Guardian Angel

by Trebus, David

  “It’s good to see you awake and again if you need anything just push the buzzer, my name’s Sandra,”

  She left the room, shutting the door gently behind her. Michael leaned back in his bed, letting the warm soft pillows embrace his aching head again. So he had been in hospital for three days, since a car accident. He couldn’t remember much about it just crossing the road, and then dreams. But the winged woman - she felt familiar…and she still hadn’t disappeared. In fact, while he was thinking she had returned to be inches away from his face.

  “AHH…!” Michael yet out a loud yelp, and the woman to stepped back a pace.

  “It’s true…you can really see me…this isn’t good, this hasn’t happened before. What do I do? What do I dooo…?” The winged woman was clearly talking to herself as she paced back and forth by Michael’s bed.

  “This is too weird. I really must be going crazy.” Michael sat up, and watched her frantic pacing. In any other situation, she would have looked comical.

  Michael pinched his forehead with his fingers, squinting. His headache kept coming and going, either because of the accident, or the mystery woman. Better just to get on with the job of eating his breakfast and worry about his odd situation later. He took a couple of bites, and his body told him it needed more. He devoured the rest of the slice in moments.

  The mystery woman meanwhile had stopped pacing and was now staring at him with an odd expression. Michael looked back and shrugged, did he have crumbs on his face? If so he didn't really care.

  “What?” he said, mouth half full.

  “How can you be eating at a time like this? Aren’t you a bit shocked that there’s a “beautiful” young woman with wings standing in your hospital room? Or do you see Angels every day?”

  Michael finished his mouthful and washed it down with water before replying.

  “Well, considering I've had a knock on the head and I’m in hospital, I just kinda assumed you were a figment of my imagination. Maybe I’m going crazy. Heck maybe I’m even still asleep!”

  The woman leaned low over him. She wore a loose fitting white top, and Michael had to try very hard not to glance down her cleavage. She grinned. She gently placed her hand on the meat of his arm and then pinched it hard.

  “Ouch”. “What the hell was that for?”

  “Could a figment of your imagination do that?” the woman countered grinning.

  Michael looked at his arm and saw an angry red mark where she had pinched him. He rubbed it to soothe the pain, his mind reeling. She had left a mark; hallucinations couldn’t leave marks, could they?

  “OK…OK, this is really too much. Maybe I should just go back to sleep. When I wake up, this will all turn out to be some kind of weird nightmare.” Michael lay back down shutting his eyes.

  “Hmph So I’m like a nightmare! Sheesh, I spend all your life watching you, keeping you safe. I save your life, so your song doesn’t join the chorus on high, and this is the thanks I get, called a nightmare!” She folded her arms across her chest and turned her back, looking angry.

  Michael opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling. What she had said, petulant though it was, struck a chord with him. She had said something about the chorus on high. Realisation hit him at once. This woman was the same one in his dream, the same apparition he had seen the night before, and the same woman who had been up in the tree. He had even seen her before the accident. That surely meant she had to be real?

  He turned his head slowly, keeping it buried in the pillow against the vertigo of his situation, and he took a long look at her. She was indeed beautiful in a cute kind of way. She looked to be about five-foot-five but her wings made her seem much larger. She had piercing blue eyes, long blonde hair and a pair of red ribbons worked into two front strands. Michael sighed and swallowed his growing anxiety to try and smooth things over with...well, the angel.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you, but you have to admit this is a shock to me. I mean, it's not every day you meet an…an angel in a hospital room. It’s like something out of a movie.”

  “This isn’t any movie, I’m afraid, and I’m not just any angel. I am your angel, your guardian angel. It’s my job to look after you, guide you and one day…" The angel trailed off. "Well anyway," she added "I'm just glad you're ok."

  “So, what’s your name? I mean, you obviously know mine, seeing as you’ve been with me from day one. Must have been weird seeing me naked all those times, eh?”

