The drugs began to wear off, leaving my eyes heavy and my cheeks streaked with dried tears. Memories of orange flames and the acrid scent of smoke lingered in my mind. As I stirred, I let my foot dangle from beneath the scratchy blanket until a rush of cold air brushed against it, bringing a strange sense of relaxation, mingling warmth with chill. Slowly, I sat up, tracing the paths of my tear stains with trembling fingers, remembering the twelve long years spent in this asylum, its perpetually freezing halls and the ghostly presence of a girl in the corner of my room. We shared silent gazes, as if acknowledging the ghosts of our pasts, hers marked by needle scars and burns, perhaps remnants of electric shock therapy. Yet, her spectral presence never frightened me; if anything, it brought a strange comfort, a reminder of the spirits that surrounded me, whispering their incomprehensible messages through the night.
The orderlies joked about the asylum's chill, attributing it to the air conditioning, oblivious to the deeper truths hidden beneath my icy blue eyes, oblivious to the shifting hues of purple and coal black that betrayed the supernatural within me. But Jake, my favorite orderly, seemed to sense something more, his gentle presence a beacon of understanding amidst the institutional monotony. Today, as he entered my room, singing softly as always, I felt a glimmer of anticipation, hoping for the green pills that quieted the voices in my head.
"I like that song," I remarked as he approached, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
Jake chuckled, his warm demeanor a welcome contrast to the sterile surroundings. "You would. You're a Florence and the Machine fan."
As he handed me the pills, relief flooded through me at the sight of their familiar hue. Swallowing them eagerly, I felt their calming effects take hold, dulling the incessant chatter of the spirits. With renewed clarity, I eagerly accepted the small device he offered, a portal to the melodies of Florence and the Machine, a brief respite from the asylum's confines.
Eager for a taste of freedom, I pleaded with Jake for a chance to venture outside, citing my recent good behavior. His raised eyebrow betrayed his skepticism, yet he relented, offering me the gift of music and sunlight, a rare indulgence in my otherwise regimented existence.
As I sat beneath the palm tree, lost in the ethereal strains of harps and vocals, a tap on my shoulder shattered the tranquility. Startled, I turned to find Miss Patty, her disapproval evident as she motioned for me to remove my headphones. Yet, her words held an unexpected surprise—a visitor.
Curious yet cautious, I followed her to the picnic table, where a young man awaited me. His brown hair and green eyes seemed familiar, stirring something deep within me. As we exchanged greetings, his nervousness mirrored my own, his eyes flickering with uncertainty.
He produced a series of drawings, each one a haunting reflection of my past, of flames and shadows that danced within my memory. Tristan, he called himself, the twin brother of a boy lost in the fire that marked my own descent into madness. His words tumbled forth, a torrent of revelation and accusation, painting a portrait of betrayal and redemption.
Amidst his revelations, I felt a surge of recognition, a connection that transcended time and reason. He knew me, knew the truths buried beneath the asylum's facade. And as he spoke of angels and forgotten promises, I felt a spark of hope ignite within me, a flicker of possibility amidst the darkness.
With Tristan's words echoing in my mind, I knew that the time for secrets had passed. The asylum could no longer contain the truth of who I was, of the powers that lay dormant within me. And as I gazed into his eyes, I saw reflected the promise of a future untethered by the chains of my past.
"One more thing. You were aware that your memory would be wiped clean after that fateful night. I overheard your conversation with Evan."
"Evan?"
"He was the other angel by your side that night. But now, you know him as Jake."
He presented me with a pendant and instructed me to keep it on at all times. And I never took it off.
As Tristan's words sank in, I leaned back, trying to process everything. It was a relief to have my suspicions confirmed about being an angel. But Jake? He was the orderly who administered my medication daily. The same guy who sang Florence and the Machine. The man who now had me bursting with a multitude of questions."
YOU ARE READING
The Angel Contract
FantasyLucky, a fallen angel and the most powerful Supernatural being on Earth, was born over 1,000 years ago as a half angel, half human in a quaint village in Ireland. Her people, the Nephilim, were protected by the Queen and King until Lucky falls in lo...
