Descendant

by LJ Amodeo

  We walked several short blocks to a bar called Caribous. The place was small, but lively. A band jammed to a rock adaptation of the Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby.” Michael’s hand rested on the small of my back as he escorted me further into the tavern through the crowd. The smell of rotted damp wood and stale beer engrossed the air. Ancient scroll-like torches suspended from the polished brick walls, dimly lit the bar. The band continued playing a few of their originals. Their music was loud, jamming, and catchy as Michael sang along to most of the lyrics. When they ended their jam session, they bid the rowdy mob goodnight and scattered off the small stage into the crowds. The lead singer greeted Michael with a hand gesture and a shoulder bump.

  “What’s up man? Long time no see, Michael. Where’ve you been, dude?”

  “Gio, this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, my old friend Gio.”

  “You guys are really good.” I shouted above the DJ’s music.

  “Glad you enjoyed it,” the musician said, as he wiped the sweat from his face with a cloth.

  “Come have a drink with me. What’ll you have?” he asked me. I looked at Michael for his approval before responding to Gio. He smiled the sweetest smile.

  “I’ll have a beer!” I hollered. Gio winked at Michael.

  “Is she old enough?” Gio teased us. “Michael, what are you drinking, buddy?”

  “I’ll have one too.” He tightened his arm around my waist.

  We sat at a small cocktail table with a “reserved” sign printed on a folded cardboard. A cocktail waitress occasionally made her rounds asking for our drink orders. Michael’s friend Gio, and his girlfriend, a pretty, petite blonde, ordered some beer and margaritas for the table. Although, I never cared for alcoholic drinks besides an occasional beer, I decided to enjoy some apple martinis tonight. Besides, Michael’s flat was within walking distance. By 3A.M., I was feeling tipsy. Luckily for me, I had Michael’s strong grip holding me steady as we walked the inclined cobblestoned street.

  “Oops!” I laughed, as I stumbled up the stairs of his apartment.

  “Here you go. Let me help you get your shoes off.” Michael said, positioning me on the bed.

  I lay on the bed, focused on the spinning ceiling as Michael handed me my silky drawstring pajama pant with the matching camisole.

  “I’ll wait outside the bedroom while you change.”

  “No! Stay!” I patted the empty space on the bed next to where I lay. “Stay with me tonight. I don’t want you to go.” I pouted like a little child fully aware that I was under the influence of alcohol.

  “Are you sure?” he asked like a perfect gentleman would. I nodded a big yes, exposing my teeth.

  Michael removed his shoes and positioned his body parallel to mine. His arm rested under my shoulders. I immediately responded, wrapping my arm over his chest and resting my head where his heart beat musically. I took a deep breath, finding myself wrapped in his euphoric presence, pressing my body against his, wanting him badly. While Michael lay quietly next to me, I listened to the even sounds of his breath. He toiled with my hair as every muscle in my body quaked. This feeling was new for me.

  “I’m glad I came here with you,” I hiccupped.

  “Me too,” he chuckled tucking my hair behind my ear..

  I pushed myself on top of Michael, feeling frisky for the first time. This was it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. The event of my lifetime. It would be my moment to prove that I was a woman ready to consummate this relationship.

  “I want you.” I said freely caressing his face, then his lips, feeling the effects of the alcohol in my veins.

  “Elizabeth. Not like this. I won’t make you do something you’ll regret tomorrow.”

  “I won’t regret it, Michael. I love you.” I whispered, removing one strap of the camisole. The words I’d hoped to hear spilling from his full lips never came. Instead he pushed my hair away from my face, behind my bare shoulder. “Say something.” I begged.

  “You are beautiful, and you’re drunk.” he replied, pulling me into his chest, kissing me gently. “I have waited a long time to find you and this is not the way it should be done. I promised you and your Mom that I will take care of you. And this, my beautiful Elizabeth, is not what I meant.”

  His words settled deep in my heart with the most profound respect for him, suddenly feeling the wrath of mixed liquors in my head.

  “I shouldn’t have had those drinks. I feel like such a loser.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You had fun tonight.”

  I pushed myself off him. He rested on his side, as I settled onto my elbows to get a better look at his face.

  “I had a great time this weekend. It’s too bad we have to leave tomorrow. I could stay here forever.” I murmured, staring at his face in the shadows of the wafting moon. “Thanks for inviting me.” I stared down at my hands caressing the satin sheets until he carefully placed his hand on mine. I knew that tonight we’d lay in bed as friends would. Side by side. Holding hands, while he gently caressed my fingers with his thumb and nothing more. “Your friend is a great musician, and his girlfriend Jules, is really sweet. Have you known them long?” I asked making small talk.

  “Gio and I went to the same music school when I moved to Tremblant. We started a garage band until I received the scholarship. That’s when I decided to enroll at Houghton for classical music, and Gio continued jamming with the band. He makes his music come alive. A real crowd pleaser. I chose a less abrasive route.” He uttered playfully.

  “He seems like a good guy.”

  “Gio is a good guy.” Michael replied touching my cheek.

