Taking Angels (The Angel Crusades)

The characters in this book are fictitious. Any similarity
to real persons; living or dead, is coincidental and not
intended by the author.

Author: C.S. Yelle
Editors: Sara Johnson
Karen Reckard
Cover: Terra Koster of KMS Design

Eighteen and dying. My reality
sucked the big one
and I’d had enough.
The movement of the canoe hypnotized me while
I lay in the bottom of the aluminum craft, the waves
creating a hollow pinging sound as we cut across the lake.
I kept my eyes closed against the bright sun baking my
face, the light breeze keeping me from feeling the burn.
Spending most of my time in hospitals under the
dull fluorescent lighting with its incessant hum had left
my skin pale and white. I’d rather be out here instead of
taking chemo or radiation, anyone would. This felt like
heaven; a place I’d spent far too much time thinking
about lately.
“Britt, you’re getting sunburned,” Mom scolded
as she paused in her paddling to stare back at me. “Put
your chin down so your hat can block the sun.”
“Let her be, Mary,” Dad sighed.
“She’s going to get burnt. It isn’t good for her
skin, Jim.”
“What will it do besides make her
uncomfortable?” Dad argued.
He paused now and again to drag the paddle in the
water, steering us towards his goal across the lake. I
didn’t remember which lake we were on; only that it was
part of the pristine Boundary Waters Canoe Area in
Northern Minnesota.
I pulled the large-brimmed hat down over my
eyes and went back to listening to the rhythmic waves. I
moved my bony butt on the metal support of the canoe,
trying to get comfortable. Without any padding, it wasn’t
happening. Still, it beat the hospital beds and the sterile
linens.
Shifting again and looking to where we headed:
tall pines reaching for the blue sky, little white clouds
floating overhead; I remembered the place. It was a nice
campsite with good fishing and a waterfall leading into
the next lake. The mosquitoes were murder on that trip
six years ago. I hoped they didn’t like the taste of my
blood as much this time. Maybe the chemo could stop
something
.
“Not much further, Britt,” Dad said. “Getting
stiff?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, shifting a little more.
My parents kept paddling, steady and strong. I
closed my eyes again, recalling how Mom and I used to
take turns paddling up front. Now I couldn’t lift a paddle,
much less use one. Soon sand and rock crunched against
the bottom of the canoe bringing us to a sudden stop,
jolting me hard against the metal frame.
“Land ho,” I cried as loud as my chemo ruined
lungs allowed. I breathed like a severe asthmatic or
someone who’d smoked all her life.
Mom began unpacking our supplies while Dad
pulled the canoe further onto shore and I went along for
the ride. The smell of pine hit me and the sound of the
waterfalls reached my ears.
“I want to go in the water.” I forced a grin from
under my absurdly large brim.
Dad nodded as he lifted me in his arms and
carried me to shore. “You need to get your suit on and we
have to set up camp first.”
“I have my suit on.” I showed him, pulling my
shirt up with a thin hand.
He chuckled. “We have to get things set up before
it gets too dark though, Britt.”
“Can I just sit in it up to my waist?” I pleaded,
glancing at the outlet and the water flowing over some
nearby rocks.
He stopped and turned to Mom who stood with
her arms crossed, listening to our conversation. She
opened her mouth to object but looked at my face and her
expression faltered. She gave a resigned nod.
“Yay.” I clapped as Dad set me down.
Mom helped take off my shorts and top leaving
the baggy one-piece to cover nothing anyone would want
to see. Dad picked me up again, walked down the bank,
and began to set me in before I stopped him.
“Hey, I want to have some current flowing over
me,” I protested. “Closer.”
He glanced at me and then back to Mom. Sighing,
he took another dozen steps or so closer to the small
waterfalls. A light rumble reached my ears as the water
struck rocks out of sight and felt the mist drift over us. A
bigger fall lay just beyond these.
The cold, fresh water made me shiver as he put
