Angel lay on the hospital bed asleep. The room was dark and quiet. She was dressed in one of those paper-thin hospital gown, her clothing in a plastic bag next to the bed. Cassandra was in Angel's room, adjusting IVs and checking the monitors. There was really no need; for some reason, Angel's body rejected everything they put in it. Blood samples revealed numerous unknown particles floating in the young girl's bloodstream. There were red blood cells, white blood cells, cells of an odd, clear color, and microscopic particles that the experts couldn't even begin to identify. There was also the matter of the odd glands just behind Angel's eyes. Those, and a few other things. One question kept running through Cassandra's mind: Angel, what are you?
Cassandra was absently staring at the girl's closed eyes when they flew open. Angel sat up quickly and gasped, as if having been awoken from a nightmare. Then she flopped back down on the bed, draped an arm over her eyes, and sighed. Cassandra had nearly had a heart attack at this sudden awakening, and moved cautiously to the bed. "Angel? Are you alright?"
Angel didn't move. "It's 5:30."
Surprised, the older woman checked her watch, and found that Angel was correct. "Why, yes it is. How did you know that?"
Angel groaned. "Biological clock. I wake up at 5:30 every morning. No matter what time I go to bed, no matter how much sleep I've had, rain or shine, I wake up at 5:30." She sighed. "Apparently even near-death experiences aren't enough to shake that."
"How long have you experienced this?"
"For as long as I can remember," Angel groaned. Then she opened one eye and grinned. "And may I remind you, that's not very long."
Cassandra smiled in spite of herself. Then Angel slowly sat up. "Where's Bryan?"
The smile disappeared. "He's talking to that police officer."
Angel flopped back down again, and groaned for the umpteenth time. Then she sat up again, and fixed the older woman with a piercing look. "Is it true? Did I really kill seventeen people?"
Cassandra hesitated. "Yes."
The harsh look turned to horror, and Angel stared down at her heavily scarred arms. "What the hell am I?" Cassandra heard the girl moan.
"I was just wondering the same thing." The words were out of the blond woman's mouth before she could stop them. A heavy silence descended. "I'm sorry," Cassandra said quietly.
"Don't worry about it. I get that a lot." Angel said quickly, and looked back down at her arms. With some surprise, she noted that her left wrist was in a cast. Ah yes, those three baseball bats at the same time. She'd blocked with her left wrist, which had shattered. There was also the numerous wide, open scars forming on her wrists. Scars as long, as wide, as ugly as the one on her brother's face. Then she saw her left bicep. "Oh, shit."
"What?"
"My tattoo." Cassandra moved to Angel's left side, and saw a long, jagged streak running horizontally through the lower half of it. It had healed crooked, and now the design did not line up at all.
"My husband is a plastic surgeon--" Again, the words were out before she could stop them.
Angel's gaze snapped around to stare deep into the older woman's eyes. "Your husband?"
Cassandra's lower lip trembled. "Angel, I--"
"Your husband?" Angel repeated, in a harsh tone. Her eyes bored holes into Cassandra's. "You're married?"
Tears glinted in the older woman's eyes. "I... yes, my husband. I'm married."
Angel's look got even darker, if that were possible. "So you're having an affair with my brother behind your husband's back? And he doesn't know you're married?" Cassandra nodded slowly. Angel slowly moved off the bed, and stood. "Jesus fucking Christ, Cassandra. What the hell is wrong with you?" Angel's fists clenched, as did her jaw.
Cassandra was about to fear for her life, when the door opened behind her. It was Bryan. "Angel? You alright?"
Angel needed to finish this discussion. "Just a sec, Bryan. Now, as I was saying, Cassandra, my period's been kinda irregular lately--"
Bryan gave a muffled yelp and backed into the hall, shutting the door quickly. A faint smile appeared on Cassandra's face, but it disappeared when she turned back to Angel. Angel wasn't smiling at all. In fact, Angel looked quite dangerous at the moment.
Cassandra moaned and buried her face in her hands, and plopped down into the chair next to Angel's bed. Angel lost none of her stern demeanor, and planted herself in front of that chair with her fists clenched at her sides.
