Chapter 10

Her hands held the sheets that covered her in a death grip, her face still troubled even in sleep.

Warren closed the door to Rahne's room and turned to lean against it, relieved that she was finally sleeping. He could not quite lose the sensation of her hands gripping his shirt as he carried her. The movement of her eyes beneath their lids as they frantically sought her invisible opponent. He couldn't forget the tiny whimpers she uttered.

He saw again the naked fear in her eyes as she crouched against the wall, saying the same things over and over again and cursed out loud. He knew that fear, had seen it in his own eyes one too many times.

At least now he could say something that he knew for sure about Rahne Sinclair. Someone had done terrible things to her at some point in her life and knowing this filled him with an unutterable fury that he didn't quite understand.

He sighed and moved away from the door, wandering down the corridors in the vague direction of his own quarters. She filled his mind with questions and his anger grew as he wondered about the life of Rahne Sinclair. No-one becomes that closed off and distant without good reason. His thoughts returned to the articles included in her case file, mentally searching them for some clue about what had happened to her. There was so little to go on, he found himself at a complete loss.

Opening the door to his office, he caught sight of his own furrowed brow in the mirror that hung beside his bookshelves and sighed. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed. It would not do to get himself wound up like this. He couldn't help anyone if he was so stressed out that he couldn't think. He crossed to the desk, out of sight of the mirror, and pulled Rahne's file from its place in the pile of paperwork. Rubbing his forehead, he sat down on the floor and began to lay out the pieces of her life, such as they were.

It was like this girl was a shadow for the main part of her life. He read Moira's report on her adoption of the young Rahne over and over, hoping that something would click and the story would begin to form but all he could see was the compassion of a caring soul trying to help a frightened, angry child.

Nothing.

Nothing revealed itself and his frustration grew. He was frustrated with the report, with Rahne Sinclair for being difficult, with Moira for being deliberately vague, with himself for feeling so powerless.

He read until his eyes burned and his neck ached and the red numbers on his digital clock told him that it was nearly 1 o'clock in the morning. Leaving the paperwork where it lay, he stood and stretched his wings. Was it too late to go flying? Of course not, he thought with a smile.

He swiped his access key over the pad that opened a side door in one of the annexes of the school and took a deep breath of cool, sweet air. There was just the barest hint of a chill in the air, enough to turn his skin to goosebumps as he strode outside. It was so quiet, so still, this was his favourite time – when it seemed like the whole world was his own as the rest slept beneath.

He removed his shoes, savouring the pleasant feeling of springy grass on his skin and strode forward, following a natural path that cut through the fringe of tall, fragrant conifers and eventually led down to the sandy lake shore. There was no sound other that the night creatures and the gentle lapping of the water. Warren felt peace settle over his shoulders, the kind of peace he only sought when the moon was up and he was alone with the night. He pushed his thoughts about Rahne to the back of his mind.

After a few moments, he emerged on the edge of the lake, exchanging the dewy grass for the soft, yielding sand of the shore. He stopped and simply looked, taking everything in. The sky was clear and the lake surface was still and for a few moments, the beauty of the reflected universe of stars took his breath away.

His wings twitched impatiently in anticipation as he slowed his breathing, finding his focus and centring himself. Everything melted away until all that was left was the perfect calm he felt before the exhilaration of flight. He began to walk along the shore, faster and faster until he broke into a dead sprint. With one final leap, he extended his wings and instead of falling back to earth, he began to climb in a hazy diagonal into the deep blue of the sky. The chill air rushed into his lungs as he rose high above the tops of the gently swaying trees. He hovered for a long moment, gazing over the shadowy landscape that swept out in all directions around him. It was breathlessly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that had no words. Everything became so simple and uncomplicated when he looked at it like this.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and felt the wind caress his wings, creating small flurries along the edges of the feathers. Then he smiled.

He brought his wings smartly in against his back and fell, plunging down towards the sprawling silver mirror of the lake. His heart beat frantically in his chest as the world rushed up to meet him. At the very last possible moment, he flung his wings open and skimmed along the lake surface, throwing up sheets of spray in his wake.

Be my angel…

The memory came so suddenly and clearly that he jerked in surprise, unable to anticipate the change in the wind, and dropped like a stone into the cold water of the lake. Suffocating darkness surrounded him before his head broke the surface and he gasped for air as the cold water compressed his chest.

That voice. He knew that voice. It was on the very edge of his memory but he had remembered it so clearly it was as if someone had whispered it into his ear at that very moment.

He looked around, wondering if perhaps someone had, but the shore was still and empty. The only sound has his own splashing as he began to make his way to shore.