me into a spot between two large rocks, worn smooth
from centuries of moving water. I gasped and tensed until
my body began to relax, acclimating to the temperature.
He looked down, impatient, as I grinned up at
him.
“What?”
“Is that enough?”
“No, I want to sit a while.”
“Britt, I need to set up camp.”
“Who’s stopping you?”
“I can’t leave you alone.” His eyes were wide and
anxious.
“I won’t be. You and Mom are only a few feet
away, I’ll be fine.”
He stared at me, cocking an eyebrow and crossing
his arms over his chest.
“Go on, I’ll be fine,” I reassured him.
His eyes narrowed as he leaned his head to one
side and frowned. Without another word he walked back
to camp, looking over his shoulder every few steps,
making sure I wasn’t going to slip off somewhere.
The funny thing is…that’s exactly what I planned.
The four years of treatment, the endless hours in a
hospital bed; I wouldn’t allow any more. I would slide
myself into the current and let the water take me away
from here, from this world filled with nothing but pain
and suffering. The decision didn’t come easy. My parents
were wonderful, my friends, the ones that stuck by me,
very supportive. I would miss them all, but to watch their
eyes cloud with sympathy and sorrow as I became a
hollow shell was something I didn’t want to put any of us
through. Not anymore.
I glanced over my shoulder at the camp. Mom
was setting up the tent with Dad. I waved at her, putting
on the smile I learned to use when she needed to feel
better. If they knew my plan, of course they’d try to stop
me. What parent wouldn’t?
She waved and turned back to the tent and my
smile melted away.
Inching my butt forward, closer to the current
tickling at my toes and ankles, I slid down further,
pushing off from the smooth boulders. My suit hitched
up, but I didn’t care about a wedgy before floating to my
death. I grinned at the thought. After all those months in a
hospital bed, sliding down as my underwear crept up
wasn’t even a worry. It ended today, now.
Stealing another look at the campsite revealed
them collecting firewood around the edge of the camp’s
clearing. Their backs to me, I took my chance.
I thought it would feel different, somehow, when
my body floated off the rock. The panic I feared would
seize me at that moment didn’t come. The urgency to
reach this point melted away. I leaned back, my head
rested in the water. An eagle drifted above me gliding on
air currents while it searched the water for fish,
captivating me with its elegance and majesty. I’d
forgotten the beauty of this place. For the first time in
over a year, I felt my world around me, caressing me,
stimulating my senses which had gone stale and making
me feel…alive.
A rush of fear gripped me. What was I thinking? I
wanted to live, I wasn’t a quitter. I wanted to fight until I
couldn’t fight anymore. But the realization that my choice
in the matter was gone hit me as I slid into the current,
my head above water for a split second before the sounds
went muffled. My silly hat with the big brim pulled away
from my hairless head.
I expected them to try and reach me, hoping they
would be too late. Now, I prayed that they would come.
Paddling with all the strength in my atrophied muscles, I
fought the current. It tugged, hard, and carried me away.
Mom screamed and Dad shouted right as a loud splash hit
the water upstream.
I opened my eyes in the hazy water as a dark
shape darted past, too late to catch me. I hit something
hard and was airborne, the sound of the falls rumbling in
my ears. The feeling was like nothing I’d experienced
before. The air and the water mixed to frothy foam and
then I plunged underwater again, the sounds going
muffled. My body hit the rocks and debris at the bottom
of the falls, jarring me and forcing the warm air from my
lungs to be replaced by cold, crisp lake water. Spinning
over and over I lost my sense of up and down as the
churning water kept me lurching from side to side. My
head throbbed and my lungs bucked. The water pulled me
along and soon black spots filled my vision. The spots
spread until the blackness enveloped everything. Then,
the pain was over and the next stage of my existence, if
any, began.

