Undone by a Broken Angel

5.) First Stop

"It was I who knew you in the wilderness, in the land of the drought; but when they grazed, they became full,"

-Hosea 13:5

I thought the last seventeen years of my life had been relatively peaceful- besides Father- but remembering my past at the orphanage has turned my emotions upside down.  Now that I remember those girls, I realize what was going on.  It sickens me and now I have a new drive in me to make it right with those kids.  The owner needs to be set right.  The conditions were poor and the caregivers abusive- no child should be in a place like that, but who will change it?  Me?  I’m not sure where we are and I have no recollection on where it was.

I can’t help but turn over the story he says is real.  If he’s a force from God, then why did he take me from my guardians?  Is it still a socially held opinion that kidnapping is a crime?  Still, the wings give him good proof, but until I see something, read some histories, or meet more like him, I’m going to be skeptical of him.  I became too smart for situations like this ever since the ballroom doors locked me in for the first time. Even though I do trust him, a part of me knows that he’s not all good.  When I took his hand and we touched for the first time, for a split second, I felt like he was going to hurt me.  What am I supposed to believe?  That he really is part of God’s army on earth, or perhaps he really is something of the other side.  What did he call them?  Reapers?

We come upon a town as the sun starts to dip below the horizon.  By this time, my feet feel like splitting sausages.  The small wounds the pebbles dug in are inflamed and my new shoes are rubbing on my heels, causing blisters to form.  Actually, I’m certain the blisters popped long ago.  Focusing on the pain only makes it hurt worse, I notice, so I turn my attention to the small village ahead.  Perhaps he’ll let us stop here for the night- for that I would be thankful.  But as we get closer, I can see it’s condition.  It looks run down, poor, not cared for.  The cypress trees leading up to it are all but skeletons and the shrubbery surrounding it are crumbling apart.  I wonder if there’s been a drought and I feel sorry for the people who live here.

Mr. McKinley leans in to speak with me and my discomfort increases.  Whatever evil he carries is potent.  “You need a cover name and a back story,” he informs me.  The rocks on the path crunch beneath our feet as we continue.

“What?  Why?”  I can’t think of why it’s important for me to use a fake name, it’s not like anyone is going to know me.  They may know who my guardians are and therefore may decipher who I am, but I’m dead.  No one would make the connection.

Jack shrugs.  “I use one,” he admits.  “It’s a habit I took up after...” he pauses here, a slight blush dusting his handsome cheeks, “never mind.  I’ll just call you Abby on the road then.”

Her mind rewinds.  “Wait, you use a fake name?  Jack isn’t your name?”

“No,” he says again with another shrug.

“You introduce yourself to me with a fake name and then expect me to trust you when I find out the truth?” I all but snap.  Feeling a tightening in my chest, I know the emotion all too well: betrayal.  My guardians betrayed me five years ago and I told herself no one would be able to do it to me again.  Jack looks shamed.  He’s capable of realizing his mistakes.  For that alone, I decide to let it pass.  “So what is your name?”

He smirks, a glint in his eye indicating he’s going to tease me.  “We need a back story.”

I suppose I can let it pass for now, no one has tried to amuse me for years.  “Fine.  I’m your sister and you’re delivering me to my betrothed,” I offer.

“Or, we’re husband and wife on our way to settle down in the Americas,” he returns, the smirk still present on his face.  He glances a look in my direction and I throw him a sneer.

We take their first steps into town-my feet screaming in pain- and it doesn’t take us long to find an inn to stay in.  It looks rickety, with peeling yellow stucco walls, broken windows, and crooked frames.  I start to wonder if it would be better to sleep on the rocky ground under the stars.

“Are you hungry?” he suddenly asks, pulling my attention back to “Jack.”

“Just a bit,” I reply, ladylike, but the mention of food brings on another wave of hunger that knots my stomach up.  It growls loudly and painfully, making me hunch over until the cramping has passed.

He looks annoyed, “Please always answer me truthfully.”

I nod.  Perhaps he’s right.  I suspect that we’ll be on the road together for a long time and even though I don’t know where he’s taking me yet- we will have that conversation- having honest communication is important.  I limp after him as he approaches a food vendor- he barters the clerk for bread and cheese, then he leads me to the only inn in the village has to offer- Jack has to push me over the threshold.

