“You’re right. It’s beautiful,” I told him.
He leaned forward and touched his lips softly to mine, running his fingers through my hair. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He kissed me as soft music carried on the breeze from the dance floor.
Pulling back, he looked at me and smiled. “Let’s dance.”
“That’s okay. I’m not much of a dancer.”
Dude, give me a reason to press up against you and I’m there. But dancing? I’d trip and take us both down like the Hindenburg.
“You’ll be fine.” Chay gently tugged on my hand. “I’ll show you how. As slow as the songs are, you’ll only have to sway.” He pulled me to him. His gaze held mine, expression serious. “Dance with me, Milayna. I want to hold you. Feel you against me. Whatever you’re afraid of, whoever you’re afraid of, I’m here. I’m not letting you go. Please.” He placed his lips against my temple before leading us into the cabin.
His words reached down and wrapped themselves around my heart and, at that moment, I was sure there wasn’t anything I would have denied him. I followed him to the dance area. It was a small room, with large windows giving a view of the water and the lights twinkling on shore. The band played slow instrumentals. The floor was full of couples dancing close, murmuring to each other as they swayed in time to the music.
Chay led me to the small, wooden dance floor and wrapped his arms around my waist. I circled his neck with my arms and breathed him in. We moved to the music, looking at each other, not speaking. It was intimate and sensual, being so close to him. His hands moved slowly up and down my spine, and I threaded my fingers through his silky hair.
“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.
“That it’s been a perfect day. And that I don’t want tonight to end,” I whispered. “What are you thinking?”
“That I can’t remember when I’ve been this happy.” He ran a finger down the side of my face.
We danced until the boat docked an hour later. We would’ve stayed and ridden again, but we’d been on the last boat ride of the night. The shops on the Waterway were closing. Slowly, the lights were flickering off, taking some of the magic with them.
Chay and I walked hand in hand down the cobblestone lane to the parking garage where Chay’s car was parked when a stabbing pain in my stomach doubled me over. Then my head started to throb.
Not now. Not tonight. Please, just one normal night.
But the feeling didn’t go away. It intensified. The stabbing pain spread like a rash, blanketing my body in unbearable pain that took over my senses until that was all I could focus on. My fingers pushed on my temples, trying to push away the searing pain in my head. I tried to relax and the let the vision take over, but I was in too much pain. I tensed against it.
“You’re having a vision?”
I nodded, still clutching my head. It felt like someone was inside my skull with a blowtorch.
Red light. Water. Woman.
“What do you see?”
I shook my head. The pain was too intense to speak. The twisting in my stomach squeezed the breath from my lungs, and the burning in my head and across my skin was almost unbearable. My vision jumped in time with my heartbeat, which was speeding at an incredible rate.
Water. Blood. Woman.
Concentrating on the images, I tried to block out the pain. I rolled my head and shoulders to relax my neck and back muscles. Chay guided me to a bench and I sat down and bent forward with my arms around my knees, while he gently massaged my shoulders.
Tour bus. Woman. Blood. Bridge.
The images were coming too slow. They weren’t giving me enough information.
“A woman and a tour bus,” I said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know if she is getting on the bus or is already.”
“What does she look like?”
“Brown hair and glasses. She’s wearing a green blouse. That’s all I can see.”
“Okay, what’s the tour bus look like?”
“Like a bus!” I yelled. “Sorry.” I rocked back and forth on the bench, my arms still wrapped around my knees. My stomach felt like it was tied in knots. I could taste the metallic taste of blood in my mouth where I’d bitten my cheek to keep from crying out. Bile rose in the back of my throat, burning it.
There were a lot of tour buses. The Waterway was a huge tourist attraction. The streets were crowded, full of groups of people boarding their buses and strolling down the cobblestone streets to their cars.
Bridge. The woman. Headlights. Squealing tires.
“The bridge. Something is going to happen to her on the bridge.”
Falling. Water bubbles. Blood swirling.
