Few Are Angels Page 5

  “We’re being followed. I need to get you somewhere safe,” he said, confirming my fears. We moved to the fence, but he stopped before we went in. “Listen to me carefully. I’m too weak to fight him now, and I need to hide you.” It seemed that he was the type to protect me after all. His words did little to quell the spasms of fear coursing through my body, however.

  “Who’s following us and why?”

  I started to panic when he shifted the quilt, revealing his face. He winced when the light hit him, but he kept his eyes on me.

  “You’ll be fine if you do as I say. Past those white cross markers is a mausoleum. Push the door hard and go inside.” His voice was hushed and breathy. Whoever or whatever was following us was close enough to hear us.

  “Where are you going?” The lump in my throat pushed the whisper out into the air louder than I had expected.

  He smiled and pushed me toward the hole in the fence. Once I was through it, I looked for the row of white crosses and sprinted in that direction. I tried to be quiet, but the snow crunched loudly under each footstep. Before I reached the mausoleum, I heard a strange male voice. I couldn’t make out what was being said, but I could hear the displeasure as my companion spoke.

  The doors of the mausoleum were made of stone and shut tight. I pushed as hard as I could, but to no avail. The cold stone bit at my fingers through my gloves as I used what little strength I had left trying to open the doors. Luckily I was dressed for the part of a snow trekker, and the only part of my body that was cold was my cheeks. I pushed again, but I still couldn’t open it. I was out in the open and if whoever had followed us could see me, I might be in trouble. I walked around the large structure and sat in the snow. I wasn’t able to see the fence where I’d come in, so I assumed that whoever followed us couldn’t see me, either. I was safe for a while.

  Sitting there alone did nothing to ease my mind about the odd situation I’d gotten myself into. The longer I sat there, the more I worried. Any normal person would have questioned the hell out of a stranger who asked them to take him to a cemetery while he is covered in a quilt so the sun didn’t touch him. I chuckled as I sat there and thought back to the good doctor’s comments about how I didn’t react normally to situations. That was why I had been kept for three weeks instead of seventy-two hours as originally planned. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was a whack job and I was imagining everything so I didn’t have to deal with my parents’ accident, but that remedy was too easy. This had to be real. My cheeks stung from the cold, my hands shook with anticipation, and my stomach rolled in fear all as my head seemed to float above me. I fought back tears for so long that I didn’t hear him when he walked up to me. I jumped just as I realized it was the guy who wouldn’t give me his name.

  Chapter 6

  * * *

  “I dream awake, Papa.” —Hélène

  “Yes, my dear, and what do those dreams show you?” —Papa

  * * *

  “Are you real?” I asked dreamily. I had sat there for what seemed to be forever and hadn’t noticed anything around me.

  He looked confused, his brow furrowed and his pale lips bent downward into a small frown; his lips looked pink. He reached out as if to touch me, then pulled back his hand just before it connected with my cheek, prompting me to frown as well.

  “You have been in the cold too long. Let’s get you home.”

  He stood up, giving me room to stand as well. As my body creaked and cracked into a standing position, a wave of dizziness hit me, causing me to sway.

  “Maybe you should rest for awhile before we head back; you aren’t steady on your feet.” He motioned for me to follow.

  Once inside the mausoleum, I was suddenly aware the quilt was no longer acting as a robe for him.

  “The quilt is gone,” I whispered. Why did he need it then, but not now?

  He tilted his head in my direction. His jet black hair fell carelessly over his eyes, and a chilling breeze blew his wintery cool scent in my direction. There was a coffin and an empty space for another in the middle of the stone floor. The walls were brown and dusty, and it smelled a lot better than I had expected. I guess when people turn to ash there is no more scent. In a corner, his cooler and backpack were placed neatly against the stone wall. It was odd there was nothing else there for him, like a blanket or a place to cook food.

  “Sit over there,” he said, and pointed to where he placed the quilt.

  I plopped on the floor still in a daze, my legs wobbly and weak. I wanted to touch him to prove to myself he was real, but I was too nervous. He stood at the other end of the small room and stared at me like he wanted to say something important. I gave him a few more seconds to get it out, but when he didn’t say anything, I spoke instead.

  “Why won’t you touch me?” I was instantly mortified by how needy my words sounded and by the look of shock on his face. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then tried again. “Why do you treat me like I have a disease?” Well, that sounded much better. Way to go, Ella. Let’s see if you can make this situation even more awkward than it already is.

  I opened my eyes, resigned to feeling like a neglected child. He looked at me with what seemed like remorse. It surprised me because he’d been nothing but callous and challenging, but he stood there looking guilty and ashamed.

  “I don’t think you have a disease. It was you who thought I was diseased.” He whispered so softly I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. I’d never met him, so why did he think that I believed he was diseased? His face fell even more at my silence, and I wanted to go over and comfort him, but I was afraid of the rejection I’d face.

  “What? I never said that.” I prayed that he’d believe me. We stayed there in silence for several more minutes before I finally decided that I was going to get more answers from him while he was in a slightly forthcoming mood. “Can I ask you something?"