"I'm sorry, Angel," Cassandra murmured through her hands.
"I'm not the one you should be saying that to." Angel snapped.
"I... it's not a happy marriage, Angel. We got married because we were ambitious, headstrong people with similar career ideas." She took a deep breath. "He's been having affairs for the last three years. I know about them, too. In fact, his current one is a good friend of mine. We share him." She looked up into Angel's disbelieving face, and quickly looked down again. "We fight so often... I've been having affairs off and on again for almost a year now." She blinked away tears. "I really, really like Bryan--"
"Then can you imagine what it'll do to him when he finds out?" Angel's eyes seemed to throw sparks. "He really likes you, too. A lot. In fact..." here her voice took such a tone that every word burned into the poor woman's ears and mind, "In fact, he was talking just the other day about how he likes you more than he's ever liked anyone else."
Cassandra nearly burst into tears. "He won't give me a divorce. He refuses. Says it'll ruin both our careers if we do."
Angel's gaze softened somewhat. "So you're a trophy wife."
The older woman nodded.
Angel sighed, and sat down on her bed. "So, when are you going to tell him?"
"I don't know."
"You need to. And soon. He wanted to stop by a jewelry store the other day. Can you imagine what would happen if, by some fluke, he proposed to you, and you were already married?" When there was no answer, Angel reluctantly stood. "Be right back."
Cassandra's hand shot out and grasped Angel's arm. "Please don't! Not yet! I... it should come from me."
Angel considered. "Fine. You will tell him, and soon, or else."
"Or else what?" Cassandra asked a bit snippily.
Angel stared the older woman down. "Or else I WON'T tell him." That said, she went to the door to let her brother and the cop into the room.
Cassandra thought for a moment. Now, why did that threat strike her as being so ominous?
Angel lay in the bed, slightly drained from her encounter with Cassandra, who was now doing her job back down in the ER. Bryan sat in the chair next to Angel's bed, and the Officer Greene stood at the foot of the bed, with a little notepad.
Greene had been talking for a little over an hour with this girl, and he felt that his job was getting more difficult by the minute. For one thing, she was either angrily dismissive about her ignorance of her past, or painfully sarcastic about the present, depending on the questions he asked.
He sighed, as he asked yet another question that she felt warranted a burst of sarcasm. "Now, Miss Leah, you were given two knives for your birthday, correct?"
"Yes, Officer, two knives. Jerry Lewis, my only friend until my brother came along, gave me one, which is now in the possession of said brother, who also gave me one. I have no idea where that one is."
He sighed. "It's right here," he said quietly. He reached into his policeman's jacket and pulled out the blood-covered knife, in an evidence bag. Wordlessly he handed it to the figure on the bed. "Keep it."
Angel sensed something going on. "What are you doing, Greene? You shouldn't be giving this back to me."
"I know." He sat on the end of the bed. "Angel, I've kept an eye on you ever since you got here. To my knowledge, you have never, ever provoked a fight, especially one of this magnitude. And I'm pretty sure you didn't provoke this one. However, there's gonna be a lot of people who will want to put you away, for life. Some may even say that you deserve to die."
"I've often said the same thing," she said bitterly. "Did Jerry tell you that I've already attempted suicide?"
The cop blinked. "No, he didn't. The point is, Angel, that I feel some pity for you. You don't know where you came from, or how you came to be so skilled with all this stuff, and you were put in the worst possible place to have those skills. I don't fault you for it."
Angel was speechless. Bryan wasn't. "What the hell are you doing, Officer?" he growled.
"I'm giving you another chance." He said quietly. "Angel, you're a senior in high school, correct?"
"Yes?"
"And how much longer until you graduate?"
She was puzzled. "A month and a half. Why?"
"All right. There's so much blood over at that crime scene that it's going to be impossible to tell which samples belong to which bodies. The only people who can testify to you being there are Mr. Lewis, one bar patron, and you, of course. I've already talked to the other two, and they agree with me." He sighed. "Angel, I'm not going to turn you in. It may cost me my job, but it feels right. I am, however, going to give you an ultimatum. As soon as you finish high school, you will leave this town. Move somewhere else."
