Dream Angel : Heaven Waits (17 page)

For a moment I considered if I shouldn’t just run into the dense woods. I no doubt knew this area better than he, but if I was wrong and he caught me, I feared my father would never know what happened to me. I couldn’t put him through the never ending pain of not knowing and hoping I would one day return. There was only one place to go.

I reached Steve’s truck, praying that he had left his keys in the ignition, ready for a quick exit. My hands were so cold, I could barely grip the slippery door handle on the driver’s side. Using both hands, I yanked the door open and immediately felt around for the ignition. My heart sank. I flipped down visors and yanked open compartments. My pulse pounded with the knowledge that Steve had to be drawing near. I couldn’t look. I shoved my hands under the seat, my fingers fumbling around. When I skimmed over something cold, I gripped it as best I could and quickly brought it out into the dim light. A key!

I came back up just in time to see a flash of movement at my side.

Instantly, I lunged over the console. He was swiping at my legs while I was kicking at his grasp. It was hopeless, and before I could get out the other side he had his hand wrapped around my ankle. With incredible strength he flipped me flat to my back. I landed, head first to the passenger side door and the impact rattled my senses. My vision blurred. I was seeing two of everything. I screamed and when I did the back drop of night rippled just over Steve’s shoulder. Convinced a greater evil had just arrived, I screamed louder. Like a time warp in space, the atmosphere flexed and elongated. I held my shriek in a long, agonizing note. Steve smiled with satisfaction. He was completely oblivious to what throbbed like an invisible life force just behind him. “It” hovered while he paused to enjoy the power he had over me. Doing so would be his downfall.

The space around him furrowed, and a flash of lightening sparked. I wordlessly pointed behind Steve, but he paid me no mind. In the blink of an eye, Steve’s weight was lifted off of me. His face quickly changed from intense anger to wide-eyed shock as his six-foot frame was sucked backward out of the truck and flung to the ground. He hit so hard I felt the reverberation.

Curled up in a fetal position, I was too scared to move. My eyes were locked to the spot I had last seen the ripple. Whatever just happened was powerful and invisible, a force that I couldn’t identify as friend of foe. I feared I’d be next. Without having to move, I could just see Steve. He was face-down in the mud and not moving. I could clearly hear him moaning and groaning. Just the distance and impact of his fall should have kept him down for good, but it didn’t. The sight of Steve pressing his hands into the mud and pushing himself upward sent me into complete hysterics. I was sobbing, my body quaking as he struggled to get up. He had made it to his knees when the air ripple again and picked him right up off his feet.

Suspended in the air, he fought for his life, fists slicing the air but connecting with nothing. It was as if he fought a ghost, each attempt only provoked another strike. It was all happening so fast and was so unbelievable, that my only reaction was to keep screaming. I was completely unable to collect a rational thought or take command of my terror when, too my horror, Steve’s body was hurled in my direction. He landed in front of me, face down in a disheveled heap on the vehicle’s hood. The truck rocked from the impact.

All went quiet. Even the sleet had stopped. I lay as still as a statue for a full two minutes, barely able to breathe. The storm passed and clouds began to split. Only a partial moon dared to peek through a less disturbing sky. As I held my breath, my senses were sharpened by my desire to survive. We were not alone. The air around me pulsated with a life, a tangible energy. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. And I didn’t know when the next flutter was coming, or if it would come after me, I only knew that “it” was still here.

Slowly, I turned for the passenger side door. Placing both feet flat to the ground, I stepped out and my knee’s instantly buckled. I landed face first into an icy mud puddle. And for a moment, I was splashing around, until finally, I dug my bare feet in and pushed myself up. I told myself not to look back, just run, but then a moan from Steve stopped me.

Cautiously, I glanced back over my shoulder, in Steve's direction. I watched as he drew in a rattled breath, raising his head up from the dent he had made in the truck’s hood to look at me with his right eye — his left one had been pounded shut. When he opened his mouth to speak, he only managed a gurgling sound. Before he could even form a word, the air around him cracked with thunder. And in an instant, Steve’s head jerked back and he moaned even louder.

As horrible and surreal as this was, it wasn’t Steve I was watching. An image was forming behind him, a figure that faded in and out of visibility, but whose outline pulsated with energy. Though faint, the energy took the form of a man. It flickered slowly until the outline soon gave way to the entire person. He was tall and luminous. And though his face was dark with anger and his eyes sparked with fire, there was nothing demon-like about him. He had Steve suspended by the back of his jacket, and without warning, he dropped him onto the hood of the truck with a thud. Kneeling down, he pressed one knee hard into Steve’s back, and his body went limp as the man leaned down and hissed in his ear.