“C’mon.” Chay pulled me off the bench. I stumbled forward. I could feel her falling, feel the sting of the water when she hit it. See the blood swirling, mixed with the air bubbles in the water. I shook off the feelings and followed him.
“I can feel it,” I panted, trying to keep pace with his longer strides. I pushed through the pain of the vision. It was so intense that I wanted to lie down on the cobblestone and curl into myself.
“What?”
“What she’s gonna feel if we can’t find her.”
We ran toward the bridge. I stumbled several times, trying to keep up, when hot, searing pain stabbed through me, stealing my breath.
The sidewalk was crowded, and we were running against the flow of traffic. We were jostled and pushed. Some people looked at us in surprise, and some got angry and yelled for us to slow down. We kept running as fast as we could through the throng of people.
I lost my grip on Chay’s hand. Panic swallowed me as he disappeared into the crowd. I had no choice but to keep moving in the general direction of the bridge. My eyes darted from person to person, searching for Chay, but I didn’t slow down to look for him. The images screamed through my head, pushing me. The urge to find the woman was too great. I had to get to the bridge before she got to the tour bus.
I continued running, pushing my way through the people coming at me. Trying to move against the flow of people did nothing but push me backward, wasting precious seconds. Finally, after what seemed like hours of pushing my way along the crowded sidewalk, I saw the bridge. The lights shone brightly against the darkening Waterway. I stood on my tiptoes to get a better look, straining to find the woman. I didn’t know where to look. The vision replayed the same images in my head over and over, never adding anything new.
I couldn’t hold my position through the mass of people walking toward me. I darted into the street, where there was less foot traffic and a better view. Trying to ignore the pain that still ravaged my body from the vision, I ran faster toward the bridge, dodging cars and buses, the image of the woman fused into my brain. I scanned the crowd for a green shirt. I’d never noticed how common the color was, but it seemed like every woman at the Waterway that night was wearing some variation of green.
When I reached the foot of the bridge, I saw her. She walked on the side of the bridge toward me. I scanned the area. There was no tour bus. I heaved a sigh of relief and tried to push my way to her.
I heard it before I saw it. The engine too loud. It barreled down the bridge too fast. Her back was to it as she walked alongside the row of parked tour buses, looking up at their route signs. I watched in horror as the bus slammed into her. Her body flew into the air like a rag doll. She bounced off the concrete guardrail and fell over the side of the bridge. I heard her hit the water with a sickening slap.
I stopped running. The vision was gone. I stood in the middle of the road and stared at where the bus hit the woman. I’d been just seconds away from reaching her. If I could’ve gotten to her… if I’d seen the bus… if… if… if. I put my hands on top of my head and squeezed to block out the person screaming next to me. My lungs burned, felt deflated like balloons, and the back of my throat was scorched in an itchy sort of way. I sucked in a large breath and let it out. My neck muscles strained, and my head throbbe
d—it was then I realized I was the person screaming.
I fell to my knees. My screams turned to tears. It was done. The vision hadn’t done its job. I failed. I was positive the woman was dead. I could feel it. My fingers and hands turned cold, and my toes felt like leaden ice cubes. An icy wind whipped through my hair, stinging my face where it smacked against it. My blood was like slush slogging through my veins.
People ran to the side of the bridge and looked over. They knocked into me as they passed. I sat motionless in the middle of the road. I wondered why they were running. There was nothing to do—it was over.
Someone grabbed my arm and jerked me off the ground. I screamed. Then I saw his face.
Chay crushed me against him, turning me away from the bridge. “C’mon,” he murmured close to my ear. His breath was warm on my frozen skin.
I let him guide me to a small café table outside one of the shops we’d walked through earlier in the day. I could hear sirens in the distance. They grew louder and louder until their piercing wails were so loud that I had to put my hands over my ears. The red and blue flashing lights cast everything in odd shadows. They were nothing like the beautiful lights of the Waterway just minutes earlier.
