Fallen Angel (12 page)
Authors: Heather Terrell
Over the next few days, darkness seeped into my soul.
Maybe it came from the hatred of me I saw in my classmates’ eyes and minds. When I returned from my three-day suspension for my Facebook prank, as it was dubbed by the administration, I’d become the object of loathing for every student at Tillinghast Upper High School. My locker was vandalized, my homework destroyed before it reached the teachers’ hands, my face spit upon. God forbid that I accidentally touched someone; the abhorrence seared my fingertips. But I could speak not a word in my own defense: I conceded that right on the gym stage.
Maybe the darkness came from the evil that I’d witnessed in Missy’s heart, or the blood I’d sampled from her via Piper. In the flash from her blood, I saw the desire for such unspeakable acts that I couldn’t allow myself to revisit the images. It was like becoming a character in one of Hieronymus Bosch’s paintings of hell.
I didn’t know the source of the darkness. I knew only that the Good Samaritan compulsion all but disappeared the night of the dance. Looking back, I had no idea why I did what I did. Once I’d realized that I had the capacity to spare all those kids all that pain, I just had to take the fall. Was this part of who I was? It certainly didn’t sound like the impulse of a vampire. But really, what did it solve, my taking the fall? Although it wouldn’t have fixed anything to point the finger at Missy.
Regardless, all that had vanished. I filled the void left in its wake with me and Michael.
Ruth hadn’t spoken to me since the dance, and I wasn’t sure why. Since I was certain that she must know that I didn’t create the Facebook page, I could only guess that she was furious that I’d ruined her dream night. I couldn’t even tell her why. Whatever her reason, her abandonment of me made my own submission to the darkness easier. It was one less tie to my old self.
The only ones who didn’t detest me outright were Piper and Missy, who were uniform in their disbelief and confusion even though they were no longer in league as friends. Instead of hating me, they seemed to be frightened of me. And with my urge to act charitably gone, I certainly felt no impulse to reach out toward Piper and encourage her better nature.
Only Michael stood by my side, even though part of him wished that I’d tell the truth about Missy’s act. Only he understood what I had done and why. The knowledge brought us closer. So close that there was no longer any room for anyone else.
By day, Michael and I strode down the Tillinghast school hallways impervious to everyone but ourselves; I felt powerful in a way I’d never experienced. By night, we flew through the skies like gods. Like the vampires that I guessed we were. We surrendered to each other. And to the blood.
“Come on,” I urged Michael. Where he used to push me along, I now dared him to follow me. The darkness had filled me with a recklessness I’d never before experienced. I now acted with abandon—without concern for anyone other than Michael.
He didn’t move.
“Come on,” I said again.
“Are you sure there’s no one inside?” Michael didn’t sound convinced.
“Positive. I can’t sense anyone.” Ever since I’d submitted to my powers, my skills had grown. I could scan a building or a room to discover how many people were present. With certainty, I knew the charming little townhouse, which dated from the eighteen hundreds, was empty.
Without waiting for Michael’s agreement, I slid open the third-floor window and flew inside. Narrowly missing a stack of boxes, I landed hard on the rickety wooden floor. Another thud ensued, and I knew Michael had followed. My eyes adjusted to the pitch-blackness and I saw a clear path to the attic staircase. I took Michael’s hand and led him downstairs.
We’d broken into Rose’s, the nicest restaurant in town, the one that all the undergrads dragged their moms and dads to on parents’ weekend. It was our two-month anniversary, and Michael wanted to celebrate with a really special dinner even though my parents had grounded me indefinitely. He had scouted out the restaurant during the day to crystallize his plan.
After we got to the ground floor, he directed me to a private room that contained a table for two, as well as a fireplace, a few scattered club chairs, and a couch upholstered in ivory damask. He seated me in one of the chairs and lit the silver candelabras at the table’s center and on the mantel. After which he disappeared into the kitchen.
