Unbound (5 page)

The
rhythmic pattern of sound was the first thing to penetrate my blissful stupor;
the steady staccato beat soothing, almost musical, in its consistency. What is
that? Curiosity overcoming lethargy, I struggled back to consciousness, dull
awareness seeping into my thoughts. Trying to sit up, my limbs were heavy with
sleep and constricted, as if they were bound against me. It was the soft jolts
I felt in my stomach that alerted me that I was no longer on the ground.
 
The drumbeats were footsteps on the
pavement, sounding bold in the silence of the night. I was being carried.

Opening
my eyes, I looked up into the face of my angel.

Gazing
at me silently, his smile was wry; concern and amusement sharing space in those
beautiful grey eyes. “Sleep now, Rachel. You’re safe.”

There
was something I wanted to say, questions I knew I wanted to ask. I could feel
them waiting impatiently like children in line for the bathroom. But I only
stared, mute. Tranquil. Secure in his arms, I sighed contentedly and let me
eyes close again. This was the safest place in the world.

I
left my session with Alex feeling more hopeful than I had in a very long
time.
 
Walking home in the fading October
sunshine with an-almost-spring in my step, I lifted my chin and smiled at no
one in particular, feeling energized by the surprisingly mild weather. The
leaves on the towering maple trees in the park were turning ferocious shades of
red and orange, like a child’s finger painting, the colours almost shouted
their enthusiasm. With a nod, I mentally applauded their efforts, I felt like maybe
it was time for my own transformation, too.

I
was beginning to consider that I really wasn’t mentally unstable after all. Unsurprisingly,
there was a great deal of relief associated with the idea that my lifelong
secret didn’t mean that I was destined to live the life of a crazy cat lady.
With Alex’s encouragement and support, I was starting to acknowledge that it made
perfect sense to see the man with grey eyes as symbolic of how I’d dealt with loss,
both as a child and as an adolescent. Didn’t it make sense that I’d been trying
to tie all the loose ends of my life together? That I’d imagined a supernatural
guardian after losing first my brother and then my father? Having felt
abandoned by my mother, wasn’t it only natural that I’d seek safety in whatever
form I could construct? What was safer than an angel?

Over
the last few weeks, Alex had begun to persuade me that conjuring up a safe person
in an unsafe world was not only sane, but healthy. Although I was pretty sure
Alex didn’t think my guardian angel was real, she didn’t see him as a threat either.
Or a sign that I wasn’t safe to be alone with scissors. On the other hand, I
hadn’t seen him since the morning of the hold up at Sam’s and there was a part
of me that wondered if that meant that she was right. A smaller part of me
wondered if it was time to give up my fantasy and live with what was in front
me. And that thought was a lot less frightening than I’d imagined it would
be.
 

Feeling
bold, I pulled out my phone and texted Lacey, eager to see if she had plans for
the evening. It had been ages since I had gone out and walking home as the
light faded, I felt excited, as if the evening were full of opportunities.

My
light-heartedness lasted about six blocks. Crossing the street to look into the
window of the small bookstore I loved, I was distracted by the blinding orange
rays of the setting sun in the reflection of the glass. Squinting, I turned my
head slightly to avoid the glare and froze. Partially hidden in the shadowed
doorway of the building behind me, he was as still as the concrete he leaned
against. My heart jumped as I felt blood shoot through my veins on the heels of
the adrenaline now coursing through my system.

The
seedling of doubt that had been planted so recently shrivelled and died, the
small green leaves of a normal life dropping to the ground like weightless
husks. He was either real or I was crazy. Either way, I was tired of not
knowing which was which.

My
eyes flicked up and then back down as I pretended to scan the books on display.
Feeling a mixture of determination and terror, I knew that this was the last
time I would pretend not to see him. Clutching my phone in my hand like a
weapon, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and imagined my father’s hands on
my shoulders. I walked on.

