by Zoey Derrick
“Thanks,” I say.
As I pass the whiteboard, I glance just to make sure that nothing has changed. Nope. Still says Callahan, OR 4, general/personal, Alston, 2 hrs.
So much for two hours; it’s been nearly three.
I pick up my pace, wanting to be back in the waiting room when Dr. Alston comes out.
Room three is obviously a recovery room: There’s no bed, but there are several machines that appear to be turned off. I can’t help but notice the ultrasound machine in the corner opposite everything else. The room smells like bleach and sanitizer. Fresh. I silently hope this is not where she will go when she’s out of surgery. She deserves better than this room.
I shake my head and get to work unbuttoning my shirt and pants and kicking off my shoes. Opening the bag reveals a stash of toiletries – shampoo, conditioner, shave gel, a razor, two combs, cologne and deodorant – and I smile a little at Red’s foresight.
Once I’m down to my undershirt, boxer briefs and socks I head for the bathroom.
I take stock in the mirror. There are dark red to brown spots of varying sizes on the shoulder of my undershirt. It is also ripped in several places. My other shirt wasn’t like this, was it? No doubt Red would have thrown a bigger fit about my being looked at had my shirt been ripped.
I turn around to pick it up to check, but before I can complete my turn, something on my back catches my eye. I turn my back to the mirror and look over my shoulder, and the emptiness I felt earlier disappears completely, replaced by the sense that someone is with me.
“Do not fret. You have done well, young angel. You knew I was here.” It’s the same voice as in the hallway.
“What is all over my back?” I stare blankly at the silver-gray tint to the back of my already gray shirt.
“Ah, young angel, it has begun.”
“What, damn it? What is going on?” I nearly shout, and then quickly silence myself, hoping no one heard my outburst.
“Calm, Mikah. Remove your shirt and you shall see.”
I reach for the hem and turn my head back toward the room before pulling my shirt over my head. I take a deep breath as the voice starts to sing.
Is the singing really necessary?
She laughs. “No, young one, it is not, but I am bored.”
“Seriously?” I say out loud. “I’m on the verge of a damn freak-out and you’re bored. Brilliant.”
She laughs again. “Mikah, you will quickly see that I am bored constantly. You, young angel, are alive. Blood courses through your veins, your heart beats. But I, I am left here in whiteness for eternity. Yes, I get bored – very easily, mind you – and the only time I get to have any amount of fun at all is when I am in your head.”
I shiver at the thought of this voice having a good time in my head. “How long have you been in my head without me knowing?” She laughs again. “This really isn’t funny, Seraphina.”
“You are right, Mikah. Getting your wings is serious business.”
“My what?” I’m thrown. Wings? Real wings? “How am I supposed to go walking around with wings on my back?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” I feel an attitude shift in my head, almost like excitement. “Go ahead, take a look in the mirror. You will see.”
I begin to turn my head and the excitement bubbles. But it’s not my excitement.
Seriously?
“Oh, come on. This is fun,” she says, and now I can hear the excitement in her voice.
I try to shake her excitement off and turn my head a little bit more. I don’t know what to expect, and I’m freaking out about what I’m going to see. Good grief, stop being such a baby.
“I agree.”
“Would you stop that?”
She giggles. Out of all the angels in...wherever she is...I get stuck with the damn comedian.
“Hmph,” she huffs.
Finally, I continue turning my head until I’m able to see my back.
Thirteen
There on my back, in vivid detail, are two beautiful wings with white, gray, and silver feathers. They are nothing but a flat, two-dimensional image, yet they seem to be alive.
My knees give out and I tumble to the floor, breathing heavily.
She is quiet for a few moments while this all soaks in. “The legend is true, an angel are you,” she finally says.
I’m unable to speak aloud. You can say that again. But me? Why me?
“Because, young angel, it is who you are. It is who your mother was and is to this day; though she never grew wings while she was alive, she is one of us now.”
Can I see her?
“Perhaps in time. She is one of our máithreacha, who are very busy.”
Máithreacha? Mothers?
“Yes. They are second in command to our máthair go léir. Your mother was the one who spoke to you first and, as you no doubt guessed, she can be a bit testy.”
How did I not recognize her voice? It’s a voice that plays in my head constantly whenever I do something profoundly stupid.
“If you think about that long enough, I’m sure you can figure that out.”
Suddenly I understand: She didn’t want me to know it was her.
“Or perhaps you didn’t recognize her because you were not thinking of her that way.”
I think back to the voice in the chapel. I still can’t hear it as my mother’s, but I take Seraphina’s word for it.
Anxiety washes over me as I contemplate the responsibilities that might come with these wings. What happens now?
“We wait until the right time and place for you to take control of them. Then you can learn to use them to your advantage.”
I let out a rushed breath, thanking the stars that I can deal with this later. Given that there was blood on my shirt but no pain, I’m not quite convinced that I’m not dreaming.
In the instant that thought crosses my mind, sharp, white-hot pain races around my body, and I fall flat on my back.
Alright I get it; I’m not dreaming!