Within a few minutes, Michael returned bearing a large waiter’s tray. Delicious aromas wafted from the silver-lidded plates on top. With a flourish, he unfolded a linen napkin and laid it in my lap. Then he placed before me a vase brimming with the restaurant’s signature variegated red roses. Finally, he brought the two plates to the table. In a grand gesture, he lifted the lids simultaneously, revealing lobster with asparagus and risotto, dishes that he’d ordered earlier that day. My favorite.
Before he sat down, he knelt next to me and whispered in my ear, “Happy anniversary.” We tucked into dinner, talking and laughing—even giggling—as if we were any normal couple. But all the while, we knew that it was only playacting. Michael and I were anything but normal.
After we finished the last bites of a molten chocolate cake, I stood up and stretched out my hand to Michael. He rose, and I led him to the couch facing the fireplace. We hadn’t dared light a fire—the chimney smoke would be a giveaway—but we had no need. We could see each other well enough in the dim candlelight; we were used to much less light.
I lay down on the couch and motioned for him to join me. Lowering himself down, he molded his body to mine. Our lips rested up against each other, and for a long moment, we just breathed each other’s breath. Through his breath, I experienced every aspect of his day as if I’d been with him the entire time. He did the same. We had no need for words.
Then I kissed him. At first, the sensation was simple, pure pleasure. My lips, his lips, our lips, our tongues. In time, the bloodlust began to build, the same urge we first experienced at the fateful Fall Dance. But we no longer fought it. We yielded to its power.
I ran my tongue along his teeth at the same moment he ran his tongue against mine. Tiny droplets emerged on the tips of our tongue, and our blood mingled. Intense waves of physical delight washed over us. Then, like a slow burn that becomes more intense over time, the images came. I saw Michael and myself with wide swaths of light at our backs and letters of light emblazoned on our chests. I saw us flying through places and times I could not identify or comprehend. I saw us battling and helping and fighting and saving. Much as I didn’t understand who or what we were, I didn’t comprehend many of the images; indeed most of them seemed vaguely futuristic. Yet I reveled in them.
The visions and the pleasure slowly receded. I lay in Michael’s arms, peaceful and content; we never discussed the images, and we rarely talked about our natures. But I knew that, from the instant I awoke until nightfall of the next day, I would wait for this moment. I lived in—and for—it. As did Michael. We had become addicted to each other’s blood.
The next night, I stared at the clock. The hands seemed frozen at 11:50. I prayed and prayed for them to move. I desperately wanted that minute hand to hit the eleven and the twelve. Only then, only at midnight, could I rise from my bed and fly out to meet Michael. I didn’t think I could hold off the craving—for Michael and the blood—a minute past twelve.
My countdown had started as soon as I woke up that morning. Every day progressed that way now. As I got ready for school, as I sat in class, as I walked alone down the hallways trying hard to ignore the hateful stares, as I sat at dinner with my parents, I thought about my upcoming night with Michael. Knowing that the sweet release was only hours away made the daytime misery of school bearable.
The clock’s hands finally joined at the twelve. Midnight. I wanted to leap from my bed, but instead I peeled back my quilt quietly, careful not to rustle the sheets. After I lowered my feet to the floor, I stuffed the bed with a blanket and then tiptoed across the notoriously creaky floorboards. I carefully modulated every step I took and every move I made to minimize noise; I didn’t want to risk awakening my sleeping parents.
I made it across the floor to my window with only a modicum of sound. Then I paused to listen for any stirrings from my parents. The house was silent.
Bit by bit, I opened the window. Even my gentle efforts caused the ancient window sash to groan. I winced and forced myself to wait a moment before pushing it up the rest of the way. Part of me wondered why I cared so much about my parents catching me. Most of the time I didn’t, which was probably one reason I’d never mentioned to Michael that conversation between our parents that I had overheard. My powers had grown such that my mom and dad couldn’t stop me from meeting Michael, no matter what tactic they tried. Yet, I guessed that enough of the old Ellie remained to make me protective of my parents. More specifically, I guessed that I wanted to protect them from me, from the vampire, or whatever it was, that I’d become.
