Michael (The Airel Saga, Book 2) - By Aaron Patterson Page 0,10
sure of that.”
I found it very telling that he called his father Stanley instead of Dad. I wanted to interject something but I couldn’t think of anything to add.
“Stanley trained me to kill. To blend in. To win people over with charm, make friends, find out about their friends’ friends, and sniff out any that had angelic blood running in their veins. Like you.” He looked at me, eyes cutting into me for the briefest of moments before looking away.
It got quiet. Kim and I traded a glance.
“About that…” I said.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, tears filling his eyes in the firelight.
I spoke, and as I did, I choked up too. “I know. I know you’re sorry. I believe you. You don’t have to keep saying it.” I was a little frustrated.
“I know; I’m sorry…”
Kim slapped her palm to her forehead and we all laughed.
“But seriously,” I said. And then I softly blurted it out: “I love you, Michael.” It was as if a bomb went off. And it was crazy; like both of us knew it but neither of us wanted to be the one to actually say it.
The answer came even softer. “I love you too.”
It was very still in the room, like being in a deep forest right before a storm breaks; there was a buzz in the air, anticipation.
And then Kim popped the balloon. “Okay, you two totally need to kiss now.”
My jaw dropped.
Michael said precisely what I was thinking: “Awkwarrrrd…”
I laughed.
“How about a raincheck, mister.”
“Totes,” he said smilingly in Kim’s vernacular. He relaxed for the first time that day.
Kim rolled her eyes before speaking. “Okay, whatever. But I still have questions. Like, Michael, what freaking happened out there?”
He nodded, again looking older than he was. “It’s hard to know where to begin.” He sat back, crossing an ankle over one knee, his fingers interlaced over his stomach. “If you want explanations…I guess I could start at the beginning. My first…assignment.”
He breathed in and out. “Her name was Sally Potts. She was twelve, the youngest by far to change. I was thirteen. It was at a little school in West Texas; a one-room schoolhouse, just like in Little House on the Prairie.”
“Okay, creepy,” Kim said. “We’re not looking for a full-on confession here, dude. So save it. I just want to know how in the world we got here. How did we get here from whatever happened out there on the cliff?”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, Michael. I think you’re a good enough guy. You did save her in the end,” she said, looking at me. “…even if it took you long enough. But can you, pretty please, fill me in on what I missed out there?”
“Okay, it’s simple: Stanley killed Airel.”
“I know. I saw that much,” she shivered.
“So did I,” I said.
“Then I killed Stanley,” Michael said. “And that’s when everything went wrong. Really wrong. James—my demon—tried to finish the…the…job? No, no. That’s not the right word.”
“You can say it,” I said. “I was just a job.”
Michael looked like I had stabbed him. “At first. But that changed…” He was beginning to defend himself, but he let his words fade and stared back into the fire.
I looked at him. There was something different about him now. Something good. And bad. It was as if he was under a burden or in restraint. It made him seem…like a man and not a boy.
“Airel, you have completely wrecked me,” he said, his eyes bright and piercing. “I wish…I mean, I never wanted any of this to happen. I found my courage too late to help you. And I was desperate. That’s why I wrote you back to life.”
I was shocked. “Wait. What?”
He just pointed to the mantelpiece, the rough wooden shelf above the fire, the inkwell and quill pen…those old books. Call me crazy or stupid, but it had only just then occurred to me that I was alive and kicking for a definitive reason. I hadn’t put two and two together yet. I was normally really observant, smart as a whip, but somehow this one had come at me from my blind side.
“Michael, what are you talking about?”
“This,” he said, standing. He walked to the shelf slowly, quietly, with reverence. When his finger brushed one of the books, I heard a shout go out and echo back to me from the deepest recesses of my heart and mind: Michael.
He took my Book—I knew it was my Book—and gently delivered it to me.