Outcast

by Adrienne Kress

  You spoke with Gabe. You speak with me.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I am an angel. Gabe is a Thrall.

  Oh yeah.

  “Okay fine. I can do that. But I’m hardly a warrior. I mean…come on…look at me.” Though even as I said it, I realized that wasn’t quite true. I was a remarkable shot, like abnormally good at it. And then I thought back to the time I’d held Gabe prisoner in this shed. He’d been totally convinced I could hurt him. Then my mind raced back all those many months ago, with the splashing at the pool party, how he’d said I’d tried to choke him with water on purpose. So silly at the time…and how whenever Gabe playfully tackled me I couldn’t help but think of ways to get the best of him that were pretty violent. But still…

  And yet…

  “Okay so I’m a good shot…”

  You are a good shot. You forget, Riley, you shot a Thrall.

  “Who?” I had? Oh. “Gabe?”

  Yes.

  “Well, that wasn’t anything. And anyway I missed the first time.”

  It is almost impossible to hit a Thrall. They move fast. They are gone before a thought.

  “Oh, come on. He was just standing there in front of me. Talking to me. It was pretty easy.”

  For six years they have been taking. None of your people has hit one.

  I thought about it. The guardian had a point. Even though we’d been worshipping the angels, there were still those few people like Wild Frank who’d tried to take them down.

  “Look, okay, I know I’m a good shot, I know that. And maybe that means something, I dunno. But with Gabe it was still very different. He was just standing there.”

  He wasn’t. I saw the moment. I saw you raise the gun, and I saw him fly faster than the eye could see. He moved and your aim was true.

  “Really?”

  Really.

  “But I had no idea…”

  Your aim has been true with your friends and your practice.

  Suddenly, despite all our efforts, the shooting the Thralls down plan seemed beyond absurd. Especially with all the things the guardian was telling me now. “You must have been laughing at us the whole time then, if Thralls are so impossible to shoot.”

  No.

  “But you think the plan is stupid.”

  No.

  “Look, you just said that aside from me, no one can hit Thralls. So our plan to shoot them down has to be ridiculous to you.”

  It is not. I said that no one had shot them before. But your choice to help your friends, to instruct them and lead them, that power is great enough to elevate their spirits.

  “What are you saying?”

  Nephilim have led human armies before. Remember, it is about the choice.

  “Right. My choice is a power you said.”

  Yes. That is why Nephilim are so valuable to the Circle. Unlike lesser angels and Thralls, Nephilim cannot be forced to do anything. They cannot be told to go to war for the Circle. The Circle must ask for their help and the Nephilim can choose if they wish to help. That is why Nephilim are so precious. They have free will.

  “Well, that’s kind of wacky.”

  It is not.

  Now it sounded defensive. “I just…” I sighed. “I just don’t feel special. I don’t feel powerful.”

  Understandable. But you are.

  I nodded, but I didn’t feel very warrior-like. “What else can I do, you know, as one of the Nephilim, aside from choosing things?”

  They are great warriors and capable of great things.

  “I’m not sure I’d call shooting someone in the face a ‘great thing.’ More like a horrible, horrible thing.”

  Great warriors do more than just kill. They plan. They think in ways that most do not. They lead and have strength of spirit and body.

  “But I don’t have any of that.”

  You have all of that. You have the potential.

  “Will I have to…” I felt stupid for asking but “…will I have to do anything?”

  Do anything?

  “For anyone else. Will the Circle of Seven come and find me? Will I change, grow wings? Will I become even more of a freak than I already am?”

  The Circle may ask of you, but they do not know you are here. You will change in only the way a human grows and changes. You will not grow wings unless you wish it. Whether or not you become more of a “freak” is for you to decide.

  “I could grow wings if I wanted to?”

  Yes.

  “How?”

  I do not know. I am not of the Nephilim.

  Well, that wasn’t something I needed to worry about now, or really ever, the way I looked at it. So I let the issue drop. Instead, I asked, “Why doesn’t the Circle know I’m here. Aren’t they all-knowing?”

  They see the greater picture, but they do not see all in the moment.

  “I don’t get it.”

  If you stood at the top of a mountain and looked down, you would see the world before you. You could see a storm coming from miles away, the course of a river, the distance to the nearest town. And yet you would not see each villager in that town, each fish in the river.

  “True.”

  To see each small piece of the puzzle takes focus, takes knowing where to look. The Circle does not care about this place and so they do not look. They do not know that which is outside of their present concerns. They do not know the Thralls are taking humans from your town. Furthermore, they would never think such a thing possible, for to them the Thralls have no ability to reason and think, are little more than beasts.

  “Nice.” I really wasn’t feeling much love for the Circle, especially considering how little they thought of humans and their own slaves. “But here’s the thing I still don’t get: I thought you said you reported back to them. About me. That that was your job.”

  I report when they ask for me. I report when you send me. I cannot go to the Circle without an invitation or without your order. When they learn of your existence and they ask, I shall tell them all.

  “Shall you?”

  I shall.

