Undone by a Broken Angel

8.) Dreams

“He is the shield and the horn of my salvation.”

-Revelation 1:20

        I was running in a forest, running away.  Zipping between trees.  My heart pounding hard in my chest, protesting against it.  Branches were grabbing at my hair.   I started to cry.  What evil thing was chasing me?

        I had to get up in the air, but with all these branches, it was almost impossible, but I had to find a way.

The trees were too close, but I could sense something different just in front of me.  It was……warmth.  The sun! A meadow! I ran faster, my lungs and heart not being able to keep up.

        I burst into the meadow, and spread my wings.  Without hesitating I pushed myself up farther into the sky. I looked down.

A black figure stood below me in the center of the clearing.  It was looking up at me, and then screamed.

I wake up screaming, a sheen of sweat sticking to my forehead, not realizing that my dream has ended.  The scream echoes in my mind like a broken record.  Not stopping, not pausing, just playing over and over again.  I put my hands over my ears to silence it, but it’s no use.  It plays in my mind, a place I can’t reach.

A hand catches my voice.  A very strong forceful hand.  “Sh!  Abigail!  Keep quiet!” A manly voice yells quietly in my ear.

Then I realize that I can’t move because there is a hand over my mouth and another pinning me down to the bed.  Jack is on top of me looking panicked, but keeping me still. Yesterday’s events flood back to me and I am able to sort out my surroundings.  It was a dream.  Just a dream.  Just a terrifying dream.  I take a deep breath and let myself calm down and feel my body relax as my muscles loosen.

“There you are,” he says, releasing me from his hold, but staying over me.  “What happened?”

I grab his forearm and try to get a hold of myself and sort out the events of my dream, but the dark emotions and feelings fill me up, so I let go.  Why does he make me feel so sick?  “Bad dream,” I reply.

“What on Earth was it about?” he asks, leaning back.

I had to think.  What with all my panicking, I forgot what happened in my dream.  “Um, I remember being chased by something evil.  My heart was racing.  And then a scream.  I don’t remember whose. Mine or... It seemed so real!”

His forehead wrinkles, “What kind of scream?”

“Like...” I can’t find the right words.  I’ve never heard anything like it before, not that I’ve had much of a life.  “It- I can compare it to an animal squeal and a human yell put together.”  I shake from the memory of the scream being trapped in my mind.

---

Abraham:

He’s relieved.  Very relieved to know that he is not the cause of her nightmare.  He doesn’t know what he does while he sleeps.  He assumes that his subconscious silences that dreadful voice, but now he’s not so sure.  She looks so distressed, so frightened by whatever invaded her peaceful sleep.  Could it be him?  Did the voice tell him to do something in the middle of the night?

Kill her... Pull her hair and-  Stop!  Stop... he yells at it silently.  Silently so she doesn’t know.  He hides the pain the voice causes him.  Hides it so she doesn’t know.

Abigail, so fragile, innocent, and beautiful, shaking from her haunting dream.  He wraps his arms around her and lets her calm down in his warm embrace.  But he has to fight it.  He has to fight every emotion he feels to soothe her.  All for her.

Make her dream come true... the voice hisses.

“Jack?” she softly asks.  He likes how she says his alias.

“Yes?” I whisper in her ear.  She shivers.

“I don’t remember seeing you in my dream, but I think I somehow knew you were there somewhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” he promises.

---

Abigail:

We leave then, in the three hours before the sun rises.  We decide that we’re no longer going to get anymore sleep.  We get ready and leave, taking to the sky in the darkness- the dark shielding our existence.  

Today, flying is painful.  I am fully feeling the effects of yesterday in my tired, tense muscles.  It’s not only in my muscles though, it’s also in my lungs.  They’re tiring out much faster today and I have to keep telling myself that I can do it. It’s hard to fly the speed Jack wants to go since I’m all stiff and lethargic, but I do it anyway.  I push through the pain just to make him happy.  Whatever we’re in a hurry for must be very important. 