The pain stops, and I regain control of my own body and senses. I stand up and look into the mirror, this time facing forward. Where the blood had soaked into my t-shirt on my shoulder and chest, there is...nothing. Absolutely nothing there.
“You’re a fast healer, young angel.”
“The door at her apartment. The one I shattered with my shoulder. It caused all that blood, but where...where are the cuts?” I whisper.
“As I said, you are a fast healer.”
“I... What? Jesus. Is there anything else you want to tell me about before I discover it for myself and go ballistic?”
“You’ve already had enough for today. Get dressed and go back to the waiting room. I will do what I can to leave you alone for the rest of the day.”
I nod, and once again the emptiness returns. The hum in my back disappears. I flex my shoulder, testing its strength, but it feels fine. Completely normal. Which ranks up there with talking to angels in my head in my list of strange things that have happened to me today.
Fourteen
As I walk past the nurse’s station, I glance at the board and it’s changed: Vivienne’s name is no longer listed on the forth line. I jog back to the waiting room.
Stepping into the room, I notice Red in the corner, reading a magazine, and a family sitting opposite him. I walk straight up to him. He puts down his magazine.
“Has Dr. Alston been here yet?”
“No, but the nurse came in and said that she was out of surgery and the doctor would be in as soon as she could.”
I let out a rush of breath as a weight lifts from my shoulders. She’s out of surgery. “Oh, thank stars.”
He chuckles a bit at my expression, something he does all the time. I explained to him once why I have a hard time thanking God or some other higher power for the things that happen to people. After you’ve lost your mother, your father and your two brothers and you have a sister that is lost inside her own head, it’s hard to be thankful for the things t
hat God does.
I take a seat, though I know it’s going to be pointless; I’m beyond keyed up, and I feel like pacing again. But I don’t want to freak out the family sitting across from us.
What a damn mess today has turned into. First Vivienne, and then angels start talking to me in my head. Now my back. How in the hell does this stuff happen to me? Why me? I cannot seem to find a reason for it. I grew up believing that to become an angel you had to die first, be pure of self, and follow a spiritual path. All of these things I’m not.
Wings? Really? How on earth am I supposed to hide these things? What in the world is going to happen to me – physically and mentally?
I’ve only been sitting here for a few minutes when the skin on my back starts to crawl. I shiver and grab the back of my neck, massaging it, hoping that the contact will lessen the sensation. But instead, a strong sense of unease comes over me. I feel restless. I need to move, be doing something – anything but sitting here idle and waiting. But I can’t make myself move.
“Err, you alright, lad?”
I turn to look at Red. His eyes flare momentarily and there is an instance of unease that bounces off of him. Jesus.
“What’s wrong?”
“Your eyes, they’re...” he pauses, and instinctively I shut them tight. “They’re almost black.” Shit.
Seraphina, damn it, where are you?
“I don’t know,” I answer him.
In the next instant, my body tenses and I feel a warmth radiate through my body and dissipate instantly. “I’ll be right back.” I get up and start for the door and the hallway. I walk past the nurse’s station, back to the room I just came from, and quickly lock the door behind me. I head straight to the bathroom mirror.
I shudder at the sight of nearly black eyes.
“Oh dear.” I hear Seraphina’s voice.
“What in the world is going on?” I say out loud.
“You’re in the hospital.”
“Yeesss...” I say, trying hard not to be sarcastic with her.
“Is your skin crawling?”
I just nod, not able to answer because I can’t stop staring at the solid black of my eyes.
“Someone near you, not known to you, has died.”
My heart sinks momentarily. “So why am I reacting this way?”
“Because the person who has died has been taken by evil.”
I feel a tightness in my shoulders that pushes outward.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Not here. You’ll rip your shirt.”
“What?” I say sharply and turn quickly. In the mirror I can see two rather sharp, knobby points beneath my shirt, up near the tops of my shoulders. Right...where...
Fifteen
I feel my head start to spin. Seraphina begins to chant in a tongue I do not recognize. An ache spreads across my back, and I can feel my shirt shift as it settles back against my skin.
I brace myself against the sink, my stomach rolling. I feel like retching.
“Eventually, young angel, you will be able to control this yourself. I’ve put your angel soul to rest. It won’t last forever, but it will be enough to allow you to calm down.”
Thank you.
I’m so confused. All of this is just...it’s too much. The wings, the changes – it’s all so overwhelming. I haven’t even begun to process it all, and I feel like my life is no longer my own.
“I understand that this is difficult for you.”
Gah! Stop that. It’s hard to think when you’re in there listening to everything I think.
She laughs. “Yes, it can be a bit obnoxious, but it is also something to take comfort in. I am here to guide and teach you.”
I know, but it’s hard. I know the story and I know the poem, but I feel like I’m missing something. I feel like I need my head examined.
“Believe me, young one, when the time is right, you will know. When you accept your destiny, you will be taught all you need to know.”
How will I know when I’m ready?
“When your mind is free. Now go. Your young lady needs you.”
