Guardian: The Guardian Part 11

"No, babe, I am coming home to you." Mom says. I see dad's feet come to a stop by my side.

"Really mom?" I ask. "Are we moving back to New York?" I am surprised by the tinge of disappointment that creeps up in me at the idea of moving back to New York. Who would have thought a big city girl like me would be sad to leave this small town life?

"No, not New York. We've relocated to Denmark now, but I don't know baby. Your dad and I will talk about it. I have to finish my one year contract here first, or find a replacement." A small piece of me dies again, I want to be with her now. I know how hard it can be to find a replacement. How many people want to live in a makes.h.i.+ft camp for a year and teach women at a remote African tribe how to read and write? It is unpaid work with poor working conditions, and there are constant security threats from warring tribes.

"I thought I'd be happy doing this again, and I am, a little. But I just miss my baby too much."

"I miss you too, mom. But I don't want you to be unhappy..."

"Nonsense, I am always happy when I'm with you. Even when I want to strangle you." We all laugh, including dad. She must have heard his voice. "Is that your dad?" We rarely have video calls because mom has a very weak internet connection. It is why mom did not know that dad is beside me.

"Hi sun-princess!" Dad calls to her.

Now you know where I got my nickname ideas from!

"I hear you are thinking of coming back to us?" He asks, settling his large body on the floor beside me.

"I know it's quite unexpected, and very wishy-washy minded of me. I thought this adventure was what was missing in my life, but now that I am here... I don't know. I think maybe it was you missing. Maybe we should try stay together, as a family, and see what happens..." I feel awkward sitting through the very personal conversation they are having, but dad has his arms around me.

"It could be. So come home, love. Let us try. We could travel together again, and Caroline could join us if she wants, when done with school." Dad says, kissing the top of my head. "Maybe we could visit Nepal, or the amazon again."

"That sounds great," I say, exaggerating my excitement. I do not think I want to go live among alligators and anacondas. I am not an adventurist like my parents. But I know I would do it for them. I would be miserable every second of it, but I would do it.

"I see you still have a lot to learn about your daughter," mom says with a chuckle, her voice cracking from the bad connection. "She'd hate the amazon."

"Oh," dad says, squeezing me to himself. "Chicken, are we?"

"Shut up!" I say playfully, chuckling as he makes chicken sounds at me.

"How is the house getting on?" Mom asks after the laughter subsides.

"We started replacing the windows today, and only two are left."

"Wow, it's coming along quite fast!" Mom exclaims.

"Yeah. It helps a lot that Caroline brought a boyfriend to help." I punch dad lightly when he says this.

"You have a boyfriend now?" Mom asks, her voice rising a notch.

"No, not a boyfriend mom. Don't freak out. He is a friend of mine that happens to be a boy. He is my cla.s.smate."

"Do you like him?"

"Yes I like him, but I don't like like him." I say, and both mom and dad laugh at my expense.

"Does he like like you?" My mom asks, using my wording to mock me. I let it slip.

"I don't think so. He like's my friend A.M." I say, and a pang of guilt hits me when I realize that I will not get to call her tonight again, since it is already past 10:00pm.

"Ok, dear. It's late here. Almost midnight, and people are asleep at our camp. I will have to say good bye now."

"Ok mom, good night!"

"Bye Weigesa. We love you!" Dad says.

"I love you too." She makes a quick kissing sound and then hangs up. I stare at the screen laying my head on dad's shoulders, not moving from the position.

"Do you really love her dad? I mean really love her?"

"Of course, princess. Why would you even ask that?"

"Then why did you never try to live with us when I was born?"

"But I did, Caroline," he begins. "We moved to New York when we discovered that she was pregnant. We got jobs and did the whole happy family for the next three years.

My travelling was her idea. She felt that there was no need for both of us to settle. There were still so many people out there that needed help. It was killing both of us, living our lives in New York, working too many hours, supporting the corporate world and the ruthless system of capitalism - it was killing us princess! It was completely against our principles. One parent was enough to stay with you in a developed country, to give you a great opportunity to choose your own future, a good education and great medical care.

We decided to do it in turns at first, one could stay home for a year or two, and the other could travel. But your mother was doing very well with the gallery. When Thomas offered to sell the gallery we both thought it would be a good idea to buy it. She could then do her own good deed right on the streets of New York, by supporting young artists and selling great art at affordable prices. Art that all can afford, not monopolized by the wealthy cla.s.s.

However, I knew nothing about art, and the gallery was doing so well under your mother's leaders.h.i.+p, so we decided to keep going for two more years, and then two more, and then even more. I think finally your mother just found it too hard to leave you, so we kept on at it." He leans back against the wall, my head still on his chest, and we stay this way until grandfather walks in on us.

