Fallen Angel (Hqn)

by Eden Bradley

  “Do you remember who did this to you?”

  She turned her face away from him once more, pressing her cheek into the pillow, her jaw clenching, her eyes squeezing shut. Another tear slid down her cheek.

  Shit.

  He leaned in closer, said quietly, “You don’t have to tell me right now. Okay? That can wait. Just rest. Get better.”

  “It hurts,” she said quietly.

  “Are you in pain? I’ll get the nurse, have her give you something for it.”

  “It hurts to know I’ve failed. That I did this to myself.”

  “Angel, it’s not possible for you to have done these things to yourself.”

  She shook her head. “It is my own fault, my own failings. If I’d been good enough…”

  He was angry now, at whoever had put these ideas into her head. “No one deserves what happened to you,” he said fiercely. “No one.”

  She turned to look at him, her eyes glossy with tears. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do.” He stared down at her, willing her to believe him. “I don’t know very much about you, but I know that.”

  She was silent for several moments, then her face lit in a slow smile that dazzled him. She nodded her head. “Thank you.”

  He was speechless, overcome by her beauty, by the innocence of her face. By the depth of her blue eyes, as though even in that sweet face, she was a thousand years old, somehow. And beneath that sweetness was a sensual earthiness he couldn’t explain. But his body knew. His body knew the flawless heat of the skin on her cheek, her hand. He was going hard, even as he berated himself for it.

  “The doctor is coming in to see her,” the nurse said, bustling into the room. “We’re going to be taking her out to run some tests. Maybe you want to go get some food, Declan? Come back later?”

  “Yes, sure.” He turned back to the young woman in the bed. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  She reached for him, and he took her hand in his. She was still smiling at him. He had to force himself to give up her hand, to step out of the room.

  Ridiculous.

  This obsession with her was crazy. But he’d never met anyone like her. Hell, he didn’t know the girl, didn’t even know what he meant by that, exactly. She was like some unearthly creature. Truly like an angel come to earth.

  It had to be some sort of weird amnesia—the way she talked, that she thought she had no name. He’d talk to Stephen about it after he’d had a chance to examine her, run the tests, whatever they planned to do now that she was awake. Meanwhile, he’d see what anyone had found out about who had done this to her, who she was. He’d focus on getting information. And he’d damn well get his body under control.

  He went down the hall and outside, the fresh air cool on his face as he made his way to his truck, pulling out his cell phone as soon as he sat down.

  “Hello?”

  “Dad.”

  “Hi, Declan. What’s up?”

  “I need your help.” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Look, I know I’ve been a total shit and I don’t deserve anything from you—”

  “Cut the crap, Dec. Tell me what you need.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I’m not the one who’s been angry.”

  His father’s voice was gravelly, low. It always had been, but it had become even rougher as he’d grown older. Declan didn’t like to think about him aging. Growing weak. It made him feel as if he was running out of time.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

  “We don’t have to talk about it now. You called for a reason.”

  “It’s the girl…she woke up. And she has no idea who she is. She says she doesn’t have a name. She wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, but I got the feeling she was alert. Hard to say with her injuries, I guess. But nothing is adding up. And the sheriff’s office still isn’t telling me anything. I want to know, Dad. I want to know who I can talk to. I need to know where she came from, who did this to her.”

  “I thought you might. I’ve been doing a little digging through some old connections.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing so far. She sort of came out of nowhere. No missing-persons reports fitting her description. And no leads as to who did this. A boyfriend, maybe?”

  “I don’t think so. There’s more to it than that. Unless her boyfriend is some total psycho.”

  “That’s possible, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Can you talk to her again?”

  “Yes. But I don’t want to push her too hard yet. I don’t want to upset her. And enough time has passed that whoever did this has probably left the area already.”

  “Dec, it’s likely we’ll never find them,” Oran said quietly.

  “I know that. Do you really think I don’t know that, Dad? But I have to try.”

  “Jesus, Dec. Why do we have to do this now? You need my help and I’m willing to give it. For the girl. Hell, for you, whether or not you want to believe it.”

  “Fuck.” He ran a hand over his hair, dug his fingers into his scalp, squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay. Okay. I’ll put a lid on it. I appreciate your help.”

  He heard his father huff out a breath. “It’s no problem. I’ll help with this however I can.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be by to pick up Liam tonight. How’s he doing?”

  “Fine. He hangs out on the porch all day, eats like a horse. He’s good company.”

  “Good. Good. Okay, I’ll see you later, then.”

  “I can bring him by your place. You’ve got plenty going on.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Dad.”

  “I know.”

  He heard the stubborn tone in his father’s voice. Knew there was no point in arguing. Knew Oran understood perfectly well that he had his reasons for avoiding the house all these years.

  Declan flipped his phone shut, stared at it for a few moments. He damn well hated to ask his father for anything. But this wasn’t for himself. It was for her. He’d do anything he had to for her.

  There it was again, that crazy idea. But he couldn’t shake it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  Shades of the way he’d felt about Abby. But this was different. He was different.

  Yeah, a hell of a lot more bitter.

