Few Are Angels (7 page)

I blushed when he mentioned my lips. I hoped he didn’t notice. “That’s fine. Just a few questions.” I wrapped the quilt around me. I would have to be sneaky in order to get my answers.

Chapter 7

Through average means, one will find peace in death.

“What’s your name?” I wanted to ask more intense questions, but I thought it was better to take it slow. I wanted to start with questions I knew he’d answer truthfully.

“Kale.”

It was an odd name, but so was mine. My mother had named me after my father’s mother, who passed away shortly before I was born. My parents said that they liked the vintage feel of the name Eloise, but I’d always hated it, so I’d shortened it to Ella. After their accident, I understood my parents' choice. If I had a daughter, I would name her Layne, after my mother.

I thought Kale might lie, so I watched his breathing and body language, but he was still as a statue and maintained constant eye contact.

“Nice name. How old are you?”

He had to think about his answer, and I knew that instant that he would to lie. I pointed my finger at him and shook it. “Tell the truth!” I sat back and looked at him disapprovingly. Why would he lie about his age? He couldn't be
that
old.

“Twenty-one.”

I studied his face and waited to see if he would break and tell the truth, but he just stared at me. I had to think carefully. Maybe if I asked him simple questions, it would help me lead up to the bigger ones, and he wouldn’t get annoyed and clam up.

“Where are you from?”

He crossed his legs and rested his head back against the wall as if he had already gotten tired of my questions. “I was born in London. Now will you stop with the mundane questions and ask the ones you really want to know?”

“Fine. Why were you fighting with that guy in my front yard last night?”

He kept his face blank, and his eyes told me nothing. He was silent for a moment, and I worried that he wouldn’t answer. It seemed as if he was searching for a lie or an easy way to explain the situation. “He was trying to break into your home.”

“What!? Why didn’t you tell me so I could call the police?” I was appalled at his nonchalant attitude. Someone had tried to break into my house while everyone was asleep. That warranted more of an explanation.

“Why would you call the police? I stopped him from breaking in, and I will handle him if he comes back.”

Though his attitude about the would-be intruder astonished me, I still needed to know more about him. “Why did you need the quilt outside?”

“I’m sensitive to the sun when I am weak. Are we done?” His tone was final, but he made no move to leave.

“No. What do you mean, ‘when you’re weak’?”

“I was hurt in the fight, and I was weak. I have healed somewhat, so the sun doesn’t bother me as much. Are we done
now
?” He turned and headed toward the door.

“No. Why are you staying here in this mausoleum and not in a hotel or something? Is that all you have? A cooler and a backpack? Are you homeless?” I was surprised that I hadn’t guessed it earlier when he asked me to take him to a cemetery instead of his home. Did homeless people make it a habit of squatting in cemeteries? His face was a mask, but the breath he expelled warned me that I’d tried his patience.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Fine. Who was that following us earlier?”

“No one you need to be concerned about. I overreacted when I told you to hide.” He pushed the mausoleum doors open.

I stood up, and thankfully, the dizziness had passed, but I had started to get cold, and I still had a fifteen-minute trek through the snow to get home.

“Okay, just one more thing.” I looked away in case his answer wasn’t the one I hoped to hear. “Will I see you again?”

“Maybe… I’m not sure.” He walked out, and I followed.

We trekked back through the winter-burdened woods in complete silence. I worried about the would-be intruder. I would at least need to know what the guy looked like, in case I saw him lurking around the house. Though Kale had said he would handle it, he wasn’t a cop or deputy or whatever this little town had for police enforcement. He was a stranger in a foreign country. Maybe where he was from, the citizens had to handle their own criminal matters.

When we arrived at the broken tree, I turned to Kale to say goodbye. I was surprised that he’d walked me all the way home. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him. A ridiculous thought, of course, because I was sure that it would never happen, but still…

“I know you have more questions, and most of my answers weren’t enough for you, but you just have to accept it.” He paused. “We shouldn’t see each other again. It’s not safe for you.” He turned to leave.

