Chapter 2: My Keeper
The sensation of falling is all I know, all I've known, from the time I was able to spread my wings for the very first time, till the day I plummeted from the heavens. Flying is all that I know, all that I am, flying is apart of me.
The membranes in my wings arch together upward, drawing a hiss from my lips that are open in a silent scream. My wings feel like they are on fire, as my body shoots across the heavens like a falling star. To mortal eyes, my body is nothing but a beacon of light, casting an arch across a random city, like a new rainbow after a storm.
Pain ripples through each individual feather on my wings as I streak across the sky like a meteor shower. I am falling down hard towards earth, with the utmost grace of an asteroid getting ready to blow up half of the planet in one strike.
I know it's going to hurt, hurt so much when I land. My wings are already aching to fly, to stretch them to their full wingspan of twelve feet, to catch myself. Even a fledgling bird at a young age is taught to catch themselves in mid-flight if somehow they are falling out of the nest or a nearby tree. My wings won't stop this fall, they've been broken beyond repair, because they are no longer the beautiful shimmering white-gold they once were. My wings are now black at the night, stripped of their grace and beauty, they will always be scarred, missing feathers, and pointed bat claws at the tips of the top edge of my wings that'll scare everyone, including myself.
Tears burn down my cheeks as the wind bites against my face, leaving me feeling like there is no air circulating as I plunge downward. I reach out to try and touch a cloud as I fall through them, the clouds evaporating at my fingertips, making it difficult to grab onto something, anything to stop the fall.
It's useless to try and stop the descend. This will be my last time flying, even if I'm going out with a bang.
I'm falling...
Falling...
Falling...
I awake with a start, my heart is nearly pounding out of my chest that I'm clutching the silk material in a tight fist, taking a few deep breaths. I'm lying stretched out on my back, and sit up, trying to shake out of the same nightmare that always plagues my mind when my senses aren't on high alert, when I'm at my most vulnerable time, and that's when I'm asleep.
My nightmare is the reason I despise going to sleep, it gives my mind time to formulate a plan against me, and it makes me feel weak in a way I've never been, not even after my untimely Fall.
Twisting my head to either side, it cracks, and I release my grip on the material and try to stretch my arms above my head. Silver catches my eye at the same time I hear something rattle. My dark eyebrows pull together into a frown, as I put my arms back down, and survey the unquestionable iron that is wrapped around either wrist. When I examine my wrists closely, I move my legs and bite back a curse when I note that my ankles are also wrapped in this iron meant to hold the Fallen.
Chains. The bastard had the nerve to put chains on me?
My upper lip curls back in a snarl, and I try to pull my arms apart, trying to break the bonds, but all the chains do is clink and rattle, creating what little noise is inside where I'm at. I tilt back my head and look up to where the chains go up and over my head, an endless chain link that suspends in the air, the chain link hooked up to the ceiling, making it impossible to escape.
"You have got to be joking." I mumble to myself, twisting my wrists and pulling them to my chest, giving my arms a hard yank that has me flinching at the pain. Even though I'm chained up, I won't give in so easily.
I clamber to my feet as much as I can, having to position my feet awkwardly to avoid tripping and taking a nasty tumble. I lean against the white plastered wall for support, gritting my teeth to keep myself from screaming from both the pain in my wrists, ankles, and the pounding sensation beginning to form a headache inside my head.
The silver iron chains aren't meant to be used on mortals or mere animals. They're mean for the Fallen. Because Fallen are immortal, there is very little that can stop us from causing such massive destruction. The chains have a mind of their own, able to tighten around the area that they are clipped together around, like my wrists for instance, and if I try to move my wrists in a way that could cause me to break free...The chains will tighten to the point of almost snapping the wrist bone clean in two, and it'll cause me so much pain.
My wrists move up and down, causing the chains to rattle, but remain solid, unyielding. Growling curse words under my breath, I back away from the wall, making sure I don't trip over the chains in the process. When I glance warily at my surroundings I wish I hadn't of looked around.
White. Everything is white.