  He studied me through thick dark lashes and smiled the first real smile I’d seen on him since we’d met. It was beautiful. White teeth sparkled in the light—a perfect contrast to his dark brown eyes. I returned his smile. My heart seemed light in my chest, and I had to catch my breath.

  “I thought we agreed?” he asked, teasing. He moved closer to me. I tried to lie to myself and say that it wasn’t exciting to have him so close so that my face didn’t betray me.

  “We did, but I’m starting to think that this is all in my head.” The look of confusion on his face was priceless. For once, he seemed interested in getting information out of me.

  “What do you mean, all in your head?” He moved even closer.

  My heart galloped, and my face felt warm. My hands shook, but not because of the cold. I needed him closer. I didn't know him well, but everything inside me said there was something familiar between us.

  “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. I’m crazy,” I said unconcernedly as I scooted closer to the wall and made myself comfortable. I waved my hand. “This could all be in my head. You could be a figment of my imagination, a coping method.”

  His eyes were still focused on me, but I couldn’t tell if he was taking me seriously, so I continued talking, the words falling uncontrollably out of my mouth. “I guess I’m lucky. I've never had to have Nurse Laura stick me with a needle. But I wonder if the past two days weren’t some sort of drug-induced dream.” I shuddered.

  “Stick you with a needle?” he asked.

  “Yeah, a needle in the arm for when patients got too unruly. I think it was some anti-psychotic drug that they used. I don’t know. I never had to use them. My hallucinations weren’t so bad then, I guess.” I felt free to confess my secrets, even though he hadn’t done or said anything to suggest I should. I just knew that I could. I wasn’t worried about confused glances or the soft sounds of a pen scratching a note pad. Maybe it was because he couldn’t send me back to Ocean Trace, or perhaps I truly believed that he was only in my mind.

  “Memories,” he said calmly as he moved to sit down beside me. His b
ody gave off no heat, but I felt the jostle of air as scooted a little closer.

  “No, these are hallucinations, and they make me sick—literally and figuratively.” I trembled at the thought of the hallucinations. I was called crazy because of them, and at times, I wanted to believe I was crazy, so at least I could take a step in the direction of getting better. “I started having them after my parents died. I don’t think that they’re just a coping method like the doctor said, because I get physically ill when I have them. I’ve often asked myself if they were something more, but if I am crazy, would my answer be worth anything?”

  He observed me for a moment, then the small creases around his eyes smoothed. “I’m real, and you’re not crazy. Nor do I believe you have a disease.” He placed his hand on mine. It was icy, but I felt a familiar wave of warmth spread across my body.

  “Why have you been so horrible to me?”

  Looking at him, I was positive he saw more than a broken person. There was more to him then he would ever show. It would be a thrilling ride getting to know him; the twists and turns that was his life excited me.

  “I’m sorry.” His words seemed more like an evasion than an apology. “We should get you home. Don’t you think?” He stood and walked to the door.

  I stayed seated. Just because he wasn’t being rude anymore didn’t mean that I had stopped answers. It seemed the roller coaster ride was down for maintenance. I was no maintenance man, but I would get the ride functional and answering questions.

  He sighed. His look said, “Don’t do this, not now.” “What now?” he asked, not unkindly.

  “I still have questions. I know we had an agreement, but you know a lot about me, and I know nothing about you. Will you answer some of my questions?”

  His face was unreadable. His posture was stiff and anxious, and I could tell he wanted to have been anywhere but there. If anyone else had treated me the way he had, I wouldn’t have cared anything about them at all, but the raven-haired mystery guy was different. The urge in my gut begged me to know him, and as long as I followed through, the ache inside me wasn’t too hard to bear.

  “I will answer what I can, but you have to understand, just because you were so forthcoming with your past doesn’t mean that I will be. There are things that you won’t understand and things that I can’t tell you.” He sat down at the other end of the room—as far away from me as possible. “Your face is wind burned, and your lips are chapped. I know you’re not comfortable here.”

  I blushed when he mentioned my lips. I hoped he didn’t notice. “That’s fine. Just a few questions.” I wrapped the quilt around me. I would have to be sneaky in order to get my answers.

  Chapter 7

  * * *

  Through average means, one will find peace in death.

  * * *

  “What’s your name?” I wanted to ask more intense questions, but I thought it was better to take it slow. I wanted to start with questions I knew he’d answer truthfully.

  “Kale.”

  It was an odd name, but so was mine. My mother had named me after my father’s mother, who passed away shortly before I was born. My parents said that they liked the vintage feel of the name Eloise, but I’d always hated it, so I’d shortened it to Ella. After their accident, I understood my parents' choice. If I had a daughter, I would name her Layne, after my mother.

  I thought Kale might lie, so I watched his breathing and body language, but he was still as a statue and maintained constant eye contact.

  “Nice name. How old are you?”

  He had to think about his answer, and I knew that instant that he would to lie. I pointed my finger at him and shook it. “Tell the truth!” I sat back and looked at him disapprovingly. Why would he lie about his age? He couldn't be that old.

  “Twenty-one.”

