***
At five-thirty p.m., I was still sitting on the couch, eating a cookie, and watching TV - Star Wars, Episode Four, which was technically the first one. I let it carry me in a galaxy far, far away. Let’s face it. That’s where all of the really good stuff happens.
I picked up my feet and rested them on the coffee table. My eyes were glued to the TV as if I had never seen the movie before. Of course, I had seen it at least a dozen times.
I stuffed the last bite of my ooey, gooey chocolate chip cookie inside my mouth. De-li-cious.
Emma was still in her room, my dog Buffy was in the backyard, and Mom and Dad weren’t home yet. I was alone… or so I thought.
Like a scene from a horror movie, the one with the girl watching TV who was minding her own business while a psycho-killer was standing somewhere behind her, I felt a presence standing next to the couch.
Still chewing my cookie, I slowly glanced over my left shoulder, hoping that no one would be there, and I saw him - my purple eyed delusion - standing around in my living room as if he was supposed to be there. He was wearing his long black coat again, looking handsome, and… watching TV? My cookie went down the wrong pipe, and I started choking.
His head turned towards me, and he tilted his head to one side as he watched me choke. I held on to my throat as I coughed several times. Then, I ran away from him, screaming.
“EMMA!” I screamed. “EMMM-MA!” I ran up the stairs two at a time. Before I got there, Emma jerked her bedroom door open.
“What’s wrong?” she asked with a surprised look on her face.
“We’re leaving,” I said, breathing hard. “Right now!” But I couldn’t remember where I put my keys. It should be downstairs somewhere: on the kitchen counter, on the coffee table, in my bag… I’m not sure where exactly, but I knew it was somewhere.
Why am I so unorganized? Aaaargh!!!
I ran passed Emma and went inside Mom and Dad’s bedroom. Immediately, I spotted Dad’s keys on the dresser. I knew there was a reason why Dad was so organized. It made everything easy when it became one of those days when I needed a quick get-away car. I snatched it off the dresser.
Thank you, Daddy.
I ran back down the hallway and grabbed Emma’s hand as I passed her, pulling her with me. We went down the stairs and headed towards the front door… fast. Our parents weren’t home, so I was in charge. I was older. I was the boss. No questions asked.
“What’s wrong?” Emma asked. I don’t usually scream like a crazy person, and Emma must have felt very uncomfortable when she heard the tinge of madness in my voice.
“Explain later. Need to go.” I tugged her hand. I wasn’t leaving her here with a stranger. House rule number one: I need to protect my younger sister. From what? I didn’t know yet, but delusion or not, there was a stranger in our house, and it wasn’t safe.
I ran out of the front door, pulling Emma behind me. I didn’t even dare glance at the living room and look for my handsome psycho. My handsome psycho? When did he become mine? No time to think about it right now.
I heard the door slam behind us. I didn’t bother with locking the front door. What was the point of locking the door when the stranger you are running away from was already inside the house? Right. No point at all.
I ran towards Dad’s shiny, black Mercedes on the driveway. I let go of Emma’s hand and motioned for her to get in the car in a jerky, not so graceful manner. If my ballet teacher could see me now…
“You’re driving Dad’s new car?” Emma asked, frowning.
Duh, my mind said silently, and she was the smart one. I motioned for her to get in again while giving her the stern listen-to-your-older-sister look. Apparently, that look didn’t work very well. I would have to work on it, but again, not right now.
“Dad is sooo going to kill you,” Emma threatened, and she was dragging her feet, not wanting to be a part of what we already knew was a very bad idea.
“GET IN THE CAR!” I yelled as I got in. Immediately, I felt horrible for yelling at her. I never used that tone of voice - not with anyone. This was a day of firsts for me, and I didn’t have time to explain. I didn’t have the keys to my Prius, and Dad’s car was the only other car available. I didn’t have time. I didn’t even have my driver’s license. I was improvising, and this… this was the best I could do.
Emma slowly got in the front passenger seat. I gritted my teeth. She heard the urgency in my voice, and yet, where was her urgency? I was being ignored. Then again, why would she hurry the hell up? She didn’t see anyone in the living room, there was no one chasing us, and she didn’t even know why we were leaving the house. Emma closed her door … oh… so… slooooowly.
Aaarghhh!
I looked back and backed away from the driveway quickly. Then, I peeled out of our street, tires squealing. I looked in the rear view mirror. No one was following us. I took a deep, calming breath, and I slowly let it out. I made a couple of turns until we reached the main road.
It wasn’t that dark, but I turned the headlights on anyway. I snapped my seatbelt in place.
