Guardian

by A L Crouch

  I stood there for a second not knowing what I felt more: pain, longing, or raw guilt. I sank to the floor where I stood and sobbed, unable to do anything else. I knew that Sulley missed Mom as much as I did. They had been best friends for years. And Gary. Gary had been his baby brother. But I just couldn’t play another note. It was too painful. Sitting at that piano connected me to a happier time, a time when life made sense and I wasn’t afraid that I would fall into pieces at any moment. A time that was gone forever.

  I let my head fall into my hands and continued to weep, the bitterness of loss bubbling up from neglected places within me. Then I heard it again. The gentle strumming which seemed to retrieve me from the darkest of places. I lifted my head to listen. The strumming was coming from upstairs.

  I stood and wiped my face, and with head pounding, walked up the stairs and down the hall. My limbs were trembling with anticipation, but this time I was not afraid. I was ready to face whatever I’d find waiting for me. I reached the end of the hall and went into the master bedroom where I heard the strumming. I flipped on the light, but there was nothing there. Not a thing was out of place.

  I stood still and listened. It was coming from the bathroom. As I approached though, the strumming turned to a steady dripping. I flipped on the light and saw that the shower faucet was dripping in a steady thud against the ceramic bathtub. With a sigh I turned the knob to quiet the leak, my heart rate returning to normal. Then on second thought, I turned the shower to hot and let the bathroom fill with steam. A hot shower was exactly what I needed.

  Closing the door, I spotted the Percocet bottle on the counter where I had left it earlier and decided that it was indeed time for another. I washed it down with a cup of water and then undressed and soaked in the hot spray until my muscles eased and my senses dulled. My head stopped throbbing and the tension from the day ran with the soapy water down the drain.

  When I pulled back the curtain, the bathroom was filled with steam and I inhaled it in long, deep drags. I dried off and pulled on my bathrobe and running a brush through my hair, opened the bathroom door. The steam rolled out behind me in wispy clouds that filled the bedroom with a misty haze. I glanced at the clock and noted it was late enough in the evening to justify climbing into bed. Then something reflected in the antique mirror caught my eye. I dropped the brush to the floor.

  Through the haze that had formed in a moist sheet upon the mirror, I saw the man standing beside me. Though his sudden appearance startled me, this time I stared unafraid. Glancing behind me at the room, I saw that there was no one there and this time was not surprised.

  I turned back to the mirror and saw through his blurred reflection that he ran a hand across my forehead. I heard the strumming and closed my eyes. Warmth, ever so slight, embraced the wound on my head. I opened my eyes and his reflection was still there, beseeching me with those ocean blues.

  “Who are you?” I whispered.

  “Who do you think I am?” he answered in a deep, melodious voice as smooth as glass.

  I groped for an answer. No matter how I worded it, it still felt unreal.

  “An angel.”

  The man in the mirror nodded and grinned at me as if amused by my hesitation at the word.

  “I am a Guardian, yes. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Deep down you’ve always known.”

  I searched my memories. That voice, it was so familiar. I heard it whisper to me through the fleeting memories of my childhood and I knew that he was right.

  “Why can I only see you like this? In reflections?” I asked motioning to the mirror.

  “That is the only place your mind will allow me to exist to you,” he said.

  “I . . . don’t understand,” I groped.

  “You won’t let yourself believe that I am real, that I can exist in your world. So, I exist here,” he motioned to the mirror around him, “in a reflection of your reality. The same, but separate.”

  I sat on the bed beside where the man stood according to the mirror’s reflection. I looked across from me, stared at the spot where he should be, but I could not make his image appear.

  “I want to see you,” I whispered.

  “And you will, when you are ready. Right now you are half convinced that your concussion, mixed with that pain pill, is causing you to see things that aren’t there.” He sighed. “But part of you believes, and that is why you can hear me, see me in reflections. You limit yourself.”

  He was right, I knew it. My rational side was telling me that this was not possible and it was searching for a reasonable explanation. But I wanted it to be true. I wanted more than anything to lose myself in the fanciful side of me that had been lost for so long. So I started with questions.

  “So, are you from . . . heaven then?”

  “Not exactly,” he answered. “I exist in a place between here and there.”

  “What, like purgatory?”

  He laughed, a melodious sound, warm and vibrant.

  “Not so drastic, no, but similar. I exist in the spiritual realm, while you exist here in the physical. I am there every bit as much as I am here with you right now.”

  “So you’re in two places at once? I don’t understand . . . that doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes any sense,” I reeled.

  In the mirror, I watched him set his hand over mine. I could again feel the tingling warmth where he touched me, slight and gentle.

  “That’s the biggest problem with humanity,” he said. “You think that seeing is believing.”

  “So you’re saying that believing is seeing then? Isn’t that a bit cliché?” I asked a little more sarcastically than I had intended.

  “It’s much more than that, more than just believing. It’s accepting.”

  I shrugged at him through the mirror, not understanding. He smiled patiently at me.

