Under the Influence

Four: Guardian Angel

Simon pushed the door closed as he arrived home that afternoon following an excruciating visit with Doctor Gibson. Honestly, he never thought he would talk about anything, and now that he had, he was mentally kicking himself for doing it. If his parents ever found out, and they shouldn't – confidential matters – he knew something inside him would snap.

"Simon?" his father called. "Is that you?"

Simon stopped and sighed. He had hoped that coming in the front door would allow him to just sneak up to his room without being noticed. "Yeah, Dad, it's me."

"Come here, please," he said from his office.

Simon obliged and soon he was sitting across from his father, feeling as if it was another therapy session. Eric seemed to be reading over his sermon, correcting it if you will, and Simon wondered what his father could possibly want from him this time.

Eric laid the page down on the desk and removed his black-rimmed eyeglasses. Looking into Simon's eyes, he asked, "How'd it go today?"

Simon shrugged. "Fine," he replied shortly, matching his father's gaze.

"What did you talk about?" his father inquired with a gentle smile.

Simon smirked. "Unless I'm mistaken, Dad, that information is confidential." His father had used that excuse with him so many times in the past; it felt good to finally throw it back at him.

A brief expression of hurt scurried across Eric's face, but quickly disappeared as he regained his composure. "I'm your father, Simon. You can tell me anything. I want you to open up to me."

"I don't have anything I want to tell you."

"Why can't we ever have a mature, trusting, relationship, Simon? Why must you always hide behind your sarcasm?"

Simon laughed. "You're the one who is forcing me into therapy, Dad. You obviously didn't trust me enough to just come to you." He got to his feet and, with a last glance at his father, left the room.

As she paced around her attic bedroom, Ruthie wondered why she hadn't just listened to her brother in the first place. On some level, she knew Simon was right; she shouldn't have gone to that party. He warned, and what did she do?

I got myself killed, that's what I did, she answered.

There was a car horn honking outside and Ruthie knew her ride was here. Brian was to take her to the party and bring her home, regardless of how drunk either of them were. She knew there was going to be drugs and drinking, but she didn't care. She had had enough of her parents trying to tell her what was good and what was bad. In her eyes, she was old enough to make her own decisions. Tonight would be crazy, and she hoped to come home with a new reputation. As they say, "out with the old, in with the new."

Ruthie raced down the staircase, thinking she would get lucky and not have to go through her parents' lectures of how to be safe again. Her hand was on the doorknob before she heard a voice that was neither her mother's nor her father's calling her name.

She sighed and allowed her hand to drop to her side. Turning, she saw Simon stepping off the last stair. He had been bothering her all night about what to look out for. Frankly, he was almost worse than Annie and Eric.

"What?" she spat.

"I just wanted to remind you of what I said earlier," he replied calmly.

She rolled her eyes. "How could I forget?"

"Be careful, Ruthie. I mean it." His eyes held brotherly concern and unease. Simon had gone to a party much like the one she was headed to tonight, and was completely wasted by the time he had gotten home.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked. "Must I suffer because you can't get over your mistake?"

Simon seemed to flinch, and Ruthie knew she hit a nerve. "I don't want you to go through what I went through. All I want is for you to be careful."

Brian honked again and Ruthie flashed her brother a faux grin.

"Simon, you don't have to worry about it. I'm smart and responsible. I can take care of myself."

Then she was gone, never to step over the threshold again.

"Oh!" Ruthie grumbled as she quit pacing and threw herself onto the bed. She was still having a hard time comprehending that she wasn't really there anymore. Not alive, anyway.

A bright light crowded the room, forcing her to shield her eyes. The light quickly faded, but a man, maybe thirty or so, was left behind.

Ruthie somersaulted backwards off her bed and hid behind it, her head just poking over the top. "Who are you?" she asked him. He wasn't bad looking, kind of pale though.

He laughed at her expense. "Relax," he chuckled. "You don't have to be scared of me. I was sent to you. I'm Kendall."

The man was clad in white; there was not a piece of clothing that was something of color. He was wearing a suit of a powder sort of shade, complete with spotless matching shoes. As Ruthie's eyes traveled up more toward his head, she noticed a round, headband-looking thing circling his cranium.

"Um," she stammered, pointing just above his head.

"Oh." He reached up and removed it from its floating position. "This is my halo," he explained, smiling.

"I still don't understand."

He sighed. "I'm an angel here to guide you."

Ruthie looked disappointed. "You're a little late…. I'm already dead."

"Boy, you just don't get anything, do you? I'm not here to guide you through life. I'm here to guide you through death."

Ruthie came out from her shelter and sat on it instead. "That doesn't make any sense."

He came to sit by her. "I'm supposed to show you the ropes, then decide if you're Heaven worthy."

"Oh," she muttered, feeling her stomach flopping around like a fish on dry land. Getting in to Heaven was a big deal, but she didn't know if she was ready. Was she really prepared to leave her family?

When Kevin returned home that night from work, he found Lucy cleaning once again. He didn't really know what else he expected. There had to be a reason behind this, and he was determined to get down to it.

"Lucy," he said, taking her by the hand and leading her away from his CD collection she was madly dusting. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but you have to. This may sound childish, but if you don't talk to me, I'm telling on you."

She looked confused but went along with it. "Okay…. I'm cleaning because the house is dirty. Dust gathers and dirt clings and –"

"No, Lucy," he interrupted. "Why are you cleaning all of a sudden? You didn't run yourself ragged before, why now?"

She shrugged. "There's a lot to do."

Kevin looked into her eyes and locked her gaze. "Lucy, is there a chance that your cleaning could have anything to do with Ruthie's death?"

Lucy scoffed. "That's ridiculous." She pushed passed Kevin and locked herself in the bathroom.