"The bathroom is free," he says. My dad taps my shoulder, signaling me to take a shower before him. So kissing his cheek, I rise on my feet and shuffle off into the bathroom.

The warm shower relaxes my tense muscles, ma.s.saging my aching limbs. The physical labor of working on the renovations for weeks is beginning to take a toll on me. I shut the water, wrap a towel around me and brush my teeth.

"Good night dad," I call as I walk to my room. He is seated at the kitchen chewing on some cookies with a gla.s.s of juice in front of him. My stomach growls, but I do not join him. I am too tired to have to brush my teeth again.

"Sleep tight!" He replies. "And princess, your new painting is breathtaking!"

"Thank you!" I call back with a smile.

I struggle with toweling my hair dry as I pull open the drawer containing my T-s.h.i.+rts. Some of dad's are also in this drawer, because we share closet s.p.a.ce. I pick a long buggy T-s.h.i.+rt full of paint stains. It is moms, one of her favorites.

It must have been dads once, judging by its size. It is really old, threadbare, and has a hole above its right shoulder. Its right sleeve hem has long come loose.

One of my earliest memories is of mom in this T-s.h.i.+rt, falling over midway to the thighs of her bare plush bronze legs. She had held a palette on one hand and a paint brush on the other, standing before a large white canvas. The stereo had been blaring one of her favorite 90's song and she was swaying her hips gently to it in between placing strokes here and there.

"What do you think, baby?"

"I don't know mom? Is it a mountain?" She had laughed lightly at my interpretation. I was about five or six years old then.

I yank the T-s.h.i.+rt up and pull it over my head. I throw the towel to the corner of the bed and snuggle into my beddings, taking a deep sniff of my mom's T-s.h.i.+rt, searching for any trace of her scent. I fall asleep like this, one hand holding the neck of the t-s.h.i.+rt over my nose.

When I see the brown eyes staring deep into mine, the searing pain etched in them that they try to conceal, I awake with a start, almost toppling myself off the bed. I can hardly believe that I had dreamt it. Those eyes had seemed so real, so intense. I could swear some of the pain behind them had tried to seep into me, the eyes begging me to relieve it.

"Grandpa!" I cry out in a frightened whisper.

Chapter 16.

"No," a voice whispers from the window. "It's Ariel."

It astonishes me so much that I bite down on my lip hard so as not to scream, and in the process manage to break my skin, and salty blood begins to fill my mouth.

The angel must have floated through my window, for he is now seated on my bed, rubbing his finger over my bleeding lip gently. A burning sensation travels from his finger into my lip at his touch. I look up at his impa.s.sive face, my brown eyes meeting his icy blue unblinking eyes.

"He needs my help, and you have to come with me," he continues. My eyes narrow to slits, and he interprets my questioning look.

"I cannot leave you. If I do, and one of the fallen traces your Essence, they might come to check which divine angel is emitting such weak Essence. They might kill you, or even capture you so as to learn more information about you. Should they find out that you are just a son of man..." He trails off.

"That is why you always need to be in close proximity with an angel, so that our stronger Essence will drown out yours. And should we be attacked, we are capable of fighting back. We will not let anything happen to you. You are the guardian."

"Azrael..?"

"Went to check on Ariel and Uriel earlier when they sent the first distress message, and hasn't come back since, or communicated."

"Oh"

"We need to leave now." He lifts his finger off my bottom lip, and I realize the throb on my lip is gone. I touch it, only to find my lip whole again. I look up to him to ask how he healed me, but he mouths, "now." So I jump out of bed.

I grab a pair of underwear from the bottom drawer of the chest under the window and put them on, a blush creeping up my face. I then grab a pair of jeans from the floor, pulling them over my legs as fast as I can. I think to change my t-s.h.i.+rt, but the memory of Ariel's eyes screwed up in pain makes me grab at my parka instead, hurriedly putting it over mom's T-s.h.i.+rt.

My human movements must appear really slow to the angel, who is used to doing things in split seconds, because he is gliding to and fro in my box of a room, signifying his impatience.

Well excuse me! I am a son of man, I think sarcastically, using the phrase I have heard him and his brothers use often.

Just as I finish zipping my parka I am swept off my feet and in a split second, the chilly night air is filling my lungs as we fly across the night sky.

Today's flight is a lot longer than those I have previously experienced, allowing me to really take note of what is happening. I am held tight by Raphael's left hand, my back pressed against his chest. His wings are spread out wide above us. I know because I can see a part of the silvery wings spread out on both of my sides. They are wider than I previously thought, flapping ever so slightly every time we have to change course or alt.i.tudes.