  “You only think a thing is real if you can comprehend it,” he continued, “if you can make sense of it or understand how it works. You have to know how it’s possible before you will believe that it is. Humanity misses out on so much beauty because it refuse to accept that things exist beyond the realm of reason or understanding. When in fact, that is what makes some things so glorious – not understanding how they can possibly exist, but just relishing in the fact that they do.”

  “Like you?” I asked.

  “Or you.”

  For a long moment we just stared at one another through the mirror, like those taking in the changed features of a long-lost loved one. I followed him with my eyes, afraid to take them off of him for fear that he would be gone.

  “You need your rest. I need to let you sleep. I know you have a lot of questions, but there’s time. We can talk more tomorrow.”

  I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want this moment to end. What if it wasn’t real? Would I see him again? What if it WAS just the concussion or the pain medication making the impossible a reality?

  “You’ll be back tomorrow?”

  He smiled. “I never really leave you, Alexandra. I am always with you.”

  I thought about that for a moment. My cheeks flushed when I looked to the bathroom, just now clearing of steam.

  “Always?” I shrieked.

  The man laughed and shook his head. “When you need me, that is.”

  I relaxed a bit. It was so much to take in, and he was right. I had so many more questions.

  “What if I need you now? There’s so much I don’t understand . . .”

  “I was sent here to look after you, Alexandra, and right now you need sleep. The answers will come. Give yourself time,” he said and through the mirror I could see him motion for me to get into the bed.

  I hesitated, still trying to make sense of it all. He was sent here? By who, God? Could that be right? I had so many questions. But he was right. I wished he wasn’t, but I was beginning to feel like I could fall over where I stood. The excitement of the day and the pain medication in my system was hitting me with full force. I couldn’t fight it any mor
e.

  Still, I didn’t want to let go of this present reality. I was afraid that if I slept, the man would be gone and the calm that his presence gave me would vanish with him. Somehow, now that I had spoken with him and seen him more clearly, the familiar feeling of comfort and love that he emitted made me feel more like myself than I had felt in fifteen years.

  “Please Alexandra, you need sleep. You’re going to need a clear mind,” he pleaded.

  I went to the bed and climbed inside as quickly as my heavy body would let me and then looked back to the mirror. I was relieved to see him smiling at me in the reflection.

  “It was you the other night. You helped me into bed after the wine . . . at the piano.”

  “Yes.”

  I laid my head on the pillow. “And it was you that night . . . the night of the accident, in the car. You told me to sink further into my seat.”

  “Yes,” he said, and a sadness washed over his features, and then lowering his head, his image began to fade.

  I stared into the mirror, hoping he would return, but my eyes were weighted down by impending sleep. I closed them, focusing on the swaying rhythm of the strumming that seemed to vibrate against me.

  “I know you’re still here. I can hear you,” I whispered.

  Teetering on the brink of consciousness, I heard only the strumming reply.

  “Did He send you? God?”

  “Yes,” came a soft whisper.

  “What if you don’t come back tomorrow? What if I don’t believe that any of this actually happened in the morning?” I couldn’t give in to the sleep that was overtaking me until I was sure.

  “You will. You have to.”

  Yes, I had to. He had to come back to me.

  “I . . . don’t even know your name,” I mumbled, losing myself in the soothing darkness.

  I heard his voice whisper to me from the edges of deep sleep.

  “Donovan.”

  Then the strumming faded away and all consciousness with it.

  Chapter 6

  Waking with a start, I shot up in bed. I immediately looked into the mirror and saw only my own reflection staring back at me. With a sigh and a freshly brewing headache, I laid back down. What happened last night? A dream? It couldn’t have been real. And yet talking with him . . . with Donovan, felt more real and natural than anything else in my life.

  Aside from the throbbing, which now made its way to my temples, I felt more rested than I had in months, maybe even years. A knocking jarred me from this realization. It was coming from the front door. I glanced at the clock. Only 9’o’clock. Who could be here at this hour on a Sunday?

  Getting up from the bed, I glanced in the mirror before going to the window. I wanted to see Donovan, needed to see him, to convince myself that last night had been. My reflection alone stared back at me. Damn.

  I looked out the window to the driveway below. There was a squad car parked in front of the house. I thought that perhaps Sulley had sent a car to pick me up. The idea filled me with sudden regret at how I had treated him the night before. He must have been upset with me to have sent someone rather than pick me up himself. I lifted the window and stuck my head out.

  “I’ll be right there!” I yelled and winced at the vibration the action sent through my aching skull.

  I grabbed some clean clothes from my bag and rushed into the bathroom and paused when I saw the Percocet bottle on the counter. I stared at the bottle and contemplated taking one, but then pitched them into the waste basket beside the sink and shut the door.

  Dressed in a floral skirt and a comfy blue sweater, I hurried down the steps to answer the door. Will nodded at me from the front stoop. My shoulders tensed with sudden anxiety. I was in no shape for another verbal assault and with the new day I felt quite resentful of the one he had given me last night. I still felt horrible about crashing the Mustang, but I could have died and all he had cared about was the car.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Will shifted from one foot to the other, his deputy hat held nervously in front of him.

