Angel Realms

by Malynn, Vivienne

  “People will do many things that seem extreme for what they believe,” Jeff continues, staring intently at Ethan. “Especially to those who meddle in sacred things.”

  There is a slight pause as the somberness of the mood sets in, followed by Jeff’s light hearted interruption. “But that’s just a story. I don’t believe Pythagoras would have allowed killing, he was a great lover of life in all its forms. Far ahead of his time he was.” Jeff smiles broadly, seemingly satisfied with the attention that Ethan and I have given him. He stretches out his arms scooping us both up like a hawk guiding its young with its wings. “Well I have a meeting to go to and have to be on my way. Perhaps you and Kyra can chat some more on the porch swing. But not too late.”

  Chapter 4

  On the porch, Ethan and I sit on opposite sides of the swing, leaving a foot between us. It’s clear he’s the old fashioned type, which is fine. I have no desire to get into a relationship. They always spell trouble in the end. Besides, I am still uneasy about his comments on God’s revenge. He’s probably just some religious nut who sees me as nothing more than a hell bent sinner.

  He is the first to strike at the wall of silence between us. “I’m sorry about getting a little…stirred up in there.”

  “You were stirred up alright,” I say, making my annoyance apparent.

  “I can be a hot head at times,” he says, leaning in a little closer. “I don’t mean to come off so strong. I just get passionate about things.”

  “Like revenge,” I say bluntly.

  He smiles like one who is disarmed and has no retreat. Sighing a moment, he then continues, “I grew up far from here.” He speaks as though he is older than he is. “There we were poor. Still we loved each other. My family and I. That is until one day a man came into our village and murdered them brutally.”

  “Your whole family? That’s awful,” I say with anguish. I have heard of people from small villages in Bosnia or places like that who have their families killed in times of war. However, up until now, I have never spoken to anyone who has gone through it. “What did you do?”

  “What could I do,” he says solemnly. “I tried to find the man who did it, but by the time I recovered, he was long gone.”

  “What about the authorities?”

  “Where I came from, there were no authorities.”

  “So you came here?” Not exactly the place I would pick.

  “After much time wandering alone,” Ethan replies, “I came here.”

  I relax a bit, allowing myself to lean closer to him. “So you’re on your own, without a family. I guess that makes us both drifters,” I say, glancing into his dark eyes.

  He returns my glance. “I guess it does.”

  We sit for a moment looking at each other, but soon he breaks off, looking off in the distance. I come to my senses and quickly lean back against the arm of the swing. I am ashamed for getting so drawn in. I decide to try and change the mood. “So have you known the Gregor’s long?”

  He looks around distractedly, as if focused on something more important than conversing with me. A few moments go by before he notices that I have asked him a question. “Sorry. You were saying something.”

  “I asked if you knew the Gregor’s long.”

  “No,” he says. “I started working for Mr. Gregor this afternoon. He mentioned you had just arrived and he would like to have me meet you.”

  I shake my head. “Of course. I’m here less than a day and they’re already trying to hook me up with someone.”

  “They mean well,” Ethan says. “At least, I think they do.”

  “I guess so.” I know he’s right. I always feel that other people are judging me and here I am judging them. Compared to the low life’s I often get put with, these two aren’t that bad. I can deal with a little craziness.

  “They really seem like nice people,” Ethan adds.

  “Yes. Well, unless you’re having dinner with them,” I say.

  Ethan laughs. “True. Mrs. Gregor is strung a little tight.”

  “A little,” I say facetiously. “That woman needs some kind of medication.”

  “The medication may be the problem,” he says.

  I laugh. It’s been a while since I laughed. It’s been a while since I felt safe enough. I could get used to this feeling. But even as I think this, my thoughts drift to my past. No matter how hard I try to push them aside, they fight their way back, like demons that won’t leave me alone. I know it’s only a matter of time before I let them in. Like a bad habit, I just can’t shake. They will surface again and I will need the anger to sooth the pain.

  Ethan puts his hand on mine; the touch pulls me from my thoughts. “You look lost in thought,” he says. His voice is soothing and calm.

  “It’s nothing,” I say.

  “You’re too young to have so many worries.”

  “Too young? You’re what—a year, two years older than me.”

  “It is an expression,” he says. “My people say that youth and beauty should never be wasted on worries. The way I see it, that gives you two reasons why you should never worry.”

  I can’t help but blush. For someone that comes off shy, this guy is smooth. “You’re sweet.”

