Few Are Angels (6 page)

My heart sped up as it registered his proximity.

“That’s where you’ll come out when you come back through the woods. The trail will split off, and it will take you to that tree. I’m sure you can find your way back home from there.”

“Okay.”

“Go straight ahead, and through those dead trees is where the trail starts. The trail will be hard to see because of the snow fall, but not impossible.”

We walked to the trail and I immediately understood what he meant about the snowfall and the trail, but the recent footsteps made it easier to navigate. We walked briskly and quietly for most of the way, and I thought of questions to ask once we were closer to Elmwood Cemetery. Why are we going to the cemetery? Why are you covered from head to toe in a quilt? I kept my questions to myself, fearing I would make him angry and he’d shut down even more. Though I tripped and stumbled, he walked as though he could see exactly where we were going. I opened my mouth to comment, but was immediately cut off.

“Wait.” He turned around under the quilt, and I looked around.

I wondered what he was doing because I knew he couldn’t see anything.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

I could hear the lie in his voice. Something had alarmed him. I hoped it wasn’t an animal large enough to cause us any real trouble.

I decided to keep my eyes and ears open for the rest of the way. His pace seemed to quicken, so I sped up to match him. It was a workout power walking through deep snow. My muscles protested, but I urged them on. Every so often he would stop and tell me to be quiet. My nerves couldn’t take much more of that.

“Why are we power walking?” I huffed, trying to keep my balance in the snow and catch my breath.

He ignored my question and continued walking at our new pace. Suddenly, he was in front and I was in the rear, marveling at how he knew where he was going with his head covered.

“Once we get to Elmwood Cemetery, I am going to leave your side. I want you to go to the mausoleum in the back past the white cross grave markers,” he instructed.

I grew more nervous about our little trek, and I wondered if it had been a mistake. We kept stopping and it seemed as if he was listening to the woods. I couldn’t hear a thing, but he seemed to hear plenty and grew tenser by the minute. If there was something following us, would he leave me and run or would he fight? He didn't seem like the type to run from a fight, but he didn't seem to like me much. I was afraid to speak, and it took all of my strength to keep up with him and not trip over obstacles hidden in the snow.

“Hey, I’m getting a little worried. What is going on?” I asked just as we came up to the cemetery.

We were at the back and there was no entrance other than a hole in the fence. The cemetery was beautiful, blanketed in pure, untouched snow. It looked forgotten, and I wondered if they still had burials there. Most of the markers that faced us were worn and faded. Forgotten people buried in an ignored cemetery in an unnoticed small town. The thought saddened me, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to mourn my parents the strange boy stood under the quilt, still and silent.

I assumed he was listening to something I couldn’t hear. “What is it? What do you hear?”

Fear laced my skin like a thin veil, and I wanted something more to hold onto than the quilt—his hand, his arm, his solid body. I was tempted to reach for his hand under the quilt, but common sense stopped me. He treated me like a leper, and I was sure that taking his hand was against one of his many rules. If we made it out of the cemetery, I’d have to ask for a list of those rules.

“We’re being followed. I need to get you somewhere safe,” he said, confirming my fears. We moved to the fence, but he stopped before we went in. “Listen to me carefully. I’m too weak to fight him now, and I need to hide you.” It seemed that he was the type to protect me after all. His words did little to quell the spasms of fear coursing through my body, however.

“Who’s following us and why?”

I started to panic when he shifted the quilt, revealing his face. He winced when the light hit him, but he kept his eyes on me.

“You’ll be fine if you do as I say. Past those white cross markers is a mausoleum. Push the door hard and go inside.” His voice was hushed and breathy. Whoever or whatever was following us was close enough to hear us.

“Where are you going?” The lump in my throat pushed the whisper out into the air louder than I had expected.

He smiled and pushed me toward the hole in the fence. Once I was through it, I looked for the row of white crosses and sprinted in that direction. I tried to be quiet, but the snow crunched loudly under each footstep. Before I reached the mausoleum, I heard a strange male voice. I couldn’t make out what was being said, but I could hear the displeasure as my companion spoke.

