The Call

Chapter 5

Nightmare

"No!" Rose cried, jolting up in bed, a cold sweat sticking against her skin. "Wha...?" she breathed, running a hand through her hair.

She sat there for a moment, trying to clear her head. The dream that she'd had, it had been so real. She had practically felt everything around her, the pain of glass shattering against her, the crushing of a car door. It had scared the life out of her. Even stranger, Michael had been in her dream, sitting in the back of the car. He hadn't seemed to be as hurt as she had, but he still had a bit of blood trickling down the side of his forehead. Rose on the other hand, she had scratches all over the place, blood on her hands. She could still feel the sting of her forehead.

"So real," she whispered, looking down at her hands void of blood, for the most part any way.

The only thing there, were bandages, slightly stained with the blood from the previous night. They were the bandages that Michael had helped fix.

"Michael..." she breathed, raising her head to look toward the door, her brain still aching at the images in her head.

She had to be sure, to settle her mind, be sure that he was alright. So, she slowly got to her feet, walking barefoot upon the carpet toward the door. Her hand reached out, gripping the cool metal with a shiver, before turning it. She had to be sure. Upon entering the living room, she found the answer to her question.

There, on the couch the archangel lay, laying flat on his stomach upon the cushions. His face was peaceful as he laid there, a faint snore escaping his lips, his right arm hanging off of the couch.

She couldn't help, but to let a small smile pull upon her face as she looked at him, reaching forward and brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. She'd never felt so at ease with someone as she did around him at this point. She figured it probably had to do with the fact that he was an angel, but at the same time, she felt as though it were something else. Regardless, it seemed normal to her, the clock by the TV reading 5:03.

"It's too early for this," she sighed quietly, glancing over at the kitchen.

She still had some leftover tea sitting in the teapot on the stove, it was something that could give her a bit of relief. So, relinquishing any further thought on the matter she turned toward the kitchen, grabbing a cup from the counter.

T

From where he lay, Michael could hear the footsteps leaving Rose's room, her breath uneven as she entered the living room. To be honest, he'd woken up when she did, hearing her cry out. No doubt a bad dream. Still, she seemed frazzled upon entering the living room, not even realizing that he was actually awake. Granted, his continued snoring gave her the impression that he was still aimlessly sleeping away the early morning hours.

His body remained still as she approached, looking at her through his eyelashes, making sure to keep his eyes closed enough so as not to draw attention. It was hard to remain so though when she reached her hand out, fingers brushing the skin of his face as she pushed away the strands of hair that threatened to obscure his vision. Her touch was soft and gentle. He was so tempted to open his eyes and look at her fully, just to see the look on her face.

"It's too early for this," he heard her sigh, her eyes turning toward the clock by the TV, the current time reading 5:03 AM.

Indeed, it was too early, but that meant little to Michael as he continued to watch her. In fact, after she had gone into the kitchen, he'd reached behind him. His fingers then grabbed hold of a feather that had been protruding into his back, plucking it from his skin and tossing it to the ground.

"Much better," he grinned, his voice not even traveling remotely far enough for anyone to hear.

After that, he fell back asleep, keeping his ears open for any problems.

T

"Man, I'm tired," Rose yawned, placing a hand over her mouth.

She'd been up for the last two hours, mind still running a mile a minute. She still couldn't get the dream out of her head and yet she desperately wished for sleep. Her tea had done little for her to her dismay, leaving her sitting at the small round table in her kitchen, the whole time staring over at Michael.

"What it's like to sleep," she sighed, running a hand over her face.

She was then reminded of his coat, standing up from her chair and going back to her room. If she was going to fix it, then she was going to need a needle and thread. Both of which resided in her bedroom on the dresser, the needle sticking out of the paper at the top of the spool. After that, she walked back into the living room, quietly lifting his coat from the coffee table. The only thing left sitting being his shirt and pants for which had been neatly folded and placed at one end.

She looked down at him again as she stood there, coat in hand. At this point, his leg was hanging off of the couch a bit, joining his arm. The sight itself was rather amusing in her eyes, reminding her of a child laying peacefully on the edge of a bed. Although, she had to remind herself that he was far from a child. Even though he seemed to have odd mannerisms, he was still a man.

T

30 minutes later saw Rose at the table, needle still threading through fabric as she continued to stitch the edges of the tear back together, making sure it was nice and tight. What she'd done so far wasn't going to come loose any time soon, that was for sure.

"Almost done," she smiled, turning the material in her hands a couple of times, inspecting it.

That was when she heard a groan from the couch, the sound of springs creaking meeting her ears. He was waking up.