  “So what, you’ll just tell them all my little secrets, weaknesses, you’ll just betray me to them? I was right the first time. You’re not a guardian at all. You’re a spy.”

  I do not spy. I protect you.

  “When have you ever protected me?”

  You have not used me as you could.

  “What are you talking about? What do you mean?”

  A guardian can be asked to do many things. You can store your emotions in me, you can ask me to do your bidding. I can offer guidance and support.

  “But the more I give you, the more you can take away to the Circle. The more I open up, the more vulnerable I am to them.”

  It is how it is. You decide.

  It is how it is.

  “It is how it is.”

  And I couldn’t change it. Whether I liked it or not, approved or not, even believed or not, it is how it is.

  You are quiet. What are you thinking?

  “I’m thinking,” I said as I stood up, “that it’s time to have a talk with my parents.”

  44.

  I’d told the story now a few times, but this was different. Everyone else I’d talked to had been shocked by the events, but not really too upset by my personal involvement. They were usually just in awe that the events had happened in the first place. Telling my parents what had happened over the last year involved telling them their daughter was a gun toting leader of a rebel army who’d been lying to them all this time, and stealing from them as well.

  Worst, though, was how much danger I’d been in, been putting myself in, was planning to be in. Mother was not very happy with that.

  Any other conversation like this with my parents would have resulted in some serious punishment for having deceived them like I had. But I had one thing on my side. One massive thing on my side. The issue of my parentage
. If it was true, then they’d been lying for way longer than me. Besides, learning their daughter was half-angel was enough to drive any other concern out of their heads.

  I saw Mother get more and more upset as I told the story, and Daddy was unhappy right from the beginning when I told about the shotgun: “You know how to shoot a gun?”

  But when I asked whether or not my guardian had a point, whether Daddy wasn’t really my Daddy, well that’s when their expressions went from indignation to concern and sadness.

  “I mean…it can’t be right, can it?” I laughed again, though not feeling particularly amused. “It’s stupid, right?” I said turning to Daddy. “I mean, I inherited your practical personality.”

  Daddy lowered his gaze, and Mother sighed softly. In those responses I knew it to be true.

  I stared at my parents. There was nothing else I could do. Well, I guess actually there were a few options. But they all required running off and slamming the door behind me, and considering how numb I was feeling, I didn’t think my body was capable of that.

  “So…it’s true?” I finally said, collapsing into our fraying wingback chair in the living room.

  My mother was looking at me with an expression I’d never seen before. I always felt that just below the surface she was always in a panic. Worried about what other people thought, worried about the safety of her daughter and husband. She masked it with a bright smile, but I saw it always clear as day. But now, right now, she was calm. Not at peace, not content, but calm. Like when you finally admit something you’ve been hiding from your parents, like you broke the vase. You don’t feel good when you admit to it. But you feel right.

  “Just…just tell the story, please,” I said. It was all I could say before the tears welled up, and I was silent.

  I could hear my mother’s breath catch in her throat. She never liked to see me cry. Well, tough. How could I not? Daddy wasn’t Daddy. That wasn’t something I was prepared to be stoic about.

  “It happened before your Mother and I met…” said Daddy.

  “No, David, I have to tell it.” My mother came over and kneeled down at the edge of the chair. She reached out for my hands, but I snatched them away and hid them in my lap. She sighed and sat herself in front of me. “It was the summer before my last year of university. I met a man. He was older, maybe thirty, and he seemed so worldly and unlike any of the boys in town. He’d sort of appeared one day. Said he was passing through, a musician. And what girl doesn’t adore a musician?” She paused for a moment, lost in thought. Then she continued. “I thought I was in love. He was gone before the fall, didn’t say so much as a goodbye. I was so heartbroken I almost didn’t go back to college, but I did. It was a good distraction until I realized…”

  She stopped again and seemed to change her mind about something. I didn’t say anything, didn’t want to interrupt her. I needed to hear this. She started up again.

  “I met your dad first week back to classes,” she said. “At first I didn’t think much of him…”

  “I know this part of the story,” I finally said, feeling frustrated. I’d heard it all before. It had always been told as a bit of a lesson, when I would get upset that I’d never meet anyone. Mother would always tell me how she hadn’t even thought of Daddy as a possible boyfriend until suddenly one night, she “noticed him” as she called it. They’d just been friends. I’d never told her, but that story was partly the reason I’d started to notice Chris in that way.

  “You don’t know the whole story, Riley. You don’t know about me being pregnant with you then. Of not wanting to date your father because I didn’t want to burden him with…”

  “Me.” Thanks, Mother.

  “Riley, I love you more than life, but at the time, back then, it wasn’t exactly the best situation for a girl. And I didn’t want your Daddy to feel trapped. But for some reason, the old fool…”

  “Thanks,” said Daddy with a shake of his head.

  “He proposed. It was a whirlwind, but it felt right. We married that year. Everyone knew the timing was off, but no one said anything. It looked legitimate enough. And luckily we found out that what we had was more than just an infatuation.”