I want to know where the hell he’s taking me.  “Home,” he says.  Well, where and what is that?  We just keep flying northwest in a straight line.  But, my bad mood gets better when the sun rises.  Oranges, yellows, and reds color the giant fluffy clouds that are just feet above me.  It looks so magical, so beautiful, that I have to smile.  

I need to ask him.  I need to know the things he hasn’t told me yet.  “Jack, how many of us are there?” I ask, pretending like I believe the story he’s been telling.

His face is suddenly covered in shadow, and I can instantly tell that this is a question he was dreading.  “There’s Nathaniel- our leader and teacher- Paul, David, Samuel, and Joshua,” he honestly answers.  David... I hear that name again.

“So seven including us?”  How shocking.  Only seven.  I’m the only woman.  Why are  the numbers so low?

“Six,” he says softly, “there are six left.”

Six?  Where is he coming up with six?  The five others plus us two is seven.

“Four of which you will choose a husband from.  Do you understand?” he asks.

No!  How can I possibly understand?!  “Who are the four then?”

“Paul, David, Samuel, and Joshua.”

Not him?  “And you,” I point out.

His hands ball up, but I am too scared to look and see what emotions play on his face.  “No, I don’t count.”

“What do you mean, you don’t count?  You’re right next to me aren’t you?  Flying perfectly fine right here,” I say frustrated.

He purses his lips and does not answer, and I don’t make him.  I identify this question as another question he does not want me to ask.  I feel guilty again.  He’s done so much for me so far.  Rescuing me from my guardian’s house, working into all hours of the night so we can get more hotel rooms, and giving me answers he doesn’t want to give.  And it’s not like I want to marry him or anything.  I’m just curious as to why he doesn’t count himself.  Which is why I don’t push the subject.

We fly in silence for the rest of the day, meaning I give all my attention to the pain in my wing muscles. They’re burning and aching and stiff.  No matter how I use them, something hurts.  Even my abs, legs, and butt hurt from keeping my body straight.  So much of me just wants to stop and rest until I don’t hurt anymore, but Jack doesn’t slow down for me.  Not at all.  It’s so hard keeping up with his pace, but I do it anyway.  I push through the pain to make him satisfied.

I have the same joyous feeling as I fall from the sky.  We land- not any better than yesterday, poor Jack- in a meadow because there are no other clearings around in this vast, dense, forest.  The trees are tall, thick, and mossy like giant hairy monsters.  They aren’t the creepy kind though, but the friendly kind.  No, they allow sunlight to stream through the leaves to cast a welcoming aura along the forest floor.

“Do you have to keep landing on me?” he complains, getting up and brushing dust off his clothes.

I lay on the ground, not moving, not daring to move.  Too stiff- there’s too much stiffness, too much pain.  I slowly sit up, pausing whenever needed.

“You okay?” he asks.

Oh yeah, I’m perfectly fine.  Just look at me.  Not a trace of dirt or annoyance on my face.  “Just let me move slowly, okay?” I ask, trying to keep all trace of whine out of my voice.  A failed attempt.

“You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you?” he asks, reaching out for me.

How’d you figure that out, I wonder?  I blanch at his touch.  He makes me feel so sick when he touches me.  “No, I’m fine.  Don’t worry, please.”  It’s the last thing I need him to worry about.  He’s done so much and sacrificed a lot of his time to make me comfortable.

He lunges at me before I can react and scoops me up into his arms.  I try not to disclose my discomfort.  “Hold still and we’ll have nothing to worry about,” he says, a worried smile playing on his lips.  What would he be worried about?

But his smile says it all: he’s enjoying this!  Of course he is, he’s a normal guy, despite being a so-called falcone.  I don’t struggle- not that I can anyway.  The soreness screams out at me to stay still, so I just let him carry me in a princess cradle.  I’m very aware of his muscular arms that hold me by my back and knees, his broad chest that I’m leaning against, and his neck that my arms are wrapped around.  I feel his heartbeat and his warmth.  I don’t say anything, just lay my head in the nook of his shoulder.  Content, completely content.  Besides the evil feeling radiating off of him, that is.

