Authors: Zoey Derrick
“Jesus, Mikah, you’re white as a ghost.” I try - and fail - to dispel the image from my mind, so I open my eyes, attempting to give myself something else to look at.
Red is quick to distract me. “You alright
mo chara
?”
My lips turn up slightly at his use of Irish and English together. “I think so.” Is all I can manage to say at this point.
“I have some jeans and a t-shirt for you in the car if you’d like?” Red asks. I just nod. “Alright, I’ll be right back. Anything else?”
“Coffee would be great. Thanks.” I look up at him. There is pity on his face, and though the look doesn’t bother me, I can understand now why Vivienne would see that look and hate it.
“Sure thing.” He turns and walks out of the room.
Looking through the glass at the nurse’s station reveals that nothing has changed. Though I can’t see everything, I can see that line number four, Vivienne’s line, still says she’s in surgery with Dr. Alston.
Despair washes over me in a rush. Come on, damn it. Something. Anything.
Twelve
A few minutes later, Red returns with a bag containing a pair of jeans, a gray t-shirt and my sneakers.
“Will you stay here? Wait until I get back?”
“Of course, sir,” he says with a smile.
I give him a half-hearted lift of the corner of my mouth and head toward the desk.
“We haven’t heard anything yet, Mr. Blake,” says the young blond nurse behind the desk.
“I figured as much. But I need to change my clothes. Is there a restroom I can change in?”
“Not really, but room three—” she points to her left and down the hall “—is empty. Feel free to use it to change and freshen up.”
“Thanks,” I say.
As I pass the whiteboard, I glance just to make sure that nothing has changed. Nope. Still says
Callahan, OR 4, general/personal, Alston, 2 hrs.
So much for two hours; it’s been nearly three.
I pick up my pace, wanting to be back in the waiting room when Dr. Alston comes out.
Room three is obviously a recovery room: There’s no bed, but there are several machines that appear to be turned off. I can’t help but notice the ultrasound machine in the corner opposite everything else. The room smells like bleach and sanitizer. Fresh. I silently hope this is not where she will go when she’s out of surgery. She deserves better than this room.
I shake my head and get to work unbuttoning my shirt and pants and kicking off my shoes. Opening the bag reveals a stash of toiletries – shampoo, conditioner, shave gel, a razor, two combs, cologne and deodorant – and I smile a little at Red’s foresight.
Once I’m down to my undershirt, boxer briefs and socks I head for the bathroom.
I take stock in the mirror. There are dark red to brown spots of varying sizes on the shoulder of my undershirt. It is also ripped in several places. My other shirt wasn’t like this, was it? No doubt Red would have thrown a bigger fit about my being looked at had my shirt been ripped.
I turn around to pick it up to check, but before I can complete my turn, something on my back catches my eye. I turn my back to the mirror and look over my shoulder, and the emptiness I felt earlier disappears completely, replaced by the sense that someone is with me.
“Do not fret. You have done well, young angel. You knew I was here.” It’s the same voice as in the hallway.
“What is all over my back?” I stare blankly at the silver-gray tint to the back of my already gray shirt.
“Ah, young angel, it has begun.”
“What, damn it? What is going on?” I nearly shout, and then quickly silence myself, hoping no one heard my outburst.
“Calm, Mikah. Remove your shirt and you shall see.”
I reach for the hem and turn my head back toward the room before pulling my shirt over my head. I take a deep breath as the voice starts to sing.
Is the singing really necessary?
She laughs. “No, young one, it is not, but I am bored.”
“Seriously?” I say out loud. “I’m on the verge of a damn freak-out and you’re bored. Brilliant.”
She laughs again. “Mikah, you will quickly see that I am bored constantly. You, young angel, are alive. Blood courses through your veins, your heart beats. But I, I am left here in whiteness for eternity. Yes, I get bored – very easily, mind you – and the only time I get to have any amount of fun at all is when I am in your head.”
I shiver at the thought of this voice having a good time in my head. “How long have you been in my head without me knowing?” She laughs again. “This really isn’t funny, Seraphina.”
“You are right, Mikah. Getting your wings is serious business.”
“My what?” I’m thrown. Wings? Real wings? “How am I supposed to go walking around with wings on my back?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” I feel an attitude shift in my head, almost like excitement. “Go ahead, take a look in the mirror. You will see.”
I begin to turn my head and the excitement bubbles. But it’s not my excitement.
Seriously
?
“Oh, come on. This is fun,” she says, and now I can hear the excitement in her voice.
I try to shake her excitement off and turn my head a little bit more. I don’t know what to expect, and I’m freaking out about what I’m going to see.
Good grief, stop being such a baby.
“I agree.”
“Would you stop that?”
She giggles. Out of all the angels in...wherever she is...I get stuck with the damn comedian.
“Hmph,” she huffs.
Finally, I continue turning my head until I’m able to see my back.
Thirteen
There on my back, in vivid detail, are two beautiful wings with white, gray, and silver feathers. They are nothing but a flat, two-dimensional image, yet they seem to be alive.
My knees give out and I tumble to the floor, breathing heavily.
She is quiet for a few moments while this all soaks in. “The legend is true, an angel are you,” she finally says.
I’m unable to speak aloud.
You can say that again. But me? Why me?
“Because, young angel, it is who you are. It is who your mother was and is to this day; though she never grew wings while she was alive, she is one of us now.”
Can I see her?
“Perhaps in time. She is one of our
máithreacha
, who are very busy.”
Máithreacha
? Mothers?