When the face of my hero flashed, it was only a side view, but that chiseled nose and iconic profile allowed me draw my first full breath. I wanted to run to him, but I couldn’t feel my feet. I wanted to scream out his name, but I had no voice. The adrenaline that had once sustained me had subsided. Thankfully, my knees were locked or else I would have surely crumbled to the ground.

I barely flinched when Elvis picked up Steve as if he weighed no more than a feather, and with a kick to the truck’s door, slammed him into the driver’s seat. It took only a moment for Steve to realize he was free. In a flash, he sprang to life, scrambling for the key’s I’d left dangling in the ignition. How he managed to move was amazing to me, but I understood the look of desperation in his eyes. No doubt he was functioning on survival instincts alone.

A moment later the truck roared to life. The engine surged and the tires spun before it grabbed solid ground, and shot forward like a canon down the drive. All I could see were its crimson tail lights blazing in the night.

With my arms wrapped protectively around my body, I gently rocked back and forth, swaying on legs that were both unsteady and numb.

“Samantha.” His voice sounded like a whisper to my ear.

And when I looked up to my angel, his face had softened back into that of the man I knew and loved. He was like a mirage, standing there with his hands firm on his hips, his weight shifted heavily to the right, and water from the storm glistening on his face. I saw a warrior of God, a guardian of human life. And when he extended his hands to me, palms up, I ran to him, broken and fragile.

“I gotcha, baby girl,” Elvis said as he swooped me up in his arms.

I don’t remember the journey back to the cabin. All I remember is the feel of strong arms around me as I sobbed with my head buried against his chest. Once inside, he used his shoulder to close the door behind us, and the warm air immediately began to revive me. But it wasn’t until Elvis began to peel me from his arms that I found my voice.

“No, no, no!” I clung on tighter.

“S-h-h-h, honey, take it easy,” he said tenderly while slowly unraveling me from his body, one limb at a time.

My every muscle was rigid from the cold. And the minute my legs touched the ground, my knees buckled, and Elvis quickly gathered me back into his arms.

“I’d put you in a hot shower, baby, if I thought you could tolerate the pain.” Elvis said while marching me down the hall.

Tapping the bedroom door with his boot tip, he gingerly laid me onto the bed.

“I’m sorry honey, but we need to get you out of these wet clothes.”

He did not wait for permission to undress me, he simply went to work. There was no shyness, no moment of hesitation. I tried to help but he shooed my hand away. The light from a bedside lamp cascaded a soft glow across his concentrated features. Had our situation been one of intimacy, I would have found that wisp of hair low across his brow erotic and sensual, but I only briefly considered it. He moved fast, fumbling in all the areas you’d expect a man too, but accomplishing the task on his own. Soon, I was completely naked.

He kept his gaze low and began to rub my legs with hands that felt hard on my skin. I bit back the tears.

“I’d heal you if I could, baby, but I’m no Jesus,” he’d say, and then exhale a heated breath onto my feet, messaging and encouraging circulation.

To say he had magic hands would be an understatement, but this was not the special attention I had always imagined. The process was torturous. I’d cringe, anticipating the pain as his long fingers wound around my calves. He’d knead my muscles, and just as the agony would start to subside, he’d shift to a new area and it would start all over again. As painful as this was, relief could not come fast enough. And though my toes tingled, and my knees were no longer locked, my core body felt like a block of ice.

“T-t-too slow,” I managed to speak through chattering teeth.

“Ok, baby girl, hold on,” he sighed deeply, and muttered something about having to do this the old fashion way.

Standing up, he jerked his wet shirt tails from his paints and unbuckled his belt. Before I could process what was about to happen, he was undressed. He joined me on the bed, and while supporting his own weight, gingerly laid his long naked frame over mine. Carefully, his body sank deeper until my petite frame virtually vanished and an all over heat seeped into my bones.

While I openly moaned from the reprieve, he looked down to me with a playful smile.

“I-I don’t know about you, but I imagined this moment differently.” He was teasing me, but the lines of worry were deep across his brow.

“A-a-are… y-you… cold?” I forced a smile.