White walls. White floor. White ceiling. Even my skin next to the wall looks pale, the kind of pale that would make mortals look twice at, trying to figure out why my skin is so stark against every natural color of the world. As if I could explain in a million years as to why my skin is so white.
A groan sounds from behind me. I try to turn on my heels, and almost stumble face first to the ground, catching myself. I try to right my balance as a solid oak door appears across the cell I'm in. I watch with narrowed eyes as the door opens inward, and when I see who it is, I roll my eyes and don't bother to watch him stroll in.
Angels have this tendency to overreact, extra protection is cautioned at all times. Which is why, even though I'm bound by the cuffs on my wrists and ankles, it's not enough to stop him from putting me in a cell, with a padlock and key to make absolutely sure that I won't escape.
I twist my neck again and feel a bit relieved when it cracks to my satisfaction. I turn and rest my bare back against the wall. The wall feels cool against my skin, as I know longer wear the white blouse and black dress pants that I'd been wearing in the alleyway, before being rudely interrupted. I know he removed my clothes, he's always been known to spread his kindness, even when it's not wanted.
I now wear a slim fitting black dress that hugs my body in all the right areas. I glance down, frowning at his choice in wardrobe. The dress he's chosen is V-neck shaped, showing off more cleavage that I thought he wouldn't want to see, especially after all this time. Thin straps hold up the dress on my shoulders, a built-in bra makes sure that my breasts are in the correct location, and the dress comes down to my mid-thigh. It's almost like a cocktail party dress, one I'd probably wear when messing around with some wicked mortals.
Wearing the dress doesn't bother me. The Angel standing in front of me, however, him changing me bothers me. Alot.
My toes curl just imagining him changing me while I was unconscious, and it brings unbidden thoughts that I don't want to remember.
The Angel steps into the room, and I have to fight the urge to cower away from the light. The light that I used to share, that used to feel me with such joy and peace. He's got more of the light than I ever did, even as an Angel. Yes, I used to be an Angel.
In Heaven, there are a few higher up Angels in three different spheres of categories.
In the first sphere, we have Seraphim or Seraph are Angels with six wings that are flaming feathers, and they never ever leave the throne of God. They use one set of wings to cover their faces, another set to cover their feet, and the third set they use to fly. Seraph remain faithful loyal servants to God Almighty, always shouting to whoever would be near the throne, 'Holy, Holy, Holy'. I swear sometimes that's the only word they've ever learned, like a baby learning to talk. Don't get me wrong, I think it would be nice having six wings instead of one pair, but the fact that they only cry or shout, or scream the word 'Holy', it makes you wonder at their vocabulary and where they got their lessons done.
Then there are Cherubim Angels. They are known to have four faces; each one different of a man, an ox, a lion, and an eagle. They also have four wings that are covered with eyes, eyes that see all. It's kind of creepy if you happen to glance at them for whatever reason, I've done my best to avoid looking at them in the past. Every time I feel a set of eyes on me, my skin prickles with uneasiness. Cherubim bodies have the body of a lion and ox hooves for their feet. They guard the Garden of Eden and the throne of God. Believe me, they can handle anything thrown their way with all those creepy eyes staring everywhere.
And finally to end the first sphere, we have the Throne Angels, known in the Angel world as the Seven Council of Elders. They receive prayers from the Messenger Angels, and help God sort them out. In a way, there could be more than Seven, but since the number seven is considered holy, it only makes sense that there would only ever be seven angels helping God govern His people.
The second sphere holds; Lordships--they help regulate the duties of the lower class Angels, like how I used to be, helping us get things done in a timely fashion. Lordships are also known to hold a white orb near their swords, to use in case of emergencies, though I've never dared to ask them outright.
Virtues are how God works the miracles. He sends one of the Virtues down to earth and then sends the miracle through that Angel as a vessel and that Angel helps enact the miracle, and they also are the choir that you'll see on television or imagine. It's strange I know, but hey, we've all got different hobbies. Just glad I didn't get created as a Virtue.