“Yes. They are second in command to our
máthair go léir
. Your mother was the one who spoke to you first and, as you no doubt guessed, she can be a bit testy.”
How did I not recognize her voice? It’s a voice that plays in my head constantly whenever I do something profoundly stupid.
“
If you think about that long enough, I’m sure you can figure that out.”
Suddenly I understand: She didn’t want me to know it was her.
“Or perhaps you didn’t recognize her because you were not thinking of her that way.”
I think back to the voice in the chapel. I still can’t hear it as my mother’s, but I take Seraphina’s word for it.
Anxiety washes over me as I contemplate the responsibilities that might come with these wings.
What happens now?
“We wait until the right time and place for you to take control of them. Then you can learn to use them to your advantage.”
I let out a rushed breath, thanking the stars that I can deal with this later. Given that there was blood on my shirt but no pain, I’m not quite convinced that I’m not dreaming.
In the instant that thought crosses my mind, sharp, white-hot pain races around my body, and I fall flat on my back.
Alright I get it; I’m not dreaming!
The pain stops, and I regain control of my own body and senses. I stand up and look into the mirror, this time facing forward. Where the blood had soaked into my t-shirt on my shoulder and chest, there is...nothing. Absolutely nothing there.
“You’re a fast healer, young angel.”
“The door at her apartment. The one I shattered with my shoulder. It caused all that blood, but where...where are the cuts?” I whisper.
“As I said, you are a fast healer.”
“I... What? Jesus. Is there anything else you want to tell me about before I discover it for myself and go ballistic?”
“You’ve already had enough for today. Get dressed and go back to the waiting room. I will do what I can to leave you alone for the rest of the day.”
I nod, and once again the emptiness returns. The hum in my back disappears. I flex my shoulder, testing its strength, but it feels fine. Completely normal. Which ranks up there with talking to angels in my head in my list of strange things that have happened to me today.
Fourteen
As I walk past the nurse’s station, I glance at the board and it’s changed: Vivienne’s name is no longer listed on the forth line. I jog back to the waiting room.
Stepping into the room, I notice Red in the corner, reading a magazine, and a family sitting opposite him. I walk straight up to him. He puts down his magazine.
“Has Dr. Alston been here yet?”
“No, but the nurse came in and said that she was out of surgery and the doctor would be in as soon as she could.”
I let out a rush of breath as a weight lifts from my shoulders. She’s out of surgery. “Oh, thank stars.”
He chuckles a bit at my expression, something he does all the time. I explained to him once why I have a hard time thanking God or some other higher power for the things that happen to people. After you’ve lost your mother, your father and your two brothers and you have a sister that is lost inside her own head, it’s hard to be thankful for the things that God does.
I take a seat, though I know it’s going to be pointless; I’m beyond keyed up, and I feel like pacing again. But I don’t want to freak out the family sitting across from us.
What a damn mess today has turned into. First Vivienne, and then angels start talking to me in my head. Now my back. How in the hell does this stuff happen to me? Why me? I cannot seem to find a reason for it. I grew up believing that to become an angel you had to die first, be pure of self, and follow a spiritual path. All of these things I’m not.
Wings? Really? How on earth am I supposed to hide these things? What in the world is going to happen to me – physically and mentally?
I’ve only been sitting here for a few minutes when the skin on my back starts to crawl. I shiver and grab the back of my neck, massaging it, hoping that the contact will lessen the sensation. But instead, a strong sense of unease comes over me. I feel restless. I need to move, be doing something – anything but sitting here idle and waiting. But I can’t make myself move.
“Err, you alright, lad?”
I turn to look at Red. His eyes flare momentarily and there is an instance of unease that bounces off of him. Jesus.
“What’s wrong?”
“Your eyes, they’re...” he pauses, and instinctively I shut them tight. “They’re almost black.” Shit.
Seraphina, damn it, where are you?
“I don’t know,” I answer him.
In the next instant, my body tenses and I feel a warmth radiate through my body and dissipate instantly. “I’ll be right back.” I get up and start for the door and the hallway. I walk past the nurse’s station, back to the room I just came from, and quickly lock the door behind me. I head straight to the bathroom mirror.
I shudder at the sight of nearly black eyes.
“Oh dear.” I hear Seraphina’s voice.
“What in the world is going on?” I say out loud.
“You’re in the hospital.”
“Yeesss...” I say, trying hard not to be sarcastic with her.
“Is your skin crawling?”
I just nod, not able to answer because I can’t stop staring at the solid black of my eyes.
“Someone near you, not known to you, has died.”
My heart sinks momentarily. “So why am I reacting this way?”
“Because the person who has died has been taken by evil.”
I feel a tightness in my shoulders that pushes outward.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Not here. You’ll rip your shirt.”
“What?” I say sharply and turn quickly. In the mirror I can see two rather sharp, knobby points beneath my shirt, up near the tops of my shoulders. Right...where...
Fifteen
I feel my head start to spin. Seraphina begins to chant in a tongue I do not recognize. An ache spreads across my back, and I can feel my shirt shift as it settles back against my skin.
I brace myself against the sink, my stomach rolling. I feel like retching.
“Eventually, young angel, you will be able to control this yourself. I’ve put your angel soul to rest. It won’t last forever, but it will be enough to allow you to calm down.”
Thank you.
I’m so confused. All of this is just...it’s too much. The wings, the changes – it’s all so overwhelming. I haven’t even begun to process it all, and I feel like my life is no longer my own.
“I understand that this is difficult for you.”
Gah! Stop that. It’s hard to think when you’re in there listening to everything I think.