  “No, the truth is sweet.”

  A short chuckle bursts from my chest. Did I just giggle? I can’t believe I just giggled. It’s like I’m a fourteen year old girl at her first dance. This is really a great impression I am making.

  “I apologize,” he says. “I embarrassed you. That was not my intent.”

  “No,” I protest. “I’m not embarrassed. It-it’s just I’m not used to someone speaking to me in that way. I mean with the flattery and everything.” I squirm nervously. “Are you coming on to me?”

  “I’m sorry. My intentions are not clear. It is not my wish to flatter you in order to gain something. I only wish to express what I see.”

  Another giggle, which I manage to choke down in a less than feminine way. “Look,” I say after regaining my composure. “I’m not looking for anything intimate. So maybe we should keep this just on a friendly level.”

  Ethan smirks. “That is my intention as well,” he says.

  “Good,” I say somewhat deflated. Despite my objections, it was nice to think that he was hitting on me. Now it just seems that he is genuinely a nice guy and can’t help himself. He’s probably gay. I bite my lip for even thinking this. “So have you lived here long,” I say, trying to divert my thoughts to anything that won’t make me feel like a complete fool.

  “No,” Ethan answers. “I got here shortly before you did.”

  “You mentioned you have work.”

  “Yes. I work for one of the shop keepers in town, Ben Shaker.”

  “Does he sell meat. ‘Cause I have a feeling that I am not going to get much of it here.”

  “No. He deals with…mmm…unique things.”

  “Like a curiosity shop.”

  “Curious would definitely describe it,” Ethan says. “I personally don’t spend much time in there. I just take his orders from the back and deliver them.”

  “If I swing by there, will you be there,” I say. Then I realize just how desperate I sound and decide to keep my mouth shut.

  “I would like that,” he says. “But I am sure I will see plenty of you here. I will be working with Jeff on the landscaping.”

  “Awe, yes. Jeff’s yard. Besides that painting, it’s all he’s talked about so far.”

  “Well, he does like to keep up appearances,” Ethan says.

  “And how about you,” I say. “What do you think of appearances?”

  Ethan smiles riley. “I like to think there is more to things than meets the eye.”

  “Even me?”

  His grip tightens briefly on my hand. “Especially you,” he says as our eyes meet for a short moment then break. “Well, I must be going. I have work in the morning and you must be getting tired after such a long day.”

  “I’m okay,” I say. Again with the
whole desperate me thing. I feel like beating myself over the head, but that might bring questions of my sanity.

  “In any case, you shouldn’t be out this late at night,” he says as he stands and surveys the street. “Who knows what could be lurking about.” He grins as if it is a joke, but there seems to be a hint of seriousness in his words as he looks around. It seems he is always looking for something or hiding from it.

  “Speaking of lurking things,” I say, “do you happen to know a guy—tall, blue eyes, sandy blonde hair…”

  “Are you looking to replace me already?” Ethan asks.

  “No, it’s just that I’ve seen him twice today, once on Main Street, and once across the way. He keeps staring at me.”

  “Well, I can’t blame him for staring,” he says. “And if it wasn’t for the description, I would say he’s a creeper. Still, it’s best to stay clear of those sorts. You never know what they’re up to.”

  “So you’ve never seen anyone around like that,” I say, ignoring his first comment.

  “Can’t say that I have,” he replies, “but I haven’t been here long. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for him. Do you want me to get his number while I’m at it?”

  “You’re not jealous are you?”

  “I’m just very accommodating,” he says.

  “You’re sweet,” I say.

  “That’s the kiss of death. Saying a guy is sweet is like saying he’s a eunuch.”

  “Well, after the men I’ve been around, sweet is the best compliment I can give.”

  “In that case, I am flattered,” he says as he takes a long bow. Scooping up my hand, he places it on his soft lips, a long lost custom that should never have died out.

  “Where are you from?” I ask.

  “Now, now. Let’s leave a little mystery,” he says with a wink. His stride is light as he makes his way down the porch and across the steps to the fence gate, not even arousing the sleeping dog that sits as supposed guard. With a last wave of his hand, he is gone from sight into the night air and I am left alone on the swing.

  It is quiet and I soon realize what Ethan had warned me about. Despite my solitude, it seems that I am being watched, as if the shadows themselves are leering at me. A shiver comes over me, though there is no coldness. I stand rigidly and move toward the door. As I do, I notice the curtains on the window drop quickly, swaying with the movement.

