Lost Soul (12 page)

He saw hikers descending the sharp planes of the canyon and he wondered briefly if he should test his physical prowess by attempting the climb, but the sun was hot and dry and his throat was already parched so he quickly decided against it.
 
He had changed into dry clothes when he arrived, but now he wished they were still damp so they could offer some relief from the hot desert air.

The canyon was certainly the most beautiful place on earth he had ever seen, but he grew tired of staring at the walls within a few short minutes and he felt an ache for something more that he didn’t know how to satisfy.
 
What did humans do to find pleasure and happiness? He wondered.
 
Exploring the world’s most beautiful places was certainly awe-inspiring, but their pleasure had only lasted a moment.
 
Was it because it was no effort for him to visit them?
 
There was something to be said for the thrill of anticipation, but he just couldn’t get himself worked up enough about anything to look forward to it.
 
And besides, most people never got to experience any of the natural wonders he had visited in just one day, yet they somehow managed to find enough joy in their lives to keep going.
 
What did they do for fun?

Las Vegas wasn’t that far from the Grand Canyon (of course, nothing was really far when you could transport yourself there instantly).
 
Maybe he should try gambling?
 
He considered.
 
That seemed to have a big draw to a lot of humans.
 
Michael found a secluded spot to disappear and transported himself to nearby Nevada where the neon strip blinded his eyes and overwhelmed him with the sheer magnitude of development.
 
It was a huge shock to see so many manmade sights after spending the day basking in natural wonders.

The multicolored lights sparkled off every reflective surface like the inside of a kaleidoscope and Michael struggled to focus his gaze.
 
One sign caught his eye: a smattering of different colored stars with the word “Stardust” emblazoned across it.
 
Michael figured it was as good as any.
 
He clothed himself in a spiffy black suit and crisp white shirt and strolled purposefully into the casino.

Earning money wasn’t enticing to him since he could conjure up anything he wanted or needed, but he knew the thrill of the game was just as strong a motivator for some people.
 
Winning made humans feel smart and powerful and the pleasure of beating an opponent was a heady thing.
 
Slot machines were too random to be mastered and Michael didn’t know much about casino games, but he understood the basics of blackjack, so he cashed in a wad of hundreds for a stack of chips and sauntered up to the nearest table like a high roller, intent on gambling his way into oblivion.

No one paid him any attention at first, all eyes were on the cards despite the multitude of fascinating diversions.
 
Most notable were the scantily clad waitresses who sashayed around the tables carrying trays that covered more of their skin than the outfits they wore.
 
The players who did tear their eyes away from the game usually did so to gawk at one of the women leaning over the table, her ample bosom invariably threatening to escape her bodice.

Michael wasn’t an especially good player, but the large bets he was willing to place caught the eyes of those around him and soon he was the center of attention as his table cheered and booed along with him when he won and lost enormous sums.
 
The rush of victory was a pleasure Michael could definitely appreciate and even the spotlight had a certain appeal.
 
He felt his ego inflate every time he won more than two rounds in a row and soon he had convinced himself that gambling was where his true strengths lay and that was why he had failed so miserably as an angel.

Soon the women started to notice his success and females of every shape and size crowded around to watch him place his high-stakes bets and entice him into noticing them.
 
He couldn’t help but admire their come-hither stares and the glamorous outfits that skimmed their curves in all the right places.
 
He wondered how it felt to be as beautiful and desirable as most of these women.
 
Was it as powerful an emotion to be wanted for your body instead of admired for your money or your skills in a card game?
 
People spent hundreds of dollars and thousands of hours striving to attain a measure of beauty, so the possession of it must be intoxicating.
 
Michael had an irresistible urge to know.

Collecting his winnings, Michael abruptly excused himself from the table and shrugged off the women who tried to attract his attention.
 
He walked till he found a restroom in a less-populated area of the hotel and locked himself in a stall when no one was watching.
 
He tried to remember the most attractive male face he had ever seen before and duplicate it on his own, simultaneously stretching his body to a more impressive height and filling out his shirt with a tight pack of muscles that strained obviously against the fabric.
 
When he was satisfied with his transformation he exited the stall and checked his appearance in the mirror above the sink.
 
He knew he had been successful when the other men in the restroom gawked at him as he glanced at himself in the mirror, raking his hands through his thick hair till it fell lazily across his forehead.
 
He offered a brilliant white smile to his reflection as he washed his hands.

Exiting the bathroom, Michael followed the sound of music and laughter, catching the eye of every passerby, male and female alike.
 
He felt the power of his own desirability course through his veins and he knew he could probably have anyone he wanted, but he still wasn’t confident enough in his interpersonal skills to approach anyone.
 
Eventually, one especially beautiful woman had the nerve to approach him.

The blonde hair piled on top of her head was in sharp contrast to the bright red of her full lips and skimpy dress.
 
She smiled suggestively as she ran her hands down his arm.
 
“Hi, handsome,” she crooned, sidling up closer than Michael felt comfortable with.
 
“Are you here by yourself?”

Michael nodded, the lump in his throat preventing any sound from escaping.

“Me too,” she purred, glancing back at a group of ladies who were obviously out on the prowl together.
 
“Would you like some company?”

Michael nodded again and offered her his hand in an awkward greeting.
 
“Michael,” he managed to choke out.

“Veronica,” she replied, placing her hand in his and lifting it to his lips for a kiss.
 
Michael’s eyes widened in shock but he quickly covered his surprise and gave her hand a peck.

“What do you do, Michael?” Veronica asked, wrapping her arm in his as she led them down the hall.
 
Michael raised an eyebrow in speculation.
 
