Undone by a Broken Angel

1.) Kidnapping

“Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst.  The sun will not beat upon them, nor any scorching heat.  For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water.  And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

Revelation 7:16

My funeral was seven years ago.  As far as the world is concerned, I died when I was thirteen.  I “fell off the balcony trying to pick a flower from the vines that had crawled their way up the posts”, at least, that’s what the headlines read.  Since then, I’ve been locked in my guardian’s ballroom, destined to watch the world pass on the other side of  the towering windows.  I remind myself once again that my fate could have been worse.  I push dark memories of the disturbing orphanage my guardian’s adopted me from to the back of my mind and try to focus on the world outside.

Venice is a busy city.  All the homes are owned by the wealthy, but most of the population is made up of their servants.  I see them running about all hours of the day to keep their master’s homes in peak working order.  My household used to have no less than ten servants cooking, cleaning, tutoring me, and dressing my mother and I.  Now that it’s just the “two of them”, they only have one girl running the house.  I’m not sure how she’s able to do everything on her own.  Rarely will I see her or the Lord and Lady of the house, but I know where they’re all at all hours of the day.  I can hear them about the house doing normal human chores and activities.  Even more rare is when I see someone float by on the channel that runs in front of the ballroom I’m contained in.  My guardians house is located in a very uneventful part of the city.

Father should be getting back anytime now.  The noon bells sing over the island from the basilica.  He goes every morning to light candles, he says, as any mourning parent would do.  A part of me knows he’s mourning for someone, though he won’t tell me who.

He hailed in this city from a long lineage of nobles.  He told me once when I was small that the first thing he did when the estate was passed to him was to replace all the windows in the ballroom.  “I saved no expense,” he said, “I had to have the best craftsmanship.”  And the best is what he received.  The glass maker added a special ingredient to his glass that tinted them.  It allows us to see out, but no one can see in.  It’s three inches thick as a result, and had to be set on oak frames.  He said that privacy is the most important thing to him, but he never told me why.  I suspect it’s because he didn’t want anyone to be able to spy in on his many social events.

I hear his footsteps and my heart begins to race.  I see him and another man, younger than him, round the corner a couple blocks away.  A familiar dread fills me when I see him, but curiosity flairs through me when I see the other man.  Who is he?  I’ve never seen him before.  Father calls him Mr. McKinley, I hear through the glass, but I’ve never heard such a strange name before.  Is he a foreigner?  Why is he here?  Why is father escorting him?  They continue to walk towards the house and my heart pounds faster and faster, panic threatening to take over my body.

They walk through the front door.

I race to the other side of the ballroom for the cloak I have carefully hung up on my bedpost.  My guardians have made it clear to me that they don’t want to see the abominations that grow from my back.  Keeping them hidden is essential, especially when there is a stranger in the house.

“What did you say her name is, again?” the unknown man’s voice asks.

“I call her Abby, but her full name is Abigail Grace,” Father replies, but that’s not right.  My name is Abigail Grace Maestri.  Why are they talking about me, anyway?  Is Mr. McKinley here for me?  I’ve never had a visitor before and panic suddenly grips me whole.  Are they trying to get rid of me?  Why now?  I’ve lived in secret for seven years now and I’ve done nothing to provoke them.  I’ve prayed for peace and for the most part that’s what I have gotten.  But now, Mr. McKinley could be taking me away to a facility of some kind.  I refuse to be studied.  Humans are cruel and too curious for their own good- I’ve read so in the books Father provides for me.  I won’t go with him.

“She can hear us by now,” he continues, “She’s just upstairs.”

Oh no. No, no, no.

“Yes, I suspect she can,” Mr. McKinley says.

They’re coming up the stairs, and the door creaks open slowly, my father’s round face peeks around it.  His big brown eyes sparkle at me and a genuine smile fills his sixty year old face.  I’ve never seen such a smile on him before.  What is going on?

Mr. McKinley, with shoulders square and tense like mine, trails behind him.  He looks at me straight in the eyes. His eyes are unusual; they are chocolate brown with a gold ring around the edge of the iris- similar to mine.  What I didn’t notice from my window is that he also wears a cloak.  It’s made with a heavy black wool that hangs from his shoulders and whispers against the floor, frayed on the ends as if he often travels.

He starts to scale me, and with a stern unemotional face, he observes everything.  He notices my dark brown curls, green eyes that rim with gold, white dress, and my simple cream cloak, which, I notice, he seems puzzled by. I wonder why.

He bows to me, “My Lady.”

I nod to him to show that I’ve acknowledged him, my heart still beating rapidly.

“Mr. McKinley, this is my daughter, Abigail Grace.  Abby, this is Sir Jack McKinley.”

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Miss Grace,” he says sweetly.  His eyes sparkle at me, like we’ve known each other for years.  The effect has me confused.

