigned. We had some serious laughs, imagining what her private life must be like, given her strange proclivity for assigning gothic romance.

“How do you manage all your homework and papers with your football practices?” Jamie asked Michael.

“It’s tough with Coach Samuel’s schedule. Sometimes I’m up all night,” Michael answered, smiling at me. I knew what actually kept him up at night. Or what used to, anyway. Coach Samuel had arrived at Tillinghast High School during the summer from a Boston high school, with an incredible reputation and an over-the-top work ethic—for himself and his players.

“Seriously?” Jamie asked. He was kind of in awe of Michael.

“Absolutely. It’s worth it, though. I mean, Coach Samuel is turning the Tillinghast team into a contender for the state championship,” Michael said proudly. Then, in a smaller, more modest voice, he added, “And he’s mentioned that, if I work hard enough, he might even be able to get me a football scholarship.”

I was surprised. Michael hadn’t said anything to me about a football scholarship. In fact, he hardly used to talk about football at all.

Before I could respond, Ruth interjected. “That’s amazing, Michael. I’d love to get a scholarship for
anything
.” Michael had hit right onto Ruth’s dream.

Jamie reached over and put his arm around her shoulder. “You totally will, Ruth. Look at your four point oh grade average; look at all the clubs you are the president of.”

While Jamie and Ruth lost themselves in conversation of how amazing he thought she was and how certain he was she’d secure a scholarship, I linked my hand with Michael’s. “You never said a word about this whole football scholarship business.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Well, we’ve had a lot of other things on our plates lately, haven’t we?”

Looking into his piercing, pale green eyes, I smiled back and said, “We definitely have.”

I almost whispered that we needed to solve the end-days problem before we worried about college, but I paused. This whole acting-normal thing was working well for Michael, as it should be. Why should I rain on his parade, because he was better at acting “normal” than me? Because he could lose himself in football when I couldn’t find anything to capture my attention—and act as a salve for my nerves—during our interminable wait?

I told myself that I should be happy for Michael’s happiness, regardless of what happened to his dream of college football in the long run. I swallowed my words, squeezed his hand, and said, “A football scholarship would be awesome, Michael. I’m so proud of you.”

We said our good-byes to Ruth and Jamie and hopped into Michael’s car. But I felt nowhere near tired.

“Are you ready to go home yet?” Michael asked as he started the car.

The prospect of another long night tossing and turning in bed was unappealing. Especially since, before Boston, Michael and I had spent every night together in a secret survey of the skies and each other’s bodies.

“No, it seems kind of early for us, doesn’t it?” I answered.

Michael reached for my hand. “Way too early to call it a night. Should we go to our field?”

Why hadn’t that occurred to me first? So many of my best memories happened there, after all. And Michael had mentioned it in one of his first letters to me. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

We didn’t talk on the ride there. Instead, I thought about the first time Michael brought me to the field; he had told me that it was the only safe location for me to practice flying. He had been so patient with me, even when I gracelessly tumbled to the ground again and again. And he’d been so gentle with me afterward, as we lay together on the springy grass and studied the stars. It became our special spot, the one place we returned to night after night to be our true selves.

It felt weird going to the field in a car. In the past, we had always flown there. I used to circle the ring of evergreens, swooping in and out of their prickly branches in a game of my own design. Only when Michael arrived did I consent to land on terra firma.

Hand in hand now, we walked through the narrow path in the trees. The needles were sharper than I remembered. Perhaps the field would be different, approached by land. Only a few days had passed since we last visited here, but it seemed forever ago, so much had transpired. When we parted the boughs, there it stood. The perfect circle of our field.

The field never failed to take my breath away with its impossibly gorgeous, natural beauty. Within the evergreens’ embrace awaited the softest, most vibrant green grass imaginable. Dotted among its blades were unexpected patches of wildflowers and bushes of heather, despite the increasingly chilly fall weather. The skies above afforded a telescopic, crystal-clear view of the heavens. We didn’t love the field for its photo-shoot-ready loveliness or the memories it held. We loved it because it felt like home.

