Fallen Angel

by Heather Terrell

My cheeks turned bright pink, and I continued staring down at the ground. “Me too, Michael. I was just so embarrassed. I’ve never behaved like that—felt like that—in my life, and then to have you—”

  He placed his finger over my lips and whispered. “Shh. Ellie, I’ve never behaved or felt like that either. And I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

  “Really?” I asked without shifting my gaze, too scared that if I looked at him he might just disappear like a character from one of my dreams or suddenly rebuff me again. Once again, Michael seemed just too good to be true.

  “Really. Can we start again?”

  Finally, I looked into his eyes. I smiled sheepishly and said, “I’d like that.”

  Michael led me down the steep library steps to his waiting car and opened the door for me. As I waited for him to get into the driver’s side, I noticed a couple walking up the stairs to the library. Their attractiveness caught my attention at first, and then I realized that I recognized the girl. It was Missy. She was walking very close to a tall, blond guy who definitely wasn’t Charlie, the senior I thought she’d been seeing since last year.

  The driver’s door opened, and Michael slid in. Before he said a single word, he leaned in to kiss me. The chaste action was a far cry from the night before, but the gesture helped assuage my fears and drove out all thoughts of Missy and whomever she might be dating these days.

  “Do you mind if we drive down to the ocean? There’s a great spot where we can watch the sunset,” Michael asked.

  “Sure, that sounds great.”

  To my relief, Michael launched into safe topics like homework and classes during the drive to the shore. I hardly noticed the change in scenery because I was so engrossed in Michael. And happy to be back with him.

  We pulled to the side of the road and got out of the car. Michael had parked at the flat top of a steep cliff that overlooked a beach. I crept over to the edge and looked down onto a picturesque cove that I’d never seen before, not in all my years living in Tillinghast.

  “What is this place?”

  “It’s called Ransom Beach.”

  The sun was just beginning to descend. Its fall cast purple shadows over the white sand beach below. Michael grabbed my hand and started to lead me down a jagged trail cut almost invisibly into the cliff face. He directed us so expertly down the precipitous path that I realized he must have come this way many times before. In minutes, we scuttled down the rocks onto the sand where the cove’s huge, craggy boulders wrapped around us like a cold embrace.

  Michael put his arm around my shoulder to shelter me from the moaning wind, as we watched the sun. We made small talk about how pretty it was, and then he asked quietly, “I’d like to talk about last night, if that’s okay.”

  I stiffened and then tried to lighten the mood a little. “We haven’t talked about it enough already?”

  He laughed. “Almost. I want to talk to you about the reason I think we respond so strongly to each other, Ellie.”

  “You do?”

  “Have you ever sensed that you were different from other people?”

  I had to laugh again, and not just because he was acting so melodramatic. Looking up at him, I answered honestly. “If by ‘different’ you mean more awkward than most people, then yes.”

  “Awkward? You’re kidding, right?”

  I shook my head. Even though I found my gawkiness funny sometimes, I definitely wasn’t kidding.

  “If you’re really serious, then you’ve got to understand that you are the only one who sees you that way. Everyone else sees you as smart and intimidating and worldly and pretty.”

  I almost snorted with laughter, but then stopped myself. “Yeah, right.”

  “Piper and Missy have been really friendly to you lately, haven’t they?”

  “Yes . . .” I wondered how he knew and where he was going with his question.

  “But they still ignore you sometimes, don’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Idiots like Piper and Missy seek you out at the same time they ostracize you because you scare them. They don’t know what to do with someone like you. Someone attractive and bright and completely uninterested in their games. Someone that they sense is different and special, but they don’t know in what way.”

  I was genuinely shocked. “Come on, Michael. I already like you; you don’t have to flatter me. I am not different and special.” My parents had worked long and hard to make me feel smart and important and loved, but at the same time, were always careful to remind me that I was just a regular girl, just like everyone else. With responsibilities to other people and the planet.

  “If only you could see how beautiful and unique you really are,” Michael said, and leaned in to kiss me.

  The howl of the wind and the increasing chill receded as I lost myself to him. He wrapped himself around me and kissed me with rapidly growing intensity. Just like when we were in the gym and his car, I could only see and think and feel Michael.

  Gently, so gently, he pressed me back into the sand. His kisses grew more insistent, and I enjoyed his mounting excitement. In a familiar motion, he parted my lips and ran his tongue along my tongue. He swept his tongue back into his own mouth and ran it along his own teeth, and I then felt his tongue lightly touch my own.

  A metallic taste flooded my mouth. Michael had caused the slightest drop of his blood to drip onto my tongue. The sand and the wind and the cove disappeared, and I experienced a powerful flash—much stronger than I’d ever experienced before. I saw myself on that first day of school, walking down the hallway with Ruth after the episode with her and Missy. I watched as I whipped my head in Michael’s direction, and I couldn’t believe how I appeared. My pale skin and eyes looked striking against the sleek blackness of my hair, and my long, lithe body was outlined in a glowing light. As seen through Michael’s eyes, I was indeed beautiful, almost ethereally so.

