Undone by a Broken Angel

26.) The Orphanage

"So I always take pains to have a clean conscience toward both God and man."

-Acts 24:16

Abigail:

In my dreams I was consumed by darkness, being chased by the caretakers at the orphanage.  I heard the cries of the older girls pleading them to stop, pleading with them to let me stay.  Pleading with me to stay, "why did you leave?" they moan, "Come back and help... we love you, little angel.  Come back and save us..."

"Sorry," I yell, "I'm so sorry.  Don't be sad, the Lord has great plans for you," but there was no reply.

Then, I ran into something soft but sturdy.  I look up and see Jack smiling down at me, a yellow light radiating off his dazzling skin.  "Welcome to your rightful world, Princess."  He pats my head and wraps me in his arms.

"I need to save my friends," I mumble in his chest.

"You will save them from the darkness of hell.  I can help you."

I smile and hug him back, resting my head on this handsome muscular chest.  I know that everything is going to be okay.  As long as he is here with me.

I open my eyes and find myself staring at a broad back.  Abe’s?  It has to be, there was no one else with me yesterday.  I feel his chest under my hands and his arms are wrapped around my waist.  I can't move.  I ignore the dark shadow that is connected to him and only give attention to my quickened pulse and flushed skin.  He's not the evil feeling, he's the feeling that makes my stomach flutter and makes my heart beat fast.  I breathe him in and enjoy the moment as much as I can.  I'm perfectly content as the minutes tick by.  Until, sadly, he stirs awake. I slam my eyelids shut and focus on evening out my breath to faint sleeping.

He finds that we are tangled together and giggles, the sound magnified through his chest.  The evil shadow flees back inside of him where he keeps it at bay.  I would be lying if I said that this isn’t what I was hoping for when I insisted he sleep in the tent last night.  It’s not that I want to give into the urges that surge through me, but I like the amount of trust that’s revealed in our subconscious through sleep.  He carefully climbs out of the blankets, trying not to jostle me awake, and heads outside.  I sit up and look in my bag for the books Teacher gave me.  I pull the first one out and flip to the first page.  "Grace" it says in falcone at the top of the page.  I read on:

"For thousands of years the falcone people have studied the power that runs through their veins.  They call it the ‘light of heaven’, since they are children born with angel blood coursing through their bodies.  Essentially, they are mortal angels, and so they possess powers that angels would have.  The most noticeable power being the ability to speak all the tongues, but that isn't the only thing they are able to do.  With practice, they can identify the ‘spirits’ and manipulate them to their will, performing miracles both big and small.

"When Jesus was born more than one thousand  years ago, artists have tried to portray his holiness in paintings by brushing yellow paint around his head.  A halo.  They, however, had the most correct idea.  The falcone's ‘head spirit’, or conscience, is nothing but a halo.  Falcone use this ‘spirit’ to heal and to communicate.

"The idea to 'follow your heart' is actually the ‘spirit’ in their chest that reacts to interrelationships.  The closer they are to someone, the more attractive their light will be to the other person- their 'other half’. This spirit can also be used to heal, but it’s mostly reserved for intimate acts between lovers.

"The third ‘spirit’ engulfs the whole body and is the source of life.  Even humans have it- the soul.  This ‘spirit’ is often used to send messages and feel out emotions between other falcone, humans, and sense reapers.

"The first step in utilizing the ‘spirit’ is to feel them.  It takes great concentration to do so, but once mastered, the individual will be a powerful warrior.  The second step is to bend the ‘spirit’.  The light of heaven is truly remarkable.  The reason why the most powerful falcone are the pure bloods is because their blood is pure light and they have the most control over their spirits.”

Nathanael wrote some questions for me to answer.  I write them in with a quill he packed for me and then change into a clean dress.  That last sentence in that chapter has me thinking.  If it's so easy for pure bloods, then why haven't I felt the spirits?  Why do I feel so powerless when I'm supposed to be this amazing pure blood with power equal to Satan?

