“As you discovered earlier today, we communicate telepathically. But it’s more than that. We’re linked into each other like a network, so we can see what’s going on with each other when we need to.”
So that was how she had found us earlier. “You mean you can see…” Michael and me kissing?
“Only when he’s working,” she replied quickly, as if she’d read my mind.
Can she hear my thoughts? I stared at her intently. Is she listening now?
If she was, she didn’t let on. “The network’s in place so we can back each other up. It’s how we communicate. If an angel on duty disconnects from that network, the way Michael did today, we have to check on each other, in case of injury. It’s for our safety. Any number of things could attack us when we drop our connection.” She turned to face me. “I didn’t know what I’d see.”
“Oh.” Her explanation didn’t make the idea of her being able to see us any easier, but at least she couldn’t read my mind. “How do we do this?”
Still sitting beside me on the bed, she took both my hands in hers. “You relax and look into my eyes. I don’t know exactly how it will appear to you. It could appear as a vision, but it may seem like you’re there.”
I looked into her beautiful golden eyes, and a light flashed behind them, like sunlight through amber. I had the sensation of being pulled in, as though I was falling into her. I gasped.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “Just breathe and let me do all the rest.”
I kept staring into her eyes as my bedroom disappeared around me and I was speeding down a wide tunnel of misty, silvery light. I flew through it as it bent and twisted several times and then opened into a room—a dirty, rundown apartment with cracked paint and water stains on the walls. It was so realistic, as if I was actually there, and yet I knew I wasn’t. Arielle’s presence blazed behind me as I took everything in.
There was no furniture—even the sink had been torn from the wall—and the carpet was stained with blood, vomit, and God knows what other bodily fluids. On the floor, amidst tattered clothes and broken glass, lay a sandy-haired guy in his early twenties, not much older than Bill. His eyes were glazed, haunted, and slightly open, and it seemed as though he hadn’t showered or eaten in days. Beside him, pieces of tinfoil were scattered among a filthy-looking needle, a dirty ashtray, and a threadbare red bandana.
Most notably, on—or rather through—his chest sat something fuzzy and black, half the size of a man. It looked like lint, if lint could be animated, and it had hollows for eyes. Something about seeing it made my stomach churn, my chest tighten like the skin of a drum.
“You see it, don’t you? I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“Oh my God,” I said. Realizing I was cursing in front of an angel, I covered my mouth. “What is that thing?”
“A lesser demon. I guess you’d call it a minion of sorts. It’s feeding on his addiction and despair.” Her hand touched my shoulder. “They’re parasites. They stir up negative emotions so they can feed off of them.”
The thing writhed silently on the guy’s chest and, suddenly agitated, the guy staggered to get up and reach for the tinfoil beside him, what I assumed were his drugs.
“How did it get on him?” I asked Arielle.
“They attack people and make them do horrible things, but nobody knows they’re there. People think they’re doing these things to themselves, but really they’re feeding a parasite.”
“So when people say ‘a monkey on your back,’ it’s almost true.” I shuddered at how it was more through than on him. I thought of Fiona, how she’d said she wasn’t the one who hurt herself. “Do they attack everyone?”
“All the time, but it’s about the choices people make. If someone chooses to hurt themselves or someone else, these things get in. If someone is happy and loving, it sours the milk and they leave.”
“What about my friend Fiona?” I asked. “She wouldn’t hurt herself, and yet…”
Arielle put a hand on my shoulder. “Fiona is insecure about her attractiveness. Damiel used that vulnerability to get in.”
“She didn’t do anything to deserve that.”
A note of sadness crossed Arielle’s face. “People seldom do.”
I was trying to get my mind around this strange reality she was showing me when Michael appeared in the room. My chest tightened until it ached.
Despite the filth around him, his expression was serene, as though he were untouched by the grime. He was bathed in a golden light that made him awesome to behold, but the guy didn’t even see him. Instead, with clumsy shaking hands, he fumbled to open the folded tinfoil.
Michael crouched behind the young man and whispered in his ear. Though I thought I’d seen Michael work before with Fiona at school, I couldn’t ever hear what he’d said. This time I could. Arielle must have made it possible.
“Dear One, I bring you a message. Will you hear it?” He spoke in tones so beautiful my own heart leapt in response.
Tears filled my eyes as the man emptied the contents of the tinfoil into a spoon, preparing his next fix. The beast on the man’s chest writhed and snarled. Michael spoke to him again, touching his shoulder and addressing him by name.
“Steven. You must stop this. This dose will kill you.”
If he heard him at all, the man named Steven did not acknowledge it. The beast grew larger, its writhing more animated, as it snarled at Michael.
“Why doesn’t he kill that thing?” I asked Arielle.
“He can’t. Not unless the man releases it. We must respect his free will,” she said. “Otherwise, another will just take its place.”
“What about Damiel? Michael fought him.”
“Demonic possession is different. If the host isn’t willing, we can dispel them. This man, Steven, has given his will to the parasite.”
Michael continued, “This is not the only way. You are loved. You are forgiven. Everything you have done is forgiven.”
The man filled and tapped his syringe, ignoring him. The scene shifted and blurred as Arielle pulled me out back through the tunnel. I felt dizzy and strange as my eyes grew accustomed to the soft incandescent lighting of my room. The bed beneath me was soft and warm. A stubborn lump formed in my throat and I swallowed it back before I could speak.
“That’s what he does?”
“Some of it.”
“He’s amazing!”
“He’d be even more amazing if he realized that the same forgiveness applied to him.” There was sadness in her voice that made me feel foolish for gushing. “How do you feel?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Fine,” I said. Actually, I was bright and awake and, for some reason, my mouth tasted of orange peels.
She did that thing with her halo again to see if I could hear her telepathically. “Well?”
“Just static,” I replied.
This seemed to satisfy her. “I wanted you to see that…I know you look at him and see an angel, and I know that’s astounding to you.” She stood and turned toward the window, as though checking the night, and when she turned back to me, her expression was filled with sadness and a quiet determination. “He has his choices to make, and I will respect them. But I really don’t want to see him go down again. Not when there’s so much at stake.”
She saw me as a threat to Michael’s well-being, even now that he’d chosen to push me away. Surely I wasn’t still a threat?
“He doesn’t want to be with me,” I said, hoping she couldn’t sense my shame. I’d been so caught up in my feelings about him that the fact he was a messenger of God hadn’t really sunk in. I never considered how wrong it might be for him, how wrong it always was.
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s natural for humans to be in awe of angels. That awe is part of who we are, what we do. For an angel to act on that is wrong in so many ways. It’s strictly forbidden.”