“Seatbelt,” I said, reminding Emma to do the same, which, thankfully, she did.
I didn’t have a plan, and I didn’t even have a clue. Who was the guy in the living room, anyway? Why was he following me? Was he a stalker? This was like a horror movie before the not-so-significant-helpless-teenager died by multiple stab wounds. I didn’t want to be that not-so-significant-helpless-teenager. I had things to do with my life, and whatever it was, it was going to be great.
I needed to call someone who would know what to do. Should I call nine-one-one? Where was Dad’s phone? I reached over with my right hand and opened the glove box, and my left hand accidentally jerked the wheel down. The car swerved to the left.
“Watch out!” Emma screamed as we crossed over double yellow lines towards on-coming traffic. A white pick-up truck was heading straight for us. I slammed on the brakes and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. I heard a car honk, and I jerked to the right missing the truck by inches… or by millimeters. Whatever. From my angle and with the adrenaline in my system, it was really hard to tell.
Our car spun to the right and tires screeched. Emma screamed. That’s when I saw him. It was him - the young Bruce Wayne look-alike I was running away from. He landed in front of our car. His wings flared out; they were a bright white against his skin and were longer than Dad’s car. Wings! He had wings, and my eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Our car continued to spin as Emma continued to scream. Then, he caught the car with a soft thud. The car stopped with a jerk, and the left side of my body hit the driver’s side door. Ouch. That’s definitely going to leave a bruise.
I looked to my left, out the driver’s side window, and there he was. His left hand was on the hood, and his right hand was on the driver’s side door. His body was only inches away from my window: no shirt, six-pack abs, swimmer’s body. He was wearing light brown pants that were slung very low on his hips and nothing else. I almost had to look away, well, almost.
His wings were massive! They were still extended away from his body, and his feathers rippled as his wings shifted. As shocked as I was, I still made the connection: two plus two always equals four, and flying guy plus white wings equals angel. He was an angel! Right... and let me tell you something, he was so beautiful!
Emma stopped screaming. The angel bent down at the waist and peeked through the driver’s side window; he glared at me. I held my breath as we stared at each other. His eyes narrowed, and I leaned away from the window and away from him. He was furious, I could tell. His eyebrows were pulled together in a frown, his jaws were clenched, and his eyes were a blazing deep purple. Yep. He was definitely really, really mad.
Then, he turned around, and like an angel would, he flew away. I gripped the steering wheel hard until the back of my hands turned white. I forced myself to brea
the. Inhale the air in… and exhale the air out… and inhale the air in… and exhale…
Still not calm, but now able to talk, I turned to my right and faced my sister.
“Em, are you okay?” I asked.
Emma nodded. She was still in shock; her face was pale, and her right hand was flat against her chest. She was still trying to catch her breath. I should give her a minute or two.
“Em, did you see that?” I asked. I scratched my head and peeked out the driver’s side window.
“See what? See that you almost got us KILLED?” she shrieked, her eyes wide.
The angel was right there! How could she not have seen him?
I frowned. “No. Did you see… how we stopped?” I asked.
“PHYSICS?” she shrieked again.
I shook my head. I peeked out the window again, but the angel was already gone. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t just ask Emma if she saw what I saw: the drop-dead gorgeous guy who caught Dad’s car with his bare hands. He was wearing brown pants made of an organic-looking fabric, and oh, by the way, he had wings. Then, of course, he flew away. Em, did you see that guy?
Maybe I kept my mouth shut for self-preservation. Physics made so much more sense. It was explainable. Reasonable. Not crazy. So, physics it is. Dad’s car stopped because of physics.
I leaned over and closed the glove box and noticed the blood on my right index finger. I must have cut myself when I jerked my hand from the glove box to grab the wheel; not because of physics this time, but because of biology. I wiped the blood off on my shirt leaving a dark mark. I didn’t want to leave blood stains on Dad’s shiny new Mercedes.
I heard a car honk and realized that we were still in the middle of the street, blocking traffic. I thought about what I was going to do next. I quickly realized that my fear was still very real, but the sane person inside of me reasoned that I shouldn’t be afraid of him. He was an angel, right? And he was here to protect me. Didn’t he just prove it?
Another car honked. The engine was still on, and I started driving. I turned the wheel, made an illegal u-turn, and headed for home. It was safe to go home now.
Delusion or not, I refuse to believe that someone who had just saved my life would ever try to harm me. That would be inconsistent behavior. Then again, what did I know about the thinking patterns of angels?
CHAPTER 5