Dark Rising

by Monica McGurk

  I stretched out, falling into an easy pace that was perfect for an extended run. I let my mind wander as much as my legs, thinking through the unsettling normalcy that had descended onto our little party. Michael had been gone for two days. Neither Raph nor Enoch seemed to know where he was; presumably, he was restoring himself, back in angel guise, preparing himself for whatever came next. While Raph and Enoch remained watchful, they’d eased up on me, leaving me to think in solitude, trailing me on my forbidden sojourns through the city and not reprimanding me for extending and prolonging my time away. Raph had even let me watch the television news last night.

  I hadn’t been able to make a thing out in the local Turkish broadcast, but the pictures that filled the screen were sobering and clear enough for me to see that the world was falling apart, bit by bit. Missile strikes in the Middle East—uncomfortably close to where we were. Riots inside of refugee camps that teemed with graft and greed and violence, the lawlessness and disregard for life stunning. Brutal guerrilla groups targeting civilians in Africa. Gunmen shooting down children trapped in schools. It had been overwhelming, the parade of horrors that flickered in high definition, especially the tear-streaked faces of victims, of survivors, blown up large on the screen, their pain laid out for all of the world to see. I shook my head, trying to chase the images out of my mind, trying to forget that if it weren’t for me, maybe Michael would have been able to help some of them.

  I was glad Michael hadn’t been there to see it. It would have torn him apart, their pain compounding his until he erupted. The ferocity when he lashed out at his helplessness was breathtaking. And every day that passed, the intensity of it only increased. The space I had to breathe these last few days while he was away helped me keep my sanity.

  Even so, I missed him.

  It was hard to love someone and be afraid of them at the same time. To never know if your glance or your touch would be met with gentleness, a rebuff, or even scorn, in return.

  But it was probably harder for that person to see you looking at them with eyes full of fear and doubt.

  I shivered inside the shroud of fog that still enveloped me.

  Yes, I thought to myself. I still love him, maybe even more so after seeing him suffer.

  Suffering doesn’t make it romantic, you know. Henri’s voice sounded fed up. It just makes you both pathetic.

  I felt my outrage rising up. “I’m not romanticizing the situation,” I shouted into the air.

  But you are. You think his suffering is noble. Thinking so helps you ignore the fact that you are the cause of it. What is worse, you cling to the idea that your sympathy for his suffering is love. Your mind has twisted the truth, hiding it from you so that you can bear your situation. You rationalize it as if you were one of those nineteenth-century heroines in your precious books. But you aren’t Jane Eyre. You aren’t Cathy, being tortured by your love for Heathcliff. You’re not acting out a comedy of manners and misunderstandings that will magically resolve itself in the end, like Pride and Prejudice. You’re a simple girl caught up in a deadly race, your only ally someone just as likely to kill you as save you. Have you forgotten?

  “How could I forget that?” I cried, tears welling up, leaving me to run blindly through the already treacherous fog. “I wake up to it every day. My nightmares are filled with it.”

  My toe tripped over a loose brick. I gasped, sudden pain wrenching my ankle as I collapsed to the slick cobblestone, angry at Henri for distracting me, furious with myself for not watching where I was running. I huddled on the sidewalk right where I had fallen. Carefully, I tested my ankle, trying to bend my foot. Shooting pains radiated up my leg every time I tried to move.

  Henri? I sent my mind out, probing for his presence. Nothing. He was silent, most likely gone again, if history were any indication.

  I turned off my music and pulled my earphones from my ears. As I rubbed my ankle, I peered through the mist to check out my surroundings. I’d definitely wandered into a part of the city I’d not seen before. The signs on the storefronts were Arabic script, not the western letters used for Turkish. The streets seemed closer, somehow, the sad shops crowding close to the curbs where veiled women with small children in tow walked swiftly, looking over their shoulders as if afraid they were being watched.

  Instead of cozy, it felt oppressive.

  A gust of wind cleared the fog away in a billowy burst.

