by T. R. Hamby
She frowned at Mel. “Is he okay?”
He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know.”
He could feel her eyes on him. “Is it because of what Ariel did to you? Making you want to kill him?”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He really didn’t want to get into it.
“He...he played off of Lilith,” he said quietly, and his hands balled into fists in his pockets. “He says they call him Michael the Murderer, back Home.”
Nora touched his arm. “Mel. I’m so sorry.”
He took another deep breath and looked at her. “Let’s not talk about it. Not now. I need a shower.”
For a moment it was clear her mind was still on the killing-Michael-thing. But then she nodded, and embraced him again. Mel smiled, kissing her hair. He would never get tired of holding her. He would never tire of her at all. She was too special.
Tonight had been close. Very close, and Mel hoped with every fiber of his being he wouldn’t have to fight another Angel ever again.
Nora
Nora couldn’t leave Mel out of her sight, so she took a quick shower with him. She was jazzed up and paranoid, and the hot water relaxed her a little. They were both overly aware of each other, touching each other’s waists and arms.
“Tell me again,” she said after, sitting in bed with him, drawing close.
He looked worried, his blue eyes striking, and he sat behind her and massaged her shoulders.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said gently. “It’s over.”
“Not for me,” she insisted. She closed her eyes; Mel was doing a good job on the knots in her shoulders.
He sighed a little. “What do you want to know?”
“Did he hurt you?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he murmured, “He made me want to do things. We would’ve been in trouble if he hadn’t wanted to fight Michael. He was cocky.”
“It was close,” she said.
He paused, then replied, “Yes. It was close.”
She shivered. It’s what she had been afraid of. How close had she come to losing him tonight?
They were quiet for a moment. Then he said, “If we had known, we would’ve had a different plan. The other Angels we fought hadn’t had special Talents like this one. If we had known…”
“I know, Mel,” she sighed, leaning into him.
He wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and there was emotion in his voice.
She felt her troubles start to fade at his apology. Regardless of what had happened, it was over now. Mel was safe, and they were together. That’s what mattered.
“Let’s try to sleep,” she said, kissing his cheek. “It’s over now.”
She turned out the light and lied down, resting her head on Mel’s chest. She savored the sound of his heartbeat, so strong, so resolute, like a clock ticking in his chest--ticking quickly.
It was okay. He was here; he was healthy. They were safe. Countless women were safe now.
But she had trouble sleeping. Her mind didn’t want to settle down. It jumped from rehearsals, to Mel, to Michael, to Ariel, and back to rehearsals again, over and over.
Mel wasn’t sleeping either. He was playing with her hair, ever so gently.
She shifted again, and he said, “Can’t sleep, love?”
“No,” she groaned. “And I have rehearsal in the morning.”
“Do you want me to sing to you?”
She couldn’t help but giggle, though she could tell he was being serious. “Can you sing? I’ve never heard you before.”
“I can a little,” he replied. “Not like you, of course. No one can sing like you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay. What do you have for me?”
“What do you want to hear?”
She thought for a moment, tracing patterns on his chest. “Are there songs where you’re from?”
He chuckled. “Yes. Many. But they’re not in English, you know. They’re in my language.”
She frowned. She hadn’t thought about Angels having their own language.
“Can you sing me one?”
“Of course.”
He began to sing, in a pretty language that almost sounded like Finnish--or maybe Swedish. Nora was impressed; he had a good voice, and she closed her eyes, listening to him. After a little while he stopped, and she smiled.
“That was pretty,” she murmured. “You have a lovely voice.”
“Thank you.”
“What was that song?”
“A lullaby,” he whispered. “My sister Judith made it up. She would sing it to her children. And to me, whenever I was upset. It always put me in a good mood.”
She smiled. She was starting to feel drowsy now.
“Sing it again?”
He chuckled, and began again, tracing his fingers up and down her back, until she was asleep.
He had a nightmare that night. Nora woke to him writhing, whispering, and she sat up and turned the light on. He was grimacing, his head and arms twitching.
She went to wake him when she paused, listening to his words….
“Don’t hurt him...please...don’t do it...don’t make me…”
She stared at him, stunned. Was he dreaming about Michael?
She brushed at his face, grasping his shoulder and shaking him gently. “Mel. Mel, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
He started, opening his eyes and breathing quickly. Then he saw Nora, and he let out a breath.
“Fuck,” he whispered, sitting up shakily.
He drew close to her and she held him, rubbing his back soothingly.
“Everything’s okay?” he asked hoarsely. “Everyone...everyone’s okay?”
She wondered if he meant Michael, and she also wondered if she should let on that she knew who he was talking about.
“Everyone’s fine,” she said. “Everyone went to bed.”
Mel was quiet. Nora could feel his heart humming in his chest.
“It was so real,” he breathed, and she could tell he was unnerved.
All she could think of doing was offering to sing to him, as he had done just a few hours earlier. He seemed too dazed to refuse, so they lied back down, and Nora sang some Elvis to him. She was exhausted, though she was worried about him. Soon he seemed to drift off, and she settled down to sleep.
