Fallen (Guardian Trilogy Book 1) Page 10

  The one question everyone kept asking was how the arrow didn’t leave a wound. A few people even asked me to lift my arms, proving I wasn’t hiding an injury to my torso.

  Truthfully, I couldn’t explain it either, and this seemed to frustrate everyone else as much as it did me. Of course, I never mentioned the fact that Eran had interceded and suffered the brunt of the arrow…not me.

  Most of the time I tried to listen more intently to the teacher’s lectures, trying to ignore the fuss over the incident and take my mind off the seemingly impossible task of steering my attention away from thoughts of Eran.

  Friday, I met Gershom under the tree we ate lunch at and saw he already had his sandwich and chips spread out in front of him. I also noticed the annoying electrical sensation was once again building inside me. With each step I took toward him, this reaction intensified.

  “So you stick with the same sandwich too?” I noted, ignoring the pulling at the back of my neck.

  He was in the middle of chewing, so he responded with a nod. After swallowing, he informed me, “You are at the top of everyone’s mind.”

  “Oh…so you’ve heard.”

  “Achan was given a lot of razzing for it in first period,” Gershom said as he chuckled softly.

  Good, I thought…let him squirm.

  “He’s in my class along with a couple of the guys on the team and they made it pretty clear they don’t believe he’s at the skill level he boasted.”

  I intentionally continued chewing my sandwich so Gershom would keep talking. This was the first I was learning of Achan’s reaction to the incident and the curiosity of it had been crowding my thoughts lately. As if on cue, Gershom was answering my unspoken questions.

  “He sat there without saying a word. Apparently he’s not too happy about the situation.”

  I laughed through my nose at the irony, knowing that was an understatement.

  “Did he make any effort to apologize?” Gershom asked, taking a bite of his sandwich while watching me out of the corner of his eyes.

  “No, but I don’t expect one.”

  “Really?” His eyebrows lifted, and when I didn’t explain further, he asked, “Why?”

  I honestly did not want to go into my reasons, knowing that Gershom might think I was being paranoid to believe he was actually aiming for me all along. Instead, I offered a more politically-correct answer. “He doesn’t strike me as to the type.”

  We both glanced over our shoulders at Achan, surrounded by his group of friends. He was sitting on the table with his feet on the seat, and despite his friends conversing around him, he didn’t bother to engage. His attention was on me, directing a hateful glare at the back of my head. If he had a bow and arrow right then, I’m pretty sure he would have taken aim and used it.

  “I think you’re right,” Gershom speculated, turning back around.

  “I really don’t care.”

  Gershom snickered. “No, you don’t strike me as the kind of person that would.”

  He fell silent for a moment, looking out over the field at the distinct line marking the woodlands beyond. This time when he spoke, he was more serious. “Maggie…that arrow…did it come close like everyone says it did? I…I heard it came pretty close.”

  I shrugged. “That’s what they said. I never saw it…never felt it.” I summed up my escape for him the same as I’d done for everyone else. “I think it fell short…” suddenly an afterthought escaped my lips. Although my intention was never to vocalize it, I thoughtlessly added, “…much to Achan’s disappointment.”

  Gershom’s head abruptly swung around to face me. “You think he was aiming for you?”

  I laughed uncomfortably because I really didn’t know for sure, and I didn’t mean to allude to it. “I was just saying that he’s gotten a lot of harassment for his aim since then.”

  “Hmmm,” he replied, turning his focus back to the lawn. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  He was focusing on the field again but in a pensive state. “You don’t seem to ever talk about your…ability,” he ventured.

  “No. Unless people inquire and want me to use it, I think it makes them uncomfortable.”

  “Yeah, I can see that happening.”

  I had a feeling Gershom wanted to ask me more questions, but he fell silent for a few minutes. In fact, he waited until his sandwich was gone entirely before speaking again.

  Glancing at me hesitantly, he asked, “So…can I ask how you… finally knew?”

  “You mean that I could talk to the dead?”

  “Right. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? I thought…I thought you visit the afterlife…or at least the place people consider is the afterlife.”

  I let my sandwich fall to my lap because I knew my explanation would take some time.

  “I do…but I didn’t know for a long time actually. Since it happens in my sleep, I thought I was dreaming like everyone else does. You can’t really jump into other people’s dreams and compare them to your own, so I didn’t know that people talking to you in your dreams regularly was…uncommon.” I paused to laugh at myself, but Gershom didn’t join in. He waited patiently for me to continue, his grave expression never wavering. “But then one day my next door neighbor passed on and that night he came to me, asking if I’d deliver a message to his wife. He wanted to tell her that there was cash stored in a coffee container in the back of the pantry. So that next morning, I went over and told her. I was young enough then, or stupid enough, to do it without understanding the consequences.”

  “Not stupid,” Gershom corrected. “Brave.”

  I snickered. His perception was not quite accurate. “Bravery implies knowing the cost of opening the door…letting others know what I could do…and then doing it anyways. No, I’d have to say I was not prepared for the penalty.”

  Gershom emphatically disagreed. “Even at a young age we know if we are different. We understand common behavior and know when we are deviating from it. I’m sure you did too. I think you’re being modest.”

