Fallen Angel

by Heather Terrell

  “Of course not. I was just rereading the paper we’re turning in today.”

  Miss Taunton looked over my shoulder at the paper in my hand, smiled, and lunged for it. Her hand brushed against mine, and I received a very intense flash. I was in a fussy, formal-looking living room, complete with lace doilies on the end tables and cloyingly flowery wallpaper. For a second, I was disoriented, but then I caught a look in a mirror facing the couch on which I sat. Miss Taunton stared out at me. On her lap was a copy of Wuthering Heights. Tears streamed down her face. She was about to turn the page when I heard my name: “Ellie Faneuil.”

  The sad image faded, and I found myself staring right into Miss Taunton’s eyes. I nearly wanted to reach over and pat her hand—her life was that pitiful, that macabre—but then she gave me a sick grin. My stomach lurched, and she said, “Thank you for returning to us, Miss Faneuil. I can see how this paper would be far more interesting than what I have to say about Jane Austen. Why don’t you read your paper aloud to the class, since it appears to be so mesmerizing?”

  I rose from my chair, ready to be humiliated. My paper was titled “Sex in Pride and Prejudice.”

  One positive emerged from my mortification in English class. It wiped clean from Ruth’s mind the incident from Sunday night. Loyal friend that she was, she stepped forward to defend the teasing I took from my classmates right afterward. By lunchtime, the story had spread to Missy, Piper, and their lesser lights, and Ruth stood up for me with them, too. No one wanted to believe that I used the word “sex” in the title to denote “gender,” no matter how many times Ruth explained it or the fact that they actually heard me read the paper.

  I couldn’t wait for the school day to end, even though the afternoon presented its own challenges. Mercifully alone, I walked to the still-empty back lot where we’d parked. There stood Michael. He pulled a bunch of perfect red tulips from behind his back and handed them to me.

  “Thank you. They’re so pretty. Where did you get them?” I asked. They hardly sold flowers in the cafeteria.

  “I can fly, can’t I?”

  I was horrified, and my face must have shown it.

  He pulled me into his chest. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I was joking. I drove to the florist shop right down the road.”

  “Thank goodness.” I stayed buried in his chest.

  “I figured you needed them today.”

  I looked up into his face. “Oh, no, you heard about English.”

  Michael winced. “I think everyone heard.”

  I groaned and buried my head in my hands. “It really was nothing like everyone is saying,” I said, suddenly more embarrassed. At his mischievous smile, I groaned again. “I’ll never live this down.”

  “I have a plan that might take your mind off of it,” he said, and opened the car door for me.

  As I climbed in, I asked warily, “What’s this plan?”

  “I think it’s time we practiced your flying.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Michael didn’t mean that we should take off right there and then. Instead, he took me home, came inside to say hello to my mom, who’d just arrived from work, and stayed to make small talk with her before heading home to do his schoolwork. He did all the things you’d expect from a new boyfriend—except for the plan to meet me at my bedroom window at midnight.

  Dinner dragged on and on that night. My parents mentioned Michael a few times, but I was relieved that they seemed appeased by his visits that morning and afternoon. Mostly, I felt antsy; I just wanted to get up to my room and get ready for him. It was amazing that I was so willing to indulge in our strange abilities. I hated being the odd one out. I hated these “gifts” as Michael called them. Until I met him. Whatever these powers were, not having to face them alone was the gift. And tonight we were going to fly together, while wide awake. No more hiding in dreams.

  By the time my clock signaled twelve, I had been sitting at my window seat in the dark for nearly a half an hour. I had chosen sweats that could pass for pajamas should I run into my parents before I left, and I had stuffed my bed with pillows to make it look like I was in there asleep. Staring out the window, I willed Michael to appear.

  But when he finally arrived, nothing could quite prepare me for the sight of his face floating outside my window. With his blond hair looming white against the black night and his wide grin resembling a jack-o’-lantern’s smile, I stifled a scream. Breathing deeply to slow my racing heart, I unlatched the window and prayed that the creaky old windowpanes wouldn’t wake up my parents.

