Dark Hope Read online

  We sat there in silence for a long time. My mind raced with all the questions I had for him: questions about my abduction, my Mark, my father. And of course, about him.

  “How do you do it?” I finally screwed up my courage to ask.

  “Do what?” he answered, distracted.

  “Everything,” I whispered, leaning closer to him. “How can you be a teenager? How can you fly? How do you get to where the trouble is?”

  He looked miserable.

  “How am I supposed to leave now?” he snapped at the air, pounding his fist into his knee.

  I sank into my bedsheets, deflated. “I didn’t ask you to leave,” I said, uncertain and scared by his moodiness.

  His face softened and he leaned gently toward me. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Henri.”

  “Henri?”

  “Your Guardian angel.”

  I could barely process this latest piece of news. My jaw fell open in disbelief before I managed to sputter, “My. Guardian. Angel.”

  He looked at my astonished face and roared with delight. “The archangel she swallows no problem. It’s the invisible watchdog that makes her skeptical!”

  I crossed my arms and stuck out my tongue. I hated being made fun of. Still, he’d piqued my curiosity.

  “Why are you arguing with Henri?”

  “He’s angry with me for interfering.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Say more.”

  A wicked grin crept across Michael’s face. “He believes I have violated his rights and the order of Angels by intervening in his protection and guidance of you. If it continues, he is threatening to take it up to the courts.”

  I was dumbfounded. “There are courts in Heaven?”

  “Oh, yes. And they will enforce the rules. By rights, only Guardian Angels can protect individuals, with very few exceptions. Though I must say, old Henri, that they may come down on the other side of the law when they see how ineffective your methods have been.” He was openly smirking now, and I could sense a faint buzzing in my mind.

  I had a sudden epiphany. “Is he the voice in my head?” I asked.

  “One and the same,” said Michael, leaning back into his chair with satisfaction. “Oh, don’t harass me. I didn’t tell her, she figured it out,” he spoke dismissively into the air.

  “He did try to keep me from teaming up with Tabitha and from going to Stone Mountain,” I said, trying to be helpful.

  “Fat lot of good that did you,” muttered Michael. In an instant, his humor had shifted; he seemed cross and was rubbing his temples again.

  “Michael,” I asked timidly, “why do you always have headaches?”

  He stopped rubbing his temples, jerking his hands away. “You’ve noticed?”

  “It’s hard not to. Especially when they make you so moody.”

  The vein in his temple twitched again. “I’ll try not to be moody.”

  “I don’t care that you’re moody. But I’d like to know why.”

  He took a deep breath and drew his hands together in his lap, as if he was afraid of what they might do. “Remember when I told you God was displeased with me?”

  “Yes,” I said, not sure where this was going.

  “Well, this is what happens when God is displeased. You see, in all of creation, he made two great beings that are capable of holiness: angels and man. We were both intended to be in his likeness, but we have two crucial differences. Only mankind can create. We angels can only praise, protect, or destroy. We can convey. We can escort. But we can neither invent nor discover,” he continued, his jaw tense. “It is forbidden.”

  I shuddered. The more Michael spoke, the more grave and formal his speech became. In my mind’s eye, I could see him as an ancient being, the fiery general of God’s army.

  “And while we both, man and angels, have free will,” he continued, “God did not trust the angels with such a precious gift when he made us. Not as he trusted you,” he said, a twinge of jealousy entering his voice. “We can disobey him and choose our own path, of course. That is what the Fallen Ones did. But when they fell, they learned that to be away from God was to embrace pain. For God punished their disobedience with great physical pain. The longer they strayed, the farther they strayed, the more intense the pain grew. Nothing can stop it. Nothing except their return to God.”

  His eyes seemed far away now. “Imagine living hundreds of thousands of years in never-ending pain. Imagine what that would do to you. If you hadn’t already been wicked, you would surely go insane.”

  The idea of it was horrifying, especially when I realized what he was really saying.

  “You’re in pain,” I said softly, my heart breaking for him. I slid out from beneath the covers and crept to his side. Carefully, not sure of what I’d find, I placed my hand on his arm. Through the cotton of his sleeve, it was burning hot. I realized with a start that except for the time he’d pulled me through the hallway, he’d managed never to touch me. “You’re not supposed to be protecting me,” I said. “That’s why you had to leave.”

  “I had to fulfill my duties before I could return to guard you,” he answered, his blue eyes like sapphires that shone with intensity. “I do not understand how protecting you could be against God’s will when I feel such a strong urge to do it. Somehow it must all be in His plan.”

  “Why am I in danger?” I wondered to myself. “Is it related to my abduction?”

  “I think so,” he said.

  “So my dad—with all his crazy fears for me—he’s been right all along?”

  Michael didn’t speak but simply placed his big hand over mine. I looked deep into his eyes and seemed to lose myself in their intensity. The heat from his fingers licked at my bones and my heart skipped a beat. Silence filled the room.

  “Hope?” My mother’s voice jarred me back to reality. “Hope? Are you awake?”