His face softened. “No, baby, I’m fine,” he said in a caring tone that had my eyes flooding with emotion. There was no hesitancy, I let the tears flow.

“I-I’m so sorry,” I said, and my voice sounded small and weak.

“Shush, now,” His own voice cracked with emotion, and his eyes grew misty as he stroked the damp hair away from my face. “I’m sorry too, honey. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner.”

“Y-you were distracted?” A vision of him throwing darts at my photo popped in my head, and I chuckled but stopped when it hurt.

“Something-like-that, yes” he said, leaning down to place a tender kiss to the tip of my nose. “I just can’t take my eyes off of you for one minute without you getting yourself into trouble.”

“W-what a girl will do for your attention, huh?” I said and enjoyed that famous smile widening over me.

As we lay together, cocooned in each other’s arms, the stillness that enveloped us was like the calm after a storm, tranquil yet electric. I'd let out a shaky breath, and he'd draw me closer, purposely laying my head to rest over his heart. Nuzzling him, I was hypnotized by the rise and fall of his every breath. And when he stirred, attempting to become more comfortable, I startled inside his embrace.

“I’m here, honey, I’m here,” was the last thing I heard him say.

A blanket of white covered the ground. Snow in Atlanta? It happens, but even I couldn’t remember when. And as I stood at the kitchen window that next morning, coffee in hand, I could see no sign of last night’s nightmare. Not one track, not even from the smallest animal was visible. Mother Nature had simply wiped the earth clean. And as I closed my eyes, attempting to gather my strength, I thanked God for at least the illusion of a new day.

I had fallen asleep in the arms of an angel, but I woke up alone, blurry eyed and groggy. Right away, I noticed a note pinned to my pillow and read it first thing. It started with, he had gone to make sure our “new friend” hadn’t mistaken last night for a bad dream, and ended with: You know where to find me.

He was right, I realized. I knew where to find him, and I couldn’t help but laugh mockingly at the knowledge that it never required a plane ride to Memphis. The solution lied in the simplicity of one question: Where would all good little angels go at the start of every day?

***

The drive back to the city always felt shorter. To this day I believe it's a holdover from my childhood, a time when I couldn’t get to the lake fast enough, and then sulked notoriously when it was time to leave. This time, I was ready. Real life had come crashing down around my childhood memories. Never again would I look back to the lake through the eyes of innocence. Steve had taken that from me.

And after a quick shower and a change, I went straight to packing. Set to leave, I loaded up the car, pausing only briefly before sealing up the cabin for what I knew would be another long absence.

The ride home was clear, and the smooth journey allowed me the time to think. My mind worked on what I would say when I saw my father. I was aware he’d want to know where I’d been, and what had inspired this early morning visit. I decided not to tell him about Steve. The details were too horrible, the outcome too hard to explain. Besides when it came to my angel, my father only knew pieces of this amazing tale. He was aware of the dreams I’d had while lying in the hospital. I had told him the story myself. And in his religious convictions, he had rationalized that God had provided me with a distraction, a reprieve from the pain, while my body healed. It was a simplistic idea to a complicated reality. One, I was willing to let him believe, for now.

All around me, the rolling hills were sprinkled with a snowy powder. Sadly, and just like the day before, I didn’t bother to admire them. Once out of the mountains, the soft beauty of woodland nature slowly gave way to the harshness of steel and skyrocketing buildings. All around me, the city buzzed like a beehive. Car’s lined the roads and pedestrians packed the sidewalks. And when I exited the freeway, I immediately saw the white cross from the steeple up ahead. I was almost there, almost safe.

My heart was pounding as I pulled in, and parked near the administrative building. For awhile I just sat, edgy and easily overcome with emotion. This was not how I wanted my father to see me, shaken to my core, I thought, and then prayed for strength and protection. I half expected a rebuttal answer from the Devil himself, but soon a sense of peace rushed over me. And not wanting to waste the confidence this all-over good feeling gave me, I grabbed my purse and raced for my father’s office.

For the most part, the parking lot was empty but that didn’t surprise me. After all, it was the middle of the week. However, I was stunned when I entered the main office and Nancy, my father’s secretary, wasn't at her desk. It was 10:00 am. Maybe she was late?

I crossed the room, hesitated briefly, and then knocked on my father’s door. When nobody answered, I peeked and right off, noticed him fast asleep on the couch. For a moment, I felt as if I was the intruder. And I almost turned to leave, but then I couldn't help but wonder what lovely moment he might be sharing with my mother and decided to wait. Content, I sat down in an empty chair by his side, and settled in to enjoy an odd case of role reversal. For once, I’d watch “him” nap just as he used to watch me.