The emptiness returns, and I shiver. How am I supposed to accept this?
I slowly turn around to face the mirror, hoping that what she has said is right. I slowly open my eyes. Back to blue and green. I let out a rushed breath.
Now how on earth do I explain this to Red?
I walk slowly back down the hall toward the waiting room. Anxiety knots my stomach, but – I suddenly realize – the buzz in my back is gone. I flex my shoulders. My back is no longer tight, but loose and normal. Weird.
In the waiting room, Red is still in his same chair, reading the same magazine. I take my seat next to him.
“Feel better?” he asks as he puts down the magazine.
“Much,” I say back.
He doesn’t press for more information. I gather that he has been around me long enough to not ask questions.
“You can take off,” I tell him.
“I’d like to stay. Make sure you’re alright.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Alright.”
I notice that we are alone once again in the waiting room and outside the door there are several nurses gathered around the desk. Looking beyond them to the board, I see that the majority of the rooms are now empty.
“What is taking so long?” I ask aloud, not expecting an answer.
“The nurse came in about three minutes ago, said Dr. Alston was on her way.”
“Finally.”
I sit back and pull my ankle up onto my knee. I put my head back against the wall behind me and close my eyes.
And instead of seeing the black of my eyelids, my vision shifts…
Sixteen
The image is white but three-dimensional, almost like a room. Yes, now I can make out a couch and table in front of me, but they too are as white as the walls and the floor. I can see something in the distance – not white, but dressed in white – coming closer to me. My heart rate speeds up, not in fear but in anticipation. Whatever is coming toward me is something I want, something I need. But what?
I watch as the figure draws closer. I feel myself growing restless with excitement. It seems to be taking forever, and I want to walk toward the figure, but I can’t. I’m frozen in place.
The figure draws nearer still, and finally I’m beginning to make out who is walking toward me. The bright red, curly, flowing hair belongs to Vivienne.
“Mikah.” It’s not the voice I was expecting, not Vivienne’s voice. “Mikah.” It’s Red. I feel his arm nudge mine. My eyes fly open. “Dr. Alston’s coming.”
“What?” Shit. I rub my eyes, hoping to dispel the image, but as soon as my eyes close again, I see her. She hasn’t moved.
I open my eyes again to the drab carpet of the waiting room, blink a few times and stand up. “How long was I out?” I ask Red.
“About three minutes.”
“Well shit. I feel like I was out for hours.” That is an understatement. Red just laughs.
“Nah, you’re alright,” he says.
I turn my head to look out the door. Dr. Alston is standing at the nurse’s desk. It looks as though she’s signing something. I start walking toward the door, but she holds her palm up toward me, gesturing for me to stop, then quickly puts up one finger.
Gah! Doesn’t she know this is killing me?
Seventeen
I start to pace: toward Red, back toward the door, and back toward Red again. Come on, damn it. This is killing—
“Mikah.”
My head snaps up and I turn around to face the tall, leggy blond. Dr. Alston. Under different circumstances I might have found her attractive. In fact, at some point I probably did. But that was before I met Vivienne.
“What’s taken so long?” I ask her sharply. Too sharply. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright, I know you’re anxious.” I nod. “It’s taken so long because we needed to do a post-op CAT scan. I wanted to have those results before I came to talk to you.”<
br />
“And those are what, exactly?”
“I’ll get there. First, she is out of surgery. The next twenty-four hours are critical, so we have her in a medically induced coma.”
I feel my eyes flare. I’m instantly worried about what happened earlier. I take quick stock of my body, but nothing has changed.
“We were able to repair her shattered rib and her lung, but she has some significant swelling in her brain and we weren’t able to do anything to relieve the pressure. However, the post-op CAT scan showed some improvement since the first one we did. Which is a good sign. Keeping her sedated will mean better chances for a faster recovery. We will do another scan tomorrow morning to see how the swelling is doing. If it has gone down some more, we may be able to gauge how much longer we’ll need to keep her in a coma until the swelling is gone completely.”
I’m forcing each breath in and out of my body as she is telling me this, trying desperately to soak it all in. “Can I see her?” I ask shakily.
“Yes.”
I start to move toward the door.
“I’m not done.”
I stop and turn back to her.
“She is being moved to a private room upstairs. A cot is being brought in. I’m assuming you will refuse to leave her until she’s awake?” I nod. “Okay, so let them get her moved and settled.”
“What about the baby?” I say, breathless.
“Relax, Mikah. As I said, the next twenty-four hours are critical. We won’t know anything definite for a couple of days, but I can tell you that there is a very strong heartbeat and we are monitoring for any distress.”
It just became a little easier to breathe. I’ve yet to figure out why I have such an attachment to this baby, but I do.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“Medically, no, not right now. Other than she has a broken wrist and her shoulder has been set. It is in a sling and strapped across her body to prevent any movement. It is also acting as double duty for her ribs.”
I remember her telling me this before, but it still strikes me dumb at the brutality. I haven’t even wanted to imagine what he did besides cut and beat her, but I guess my face betrays the unasked question.