Michael sat down on the soft center of the field, which sat a bit higher than the rest of the ground. He motioned for me to join him, and we lay back in each other’s arms. I sighed deeply for the first time since we’d left Boston. We didn’t speak. We simply gazed at the stars.

The ground was still soft, and the stars were still bright. Michael’s embrace was still enticing and comforting. When I surrendered into his arms in this most comforting of places, I surrendered my facade of strength for a moment too. It seemed that I’d shored myself up fairly well on the outside; yet inside, I was still overwhelmed. All my apprehensions about being the Elect One—fears that I’d worked hard to suppress since we returned from Boston—flooded to the surface. I started to cry, a deep, wracking sob. How on earth was I going to rise to my calling?

Michael’s arms tightened around me. “Hey, we’re going to get through this. Together.”

I tried to calm myself. Despite my efforts, my breaths were halting and shallow. “Do you promise?”

Michael turned to me and looked me directly in the eyes. We stared at each other for a long moment, and I thought for the hundredth time how mesmerizing his pale green eyes were. Especially when they bore the promise of his devotion.

“I promise, Ellie.”

He must have seen some hesitation, some modicum of doubt in my eyes, because he drew me even closer to him. “Ellie, I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. I feel like I have waited my whole life to prove that love to you. Keeping this promise will be that proof.”

The strength of his words dried my tears. The length of our bodies touched, and it occurred to me that this was the closest we’d been physically since the car ride we took to school on our initial return from Boston. We had taken care not to be alone too often.

I felt the heave of his chest against mine, and the warmth of his muscled thigh against my own. I felt his breath on my cheek, and his fingers entwined in my hair. And more.

Suddenly, I wanted him. Not his blood. I knew I couldn’t have that. Him.

We’d never gone too far before. Physically, that was. Sharing each other’s blood always seemed the most intimate, the most complete, of acts. We couldn’t do that at the moment, and we both needed something more.

We were just teenagers now. Wasn’t this what other teenagers did? Then Michael dragged me on top of him, and the motion drove all thoughts from my mind.

He kissed me hungrily, as if it had been months instead of weeks since we’d been together. I returned his fervor, running my tongue along his full lips and neck. Yet he still felt too far away from me. Despite the cold, I unbuttoned his shirt, and ran my hands up his muscled stomach to his chest. His skin felt silky and warm, almost hot, under my fingers, and the sensation made me want to touch him more.

Emboldened by my actions, Michael fumbled at the buttons on my jacket and then slid his hands under my wool sweater. His hands felt cold and rough and sexy on my skin, and when he reached around to undo my bra, I kissed him even harder.

Shirt undone, hair wild, Michael rolled me under him. I wrapped my legs around his strong thighs, and drew him even closer to me. I could no longer feel the cold night air on my skin, only the warmth of Michael’s breath and hands and lips all over my willing body.

We were both panting, and I knew that we’d reached the moment. The moment of no return.

Gently, Michael pulled his face away from mine to look at me with his pale, pale eyes. His eyes brimmed with adoration and desire. I never loved him more than in that moment. And I never wanted him more than in that moment.

Then his face darkened.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Ellie, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”

“I don’t want you to,” I whispered.

“I mean, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop at this.”

The blood. Michael didn’t think he’d be able to stop with our bodies. He worried that the urge for blood would prevail. We could not allow that to happen. It could be like a beacon for the fallen.

Awkwardly, we sat up. I pulled down my sweater and struggled to rebutton my jacket, while Michael did the same. Mixed emotions plagued me. I was disappointed that Michael had put on the brakes but also a little relieved. I didn’t know if I was totally ready to take the leap.

Michael reached over and hugged me tight. “This is the right decision, Ellie, believe me. There will be plenty of time for this. After.”

His words saddened me. Would there be time? Or was the end so imminent that this was our only chance to be physically intimate with each other? “I hope so, Michael.”

He whispered. “Don’t worry. We’ll make time for this.”

“No, Michael, you misunderstood me. I meant that I hope that there will be an ‘after.’”