  I was at the head of an alley that wound between two blocks of shops and apartments. Lines of gray laundry hung overhead between the buildings, cracking in the gusts of wind that came shrieking off the water, chasing away the last lingering clouds of mist. Down the alley, a few men sat listlessly on crates, smoking and watching as a pack of stray dogs nipped at what appeared to be a runt from a recent litter.

  The puppy yipped as one of the bigger dogs lunged at his hind leg. Outrage flooded my system.

  “Hey!” I shouted, my breath still ragged from running. I pushed myself up off the curb and limped down the alley, ignoring the throbbing pain in my ankle.

  “Hey! Aren’t you going to do something?” The men looked at me blankly, and I wondered if my words had been lost in the snarl of the pack as they circled the helpless puppy. As I came closer, I could see how mangy and hungry they looked.

  I looked around and saw a long piece of discarded cardboard. It will have to do, I sighed, picking it up to test its heft. It felt flimsy in my hand, but there was nothing else long enough to keep me out of range of the dogs’ sharp teeth.

  The puppy whined again as the dogs circled it, teeth bared.

  I jumped in between the puppy and the pack, swinging the cardboard in front of me as if it were a sword.

  “Leave him alone, now! Go!”

  The dogs growled, a low, guttural sound that came from them as if they were one. They bared their teeth at me, but I noticed they had stopped moving.

  “I mean it! Go!” I waved the cardboard at them, doing my best to be menacing.

  The dog at the front of the pack began barking at me, his body jumping off the worn pavestones with the force of each protest. I stood my ground, unsure what the pack would do, while the puppy hid behind my feet.

  Abruptly, the pack’s leader quit barking and turned, trotting out of the alley as if nothing had happened. The other dogs trailed behind him, leaving me alone with the frightened runt, who was peeking out from between my legs.

  “Come here, silly thing,” I coaxed, scooping him out and letting myself plop down on the curb. He clambered up into my lap, trying to lick my face but getting tangled up in the wires of my earbuds instead. I laughed, disentangling him, while I checked him for sores.

  “Seems like you’re okay. Better than can be said for me,” I smiled ruefully as I looked at my ankle. It had swollen up to twice its normal size in the few minutes it took to shoo away the stray dogs. The puppy licked my face, and I laughed at the ticklish, sandpapery feel of his tongue.

  “You are hurt.”

  The heavily accented voice startled me. I looked up to see a young, pale woman, conspicuous for her lack of a headscarf and the skimpy clothing that did nothing to keep out the damp. Her dull blonde hair hung in lank chunks around her face. I gazed up at her almond-shaped green eyes, noticing the smudges of black makeup that only made the shadows under her eyes more pronounced. I glanced over her bare arms, stick thin in the tight, lacy tank top that clung to her body, and started. There, on the palest underside of her wrist, an ugly pattern of welts stood out from her skin. A number: 41. She’d been branded.

  She noticed my shocked stare and jerked her arm away, hiding it behind her back. I looked at her again—really looked at her—and noticed how her knobby knees stuck out from her legs, saw the bruises that at first melted into the half-light. A flash of recognition ran through me—she was just like those girls in Las Vegas: trafficked girls, girls who had been sold and abused, over and over, and would eventually be thrown away when they got too sick or too old, like a chewed-up stick of gu
m or a used tissue. She saw I understood and, just for a second, a look of shame and resignation flooded her eyes. Then, just as quickly, she shuttered her eyes, halting our connection as if she were putting on armor and girding herself for battle. She licked her lips and shot a glance over her shoulder, back toward the men who’d been watching the dogfight, before looking back down at me.

  “You shouldn’t be here by yourself.”

  “I’m fine,” I replied stiffly.

  “Fine? I think not.” Even though she was slight—really, almost as lean and hungry as the puppy in my lap—she loomed above me, blocking the little sliver of gray light from the sky. “Not good for a girl to be out alone. And now you are hurt, too? Where is your father? Your brothers?”