Finally, we have Powers. Power Angels supervise all the Angels to make sure that everything remains in balance, that the world isn't going to fall apart. Even if it will one day, hey, the Rapture is coming, but not even the Angels know when it'll happen. They also on the side, take evil beings that are immortal and put them in detention, a place not even I want to visit, though I eventually will. I'm trapped remember?
The third sphere holds; Rulers, Archangels, and Angels.
Rulers have crowns and carry scepters, a band of Angels that ruler over the Church in a legion, helping to assist and minister whenever possible. They intend to inspire creativity in their wake, sometimes I honestly think they can't seem to help themselves. Imagine one of the Rulers giving Van Gogh the idea to paint his masterpiece, 'The Starry Night', instead of it being his creation, it's actually all thanks to a Ruler Angel. Surprised? Good, I'm not.
Archangels or Messengers, depending on who you talk to, are Angels that are chief Angels or messenger. They are at the very top, again depending on who you ask. I've only ever met two before in my life. Archangel Michael is high up in the ranks next to the Seraph, and then there's the Angel in front of me, who is the second archangel I've met before. He's towards the bottom, still a Messenger Angel. Then there's Raphael, the only archangel I've never met before, but I hear by the sounds of it, that he's brutal, he makes Michael look like a saint.
Then there's where I come in. At the very bottom, Angels in general. Angels guard mortals, we are messengers to humanity. Er, at least that's what I was before I fell. I wanted something different in life, believe me protecting mortals gets boring after a decade or two. It's like opening up the same old boring book, flipping through the pages, reading it over and over again, even if you crave to read something new...you never can.
The male Angel standing before me is an archangel or Messenger. He's delivered the personal message to Mary of Nazareth about the Holy Spirit entering into her body and her being a virgin, being granted the chance to have a baby, the Son of God, Jesus Christ of Nazareth. You might just call him an Angel or a Messenger, I call him...
"Gabriel." I mumble, frowning at him from the position where I'm at against the wall.
I haven't personally laid eyes on Gabriel since the Nazis took over in Germany after Hitler reigned in World War II and started the genocide with the Jews. I'd seen him briefly, as I'd fallen a long while before Hitler came into power, causing quite a stir from both mortals and Angels alike. Gabriel and Michael had been on a mission, I'd just been hiding out in Germany to avoid being taken to one of the concentration camps. I can only pretend to be human for so long, and then people would start to question. I didn't want to end up as an experiment, not after what I'd heard happened in Auschwitz.
My chest aches for a split second, though I keep my face neutral, void of any emotion. I'll never show my emotions to him again, not after what Gabriel had done to us, done to me. Trusting him is like trusting a rattlesnake, one wrong move and they'll put venom in your blood, wishing you would die a quicker death, instead of the slow torturous one with the poison. Trusting Gabriel is like him being the snake, and me being mortal. One is bound to destroy the other.
Mortal steps on snake's head, kills it. Snake bites mortal, mortal suffers in agony then dies.
"Jezza." He says softly. His voice sounds like the aftermath of a waterfall cascading down a spring in the mountain range. Peaceful, tranquil, quiet, alluring. Everything you could ever imagine to be in one voice that could be as soft as the drizzle of rain or be powerful like peals of thunder.
I don't bother to stare at him, as I find my ruined feet to have more of my attention than he.
My feet are covered in blisters, black scuff marks, and multiple thin lines of scars. Everything I've endured over the years, I've gone through alone. I didn't have family or friends to help me. Just myself, me and no one else.
I may be able to heal, but scars have a tendency to remain no matter how small the wound might have been. If anything I would have loved to get tattoos to cover up all the scars, but unfortunately the ink doesn't sink into the pores of my skin, so in a way it's like putting a quarter into one of those machines you see in a grocery store, that holds peel on tattoos for kids. The tattoos for kids will wash right off after a few days. If only I didn't have to worry about giving the stupid machine my money to purchase a small tattoo that wasn't even worthwhile.
I feel as though at any given minute I'm going to start hyperventilating, have a heart attack, something that'll cause my chest to tighten and make it so that I can no longer get what little oxygen I need, inside my lungs.
