nodded grimly. “Yeah.”
“ It's sickening.” Jonathan paced the room. “It completely defies who – what we are.” A small shudder ra n through him, and I barely caught him mutter, “Not that we have anyone to answer to anymore.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, Lucas acted as if he hadn't heard, so an awkward silence fell.
A few minutes went by. The kitchen clock could be heard t icking two rooms away. I eventually walked over and sat down at the table, the specially stained oak piece my mother had so carefully chosen. “What happens now?”
The two angels looked at each other, a message passing between them. “No,” Jonathan stated rou ghly and shook his head. More silence.
My tapping foot appeared and, correspondingly, Lucas jumped in. “You know how earlier we were talking about restoring your memory?”
My foot paused mid-tap. “Yes. But I thought you said I could lose my soul,” I respon ded delicately, like I was treading over mined ground.
Lucas' glow shined brightly for a moment, before he seemed to get a hold of himself. It dimmed and he promised, “I wouldn't let that happen.” He didn't look away, his gaze fixed on me determinedly. His intensity sent chills down my back.
Jonathan began to pace again. “This is insane,” he growled. Then he turned to look at Lucas, his expression one of anger. “You can't do this. You can't offer that to her and make a promise you know you might not be abl e to keep.”
Lucas stood up and met Jonathan in the middle of the room. “It's her choice. And we need her – you know what the real Abigail would say. She'd tell you to quit being such a p- ”
I cut him off. “Why does there have to be a 'real' Abigail? I'm j ust as real as her...in fact, I am her. Just without memories and a foul mouth – no, I'm probably just as bad there.”
Ah, no laughs at my attempted humor.
As soon as I stopped talking, the two ignored me and focused on each other.
“ Do you actually want t o contact Paarai?” Jonathan demanded.
Lucas stepped closer to him, as if to meet some challenge. “I have before. I would again.” He granted me a look filled with brilliant emotion. Enter heart skip.
The expression on Jonathan's face was indescribable. He followed Lucas' gaze down to me, and the anger fled inside and what appeared was...hurt. And a million other things. Things I couldn't understand, nor did I have time to decipher them, for he slumped down onto the couch behind him.
My heart ached for my fr iend. I wished I knew what would make this all go back to normal.
I opened my mouth to make some sort of consolation, contribute something to this conversation of meaning. But watching Jonathan so defeated and Lucas so intense shut me right up.
I left.
My room was messy. I flipped my radio on – NPR – and bent down to pick up dirty clothes off the floor. My mind was going a hundred miles an hour. I endeavored to distract myself with boring, real-world news.
“ This is Michael Jones and this is All Things Co nsidered . In national news, there has been an alarming increase in crime rates across the country,” the reporter's rumbling baritone voice informed me.
I threw a pile of clothing into the hamper and bent over to gather more.
“ Numbers released today by the National Bureau for Crime Statistics show a two hundred percent increase from last month. New York City alone is reporting...”
The voice fizzed into the ringing of my ears.
I froze as soon as I heard the report. I knew, I knew this had something to do with Raguel and Remiel.
A violent feeling of rage flooded through me; my vision glazed and my hands trembled. I felt out of control - like something else was compelling my actions now. The clothes dropped from my hands. Blindly I picked up the baseball bat l ying next to my closet, the one I hadn't used since 6 th grade softball -
and began to smash the radio.
Plastic flew at the first hit. Again and again I swung, overwhelmed
“ It's sickening.” Jonathan paced the room. “It completely defies who – what we are.” A small shudder ra n through him, and I barely caught him mutter, “Not that we have anyone to answer to anymore.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, Lucas acted as if he hadn't heard, so an awkward silence fell.
A few minutes went by. The kitchen clock could be heard t icking two rooms away. I eventually walked over and sat down at the table, the specially stained oak piece my mother had so carefully chosen. “What happens now?”
The two angels looked at each other, a message passing between them. “No,” Jonathan stated rou ghly and shook his head. More silence.
My tapping foot appeared and, correspondingly, Lucas jumped in. “You know how earlier we were talking about restoring your memory?”
My foot paused mid-tap. “Yes. But I thought you said I could lose my soul,” I respon ded delicately, like I was treading over mined ground.
Lucas' glow shined brightly for a moment, before he seemed to get a hold of himself. It dimmed and he promised, “I wouldn't let that happen.” He didn't look away, his gaze fixed on me determinedly. His intensity sent chills down my back.
Jonathan began to pace again. “This is insane,” he growled. Then he turned to look at Lucas, his expression one of anger. “You can't do this. You can't offer that to her and make a promise you know you might not be abl e to keep.”
Lucas stood up and met Jonathan in the middle of the room. “It's her choice. And we need her – you know what the real Abigail would say. She'd tell you to quit being such a p- ”
I cut him off. “Why does there have to be a 'real' Abigail? I'm j ust as real as her...in fact, I am her. Just without memories and a foul mouth – no, I'm probably just as bad there.”
Ah, no laughs at my attempted humor.
As soon as I stopped talking, the two ignored me and focused on each other.
“ Do you actually want t o contact Paarai?” Jonathan demanded.
Lucas stepped closer to him, as if to meet some challenge. “I have before. I would again.” He granted me a look filled with brilliant emotion. Enter heart skip.
The expression on Jonathan's face was indescribable. He followed Lucas' gaze down to me, and the anger fled inside and what appeared was...hurt. And a million other things. Things I couldn't understand, nor did I have time to decipher them, for he slumped down onto the couch behind him.
My heart ached for my fr iend. I wished I knew what would make this all go back to normal.
I opened my mouth to make some sort of consolation, contribute something to this conversation of meaning. But watching Jonathan so defeated and Lucas so intense shut me right up.
I left.
My room was messy. I flipped my radio on – NPR – and bent down to pick up dirty clothes off the floor. My mind was going a hundred miles an hour. I endeavored to distract myself with boring, real-world news.
“ This is Michael Jones and this is All Things Co nsidered . In national news, there has been an alarming increase in crime rates across the country,” the reporter's rumbling baritone voice informed me.
I threw a pile of clothing into the hamper and bent over to gather more.
“ Numbers released today by the National Bureau for Crime Statistics show a two hundred percent increase from last month. New York City alone is reporting...”
The voice fizzed into the ringing of my ears.
I froze as soon as I heard the report. I knew, I knew this had something to do with Raguel and Remiel.
A violent feeling of rage flooded through me; my vision glazed and my hands trembled. I felt out of control - like something else was compelling my actions now. The clothes dropped from my hands. Blindly I picked up the baseball bat l ying next to my closet, the one I hadn't used since 6 th grade softball -
and began to smash the radio.
Plastic flew at the first hit. Again and again I swung, overwhelmed
Similar Books