  I could hear her climbing the stairs toward my room. I pushed myself away from Michael and started fumbling around, panicking as I looked from myself, still dressed in last night’s clothes, to Michael. I spun around, looking for somewhere to hide, or to hide him. But there was nowhere. I began to feel frantic, but then I heard my own voice sing out.

  “What is it, Mom?”

  I wheeled around and gasped. Michael was no longer there. Instead, I was staring at my own self, bleary eyed, with a face streaked by the runny remains of eye shadow and mascara.

  I opened my mouth to scream but the person—it—me—cleared the space between us and clamped a hot hand over my mouth.

  “Don’t make a sound,” it whispered to me urgently, pulling me tight. “It will be okay.” I tried to pull away, but felt myself caught even closer in a vice-like, fiery grip.

  “I was starting to think you’d never wake up. Are you feeling better? It’s nearly noon, you know,” my mom continued. She was on the other side of the door now. I held my breath, watching the doorknob and willing it not to turn. “Tabitha is on the phone. She sounds worried about you.”

  “I’m feeling much better. I’ll take it in here, Mom. Thanks,” the replica me responded. I felt my body weaken and fought to stay focused. You cannot faint, I admonished myself.

  As we heard my mom’s footsteps retreat back downstairs, I watched as my replica’s face and body swiftly melted back into Michael’s. My eyes widened and my knees began to give out.

  “You’re not going to scream, are you?” he asked me as he pulled me closer to his chest, his hot hand still over my mouth.

  I shook my head violently. No.

  “Do you want to talk to Tabitha, or shall I?” he continued. “I called and left a message at her house last night that you felt sick and found a ride home. I left a note to that effect for your mother, as well.”

  I stared up at him, shocked at how well he’d orchestrated everything.

  “I can do it,” I mumbled against his palm, my mind racing. He lifted his hand away then, watching me carefully for any further signs of panic. My whole body was shaki
ng, but I leaned into him until I managed to make it over to the phone and pick up the receiver.

  “I have it, Mom,” I said, my voice shaky. I heard the click as she hung up the receiver on her end. “Tabitha?”

  “Have you ever heard of a cell phone?” she demanded, the words rushing out of her. “I was worried sick! You were supposed to come back in thirty minutes. Tony and I spent two hours looking for you. Thank God we thought to call my parents. We were just about to call the police to search the mountain. Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t feeling well? I would’ve taken you home.” She sounded angry and hurt.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, scrambling to explain my disappearance from the mountain. “I didn’t try to avoid you—I just felt so sick that I got disoriented and lost on the way down. So when I saw my friend in the parking lot, I took the ride home. I didn’t even think to call you. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you,” I added, guilt surging through me for putting her through such trouble and for lying to her now.

  Tabitha paused before answering. “No problem,” she said grudgingly. “But don’t you pull a stunt like that again on me.” She breezed by the need for explanations, focusing instead on herself. “Thank goodness I was with Tony and that my parents like you, or it would have been much worse, believe me.”

  “I’m really sorry, Tabitha. I won’t do it again, I promise.” My knees were still shaking, so I sank down to the floor, never turning my back on Michael, who stood against the wall, watching me intently. How did he do that? And what was he thinking now?

  “Hel-lo? Are you still listening to me?” Tabitha demanded. I snapped back to attention.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” I said sheepishly.

  “We’re still going to the shelter to do those interviews tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes, for sure,” I said. Stick to your normal routine, I thought to myself. School work is just the thing I need. Nothing unusual to see here, folks. Pay no attention to the angel in your room.

  “Okay, I’ll pick you up at one o’clock. Be ready,” she warned. “And then I can tell you all about Tony.” She giggled. “See ya.”

  “See ya,” I echoed, staring back at Michael, but Tabitha had already hung up. I held the phone against my ear until it began beeping angrily at me.

  “You should hang up,” Michael suggested.

  I slowly put the phone back in the cradle, keeping him squarely in my vision.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly.

  When I didn’t respond, he lowered himself to the floor until he was eye level with me.

  “May I come closer?” he asked quietly, gesturing toward my side. I nodded, still unable to speak.

  He came so close to me that I could feel the waves of heat radiating off his body. Up close, he looked even more perfect. His golden hair shined, a lock of it falling forward onto his forehead. I fought off the urge to reach out and tuck it back in place.

  “You asked me earlier how I did it. How I look like a teenager. Well, this is how. When I came to you, I chose the form that would be easiest for you to understand, but I can take the form of anyone. Would you like to see me do it again?”

  I hesitated, not sure if I could handle it.

  “I promise not to become anyone you know,” he said, taking my hand. A surge of warmth swept through my entire body as I registered his touch. “What you need to understand is that when I do this, I really become human, at least in all respects that matter.”

  I looked into his eyes. They were full of kindness and concern.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, still holding my hand.

  I nodded once.

  “Okay,” he breathed, and closed his eyes.