  It was true. But he’d lived with that bitterness long enough that he was used to it.

  God, he was thinking in circles. He must still be tired. But he had things to do. Like go harass Tim Bullock for information again.

  He stuck the key in the ignition and the big truck roared to life. He pulled onto the road, rolling the windows down, letting the scents of sea and cypress roll in.

  A mile down the highway he caught himself humming. That was new. What the hell was wrong with him? Or maybe something was right for once, which would sure as hell be hard to recognize.

  She made him feel good, the beautiful girl in the hospital bed. Good about himself. Just good, in general.

  Must be some sort of savior complex. But there would be plenty of time to psychoanalyze himself later. He was on a mission. He could help this girl. His angel. Be of some fucking use to someone again.

  Was that what he really wanted? To be of use to someone? Or was it something more?

  He refused to think of Angel as a substitute for Abby. And even if that had been partly true in the beginning, things had changed. Even just watching her sleep, waiting for her to wake up, praying she would come out of this whole. It made him feel a deeper connection to her than should be there, maybe. But the moment she’d opened her eyes and talked to him, it all felt all right. And for the first time in a long time he didn’t want to question anything. He could allow himself to feel good.

  It had been years. Too long, probably, and he had plenty of regrets. His relationship with his dad, although he wasn’t ready to resolve that yet. He wasn’t ready to let go of resentments held too long. He regretted relationships with wom
en he’d passed up because he just couldn’t handle it. So, why now? Why her? Why was it so damn important to him that whatever happened with her, there would be no regrets?

  She was a mystery to him. Yet he felt like he knew her in some strange way. He couldn’t explain it.

  He didn’t like anything he couldn’t explain. He was too goal-oriented to leave anything hanging in the air unanswered. But he almost didn’t mind when it came to Angel. He wanted to find out who had hurt her. But the rest—the strangeness about her, his response to her—didn’t bother him as much as it should.

  A shadow flickered over the truck and he looked up in time to see a hawk gliding across the road, wings spread, soaring. He didn’t know why it made him think of Angel. She was very much a part of the earth, but it was as if she wasn’t quite tethered to it.

  Jesus, he was getting philosophical now.

  He wanted to see her again, talk to her. He could hardly wait.

  Ridiculous.

  But she’d gotten beneath his skin, deep down, and he couldn’t shake her. He didn’t even want to. He didn’t know what he’d do when it was time for her to leave the hospital.

  And where would she go?

  Don’t even consider it.

  But she had nowhere to go, no family that anyone knew of, no way to take care of herself.

  He couldn’t stand the idea of her alone in the world. He could give her money to get an apartment, maybe. And hire someone to help care for her. She’d need that. And he could still see her…

  He stepped on the gas, hard, and the truck lurched forward.

  He’d go back to the hospital after he’d talked to Bullock, tell her that he’d help her.

  If only he knew who was going to help him get over this girl. This woman. His angel fallen from the sky.

  * * *

  SHE DIDN’T LIKE IT WHEN Declan was gone. The others—the nurses—were nice to her. But she only felt safe and happy when he was with her.

  The men had come to talk to her. Police, they’d told her they were called. She didn’t like the questions they asked her. She’d turned away from them, closed her eyes, pretending to sleep until they went away. She’d heard them tell the nurse they’d be back another time. She hoped Declan would be there. She didn’t want to face those men without him. They’d tried to be kind, but their faces were too hard, too eager. She didn’t like it. And she didn’t want to answer their questions. She wasn’t going to talk to the men about The Grandmother. Asmodeus. She would tell Declan, maybe, once she was feeling stronger.

  He said he’d come back. She hoped it would be soon. She was awake now, and unsure what to do with her time.

  She’d spent a few hours simply taking in everything around her. It was a barren place, this hospital. The walls were white, with just one small picture of flowers in a watering can. It only made her miss her garden more. She hoped someone would care for her plants, her herbs and flowers. She hoped someone would care for The Grandmother. She was getting old, and her body hurt. Who would mix her tinctures? Cook for her? Help her from her chair in the evenings?

  Maybe there would be another girl, a new Gift. She’d known there were other girls in the compound, even though she wasn’t allowed to see or talk with them. She could hear their young voices over the garden wall sometimes. Had heard The Grandmother make some muttering reference to them when she was not quite asleep or in pain. It made her feel better, knowing The Grandmother wouldn’t always be alone.

  She knew what alone was. If it hadn’t been for The Grandmother and Asmodeus she would have always been alone. As she was now. And she was too awake to call for Asmodeus; he only came to her when she was dreaming.

  She missed him. Her body craved his voice, his instruction, even in pain as she was. But her body had a new yearning. For Declan. Her body and her heart.

  She understood he had saved her. She would always be grateful to him. And he was beautiful to her, maybe more so because of her gratitude. His touch set her on fire, even his fingertips on her cheek, and she knew she would have responded to him this same way no matter the circumstances.

  But she would have to wait until her body had healed to show him how she felt. If he would give her the chance. She hoped he would not reject her, too. But she would try and try, as she’d been taught, until she was certain of her failure.