Abe comes back into the tent then carrying a small plate of food.  It looks like he had packed some nuts, berries, and dried meat.  He hands it to me and I munch on it happily, hoping that the rest of our trip goes this well.  I have this sense of comfort around him and I admire the way he's lived through this illness of his without hurting himself or anyone else.  He has a lot of strength.  It's like my soul sings when I'm with him.

"We need to get moving.  Help me take down the tent?" he asks, and I nod.

It doesn't take long; he's done this before.  The ropes, poles, and canvas folds nicely in his pack and I work on folding the blankets up for him to store away as well.  When he has camp tucked away, I get my sword strapped to my waist.  He let me keep it after our spar and he showed me how to secure it to my hips, but the process is so new I fumble with it.  I can't get the leather cord to tie right and it refuses to lace through the belt holes.

Abe takes it over for me, his strong hands making the leather pliable.   “This is a husband's job.  You need a good suitable husband.  Hopefully we'll get to the others in time.”

I know what he's doing.  He's reminding me that I need to chose someone else.  It's a way to push me away, but all it does is make my heart beat faster.  Thinking of him as my husband feels nothing but right and why wouldn't it?  He's been by my side since the start of all of this.  But that's just it.  It's only because I know nothing else.  What if the others prove to make great husbands as well.  Besides, the illness that Abe has cannot be reversed.  Can't it?

"Abe," I find myself asking, "have you ever tried searching for a cure?"   the idea has been scratching at the back of my mind since he told me his story.  If one can be found, then his suffering would end.

He lifts my chin gently so that my eyes are forced to look at his.  They're sad, but fierce, and I'm drawn to the very depth of them.  "Everyone has tried.  Everyone.  Don't you start trying."

"Why?"

"You'll only waste your time.  You don't want to be a failure."

"I will be if I don't try."  Even though I know that's not what he meant.

"Please don't set yourself up for pain."

I don't need to talk to him when he's like this.  There is no cure for him because he believes there isn't one, but he can't stop me from believing, or from what I want to do, and this is it.  Aside from saving the world from darkness and disaster, I need to find him a cure.  What could it be?  An herb, a chemical, a prayer?  There's got to be something and if I don't find it, Abe will be lonely his whole life and I'm not okay with that.

Back in the sky I notice that in the far distance a storm is brewing.  The air current is warm but I suspect that it's going to change soon and the coming storm will bring with it a cold wind.  It's in this moment, looking at the turmoil ahead, that the memory of my dream I had last night comes to mind.  It seems like my past in the orphanage is slowly trickling back into my memories.  I must have repressed them somehow, but now, I can remember every moment, every word that was spoken, and every scrap of food I was blessed with eating.  It makes me sad, thinking about what might have happened after I left and I wonder what they're doing now.  Is the place still an orphanage?  Are kids there still suffering?  I don't even know where the orphanage was so going back now is impossible, but it would be nice to put the caretakers straight, make them pay for what they did.

"I've lost you again," Abraham says, noticing that I've gone deep into thought.

I shake myself free from the trail of thoughts I had tumbled down.  "Sorry," I sigh.  "I've been having some dreams lately."

"Dreams?  What kind of dreams?" he wonders, his mind obviously drawing the worst conclusions.

"Did I do something in my sleep that was-"

I catch on quickly enough and interrupt his assumptions, "no!  No, God, no.  No, they're memories, really, of when I was really young.  I had to have been under two, maybe one."

"Oh," he looks and sounds relieved.  "Is there anything you'd like to get off your chest?"

His choice of words make my cheeks heat up, but I blow over it, realizing that I haven't told him about my time at the orphanage at all.  He deserves to know being as he's been so honest with me.

"I haven't told you, but before my guardian's adopted me, I was at an orphanage.  I don't know how long, maybe a year, and it wasn't the best place for a child to live," I tell him with an even voice.

He looks shocked, the information sinking in.  He process for a while before he asks me if I remember much from the place, and it's all too easy to answer.

