Covenant (7 page)

Her head turns toward me and
she begins to shift in the bed. Her fingers grip the covers tightly
as though she is fighting something I can’t see.

“
The gun! Lev, he has a
gun!”

Now she screams. Even in the
moonlight, I see the sweat dappling her skin. The sound that comes
out of her mouth isn’t quite human, filled with a pain I can’t
fathom. It seems bottomless and possessive, and that tortured cry
seems to go on forever.

I hear footsteps in the
stairwell, and I rise, knowing that the man in the chair, someone
I’ve just realized looks familiar, will fly through the door. I
stand there, watching, making sure neither he nor Elizabeth will be
able to see me.

A moment later, he enters
and his fumbling fingers reach for the light switch; a harsh
florescence glares to life. Even with the light on, she still
thrashes beneath the covers, screaming.

“
Lizzie? baby?” The man
flies to her bedside and begins shaking her. At first, his grip is
light as he tries to stir her, but he quickly realizes the dream
isn’t willing to relinquish its grip. “You’ve got to wake
up!”

The screaming continues,
hiccupping every time he shakes her, and it’s only when his
shouting matches her screams she finally falls silent and opens her
eyes. Tears and sweat mingle on her face, and she looks around. I
can swear her gaze lingers on me a little longer than elsewhere,
but it’s only a fear; she collapses against his chest.

“
It’s just a dream,” the
man says and clings tightly to her. Yet the painful expression on
his face doesn’t match his words. He knows that whatever Elizabeth
has experienced is far from just a nightmare. It’s something that
has so completely transformed her dreams she’ll never be the same,
and therefore he’ll never be the same.

I don’t know how long I
stand there, watching them. I don’t even know why, considering all
the moments I’ve spent with humans just before and after death.
This should be insignificant, but some part of me feels. Even
though I should be impartial, tears pool, and I blink, thinking I
can drive them back. No, they keep coming and run down my face.
Even though I stand as still as a statue in a cemetery where death
has taken me numerous times, I am anything but
unaffected.

“
It wasn’t supposed to be
like this,” she whispers. “He wasn’t supposed to die, Jimmie.” Her
fingers tangle in his shirt, desperately grasping the fabric. “That
bullet was meant for me!”

The pain on Jimmie’s face
doubles, and his body sags like someone has hit him. His jaw
tightens, and he gets the same shell-shocked expression on his face
I’ve seen many times. Of course, this adds a whole new level of
weirdness because what I’m guessing is that in some strange way,
she is talking about me, specifically me saving her life by ending
a human form I had taken. That makes no sense because I’ve never
done anything like that; I’ve always been a part of the greater
balance.

“
Don’t go there, Lizzie.
Please, God, don’t go there.”

Despite the desperate
trembling of her body, she pulls back slightly. “But it’s my fault
he’s not here—all my fault.”

“
No!” Jimmie slips his
finger beneath her chin and forces her to look at his face. “You
listen to me, Lizzie. You aren’t to blame. The only person who has
any fault in this is Maguire. That’s it.”

Elizabeth closes her eyes
and slowly pulls her arms from around him so she can lie back down.
Although she seems calmer, I can tell by our connection she is
anything but. She refuses to argue because either she thinks it
will do no good or because she’s too tired. Probably
both.

Even though I’m not
connected to Jimmie, I’d have to be blind not to sense that he is
no less conflicted or desperate. He stares at Elizabeth and gently
strokes her head, his fingers trembling with each movement.
Elizabeth lies there, probably wishing he would go away. Again,
this isn’t anything new. I’ve seen many humans in anguish. A lot of
them want to be alone, thinking being so will help them get through
whatever it is that haunts them. For some, that spells trouble and
results in a beacon to sojourn. I step toward her, trying to sense
whether this is the case, but I don’t feel that kind of
desperation, just rolls of black pain that seem to have no
end.

For a few moments, Jimmie
lingers there, watching her, measuring the rise and fall of her
chest to see whether she has drifted away yet. Although I know she
is far from sleeping, Jimmie doesn’t. He assumes she has drifted
into a dreamless slumber safer than before. He gives her face one
last, gentle caress and kisses her forehead before rising, walking
to the door, and turning out the light. As the room dulls to
moonlight, he stands and watches her, probably something he has
done many times since the living nightmare started for Elizabeth.
Convinced that she must be safe, he slips out the door and shuts it
behind him.