  “Do you miss it? Playing with the band?” His eyes focused on the wall passed me for a brief moment while he considered my question.

  “Sometimes. It’s just not the sort of music I enjoy playing now. I don’t think a classical opus would be a crowd pleaser at the Caribous. What do you think?” He teased, flipping me down onto the bed, so that he lay over me.

  I knew I loved everything about him. His eyes. His velvet hair. His dreamy voice and adorable wit. His supple lips. I moistened my lips with a desire to kiss him, when an unfamiliar voice barged in on my happy thoughts to spoil the moment.Tuebor,it whispered. It was not a harsh or angry voice, but a rich, intoxicating one. I didn’t understand what it wanted to say or what it meant, but I’d remember to write it into my journal and look up its meaning in my Latin textbook from last year’s lessons, later to learn it stood forI will defend. My thoughts carried me from where I lay. With a touch of Michael’s hand brushing against my face, I was pulled back. I looked up at him, hoping he hadn’t noticed how deep in thought I was for fear he’d question what was on my mind. He immediately sat up next to me—his legs crossed in front of him like a school boy.

  “What’s wrong?”Crap! I thought to myself.

  I lowered my head, nodding feebly. My hands resting in his.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Talk to me, Elizabeth.” Where would I start? How could I explain that I had been born with a mark. These voices weren’t a gift. No. My grandmother Anne was wrong. I wasn’t gifted. I was cursed.

  “Something’s not right.”

  “What do you mean?” He whispered.

  “I keep thinking about this!” pointing an accusing finger at my skull. “I’m afraid of what’s coming.” I let out a long sigh.

  “I’m not following,” he cocked his head curiously.

  “Most of my life, I’ve felt as if I’ve walked aimlessly in this cold and colorless world. Always feeling a dark presence following me. When I see or think about something beautiful and good, it turns dark.” My eyes stared at the flickering candles around the room.

  “Why do you feel like this?” he asked, stroking my hair.

  “It’s hard to explain. Let’s talk about something else.” I mumbled, looking past Michael’s silhouette at the moon hovering high in the heavens. Many questions floated in my mind.

  “Have you ever wondered about
heaven? What it’s like?” I asked him.

  “It’s the most serene place you could ever imagine with spectacular views of pastel painted skies.” He said, as if he’d seen it.

  I almost laughed. “You say it as if you’ve seen it. How would you know what heaven looks like? Did you die and come back from the dead?” I said, almost mocking him.

  He shook his head, embarrassed with himself. “You’re right, how would I know what it’s like? I’ve never seen it, and I don’t think anyone has ever crossed over long enough to come back and describe it.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. I watched a documentary once about people who died and claimed they walked with angels.” I winked, teetering on the idea for a moment—maybe we did walk among angels. And if we did, would we hear their voices, as well?

  I thought about the voices that haunted me. Was I crazy or was it truly as my grandmother had claimed years ago? “I have so many questions I’d ask...” I muttered out loud dazed and confused.

  “Like what? What would you say to him?” Michael replied.

  “I don’t know. There are so many.”

  “Choose the one that often think of. The one question you ask yourself every day when you wake up.” He said, staring intensely at me.

  “Alright. I . . . I would ask him . . . why am I the chosen one?” The words spilled out easily. My absurd request left Michael looking horrified. Stunned, if not pale. His grip was the only movement I felt, nightmarishly, tightening around my hands like he had done in my dream. My wrist throbbed from the increased pressure coming from his hands.

  “Michael. You’re scaring me. Let go! You’re hurting me!” I begged frightened. He immediately released my hands, blinking away his trance. His face pale, still shocked at my question.

  “Michael. Talk to me. Say something, please,” I stuttered, looking at his unsettled face as I rubbed away the pain in my wrist.

  “Why would you ask that question? How . . . how . . .” he didn’t finish what he needed to say to me, but he stood up and walked to the window, tensely combing his fingers through his hair.

  I bit my lip nervously, wondering why such a stupid question would send him into a panic in the first place.

  “What would make you ask such a question?” said he asked, this time looking directly at me.

  “From one of my dreams,” I replied, hopelessly.

  “What?” he barked.

  “It’s what he said to me in my dream.” I stuttered.

  “Shit, Elizabeth! Is this what you’ve lived your life by. Words that came from a dream?” he snapped at me again.

  “No! Yes. I mean . . . I don’t know, Michael. I don’t know anymore! I was young and it scared the hell out of me! Do you have any idea how traumatized I’ve been by all this?” I yelled back, trembling all over, trying desperately to control the force that ignited the temper that flared inside me.

  I choked on my tears. Michael remained uncomfortably quiet, giving me the space to declare the reasons why my life was a complete mess. To explain how I lived with a broken soul. My sodden eyes searched his for comfort and reassurance. When Michael stroked my cheek, I let out a sigh of relief, staring at his angelic face, as he stared back with apologetic eyes. He was so easy to love.

  “I’d give anything to go back and change how I’ve lived. But I can’t,” I whimpered. His eyes continued to watch me in silence.

  “But now, I am grateful for one thing in my life. You.” I smiled cautiously.