The doors of the mausoleum were made of stone and shut tight. I pushed as hard as I could, but to no avail. The cold stone bit at my fingers through my gloves as I used what little strength I had left trying to open the doors. Luckily I was dressed for the part of a snow trekker, and the only part of my body that was cold was my cheeks. I pushed again, but I still couldn’t open it. I was out in the open and if whoever had followed us could see me, I might be in trouble. I walked around the large structure and sat in the snow. I wasn’t able to see the fence where I’d come in, so I assumed that whoever followed us couldn’t see me, either. I was safe for a while.

Sitting there alone did nothing to ease my mind about the odd situation I’d gotten myself into. The longer I sat there, the more I worried. Any normal person would have questioned the hell out of a stranger who asked them to take him to a cemetery while he is covered in a quilt so the sun didn’t touch him. I chuckled as I sat there and thought back to the good doctor’s comments about how I didn’t react normally to situations. That was why I had been kept for three weeks instead of seventy-two hours as originally planned. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was a whack job and I was imagining everything so I didn’t have to deal with my parents’ accident, but that remedy was too easy. This had to be real. My cheeks stung from the cold, my hands shook with anticipation, and my stomach rolled in fear all as my head seemed to float above me. I fought back tears for so long that I didn’t hear him when he walked up to me. I jumped just as I realized it was the guy who wouldn’t give me his name.

Chapter 6

“I dream awake, Papa.” —Hélène

“Yes, my dear, and what do those dreams show you?” —Papa

“Are you real?” I asked dreamily. I had sat there for what seemed to be forever and hadn’t noticed anything around me.

He looked confused, his brow furrowed and his pale lips bent downward into a small frown; his lips looked pink. He reached out as if to touch me, then pulled back his hand just before it connected with my cheek, prompting me to frown as well.

“You have been in the cold too long. Let’s get you home.”

He stood up, giving me room to stand as well. As my body creaked and cracked into a standing position, a wave of dizziness hit me, causing me to sway.

“Maybe you should rest for awhile before we head back; you aren’t steady on your feet.” He motioned for me to follow.

Once inside the mausoleum, I was suddenly aware the quilt was no longer acting as a robe for him.

“The quilt is gone,” I whispered. Why did he need it then, but not now?

He tilted his head in my direction. His jet black hair fell carelessly over his eyes, and a chilling breeze blew his wintery cool scent in my direction. There was a coffin and an empty space for another in the middle of the stone floor. The walls were brown and dusty, and it smelled a lot better than I had expected. I guess when people turn to ash there is no more scent. In a corner, his cooler and backpack were placed neatly against the stone wall. It was odd there was nothing else there for him, like a blanket or a place to cook food.

“Sit over there,” he said, and pointed to where he placed the quilt.

I plopped on the floor still in a daze, my legs wobbly and weak. I wanted to touch him to prove to myself he was real, but I was too nervous. He stood at the other end of the small room and stared at me like he wanted to say something important. I gave him a few more seconds to get it out, but when he didn’t say anything, I spoke instead.

“Why won’t you touch me?” I was instantly mortified by how needy my words sounded and by the look of shock on his face. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then tried again. “Why do you treat me like I have a disease?” Well, that sounded much better.
Way to go, Ella. Let’s see if you can make this situation even more awkward than it already is.

I opened my eyes, resigned to feeling like a neglected child. He looked at me with what seemed like remorse. It surprised me because he’d been nothing but callous and challenging, but he stood there looking guilty and ashamed.

“I don’t think you have a disease. It was you who thought I was diseased.” He whispered so softly I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. I’d never met him, so why did he think that I believed he was diseased? His face fell even more at my silence, and I wanted to go over and comfort him, but I was afraid of the rejection I’d face.

“What? I never said that.” I prayed that he’d believe me. We stayed there in silence for several more minutes before I finally decided that I was going to get more answers from him while he was in a slightly forthcoming mood. “Can I ask you something?"