  Just then, the upper school hallway faded, and I saw another, more disconcerting image of myself. I watched as I elevated to Michael’s second-floor bedroom window and stretched out my hand in an invitation to flight. It was a scene from my dream.

  I drew back from Michael’s kiss, and the image disappeared. Pushing myself up from the sand, I asked, “What was that? How did you know—”

  “How did I know that you saw images like that? That you get insights into other people’s thoughts and feelings and baggage?”

  “Yes.” I could barely breathe.

  “How did I know that you dream of flying? And that, last night, you flew by my bedroom window in your dream?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ellie, I told you that you are different. We are different. And that difference means we are meant for each other.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Different—what did Michael mean by different? I was too freaked out to ask. I was also too terrified—of him, the images, even myself—to stand there next to him on that remote beach as darkness fell around us. I felt betrayed, too. Had he orchestrated the whole reconciliation just so he could bring me here and frighten me? And how did he know about my flashes? About my dreams? Something was off. I backed away from him and headed toward the rocky pathway leading to the road.

  Michael hurried after me. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I turned around and said, “Well, you did.” Then I kept moving up the path.

  I felt his hand as he reached out for me. “Come on, let me help you back up the trail.”

  Keeping my hands glued to my sides and marching forward, I said, “No thanks, you’ve ‘helped’ enough. I’ll make my own way.” I didn’t want him touching me just then. What if he could transmit more of his thoughts and images to me—or, worse, obtain more of my thoughts and images?

  The sun had almost sunk beneath the horizon, and the pathway was getting really hard to see. I trudged ahead as if I knew what I was doing—and where I was going. As I made my way along the narrow path, I heard some rocks slide down the steep
cliff face. The sound startled me, and I lost my confidence and my footing. I started to slip, and Michael grabbed me just in time.

  I sat for a moment to catch my breath. Since I didn’t experience any weird flashes as he pulled me up, I figured that I should accept his help the rest of the way. I walked with his hand on my arm until we finally reached the peak. There, I tried to shake off his hand so I could walk to the car on my own. But he held tight.

  “Ellie, look at me.”

  I didn’t want to look at him. As we had hiked up that treacherous path, I had thought about what had passed between us. Whether or not the sensations were real—and I wasn’t ready to tackle that just yet—I was furious. How dare he bring me to such an isolated, even dangerous, spot to inflict all this on me? And I didn’t want my anger to soften when I looked into his eyes, which I suspected it might.

  “Please, Ellie.”

  I kept my gaze fixed on the ground. “Why should I, Michael? You dragged me out here to this remote beach to scare me with some kind of game.”

  “Game?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think that the images I shared with you were some kind of game?” He sounded shocked, even a little mad. I didn’t dare look at his face.

  “Yes.” In truth, I wasn’t sure. I’d experienced enough flashes, visions, or whatever you wanted to call them, of my own to suspect that they might be real. But I didn’t want to admit it out loud to him—because then I’d have to face it. And I desperately wanted to be regular, like my parents had always told me I was. I’d never had any trouble thinking of myself that way until right now. I did not want to be different, especially not in this weird way.

  “They were no trick, Ellie. You are different. We are different.”

  “We are not. I don’t know how you did what you did, but there’s nothing different about either of us.”

  I felt Michael stare at me, and I couldn’t keep my eyes averted any longer. Even though it was fairly dark, I could see the startling greenness of his eyes. I refused to let them unnerve me, so I met his gaze. He released my hand. Then, very deliberately, he walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out at the ocean.

  “Michael, what are you doing?” I was fuming, but I didn’t want him to do anything crazy.

  Twisting toward me, he asked, “Are you so sure that your flying is just part of a dream? That you are just a regular girl?”

  When I didn’t answer, Michael turned back to the sea. He stood frozen for a moment, a black silhouette against the remnants of the simmering crimson sky. For a second, I thought he wanted a moment alone, to cool off. So I walked away from him, in the direction of the car, and then turned to see if he followed.

  But Michael hadn’t followed me. He hadn’t even looked back at me. Instead, in that moment, he stretched out his arms and dove off the cliff.

  I lunged for him, but I was too far away. Only the precipice stopped me. Frantic, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled to the very edge. I scanned the cliff and beach below, but could make out nothing but the blue-gray rocks and the white sand. And then I screamed.

  Within seconds, the shock subsided and the obvious occurred to me. I needed to go back down there to search the cliff side and beach for signs of Michael. He could be hurt, or worse, given the sixty-foot drop. The very thought of “worse” started me crying. I felt so guilty, as if my lack of faith in him had pushed him over.

  But tears wouldn’t bring him back. So I wiped my face and struggled to my feet. Just as I was about to head down the path, I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned around, thinking that some passerby had heard my screams. I welcomed the help. But I was wrong.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was Michael.

  Michael. Alive. Unhurt.

  I could have killed him.

  “How could you do that to me?” I yelled.

  He had the audacity to smile. “Do what? Fly?”

  “Trick me!”