I wanted to say something to him. I wanted him to look back at me and say that he was wrong, and that he’d come back tomorrow and we’d go back to his hideaway and talk more, but I knew he wouldn’t. I ran after him and stood directly in his path. His face contorted into a mask of what looked like sadness. I reached out to touch his cheek, and for once, he didn’t flinch or move away. He turned into my touch, and I realized he was at war with feelings, just as I was with mine.

I’d known from the day I looked in his eyes that there was more to him. We’d be a perfect fit, and my heart fluttered with the belief of it. I touched his face. His skin was smooth and cool to the touch. He closed his eyes, and I hoped that my touch alone could change his mind.

“We can’t.” He took my hand and placed it back at my side, and my heart crumbled. How did he have this effect on me? I barely knew him, but it felt like my heart did.

“Okay.” I walked away with a heavy heart.

On one hand, he’d opened up to me, but on the other, he’d said that was the last we’d see of each other. He had said, “Maybe.” I had that at least. I held on to that as he walked away. I watched until I couldn’t see him anymore. He didn’t look back, not even once.

When I got inside, I forced myself up the stairs and into the bathroom for a steaming hot shower. After that, I bundled up in a pair of sweatpants and my favorite hoodie, and then looked at the clock to see how much time I had until Eric came home—plenty. I searched through boxes for my laptop and cell phone. Luckily, whoever packed my things had labeled the boxes. I set my laptop up in the alcove, plugged it in, and turned it on. I thought about checking my email, but decided against it. My inbox was probably filled by people from Virginia sending their condolences so they wouldn’t have to talk to me personally, and I didn't blame them. I hated giving condolences; there was really nothing someone could say to lessen the pain. Kale didn’t seem like the type to own a laptop, so communication with him was out. I picked up my phone and stared at it. I didn’t check my voicemail because I was sure some of the messages were from my parents when they were alive.

I sat back in the chair and thought about how that day had gone so far and the mysteriously sexy Kale. I blushed, even though no one else was there. I should’ve been nervous about him, a guy with secrets that could be dangerous. He’d said that we shouldn’t see each other again, but I felt the veiled emotions that he had tried not to convey. He’d looked at me as if he recognized me, and I craved his recognition. I had talked to him about my parents and didn’t have a breakdown or a vision, which was a miracle.

It was my fault that I was still experiencing hallucinations. I refused to take the pills because the side effects were just as bad as the hallucinations. I hadn’t taken the pills for the last few weeks of my stay at Ocean Trace, and though the doctor prescribed a lower dosage before I’d left, I still wasn’t interested in taking them. They gave me the same symptoms I had before a vision, and sometimes I’d black out. I just didn't think they were worth it.

Chapter 8

Five Weeks Earlier

The clock ticks away the minutes of our session. I sit on the hard, pale blue sofa. The naked, stark white walls feel more like a hospital room than an office. I assume the room and furniture’s light color scheme are meant to be calming, but they do little to force away the hallucinations that swim in my head. Usually, there is always someone in here with me—the good doc himself or Nurse Laura with pills or sometimes a needle. I haven’t yet had to endure the needle. I’m getting better at pretending that I don’t see things or hear voices anymore. Too many times, a seemingly sane person comes in this room and leaves comatose because of Laura and her needle. I refuse to be one of those people.

Normally, I am quiet and follow the rules for fear that my three-week stint here will again be extended. My stay is court-mandated, but it was originally only to be seventy-two hours, then I was supposed to go stay with my parents’ best friends in Virginia. But the doc said I was “still using delusions and voices in my head as a coping method for my parents’ death.” This isn’t true. But what can I tell a man who spent ten years in college learning that anything a “mental patient” says is a “coping method,” and that a pill or a needle in the arm is the best way to fix it? He doesn’t see what I see, and he can’t feel what I feel during the hallucinations. I watch the deaths of others, including my own. I even watch myself die—once in a fire and another time by the hands of a man the size of a linebacker.