Angel and Bryan could only sit in stunned silence. Then Angel nodded. "Deal. We'll leave as soon as I graduate." Shakily, she stood, and clasped his hand. "I will never forget this... Jarod."
The raven-haired cop smiled. "I know. Neither will I." He turned to leave. "Now get some rest. Go home as soon as you can. The longer you lay here with a pair of knives, as well as multiple lacerations, the bigger the chance of somebody turning you in."
"Yes, sir!" Angel said with a mock salute. Her friend returned it, and smiled as he left.
"Is he telling the truth?" Bryan asked as soon as the cop had left.
"He's as sincere as can be," She answered confidently. "I think he genuinely feels sorry for me. Though I don't really care for people feeling sorry for me, I suppose it comes in handy. And I will repay this favor someday." She turned to look at him. "In the meantime, I think I will heed his advice, and go home."
Bryan nodded smartly. However, not five steps away from the bed she nearly collapsed, and was forced to lean on him heavily. They moved at this agonizingly slow pace for a while, before Bryan simply picked her up and carried her in his amazingly strong arms. She protested at first, but gradually stopped making noises until, with a start, he realized that she was asleep again. Asleep, in his arms.
He was walking out the front door when he heard the shout. He turned, and Cassadra immediately quieted upon seeing his sleeping burden. She leaned up to give him a quick peck on the lips, careful not to wake the sleeper. "Did you sign her out?"
"No."
"Well, then... I'll do it. I'll send you the bill, too."
"You do that," he quipped. "Now help me unlock my truck.
Cassandra couldn't keep the smile off her face as she reached into his front pocket for the keys to his truck, taking a deliberatly long time doing so. She unlocked it, and opened the passenger door, allowing him to deposit the incapacitated Angel in the passenger seat. He gave his lover a much longer kiss before climbing into the truck.
As he drove away, Cassandra's guilt assailed her. He really did like her a lot. Did he... did he love her? Did she love him? More things to ponder as she strode regretfully back toward the hospital.
Back at home, Bryan carried the now-awake Angel upstairs to her room. Typical of only-children, she had entire rooms to herself. In fact, this was Angel's private domain. The basement was her dojo, and the upstairs was her sanctuary.
Upstairs was a small room with a large pair of glass double-doors that led onto a balcony. There were four doors, and Angel pointed toward her bedroom. With some difficulty, she turned the knob and he stepped inside the demon's lair.
It was actually quite a spacious room. A double-bed was against one wall, which he immediately laid her on in order to properly take in the scenery about him. A large L-shaped computer desk took up one corner, on which sat a typical home PC, as well as a laptop, and numerous technological parts and cables. Another corner held a desk for homework. Against one wall was a small entertainment center, with a TV, and at least three different gaming systems. A dresser and rather dusty vanity were parked in the middle of another wall. The carpet was a thick, light blue affair, with the walls so pale blue as to be almost white.
One wall was covered with posters of the world's most famous martial artists. He saw posters of Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, Jet Li, Steven Seagal, even the mighty Paul Phoenix, whom Bryan had almost fought during the last tournament. Another wall was a pegboard, on which were numerous pegs, and more knives than he had ever seen in one place. Decorative knives, combat knives, daggers, swords, even a wicked-looking spear.
Also scattered about the room were candles of various shapes, sizes, colors, and scents. She preferred either Black Cherry or Herbal Garden, but right now she had several Cinnamon candles blazing. There was also a small collection of cigarette lighters, which he looked at greedily.
"Yes, I'm a pyro," Angel said quietly from her spot on the bed.
"A what?"
"A pyro. I'm a pyromaniac. Fire is cool." There was a dorky, almost stoned look on her face. On the last sentence, she did a perfect imitation of Beavis and Butthead.
He shook his head, and held up a fancy-looking lighter. "I collect these."