  I watched him closely for a moment. “You have a lot of wisdom for an eighteen-year-old.”

  Suddenly uncomfortable, he dropped his stare. “Being on the road…and alone…you learn a lot.”

  I knew the truth to that statement.

  “So, I’m assuming you went ahead and told your neighbor’s wife about the money,” he persisted.

  “Oh, yeah, I did. She slammed the door in my face, probably thinking I was playing some kind of mean joke on her. But later…while I was sitting on my doorstep questioning my sanity…deciding if I should get help…she walked across the lawn toward me, shaking, with a coffee can in one hand and a wad of cash in the other.”

  “Wow,” Gershom said under his breath.

  “And so…that’s when I knew.”

  He nodded again, understanding. “Have you learned why you have the ability and others don’t?”

  “You know, that’s something that I’ve always wanted to understand but have never been able to. I mean, look at me. I don’t have any special markings or distinguishing characteristics. I don’t surround myself with religious leaders or attend church regularly. I can’t even recite a single scripture. As far as I know, I don’t come from any holy gurus or spiritual leaders. I have no exceptional skill set that would explain me having this ability. There’s really only one distinctive quality that I can think of that sets me apart.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I died just after I was born.”

  I expected Gershom to turn and gawk at me…lift his eyebrows…show some sign of surprise. But he didn’t. Instead, he remained stoic, nodding slowly.

  “My Aunt Teresa told me. It was in the same accident that took my parent’s lives. I…I was the only one able to be revived.”

  My throat closed, chocking off any other words. Though, I had no intention of going on anyways.

  I was sure Gershom noticed because he casually brushed crumbs from
his jeans and changed the subject. “Do you enjoy doing it? Delivering messages? Or is it just something you feel you should be doing?”

  “I visit each night whether I have messages or not. It’s not by choice that I go there. But when I don’t have anything to deliver, I get bored. I wait in the same place that I’m pulled to until I fall asleep again, then I’m brought back here. Sometimes it can be a very long night. So delivering messages keeps me busy…and it makes others happy.”

  “Why don’t you just go visit people, the dead I mean?” he asked, seeming puzzled.

  “Well, I don’t really know anyone there. I’ve moved – either houses or cities - nearly every three months since…well, since I can remember. It’s hard to keep friends when you change addresses that often. So, I don’t know anyone really well, not anyone who has passed on anyways.”

  He thought about this for a moment and asked, “Why don’t you just make friends with other people while you’re there?”

  “I have thought about it. I think about walking right up to someone and starting a conversation. But I feel…I feel like I’m overstepping a boundary, like I’m trespassing.”

  “You do? Don’t people who have passed on exude an overwhelming feeling of acceptance?”

  I drew in a deep breath, taking a moment to think about how best to answer, “They do,” I confirmed, but I continued, offering more insight. “When I visit there, I don’t know that I’ve actually crossed over. I’ve never been strapped to a machine while I sleep to record my heart beat or brain activity…And when I get there, I don’t have the ability of flight or speed or telekinesis. I don’t have any of those…proficiencies, for lack of a better word.”

  “You don’t?” he asked, sounding baffled. “I wonder why that is.”

  “You got me.”

  He watched me observantly. “I don’t think I’ve ever known how little you fit in…here or there…and how that must be challenging for you.”

  “It’s tough, sure. But then you decide you don’t really care if you fit in or not.”

  Gershom lit up with a comforting smile. “That’s a healthy perspective.”

  “It’s the only one, in my opinion. You can’t live by others’ expectations of you.”

  “That sounds like a belief developed over time, helping you deliver messages regardless of the naysayers…”

  “It is.”

  “Maybe the reason you were given this ability then…is because you’re the right person to use it,” he theorized, sincerely.

  “Honestly, Gershom. I’m not sure what to believe. I’ll just keep helping others as long as this ability lasts.”

  “You know,” he said, more to himself than to me, “you’ve done all right on your own.”

  “I like to think so.”

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  “Gershom, you can ask me anything.”

  “With your ability to visit the afterlife…have you…” He paused awkwardly, taking a few seconds to overcome whatever was troubling him, and rapidly finished asking, “Have you ever tried to find your parents?”

  I frowned and he immediately recanted, “You really don’t have to answer that.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ve wondered – a lot – whether they had the same ability as I do. So, sure…I looked for them. But the only way I know to locate people in the afterlife is by knowing their date and location of death, and I’ve never been able to find that information here on earth. For some reason, every record in existence that contained that information has disappeared. Isn’t that strange?”

  Gershom pinched his lips closed, reacting to what I’d just said. When he didn’t answer, I went on.

  “I mean think about how many documents record a person’s death…police reports, death certificates, obituaries, cemetery plot purchases…every one of them is gone.”

  “Yeah, that’s strange,” he replied, flatly.

  Although he was now looking away, I could see pain on his face and was taken aback by it.

  “It was a long time ago, Gershom.”

  “Not so long ago…” he said under his breath.

  “What was that?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat.

  But he was already starting to stand up, his expression blank. “Huh? Oh…I said I gotta go.”