  Instantly, he began melting, his features twisting and morphing seamlessly into another person, his entire body doing the same. It was like flipping the channels on an old-fashioned television—a slight flurry of static as his features went out of focus before they sharpened, locking onto the picture. One by one, he became an old black lady; then a young boy, barely five; an elderly Native American; a teenaged girl. Person after person appeared, just for an instant; by the time my mind recognized who or what they were, he had transformed into the next person. Yet in that instant, I not only saw them, but I knew them—knew their histories, their loves, their sorrows, knew how special their time on this earth had been. And no matter who sat before me, the eyes were unchanging—the same sharp blue eyes, filled with kindness and grief, which belonged only to Michael.

  I sat transfixed, watching the parade of people before my eyes, until slowly he faded back into himself. My Michael.

  He was clutching my hand against his heart. I felt it thumping under my touch and my brain protested, almost convincing me that he was truly human. Almost.

  He never broke his gaze, never moved his lips. But deep inside of me, I seemed to feel more than I heard his words, vibrating and thrumming with intensity.

  I will protect you.

  His unspoken promise hung in the air between us. Finally, I broke the silence.

  “That was beautiful,” I said, embarrassed, as if I had seen into his soul.

  “I promise I won’t do that again, at least not without your permission,” he stated solemnly. “But I wanted you to understand.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, giving his hand a little squeeze. As I did, I realized my hand was starting to burn from his heat. “I’m sorry,” I said sheepishly, pulling my hand away from his grasp.

  He unclasped it immediately, looking remorseful. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  I turned my palm over. It was red and sweaty, but nothing more. “No, no harm done. Besides, if you have to deal with constant headaches, I guess I can handle the equivalent of sunburn.”

  He grinned then, a small, satisfied smile.

  “For the record,” he began, counting off answers to my unspoken questions matter-of-factly on his fingers. “One: white stuff at lunch—manna. I can eat human food, but prefer not to. Two: yes, I can fly, and yes, I have wings, though not in human form. But I also can do what amounts to time travel between great distances if need be. Three: when I take human form, I can provide myself with all the accoutrements of human life. So yes, I do have a house and a real car. I even have an AmEx card. Four: I don’t have to wear white, but it is kind of a tradition.”

  He gave me one of his patented wicked grins. “And I think it looks pretty good, don’t you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible,” I said. “Are all angels as pompous as you?”

  He laughed out loud. “Wait until you meet Raphael. He is totally full of himself.”

  My eyes widened. “Am I going to meet more angels?”

  His face darkened at the suggestion. “Not if I can help it. I don’t want to draw any more attention to you than I already have.”

  I was confused. “What do you mean?”

  He sprang to his feet, and I swear that for an instant he seemed to float. He stalked over to the window and looked out between the curtains toward the street.

  “It’s nothing, Hope. Just a feeling I have.”

  “But why?”

  He was deliberately avoiding my gaze, pretending to find something of great interest in the cul-de-sac outside.

  “I’m not going to give up,” I said, a stubborn note in my voice. “You might as well tell me what’s going on.”

  He doesn’t want to tell you because it’s his fault, said the voice in my head—that is, said Henri.

  “What’s your fault?” I prompted, silently thanking Henri for the tidbit of intelligence.

  “Damn it, Henri, mind your own business!” Michael’s face contorted with rage.

  “He’s only trying to do his job, Michael,” I said, walking swiftly to his side. “I need to know what’s going on. If I’m in danger, then the more informed I am, the better off I’ll be.”

  He clenched his fists and released them, over and over, considering my words. The effort he was making to
control his temper was awesome to witness. How much pain is he really in, I wondered, if something so small can spin him out of control?

  “You know the story of the Fallen Angels,” he said between clenched teeth. I nodded, not sure I liked where this was heading. “They are real, and they live on. Part of their punishment is that they cannot escape their own immortality. They have to go through Eternity knowing there is no redemption, always suffering the pain of separation from God.”

  I remembered what he had said about being driven mad by the pain, and I shuddered.

  “The Fallen are everywhere,” he breathed. “And they’d do anything to exact their revenge on me.” He leaned protectively over me, surrounding me in the tiny alcove formed by the window and the eaves.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  He shoved away from me, pacing across the room.

  “I was the one who forced them out of Paradise, Hope. They have waited millennia to get their revenge. Even something that appears insignificant—a young girl—might be tempting to them if it seemed to offer a way to get back at me. The fact of the matter is that I may be placing you in more danger by drawing attention to you—that is, if the wrong creatures notice.”

  Now it was my turn to rub my temples. I couldn’t follow all this. I was starting to really believe I was being threatened, and maybe from more than one side.

  “What were you saying about bird attacks, before?” I asked him.

  He looked up from his pacing, surprised, as if he’d forgotten I was even there. Swiftly, he composed his face into a serene mask. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

  I stood, staring at him from across the room. The surrealism of the situation began to sink in. I looked at Michael, standing in the middle of my bedroom. With his broad shoulders, his proud stance, I couldn’t imagine anything more solid, more real. Yet I knew it couldn’t be so.

  “Am I dreaming?” I wondered aloud.