  I bristled at her words but tried to remain polite. “Thank you for your concern. But my friends know where I am. They’ll be here to help me soon, I am sure.” I darted a look over my shoulder, back up to the street, expecting to see Raph and Enoch coming down the alley toward me, but the tiny passageway was empty. Uneasily, I remembered that I’d snuck away without bothering to even tell them. They may not have even known that I had left.

  The girl shifted from leg to leg as if pondering what to do before shouting something back to the men in a language I did not understand. One of them jumped off his crate and came over to join us. Up close I saw the scattering of acne across his forehead and chin and the muscles straining against the T-shirt he wore underneath an army-issue camouflage jacket. His eyes were glassy, his breath shallow, as he looked me up and down.

  I blushed, angry at the presumption in his frank stare. I wrapped my arms around my waist, wishing I’d paid better attention while I was running.

  He smiled a great, fake smile. His mouth was full of fillings, his teeth yellowed and discolored. “Oksana here has told me of your predicament. My uncle, he has a car. He will take you home. Be a good girl and come now. Okay?” Without waiting for my answer, he reached down to grab me by the elbow.

  Instinctively, I jerked my arm away. “I don’t need a ride from you.”

  His face collapsed into a frown as he leaned in menacingly. “Do not make trouble. We try to help you. Nobody here to help you but us, see?” He waved a hand behind him, and I realized he was right. The alley had gone deathly quiet. Nobody else was here to see what was happening.

  Nobody.

  “I don’t need your help. I can make it home by myself.” I looked up at the young woman, silently beseeching her to help, but she had retreated, her back pressed up against one of the alley walls as she steadfastly refused to look me in the eye. I turned back to the man and braced myself for a fight.

  His eye twitched with barely suppressed frustration. “You will come with us,” he muttered between clenched teeth.

  He grabbed me under the shoulder, as if to pull me up. Before I knew what was happening, the tiny dog, which had been cowering behind me, lunged at the man and sank his teeth into his calf.

  The man dropped me, swinging at the dog in a blind range. The dog darted out of reach, positioning itself between me and the man, yipping its defiance while it darted side to side, marking its territory and daring him to cross its invisible boundary. The young woman shrank back into a dark doorway, leaving me alone to face the bully.

  He reached into his pocket. I watched with trepidation as he drew out a knife, which he unfolded with a determined look on his face. Jeering and wild-eyed, he swung the knife out in front of him, flourishing it before me and making a big show of jabbing it at the dog. The pup, unimpressed, went for his ankle, getting in a solid bite before darting back to defend me where I had hobbled to my feet.

  The woman was gone, now, but the other man, whom I presumed was the “uncle,” still sat impassively across the narrow way, watching us square off. He shouted something to the man with the knife, who yelled and swung his hand dismissively. The uncle simply shrugged and then disappeared inside one of the buildings.

  That left my attacker and me. I braced myself as he closed in. Above us, the sun burst from behind the clouds. The sudden light made me squint. I raised an arm to block out the sunlight, fearful of losing sight of him and giving him the advantage. On the gusting wind I caught a whiff of sulfur as a shadow suddenly loomed up, blocking the sun.

  “That’s quite enough.”

  A wave of relief swept through me at the sound of Raph’s stern voice. The man wheeled, surprised to be interrupted. Raph towered over him by a full head and shoulders, his menacing look unmistakable.

  “This is no concern of yours,” the man argued, holding up his hands in a show of innocence as he tried to impose himself between Raph and me. “We are just trying to help the poor girl find her way home. Much too dangerous for her to be on city streets by herself.”

  “I agree,” Raph said acidly, pushing past him to take me by the arm. “Come on, Hope.” I stumbled, weak-kneed, past the man, as Raph dragged me along. The cloud of tobacco stench that clung to my attacker made me gag as I brushed by, the sneer on his face making me want to vomit. Raph’s fingers cut into my arm as he pulled me faster, back up the alley. The man shouted after us, but that only made Raph pick up the pace.

  “I had it under control,” I protested weakly, wincing from the pain in my ankle as Raph dragged me along.