  “Ready?” Michael asked.

  I nodded, even though I was terrified. He stuck his hand through the opening and motioned for me to take hold. My hand was shaking, but I grasped on to him.

  Taking a leap of faith like no other, I let Michael wrap his arm around my waist and lift me through the window and into the air. We hovered two stories over the ground, and I clung to his arm like a life preserver. Even though I’d flown before, I’d always believed it to be dream—with no fears, no repercussions. Michael was right; once I understood that it wasn’t a dream, everything changed. This experience was entirely different, almost hyper-real.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered to me.

  Still clinging to his arm, I whispered back, “I think so.”

  “Okay, let’s go.” He pulled me tighter and we took off.

  I wondered where we were headed, but I couldn’t look. Instead, I buried my face in his shoulder. Sensing and hearing the wind as our speed increased, I could barely make out his words. “Ellie, you should really open your eyes. It’s an amazing view.”

  I shook my head. Michael wound his other arm around me.

  Other than the wind, we flew in silence. My body began to remember how to fly, and I could feel my shoulders expand and my legs streamline. But then my mind took hold—fear permeated my thoughts—and Michael had to carry me along.

  We slowed, and I could feel Michael lower us toward the ground. I peeked out through my formerly hermetically sealed eyes and gasped. We were still a good forty feet off the ground. How high had we been flying? I vowed to keep my eyes shut until I could actually feel the earth beneath my feet.

  With a thud, we hit land. Michael removed his arm, and dizzily I fell to the soft grass-covered ground. Rushing to my side, he helped me up with a joke. “You’d think you’ve never flown before.”

  I laughed. “I haven’t. Not awake, anyway.”

  “You were awake, you just didn’t know it.”

  “I think that’s the problem tonight. I know I’m not sleeping.”

  I stood up and looked around, my eyes able to see the finest details of the landscape. We were in a flat open field ringed by fir trees. The place seemed safe and secluded, the perfect spot for a first flying date. The very thought gave me pause; what was happening to my life?

  “Should we start?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, even though I really didn’t want to try. Not only was I scared, but I didn’t want to embarrass myself any further in front of Michael.

  He said, “When I was first trying, I found it easier to start high and dive down, rather than lift off from the ground. Unfortunately, we don’t have that option tonight. This is really the only secure area for practice.”

  Michael lined me up in front of him. Straightening both of my arms, he positioned them above my head. Then he whispered, “Relax,” and stepped back to watch.

  I felt like a dork. At first, I could not rise off the grass. But then I followed Michael’s advice; I closed my eyes and envisioned myself ascending. I tried to stop analyzing my every move and summon up the sensation from my dreams. With a lurch, my feet lifted up, and I started to fly.

  The feeling was different from my dreams, more halting and awkward. A sensation I knew all too well from my daytime life. My instincts competed for my attention, begging me to lengthen my arms and legs as I swooped through the air. When I surrendered to my impulses, I recaptured some of the grace from my “dr
eam” flying.

  I began to enjoy myself. I climbed and plunged through the night sky like it was my playground. As I made one particularly steep dive, I noticed Michael on the field below watching me. Instead of sweeping back up before I got too close, I decided to land next to him.

  But I didn’t quite know how to touch down softly. I landed on my bottom, knocking Michael down in the process. Laying there in the field, we burst into hysterical laughter. I started to wipe my tears away and sit up when he pulled me back down. He kissed me with such force it took my breath away.

  I forgot all about the flying and the field. I yielded to his hands as they ran up and down my arms and legs, tracing circles wherever they went. I submitted to his tongue as it explored my lips and mouth and neck with the lightest touch. And then I tasted the blood.

  I felt the blood—his blood—course through me. It burned like the wine I’d snuck once at a wedding, making me feel weak and invincible at once. As the blood surged through me, a breathtaking image seared my consciousness.