I heard a voice. Melodic and sweet; female I
thought, but couldn’t tell for certain. The words
indiscernible, the voice sounded urgent then stern;
something I didn’t want to hear upon my arrival in
heaven. I cringed.

Then another voice came, deeper but no less
sweet. Calm and soothing it flowed on, pulling me with
it. I longed for it to keep speaking, to fill my ears with its
infectious happiness and joy. The voice I needed to hear
in heaven. A much better welcome, I concluded.

I pried my eyes open but my vision blurred,
showing me nothing but light and shadows. Blinking to
clear them only made it worse. The voice touched my
ears again, the deeper one. I took a deep breath, surprised
by the wonderful odors of pine and lilac, the enveloping
happiness consuming me.

I blinked again, beginning to see them as more
than just shapes. Halos of blonde hair against the sun and
a faint glow about them. They were angels, both of them.
Even though my sight remained cloudy I could discern
one female and one male as they stood before me; the
collage of green starting to take the shapes of trees behind
them. The familiar sound of the waterfalls and a rushing
river drifted to my ears and mist wet my skin. How could
that be?

“What have you done?” the female’s voice
accused, her words finally clear.
“I don’t know,” the deeper voice said.
“You did something different,” she pointed out.
I frowned. What did he do?
“I touched her, but it didn’t work the same.”
“This is not good,” the female warned. “You
touched her too late.”
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
“We? There is no ‘we.’ You touched her, I didn’t.”
Both faces turned to me again. The shapes became
clearer as the two heads of hair came into focus.
“Don’t tell anyone, you have to promise,” the
deeper voice pleaded.
“Fine, but if they find out, you’re on your own.”
I closed my eyes and everything began to jerk and
twist as sirens sounded in my ears and the smell of
antiseptic filled my nose, pulling me out of my peaceful
dream. Opening my eyes, my parent’s faces lurched into
my field of vision.
“She’s awake,” Dad shouted.
“Oh my God,” Mom cried. “Britt, can you hear
us? Britt?”
I tried to sit up, but found my body strapped down
making it impossible to move.
My parents vanished. A woman and a man stuck
their heads over mine, one with a light attached to his
head shining in my eyes, blinding everything else.
“Britt, you’re okay, but we’ve got you on a
backboard so you won’t be able to move,” the man said,
definitely not the musical voice from earlier.
“You’re in an ambulance in route to the Ely
Hospital,” the woman explained.
“Can you remember what happened?” the man
asked, lifting an eyelid and looking at my pupil.
“I drowned?”
“You
nearly
drowned,” the man corrected.
“Do you know where you nearly drowned?” the
woman asked.
“The BWCA?”
“Good, good Britt.” The man smiled down at me.
I heard my mother crying and wished I hadn’t.
Tears welled up and began to spill from the corners of my
eyes.
“Britt, it’ll be okay.” Dad squeezed my hand
lightly. “Everything will be okay.”
I’d survived but now the cancer would win,
taking away my choice. My one chance to take control
back and I’d chickened out.
“Don’t cry, Britt.” Mom comforted me. “You’re
going to make it.”
I cried harder; the thought of lying in a hospital
bed, nothing more than a husk of myself and withering to
nothingness filled my mind.
We pulled into the emergency room entrance, the
automatic doors whirring open as they wheeled me in.
The two paramedics were on either side with Mom and
Dad following close behind. The fluorescent lights beat
down from overhead as we sped past.
“Oh great,” I sighed. “I’m home.”
We went into a room with two nurses and a doctor
rushing in behind us, calling out directions to the
paramedics. The doctor examined me while the nurses
put an IV in one arm and a blood pressure cuff on the
other. They attached electrodes to my chest and began
switching on all the standard equipment until the room
beeped and chirped, just like old times.
The doctor straightened from listening to my heart
and lungs, his brows furrowed.
I looked up at him and he smiled.
Noticing my inquiring look, he nodded. “Sounds
fine. Lungs clear, heart strong. Do you feel pain
anywhere?” He continued to press his hands along my
body, searching for breaks along my rib cage and then
moving to my arms and legs. He pulled back the warm
blankets the ambulance crew wrapped me in.
“No, I feel …” the thought trailed off. I didn’t feel
any pain. None. Not the continuous aching of my
muscles, joints, and bones from the cancer. Even more
surprising, nothing hurt from the trip over the falls and
the landing on the rocks below. I had to be in shock.
“She’s stable. Let’s get her to x-ray and see if anything is
broken,” the doctor ordered. “If those come back clear,
we can take you off the backboard and check you out
further.”
They wheeled me out of the room with the
monitors and IVs attached to hooks on the bed, the cords
and tubes tapping against the side rails of the bed. I lay
under the x-ray machine as it hummed above me, taking
pictures and possibly reducing my chances of having
children in the future, although the cancer would pretty
much have seen to that already.
We returned to the room, passing the concerned
faces of my parents as we rolled in. Seeing them
reminded me of the worst part: the pain they continued to
endure every day my future hung in the balance.
The bed jerked to a stop and the nurse clicked the
brake on the wheels. The doctor stood over the top of me
before the bed stilled and unbuckled the straps fastening
me to the back board. With the help of the nurses they
slid the device out from beneath me and eased me onto
the soft mattress.
“Nothing’s broken,” he said with a smile. “How
you managed that one is a miracle.” He stepped away to
write something in my charts.
I lifted my head and looked at my body for the first time
since going over the falls. My arms and legs, stomach and
chest, looked … normal.
My mouth and eyes shot open. My body looked
normal
. Not sickly, not post chemo, post radiation, but
normal, not in the process of dying. My muscles were full
and firm. My bones didn’t stick out like before, but were
covered smoothly by healthy looking skin, not the pale
white, almost yellow skin I’d come to expect.
“Mom, Dad,” I shouted, my voice on the edge of
hysteria.
They rushed in from just outside the door, their
eyes on mine, searching for my anguish, my fear. Their
concern turned to confusion.
“Look at me,” I cried.
“We are,” Dad said, still concentrating on my eyes
and face as his mind tried to justify what he saw and what
he
should
see.
“Mary,” he said. “Look at Britt.” He placed a
hand on her chin, moving it to look at my body.
Mom’s face first went white and then flushed red.
“Oh, Britt,” she gasped, rushing to me, sending
one of the nurses sprawling. She put a hand to my head as
she pulled me to her chest.
“I think your hair is growing.” She leaned back,
her eyes wide, looking at my head.
I raised a hand to my scalp and, sure enough, the
beginnings of new growth tickled my fingertips. Closing
my eyes to my parents and their joy, the fading vision of
the two angels floated in my thoughts. Why did they send
me back? Was I not worthy? The way the angels
discussed “touching” me made me feel uneasy, uncertain.
What did they do to me?