“For a living,” Veronica smirked.

“Oh, yeah, um, I’m a, um, I’m in, uh,….security,” Michael sputtered, feeling like a fool.
 
He was completely inept at carrying on a normal human conversation.
 
He offered her a big smile, though, and she seemed dazzled by his charm.

“I can see why; you’re so big and strong,” she replied, stroking his muscular arm.

Michael was starting to feel a little uncomfortable with her attention, but he was lonely, and desperately missing his family, and at least she was someone to talk to.

“What about you?” Michael asked, finally gaining some composure.
 
“What do you do?”

“I’m a hair dresser,” she answered, patting her intricate updo.

“Your hair is…very pretty,” Michael responded with a smile, fairly certain a compliment like that would be expected and appropriate.
 
Veronica’s answering smile assured him.

“So what brings you to the Stardust all by your lonesome tonight, darling?
 
Isn’t there someone waiting for you at home?”
 
Her eyes glanced to his ringless left hand.

“There used to be,” Michael replied with a heavy sigh.

“Ahh,” Veronica breathed, her relief poking out around the edges of her sympathetic sigh.
 
“So you need someone to fill the empty hours, hmm?
 
Someone to keep you warm at night?”

Michael’s stomach rolled at the implications.
 
He knew sex was one of humankind’s greatest pleasures, and although angels weren't normally sexually inclined, Michael wondered if he would enjoy sex if he tried it.
 
However, despite Veronica’s undeniable beauty, the aggressive way this brazen stranger was throwing herself at him was a complete turn off to Michael.

In a flash, he imagined the outcome of his interaction with Victoria.
 
He saw himself chatting suggestively with her, maybe getting a drink at the bar, till eventually they found themselves wrapped in each other’s arms in a darkened hotel room trying to anesthetize the pain with a meaningless romp between the sheets.
 
He realized in an instant this was not what he wanted.
 
This woman, despite her beauty and the enticing lure of her seductive stares, could never compete with his one true love, the only human who made him feel alive.
 
In that moment he knew he could never be happy as a human unless he was with
her
.

“I can’t do this,” he announced, the words falling from his mouth even before the decision was made in his mind.
 
Veronica’s look was a mix of disappointment and disdain and Michael felt a sudden relief at his release.
 
“I have to go,” he said, and quickly turned the opposite direction, returning to the restroom that had aided his previous reinvention.

With a sigh he locked himself in a bathroom stall and perched himself on the edge of the toilet, his head in his hands.
 
He knew it could only lead to heartache, but he had to go see Jessica.
 
He’d been deluding himself into believing that all he desired was to be human, to be released from his obligations and to be free to do as he pleased, to enjoy the world like all its other inhabitants.
 
In truth, he would prefer a hundred years as a slave to her care over a single day as a free man.
 
There was nothing left to do but go to her.
 
He would figure it out once his mind was clear, once the sight of her erased all the delirium caused by her loss.

chapter eleven

An instant later he was standing at her front door, about to knock, when he realized he needed a plan.
 
If he was going to participate in her life as a human, he couldn’t just approach her as a stranger and expect her to welcome him in.
 
Although he knew everything thing there was to know about her — her likes and dislikes, the way her eyes lit up when she saw her favorite cartoon on TV, the piece of hair on the back of her head that always stuck up after a nap — she didn’t know him, wasn’t even aware of his existence (which was how it was intended to be).
 
But suddenly Michael had an overwhelming desire for her to know him, to reveal himself to her in all his passion and brokenness, in hopes that someday she might care about him as much as he cared about her.

He decided to do some surveillance while he pondered a plan for integrating himself into her life.
 
It had been almost two years since he had seen her — since the Conrad family had torn his heart in two by moving hundreds of miles away from his first love — and he wondered how much her life had changed in the meantime.
 
She was a school-ager now, seven years old, and he wondered briefly if he would even recognize her when he saw her, but he dismissed the thought immediately.
 
He knew who she was, not just what she looked like, and his heart would recognize her the moment she stepped into the room.

It was early morning, and he wondered if she would still be sleeping.
 
He recalled the image of her tiny body curled under the covers as she slumbered, her dark hair fanning out around her head, her hands folded beneath her chin.
 
He couldn’t resist sneaking into her bedroom to watch her sleep one more time.
 
He knew Falla would not be happy to see him, but he would deal with the consequences later.
 
For now, he had to have a glimpse of the girl who owned his heart.

He knew something was off the moment he entered the house.
 
It smelled different, he realized with a start, and although he found he couldn't recall exactly what their home had smelled like before, he knew this smell was completely foreign to him and he wondered what could possibly have happened to cause such a dramatic change.
 
He was in the living room where no humans or angels were currently in attendance, but he quickly noticed the furniture was different than he remembered too.
 
The mustard velvet couch that had once dominated the room had been replaced by a delicate floral settee, and a collection of ceramic figurines now decorated the space once cluttered with plastic toys.

A deep chasm opened up in the pit of his stomach as his mind deduced the truth, but his heart refused to accept what his senses were telling him and he moved swiftly through the house, looking for something familiar to support his own delusion.
 
Every room bore evidence of the truth, but he vehemently denied it until he reached Jessica’s old bedroom and paused before the open door.
 
A twin size bed was in the corner where Jessica’s crib once sat and a girl lay sprawled across the covers, her dark hair fanning out around her head, but despite Michael’s intense desire to believe it was his beloved Jessica, he knew he had to face the truth.
 
This girl could no more pass for Jessica than a candle could pretend to be a star, and his spirit collapsed as his heart accepted the reality.
 
Jessica was gone, and he had lost his last chance to be with her.