  I studied his face and waited to see if he would break and tell the truth, but he just stared at me. I had to think carefully. Maybe if I asked him simple questions, it would help me lead up to the bigger ones, and he wouldn’t get annoyed and clam up.

  “Where are you from?”

  He crossed his legs and rested his head back against the wall as if he had already gotten tired of my questions. “I was born in London. Now will you stop with the mundane questions and ask the ones you really want to know?”

  “Fine. Why were you fighting with that guy in my front yard last night?”

  He kept his face blank, and his eyes told me nothing. He was silent for a moment, and I worried that he wouldn’t answer. It seemed as if he was searching for a lie or an easy way to explain the situation. “He was trying to break into your home.”

  “What!? Why didn’t you tell me so I could call the police?” I was appalled at his nonchalant attitude. Someone had tried to break into my house while everyone was asleep. That warranted more of an explanation.

  “Why would you call the police? I stopped him from breaking in, and I will handle him if he comes back.”

  Though his attitude about the would-be intruder astonished me, I still needed to know more about him. “Why did you need the quilt outside?”

  “I’m sensitive to the sun when I am weak. Are we done?” His tone was final, but he made no move to leave.

  “No. What do you mean, ‘when you’re weak’?”

  “I was hurt in the fight, and I was weak. I have healed somewhat, so the sun doesn’t bother me as much. Are we done now?” He turned and headed toward the door.

  “No. Why are you staying here in this mausoleum and not in a hotel or something? Is that all you have? A cooler and a backpack? Are you homeless?” I was surprised that I hadn’t guessed it earlier when he asked me to take him to a cemetery instead of his home. Did homeless people make it a habit of squatting in cemeteries? His face was a mask, but the breath he expelled warned me that I’d tried his patience.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Fine. Who was that following us earlier?”

  “No one you need to be concerned about. I overreacted when I told you to hide.” He pushed the mausoleum doors open.

  I stood up, and thankfully, the dizziness had passed, but I had started to get cold, and I still had a fifteen-minute trek through the snow to get home.

  “Okay, just one more thing.” I looked away in case his answer wasn’t the one I hoped to hear. “Will I see you again?”

  “Maybe… I’m not sure.” He walked out, and I followed.

  We trekked back through the winter-burdened woods in complete silence. I worried about the would-be intruder. I would at least need to know what the guy looked like, in case I saw him lurking around the house. Though Kale had said he would handle it, he wasn’t a cop or deputy or whatever this little town had for police enforcement. He was a stranger in a foreign country. Maybe where he was from, the citizens had to handle their own criminal matters.

  When we arrived at the broken tree, I turned to Kale to say goodbye. I was surprised that he’d walked me all the way home. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him. A ridiculous thought, of course, because I was sure that it would never happen, but still…

  “I know you have more questions, and most of my answers weren’t enough for you, but you just have to accept it.” He paused. “We shouldn’t see each other again. It’s not safe for you.” He turned to leave.

  I wanted to say something to him. I wanted him to look back at me and say that he was wrong, and that he’d come back tomorrow and we’d go back to his hideaway and talk more, but I knew he wouldn’t. I ran after him and stood directly in his path. His face contorted into a mask of what looked like sadness. I reached out to touch his cheek, and for once, he didn’t flinch or move away. He turned into my touch, and I realized he was at war with feelings, just as I was with mine.

  I’d known from the day I looked in his eyes that there was more to him. We’d be a perfect fit, and my heart fluttered with the belief of it. I touched his face. His skin was smooth and cool to the touch. He closed his eyes, and I hoped that
my touch alone could change his mind.

  “We can’t.” He took my hand and placed it back at my side, and my heart crumbled. How did he have this effect on me? I barely knew him, but it felt like my heart did.

  “Okay.” I walked away with a heavy heart.

  On one hand, he’d opened up to me, but on the other, he’d said that was the last we’d see of each other. He had said, “Maybe.” I had that at least. I held on to that as he walked away. I watched until I couldn’t see him anymore. He didn’t look back, not even once.

  When I got inside, I forced myself up the stairs and into the bathroom for a steaming hot shower. After that, I bundled up in a pair of sweatpants and my favorite hoodie, and then looked at the clock to see how much time I had until Eric came home—plenty. I searched through boxes for my laptop and cell phone. Luckily, whoever packed my things had labeled the boxes. I set my laptop up in the alcove, plugged it in, and turned it on. I thought about checking my email, but decided against it. My inbox was probably filled by people from Virginia sending their condolences so they wouldn’t have to talk to me personally, and I didn't blame them. I hated giving condolences; there was really nothing someone could say to lessen the pain. Kale didn’t seem like the type to own a laptop, so communication with him was out. I picked up my phone and stared at it. I didn’t check my voicemail because I was sure some of the messages were from my parents when they were alive.

  I sat back in the chair and thought about how that day had gone so far and the mysteriously sexy Kale. I blushed, even though no one else was there. I should’ve been nervous about him, a guy with secrets that could be dangerous. He’d said that we shouldn’t see each other again, but I felt the veiled emotions that he had tried not to convey. He’d looked at me as if he recognized me, and I craved his recognition. I had talked to him about my parents and didn’t have a breakdown or a vision, which was a miracle.