I buried my face in the curve of Chay’s neck and cried. Every few seconds, I’d lift my head and look toward the bridge. Chay would cup my face and guide it back to him. Finally, he unzipped his jacket and pulled my head to his chest. He wrapped his jacket around me like a blanket and shielded me from the ugliness on the other side.
And for just a moment, it was enough.
***
It was almost one o’clock in the morning when we gave our statement to the police. Chay had called our parents and explained why we missed curfew. I sat and stared straight ahead. I couldn’t get the image of the woman’s body bouncing off the front of the tour bus and over the side of the bridge out of my head. Sometime during our wait, the coroner drove slowly through the remaining crowd of people.
“I knew she was dead,” I whispered. They were the first words I’d spoken since Chay and I gave our statement to the police.
“This isn’t your fault.” He threaded his fingers through mine before kissing the inside of my wrist.
I shrugged a shoulder and looked away.
Yes, it is.
“You’re freezing.” He frowned and placed his jacket over my shoulders. I stuck my arms through the sleeves. His jacket was soft and warm and when I breathed in, I could smell his cologne lingering in the fabric.
“Can you take me to my grandma’s? I’ll call my parents from there.”
“Whatever you need, Milayna.”
We were quiet on the way to my grams’ apartment. I looked out of the passenger’s side window while Chay drove through town. The lights whizzed by and melded into one multi-colored rope rolling past the window. I watched it wind its way around the car through my watery gaze. I wasn’t sure when I started crying. Maybe it was while Chay and I were sitting in front of the darkened shop, or when the police interviewed us, or maybe I’d been crying all along.
When we reached Grams’ apartment, Chay walked me inside.
“Go lay down, child,” Grams said as soon as she saw me. I crawled onto the purple couch I loved and pulled one of her soft, patchwork quilts over me. I still couldn’t get warm. “You must be Milayna’s Chay,” I heard Grams say.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She tsked. “Call me Grams. All the family does.”
“Okay,” he said, looking over her head at me. I tried to smile at him, but I couldn’t get my lips to form it.
“A bad vision?” she asked Chay.
He nodded. “A bad outcome.”
“Ah. Well now, that is an unfortunate turn of events. She was just coming to terms with everything.” Grams looked over at me. “She’s strong. Stronger than she thinks. She’ll be all right.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay with her for a little while. Please.”
My grandma studied Chay so long that I didn’t think she was going to answer. “I don’t see the harm in that,” she said finally. “I’ll call her parents. How much do they know?”
“Everything. I called them.”
“Good, they can fill me in.” Grams wheeled her chair into the other room to use the phone.
Chay sat on the floor next to the couch. He reached out and smoothed the hair from my face. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
Chay sighed and looked at me. His eyes were full of emotion. The blue and green seemed to swirl. “Milayna, you’ve given me the same answer for the last two hours. Tell me what you’re really feeling.”
“Like I failed.”
Again. I failed again. But this time, I let someone die. What kind of demi-angel am I? Maybe I’m no better than Azazel.
“You didn’t fail. You did everything you could do, everything and more. No one thinks you’ve failed.”
“I do.” I felt hot tears streak down my face again and wondered if I’d ever stop crying.
Chay kissed me lightly on the mouth before brushing my tears away with the pads of his thumbs.
“I’m going to go change. I’ll be right back.” I eased away from Chay and off the couch. I shut the bedroom door softly behind me before digging out a pair of black yoga pants and a long, purple T-shirt from the drawer of things Muriel and I kept stashed at Grams’.
I went into the bathroom and washed off what little makeup was left on my face and changed into the clean clothes. Wrapping myself up in Chay’s jacket and my grandmother’s quilt, I went back into the living room.
“Milayna, why don’t you go lie down? You look exhausted,” Grams said.
“‘Kay.” It didn’t matter where I was. Couch or bed, my thoughts would follow me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Chay gave me a small kiss before turning toward the door.