I stay seated and repeat everything the doctor wants me to say. “Yes, it was all in my head. Yes, seeing myself die in a hallucination was how I coped with the fact that my parents were gone and I was still alive.” This is my only way out of here, but once I am out, will I be able to hold it together? Or will I end up back in this pitiful blue chair in this sad white room?

Dr. Lithe knocks lightly on the door before he opens it and slithers into the office. I find it highly annoying that he knocked at all. This is his office, after all. I keep my face a mask and swallow the fear that this balding, fifty-year-old man instills in me. He sits in his chair across from me and smiles. The chair groans in protest against his weight. His smiles mean anything from disappointment to approval—I learned this the hard way. I suppose he’s not too horrible a person. The hallucinations are what keeps me here, not some scheme the doctor created. I can’t blame the doctor for doing what he thinks is best. He’s seen me at my worst, and his decision to keep me here longer is justified. He seems to genuinely care about my transition from the institution to the Carltons’, or maybe he wants to think he has cured me, whether I am better or not. We sit in silence and I wait for the bad news.

Dr. Lithe clears his throat and shuffles through his papers. “Well, Ella,” he starts, and I nearly jump out of my seat. I am entranced by his ability to make me feel uncomfortable even when he is silent. “No need for that, young lady. Calm down. I know you’re nervous about my evaluation, but I assure you that you will be leaving next Tuesday.”

I’m not sure how to feel. I desperately want to leave, but I worry about how I will adjust.

He continues to speak, but I ignore him.

I hear nothing after his promise of freedom next Tuesday. This is what I want, to leave this place, but I’m still nervous about staying with my mother and father’s best friends in Northern Virginia. After my parents’ death, and my breakdown at school, the Carltons offered to let me live with them until I was ready to return to college or live on my own.

“We just need to go over a few things before you go. I want to make sure that you understand that this is sort of a trial run.” Dr. Lithe looks at me over the rim of his glasses. He waits for me to get upset so that he can go into his big speech about how recovery takes time, and how I need to be around people who love me, but also have a regimen that includes him. Basically, he wants me to endure weekly calls, monthly visits, and to continue taking that horrible medicine I’ve been taking here. I didn't plan on doing any of it, but the words “trial run” stick with me. Maybe I would give in a bit if it meant leaving Ocean Trace and never returning.

“If your episodes return, I will have to recommend to the judge that you come back.”

I am sure he thinks he has cured me, but if I regress, he will pull me back here in a New York minute. I swear to myself that no matter what, I am not coming back here—no matter what.

Chapter 9

I opened my eyes, surprised that I’d shut them. Blinking rapidly, my vision cleared and I stood to stretch my legs, placed my cell on the charger, then went to the kitchen to make lunch. My stomach growled embarrassingly loudly, and I was glad I was alone. I made a grilled cheese and took out the ground beef for dinner. I nibbled my food and wondered what my few friends in Virginia Beach were doing. Most likely, they were getting ready for Thanksgiving break with their families or friends.

I went back upstairs to check my emails. There were only seven unread messages in my inbox. The rest were either spam or coupons. The first email was from one of the offices at school stating that my online classes were cancelled, and I needed to get in touch with Financial Services for my refund. The second was from my family estate lawyer, Mr. Spruill. It said that he’d spoken with my new “guardians” about my family’s estate. He left his number and his office hours and asked me to get in touch with him. Four were from friends saying they missed me and that I needed to turn on my cell phone. The final message came from an unknown sender. Normally, I wouldn’t read emails where the sender wasn’t someone I knew, but the message had my full name—Eloise Ivy Monroe—in the subject line. I clicked and read the message.

“Do Not Remember For Anyone”

I couldn't think of who would send me such an odd message, and I didn't recognize the sender’s email address: [email protected]. I brushed it off as a joke or some sort of spam since the user used my whole name, something no one close to me would do.

I needed to tackle my cell phone. I picked it up and looked at the screen for the first time in months—eleven missed calls and twenty-two texts. I wasn’t even close to being in the mood to deal with them, so I put it aside once again and promised myself I would handle it later.