Disclaimer, timeframe, summary: see first chapter.
I know that this isn't the kind of update you guys were hoping for, so the next one will be very soon, promise. But this was necessary for plot-- you understand, right?
In the Wake of Angels: Part III
Jeanette Murphy bowed her head before her plate, trying to tune out the sounds of the bustling cafeteria around her as she prayed. The same uncomfortable hush as always fell over the table; even after four years, her college friends were not used to the idea of prayer before meals. But Jeanette didn't mind if they found it strange, or found her strange for doing it. Her faith had been the only thing to keep her going through difficult times in her twenty-one years of life, and she meant every word that she recited in her head. She was grateful for the food on her plate, for her health and her studies, and for her friends, even if she could feel their sheepish glances sliding over her. And she truly meant it when she asked the Lord how to better serve Him, when she offered herself up to whatever He needed from her. Anything at all.
As Jeanette was finishing up, a sort of quiet fell over the cafeteria. Different from the half-embarrassed murmur of her friends, this spread through the entirety of the large room. All conversation had become tense, stifled; there was an eeriness to it that she couldn't quite place. But then she finished, opened her eyes and came out of her own, small world to find that the lights had gone out from the thunderstorm howling away outside. The atmosphere in the cafeteria was that of a hundred students going about their eating and reading in newly inadequate lighting. She shrugged off her initial chill and rejoined her lunchmates' conversation; nothing seemed as weird or ominous with your eyes open, after all.
***
Later the storm had calmed, and classes were over for the week; Jeanette was headed back to her apartment to start in on a paper for a class on Nazi Germany. She was giving it little thought though, concentrating more on avoiding the puddles that the storm had left in its wake. The sky above was still cloudy; perhaps the rain would resume later. For now, though, she was grateful for the pause that was allowing her to walk home without taking a shower at the same time.
And Jeanette was thinking to herself. Sort of. It had been hard, being alone since the car crash, and she had developed a habit that was a combination of prayer, conversation and, she supposed, an invisible friend, though she knew she should have outgrown that long ago. But often as she walked, she pictured someone beside her. Maybe not God or Jesus; that felt like it was asking too much. A guardian angel, maybe. Just a presence, a companion, going about the day with her. Maybe she was crazy. But hey, it kept her warm at night.
At the moment she was thinking about faith; it was not like holding a conversation so much as letting her thoughts run around in her head and sometimes finding that they came back almost changed, almost not her own any longer. She was thinking about tangible evidence of God and how it shouldn't be necessary, really, but that it would be pretty nice to be thrown a little scrap now and again. Then again when God had walked among humans in biblical times, it hadn't always seemed like such a good thing. Maybe He showed up and proved Himself, but then sometimes He went and asked you to kill your only child. He stopped you, of course, but still… maybe it wasn't worth it. Maybe faith should be enough; maybe it had to be.
Hm. Jeanette knew that was kind of bull. The pleasant smell of the rainy campus and her morning victory over a German exam had put her in a good and accepting mood, but she knew that however content she was at the moment, she wanted proof. Always had. Always would. Maybe that made her a bad person… or maybe it just made her human. She sighed, letting her mind go blank, her eyes still on the ground in front of her.
Look ahead.
Jeanette started. She was used to her thoughts taking on a slightly random, almost foreign quality, but this one had genuinely caught her off guard. It had come out of nowhere at all.
Look ahead.
And something in her gut compelled her to-- not in a destiny sense, but in a literal sense; she raised her head and looked.
What am I supposed to be seeing? She asked herself. In front of her was a college campus like any other on a rainy day; the grass was bright green, looking lonely with no one playing Frisbee on it; buildings of clashing architectural styles stuck up from the ground like monuments; and a smattering of students and professors rushed from one to the other with umbrellas held high. It was the sort of rhythmic energy that made her so enjoy the college life; nothing seemed out of place.
Look, the voice urged. See.
A group of boys hurried by her, hoods pulled up over their heads; Jeanette thought that maybe she'd had a class with the tallest of them-- maybe English? A grey-haired woman in a pantsuit rushed by, dwarfed by her enormous pink umbrella, struggling to manage it while digging through her briefcase at the same time. She fumbled and almost dropped it.
Almost dropped her umbrella.
And Jeanette saw: it was still raining. Everyone else on in the campus square was drenched. She looked down at the ground, still covered with puddles from the storm that she thought had ended. In the distance they rippled but at her feet, their surfaces were still. She looked at herself; her skin was dry, her clothes not darkened by the rain, though she'd been outside for almost ten minutes. She walked forward, and still there was nothing. It didn't seem possible, but there was no denying it.