"Everything," I reply, "I remember every single day of that horrid place.  I didn't understand everything that went on between the adults and the children because of my age, but growing up, I realized how much suffering was happening.  The girls and boys, didn't matter what age, slept in gender specific rooms.  The older kids became parents-of a sort-to the younger ones, so they had it hardest.  They not only had to comfort kids like myself, but they had to do all the chores, and take the abuse from the adults.  Molestation and r**e was not uncommon for them, often getting pregnant.  In fact, most of them committed suicide to escape the pain.

“And even further then that, we hungered each day.  We usually got one meal a day consisting of a slice of bread and a bowl of broth.  Our warden was a monster, whipping children for talking back and she drank so much, she usually ended up passing out in the liquor cabinet. The boys hardly ever came back at night.  They were out earning money so they could move out when they turned sixteen, claiming that they'd take their sweetheart with them.  Only a few actually succeed, the others died doing risky things for money.”

After my experiences are out in the open, he's silent and I can't tell what he's thinking.  He's unhappy, that much is evident, but there's more under the surface that I can't determine.  Does he feel sorry for me?  That's something I don't want him to do.  I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me, I need them to just...listen.  Then he asks me something I don't expect, "Did you have any friends?" he asks.I nod slowly, trying to figure out his line of thoughts.  He doesn’t feel sorry for me, he’s worried about if I was lonely.  "All the older girls loved me, pretending that I was their special treasure.  Even though the male ‘caretakers’ looked at me with hungry eyes, giving me the most grungy clothes and bathing me the least.  They even went as far as to hide me whenever someone came to have a look at the children.  My guardians wouldn't rest until they found the right girl, forcing them to bring me out.  Everyone was so sad when I left.”

"Was it... bearable at least?"

I hesitate, "it was worse than being at my guardian's," I admit.

He nods, "and what was your guardian's place like?"

"At least they fed and dressed me, but they forced me to study.  At first, I hated it, but once they locked me up, I looked in books to get away."  The air is growing colder now and I wonder how much more time we'll have in the sky today.  It would be unlucky if we had to add a day to our travel plan and I can bet Abe would be really upset about that.

"Did they ever hurt you?"  I notice his voice is growing more gravely, as though a lump is forming in his throat.

I shake my head, "but they tried to."

He looks at me with skeptical eyes.  He's judging me to see if I'm truthful.  "Your father loved you very much."

"Really?  Because it was he who ambushed me at night with swords."

"And you believe he was trying to kill you?"

I nod, but I'm not sure.  "I could have killed him so easily.  A few times all I had to do was strike- to shove that blade into his chest."

"Why didn't you?"

"His eyes paralyzed me,"  I've thought about it before, how the look in his eye stopped me from moving.  It was unnatural, but good.  Without it I probably would be a murderer by now.

After reading from that book this morning, I wonder if heaven's light in my blood stopped me from killing him.  Murder is wrong, it's one of the commandments.  No one would have blamed me for protecting myself.  It's the only explanation I have.

For the rest of the day, I can feel his eyes on me, as if they're boring into my back- I'm flying below him.  I always feel like he's closely watching me, and oddly enough, it doesn't bother me.  I enjoy it.  It comforts me to know that I'm being cared for, and it's not creepy- his gaze feels warm and pleasing.  I welcome it.  It makes me feel safe, as if I don't have to worry as long as I'm in the sky.

The wind becomes stronger the further we go.  Every flap becomes harder and harder, but if I rest, I'll fall.  I grit my teeth and push against the wind as it whips my hair and strikes my face.  My muscles knot up more.  Sweat drips down my face and back.  I start to pant, searching the cold wind for oxygen.

"Do you need to rest?" he asks.

I look up and find him looking concerned.  "I'm fine," I barely reply.

"No you're not.  Let's stop for today."

"And risk the health of your brother and the others?  Absolutely not!"

"You're more important," he protests, as if I'd actually put myself first.

The storm has come now, sprinkles now hitting our faces, and I'm faced with the realization that we need to stop for the day.  We haven't gotten very far, but then again, I don't know how far we have left to go.  Reluctantly I agree and once he spots a nice place to camp, we descend to the trees below.