  I spun around, away from him and toward the car. Of course he had tricked me. The pieces all fit together. He had brought me to this secluded spot with this whole scheme mapped out to make me believe some crazy fantasy about our shared “difference,” whatever that was. And as a last-ditch attempt to convince me, he staged a “flight,” really a premeditated jump into some cliff-side niche he obviously knew well, followed by a “magical” reappearance. Why he had gone to all the trouble, I didn’t know. Clearly, he didn’t need to resort to sleight of hand to get me.

  “Boy, this sure isn’t going the way I’d hoped,” I heard him mutter to himself.

  I kept walking.

  “Ellie, it was no trick. Surely you must know that the only way I’d survive a leap like that is by flying. I thought you needed to see the truth to believe what I’ve been telling you.”

  I stood by the passenger car door, waiting for him to open the lock with his keys. I didn’t look at him or speak. I could see that any effort would be of no use; he was going to stick with his story regardless. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was sit alone in a car with him, but I had no choice. I wanted to go home.

  He kept on trying to explain himself—“ourselves,” he kept repeating—on the ride. But I literally couldn’t hear him. I clung to my anger at him as a way of blocking him out. Of blocking out whatever feelings I still had for him and whatever truth might lie deep within his words.

  I didn’t bother to say good-bye as I got out of the car. Instead, I ran to my front door and closed it behind me. The compulsion to race up the stairs to my bedroom and bury myself under my quilt was strong. I just wanted to forget—about the night, about Michael, about all the weirdness—and awaken to a fresh, new day. But my parents were waiting for me in the kitchen.

  “Where have you been, Ellspeth?” my dad asked in an alarmed voice I’d never heard from him before. And he used “Ellspeth”—which he never, ever did.

  “At the library.”

  “Really?” Now it was my mom’s turn to use a totally foreign, troubled tone.

  “Really.”

  “Is there anything you want to tell us, Ellspeth?” It was my dad’s turn again.

  “No,” I answered. But as I uttered my denial, I remembered that I had told them that I’d be at the library after school with Ruth. And I never called Ruth to tell her that I wouldn’t be there, that I’d be with Michael instead.

  I knew what my mom would say before she said it. “Then why did Ruth call here over two hours ago looking for you—from the library?”

  I gave the only excuse that I could in the circumstances, even though it created its own host of problems. “I was at the library, Mom. But with Michael, not with Ruth. And then we left to get a cup of coffee.”

  “The boy from the other night? The boy from Guatemala?” my mom asked.

  “Yes.”

  My parents exchanged a glance I couldn’t read.

  “Ellspeth Faneuil, you explicitly told us you would be at the library with Ruth. You know better than to leave the library with someone else and not inform us. Especially since it was with a boy we haven’t laid eyes on for three years,” my mom said, scolding me for the first time I could recall.

  “I’m really sorry. I should have called you.”

  “Yes, you should have. You should have turned on your cell phone, at least,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you, Ellie?” My dad sounded so hurt that it brought tears to my eyes, for the second time that night.

  “I just forgot, Dad.”

  My dad sighed. “Oh, Ellie, if you only knew how important you were, you wouldn’t scare us like this or place yourself in jeopardy. You are so special, not just to us, but—” What on earth was my dad saying? Calling me “special” went against everything they’d taught me.

  My mom uncharacteristically interrupted him. “What Dad means is that we love you and we want you to be safe. We thought that we had fostered a trust among us, but we can see that the teenage years are putting that to the test. You are going to hav
e to be honest with us from now on, is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mom.” At that moment, I really meant it. I’d do anything to avoid seeing that wounded look on either of their perfect faces. They looked like they’d aged ten years in that one evening.

  They stood up and gave me a hug. The squeeze reminded me that my body ached in exhaustion from all the evening’s tumult. I yearned for sleep.

  “Do you mind if I head up to bed?” I asked.

  “Of course not, Ellie.” My dad gave me a kiss good night, and then smiled. “There’s just one more thing.”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “We’re going to need to reacquaint ourselves with this Michael.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I expected that rest would elude me even though my body desperately craved sleep. I guessed that thoughts of Michael and the cove and his cliff-dive would prevent my eyes from closing at all. But the moment I crawled under my quilt and laid down on my pillow, I was out.

  Well, out to this world, anyway. Instead, I entered the familiar world of my recurring dream. I awoke in that world with a stronger urge to fly than ever. The impulse propelled me out of my bedroom window and onto my usual route. I soared through Tillinghast’s old cobblestone streets with new speed and reckless abandon. Although I made the customary stop at the village green with its whitewashed church gaping at me like some cyclopic eye, it was quicker than ever. I had the feeling that there was somewhere else I needed to be.

  Before heading to the shore like I usually did, I followed the blue light coming from a house near the beach. From my last dream, I knew this was Michael’s house. Although I remembered what had gone on between us earlier that day in the real world, the knowledge did not lessen my desire to see him in this dreamscape. I didn’t feel mad at him anymore, just peaceful and excited to be with him.

  I went immediately to the second floor bedroom where the light came from—Michael’s bedroom. As before, he sat at his desk, staring out at the sea, his blond hair bright against the darkness. I flew close to his window, but unlike my last dream, the wind didn’t compete for my attention to Michael. I reached out my hand for him.