  He shot me a sideways glance. “I see. Well, it’s not me you have to convince. It’s him.” He nodded toward the top of the street. My heart fell as I saw Enoch, apparently trying to calm down a livid Michael who was pacing back and forth across the alley, gesturing wildly.

  “Of course,” I mumbled, remembering the whiff of sulfur that had caught my attention just moments before.

  Raph smirked at my disappointment. “Maybe your friend will help you out.”

  “My friend?” Raph stopped and turned me around. I looked down to see the puppy, trotting faithfully behind us, chest proudly raised and tongue lolling about. He looked almost happy.

  “Please?” I asked Raph. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, so I bent down and scooped up the puppy in my arms. The scruffy dog thrust his tiny tongue out, giving me a wet kiss on the cheek.

  When I drew my hand away from petting him, it was red with blood.

  “Look, Raph, he’s hurt. He must have gotten nicked by the knife while he was protecting me.” I held the dog up to Raph, sheepishly. “Would you mind?”

  The hard planes of his face dropped into a look of incredulity. “You want me to heal a stray dog?”

  “He’s not a stray anymore,” I insisted. “It will only take a second. Please?”

  “You’re only delaying the inevitable,” he warned, darting a glance up the alley to where Michael and Enoch were still arguing. He looked down to my swollen ankle. “But I’ll do it if you let me fix your sprain, too.”

  I hesitated, not wanting to let him use his angelic powers on me.

  Before I could refuse, he cut me off. “Trust me, it will be better for all of us if he doesn’t find you worse than when he left you.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, grudgingly. “But just the ankle.”

  “Yes, of course. God forbid I use my powers on anything serious, like, a—”

  “Just do it.” I interrupted, impatient with his lecture. I held the puppy out to him and he picked it up between his fingers like a dirty tissue.

  “You do make odd choices, Hope,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. The mutt squirmed, clearly uncomfortable being dangled in the air. “Help me hold it still.”

  I reached up and cradled the dog in my hands. “Shhh,” I soothed. “It will be okay. Just let Raph help you.”

  Raph spread his fingers wide, covering the pup’s entire body with his open hand, and closed his eyes. Instantly, the puppy stopped wriggling. A low, almost purring sound emanated from deep within his throat. Missing tufts of fur in his mangy coat miraculously filled in, and his coat became thick and glossy before my very eyes. I rubbed the spot where I’d found blood and found nothing.

  “That
’s incredible,” I whispered, amazed at how easily his touch could heal even the ravages of long-term deprivation.

  Raph opened his eyes, his hand still embracing the healed dog. The pup, now smitten with Raph, scrambled up his arm and nuzzled in under his chin, wagging his tail in bliss.

  “Ugh,” Raph said with a grimace.

  “I guess you don’t do cute,” I said, laughing at him.

  “Not on your life,” he said. “Get this thing off of me.”

  I plucked the tiny dog from his shoulder and tucked it in under my own arm. “My turn,” I said, warily.

  “Sit down, so I can touch your ankle.”

  I hobbled over the curb and leaned against the wall of the apartment building behind us, sliding my way down to a seated position.

  “Here you go,” I said, stretching my leg out at Raph.

  He slid his fingers under the leg of my running tights and pulled it up to give himself access to my ankle. It was puffy and purple, so swollen that it was barely recognizable as an ankle. I winced when he touched it, ever so slightly.

  “Not the first sprain you’ve had, is it?”

  I shook my head. “Hurry,” I urged, fearful that Michael would see us over Enoch’s shoulder and know something had happened.

  Raph smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, his voice a deep but friendly rumble. He felt his way around my ankle, turning it this way and that before resting his hands around it.

  A wave of warmth emanated from his hands, penetrating deep to my bones.

  “Ah,” I sighed, the disappearance of pain taking me by surprise.

  Raph didn’t open his eyes. But he started talking to me, a stream of constant conversation to take my mind off what was happening. “You were quite brave back there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Enoch heard you sneak out of the house. We were with you the whole time, not that far behind. But we’d changed out of human form to keep up with you unseen. You can imagine what it would have been like to have Enoch wearing spandex.”