For the most part we are gliding swiftly through the air. We are not that high above, for I can still breathe, though with slight difficulty. I can just make out the buildings and expanse below speeding past us as we soar faster and higher up in the sky. The view makes me sick, and I close my eyes to try stop the nausea.

It does not seem to help, for an involuntary spasm rocks me, mere seconds before I begin heaving my dinner. We come to an abrupt stop, on the edge of the rooftop of a very tall building, in an unfamiliar city. Raphael holds me and my hair as I heave up some more over the edge, the urge to throw up only intensifies as I look down at the seemingly bottomless drop below, until my stomach is empty and only air comes up.

"I'm sorry," I manage to say finally, when the heaving stops, shutting my eyes so as not to be sickened by the sight of the long distance to the bottom of the building.

"It's ok," the apathetic voice answers. "We need to set off now, if you are done."

"Hold my face against your chest," I say, heat flooding my face for some stupid reason. "Looking down makes me nauseous." I am barely done speaking before we are soaring through the crisp night air once again.

My face is pressed tight against his ripped chest, his one hand snaked around my waist. I take in his intoxicatingly masculine scent, which is doing things to my body that I cannot explain. I have no idea why I am reacting like this towards him, however a searing sensation pa.s.ses through me and I shudder slightly against him.

This time when we land suddenly onto a steep frozen mountain side, I stumble almost falling down, when he throws me off himself roughly.

I look up at him startled, and scared because he could have hurt me with that shove, had I fallen onto one of the sharp jagged rocks protruding over the carpet of snow.

"What..?"

"Control yourself, son of man!" He spits out in disgust. I almost die of embarra.s.sment, turning my face away from him to hide the tears that threaten to spill out.

What is wrong with me? Why had I reacted like that to him? Him! The cold-hearted hateful creature!

"What are you talking about?" I play dumb.

"Don't be daft! I told you I can feel your emotions loud and clear." I bite my lip in embarra.s.sment.

"How do you know it wasn't me reading your emotions?" I argue, fighting for my lost pride.

"And why would I feel that kind of attraction for you?" The question knocks the air out of my lungs.

Don't cry, don't lose every trace of your dignity now, I say to myself.

"Now stop that racket of self-pity!" He raises his voice, startling me. "You are a pocket of raging emotions. You must learn to curb them, because they are drowning the other angels', and I need to track my brothers that need my help." I inhale deeply, trying to calm myself.

"Why don't you leave me here?" I ask.

"I can't, I told you already. The angels freed from Tartaros can sense your Essence. They could trace you and kill you, or worse. If you stay close to me, the angels will think the Essence is coming from me."

"But will they not wonder who I am, being that I am with you?"

"No, because I plan on leaving you somewhere near us when we get close enough. Just act like an untouched son of man. Pretend not to see us, for we always battle in another dimension, where the sons of man cannot see us. If you play your part well, they will not pay any attention to you, dismissing you as just one of the many irrelevant sons of man."

"Okay," I say, trying to keep my voice devoid of any emotion, despite the insults embedded in his words during this whole conversation. He then steps up to me awkwardly, tentatively pulling me to him, turning my face to the side, so that it is my left cheek that lies against his chest.

"Close your eyes," he says before soaring high up into the sky again.

Laying my cheek against his hard chest does not help my situation. Especially with my eyes closed. So I begin singing the children song, '99 green bottles on the wall', and countdown to distract myself. When I get to 47, Raphael slows down, his stomach muscles constricting as he tenses up.

..46 green bottles standing on the wall, But if one green bottle, should accidentally fall.. I keep up with the singing in my head, keeping my emotions as calm as possible, not wanting to jeopardize his mission. My fingers itch though to touch the knotted muscles on his stomach, and I have to fold them into fists, just to be sure that I do not do it.

He gently drops to land on soft marshy ground that sinks slightly beneath my feet. He buries his face into my hair, close to my ear. There will be 45 green bottles standing on the wall, I continue, to still my heartbeat that rages in response.

"Stay here," he whispers in a very low voice. I nod in response, and he immediately flies away. I open my eyes slowly, which sting against the bright daylight. We have flown across the world to the eastern hemisphere, judging by the bright morning sun. I have no idea where exactly we are though, and the thought unnerves me.

..45 green bottles standing on the wall, But if one green bottle, should accidentally fall.. I continue when he is gone, seeking to be as of little nuisance as possible. This childish way of distracting myself and subsequently controlling my raging emotions seems to be working so far, so I keep at it.

There are 75 green bottles standing on the wall, I am singing to myself, having counted down to zero and started again, when a powerful figure comes scuttling across the rice paddies awash with bright sunlight, just two hundred meters from where I am seated, on a tree stump, appearing to be enjoying the view before me of gently rolling hills. My heart flutters in fear, so I press on with my rhyme.