How else would you react when seeing your ex lover for the first time in over a century? You don't go running straight into their arms, you tuck tail and run. You ask questions later, not the minute they barge back into your life. Anybody can relate to that, believe me, about wanting to run away and forget about how much they might have caused you pain.
Footsteps echo in the enclosed space, and the door shuts behind him. Trapping me once again in here, but with him. I tilt back my head and watch my only means of escape, being the door, sink back into the wall, dissolving entirely into a different dimension.
Crafty son of a bitch.
I frown, as I stare at him. He walks over to where I'm standing, holding out a peace offering. A plate of fruit, hoping I'll want to eat the red apples and banana as if I'm some trained pet. I merely turn my head, my lips pursing into a thin line. The thought of eating is both appealing, but not. I want to eat the fruit because I don't recall the last time I actually ate, but I don't want to eat because my insides are clenching with the need to be sick to my stomach. I highly doubt he wants to clean up after me.
"Are you really going to be stubborn about this, Jezza?" He asks, sighing loudly when all I do is shrug my shoulders.
"I'm not being stubborn about anything. Maybe your head isn't screwed on right." I mumble, looking down at my feet again. They really ought to be washed again, if I ever get out of these chains.
"You need to eat." He says, ignoring my last comment.
Continuing to frown, I shake my head, "Not hungry." I say, even though my stomach is beginning to protest.
Angels don't need to worry about the little things like eating or drinking. The bodies they have are Angelic and therefore don't need the usual substances to live. Unlike Angels, Fallen have to eat once in a great while to survive. Sort of like how in legends vampires need to drink blood to survive, or with how humans can survive weeks at a time without food, as long as they have water they'll be fine. Same goes with Fallen, except I'm not sure how long I've gone without food, now I'm regretting it more than ever.
"You need to eat, regardless of how stubborn your being."
No matter how much he begs or demands me to eat something, he can't force me, part of giving everyone the choice of free will. Angels and Fallen are both bound still by the Code of Angels, we cannot under any circumstances take anyone's free will away. Even Fallen obey that rule, very vaguely, but they still follow it.
I clench my jaw, before I mumble, "If anything you're being stubborn."
Gabriel raises a dark eyebrow. "How do you figure?"
"Oh, come on," I say, holding up my wrists, shaking my hands so that the chains rattle. "I'm surprised you haven't figured that out. You can't keep me here against my will. You're breaking the code."
He merely blinks, as if contemplating on what to say. "I am breaking no laws of the code, Jezza."
I roll my eyes. "Sure, and I'm pregnant."
His eyes narrow. "That isn't amusing. I've forgotten how...Ugly your humor can get."
"You mean along with your gut wrenching personality? Where all the females flaunt over the pathetic trash you are?" I sneer. "Face it, Gabe. You are nothing without me. Now let me go."
"I cannot do such a thing." He can take as many jabs, it's a wonder that he's remained as an archangel for so long.
I frown, lowering my hands. "Why not?"
Gabriel ignores me, turns, and walks back towards the wall. The oak door appears as if by magic, but I know it's censored for movement that will allow him access to return and leave at his own expense. When he turns back around, free hand clutching the door knob, he eyes me up and down, while I still lean against the wall.
It's hard to believe that no human can see the face of God and live to tell about it. It's the same way with Angels. God made us in His image, so it's hard for anyone to see an Angel's face.
Fallen can get away with wearing a human mask. I wore a human disguise to blend in with my surroundings when going up against Stanley, but now that I'm confined to a space where I can't escape, I've dropped the human facade. If anything, my ethereal beauty is probably showing, letting everyone know that I'm not mortal, that I am something else, a different species.
My wings hang limply behind me, because there's no point in try to break free. I know I can't break the shackles that keep me here as a prisoner. If I weren't a prisoner, I'd imagine that my black hair would be wind blown, wild and free, and unable to tame. My blue-grey eyes would be dark or bright, depending on my mood--since my mood is dark, my eyes are probably resembling ice. My skin has always tended to glow like a pale moonbeam has hit every single piece of my skin. If I were still an Angel, I would have this eerie glow that all Angels no matter the rank would have, and beautiful white wings to match, the feathers would be so soft to the touch.