  It’s just nosey Mrs. Gregor, I reassure myself. Is it even possible to know if someone is watching you without seeing them? If that is true, why do I still feel like I am being watched? I glance behind me. The street is empty. Just the shadows that seem to move gently back and forth in the flickering light of the porch lamp. I reason with myself that the lamp is the cause. The light seems to fade though and the shadows drift ever closer.

  A dark feeling grips me and I do not care to be alone anymore. Grasping for the door, I yank it open and run inside looking behind me as the last faint embers of the lamp’s light goes out. The darkness seems to reach for me, but I slam the door. As I do so, something touches me lightly on the shoulder. My heart freezes in its beat, and without thought, I spin around, pushing myself back against the door.

  “My you’re jumpy,” Justine says. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yes, fine,” I say abruptly. “Just a little nervous that’s all.”

  “Nervous about what.”

  “Everything’s so new and…”

  “I know it’s a tough transition,” Justine interrupts. “But you’ll get used to it.” She puts her hand on my arm and squeezes it warmly. “I wanted to apologize for getting upset at dinner. I know our practices may seem a little strange, but they mean a lot to us.”

  Breathing steadily now, I reply, “I understand. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “It’s alright dear,” Justine says. “You couldn’t have known. I guess this will have to be a big adjustment for both of us. I don’t want you to think we don’t want you here, because we do. Jeff and I aren’t allowed to have children.”

  “You mean you can’t have children?”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean,” she corrects. “That’s why when Mr. Hammond offered to place you here, we just jumped at the chance.”

  “You knew Mr. Hammond before?” I ask.

  “Why yes. Everyone in town knows Mr. Hammond. Such a special one he is.”

  I had never heard of a case worker making a special placement like that. Usually, a foster child is placed with the next family on the list. Mr. Hammond must have really pulled some strings to get me here. Hammond would not have gone to that trouble, if he didn’t feel it was important. But what could he possibly hope to gain from sending me here? He probably feels this is his last chance to set me straight. I’m partly angry that people think they have to fix me, but at the same time, I know that Hammond’s efforts are well intentioned. I owe it to him to at least try and see what good will come from this place.

  “I’m glad you were willing to take me,” I say. “It’s hard to find families who will take teenagers, especially troubled ones like me.”

  “You’ve had a hard life,” she says. “I can’t imagine what you have gone through. But I just want you to feel safe here.”

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  Justine sighs a deep sigh of satisfaction and then, clasping her hands together and rocking back on her heels, says, “You should be off to bed. I have some errands to run tomorrow and I thought it was the perfect time to show you around town.” She pats me on the arm as she guides me to the stairs.

  I say goodnight and make my way up the stairs to my bedroom. My nerves are calm now, thanks to Justine. But there is still an uneasiness about the experience. Afraid of the dark… shadows trying to get me... men lurking around watching me… These were all the delusion of a mad woman. Everything my mother would rant about. Am I going crazy like my mother? It is my greatest fear.

  I push the thought away, but I know I will have to address it eventually. Tonight I just want to sleep. The thought of a long night sleep is welcoming and as I make my way to my bed, I feel almost tranquil. Then I see it, the note from my mother lying on my pillow as if someone purposely put it there. I trace back in my mind, but all I can think of is that I had put the letter in the envelope, which I stashed away in the night stand drawer with the locket.

  Picking up the note, I see the locket resting under it. I couldn’t have put it there. But who else would have. Now people are coming into my room, going through my things. Either someone is trying to make me think I am going crazy or—again the thought. Maybe I am crazy.

  I look at the note. The words jump out at me again: TRUST NO ONE. The final words of a mad woman to her daughter. Crumpling up the paper I throw it across the room as if I could transfer all my anger to it, but I can’t. Instead I begin to sob. Through my tear filled eyes I see the locket and the sign engraved on it. A flash of recognition comes. That’s where I had seen the symbol from the painting it was similar to the one on the locket. But why would my mother have something like that? And why would she give it to me?

  I collapse onto the bed and close my eyes. The questions swirl around my mind with no answer until a memory settles, either remembered or dreamt, I cannot tell. My mother is there, holding me, much younger than I remember her. In the most recent memories I have of her, she is aged, not by time but by the long years of worries and fear. Here she is vibrant and alive, a testament that there was a time when she still smiled. I’m not sure where this memory came from. It is not one that I recognize. But however unfamiliar it is to me, I know I have experienced it. It is a lost and forgotten memory of a past I have fought not to remember.