  “Beth––” he whispered, but I pressed my finger to his lips.

  “Sssh . . . let me finish. All my life, I’ve waited for something—something better. Something more. When I met you, it all made sense. I realized that we’re all chosen for something or someone, Michael. And now I know that I’ve been chosen––for you,” I paused for a moment, “I’m really trying to let go of the darkness that has followed me.” I whispered, dropping my head in despair.

  “But in my dreams, the darkness torments me. And for this, I question if God and heaven are real. Why I fear him more than love him.” Michael sat motionless while I unburdened my frustrations.

  “For many years, I’ve felt invisible to everyone except the darkness around me. But now it’s different. I’m different. I feel as if I’ve awakened.”

  He finally lifted his head. His face piqued with sadness and worry. “There’s no reason to fight this alone. God is your refuge. He’ll drive out your enemy before you can say destroy him! And yes, heaven is real. Here we complain about our lives, but one day, we’ll want to be in the most holy of places to cleanse our guilty conscience and wash ourselves in pure water. Never be afraid of him. He who loves you will always embrace you.” Michael spoke with his eloquent accent and tender words.

  I was thankful to have this angel in my life—however distorted my life was. I cradled myself in his arms and held him tightly, too exhausted to say more. I lifted my eyes to a beautiful painting with the words that wrapped around my heart:

  Last night an angel of God whose I am and whom I serve stood beside me and said, “Do not be afraid. . .Acts 27:23 24 (NIV)

  I closed my dampened eyes, listening to the soothing tempo of his heartbeat. I slept peacefully, like a child comforted in his embrace.

  Chapter 12: Doubts

  There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.

  Buddha

  I stretched my arms across the plush bed, opening my eyes to the streaming sunlight. Michael was not beside me. My head swiveled, uncertain if the sulfites or my illness were causing the nauseating feeling in the posterior of my throat. I unpacked one of Sam’s more casual outfits from the Chanel bag. A velvet scarf trimmed in lavish olive fur complimented the delicate fitted knit sweater I wore over a soft chambray flirty skirt. I slipped my foot into a feminine ballet flat and looked over my appearance in the full-length mirror. It was a wonderful feeling to be dressed in such rich, feminine garments. It was easy to get used to. Samantha really had a knack for putting together playful, yet sophisticated outfits in one. I opened the bedroom door, and to my disappointment the heavenly aroma of Michael’s homemade crepes did not fill the air this time. From down below, the clinking of keys unlocking the front door jingled.

  “Hello?” I hesitated.

  “Good morning, Elizabeth.” Michael’s voice echoed to the high ceilings. Butterflies danced sweetly in my belly at the sound of his voice.

  “I didn’t want to wake you. You were sleeping so peacefully.” He waved a small brown paper bag toward me. “Croissant,” he said in a sexy French accent.

  Although, I felt a bit queasy, the flaky roll was light enough for my stomach to digest. “Why are you up so early?” I asked, taking the brown bag from his hand.

  “I went to get us some breakfast.”

  “You should have woken me up,” I mumbled shamefully.

  “Knowing you had a bit of a trying night, I thought it would be better if you slept it off,” he smirked, jokingly.

  I shuffled into the kitchen toward the aroma of Bailey’s vanilla cream coffee brewing on the stove. I poured us a cup and sat opposite him. Michael sat with his back facing the large window. I noticed his silhouette illuminated by the sun’s glow. This aura triggered flashbacks. Images of a seraph pausing at the door, with magnificent iridescent wings jutting gloriously from his muscular shoulders and the same image of the Olympian disappearing into the woods. Michael’s pouty lips turned to a curious grin as he watched my face contort with curiosity. “Are you okay?” He creased his brows toward the bridge of his nose.

  My chest rose and dipped heavily against my ribcage as the blood rushed coldly through my veins. Slowly, my visions unfolded one by one. Sam’s voice vibrated in my skull, “Your lover boy has a secret. Watch out for his kind. I know them all toowell.” “Has someone sent you?” my voice queried flatly and
resolutely. His nervous laugh halted, making me more suspicious. Voices hammered ideas in my head that maybe he knew my father. Their echoes composed the wordssent for youover again in a symphony of choirs.

  “Did who . . . who send me? What are you talking about?” He stuttered nervously, obviously hiding something from me. I pressed my fingers against my ears to shut out the voices. Rocking back and forth slowly, I tuned out the messages from beyond. Fear of being shunned by Michael, I closed my eyes until the sounds scattered. He did not move or speak.

  “Sam said there was something about you. That I shouldn’t trust–you.” I muttered, staring past him frozen and wondering. He rose from his seat and was quickly at my side. Unwillingly, I leaned away from him, staring him directly in the eyes.

  Exasperated and annoyed he closed his eyes momentarily. “Elizabeth, can’t you see what she is doing? Your mood swings, your anger, your doubts, she’s sabotaging our relationship. Believe me when I tell you, she’s not your friend. I warned you she’d try to make you see things differently. You mustn't believe her.” I looked away from him, not sure of what to believe anymore.