  She turned to the window to watch the twilit sky. The rain had stopped, leaving the fog behind. It rolled along the branches of the trees, soft in its shadow colors, shades of gray and white. It made her think of the stories she’d read, about the spirits of the trees who lived in the forest, hiding in the mist. It made her think of the sparrows who lived in the trees in The Grandmother’s garden, the hummingbirds who drank from the flowers, the call of the ravens, who were black as night.

  She was growing bored with her own thoughts when Declan returned.

  “Hey. You’re awake.”

  “Yes.”

  His smile was warm, his lips lush, his teeth strong and white. She saw the scar on his jaw again, felt a small twinge for whatever he had suffered. But it was hard to feel bad with him smiling at her.

  “How are you feeling? Is the pain under control?”

  “For the most part. My shoulder blades hurt where they were cut, but I can bear it. My leg is not bothering me. The medicine they give me helps.”

  “That’s good. What have you been doing, Angel?” he asked, stepping closer.

  “Telling myself stories.”

  “Stories? What kind of stories?”

  “Pretty tales of birds and rabbits. You know.”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  “I remember stories I’ve read, and then I take parts of them and put them back together again. In my head. It passes the time.”

  He seemed puzzled. “Ah. Why don’t you just turn on the TV?”

  “TV?”

  “The television.”

  She shook her head, confused.

  “You…don’t know television?” he asked, gesturing to a box with a dark window in it, mounted somehow close to the ceiling.

  “I don’t know this thing.”

  “Jesus.”

  Declan ran a hand through his dark hair, sat in the chair beside her bed. She wanted to touch his shining hair, to see what it felt like beneath her fingers. But she thought it better to wait until he no longer seemed so concerned.

  “Angel, you have no idea what a television is,” he said, his tone low, his brows drawn together.

  She wasn’t sure why this was so important. She shook her head again.

  “You really are an innocent, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I am innocent, untouched.” She felt excitement that he would broach this subject with her. Her body surged with wanting.

  “What?”

  “I am untouched by man, as I should be.”

  He flinched. Why did he seem so surprised? She didn’t understand.

  “Declan, should I not have said this to you?”

  “No, it’s fine. Fine.”

  But he was running his hand through his hair again, which she recognized already as a sign of agitation.

  “Angel. Have you thought about what you’ll do when you get out of here?”

  “Leave the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is not to be my place, then?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Oh.”

  She let her gaze wander to the window, where she could see the cool green treetops. She knew she should be paying closer attention, but this was all so confusing.

  “Angel?”

  She turned back to Declan. “Yes?”

  He sighed. “You’ll have to live somewhere after they let you go. I want to help you.”

  “I am to live with you, then? In your place?”

  “What? No. I meant I’d get you set up in an apartment, or a small house somewhere.”

  “Without you?”

  “I… Yes.”

  Her heart was hamme
ring in her chest, like the short, sharp clattering of the baby sparrows that had hatched in the garden one year.

  “Please do not ask me to go without you, Declan.”

  “Angel…look, I live alone in a house pretty much in the middle of the forest. It’s just me and my dog. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  “Why would it not be appropriate?”

  “Because you’ve just come through a trauma. You need to be taken care of.”

  “Will you not take care of me, Declan?”

  His hand went into his hair again. “I don’t… You need a nurse or something. And I have to work most days.”

  “Oh. I don’t want to be a burden to you. You have work to do, of course. I understand.”

  Disappointment beat a sad, steady cadence in her chest, but she would not tell him.

  “Angel, you really will need a nurse for a while.”

  “I can nurse myself. I always have. I cared for The Grandmother when she was ill.”

  “Is that who you lived with? Your grandmother?”

  “Not my grandmother. She is The Grandmother. The leader. She is my guardian. She was…”

  He pulled one of the small, hard chairs to her bedside and sat down, resting his palms on his knees. He wore blue jeans. The Grandmother had sometimes worn blue jeans. She had given her a pair of her own once, but she’d found them too restrictive. She much preferred dresses.

  Declan touched her arm briefly, making her focus on him once more. “Angel? Do you know how long you were with her?”

  “As far back as I remember. Almost.”

  “Almost?”

  She didn’t like to think of the time before. It was a blur, dreamlike. A happiness just out of reach. Too insubstantial to hold on to.

  Declan’s gaze was bright, intense, his brows drawn together.

  “Are these things important, Declan?”

  “Yes. I think they might be. Can you tell me about her? The Grandmother?”

  She sighed, running the fingertips of her unhurt hand over the edge of the white sheet. “She is very old. So old her skin is like the bark of the oak tree. Her eyes are dark and shining. She knows all there is to know. She taught me the ways of growing things, the herbs to heal and hurt. She taught me to cook, so that I can nurture the human body. She gave me books to study, and then she would ask me questions to be certain I learned as I should. All things. Of the earth and the sky. How to do things. What things are made of. She gave me books to read of strange people and places. Stories, so that I came to know people. Humans. She wanted me to know our faults. Our beauty. She guided me in all things.”