Sojourner (20 page)

How could he watch me die over and over?

When I pull myself from amid the warm comforter, I rise to a steel sky and frothy morning.  A hard frost has latticed the window and the grass gleams a dull, unsteady white; my Jeep’s windows are completely covered, meaning before I head to school, I’ll have to clear them.  My throat aches and my head feels as though it’s stuffed with rags, and I know it’s because I spent lots of time crying last night, both awake and asleep.  I keep trying to find answers, but maybe there aren’t any.

I rush through a shower, unable to enjoy it and mindlessly search for an outfit, jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt I really don’t care for.  It’s all the same.  With trembling hands, I braid my long hair even as Jimmie stomps through the door.

“Lizzie?”

“Coming.  Just a sec.”  I band off the single braid and make my way downstairs as Jimmie pulls off his blue uniform shirt, leaving only his white undershirt.  His pale skin almost blends with it.

“Did you paint the garage?”

“No.”  I swallow hard.  “Lev did.  He thought you had more than enough to do, and besides, he didn’t like those words.”  I’m not looking at him, feigning interest instead at the ends of my braid, pretending to check to see if the hair is even.

“That was nice of him.”  He heads into the kitchen to grab a glass and the pitcher of orange juice.  “But I would’ve gotten to it today.  Tell him thanks when you see him.”

“’Kay.”  My stomach knots.  I’m not sure I feel any better about seeing Lev today than I felt last night.  How do I come to terms with this?

A knock at the door interrupts, and, taking a deep breath, I force myself to answer it.  I expect to find Lev there, but it’s Celia.  She’s wearing a bright pink sweatshirt, jeans and sneakers with bright pink laces.  She offers a bright smile.

“Morning, Lizzie.  Thought I’d see if you want a ride.  Lev is out sick.”  She points to a red Nissan.  “Mine is already warm and defrosted.”

She has a point, I grudgingly admit, knowing that as soon as we’re alone, we’ll probably be talking about Lev, and I’m not sure I’m ready.  I know it’s inevitable, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Sure,” I manage.  “You want to come in while I get my stuff?”

“Nah.  I’ll wait in the car.”

“’Kay.”  I watch her turn before closing the door.

“Is that Lev?” Jimmie asks.  He’s already pushed the recliner back and closed his eyes.  His cap rests askew on his head, blocking the light.  He’ll be asleep in no time.

“Nope.  His sister, Celia.  Lev’s sick today so she asked if I wanted to ride with her.”

“Mmmm,” Jimmie says.  At this point, a troupe of bikini-clad volleyball players could start a game in the living room, and Jimmie wouldn’t move.  He sleeps so soundly.  I guess it’s from the shift change and all.

Shaking my head, I run up the stairs and get my bag, check to make sure I have all my books, and then grab my purse.  On the way out, I tug my jacket on.  Celia’s blaring music, but, as I slip into the seat, she flips the radio off and nods to my seatbelt.

“You should put that on.”

“Yes, Mother,” I sigh and draw the belt across my lap.  At one time I would have had a million questions for Celia, but right now, I’m not so sure I want to know any more than what I’ve already learned.

“You’re pretty quiet this morning, Lizzie.  I take it Lev finally talked to you.”  She looks at me, a frown transforming her usually mischievous expression.

“Yeah.”  I lean back in the seat and close my eyes, feeling fatigue tugging at me.

“It’s not all his fault.”

My eyes fly open incredulously.  “So he didn’t really have the option of saving me the last six times I died.  He had to watch as I took a bullet.  Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

She turns back to the road and veers into the parking lot.  “Even angels are flawed beings able to make bad choices.  Before you came along, he didn’t feel things.  He didn’t feel people.  He did what he was told.  It is his fault that he was so stubborn for so long.  But angels can’t change the past any more than humans can.  He lives with the nightmares of watching you die just as much as you do.”

My body aches from the weight I’m carrying, and I just want to sleep.  “What does he want from me?”

“To save you.  He doesn’t feel he deserves more.”

“To save me?  What does that mean?”  The breath catches in my throat.

Celia’s grip tightens on the wheel.  “I guess he didn’t tell you that part, did he?”  She rubs her forehead.  “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“What does that mean?” I demand, my voice rising as I suddenly have a very good idea about things.

“The past will replay itself.  It always does.  Which means you are in danger.”

My shoulders cave beneath her words.  “Jimmie is right,” I whisper, shaking my head.  “The graffiti isn’t a practical joke, is it?”

“No.”  She pulls her keys from the ignition and grabs her school bag.

“Where’s Lev?  You can’t tell me that angels get sick.”  My voice sounds angry and panicked, like I am.

“They do, just not like you.  It’s not physical.  Right now Lev is trying to come to terms with you and what happened last night.  So far, he’s not doing so great.”  She takes a deep breath and slowly blows it out.

“Does he know what’s going to happen?”

“Only that whoever has been painting the graffiti will try to kill you.  He doesn’t know the specifics as to how and when it will happen.”

“Great.”  My voice trembles and I want to go home and pretend that none of this is happening.  It’s all so surreal, and every time I think I understand, it slips beyond me.  “Does this mean Lev is going to run the other way again?”

Celia grabs my arm.  “Don’t do this.  Lev didn’t choose this anymore than you did.   But he’s not just going to run away and leave you to face your fate.”