He studied me through thick dark lashes and smiled the first real smile I’d seen on him since we’d met. It was beautiful. White teeth sparkled in the light—a perfect contrast to his dark brown eyes. I returned his smile. My heart seemed light in my chest, and I had to catch my breath.

“I thought we agreed?” he asked, teasing. He moved closer to me. I tried to lie to myself and say that it wasn’t exciting to have him so close so that my face didn’t betray me.

“We did, but I’m starting to think that this is all in my head.” The look of confusion on his face was priceless. For once, he seemed interested in getting information out of me.

“What do you mean, all in your head?” He moved even closer.

My heart galloped, and my face felt warm. My hands shook, but not because of the cold. I needed him closer. I didn't know him well, but everything inside me said there was something familiar between us.

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. I’m crazy,” I said unconcernedly as I scooted closer to the wall and made myself comfortable. I waved my hand. “This could all be in my head. You could be a figment of my imagination, a coping method.”

His eyes were still focused on me, but I couldn’t tell if he was taking me seriously, so I continued talking, the words falling uncontrollably out of my mouth. “I guess I’m lucky. I've never had to have Nurse Laura stick me with a needle. But I wonder if the past two days weren’t some sort of drug-induced dream.” I shuddered.

“Stick you with a needle?” he asked.

“Yeah, a needle in the arm for when patients got too unruly. I think it was some anti-psychotic drug that they used. I don’t know. I never had to use them. My hallucinations weren’t so bad then, I guess.” I felt free to confess my secrets, even though he hadn’t done or said anything to suggest I should. I just knew that I could. I wasn’t worried about confused glances or the soft sounds of a pen scratching a note pad. Maybe it was because he couldn’t send me back to Ocean Trace, or perhaps I truly believed that he was only in my mind.

“Memories,” he said calmly as he moved to sit down beside me. His body gave off no heat, but I felt the jostle of air as scooted a little closer.

“No, these are hallucinations, and they make me sick—literally and figuratively.” I trembled at the thought of the hallucinations. I was called crazy because of them, and at times, I wanted to believe I
was
crazy, so at least I could take a step in the direction of getting better. “I started having them after my parents died. I don’t think that they’re just a
coping method
like the doctor said, because I get physically ill when I have them. I’ve often asked myself if they were something more, but if I am crazy, would my answer be worth anything?”

He observed me for a moment, then the small creases around his eyes smoothed. “I’m real, and you’re not crazy. Nor do I believe you have a disease.” He placed his hand on mine. It was icy, but I felt a familiar wave of warmth spread across my body.

“Why have you been so horrible to me?”

Looking at him, I was positive he saw more than a broken person. There was more to him then he would ever show. It would be a thrilling ride getting to know him; the twists and turns that was his life excited me.

“I’m sorry.” His words seemed more like an evasion than an apology. “We should get you home. Don’t you think?” He stood and walked to the door.

I stayed seated. Just because he wasn’t being rude anymore didn’t mean that I had stopped answers. It seemed the roller coaster ride was down for maintenance. I was no maintenance man, but I would get the ride functional and answering questions.

He sighed. His look said, “
Don’t do this, not now.
” “What now?” he asked, not unkindly.

“I still have questions. I know we had an agreement, but you know a lot about me, and I know nothing about you. Will you answer some of my questions?”

His face was unreadable. His posture was stiff and anxious, and I could tell he wanted to have been anywhere but there. If anyone else had treated me the way he had, I wouldn’t have cared anything about them at all, but the raven-haired mystery guy was different. The urge in my gut begged me to know him, and as long as I followed through, the ache inside me wasn’t too hard to bear.

“I will answer what I can, but you have to understand, just because you were so forthcoming with your past doesn’t mean that I will be. There are things that you won’t understand and things that I can’t tell you.” He sat down at the other end of the room—as far away from me as possible. “Your face is wind burned, and your lips are chapped. I know you’re not comfortable here.”