Protect and Follow
By: MusketeerAdventure
Summary: The future seems uncertain as Michael finds himself inexplicably back in Mallory.
Chapter Seventeen: Mallory Revisited
"Where have you come from?"
Her voice was clear; tinged with uncertainty and a little gladness. Michael opened his eyes with a start and there before him stood Laurel. Her brown eyes were wide with astonishment and her brow creased in consternation. A light breeze lifted, and shifted her dark hair about her face. He watched in confusion as she brushed her wayward bangs aside and looked up at him in amazement.
The dusty streets, where he had fought side by side with frightened residents not long ago - had not changed. The wooden statue, reaching her arms up to heaven – was still there – burning bright with their faith.
Children raced by him – squealing with abandon and delight as school let out a few buildings down. The church bell clanged nearby; and he could hear the choir singing reverently to the prophet – giving thanks for their continued survival.
He could hear his name murmured among the milling town folk and remembered their names; faces and recalled their bravery and sacrifice.
When he looked beyond Laurel's mystified expression – he could see that he was definitely in Mallory. A place that had tested his resolve; faith – and had given him a brief respite from heartache. Was this a dream?
The earth beneath his feet felt real enough – the breeze lifted his hair from his forehead and swirled dust in his eyes. The grit there stung and he swiped the tears that came with it. "Mallory", he whispered low – and breathed out a sigh of recognition.
Laurel touched his arm; and he knew then – this was no dream; no hallucination – he was in Mallory; with Laurel – who stood beside him in the flesh – her cheeks flushed and eyes pooled with emotion. She looked as beautiful as ever.
She grabbed his hand and everything came into sharp focus. The church bell rang on – children laughed and broke out into play in the street; a buggy drove by and a neighbor called out, "Is that Michael?"
Laurel squeezed his hand; he found her gaze and wondered if he looked just as stunned as she did. He lifted her hand to his lips – kissed it – glad to see her; overwhelmed with feeling, but wary.
What game was this? Why was he here? How had he come to be back in Mallory? Where were Alex and the others? The questions came fast, muddied his mind and left him baffled.
Laurel hugged him close and kissed his neck. Her breath at his ear brought back the memory of their love making in the barn. He placed his hands at her waist and her kissed her back – longing quickly seguing to desire.
"I thought you were dead and was sure never to see you again, until we were to meet again in the afterlife", she whispered and held him the tighter – her own body aching at the memory of their last days together. "Am I dreaming?" she murmured, and pressed closer feeling Michael's heartbeat at her ear.
"I thought the same", he answered, and lifted her gently from her feet – joy lightening his heart.
Across the way – storming from his home in an angry frenzy, Wes yelled out, "What are you doing here?" – His shot gun raised, ready to fire.
Laurel turned – pushed Michael behind her and faced Wes' wrath head on; her eyes emblazoned with protective fierceness.
And then she was gone – Wes vanished – the children dispersed – the bell gone still; its last note echoing over the empty street – lost and dispelled over space.
Only the arid breeze continued to stir the dust about his ankles; and push back his hair.
Michael searched about him in confusion. Perhaps this was a dream after all?
Pete stared intently into the flames and stole curious glances over in the archangel's direction – who slept sitting up it seemed – with his back ram rod straight; eyes shut; and breath inhaling and exhaling at a steady rate.
He wasn't sure what he thought of Michael, but knew Alex not only loved him, but worshiped the ground he walked on. He had seen for himself how the weight of the world seemed easier for Alex to bear, now that Michael had returned.
Everything about him seemed less oppressive. For that he was glad.
If nothing else, he would accept Michael for Alex's sake and well-being. But something about the archangel did not sit well with him. That he had abandoned Alex when he needed him most was a sore point with him; something he would not easily forget, but was willing to overlook for the chosen one.
He cast his thoughts to Noma, who seemed wary and uneasy with the reappearance of the archangel and he wondered about that. Lately, she had been acting strange – attempting to leave them; purposefully engaging the eight balls.
Was she trying to hurt herself – leave them in a more permanent way? What was she truly thinking? He felt bad questioning her actions; but knew he had to watch out for Alex.
He shook his head to deny such thoughts. Noma loved Alex; and had given up everything. She would never do that – would she? She would never turn her back on Alex and forsake their mission. Her commitment and sacrificial should be something to mimic and admire.