"Really? You can have those, I prefer to use matches."
Without any argument, he gathered the dozen or so lighters in his large hands. "Thanks."
"No problem," she said quickly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to fall asleep now." He nodded, and cradling his precious burden, he left quietly and closed the door behind him.
She knew she was shaking her head even as she drifted off to the blessed oblivion of sleep.
Cassandra was absently staring at the girl's closed eyes when they flew open. Angel sat up quickly and gasped, as if having been awoken from a nightmare. Then she flopped back down on the bed, draped an arm over her eyes, and sighed. Cassandra had nearly had a heart attack at this sudden awakening, and moved cautiously to the bed. "Angel? Are you alright?"
Angel didn't move. "It's 5:30."
Surprised, the older woman checked her watch, and found that Angel was correct. "Why, yes it is. How did you know that?"
Angel groaned. "Biological clock. I wake up at 5:30 every morning. No matter what time I go to bed, no matter how much sleep I've had, rain or shine, I wake up at 5:30." She sighed. "Apparently even near-death experiences aren't enough to shake that."
"How long have you experienced this?"
"For as long as I can remember," Angel groaned. Then she opened one eye and grinned. "And may I remind you, that's not very long."
Cassandra smiled in spite of herself. Then Angel slowly sat up. "Where's Bryan?"
The smile disappeared. "He's talking to that police officer."
Angel flopped back down again, and groaned for the umpteenth time. Then she sat up again, and fixed the older woman with a piercing look. "Is it true? Did I really kill seventeen people?"
Cassandra hesitated. "Yes."
The harsh look turned to horror, and Angel stared down at her heavily scarred arms. "What the hell am I?" Cassandra heard the girl moan.
"I was just wondering the same thing." The words were out of the blond woman's mouth before she could stop them. A heavy silence descended. "I'm sorry," Cassandra said quietly.
"Don't worry about it. I get that a lot." Angel said quickly, and looked back down at her arms. With some surprise, she noted that her left wrist was in a cast. Ah yes, those three baseball bats at the same time. She'd blocked with her left wrist, which had shattered. There was also the numerous wide, open scars forming on her wrists. Scars as long, as wide, as ugly as the one on her brother's face. Then she saw her left bicep. "Oh, shit."
"What?"
"My tattoo." Cassandra moved to Angel's left side, and saw a long, jagged streak running horizontally through the lower half of it. It had healed crooked, and now the design did not line up at all.
"My husband is a plastic surgeon--" Again, the words were out before she could stop them.
Angel's gaze snapped around to stare deep into the older woman's eyes. "Your husband?"
Cassandra's lower lip trembled. "Angel, I--"
"Your husband?" Angel repeated, in a harsh tone. Her eyes bored holes into Cassandra's. "You're married?"
Tears glinted in the older woman's eyes. "I... yes, my husband. I'm married."
Angel's look got even darker, if that were possible. "So you're having an affair with my brother behind your husband's back? And he doesn't know you're married?" Cassandra nodded slowly. Angel slowly moved off the bed, and stood. "Jesus fucking Christ, Cassandra. What the hell is wrong with you?" Angel's fists clenched, as did her jaw.
Cassandra was about to fear for her life, when the door opened behind her. It was Bryan. "Angel? You alright?"
Angel needed to finish this discussion. "Just a sec, Bryan. Now, as I was saying, Cassandra, my period's been kinda irregular lately--"
Bryan gave a muffled yelp and backed into the hall, shutting the door quickly. A faint smile appeared on Cassandra's face, but it disappeared when she turned back to Angel. Angel wasn't smiling at all. In fact, Angel looked quite dangerous at the moment.
Cassandra moaned and buried her face in her hands, and plopped down into the chair next to Angel's bed. Angel lost none of her stern demeanor, and planted herself in front of that chair with her fists clenched at her sides.
"I'm sorry, Angel," Cassandra murmured through her hands.
"I'm not the one you should be saying that to." Angel snapped.