  “My name is Jasmine, and as for seeing you naked, I can’t say seeing a tiny winkle was altogether very interesting. But you were a cute baby, I must admit, especially that little birthmark on the back of your thigh. Looks like a little baby sheep,”

  This had to be real. No-one had seen that mark, apart from his parents and a few ex-girlfriends. He also felt himself blush at having his joke turned against him. Did she look at him in the shower now he was an adult? No, being an angel he doubted she would do something so improper. Michael decided to accept things as they were, at least for now; if he tried to go against the flow his head might explode.

  “So, what happened with the accident? I barely remember it? You must have seen it. After it happened, I saw you in my dreams.”

  Jasmine’s face turned very serious, and she moved to sit by him on the bed. She smelled of the flower she was named after. As she sat on the bed, she barely made an impression, as if she were light as a feather. She placed her hand on the bed to steady herself, then leaned closer.

  “You were involved in a car accident, as the nurse told you…but it wasn't really an accident. Someone influenced that driver, distracted her into hitting you. It’s the only reason on High let me directly heal you. If it had been natural…I would have lost you.” Jasmine whispered frowning.

  “Your dreams are how I usually talk to you. The human subconscious is tuned into our songs and sings with us in the great symphony. Dreams are the easiest way for you and us to tap into it, allowing me to guide you, talk to you and comfort you. I was there when your ex left you in the dumps, when you got ill - every time, watching over you and praying you would be OK.”

  “So. You’re saying someone wanted me dead?” a dread grew in Michael's mind.

  “Maybe…but maybe not. I mean, the darker powers in the world have many little schemes they like to play out. It could have just been a malicious act…or something more, I don’t know. But try not to worry. You’re OK now, and I'll be here to keep you safe.” Jasmine smiled and placed her hand on top of his.

  “You seeing me is something totally different though. I think it’s the first time this has happened for hundreds of years.” She paused for a moment.

  “Someone’s coming. Your doctor. I am going to go on high and try to find out if they know anything. Get some rest. Even from up there, I'll be keeping an eye on you, so try not to worry. If this is temporary, then it was a pleasure to talk directly to you. If not, we can chat when I come back.”

  Rising from the bed, Jasmine placed her hands together and raised them above her head. Her wings spread, and a light enveloped her. She sang a few notes and slowly moved upwards in the light. She turned her face down to him, even as her wingtips passed directly through the ceiling. She smiled, pushed one of her hands out towards him and made the peace sign saying “Toodles!” she said, passing through the ceiling in a ring of light and out of Michael’s sight.

  “Toodles? What a funny girl.” Michael snorted lying letting his head fall into his pillows and trying to comprehend everything that had happened to him, just as the door opened and a doctor came in carrying a clipboard.

  “How are you feeling, Michael?” the doctor asked politely.

  Michael couldn’t think of a reply that stated exactly how he felt at that moment that wouldn’t make him look like a lunatic. He settled for as good an answer as any.

  “Not too bad.” he replied nonchalantly.

  The doctor checked the machine hooked up to Michael, as the nurse had earlier befor
e looking into his eyes, checking his pulse from his wrist, and listening to his breathing through a stethoscope. He prodded and poked him a few times for good measure, then pulled up a chair next to Michael’s bed and sat down placing a medical clipboard on his lap. The angle and the doctor’s handwriting made it unreadable.

  “Well, Mr Andrews, you’re quite a lucky man. When you came in, you had suffered a severe blow to the head, a collapsed lung and some internal bleeding. You had to be resuscitated and went into a deep sleep, or very light coma as we call it. Do you remember anything about what happened?”

  “Only rushing across the road to catch the bus, and then a car. Then nothing, until I woke up and saw the nurse.”

  The doctor nodded. “That’s good. No short term memory loss. I don’t quite know how but your lung has healed however. I would like to take credit for it, but it is almost miraculous. I expected you to be here in recovery for a few weeks. But, looking at your chart over the last few days and your readings now, I think you should be fit to be released in a couple of days. You must have a strong will to survive.”