  He broke away. “Tell me what you saw.”

  A tiny droplet of blood remained on my lip. I licked it before answering. I wanted more.

  With effort, I said, “I saw a beautiful winged woman.”

  “Winged?” Michael looked confused.

  I closed my eyes and tried to remember the image more clearly. “Well, she didn’t have wings exactly. More like two arcs of light behind her shoulders.”

  He nodded, as if that made more sense. “Did you recognize her?”

  I suddenly realized who she was. “Yes, it was me.”

  He smiled. “Do you believe me now that we are special?”

  “Yes.” I did, even though it went against my parents’ teachings. Whether it was the heady influence of the blood or the flying or merely his proximity, it didn’t matter. I believed him.

  Michael kissed me again. I could feel myself being overtaken by him. But a tiny, nagging question stood in the way of being totally engulfed by him. I broke away. “How did you discover the way blood affected you? I would never have known unless you showed me.”

  Even though it was really dark, my newly sharp eyesight allowed me to see him blush. “I took this girl to the junior prom last year, when we lived in Pittsburgh.”

  “Yes?” I recoiled a little.

  “Well, we kissed at the end of the night and her tongue got cut by my teeth. You know how sharp they are—”

  “Yes, I do.” I felt sick at the thought of Michael kissing another girl.

  “I got the strongest sensation from it, much more powerful than anything I’d seen by touch. I learned something really disturbing about her childhood, something she had never told anyone.”

  “What was it?”

  He hesitated. “Her dad used to hit her mom. They got divorced when she was little, but I got these really clear images from her childhood. I felt so uncomfortable that I couldn’t even look her in the eye afterward.”

  “I’m sorry I made you tell me.” Although I wasn’t sorry that he couldn’t bear to be around her after the incident.

  He hugged me. “Don’t apologize, Ellie. It’s critical that we tell each other everything. Even really unpleasant things, okay?”

  “Okay.” I paused, weighing whether I should share my “unpleasant” speculation with him. There would never be a better time. “Then I should probably tell you that I think your vampire theory is off the mark. I did a little research, and I don’t think we fit the bill of straight-from-the-grave, bloodsucking ghouls. We must be something else.”

  He grew quiet. “We don’t have to resemble movie-character vampires to qualify, Ellie. We fly, and I don’t think you can deny the unique sway of blood over us. I don’t know how the whole ‘flash’ thing fits in, but really, what else could we be?”

  I had no idea, but from Michael’s tone, I could tell he didn’t want an argument. I kept quiet. I didn’t want to taint the magic of the night with the questions about our nature.

  His tone softened, and he squeezed me tight. “Anyway, what does it matter? We have each other, and we’re the same. Whatever we are.” He gave me a mischievous smile. “Even if I still think we’re vampires.”

  In a way, he was right about it not mattering. Soon enough, we’d have to figure out who—or what—we were. So I relaxed into his arms and let my questions rest. For the moment, I allowed myself to just be, whatever I was—with Michael.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I did transform, though the change did not happen overnight. I discovered that, as I acknowledged the existence of my powers to myself, they grew. A new Ellie struggled to come into being sooner than I imagined possible, one that liked the gifts—the differences—that surged beneath the surface. Almost as if she’d been sleeping for a long, long time and had finally awakened.

  At first, I managed to keep the two parts—the powerful nighttime self and the ordinary daytime self—completely separate. But then, my nocturnal side began to creep into the day. As I walked down the school hallways, I felt the power race through my fingertips, and a war began to simmer beneath my seemingly normal surface. I knew I had the ability to see the other kids’ true identities and darkest secrets—and I itched to do it. Sometimes, it was all I could do to stop myself from reaching out and touching them, even helping them with their secret problems. Was this compulsion part of whatever I was? It was heady, tempting stuff, and I could barely maintain the facade of the old Ellie.