"I... it's not a happy marriage, Angel. We got married because we were ambitious, headstrong people with similar career ideas." She took a deep breath. "He's been having affairs for the last three years. I know about them, too. In fact, his current one is a good friend of mine. We share him." She looked up into Angel's disbelieving face, and quickly looked down again. "We fight so often... I've been having affairs off and on again for almost a year now." She blinked away tears. "I really, really like Bryan--"
"Then can you imagine what it'll do to him when he finds out?" Angel's eyes seemed to throw sparks. "He really likes you, too. A lot. In fact..." here her voice took such a tone that every word burned into the poor woman's ears and mind, "In fact, he was talking just the other day about how he likes you more than he's ever liked anyone else."
Cassandra nearly burst into tears. "He won't give me a divorce. He refuses. Says it'll ruin both our careers if we do."
Angel's gaze softened somewhat. "So you're a trophy wife."
The older woman nodded.
Angel sighed, and sat down on her bed. "So, when are you going to tell him?"
"I don't know."
"You need to. And soon. He wanted to stop by a jewelry store the other day. Can you imagine what would happen if, by some fluke, he proposed to you, and you were already married?" When there was no answer, Angel reluctantly stood. "Be right back."
Cassandra's hand shot out and grasped Angel's arm. "Please don't! Not yet! I... it should come from me."
Angel considered. "Fine. You will tell him, and soon, or else."
"Or else what?" Cassandra asked a bit snippily.
Angel stared the older woman down. "Or else I WON'T tell him." That said, she went to the door to let her brother and the cop into the room.
Cassandra thought for a moment. Now, why did that threat strike her as being so ominous?
Angel lay in the bed, slightly drained from her encounter with Cassandra, who was now doing her job back down in the ER. Bryan sat in the chair next to Angel's bed, and the Officer Greene stood at the foot of the bed, with a little notepad.
Greene had been talking for a little over an hour with this girl, and he felt that his job was getting more difficult by the minute. For one thing, she was either angrily dismissive about her ignorance of her past, or painfully sarcastic about the present, depending on the questions he asked.
He sighed, as he asked yet another question that she felt warranted a burst of sarcasm. "Now, Miss Leah, you were given two knives for your birthday, correct?"
"Yes, Officer, two knives. Jerry Lewis, my only friend until my brother came along, gave me one, which is now in the possession of said brother, who also gave me one. I have no idea where that one is."
He sighed. "It's right here," he said quietly. He reached into his policeman's jacket and pulled out the blood-covered knife, in an evidence bag. Wordlessly he handed it to the figure on the bed. "Keep it."
Angel sensed something going on. "What are you doing, Greene? You shouldn't be giving this back to me."
"I know." He sat on the end of the bed. "Angel, I've kept an eye on you ever since you got here. To my knowledge, you have never, ever provoked a fight, especially one of this magnitude. And I'm pretty sure you didn't provoke this one. However, there's gonna be a lot of people who will want to put you away, for life. Some may even say that you deserve to die."
"I've often said the same thing," she said bitterly. "Did Jerry tell you that I've already attempted suicide?"
The cop blinked. "No, he didn't. The point is, Angel, that I feel some pity for you. You don't know where you came from, or how you came to be so skilled with all this stuff, and you were put in the worst possible place to have those skills. I don't fault you for it."
Angel was speechless. Bryan wasn't. "What the hell are you doing, Officer?" he growled.
"I'm giving you another chance." He said quietly. "Angel, you're a senior in high school, correct?"
"Yes?"
"And how much longer until you graduate?"
She was puzzled. "A month and a half. Why?"
"All right. There's so much blood over at that crime scene that it's going to be impossible to tell which samples belong to which bodies. The only people who can testify to you being there are Mr. Lewis, one bar patron, and you, of course. I've already talked to the other two, and they agree with me." He sighed. "Angel, I'm not going to turn you in. It may cost me my job, but it feels right. I am, however, going to give you an ultimatum. As soon as you finish high school, you will leave this town. Move somewhere else."
Angel and Bryan could only sit in stunned silence. Then Angel nodded. "Deal. We'll leave as soon as I graduate." Shakily, she stood, and clasped his hand. "I will never forget this... Jarod."