---

Abraham:

She’s asleep before he reaches tonight’s inn.  It’s a very homey place, a place where she will most likely enjoy.  He arrives at the reception desk and the woman behind it stands up surprised.  “Oh my!” she says, grabbing a key from behind the desk and rushing down the hall.  He follows her and waits for her to open the door for him.

Too long.  It takes too long for her to open that damned door.  Abigail, breathing on his chest, feeling her chest rise and fall in unison with his, makes his mind go crazy.  She’s so alive, so beautiful... so soft.

Drop her... Kill her... choke her to death...

Stop!  He yells at it in his head, but it’s already too late.  He let his guard down, and now he has no way of stopping his actions.  His head throbs, fills with evil thoughts, and soon his whole body is consumed in darkness.  He dumps her on the bed and towers over her, his hands reaching out for her neck.

She suddenly hums in her sleep.  Just a few lines from what sounds like “Ring Around the Rosy”.  The tune reaches his ears, floating on the fresh air, not wavering, just pure.  Pure light.

His head clears, and he collapses on the bed face down next to her- his arm falling across her waist.

“Jack?  What’s going on?” she asks, waking him up and pushing his arm away, letting her fingers linger on his muscles.

He regains consciousness and rolls over, sitting up- his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.  “Sorry.  Are you hungry?”

She nods with a smile, so he gets up and leaves, locking the door behind him.  He walks down the hall back to the reception desk and pays the bill for a one night stay.  “Do you have anything we could eat?” he asks the lady.

“Would you like some soup?  If you wait here for a few minutes, I can bring it out,” she offers.

“Sounds wonderful,” he replies with a sweet smile.  Soup will be perfect for her.  It’ll warm her right up and loosen her muscles.  He feels bad for her; he made her fly for a very long time before she was ready.  But what is he supposed to do?  This isn’t a vacation.  They’re trying to outrun a pack of reapers that are following him.  She has to live, and if that means that she has to give up some comfort, then so be it.  He does feel horrible doing it, though.

Back in the room he finds her exactly the way he had left her.  She didn’t move.  She’s in too much pain to move.  He sets her bowl of soup on her stomach, but she doesn’t grab it- just stares at the ceiling.  She can’t even sit up to eat her food?  What has he done to her?  “Don’t you want to eat?”

She moans a yes.

He laughs and puts both of their bowls on the nightstand.  “Try to sit up.”

“Not going to happen,” she quickly replies.

He sits down next to her, back against the headboard, and pulls her up so that her back is against his chest- her feathers poking through his shirt.  “You need to eat,” he scolds her.

“This is embarrassing!” she protests, heat rushing to her exposed skin.

“You have to eat!”  he concentrates on things other than her skin, her beautiful glowing skin.  He’s let his guard down once already today and it would be even more dangerous the second time around.  He focuses on the bowl of soup.  It’s a simple chicken broth soup that has a mild aroma, but he can guess how much effort was put into making it: the noodles probably took all day to dry, the chicken hours to roast.  They chopped up carrots, celery, corn and onions to fill up the broth.  It certainly smells good.

She sighs, taking a deep breath.  “I’d honestly love to eat.  I’m starving, but I don’t know how to eat in comfort right now.”  Her arms stay limp at her sides.  Useless.

What has he done to her?  Can she really be in so much pain that she can’t eat?  The pain in her muscles are greater than her hunger pains?  He grabs her bowl and fills the spoon full of steaming hot soup.  He blows on it, and shoves it in her mouth.

“Don’t feed me!” she yells after swallowing.

“Okay fine, here,” he holds out the bowl for her to take.  He’d rather her feed herself and save them both the embarrassment than feed her like she’s a child.

Her hands twitch, but then stay motionless at her sides.  “Damn,” she says, a grimace on her face.