My father was quite the sight, actually. At six foot three, and all curled up on his side, he all but swallowed up the average sized couch. And I couldn’t help but snicker at the way his black wing tip shoes dangled off the sides like a little boy dressed up in his father’s clothes. My soft laughter slipped into an internal sigh as I admired his pallid hair, giving him a touch of aged wisdom, and I silently commended my mother for her impeccable taste in men. He was stunning, in a fatherly sort of way.

The moments passed in the slow rise and fall of his every breath, and at some point he must have felt my presence because his eyes finally fluttered open and we smiled at each other.

“You’re napping earlier than normal today, daddy.” I felt a rush of love in the word “daddy”, and my tears quickly swelled.

“You caught me, baby girl.” He sat up, yawning and adjusting his tie.

“Can’t wait to get to those good dreams, I bet.” I muttered, and my father’s eyes narrowed.

Not waiting for his response, I moved to the couch and hugged him with all my might. My emotions quickly flooded forward, and I struggled to hold them back.

“Well, this is nice. What did I do to deserve this visit?” He chuckled.

“Can’t I just show up at church like all good daughters of pastors should?”

“Sure, if you’re not my Samantha.” My father joked as he drew me further in his arms.

“Well, starting today, your little girl is changing her ways,”

“You are?” Daddy gently pushed me out of his arms so that he could examine my face.

Smiling, I kept my gaze low so that he couldn't look me square in the eyes. He had a talent for knowing my secrets and I wanted to tell him at my own pace, on my own terms.

“To whom should I send my thanks?” He gathered my hands inside his two.

“God,” I said, enjoying the softening of his expression.

“Is that so?”

We both laughed.

“Yes sir.” I was chuckling and then crying. My father's face darkened with worry, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

“What’s wrong, baby girl, why the tears?”

I’d had the whole drive to think about what I wanted to say to my father, where I wanted to go from here. And though I’d been taught at an early age to keep God close, I often chose my own path. Sadly, I could have been the poster child for a life run amuck. It was time to let go of the reigns, but I just didn’t know where to start.

“I-I’ve come from the cabin—” I started but daddy didn't let me finish.

“You went to the lake, why?” He sat up straighter.

“I needed to think, and—”

“What’s wrong, are you sick?” My father’s eyes locked on to me in that way parents do when they’re trying to read their children’s minds.

“I-I don’t know.” I gave a standard adolescent response, immediately wishing I could take it back.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” he growled.

Lord, help me!
I was sinking fast.

“It’s probably nothing, but I’ve had some headaches recently and,” — I purposely left out mood swings and erratic behavior — “and I fear it might be related to my accident.”

“When did all this happen?” He scooted back a tad.

“Memphis or a little before, I-I didn’t mention it, because I wasn’t sure myself, and I didn’t want to worry you.” I quickly took his hands, and squeezed them tight inside my own, hoping to calm the fear I could see escalating in his eyes.

“You haven’t been going to your check up’s, have you?” He pushed back his hair with both of his hands. “I knew I should have taken you. That’s what your mother would have done.”

“Daddy, please, really I’m ok.” I struggled. “I’m sure it’s just part of the healing process, but I will go back to the doctor as soon as possible. I promise.”

At first he said nothing. He just kept looking at me with that inspecting gaze of his. I longed to tell him about Steve. I really did want to talk, and unload my sorrow, but I didn’t have the stomach to share what I knew would hurt him. Instead, my shields went up. And while he watched me closely, I tugged on my shirt sleeves, desperate to hide the bruises I’d seen in the shower that morning.

“What can I do to help?” He asked gently.

“Actually, I’d rather help you, if that’s ok?” I waited, and his stunned silence suggested I should continue. “I’d like to come here and help.”

“You want to help here… at the church?” His eyes widened in a surprise that made me openly laugh.

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, but I have to ask what's motivated this sudden decision?”

“Daddy, you know I’ve been stumbling down a rocky path since mother passed. You’re always preaching that God is grooming us for his purpose, and I’d like to try to find out what mine is.” I smiled big, remembering what Elvis had told me back in Tupelo.

My father smiled tenderly. “Baby girl, you may not discover that overnight. God has his own timing.”

