Guardian (The Guardian Series Book 1)

by A. J. Messenger

  I have never felt freer. I remember my therapist once asked me during a session, “Who would you be without your anxiety?” I didn’t understand the question at the time and had answered flippantly, “Me. But without crippling panic attacks.”

  “But who would you be?” she asked again. “Think about it. Imagine a Declan free of anxiety. Who would she be?”

  I wondered if she was trying to suggest that I was creating my anxiety as a crutch, to serve me in some way. In that case, I thought she was a charlatan because I knew that wasn’t true. The attacks were debilitating and I would have done anything to be free of them. Why else would I have bothered schlepping to her office every week? I hated going because nothing seemed to help and I felt tremendous guilt because I knew the sessions weren’t covered under my mom’s insurance.

  I didn’t just blow off her question, though. I tried to go deeper and think about what she said but I couldn’t conceive of a life without panic.

  I was only half living. I see that now. Constantly being on the alert for the next panic attack cast a shadow over everything I did. I internalized an image of myself as broken—a freak—and I avoided any situation that might be a trigger. I was never able to go “all-in” or make plans without factoring in limitations created by my anxiety.

  Meeting Alexander has affected my life in many ways, but teaching me how to control my energy and rid myself of panic attacks has opened the door to the most profound transformation. I’m still “me,” only now I’m able to be more of me—Declan 2.0.

  I’m lighter, more confident, and willing to put myself out there. Liz and my mom, and even Finn, can see the difference. I told them that Alexander taught me some breathing and bio-feedback techniques that are working for my anxiety and they’re thrilled and, frankly, amazed. After all the years of agony, I’m finally free. Every time I think about it, my eyes well up. I feel like I can do anything now. Anything. My future is a blank page with a blinking cursor and I can fill it with any story I want.

  It’s Monday and I’m searching for Alexander after school. He’s driving me to my shift at Jack’s and I want to go home first quickly because I forgot my uniform. It’s only a t-shirt, but Jack likes us to wear them. Liz forgets hers all the time and Jack jokes about it, but I know he gets exasperated when we don’t remember. I can already hear Jack chastising us in my mind, “I’m trying to run a professional establishment here, ladies. If you don’t have the shirt on, how will customers know who to blame when we get their orders wrong?”

  I bump into Finn and he points me to the office. He saw Alexander and Molly there, talking with Ms. Preston, our principal, for their newspaper assignment. As I’m about to round the corner to the office building, I hear my name and instinctively stop to listen. I peek around the corner, shielded by the branches of a large lemon tree, and see Alexander and Molly in the middle of a conversation.

  “All I’m saying is that every story should meet a certain standard and I don’t think Declan’s was as well written as it could have been,” says Molly.

  “I thought it turned out great,” replies Alexander. “I saw a lot of positive comments online. She and Finn put a lot of work into it. If you had something different in mind you could have asked for changes before it was published. I’m sure she would have been open to your ideas.”

  “I don’t know if you know this, but she has a lot of problems,” Molly says in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “I didn’t want to upset her by asking for changes. I see her in the bathroom all the time looking like she’s freaking out. It’s kinda scary. Part of me wonders if she didn’t want the story to be better, because I’m the editor. She’s never liked me even though I’ve always been nice to her. I know you’re new here and you haven’t known her very long, but you should be careful. A lot of people say she’s unstable.”

  A long stretch of silence follows and when Alexander replies I hear a simmering undertone in his voice. “Molly, you’re a pretty girl, but what just came out of your mouth was ugly. None of what you said is true or kind, so don’t repeat it.” He takes a full breath in before continuing on a note of sincerity. “You have it in you to be better than that—deep down, Molly—I know that. You just have to open your heart. To what really matters.”

  There’s another moment of silence (stunned silence, I assume, on Molly’s part) and Alexander’s tone shifts to neutral as he gets back to business. “I’ll take these notes from our interview with Ms. Preston and write up the retrospective for you by next Friday. I’m in a hurry now to meet Declan. I have to go.”

  Molly is still standing with her mouth open, struck dumb. I pull back and lean against the wall where I can’t be seen. I have to admit I’m a little speechless, too. I’ve just seen Molly get her comeuppance and I should be thrilled but mostly I just feel sorry for her. She’s so unhappy.

  Alexander rounds the corner and startles when he sees me. By the look on my face he can tell that I’ve been listening.

  “How much did you hear?”

  “Most of it, I think.” I’m embarrassed to have been caught eavesdropping. “Thank you,” I add.

  “It needed to be said.” He takes my hand and we walk to the car.

  During the drive I tell him I need to stop at my house first so he heads in that direction. I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about what happened with Molly. I don’t want to waste any of our time together discussing her anyway.

  “Edwin asked that you join us for dinner tomorrow night. Do you have to work?”

  “No, I have tomorrow off. That’d be great.”

  He seems preoccupied, as he has been for weeks. I wonder if something is going on that he isn’t telling me about. “Everything okay?”

  He returns from wherever he was in his mind. “Yes. Of course. Why?”