  “You did?” I swear I’d heard him clearly, even if he was mumbling.

  “Yeah. Look, do me a favor, okay?” he asked quickly glancing over to where Achan was sitting. This made me curious because I didn’t understand what Achan had to do with Gershom’s request.

  Still, I replied, “Sure. I’ll do anything for you.” And I meant it.

  That proclamation made his painful expression return. “Could you deliver a message for me to someone?”

  “In the afterlife?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, stuffing his trash into his lunch bag.

  I paused, watching him and remembered my promise to Ezra that I wouldn’t provide services to students at school. Had I really promised though? Wasn’t it more of an agreement to an unspoken request? I was rationalizing, and what harm could it do? It was only one measly little delivery. Of course, I knew I was only convincing myself. Still, Gershom was my friend…and I’d already said I would. So I ignored the knot in my stomach, deciding to commit the information he was about to give me to memory.

  “Look, I know how this is going to sound but…he died July 3rd, 1863 in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania-”

  “At the Battle of Gettysburg?” The surprise made my voice rise and those nearby started glancing in our direction. I lowered my voice, asking, “How do you know someone from back then?”

  “I don’t,” he said, pausing and looking over my shoulder. He was now facing me and I got the distinct feeling that he was seeking out Achan.

  As expected, when I turned just enough, I found Achan’s spine-chilling gaze fixed on us. The hair on my neck had been antagonizing me the entire lunch hour sitting next to Gershom, but all of a sudden, they went absolutely haywire. I was really getting annoyed with this response.

  “Listen,” Gershom went on, a little more urgently. “I never actually met the guy but…just humor me, alright?”

  “Okay,” I shrugged, completely confused. “What’s the message you’d like me to bring to someone you never met and who died around a hundred and fifty years ago?” I teased, pointing out the absurdity of his request.

  “Tell him that he should consider coming back.”

  “To earth?” Again, my voice raised and I snapped my mouth shut.

  Gershom’s shoulders fell in frustration. “Just give him the message.”

  He turned and headed toward the cafeteria door when I stopped him.

  “Gershom? What’s the guy’s name?”

  I thought it was odd that Gershom didn’t just shout it out. No one would have understood what we were talking about anyway, but instead, he returned to where I was sitting and crouched down. This time, I was facing Achan’s direction and noted that he was still intently watching us.

  “His name is Eran. E-R-A-N…Talor…T-A-L-O-R.”

  “Eran?” I enunciated. The sound of that name caused all the nerves in my body to come alive, and to my embarrassment, it was obvious because Gershom’s eyebrows immediately creased, displaying a puzzled expression.

  “Yes…why?”

  “Oh,” I laughed, embarrassingly. It was idiotic that one name had such an impact on me. “I just…I met an Eran recently. So of course he’s not the same guy as yours because…well…he’s here on earth.”

  Gershom didn’t crack a smile. He just stared at me, unblinking for a moment and simply said, “Of course.” He began to stand again but paused. “You’ll deliver the message tonight, right?”

  “Sure,” I nibbled a piece of my sandwich, hiding the fact that the mention of Eran’s name still had me tingling. “Tonight.”

  Gershom then hurried across the lunch area and through the glass doors. I watched him leave, wondering what the probability was tha
t he and I would both know an Eran. It wasn’t a very common name, despite its meaning. I remembered it from a book I had read a while ago. The name had its heritage in Hebrew and meant watchful and vigilant. It was definitely an appropriate expression for the Eran I knew because his intentions are to keep me alive. Gershom hadn’t given me any reason to believe the two were the same, but something deep inside, a feeling I couldn’t explain, made me think they were one and the same.

  If they were, that would mean Eran was…I couldn’t bring myself to even think the word. I looked out across the field, tossing around the idea of it, and the word suddenly popped into my mind, as if willed there by someone else.

  Supernatural.

  That would certainly explain why no one but me could see him and why he was immune to injuries. But it didn’t lend reason to why I could speak with him…or touch him…or feel his intense heat.

  When the bell rang I stood, headed for my next class, fencing, and continued silently debating the impossibility of Eran being supernatural.

  I noticed that rain clouds had moved in when the first sprinkle landed on my nose. Then, by the time I was inside the gym, it started coming down in sheets.

  Inside, the gym smelled even mustier with the drops pounding the thin roof overhead. The lamps mounted to the ceiling flickered once, causing a few gasps, but they stayed on. Ms. Valentine, a heavy set woman with a voice deeper than most men’s, didn’t seem to care. She was going to hold class with or without light and marched to the center of the gym floor.

  “Sit,” she commanded, like a military officer, and we obeyed, moving like cattle to position ourselves around her in a circle.

  Ms. Valentine’s class is relatively liberal, allowing us to choose any place on the mat we wanted in the absence of chairs. Of course, I decided earlier I wanted to arrive late, so I would have to sit in the back. So much for that idea.

  Lying at Ms. Valentine’s feet were three sword-like weapons which she reviewed in great detail with us, pointing out that the foil was the one we would use for this class. She was naming each part of the foil when the hair on the back of my neck stood up again. I almost uttered a curse word under my breath when the gym door opened and The Warden walked in.