It was an unending night, though. She couldn’t tell if it had been hours or minutes since she fell asleep again, but she woke to hear Mel carefully slipping out of bed. She could tell he was trying to be quiet, because he was walking slowly, easing the door open and closed behind him.
She frowned. What was he doing? He didn’t get thirsty or hungry, so he wasn’t searching for a midnight snack. Perhaps he couldn’t sleep again, and had gone out to play on his laptop.
She thought maybe she should check on him. He had just had a nightmare that had clearly disturbed him, and now he was up in the middle of the night with no reason.
She got up, and was just cracking open the door when she heard his voice.
“Michael,” he whispered, and Nora paused.
She looked through the crack in the door: The living room was dim, just the one lamp on, and Mel was standing there, waiting.
Michael appeared, wearing sweats and a T-shirt, mirroring Mel’s outfit. He was frowning, and looked at Mel strangely. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer right away. He looked away; he seemed to be casting around for the right answer.
“Are you…” he struggled, then continued, “are you all right?”
Michael was quiet for a long moment. Nora studied him; he looked confused, but also troubled.
“I’m fine,” he said gruffly. “Did you wake me up just for that?”
She couldn’t see Mel’s face, but his shoulders were tense. He still seemed to be struggling with his words.
“Look, Mel, just say it,” Michael said, losing his patience, and Mel let out a growl.
“I just...want to
know,” he said.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Michael looked away, his jaw working.
“Like I said. I’m fine.”
Then he stepped back and vanished.
Nora was frowning; she watched as Mel stood there a moment, looking at the spot where his brother had disappeared. Then he went to the couch, sitting down and holding his head in his hands.
She quietly closed the door. She hadn’t meant to intrude, but now she had seen everything, and she was worried. Whatever nightmare Mel had dreamt had been enough to make him Call for Michael--to make sure he was okay. And it was a conversation with so much left unsaid; she could feel it.
Why couldn’t they just be honest with each other? But she knew it was far more complicated than that. In many ways Mel was still grieving Lilith’s death, and that had been at Michael’s command. It was a wonder he could bear to work with him.
They had come close to actually saying something. So close.
She wondered if she should go out and talk to him. No--he needed to be alone. She would bring it up later--though when exactly, she wasn’t sure.
A couple weeks went by, and all was well. Rehearsals were now six days a week in anticipation of Opening Night. Nora was busy, getting up early and working late. She would try to keep things lively when she came home to Mel, who was cooking her dinner and packing her lunches now. But usually she ended up falling asleep on the couch, her head on his chest. He would then usher her to bed, and soon her alarm would be ringing again.
“One more week until Opening Night,” she said one evening, after walking through the door to her apartment. Mel was already at her side, kissing her cheek while she set her bag down.
“Good day?” he asked, slipping his arms around her waist.
She felt sheepish. “Honestly, I’m sick of it,” she replied. “This is the hard part, trying to get through the end of rehearsals. It’s the same thing over and over again without the rush of performing.”
He nodded, his blue eyes striking. “I’m sure.”
“Thank you, by the way,” she added, smiling. “For all your help...making me food, putting me to bed. I’ve needed it.”
He kissed her, and she sighed. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, pulling away. “I’m happy helping you.”
He then let her go, taking her hand. “Speaking of food--I’m behind; work kept me late. I’ll get started now.”
She took a quick shower, then helped with dinner. Mel cooked the rigatoni, while Nora chopped the vegetables. They talked while they worked. Mel had had a long day talking with clients. Nora shared some of the backstage gossip. Here and there Mel would come up behind her, kissing her neck and murmuring in her ear, and she would giggle, overwhelmed with happiness.
“Any new cases yet?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Not yet,” he replied. He didn’t seem the least bit disappointed. “Soon, I’m sure.”
She glanced at him, cautious. “I could always help,” she said. “With the next one.”
He looked at her. “You’ve gotten a taste for it,” he said shrewdly.
She flushed. She couldn’t tell if he was unhappy or not.
“I just keep thinking about Angelica,” she replied quietly. “She was so young. So small. Even with a human she didn’t stand a chance. And then,” she went on, her insides sickening, “I keep thinking about Carmen Garcia. What Leo did to her...she just looked...destroyed.”
She looked at him. “To think that there’s a chance to find people who do those things...get rid of them...wouldn’t anyone do it?”
He was studying her, a thoughtful look on his face.
“No,” he murmured, “not anyone. You’re different.”
She heard the fondness in his voice, and smiled, resuming chopping the vegetables.
“Have you talked to her?” Mel asked. “Carmen?”
“A few times,” she replied. “She’s doing okay. She’s staying with family; I don’t think she’s ready to go back to work just yet. She--fuck!”
The knife she had been using to chop vegetables slipped, sliding right across her finger. Blood poured from the wound, dripping thickly onto the cucumbers and the cutting board.