“Then why isn’t he here?”  It’s a question with a double edge, I realize, because even though he claims he wants to protect me, right now seeing him is so not on my list of things I want to do.  As it is, I keep seeing the Lev of my nightmares, and something deep inside hurts.

“Because he’s struggling with this just as much as you are.  He doesn’t want to bring you any more pain, but he doesn’t know what to say to help you.  He wants so badly to make this right and he knows he can’t.”  With that, Celia gets out and I follow.  Although I disliked the cold, the absence of wind does make things feel warmer than they are warmer than normal.

“I know it’s not my place,” Celia begins as we head toward my locker.  “But Lev does deserve a chance to prove he’s not what you think right now.”

“How could he watch me die and do nothing?” I whisper, trying to ignore everyone as we pass.

“We’re angels, not humans.  In Lev’s case, he’s had to watch a lot of people die and guide their spirits afterwards.  In 700 years, you were the first to change him, to make him start to feel something besides duty.  To feel…love and reconciling that feeling with those you’ve had for 700 years, an eternity before, doesn’t happen over night.  I know you think him cruel, but you have to remember that he didn’t fire the rifle that killed you.  He wasn’t involved.  That was a mortal choice, and those events had been in motion long before.  He was only doing as he was expected to do.  Everything happens as it does for a reason, in its own time, according to the grand design of things.  Yet, even for us it is hard to witness mortal suffering.  That he went through carrying your spirit six times has left its mark on him as much as it has you.”

I stiffen and shake my head.  Until Celia brought up Lev’s angelic role, I hadn’t given it much thought.  An angel of death?  I had always pictured them as cruel and merciless.  Mean even as they take life indiscriminately, and without a second thought.  The idea that angels could feel,that I had made him feel, took me aback.  What am I to think now?  All I see is my very human and conflicted side of things.  Now, I see more and I am more confused than ever.  I’m trying not to react to this new conflict but my whole body trembles.  I twist the dial on my combination lock back and forth until I can pull the lock free and open the locker.  The light spills into the darkness, and the outline of a young wild turkey presents itself, dangling from a length of cord secured to the top of the locker.  Its body dangles back and forth and blood still oozes from the slashed belly.  All that blood.

“Oh, God.” I whisper, dropping both my book bag and my lock.  I’m paralyzed and each breath feels thinner than the one before.  Celia grabs my shoulders and shoves me away.

“Elizabeth, are you okay?”  I hear the voice but it’s lost amid the clamor of bodies edging in around me, jostling me, making me sway back and forth.  I hunt through the faces to find Shelly.  “Are you all right?”

“Take her to the office,” Celia demands.  “I’ll stay until the principal gets here.  Go.”

Shelly sets her arm around me, and I feel her propelling me down the hall toward the office.  As we walk, the crowds in the hall watch us, looking back and forth between me and the locker, me and the locker.  Everything is moving slow and dreamlike.  I don’t even feel a part of any of it, not even my own body. 

As we enter the office, I vaguely hear the secretary ask about me and Shelly tries as best she can to explain.  Ms. Adams pages Mr. Williams and tells us to wait in his office.  At that point Shelly nudges me forward and we sit in the chairs across from his desk.  His empty chair faces us, and I can’t help but wonder just how often over the years it has remained so.  The absent principal, I think, and bark a laugh no one hears.  More laughter, then, but I’m not sure, really, that’s it.  What is laughter, after all, but a scream turned backward?

A few minutes later, Mr. Williams and a police officer walk into the office.  The principal sits behind his desk while the officer stands near me.

“You can go back to class now, Shelly,” the principal says, frowning.  Shelly gives me one last reassuring glance.

“You look a little pale, Ms. Moon.”

“I’m fine.”  I fold my arms across my chest.  The image of the hanged and gutted bird won’t leave me.  Even with my eyes open I see it.

“Do you have any ideas who might have done this, Elizabeth?” the officer asks very gently, his pen hovering over paper, ready to jot notes about our conversation.

“No,” I say.  “We just moved here, so I can’t figure I’ve had much time to make enemies.  The only thing I can think of is that this has something to do with my parents.”

The officer looks up slowly.  “What do you mean by that?”  Principal Williams leans forward in his chair.

“My mother and father were from here.  When I was three, my father disappeared.  There were incidents of graffiti then, too.  Red trash.”  My voice is pretty much monotone; unless I lock my emotions away, I’m going to end up stark raving and incoherent.

The two men exchange glances, and the police officer says, “I’ll go to the station and pull the file.”

“You can’t.  No case was ever filed.  Apparently my dad wasn’t considered a worthy missing person.  After all,” and here I can feel the bile rising in my throat, bitter and heavy, “full blood Cheyenne fathers are into child abandonment.  They invented it.  So the law never shows too much of an interest.  Good riddance, right?  Isn’t that right, Mr. Williams?  Good riddance?” 

Another look passes between them, this one more incredulous.  They’re ignoring me, and why not?  It is true, isn’t it?  All of it?  And how much more so for a halfbreed who doesn’t even know who she is?

Mr. Williams picks up the phone.  “At any rate, I should call your guardian, Ms. Moon.  He’ll want to know about this.”

“Don’t.”  I force myself to sit upright.  “Jimmy just started this job and he’s had to take off a lot because of me.  The last thing he needs is to be fired.  He’s exhausted and right now he’s resting for his next shift.”