He gives her another spoonful, eyeing the blush on her cheeks.  So attractive...

Choke her... kill her now...

He closes his eyes and concentrates- pushing the voice out of his head.  This is why he shouldn’t do stuff like this with her. The voice has been flaring up more often with her around.  One wrong move and he could actually kill her.  No doubt then Nathaniel will have him hung.  He shouldn’t be alive anyway.  He has to protect her to get his trust.  She is the key to everything.

He feeds her until she’s eaten it all.  She sighs in comfort.  He smiles at how easy it is to please her.  “Do you want mine?” he suddenly asks.

She shakes her head, “No, eat it.”

So he eats his share, well, drinks it from the edge of the bowl as if it were a cup.  He downs it in just a few gulps.  Her eyes widened at his savagery. 

An idea comes to mind.  He could use his spirit to heal her stiffness, but he’s never healed anything like that before and he’d have to concentrate to get it right.  He doesn’t have David’s ability, nor will he ever.  If he were to heal her muscles, he’d have to touch her.  He’d have to touch her all over.

He flushes, feeling the heat rise to his ears.  The voice really likes this idea and for that reason alone he should dismiss it, but he can’t shake the guilt he feels for pushing her to fly for so long before he’d been ready.  Perhaps he could try and if it doesn’t work, he’ll stop.  He’ll pretend she’s someone else, like Nathaniel, so the voice doesn’t get carried away.

“Lay on your stomach,” he orders her a little gruffly.  His nervousness makes his voice sound sharp and he winces.  Hopefully she didn’t notice.

“What do you mean?” she wonders with a curious look on her face.

“A massage,” he replies as nonchalantly as he can.

“No thanks.”  Blood rushes to her face, making her already flushed cheeks beet red.

“Do you want to feel better or not?”  He maneuvers her face down on the bed, easing her into position.

“No, stop!”

“Well, do you?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Then do as I say,” he says even though he has no idea what he’s about to do.  He’s never disassembled women’s clothing before- why does there need to be so many layers?  First there is the decorative part of her dress and it’s pinned into the bodice, but it comes apart easily and he lays it on the trunk in the room to keep it from falling to the floor.  Next is the outer skirt, and then the corset to undo.  Thankfully hers was simple and set low to allow her wings the freedom to move.  Once he had that unlaced, she had an underskirt and a slip.  Stopping at the slip he laid his hands on her back under her wing joints, straddling her.  By this point his heart is beating out of control- his breath catching at the feel of her under his hands and he can feel the roundness of her derriere under him .  She is solid, strong, and wonderful, but still fragile and small.

He focuses instead on replacing her image with Nathaniel's and pictures his gray wings, his elderly hunch, and his sagging skin.  Abraham shudders and the imagery seems to work.  He pulls on his spirit and slams it against hers and focuses on the areas he’s able to touch.  He tries to get a sense of what he’s doing, on the damaged muscles that lay beneath his fingers, and passes healing spirit through them into the points he pushes on.

She squirms in discomfort for a moment and he’s scared she’ll cry out in pain.  He doesn’t want that to happen.  If concerned passersby suddenly burst in to save the screaming lady, they’d find two people with wings instead.  Thinking quickly, he rolls up one of her skirts and tells her to bite on it in order to muffle her screams.  She seems uneasy with it at first by giving him a shocked look, but once he really digs in, she welcomes the cloth.

When he finishes with her back, he moves onto her legs and this is where his concentration is tested.  Not only are they slender and smooth under his fingers, they seem to go on forever.  He closes his eyes to keep from admiring them and yet again pulls Nathaniel's image to mind.  The voice threatens him in the back of his mind, but he keeps it at bay, not allowing it to flair up.

He thinks he’s hit all the major spots, he’s not going to entertain the idea of healing her behind no matter how inviting it may look, so he stops and looks up to see if his ministrations helped any.  He finds her sleeping soundly.  Chuckling, he rights her on the bed so he’d have a spot to lay down, and they fall asleep side by side once again.