The raven-haired cop smiled. "I know. Neither will I." He turned to leave. "Now get some rest. Go home as soon as you can. The longer you lay here with a pair of knives, as well as multiple lacerations, the bigger the chance of somebody turning you in."
"Yes, sir!" Angel said with a mock salute. Her friend returned it, and smiled as he left.
"Is he telling the truth?" Bryan asked as soon as the cop had left.
"He's as sincere as can be," She answered confidently. "I think he genuinely feels sorry for me. Though I don't really care for people feeling sorry for me, I suppose it comes in handy. And I will repay this favor someday." She turned to look at him. "In the meantime, I think I will heed his advice, and go home."
Bryan nodded smartly. However, not five steps away from the bed she nearly collapsed, and was forced to lean on him heavily. They moved at this agonizingly slow pace for a while, before Bryan simply picked her up and carried her in his amazingly strong arms. She protested at first, but gradually stopped making noises until, with a start, he realized that she was asleep again. Asleep, in his arms.
He was walking out the front door when he heard the shout. He turned, and Cassadra immediately quieted upon seeing his sleeping burden. She leaned up to give him a quick peck on the lips, careful not to wake the sleeper. "Did you sign her out?"
"No."
"Well, then... I'll do it. I'll send you the bill, too."
"You do that," he quipped. "Now help me unlock my truck.
Cassandra couldn't keep the smile off her face as she reached into his front pocket for the keys to his truck, taking a deliberatly long time doing so. She unlocked it, and opened the passenger door, allowing him to deposit the incapacitated Angel in the passenger seat. He gave his lover a much longer kiss before climbing into the truck.
As he drove away, Cassandra's guilt assailed her. He really did like her a lot. Did he... did he love her? Did she love him? More things to ponder as she strode regretfully back toward the hospital.
Back at home, Bryan carried the now-awake Angel upstairs to her room. Typical of only-children, she had entire rooms to herself. In fact, this was Angel's private domain. The basement was her dojo, and the upstairs was her sanctuary.
Upstairs was a small room with a large pair of glass double-doors that led onto a balcony. There were four doors, and Angel pointed toward her bedroom. With some difficulty, she turned the knob and he stepped inside the demon's lair.
It was actually quite a spacious room. A double-bed was against one wall, which he immediately laid her on in order to properly take in the scenery about him. A large L-shaped computer desk took up one corner, on which sat a typical home PC, as well as a laptop, and numerous technological parts and cables. Another corner held a desk for homework. Against one wall was a small entertainment center, with a TV, and at least three different gaming systems. A dresser and rather dusty vanity were parked in the middle of another wall. The carpet was a thick, light blue affair, with the walls so pale blue as to be almost white.
One wall was covered with posters of the world's most famous martial artists. He saw posters of Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, Jet Li, Steven Seagal, even the mighty Paul Phoenix, whom Bryan had almost fought during the last tournament. Another wall was a pegboard, on which were numerous pegs, and more knives than he had ever seen in one place. Decorative knives, combat knives, daggers, swords, even a wicked-looking spear.
Also scattered about the room were candles of various shapes, sizes, colors, and scents. She preferred either Black Cherry or Herbal Garden, but right now she had several Cinnamon candles blazing. There was also a small collection of cigarette lighters, which he looked at greedily.
"Yes, I'm a pyro," Angel said quietly from her spot on the bed.
"A what?"
"A pyro. I'm a pyromaniac. Fire is cool." There was a dorky, almost stoned look on her face. On the last sentence, she did a perfect imitation of Beavis and Butthead.
He shook his head, and held up a fancy-looking lighter. "I collect these."
"Really? You can have those, I prefer to use matches."
Without any argument, he gathered the dozen or so lighters in his large hands. "Thanks."
"No problem," she said quickly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to fall asleep now." He nodded, and cradling his precious burden, he left quietly and closed the door behind him.
She knew she was shaking her head even as she drifted off to the blessed oblivion of sleep.