Mel was instantly at her side, wrapping a dish towel around her hand. “Shit, that was a good one,” he said, pressing the towel hard against her finger.
“Sorry,” she breathed. Her finger only smarted a little; she supposed she was too shocked to really feel the pain.
“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “You might need stitches, though.”
They waited for the bleeding to stall. Now she was feeling the pain, sharp and throbbing, and she bit her lip. They checked the wound--she didn’t have to ask Mel to know she would need stitches.
They spent a few hours in the emergency room, where Nora got six stitches. She was quiet, troubled, her mind swirling with many thoughts. A problem, a problem she had only considered once before, was presenting itself to her--and it was very worrying.
The problem was that she was mortal. A simple slip, a single mistake could easily kill her. Her bandaged finger was a prime example of her fragility. And when she did die? She would be in Heaven, which was a comfort. But Mel would be stuck here without her, and that was not.
He had already lost one love, in the most brutal of ways. Could he stand to lose another one day? Nora couldn’t bear to think of being apart after her death, even if she went to Heaven. How could she expect Mel to do the same?
“You’re quiet,” he said as they drove home. It was late at night now--the visit to the emergency room had been a long one.
She looked down at her bandaged finger, frowning. “Sorry.”
She could see him glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “You don’t feel guilty, do you? You didn’t do it on purpose.”
There was worry in his voice. Her heart ached, and she finally looked at him.
“What will you do when I die?” she whispered.
He kept his eyes on the road, but she could still see a pained look on his face.
“Where’s this coming from?” he asked gently, and she knew he was stalling.
She sighed. “I just...sort of realized. I’m mortal. I’ll die one day--and then you’ll lose me.”
His jaw was tense, and he still looked straight ahead.
“That won’t be for a long time,” he murmured.
She decided to avoid the fact that she could easily die any day.
“You’re worrying,” he said, reaching out and squeezing her uninjured hand, “over something that won’t happen for so long. It’s not worth it.”
She gripped his hand, her insides turning to ice. She had a horrible feeling that Mel was trying to avoid talking about what he would do when she died. And she realized, with a jolt, that he had already considered the matter.
She looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears. Just the thought of Mel, grief-stricken and alone, made her want to sob. But what was to come after that was so much worse to imagine.
He glanced at her worriedly. “You’re crying,” he said, pulling the car into the parking garage. “Why are you crying?”
“Sorry,” she said quickly, brushing at her eyes. “I’m...tired. It’s been a long day.”
He parked the car, turned the engine off, and pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” he murmured.
She buried her head in his chest. His shirt was soft, and smelled of cotton, and of his scent. She could hear his heart, beating so quickly.
She knew he was going to do something terrible when she was gone. Something that broke her heart just to think about. And there was nothing she could do.
Her mind was racing when she fell asleep, and it picked back up as soon as she woke. It was still night; her phone said it was three in the morning. She had been asleep for only a few hours.
Mel was asleep next to her. She studied him in the dimness, her heart aching again. She didn’t want to
ask him if her suspicions were true. For one, she knew they were true. Almost certainly. But the most important reason was that she couldn’t hear him voice it. Putting the idea to words made it too real. Right now it was just a possibility, something that could be changed.
She frowned. It was very quiet in the room. The only noise was the whoosh of cars going by out in the street; their headlights shined across the ceiling. Her finger was painful, and there was a spot of dried blood on the bandage.
But she barely noticed. She was thinking, thinking hard. Maybe it could be changed. Maybe there was something she could do...something she could ask for. She didn’t know if it was possible to ask--or if it was even possible at all. This was still new territory for her.
Mel was still fast asleep, and she didn’t want to wake him. She would have to wait until morning.
It took her a long time to fall asleep again. She was woken up later by Mel, who slipped his arms around her waist and squeezed her gently.
She smiled, though her heart raced as her worries came rushing back into her mind.
“Did you sleep well?” she murmured, tracing her fingers along his arm.
He kissed her temple. “Yes. How’s your finger?”
“Hurts like a bitch,” she replied casually. “But I’ll live.”
He was quiet for a moment, his arm still wrapped firmly around her waist.
Finally he said, “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”
She felt a surge of guilt. She hated worrying him, and she could hear the concern in his voice. But her heart raced--this was as good a time as any to ask him her question.
She turned, facing him, squeezing his arm. “I’m wondering,” she said firmly, “if I asked him--would God make me Immortal?”
He stared at her, for a moment his face blank. Then he frowned, bewildered. “Why would you want to do that?” he breathed.
Nora frowned too. “So I can...become Immortal?”
“Why would you want to be Immortal?”
She gave him a look, thoroughly confused by the question. “So I can be with you. Forever. Why else?”
“Nora,” he said, sighing. For a moment he cast around for the right words, and sat up. “You’re human, not Immortal. They’re two different things, two different ways of thinking. All your life you knew there would be an end. If that changed, you would have to watch your friends--your sister--grow old and die. Every person that you meet and love will suffer illness, the pain of old age, death. You can’t be willing to go through that.”