  “I . . . came to apologize,” he scowled, “for my behavior yesterday.”

  I was speechless. An apology was the last thing I expected to hear from him.

  “Sulley put you up to this, didn’t he? Well, you were pissed for a good reason, so consider yourself off the hook,” I said and then started to shut the door.

  Will caught the door and pushed it back open and stepped closer.

  “No. I wanted to come. Can I come in?”

  I hesitated. The thought of being alone in the house with him, especially after the way he had screamed at me yesterday, made me uncomfortable. But I decided it was only fair to hear him out. I stepped aside and let him in. Will hung his hat on the coat rack and followed me into the kitchen. He looked into the living room and paused mid-stride.

  “Is that . . . her piano?”

  “Yes it is,” I said and continued into the kitchen.

  Will stared another moment and came in after me.

  “I was just about to make some coffee,” I said going to the pot. “Would you like some?”

  “That would be great,” he answered having a seat at the table and unzipping his jacket. “Thank you.”

  I filled the pot with water and measured out the grounds. I could feel Will burning a hole into my back. I flipped the on switch and spun around.

  “So why don’t you tell me why you are really here. You’ve been awfully quiet, no snide remarks today?”

  Will looked at his shoes. “I told you, I want to apologize. It’s not the easiest thing in the world for me.”

  I had a seat across from him at the table and folded my arms.

  “Well let me help you,” I offered and looked him in the eye. “Alex, I am sorry for my jerkishness yesterday when I yelled at you about crashing my broken heap into the side of a mountain. EVEN though,” I continued, cutting him off when he tried to protest, “you HAD to crash it in order to save your own life from my death trap of a car with crappy brakes.”

  Will stared at me blankly. “Are you done?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “First of all, jerkishness is not even a word. And she was not a heap or a death trap . . . which is another thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

  I glared at him in response, undaunted. He sighed and continued.

  “And I AM sorry, more than you know. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I guess I just . . . freaked out.”

  I sighed and sat back in my chair. “Well, that car did mean a lot to you, so I get it. I’m really sorry Will. I should never have borrowed it . . .”

  “No,” Will interrupted. “It’s not about the damned car. I mean, yeah, I loved that car, but it’s just a car. I was freaked out because I almost got you killed. I couldn’t live with that,” he said and then whispered under his breath. “Not again.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look,” he said leaning towards me, his intense eyes locking with mine, “I know the brakes were fine on that car. They were solid. I replaced all the brakes a couple of years ago when I rebuilt the engine. There’s no reason they should’ve gone out like that.”

  I stood up and let his words sink in as I got two coffee cups down from the cupboard.

  “Well maybe I hit something without knowing,” I said filling the cups with the fresh brew. “ Or maybe the rain . . .”

  “Not likely.”

  I sat a mug in front of him and sat back down, cradling mine in my hands.

  “Maybe you put them on wrong to begin with.”

  Will sneered. “No way. It was years ago. They would have gone out way before yesterday. And I know what I’m doing when it comes to that car.”

  “Clearly,” I smirked.

  Will sighed and continued to shake his head.

  “So what are you suggesting then?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I called the mechanic this morning but he doesn’t appear to be open on S
undays. I’ll try back tomorrow, see what he has to say.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Wow, that’s a lot better than Evelyn’s Black Death.”

  “Thanks, I think,” I said taking my first sip and savoring the feel of the hot liquid on my scratchy throat. “Maybe it will help this headache.”

  “Yeah, you don’t look so good. That’s a pretty nasty lump on you head.”

  “Always were the flatterer, weren’t you?”

  “I just mean that you got pretty banged up. I am sorry,” Will said, and cupped his hand over mine on the table.

  “Yeah, well . . . it could have been a lot worse.”

  Will leaned in close, making my heart beat faster. I thought I smelled a hint of whisky on his breath.

  “I mean it Alex. I am really sorry about yesterday. About everything.”

  I wondered if we were still talking about the car accident, but my thoughts were lost in the intensity of his deep, chocolate brown eyes. I saw pain and heartbreak in their depths and felt a compulsion to wipe it all away somehow. The thought startled me. I cleared my throat and I mentally slapped myself, forcing my eyes away. The intensity of his stare was too much.

  “Well, it’s just too bad I wasn’t here to borrow your car when I was in high school. Wrecking the infamous Billy Galia Stang would have made me the most popular gal in school,” I smiled and watched his eyes soften as he laughed.

  “And that, Miss Thing, is EXACTLY why I would never have lent it to you. I can’t even imagine how bad of a driver you must have been back then.”

  I gawked, exasperated. “I happen to be a very good driver.”

  Will laughed and motioned to the lump on my head. “Clearly.”

  He met my eyes again and this time we both burst into laughter. We’re laughing about it now, that’s good, I thought. I was afraid that he would be mad at me for all of eternity. The look of rage and disgust he had given me at the accident scene had convinced me of it. Will was a totally different person when he laughed though. His smile softened his rugged exterior and made him look almost child-like.