It was raining on everyone but her.
Jeanette hurried back to the apartment, now matching pace with all those running for shelter. Not only was she spooked, she didn't want anyone noticing her dry hair and clothes. Although, what could they possibly think if they did notice? That she was a lucky girl, the recipient of some freak meteorological blessing? How could it be anything else? How could anyone even entertain that possibility? And still she couldn't shake the feeling that something was going on; she felt like she was standing in front of an ocean, vast and deep, and being urged to step into it. But how much sense did that make?
She tried to calm her nerves by showering when she got home, leaving her hair wet, making her indistinguishable from those who had been rained on outside. But she couldn't chase away that uneasy feeling. Working on her paper proved a useless endeavor, and she turned down her roommates' suggestion of hitting the bar to celebrate the end of another week of academia. Instead she milled around uselessly, channel surfing, straightening up first her room and then the kitchenette. Eventually she fell into a restless sleep, splayed out on the couch under a communal afghan. And before long, she dreamed.
She dreamed of the rain, of looking out the window and watching it fall. She dreamed of walking outside, untouched by it, and praying for it to fall on her as well. But the moment she began to feel its gentle slide on her skin, she realized that once again something seemed strange; a glance around the deserted campus square showed that it was only raining on her, singling her out once again. She shivered; wind howled by her, blowing her bangs into her eyes, and she knew, quite profoundly, that she was not alone. When the wind blew again, she listened more closely, and could have sworn that she heard her name carried on it, as though from very far away.
Jeanette.
"Here I am," she called. "Here I am!"
"Jeanette."
It was most definitely a voice now, but one unlike anything she had ever heard. It was wind, and waves, and static, and the actual words it spoke seemed to occur to her almost as an afterthought, as though her brain had to work through them first, too stunned by the initial beautiful sound that wasn't-- couldn't be-- a human voice.
"Jeanette."
Not fearfully, but almost bashfully, she turned and looked at the angel. That's what it had to be, she reasoned; what else could explain it? It was roughly the shape of a person, with a head, two arms and two legs, but it was nothing like a person could ever hope it be. It glowed; no features marred its perfect radiance. It was a star molded to look like a man; it was the opposite of a shadow, an outline filled in with pure light. Her eyes burned to see it but she couldn't look away; she fell to her knees before it, gaze still glued to its brilliance.
"No. Rise," it commanded. She did. "Jeanette Michelle Murphy," it said. "You are needed."
Jeanette knew she should be afraid. She knew she should run, or better yet try to wake up. But instead she nodded. "What do I do?" And it told her. Then it raised its arm and touched her forehead, and disappeared.
When Jeanette awoke she realized one thing immediately: she couldn't move. Panic washed over her, momentarily erasing all memory of her dream. She'd heard stories of this; it was some sort of weird sleep thing where REM-state paralysis didn't wear off when it should have. A friend who'd had it happen to him had told her that she could snap out of it if she could just muster the movement of one finger, so Jeanette tried. Nothing happened. She tried again; still nothing. Her chest felt heavy. She wasn't sure if she was breathing. And then-- impossibly-- she was moving, picking herself up off the sofa, but it wasn't her own mind doing it.
It was then that she remembered the dream; remembered an angel named Castiel coming upon her, asking permission to enter her body in order to move about the earth. She remembered agreeing; remembered feeling humbled and loved and overjoyed to be called to do God's work. She remembered feeling blessed. Now she only felt afraid.
Still her body moved without her permission; still she couldn't feel the carpet under her bare feet, or control which way her eyes were looking. She was a prisoner in her own head. But no, this was some freakish dream, or some bizarre sort of sleepwalking. It couldn't be that the dream was real; it couldn't be that this was actually happening. Could it?
Castiel? Jeanette asked, small, scared. She wanted to close her eyes, wanted to wrap her arms around herself. But neither seemed possible. Castiel? She asked again.
I am here, the voice replied, and although she was still petrified the sound of it soothed her. You are with me now.
It was a dream, it had to be, but either way, it didn't seem that she could do anything about it. If it was a dream, she couldn't wake up; if it wasn't… well then, she didn't know what to do. In her head, without sound, she whimpered.
You are afraid, Castiel said. I am sorry. You should have had more time to prepare for this. But the situation was dire. You were needed.
And then, Jeanette got it. She knew beyond any doubt that there was an angel inside her body and that she was now officially along for the ride. An angel of the Lord had called on her for help; she had been chosen. She was doing holy work.
But still she didn't feel any less terrified. What could possibly be good about an angel characterizing a situation as dire?