  “You just seemed far away, that’s all.” I do my best to sound upbeat but inside I can’t shake a feeling of dread. “Is something going on with Avestan that I should be aware of?”

  He shakes his head. “We have it under control. Good always wins out. Remember?”

  I look over at him and he smiles at me but it doesn’t reach his eyes and the worry in my stomach grows.

  When we get to my house I run in and drop off my backpack and change into my Jack’s t-shirt and a pair of jeans. When I emerge, there’s a police squad car in Mrs. Binasco’s driveway two doors down and she’s talking with an officer. Mrs. Binasco has lived on our street since before I was born. Yesterday she shared pictures with me and my mom of an Alaskan cruise she went on with her four daughters. I wish I wasn’t in such a hurry so I could go find out what’s wrong.

  “What’s going on with Mrs. Binasco?” I ask as I get in the car.

  “I spoke to her before you came out. Someone broke in while she was on vacation. She didn’t notice anything was missing until today when she opened her jewelry box.”

  “Really? That’s awful. I hope she’s okay. I’m going to text my mom so she can check on her when she gets home from work.” I fish my phone out of my purse.

  “Are you making sure all your doors and windows are locked?” His voice is tense and it’s making me nervous.

  “Yes, we have an alarm. We’re always careful,” I assure him.

  He’s silent, contemplating. “What time do you need me to pick you up tonight?”

  “Seven.”

  He nods. “I’ll be there early.”

  Work is busy. In the middle of the dinner rush there’s a shouting match between two inebriated customers that leads to a fistfight in the eating area outside. I nearly get caught in the middle as I’m clearing tables and Jack has to call the police to intercede. The whole episode is disturbing and scary, to be honest.

  I ponder what Alexander said about how dark energy spreads. I don’t mention the incident when he picks me up from work but the worry in the pit of my stomach feels like a rock. I yearn to feel carefree again, like I did on Valentine’s Day.

  “Can we fly again?” I ask, impulsively, as he�
�s driving me home.

  “Hmm?” He’s distracted and only half listening.

  “Can you take me flying again like you did before?”

  “You mean right now?”

  “If you want to … or some other time if you don’t ....”

  “Sure, Declan. Whatever you say. We’ll work something out … I’m a little worn out tonight though. You mind if I just take you home?”

  “Oh. Okay. Of course I don’t mind,” I say, trying to mask my disappointment. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.

  He pulls into my driveway and walks me to the door, as usual, but there’s a faraway look in his eyes as he hugs me goodbye. Later, as I get into bed, it takes a long time to push my worried thoughts to the side so I can fall into the sweet release of sleep.

  “Do dogs and cats have auras?”

  Alexander and I are in my room studying for our chemistry test. Books and papers are sprawled out around us on the floor. My cat, Willow, is sitting on my lap while I tickle her cheeks and rub under her chin the way she loves.

  Alexander looks up, surprised at my non sequitur. We were in the middle of quizzing each other on atomic theory, which, in truth, he doesn’t actually need to study—he’s doing it for me. He explained once that when it comes to the science of the universe, our scientists have only grasped at the edges of understanding so far.

  “Yes,” he answers. “Some are more developed than others … usually with pets who have bonded with their caretakers over long periods.”

  I smile as I stare down at Willow and pet her. My dad and I rescued her from the shelter when I was in first grade. I remember it so clearly. There were endless cats to choose from and we were testing them out, putting them on our laps and seeing which one “chose us” my dad said. Some of the cats were skittish and scared and others were kind of pushy, nudging us with their heads to keep us petting them if we stopped for a second. Willow stood out. She was a gray tabby with tiger stripes, a little over one year old, and she was content to just be. She let me put her on my lap and she sat and purred. I said “Hi Willow” softly and she looked at me with knowing, intelligent eyes. I kept talking, telling her about myself and asking if she would like to come live with us and I swore she understood everything I said. My dad and I petted her for a long time and she clearly loved it but she was also fine to just sit and enjoy our company. I looked at my dad with hopeful eyes and he smiled and said it was obvious she’d chosen to be the newest member of the Jane family so we should take her home. I was over the moon.

  My mom wasn’t expecting us to bring home a pet—as I remember it, we’d just gone to get groceries and dad stopped at the shelter on a lark—but she took it in stride, like she always did. I drew a picture for Willow, to welcome her to our home, and my mom laminated it to preserve it. It’s a giant rainbow with hearts all around and I wrote underneath, “The King of Love and Rainbows, who is a cat named Willow.” I have no idea why I worded it that way. It’s still tacked on the wall above her food and water bowls and it makes me smile whenever I refill them. My dad used to joke that Willow thought she was a dog because she always greeted us at the door, came when we called her, and she followed us everywhere in the house, just happy to be around people. After my dad died, Willow didn’t go outside for months. She just kept going from room to room, looking for him and meowing. I understand how she felt.

  “What does Willow’s aura look like?” I ask. I know she must have a bright one.