I
stuck to the busier streets, but walked with a casualness I did not feel,
managing to keep my eyes in front of me, no matter how compelled I felt to turn
around. Turning down my tree-lined street, the traffic was minimal and the
sounds of the evening commute less invasive. My footsteps echoed on the
concrete and I tried to listen over them for his steps in sync with mine.

Closer
to my building, I began to tremble, certain that this time, things would be
different. The hedges lining the sidewalk were dense and judging the distance, I
let my phone slip out of my sweaty hand where it landed with a rustle deep
within the brambled branches. Cursing loudly, and I hoped, convincingly, I
stooped down to retrieve it. After a few minutes of feigned searching I stood
quickly and turned. It was fully dark now. Although the streetlights were on,
the shadows were deep.

“I
know you’re there,” I said, pitching my voice towards the darkness. It echoed down
the empty street. “We need to talk.” I waited, forcing myself not to move away,
not to look away.
 
My heart pounded
in my ears and I took a deep breath to steady myself. A car moved down the road
towards me and I watched it pass, the headlights glaring and then receding as
it rounded the corner of the next street.

His
shadow stretched out before him as he moved on to the sidewalk under the glow
of the streetlamp. He said nothing, only stared at me with a bemused
expression. I wanted to say something else, but found that now I could only
stare back. He wore the same long dark coat and gloves he always wore, his
clothes tailored, but nondescript, his hair dishevelled, but not untidy. The
familiar feeling of tranquility settled on me as he moved closer and my head
swam as if each of my thoughts was sinking slowly through deep water. Looking
up at him, his stormy grey eyes were as sad and as haunting as I remembered
them.
 

We
stood staring at each other silently, as if the other was something new and
remarkable. I was puzzled by my lack of speech. After all of this time, there
were so many things I had wanted to say to him.
Why wasn’t I talking?
Reaching up to touch my throat, I frowned,
trying to remember how to voice the questions that waited patiently for
articulation. Seeming to notice my confusion, his expression became strained and
his eyes guarded. He stared down at his gloved hands as if he was unable to
bear witness to my struggle for words.

Minutes
passed and neither of us moved.
 

Distantly
troubled, I watched as he confronted whatever demons were wrestling within him.
Eventually, his shoulders slumped in defeat and he nodded to himself – an
acknowledgement that a decision had been made.

           
Moving
slowly, he took off his gloves and placed them in his coat pocket, raised his
hand towards my face with infinite care, and lightly touched my cheek. He let
his fingers trace the line of my jaw, his expression now unfathomable as a shiver
raced down my back.

 
“Hello,” he said.
 

I
finally found my voice and my eyes locked on his. “Who are you?

           
“My
name is Eaden,” he said.

           
I
nodded. It was a start.

           
“We
need to talk,” I said again. It was unlikely that I had ever been guilty of such
an understatement.

He
stepped closer, our bodies almost touching. I was aware of every inch of him,
as if somehow he had become an extension of me, another limb once lost and now
recovered. My heart rallied and sped up as I tilted my head to study him. Sighing,
he raised his eyes to the sky and then closed them, shaking his head before
looking back down at me, a hint of a smile dancing around his lips.

“I’ll
see you in the morning, Rachel,” he said and then turned and walked away.
Within a few heartbeats he was hidden amongst the shadows once again.

“Eaden,”
I said quietly to myself and went inside.

I
didn’t sleep well. My dreams were crowded with shadows and silence and I woke
several times with the effort of trying to say what had been left unspoken. Before
sunrise, I gave up and sat staring out into the darkness, wondering what shape
my life would take. Like discovering a secret room in the house you’d always
lived in, I felt as if my life were about to expand in ways that were both
familiar and completely uncharted. I dressed for work suspended between hope
and disbelief and as I left my building, I held my breath and tried to prepare
myself for the crushing disappointment that I knew would follow if he had left
me again.

As
if he had done nothing but wait all morning, Eaden stepped out and made his way
across the street as soon as he saw me. There was something so authentic in his
manner and the way he made his way through the world. It was as if he
understood exactly what was expected of him and was certain of his ability to
deliver this. I was sure I had never felt this way. In a few quick strides he
reached my side.