Kneeling on the window seat, I created an opening wide enough to slip my body through. I planned on closing it once I made it into the nighttime air, as nothing would awaken my parents quicker than a cold blast. I worked my head, arms, and torso through the aperture and was just about to slide my legs through when I felt a hard tug on my ankle. For a second, I thought that my leg had gotten tangled in one of the blankets folded on my window seat. I shook my leg a little, trying to loosen it from the blanket. But the grasp only tightened.
I froze. The blanket felt distinctly like a hand.
Part of me wanted to just kick my leg loose and fly off, but I knew I couldn’t. I had to face him or her. Or worse, I suspected,
them
. Terrified, I slowly slid my body back through the window opening. I delayed sliding my head through until the very last second.
Finally, I mustered up the courage to turn around. There my parents sat, looking oddly vulnerable in their pajamas. My dad settled on the window seat—his hands must have been the ones to pull at me—while my mom perched on my bed. Right on top of the blanket I’d stuffed it with, as a matter of fact. We stared at one another in complete silence. I didn’t know what to say or do, and they didn’t seem to either.
“Just where do you think you are going, Ellspeth?” my dad asked, breaking the silence. His tone sounded hurt, and he was using the formal “Ellspeth.”
“Nowhere,” I whispered.
“Does this ‘nowhere’ include meeting Michael?” my mom asked. Her voice bore none of the soft, injured qualities of my dad’s. She was furious.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I sounded unconvincing, even to my own ears.
“We may be trusting, Ellspeth, but we’re not fools,” she said.
I didn’t know how to respond. Obviously I was trying to sneak out, although I hoped they hadn’t witnessed the flying piece. I had no idea what they knew or for how long they had been aware of my nocturnal activities. Given that I had no desire to educate them about the details if they were blissfully unaware, I kept quiet.
“Ellspeth, allow me to make clear to you what seems very apparent to your mother and me.” My dad’s tone started to match my mom’s—less hurt and more angry.
“All right,” I said.
“We have grounded you for that Facebook incident, which mystifies your mother and me. But you still want to see Michael. So you two thought you’d sneak out of your respective houses late at night and rendezvous somewhere. Am I right?”
I wondered whether I should just cop to my father’s tale. After all, his theory was pretty close to reality, and it was far less damning than the full truth. Plus, I could feel the need for Michael’s blood pulsating through me. Maybe if I just came clean, they would leave me alone, and I could still meet Michael. Even now, Michael was my focus.
As I considered my response, my mom interjected, “Is Michael waiting for you out in the yard?”
“No,” I practically shrieked. Michael and I had planned on meeting in town. But I was late, and I couldn’t take the chance that he’d come to my house looking for me. And I absolutely couldn’t risk my mom peering out the window for him, only to witness him flying by in search of me.
“Do you admit that you made arrangements to meet him somewhere? Just not here?”
“Yes.”
My dad shook his head. “Ellspeth, we are so disappointed in you. This behavior is so uncharacteristic for the daughter we’ve raised and loved.” He looked over at my mother, who nodded in encouragement. “We can’t help but think that Michael is somehow influencing your actions. For your own protection, we have decided to ban you from seeing Michael.”
“No!” I cried out.
“Yes, Ellspeth.” My dad’s voice was unusually firm. “We will do whatever it takes to keep you from seeing him.”
I could not allow my parents to separate me from Michael. I no longer cared about being a dutiful daughter—all I cared about was Michael and the blood. I felt myself getting furious, felt that expansion I first experienced when I lashed out at Missy. My words and my actions were no longer under my control.
I stood up from the window seat, defiant in the face of their attempt at restraints. “You cannot stop me from seeing him.”
My mom rose and got right in my face. She looked the way I felt. “Oh, yes, we can.”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“Ellspeth, I think your dad and I know exactly what you are capable of.”
Placing my hands on my hips, I matched her expression and then smiled smugly at her. “Oh, really? I don’t think that’s possible.” I didn’t wait for her response; I headed straight for the window. I had every intention of flying right out of it, into Michael’s arms. I didn’t care if they saw. I needed to get to Michael, and I would not let them constrain me.
As I lifted the sash once again, I heard her call out, “You think you’re a vampire, don’t you?”