  He smiles and leans over and rubs her head the way he knows she likes. She purrs contentedly. “Why don’t you guess? I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

  Willow stares up at me as if she knows what we’re doing. If it’s possible for a cat to smile, I swear that’s the look on her sweet little tiny kitty face. I close my eyes to sense her energy and end up grinning immediately because it’s so positive and loving. After a minute or two, when I have an image in my mind, I speak. “I see it as a bright, beautiful periwinkle.”

  I open my eyes to see Alexander laughing. “Did you have the giant box of Crayola crayons as a kid?”

  “What? Why?”

  “I love your color descriptions: cerulean, periwinkle, and what was that other one? Puce?”

  I smile. “I did have the 64-count box with the very cool sharpener built into the side,” I say as I toss a pillow at him. “But am I right? It’s periwinkle?”

  He reaches over and rubs Willow’s chin, smiling, “Yes, you’re right. I would have said blue but Willow agrees with you that periwinkle is more accurate.”

  Willow stands and stretches, stepping off my lap and sticking out her tongue in a big yawn. She must hear my mom pouring food into her bowl downstairs. Or maybe she’s just tired of being the star of the show. She walks over to the door and turns her head to look at me, waiting patiently. I get up, open the door, and she rubs against my leg, emits two little meows that I interpret as “thank you” in cat speak, and trots downstairs.

  I close the door and sit back down across from Alexander. “Can I ask a few more questions?”

  “Of course, I’ll always answer what I can.”

  “Is Edwin really your grandfather?”

  He looks surprised. “Yes. Once. Sometimes people with a strong connection find each other again later.”

  “And your parents died?” It feels awkward to ask about this, but I’m wondering and want to understand.

  “Yes. Many times. I’ve been both a parent and a child over many cycles.”

  “So you haven’t always been Alexander Ronin?”

  “I’ve always been me, with different labels.”

  “Why are you Alexander Ronin now?”

  “I was in this physical form in my final mortal lifetime and I continue to use this shell when I need to. We choose our names when we become guardians and I chose one from my past. ‘Alexander’ means ‘protector of man.’”

  I smile at that. How apt. “Help me understand. In one of your lifetimes you looked like you do now, but you had a different name? And you died and became a guardian?”

  He nods.

  “How did you die?”

  He instinctively touches the scar on his temple with his fingers. “That’s something I’d rather not talk about, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. God, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to pry.” I kick myself inside for asking—who would want to talk about something like that?

  We sit silent for a moment and I ponder what he told me. “If you looked like this in your last lifetime, aren’t you worried someone will see you and recognize you? From who you used to be?”

  He shakes his head. “It was many lifetimes ago.”

  “So that never happens?”

  “Rarely. But have you ever heard of a doppelganger?”

  “Wait, are you saying that when you see a person who looks like someone who died, you’re actually seeing that person as a guardian?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Most times, no, but it is possible. New guardians being careless, mostly. Or drawn to their past.”

  I run that over in my mind. “Who’s in charge?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who tells you what to do?”

  “We know what to do. If we need guidance, we can ask older souls.”

  “So there isn’t one guy?”

  “Or girl …” he replies.

  “Yes, of course. Man or woman. In fact, I’ll bet it’s a woman.”

  “If you’re asking about pearly gates and all that, I’m sure you know that stories like that are created by mortals to fill gaps in human understanding. The same way ancient people explained thunder or an eclipse as the work of angry gods. The science is actually far more interesting and beautiful than any tales mortals have told.”

  “But how do you know what to do?”

  “The same way cells know how to come together to form life. One cell begins to form the heart, another the brain, and still others continue to divide and grow and form every other part until you hav
e a perfect organism with all elements working together. Each cell knows where to go and what to do to create and sustain the whole.”

  I absorb his answer. I could listen to Alexander forever and still have more questions. “Do you remember all your lifetimes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we’ve all had multiple lifetimes?”

  “Some more than others. Have you ever met someone who seemed older than their years? Like an old soul?”

  I nod. “But why don’t we remember?”

  “You do, but not consciously. Everyone’s energy retains the knowledge learned in previous lifetimes. Sometimes children remember for a time—until the memories get crowded out as they grow older.”

  “You’re immortal ...”

  “Yes.”

  “Does that mean you’re always going to look like this, stay like you are now?”

  “Yes, when I’m in physical form.”

  “But I’m not.” I pause because it’s dawning on me what this means. “I’m going to keep growing older.”

  “Declan, shells mean nothing. Our energy will always be connected.”

  He searches my eyes and I know he sees the uncertainty. I don’t want to continue talking about it … for now at least. Each query only creates more and I don’t like where the answers are leading. There is one question, however, that I’ve wanted to ask for a long time.

  I look down at my hands, fidgeting nervously, and raise my eyes to meet Alexander’s. “Can I ask one last question?”

  He nods.

  My voice quivers with hope and I strain to get the words out. “Have you seen my dad?”

  There’s a long pause and then Alexander leans over silently and pulls me in softly against his chest. With my head resting on his shoulder and his arms around me tightly, he answers. “Oh Declan, I’m so sorry, babe. It doesn’t work that way.”