  “Well, I knew I loved her the second I met her. She took a bit more convincing.” Daddy smiled at her across the room with that look of complete adoration he would always give her, watching her from a distance.

  I burst into tears. Instantly he joined my mother, crouching at my side, holding onto me, petting my hair. Desperate to set me at ease.

  “You’re still my girl, you’ve always been my girl,” said Daddy.

  “I know…” I said, but it didn’t feel right. I didn’t know who I was, and what’s worse, what I was.

  “Honey, I don’t think you’re half-angel,” said Mother softly at my other side, sensing my real concern.

  “Well, I dunno, I’ve always thought she was pretty angelic,” replied Daddy.

  “David, you’re not helping,” replied Mother giving him one of her looks.

  “I am, I am…” I sobbed into my hands.

  “Honey…”

  I looked up at her. She looked so sad, so worried for me. I wished I could just show them my guardian through the window—it was there, just outside, so close. But I knew they wouldn’t be able to see it. I understood now. It was why Etta Mae wasn’t able to see it, but Gabe and I could. And it was why my parents wouldn’t be able to see it either.

  “I wish you believed me,” I said. When I’d first told them the Nephilim thing I’d seen my dad smile slightly in his concern. I knew deep down they didn’t really think I could be this thing my guardian said I was. But I was. I knew I was.

  “It isn’t that we don’t believe you…” said Mother.

  “What is it then?”

  “It’s that it would be hard for anyone to believe something like this, coming from anyone.”

  “I just wish you could see my guardian, then you would know. It’s standing right outside the window, right there…” My voice faded. It felt hopeless. My mother stood up. “There’s no point…” I said as I watched her cross the room to look outside. She pulled the curtain back and stared out into our yard.

  Then I remembered: ‘Humans affected by the power of angels…’

  “Oh my god.” Her voice was faint.

  “Do you see it?” My heart was in my throat. Please let her see it, please let her see it.

  “Like that Magritte painting,” she said, never shifting her gaze.

  “Like what?” What was she talking about?

  Slowly she let the curtains fall from her fingers. She turned and crossed the room. It was like she was floating in a complete daze. She didn’t seem to remember there was anyone else there. I wasn’t sure what I should do. Should I get up and hug her? I glanced at Daddy who had gone to the window to check for himself. But after a quick moment he turned around to look at both of us. He seemed just as worried as I did, but probably for a different reason. Now he knew that we could both see something he couldn’t, and that would concern just about anyone, I figured.

  Mother made her way to the bookshelf, pulled one of her large art books down and brought it over. She flipped through a few pages until she found what she was looking for. Then she came back to me and silently placed the book on my lap, open to a page.

  I looked down. I was looking at a painting, a portrait of a man and woman, she in a dress, the man in a suit and tie. Covering their faces was a white fabric, and they looked out of the picture as if posing casually for a photograph. Beneath the painting was the caption “The Lovers”.

  I ran my finger over the picture. “I remember this,” I said. “Why do I remember this?”

  “When you were little I caught you looking at this book. You were looking at this picture,” explained my mother in a far-off voice. She sat down softly on the arm of the chair. “I was so quick to take it away from you, and you burst into tears. I couldn’t tell you what
that picture had meant at the time. Your…biological father had once compared him and me to them.”

  “That’s…creepy…” I said.

  “It was meant to be romantic, like we could never really be together, something…something was keeping us apart…”

  “Like his being an angel,” I concluded.

  Mother didn’t react to that. She just brought her hand next to mine and flipped the page. The next picture was of the two figures kissing though their faces were still covered in the fabric. “Keeping us apart…” she said again, this time so softly I knew she wasn’t speaking to me.

  “I think I remember you being angry,” I said finally. It was a faint memory, I must have been very little at the time. “I remember…having nightmares.”

  “You did.”

  “I guess this is why I chose my guardian to look like that. These images really made a mark on me.”

  “They did…you had trouble falling asleep for weeks…” I looked up at my mother, and I saw her face had gone pale. “But he wasn’t a fallen angel,” she said once more to herself. “He was just a man.” She picked up the art book from me and looked at the painting, tracing its edges with her fingers.

  “He wasn’t,” I replied.

  My mother appeared to deflate in front of my eyes. In fact, she looked like she might faint, so I quickly stood so she could sit in the chair. She nodded absentmindedly as she took my place, and it was my turn to crouch at her side, holding her free hand. She was no longer dazed. The full weight of the reality had hit her all of a sudden, and now she was just in shock.

  Daddy went to get her a glass of water. I think he just needed something to do, felt helpless watching all this. She looked down at me, and we just stared at each other. I wondered what would happen now, how things would change now. It was enough for me having to deal with the reality of who I was, what I was—which I wasn’t sure I’d actually really dealt with, merely acknowledged—let alone my mother having to deal with who my biological father was. I couldn’t think of that man as my “real” father. He wasn’t. Daddy was my real father.

  Daddy came back with two glasses for both his girls, and we all sat in silence. Our lives had been turned upside down tonight.