“I know, but I have to start somewhere.”

“Alright,” he nodded, and then drew me back into his arms, “and if it makes you happy my dear, you can start as early as tomorrow.”

He held me tight, and I wanted to stay in his protective embrace forever, content to be his little girl.

“Would you mind, daddy, if I stayed for awhile today… to sit in the sanctuary. I can lock up if you need to leave.”

My father’s expression lifted with a look that suggested my upbringing may have finally kicked in after all.

“You may.” He stood up, straightened his tie and grabbed his coat, “I’ll leave you to God. Oh, and use the phone on my desk to call your doctor before you leave. That’s top priority now Samantha, ya hear? And call your work.”

I smiled at how easily he transitioned back to my commanding father, ordering me around even as he was hugging me goodbye. He was a good father, and an even better example of a God fearing man, a hero to so many in the community. Though I’d heard so many say how special he was over the years, sadly, I’d only recently come to realize the truth.

“I love you, baby girl” He uttered in my hair.

“I love you to daddy. Tell mama hello for me when you see her in your dreams tonight.” I couldn’t resist teasing him, and the sight of him blushing like a school boy made me smile.

He shook his head at my silliness as he left. One day I’d tell him my secret, I thought. One day.

***

When the office door shut behind my father, the room went still. Maybe it was nothing more than left over jitters, but the silence felt thick like a presence. So much so, I imagined I could hear it breathe. It was time to leave. I needed some peace, and I knew where to find it.

From the time of my birth to the age of eighteen, I had spent every Sunday inside the old sanctuary. Long before the add-ons and additional parking, this church had been as much a part of my childhood as swing sets and ice cream. I grew up here. I’d kissed my first boy at the age of fourteen in the back pews, and later shed a tear over that same boy as we parted ways one summer, to long ago to remember the actual date.

After I exited the office that day, I followed a long carpeted hallway and a moment later arrived at the front lobby. The sight of those weathered double doors sparked yet another memory. I was small for my age, a spitfire, and I could still see myself grunting and tugging on those sanctuary doors, refusing to accept help from the passing adults. I laughed, remembering how once the seemingly impenetrable fortress was conquered, I raced to my allotted seat down front, triumphant and contented. It seemed stubbornness was an issue even then, I thought while straightening the flower arrangements on the podium near the entrance.

Lingering, I noticed last Sunday’s leaflets stacked neat in a pile, and I picked one up to consider it. “Hungering and thirsting for God, reminds us that only devotion to the Lord Jesus Christ satisfies our soul,” it said.

Daddy sure has a way with words
, I nodded to myself as I leaned back against the tiny welcome desk, eager to read further, and I got as far as the Bible verse of the day when a piano from inside the sanctuary began to play. My eyes stalled mid sentence. It was in the natural, informal, way in which the pianist played that evoked my immediate smile. There was no question; God was the only tutor this composer had ever needed.

My heart leapt with anticipation as I grasped those big doors, and this time, swung them open with ease. The music gushed from the room, rushing over me in a wave that left me tingling from my ears down to my toes. At first, I made no move to enter. I simply lingered at the threshold, overwhelmed by the aroma of cedar and a lingering mix of colognes from past congregations. The unusual scent stirred fond memories of what I considered to be homespun elegance at its best. And when an “off” note echoed from the stage, my focus shifted to the pulpit and to Elvis, who looked comfortable in his rightful spot.

Dressed in a white suit with a sky blue tie, he coordinated beautifully with the baby grand piano he sat behind. And though he would have said he was just fooling around, he played wonderfully. The music was gentle, and I took my time to approach the stage, savoring the view. Who could blame me? It had been a whole twelve hours since I’d seen him last, and with his dark brown locks, he looked just as natural as God had made him. Even more beautiful than before, if that was even possible.

Now this was my angel, I thought as I drew closer. This was the angelic force I remembered so well, straight from my dreams. Sure, that jet-black look of his was excitingly dangerous, but “this” shy young man from Mississippi was extra special. In fact his features were so radiant, he all but glowed. And as I walked towards him, purposely taking my time, he was right away smirking at me. I could only laugh at how he knew me so well.

“Decided to go natural, did we?” The music stopped when I stepped up to the stage.

“I figured you were ready for the real me,” he said and flashed me that lopsided grin.

“Is it me, or have you always had a knack for dramatic entrances’?” I asked, and he answered back with a note that sounded a bit off key.