Inside, the floor is littered in rat droppings and every time we step, the droppings crack and pop and the floorboards creak and bend.  It smells like the wood has soaked up bodily fluids of all sorts and it’s so dark I can’t see much.  It takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust.  Then I am able to see that the lobby is full of broken chairs and tables.  Did a fight break out recently?  Are the owners poor?  After Jack pays for a room- I can’t help but overhear him call me “wife”- we walk down the hall and stop, unlock and swing our room’s door open.  The room doesn’t look any different than the lobby.  The queen size bed and blankets have holes in them, but they look clean.

He walks in and falls on the only bed, sighing to finally be sitting.  I’m not sure why we only have one bed, but I’m not in the mood to ask nor am I willing to process the reason.  “Why don’t you come and eat?” he says, tearing a piece of bread off the loaf.

I don’t move.  I’m afraid to.  The pain is too much.  I can tell my blisters are bleeding and the holes the pebbles made before scream out in pain.

“Why aren’t you coming?” he asks.

“I just don’t want to,” I reply stubbornly.

“Yeah right, you’re just in pain.  How are your blisters?  I can tend to those wounds the pebbles left behind,” he offers with an extended hand.

How...

“You’re too easy to read.  You’re gait changed, and then your eyes started watering,” he tells me, his voice filled with smugness.

It really didn’t look like he was watching me at all.

“Come here, I’ll dress them up for you.”

So very tenderly, so very slowly, I walk over to the bed and sit next to him.  He gets down and kneels in front of me, unties my boots, and pulls them off.  I wince when the boot hits the blister.  It’s bloody, leaking puss.  It looks more painful than it actually is.  My vision blurs, and I sway back and forth right before I completely black out.

---

Abraham:

He dresses her wounds, paying extra attention to her.  If he does something that is painful, it shows on her face.  So as he heals the wound, he watches her, until they completely close up.  He then picks her up to adjust her so that she is under the covers on one side of the bed, making sure to leave room for himself.  He knows that she didn’t want to sleep in the same bed, but there is only one.  Perhaps he took his joke too far when he told the receptionist that they’re a married couple.  Oh well, too late now.  They need to sleep as comfortably as possible.  Especially her since they’ll be flying all day tomorrow without rest.  They’ve been on the ground for too long, giving the reapers a solid chance of catching up with them.  They’ve caught their scent by now.  He can’t take anymore chances with her life.

He takes off his shirt, draping it over the headboard, and then slides under the covers.  He snuggles into the blankets to get comfortable, but is distracted by a faint light.  He opens his eyes and finds himself facing Abigail, who is glowing.

Rape her... rip out her hair... kill her before it’s too late...

Shut up! he yells at it.  

She’s glowing.  He processes this fact.  Only pure bloods glow.   He knew she was one,  of course,  but seeing proof isn't any less surprising given that he's never seen one before.   A pure blood hasn’t been seen since Katrina’s time, let alone a woman.  The only way she should be glowing is if she is born to be the next queen.  Well, of course she is, she’s the last female.  But even then, even if it were possible that the throne is rightfully hers from birth, the only way of knowing is by the color of her wings, which are pure white.  So yes, she was born for this.  Her last name is Grace.  The name has been passed down from mother to child since their creation.  Grace.  The name of their queens.  So, he’s found the daughter of the great former queen.

And her father?  He wonders who that would be.  Abraham was too young to remember royal names, but maybe he can ask his brother.  Speaking of which, he should probably send out letters to everyone and bring them home.

The glow of her skin is too distracting, so pure and crisp, letting the world know she’s their only hope.  She doesn’t know what’s coming.  She has no idea.  They have to fly tomorrow or those reapers are going to come and ambush them.  Once they know a female is alive, they won’t rest until she’s dead.  If she’s dead, they’re all dead.  He’s already suspected of being a spy for the enemy, so he can’t let her death rest on his shoulders.

Kill her... Kill her now...you shouldn’t even be alive, Abraham...Kill her and then die...  He has trouble silencing the voice, but he’s not listening to it.  He’s watching this light pulse in her veins.  The light of heaven.

He looks away and pulls the covers over his head.  He can’t get attached now.  He can never do that.  If that happens, then the future will be more complicated than any of them have planned.