  But I had to keep up appearances; otherwise my dual existence would unravel. This meant stopping for coffee with Ruth and having dinner with my parents, as well as paying attention in class and laboring at my homework. As if nothing had changed. Even though I’d tried to keep my normal routines with Ruth—lunch every day, coffee after school on Fridays, even the Odeon—I knew that the veneer wasn’t without cracks. I had a whole life with Michael from midnight to five A.M.—not to mention a whole new secret self—and it made regular activities challenging, to say the least. The role-playing made me feel exhausted and conflicted, particularly around Ruth, with whom I’d vowed to share everything.

  One morning, after the ongoing torture of Miss Taunton’s class, I stopped in the bathroom on the way to calculus. I needed a minute alone to compose myself.

  The bathroom looked empty, but as I washed my hands, I thought I heard an odd noise in the back stall. I turned off the water and waited a minute in silence. The total quiet made me doubt myself. I reached for the faucet to finish cleaning up when I heard a stifled sob.

  The girl must have thought the stillness signaled my departure, because the stall door slammed open a second later. Out stepped Piper.

  I was so shocked to see a pretty, popular girl crying in the school bathroom stall that I froze. Girls like her never showed weakness, at least not during school. When I finally regained my composure, my compassion, and my manners, I asked, “Are you all right, Piper? Here, let me get you something.” I rushed over to the paper towel dispenser. Although Piper and I usually ignored each other in school, we had long maintained a civil, albeit secretive, relationship outside of it.

  The typical school Piper resurfaced, and she waved her hand dismissively as if I was her servant. “No, no, Ellie. I’m fine. I’ve just got something in my eye.” I hated it when she reverted to her school behavior, as if I didn’t know the other side of her.

  I caught a glimpse of her in the bathroom mirror as she patted down her face. A wayward eyelash could not possibly explain her swollen eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and blotchy nose. If it had been any of her jerky friends, for whom I couldn’t muster up a shred of sympathy, I might have laughed at the lame excuse. But I couldn’t mock Piper under the circumstances.

  “Come on, Piper. You look really upset. Can I do anything to help?”

  She stopped her ministrations and gave me a cold, hard stare. “Yes, you can.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Don’t tell anyone that you saw me in here crying.” And with that comma
nd, she pulled out her makeup bag and started to powder her mottled face.

  “Tell who? Ruth?”

  “I don’t care about Ruth.” She waved her hand dismissively. Then her voice changed. “But everyone knows that you and Michael Chase are seeing each other. Don’t tell him, okay? He knows a lot of the guys. He could really spread it around if he wanted to.”

  Piper wouldn’t care so much if her friends weren’t the source of her tears. I was really curious to know what they did to cow the indomitable Piper.

  “Don’t worry, Piper. I won’t mention it to him or anyone else,” I lied. Then I handed her the paper towel I’d grabbed, brushing my fingers up against her hand ever so slightly.

  The flash hit me hard. I saw Missy just inches from Piper’s face, as if I were Piper. Missy was screaming, her expression venomous. I felt Piper cringe in terror as words lashed out of Missy’s mouth like a whip.

  “Who do you think you are? How dare you mess with my plans?” Missy shrieked.

  “I’m sorry, Missy. I just think that we might be going too far,” Piper said. I sensed that it was really tough for Piper to disagree with Missy, but for once, she felt compelled to take a stand.

  Piper shuddered as the malicious look faded from Missy’s face, only to be replaced by a smile. It seemed that she feared a grinning Missy more than an overtly malevolent one. “Really? Too far?” Missy asked, mocking her.

  “Yes,” Piper said, although her voice was weakening.

  Missy kept smiling and started to circle Piper slowly, like a hawk about to attack its prey. There was someone else standing behind Missy, but I couldn’t see who it was. Because Piper didn’t dare take her eyes off Missy. “It suddenly occurred to me that you might be a better subject for my plan than the person I originally picked,” Missy finally said.

  “Me?” Piper had to work hard to keep her voice steady.