“And I, you,” I reply with the same sweet voice.  Father seems pleased with the nature of my response.  Keep the peace, I remind myself.

“Well,” Father blurts, “I’m sure your mother would love to meet this wonderful young man, Abby.  If you’ll excuse me,” he swiftly leaves the room.

The atmosphere instantly changes.  The hostility I feel for my Father leaves as he vacates the room.  Now a mixture of feelings stay behind.  Perhaps they are coming from Jack.  There’s a slight warmth- something I’ve never felt from anyone before- and danger.  It makes me feel uncomfortable, yet... it feels right somehow.

“Is something bothering you, Miss Grace?” he asks.  He looks concerned.  Why?  Can he sense I’m scared of him?  Can he sense that I won’t go with him?

“Why are you here?” I ask.  I can tell my eyes are blown wide with fear.

He doesn’t make any sudden movements, as though he’s trying not to spook a wild animal.  Is that what I look like?  His hands go out in front of him to show me that he won’t hurt me, but I still feel danger radiating off of him.  “I’m probably the worst person to find you, and I apologize for that,” he says.  Is he really being humble right now?

“Find me?”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion.  He looks about as confused as I feel.  “Did they not tell you who you are?”

“My father told you my name,” I reply, not understanding what he’s getting at.

“Do you know who you are?”

I blink at him.

“Where did you come from, Ms. Grace?”

“An orphanage,” I tell him.

“And before that?”

I shrug.  Does he know where I came from?  A flutter of hope rips through my chest.  Can he take me to my true home?

“Who are you?” I ask, lowering my guard.  He sees me relax and his hands drop to his sides.

“I come from a garden far from here.  Our people live there and we’ve been looking for you for a several years now, Ms. Grace.”

“You’ve come to take me home,” I clarify and he nods.  “How can I believe you?”

He thinks for a second before saying, “I bet I can tell you what you’re hiding under your cloak.”  He says it matter-of-factly, and warning bells ring in my head again.  “Because my cloak hides the same.”  He takes a step closer and the danger coming from him hits me like a wall and I move back several paces in fear.  He freezes again, not wanting to scare me.  “I’m sorry, I can see you don’t trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?”

He nods.  “You’re right.”  He looks around the room, noticing my bed, my books, my open Bible on my window stool.  He sees my needle work and my knitting and he looks more frustrated by the minute.  “You live in luxury.  You wear fine dresses and eat good food, yet you live in a cage.”

“I live in peace,” I correct, though it doesn’t feel right, defending the people I’ve been terrified of since they locked me in here all those years ago.

He studies me again and I grow uncomfortable under his gaze.  His eyes search me, but before I can tell him off, he says, “Your necklace.”

“What about it?”  My hand reaches up to touch the familiar cool metal, the delicate etchings, and the jewel that sits in the center.

“You’ve had it for a long time, since before the orphanage,” he says.

“How could you possibly know that?”  I demand to know, but he’s right.  I’ve had it since before I could remember.  The front has a coat of arms with religious symbols on it.  I always assumed that it came from a church or cathedral, but my suspicions have never been confirmed.

“The back has a ‘K’ and a ‘G’ engraved on it.”

My breath catches in my throat.  How could he know that?

“What do you have going for you here?  I can tell you about your past, why you went to an orphanage, and I can show you your future,” he says frustrated.  "You don’t have much time to decide.”

The sound of Mother and Father climbing the steps causes my heart to race.  My mind goes in circles.  I can’t go.  I won’t go.  I cannot trust him, but he could give me answers.

Is this God giving me a sign?  Is this Him giving me an opportunity?

“Too late.  We need to go now.”  He runs past me and rips open one of the few windows that is able to open.  He throws aside his cloak to free a massive pair of black wings.  My breath leaves me all at once at the sight of them.  He’s like me.  He has wings.  Without hesitation, I reach for his extended hand, and despite the sickening feeling I get from his touch, all doubts escape my mind as we fall through the window. 

He supports my weight as we fall to the ground, and I can see the strain develop on his face.  A groan passes his lips that turns into a scream by the time we touch down on the cobblestones.  The sound rips through me and a feeling of trust replaces my fear.  Whoever he is, he came to help me.  He came to take me home.  And despite the danger I feel in him, I can’t help but be filled with excitement as we run towards the ferries.

I forgot my shoes.  I can feel every stone and crack in the street as my soles pound down on them.  My cheeks flush from the exhilaration.  I've never run this far before.  Should I feel guilty for running from my fear of Father and towards my fear of this Jack?

He's only a few paces ahead of me.  He doesn't huff and puff as I do- another reminder of my imprisonment.  He looks excited, happy.  All I feel is my heart trying to escape my chest.  He glances back, his eyes full of worry.