  Michael grinned before he could stop himself. “Or someone looking out for me on high,” he thought.

  “I guess so, doc," He said aloud "I mean I don’t know how, but I just felt protected.”

  “Well, whoever it is protecting you is doing a good job. I'll be back to check on you again tomorrow, just to make sure everything is OK and there’s no unforeseen complications. All things remaining equal, as I said, you should be able to go home the day after tomorrow.” The doctor stood up to leave.

  Michael nodded, “Thanks doc.”

  “If you need anything, just ask the nurse. If it's urgent press the buzzer there. Take care, and see you tomorrow, Mr Andrews.” The doctor left the room, closing the door gently behind him.

  Michael was left alone with his thoughts. He spent the next few hours trying to wrap his head around all that had happened to him. The theological implications alone were enough to blow his mind. Michael had always had faith in a higher power, but to have evidence beyond all doubt slapping him in the face was almost too much to take.

  He didn’t just have faith or belief any more, he had proof beyond all doubt. Well, unless he really was crazy, and it was all some hallucination. He wasn’t sure where to go from here. Would he always be able to see Jasmine, or would his ability fade with time? She had said it was abnormal for anyone to be able to see his or her guardian angel. Michael wondered if the ability to see Jasmine would be taken away and his memory of the events erased.

  “Could they really do that?” he murmured.

  A loud ringing shocked him out of his reverie. A throbbing pain flared up as he looked around for its source and found a telephone beside his bed. He sighed with relief and reached over to pick it up wearily, cutting off the piercing ringing noise.

  “Hello…”

  “Michael, I’ve been so worried about you, are you OK? How are you feeling? The doctor just phoned me to say you'd woken up.” His mother's voice fired off questions like a chain gun.

  “I’m fine mum; the doctor said they should be releasing me the day after tomorrow. They say I've made a miraculous recovery, although my head still hurts a lot,”.

  “That’s good, but they shouldn’t be letting you out so soon, you could still have problems. You should tell them to keep you in longer, just in case. I was so worried when they phoned to tell me you were hurt, I almost got on a plane straight away, but all the flights were booked up solid. Has your father been in or phoned you?”

  Michael’s mother lived in the south of France, where she'd taken a job as an antiques dealer a few years back. She had encouraged Michael to go with her, but his familiarity with England had held him back; that and his mum’s penchant for nagging.

  “I wouldn’t know if he’s been in, I only just woke up. But don’t forget he spends a lot of time in America now with his band. Last time I spoke to him, he was somewhere in Arizona. I doubt he would be back in England yet.”

  The doctor must have phoned his mother to inform her of his condition right after he had left the room. Michael wasn’t sure whether to thank him or hate him for it.

  “Well I'm going to phone him, his music can sod off. You come first. Let me know if he doesn’t ring you. Oh, I’m just so glad you’re OK, Mikey, I don’t know what I'd have done if you had…”

  Michael cut his mother off, knowing she would start crying soon. “It’s OK, mum, honestly I'm OK, I was lucky. So stop worrying”

  “When you have kids, you’ll understand. I'm going to get the first flight I can over there, to check on you, OK?”

  “It’s fine, honestly mum, I'm fine!”

  “Still, I'm flying over first chance I get. It’s been months, anyway, and you should have someone with you now.” Michael’s mother continued ignoring his protestations.

  “Listen," she went on, "I have to go now, so you stay safe, sweetie, and I'll ring you when I'm back in the country. Get well soon, love you.”

  “Love you too mum.”

  After putting the receiver down Michael let out a long drawn out sign. His mother was very protective, too much so sometimes. Then again, a bit of home cooking and mothering appealed to him after months of bachelor living. It had been over a year since his last girlfriend, and with his parents often, abroad, he did get lonely from time to time. He decided he may as well accept his situation and to look forward to his mother’s visit. He lay back in his bed and trying to think again. After everything that had happened since he woke up, weariness overcame him. Michael drifted off to sleep, dreaming of angels and warm, home-cooked meals.