Gabriel's face darkens as he stares me down. I try to avoid looking at him for longer than necessary, even if I can't seem to help myself. He's always had these smothering good looks, and charm to match his butterfly personality. His personality was something I'd always admired, back when things were so carefree and simple.
Not a strand is out of place from the ponytail that holds up his dark brown locks of hair. An aftershave of stubble is all that remains on the strong jawline and high cheekbones. Full lips, and hazel eyes that can pierce your soul.
A beautifully crafted Angel. One that I'll never be able to share adventures with ever again.
The thought makes my heart ache.
An apple gets tossed my way, though I don't bother to catch it. The apple lands at my feet.
"I expect you to have eaten that apple when I return, and that's an order, not a suggestion." He snaps at me, before turning and slamming the door shut behind him.
The oak door disappears as I glare at the white wall, wishing more than anything that the wall wasn't there so I could show Gabe just exactly where he could shove the apple.
I bend over at the waist, not caring if he sees the plunging neckline.
This wouldn't be the first time that Gabriel has seen me naked, the first time turned out to be a mistake. The second time shouldn't even count because I wasn't even conscious for that, all because he thought changing me out of a bloody stained shirt was doing me a favor.
I pick up the apple, and straighten up, running the pad of my thumb across the smooth texture. My mouth waters a tad, and I have to act quickly before I change my mind. I glare at the spot where I figure the door would be if it was visible, pull back my arm, and throw the apple. The apple smashes against the wall and leaves pieces of apple bits all over the pristine white wall and the marble flooring.
Feeling satisfied with my unsuccessful victory, I slump back against the wall, rubbing my hands together to keep warm. With there being no window, no sunlight can filter through, and that gives me no clue what time it is, or how to keep the heat in so I don't freeze my ass off in here.
The room is freezing cold. With all the white on the walls, floor, and ceiling, I feel like I'm an igloo because the coldness is seeping into my bones. Goosebumps cover my exposed skin and I shudder, trying not to clack my teeth together. I can feel pain and cold, but I can't stand either one.
As an Angel, I didn't have to worry about the heat, or the cold, food or water ever. As a Fallen, I'm experiencing I think a little too much mortal interaction, cold and pain definitely top the list.
I let out a small sigh, watching my breath hang in the air like a patch of fog after it rains. It disappears soon after, but my teeth begin to chatter. I shudder, wishing that he would've at least kept my jacket, letting me use it.
Although I know Gabriel better than he lets on, because if I know him then he's already searched me for weapons. He no doubt took my jacket because I have a couple of throwing stars on the inside hidden pocket. He took my dress slacks because of the knife in each front and back pocket, equaling four, and he took my combat boots I was wearing because of the small dagger that was squished near my calf muscle. Even if I am immortal, and a Fallen, I'm not the only danger out there in the real.
There's only two ways to kill a Fallen, at least that I'm aware of. God can unravel my existence, I've personally never heard of anyone being unborn, but I guess it's always a possibility. The other way is if you cut off our wings, we have to report to Judgment Day, same as any mortal and animal.
I know for a fact, that the mortal I was getting ready to kill, Stan, probably no doubt already had his trial. I just wanted to extend and prolong his suffering, sure I know he's probably already in one of the seven circles of Hell, but didn't mean I didn't want to have a little bit of fun beforehand.
What I don't like is that Gabriel came in when he wasn't needed or wanted. I was perfectly enjoying smashing Stanley's face together, until his brain exploded. I hate that Gabe was trying to play the role as a hero. What did that make me? That's right, playing the role as the villian.
Somehow I'm not sure how I should feel about playing the role as a villain.
I frown, sliding against the wall, and crouching down. I sit at an awkward angle, trying to keep the dress from exposing too much skin.
No matter which role I play, good or bad, hero or villain, the end result is still the same.
My teeth continue to chatter, as I have to manually pull my wings over my shoulders to keep warm. I shut my eyes, still shivering, even in the small cocoon of warmth.
I don't get to be happy.
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