Pete looked to the three and wondered about his place among them. What purpose did he serve really? The archangel was Alex's guiding mentor – he could read the markings; and would help Alex on this journey to save humanity. Noma was his protector. Even without her wings – her strength - now that she was on the mend – would be formidable.
What did he have to offer – other than his blind faith; gratitude and loyalty? Would it be enough? He kicked dirt into the flames and watched the embers stir. Well – what he could give would have to be enough; and he would give it willingly with no hesitation.
He watched as Noma and Alex slept on – entwined in each other's embrace; and was relieved to see them finally at an easy rest – free for the moment from pain and eminent worry.
The hours passed by quiet and uneventful. No unexpected noises accosted the camp – only the peaceful breathing of his comrades.
Soon he would wake Michael to take his place and keep watch. He stood to stretch his tired muscles and felt the dull throb of pain pulsate throughout his body. Rest is what he needed.
So Pete was taken by surprise when the archangel keeled over from his seated position and hit the dirt on his side; and began to groan and convulse. Pete ran to him – held his shoulders and called out to Alex in quick succession.
Michael blinked and found himself with in the church – the lit candles, paintings and altar just as he remembered it. Nothing had changed here since the day he had left – taking the sins of Mallory with him.
He spun around and took in his surroundings. The silence and stillness warned him that something untoward was soon to happen. When he turned toward the open doors of the church – there stood a man dressed in chaps; cowboy boots; full length duster coat and a gallon hat.
This man was a stranger to him – but at the same time familiar in some way.
The stranger sauntered forward – hands placed lightly at his hips where his fire arms sat in holsters and announced – "Welcome back Michael."
Michael squinted and stared down the grinning stranger as he approached. "Who are you?" he asked.
The stranger laughed with undisguised humor, and sat down in an empty pew with languid ease. "Don't you know archangel?"
Michael looked about the sanctuary, as if searching the air for an explanation. "You must be the prophet. You are the one who protects Mallory; and keeps the fire burning."
The stranger nodded once in assent and grinned wider than was natural.
"Why am I here? What do you want with me?" Michael demanded – his voice booming in the empty haven.
The stranger leaned over the back of the pew, resting his elbows. When he peered from underneath the brim of his hat – his eyes no longer held mirth; but were hard and unyielding. "I want your life archangel. You made a promise in this very church to sacrifice your life for the people of Mallory in order to keep the fires burning – but here you stand. I'm here to make sure you keep your word."
Michael staggered under the accusation. Who was this apparition really? What was it that he truly wanted? Where was Alex? Had this enemy before him taken him – done something to him?
As if reading his mind, the stranger answered, "The chosen one is unharmed. But you – right now your body sleeps the slumber of the dead and your life lies within my hands."
Alex bolted out of his sleep and released Noma from his embrace. Across the flames – Pete screamed and he could see the panic on his face as he shook Michael's shoulders and pleaded for him to "Wake up!"
Alex moved swiftly to their side. "What is it? What's happened?"
Pete let go of Michael and moved to give Alex space. "He just fell over, started shaking; and I couldn't wake him up."
Over his shoulder, Noma stood tense and afraid. She had never known the archangel to fall ill; or to convulse and lose consciousness for no reason. "What do you mean?" she questioned.
"Just what I said Noma", Pete countered, "he won't wake up!"
Alex lifted the archangel by the shoulders and placed his head on his lap. On Michael's face he could see signs that he was alive – his breaths coming fast but steady enough. He touched his forehead, and felt no fever. His eyes moved rapidly beneath the closed lids and his body trembled minutely under his own shaking hands.
Alex felt the confidence restored to him at Michael's reappearance slowly drain from his body and be replaced with trepidation. He reached down; shook his friend firmly by the shoulders and called the archangel's name with authority – hoping to stir him from sleep to wakefulness.
"Michael – wake up!" There was no response, so he leaned down and hissed in his ear, "Don't do this Michael – don't leave me." When he gazed again into Michael's face – he saw that his eyelids continued to move at a rapid speed beneath the lids.
He looked to Noma – worry etched on his face, "I think he dreams", and felt comforted when she sat beside him and gripped his arm.
"Then we wait for him to wake", she reassured.
Pete sat beside them - fear causing his heart to hammer hard in his chest; and joined the vigil.
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