"Good morning, Michael," she greeted, watching as he sat up, standing from the couch.

She felt her cheeks heat up slightly as she saw him standing there in only his boxers, the white, red spotted material easily standing out against his skin.

"Good morning," he yawned, stretching his arms above his head as he arched his back, an audible pop being heard.

"I trust you slept well?" she asked, keeping her eyes on his face as he walked toward her, tilting his head to the side curiously as he looked at what she was doing.

"You're fixing it?" he asked, blinking a couple times.

"Yes, I figured it was the least I could do," she told him. "Besides, it wasn't like I had anything else to do," she sighed. "I couldn't go back to sleep anyway."

"And why is that?" he asked, taking a seat in the chair across from her.

"I...I had a bad dream," she told him, looking back down at the coat as she made another stitch, the needle coming close to her finger.

"Explain," he said simply.

"What?"

"Explain," he repeated.

"The dream?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he nodded, watching her closely.

"Well, I..." she started, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Well."

"Just start at the beginning," he told her, gesturing with a hand.

Rose sighed at this, placing the coat down on the table, before standing up. She wrapped her arms around herself as she stood there, closing her eyes for a moment as she drew in a breath.

"I'm not sure where it started," she told him, running a hand over her face. "I just...I remember being in a car. I don't know where I was going. I was just driving," she said, replaying it in her head. "You were in the car too, in the back," she told him, turning around to face him.

Their eyes met, Michael watching her every move.

"We were talking," she breathed. "I don't know what it was about, just talking," she said simply.

Her mind went back to the scene of the crash, her light green as the other was red. A car came flying toward them. She was unable to stop.

"Rose?"

She jumped, looking over at Michael, her nails pressing painfully into the palms of her hands.

"Huh?"

"What happened next?" he asked, staring at her expectantly.

"I...there was a crash," she told him, her eyes slowly becoming unfocused. "It was so real," she whispered, looking down at her hands.

She saw blood, where as Michael saw bandages. There was nothing there, but her mind told her that there was, the sting of glass making her cringe.

"Rose."

She snapped out of it, only to find Michael in front of her, standing there before her. His eyes held a concerned look as he stared down at her, his hands coming up to rest on her shoulders.

"I-I'm sorry," she said quickly. "It's nothing. Let's just forget about it."

With that, she slowly pulled away, feeling the warmth of his hands leave her shoulders. She had tried to do as he asked, explaining herself, but was all that she could manage to do.

"Perhaps, you should put your pants back on," she said, not knowing what else to say.

Michael laughed at this, a smile pulling onto his face.

"Why, does it bother you?" he asked, a teasing tone in his voice.

"Go get dressed and I'll fix breakfast," she told him, moving over to the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of eggs.

He didn't say anything else, grabbing his clothes from the coffee table and going into the bathroom, the sound of the bathroom door closing meeting her ears. Next, was the sound of liquid landing in the toilet.

"Lord, give me strength," she muttered, moving over to the stove and turning on the burner, cracking the eggs in the skillet.

The sound of popping easily met her ears as they cooked in the skillet, the white being the first to cook through. She then added a pinch of pepper on top, turning them over after a couple minutes, and what was once thin goop became solid.

"There, I'm dressed," she heard Michael say proudly, stepping out of the bathroom now fully clothed.

"Good. Now, sit back down and we'll eat," she said, grabbing two plates and dumping the eggs onto them.

She then walked back over to the table, turning the burner off before hand, laying the plates down onto the table with the silverware.

"Mmm, this looks good," Michael said, rubbing his hands together happily.

"Well, I would hope so," Rose said quietly, taking a seat at the table. "Well, eat up," she urged, watching him pick up his fork a moment later, though not before taking his spoon and dumping sugar all over his food.

This left Rose watching him with skepticism, a brow raised in question at his strange choice.

"What in the world are you doing?" she asked.

"Adding sugar," he told her as though it were the most obvious thing ever. "You can never have too much sugar," he pointed out.

"Okay, whatever," she sighed, shaking her head as she turned back to her own food, placing a bite in her mouth. /p

At the same time, Michael began shoving his into his mouth, bits of yolk rolling down his chin. He was such a messy eater that it left Rose dumb founded. It also had her getting up from the table and grabbing a paper towel, blatantly coming back over and wiping his face off, a grin twitching up on his mouth in response. This let Rose know that he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You are so strange!" she exclaimed, dropping back down into her chair to eat, staring at him all the while.

Michael's response was to smile at her, shrugging as he gulped down what was in his mouth. In all reality, it was almost like a game to him, something fun to do. It was fun to get a reaction out of her like that.