“No, Chay, wait. Sit with me until I fall asleep?” I didn’t want to be alone. The memories wouldn’t go away. The images from the night played over and over in my head. But I felt safe in Chay’s arms. He understood like no one else could. I needed him.
He looked quickly at my grandmother. At her slight nod, he smiled at me. “Sure.”
I climbed onto Grams’ four-poster bed. Chay sat up beside me, his back against the headboard and his long legs stretched out in front of him, my head laying on his chest, and his arm around my shoulders. I listened to his heart beating, strong and alive. We lay like that, unspeaking in the darkness, for a long while. I didn’t even feel myself get sleepy, but then it was morning and the sun streamed through the windows into my eyes.
I heard my parents talking to my grandma in hushed tones from the living room. Crawling out of bed, I walked by a mirror. I was surprised I was still wearing Chay’s jacket, and I wondered vaguely what he’d worn home. When I smoothed my hand over the soft suede, something shiny caught my eye. I looked at my wrist in the mirror and saw the bracelet he’d bought me. I wasn’t sure why, but it brought tears to my eyes.
I was crying when I went to bed, and I’m crying when I wake up. All I do is cry.
“Hey, honey,” my dad said when he saw me.
My mom put her arm around my shoulders and guided me to the sofa. Turning, I buried my head in the side of her neck and sobbed. I cried so hard my entire body shook. My mom sat quietly and let me cry, smoothing my hair down my back. She didn’t say anything until my sobs turned to hiccupped sniffles. “It’s okay, Milayna,” she whispered.
I shook my head. It wasn’t all right. Not for me. Not for the woman at the Waterway.
“Things like this are going to happen. Sometimes, the visions fail us.” My dad reached out and patted me on the knee.
“Then why have them?” My words were muffled against my mother’s shoulder. “Why did I have the vision if there was nothing I could do to stop it?”
No one answered me.
“I want to get rid of it.” I heard my dad’s quick intake of breat
h and felt my mother tense. “How do I get rid of this… whatever it is? Power? Sixth sense? I want it gone.”
I was done. I’d tried it. I’d given being a demi-angel a chance. The visions controlled my life, and I let them, doing what they told me to. But it was obvious I wasn’t cut out for the demi-angel gig. First, the girl at school, and now, the woman at the Waterway. I’d failed them both. And one died because of it. Because of me. No. I wasn’t going to do it anymore. I didn’t want the job in the first place. There had to be someone else I could give it to. Someone who’d do it better.
“Milayna—”
“Dad, there’s gotta be a way. I can’t watch something like last night again. Knowing I could have stopped it if I had only been quicker. Gotten to her faster. Knowing that it’s my fault.” I started crying again.
“It’s not your fault, Milayna. You did what you could. You did everything right,” my dad said calmly.
“I didn’t do enough!” I yelled and balled my fists.
My mom pushed me gently away from her and looked into my eyes. “Stop it,” she chided softly. “This isn’t your fault.”
“But if I—”
“You had no chance of saving that woman.” My dad leaned forward on the couch and let his hands drop between his knees.
“But I was right there. I was almost to her. If I’d gotten there sooner, she’d still be alive. I failed her, and she died because of it. I’m not cut out for this demi-angel shit. I’m supposed to help people, not kill them!” My voice rose on the last few words until I was almost screaming. Hot tears seared my skin as they ran down my face.
Why can’t they see what’s in front of them? I’m a failure. Just let it go. Accept it and move on. Oh. I get it. I’m an embarrassment to my dad. That’s it. A failure and an embarrassment.
He sighed. “No, she wouldn’t. This vision was intended to teach you a lesson.”
When my dad’s words finally registered, I raised my head and looked at him. “What do you mean?” I asked slowly. A small burning began deep in my stomach.
“Azazel did this, Milayna. If you’d gotten to the woman, he would’ve used someone else. He knew you’d have a vision if he put someone in danger. He used it to show you he can get to people—strangers, friends, family. He’s trying to scare you into giving in to him.”