“Good
morning.” His studied me, his gaze searching. “Will you walk with me before
work?”’

I
nodded and he gestured down the sidewalk. As I fell into step beside him, my
legs worked hard to match his long stride, until noticing my effort, he slowed
down. The early autumn sun warmed my shoulders and back comfortably and my
thoughts drifted easily, despite the unusualness of the situation.
 
I felt calmed by his presence; the
persistent worries that I usually carried with me were faint and indistinct, as
if a gauze curtain had been drawn around me.

His
expression sombre, Eaden too, seemed lost in his thoughts. His hair caught the
light of the sun and looked blonder than I had remembered it.
 
I realized I was staring at him, and
feeling my face redden, I looked away.

He
seemed to notice my discomfort. “I’m sorry.” He looked at me. “I’m being rude.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of someone’s company.”

I
understood not always wanting to talk. “Where are we going?” I hadn’t really
been paying attention, distracted by both his presence and this dreamlike fog
I’d been surrounded by since last night.

“There,”
he said pointing.

We
stood at the edge of a small park nestled among towering high-rise apartments
and sturdy-looking wartime houses. The park was busy, mothers watching their
children as they clambered over the monkey bars, students lying on their
jackets reading textbooks and catching the warmth of the sun’s rays while they
could.
 
Walking over the damp grass,
we sat side-by-side on a wooden bench facing a small, brackish pond. The tall
trees that ringed the park still held their golden leaves, providing a natural
sound barrier against the noise of the city. Although the traffic was audible,
the sounds were fainter here, less obtrusive.

A
few ducks quacked in indignation as a border collie raced back and forth along
the bank, barking loudly as he realized he was thwarted in his attempts to
reach them. Looking around, I realized that everything here seemed oddly
familiar. It took me a few moments, comprehension dawning slowly.

 
“I remember this place.” I said, turning
to him. “My parents brought me here when I was a little kid.”

He
nodded slowly, avoiding my eyes. “Yes, I know,” he said. He gestured to the
bench behind us and I sat down, pulling my legs up and wrapping my arms around them,
chin on my knees. It felt odd to be sitting this close to him, to be so aware
of him, to know him so well and yet not at all. I wanted answers, but I waited,
knowing that if I could be patient, this morning I would get them.

Sitting
hunched over on the bench, he seemed very tired and I wondered if he had slept
at all last night. His elbows rested heavily on his thighs, his head bowed. After
a few moments, he sat up and rubbed his hands through his hair, but kept his
eyes carefully trained on the ducks swimming noisily across the pond.

“I’d
like to be fair to you.” He turned to look at me then and the pained honesty in
his expression startled me. “I’ll answer any questions as truthfully as I can,
Rachel. But understand there are things I won’t speak about. For your own
protection. And for mine,” he added.

I
nodded and for the first time this morning, felt my heart race. I sat on my
hands to resist the urge to bite my nails.
 

“Okay
then.” His eyes were tight as he nodded.

Having
been given my opening, I was now uncertain what to say, what to ask first.
Swallowing, I dug deep for courage. “Are you an angel?” I asked. My embarrassment
made me sound more defiant than I felt.
 

His
expression didn’t waver, but the sadness in his eyes deepened.

“Are
you?”

“No,”
he shook his head, “I’m not one of the messengers.” His tone was rueful.

“Then
what are you?” I asked.

Resignation
was written clearly on his features. “I am one of the ancients,” he said. “I am
human, Rachel, but I’m not mortal.” His eyes met mine and he waited, still as
stone.

Ancients
?
 
The word echoed in my head. “I don’t
understand,” I said.
 

His
eyes were impassive. “I can’t die.”

It
took me several seconds to respond. I could hear my breath rasp in my ears. “Are
you saying you’re immortal?”

Brusquely,
he nodded.

I
tried to knit the spinning pieces of my thought processes back together. “You
can’t die,” I repeated.

His
voice was quiet. “I do not age the same way you do. I will not grow old. I can’t
die.”

“So
you’re like…Superman?”