  ***

  Jasmine ascended slowly on her wings of light, leaving the mortal plane of Earth behind. She passed through the various layers of the symphony, perceiving all the different notes and songs as she sought to enter the highest tier of heaven. Every time she returned to heaven, the music always soothed any worries she had and made her feel at peace.

  An angel’s wings didn’t just serve in the traditional sense, letting them fly. They also acted as the conduit or key that allowed entrance to heaven, pulsing with purest light when the angel prayed for entrance, and opening a portal that led to a higher plane. Demons lost this ability upon falling, their wings effectively destroyed and remade into a mocking parody of the form they once held.

  Jasmine’s thoughts returned, to what lay behind Michael’s accident; it was definitely not the work of man. Was a demon was behind it? The thought made her shudder, and she tried to push it aside; hopefully, she would gain the answers she sought when she reached the High seat.

  Jasmine was now entering the upper tiers of the symphony; here she could hear the angels’ forever raising their voices in praise and love. She slowed her climb and came to a halt, wings beating against the up-draught. Her wings lost their glow and Jasmine stopped, clouds forming beneath her feet and she landed.

  To the other angels going about their heavenly business, Jasmine’s arrival was just like any other and so they ignored it. Had Jasmine been watching another angel arrive, it would have seemed as if the angel had emerged from a ring of light, much like how she had left Earth only moments earlier. One angel, however, did pay attention and ran up to her as she found her feet.

  “Jasmine, you are expected.” The angel's tone was neutral.

  “I am?” Jasmine replied, but then why shouldn’t it surprise her that they knew something was amiss?

  “Yes, please follow me to the Metatron," the male angel said. "He wishes to hear your story and to help you find your way. Strange events have transpired.” He gestured to a golden archway.

  The male angel was named Filo. He was of the highest choir and personal attaché to the Metatron, the voice of God. He had a proud bearing and a stern, yet handsome face. His hair was black, where most angels had blond or very light brown hair. His eyes, traditionally blue, glowed with such intensity and faith no one looking into them could fail to be moved.

&nbs
p; Jasmine bowed and walked towards the golden archway, which was elaborately decorated, with images of cherubs blowing horns. The space between shimmered faintly as Jasmine approached. Filo fell into step behind her, waiting patiently as she hesitated. It led to the Metatron’s private chambers, and usually only, the most important of matters were heard there.

  The thought made Jasmine suddenly nervous, a feeling she had not experienced in decades. Angels felt emotions, just like humans, but had a much greater control over them, and could suppress them if the need arose. This time, however, Jasmine lost her usual composure and her hand trembled.

  She stepped through the shimmering arch in a brief flash of light and emerged on the other side in a large circular chamber. Pillars of glass, which contained musical instruments that sat suspended in the air, surrounded the chamber. At the far end, a large, wooden chair stood, unadorned but regal in its appearance. By its side, a desk was strewn with parchment and a small electronic device, and Jasmine‘s allowed herself a small grin even the angels weren’t immune to progress.

  In the centre of the room, the Metatron kneeled with his head bowed and hands before him. His majestic wings were neatly folded upon his back, though their span was such that the feathers brushed the floor. Jasmine stood with Filo by the arch, patiently waiting to be noticed. It would be considered rude to interrupt the Metatron in prayer. The idea he could be communicating with God sent an excited tremor down Jasmine’s spine.

  After a few minutes, the Metatron slowly stood up and turned to face them. His hair was cut short and golden. His eyes too were golden, unlike the traditional blue of most angels. He had a handsome face, almost like that of a teenage boy, but behind it dwelt great wisdom and untold aeons of devoted service. He was very tall, at least seven foot by Jasmine’s estimate, and gave off a huge air of authority and power. Jasmine bowed instinctively and noticed that Filo did the same. To be in the presence of the Metatron was an honour, but also a troubling one under the current circumstances.