At the sound of the door
clicking shut, Elizabeth’s eyes shoot open. I hear the sound of her
tears beginning again. Positive she can’t see me, that I have
blended enough so that the world won’t shimmer with my existence, I
cautiously approach until I stand before her; I sink to my knees so
that our faces are mere inches apart.

Elizabeth has rolled into a
ball with her knees drawn tightly to her. One hand rests over her
mouth, and she quietly sobs as fresh tears wet her cheeks. In that
moment, if she can see me I will know. Her reaction will be
unmistakable. Instead, her dull gaze is fixed far beyond me,
probably to where she thinks I am, wherever that might
be.

The bed right in front of
her is empty, and before I think about what I’m doing, I ease into
it, relieved I am still controlling my visibility so well. The
mattress doesn’t even give beneath my weight as I lie next to her,
my face so close to hers.

Why are you doing
this?
I ask. Yet another question I don’t
have an answer to. Then again, I don’t think it would matter if I
knew. I would be right here beside her, doing what I could to ease
this burden which has left her so horribly wounded.

Part of me wishes she could
see me, but I know what that will mean to her. As it is, she stares
not at me but through me. I don’t exist to her. Her bottom lip
quivers, and a soft, painful sigh escapes. Her thin shoulders
shiver, and at first I start to draw the covers higher up on her,
but I realize that will give me away, so I do the only thing I
know.

I let my wings materialize
so I am the only one who can see them. One of them slowly unfurls
and drapes around Elizabeth. While I know she is unaware of me, I
also know that the warmth will touch her just the same.

For a long while, we just
lie there as the rain taps the window outside and lightning lances
recklessly across the sky. In the distance, thunder rumbles, but I
blanket the sound and try as best I can to give her peace as
palpable as the pain.

What has happened between
us?
I wonder. I stare at her face and
watch her eyelids begin to droop. I reach out, wanting to touch her
hair, to brush it away from her face, but once again I know I
can’t, so I wait until the blinking of her eyelids cease and her
breathing finally slows, telling me she has finally drifted toward
the abyss. Only then do I reach out, finally lay my hand upon her
cheek, and allow myself to feel the softness of her skin, trying
desperately to remember. I feel the calm quiet the chaos, and I
close my eyes, willing to lose myself in this peace.

Chapter Six

“
Where were you last
night?” Celia asks as we fly toward the Lower Realm. Yesterday, the
world was rain and bluster; today it’s much clearer. The clouds
have a surreal silver glow as dawn touches them.

“
I was exploring,” I tell
her, stretching my arms out as I rush through the fringes of a
cloudbank. I always enjoy watching my fingers scatter the mist. The
water tingles against my skin.

“
Where, exactly?” Although
she isn’t looking at me directly, I still feel her watching; but
I’m not sure what she’s waiting for.

“
The Lower Realm,” I
finally say.

Judging from the nasty look
she gives me, I can tell she wants more information, but that’s
just it. I’m being vague on purpose, and she knows it—not that
there is anything she can do about it.

“
Do you think you are ready
to try a solo sojourn?” she asks, carefully avoiding my gaze.
Below, the clouds are thinning, and I can see the landscape. From
here, the Lower Realm appears as a giant checkerboard of greens and
browns. Of course, always before I’d thought it was so much more
beautiful from up here than when I flew low and saw the
flaws.

“
I think so,” I reply.
Still, truth be told, I’m anything but certain. I mean, I mixed up
a sojourn beacon with my covenant with Elizabeth. If that’s not a
sign returning to duty isn’t the greatest idea, I don’t know what
is. Surely Celia has at least thought about this.

I glance over and note how
her eyes narrow in tight focus toward the world spread out
below.
Maybe not. Maybe she is so
distracted she really can’t figure things out, and if that’s the
case, there’s no telling how this little field trip is going to
turn out when all is said and done. Lucky me.

“
You don’t seem
particularly confident. Is there something bothering you?” She
turns from the landscape to look at my face, trying to read me.
Trouble is, I’m not so willing to just open myself up to
interpretation.

“
I say what I mean, and I
mean what I say, Celia. Let’s do this.” Without waiting for
commentary, I notch my speed up a little and coast ahead. Near the
surface, I start to feel the beckoning Celia has been feeling all
along. While it’s supposed to be her sojourn, she wants me to do it
in case there are problems. I’m beginning to think she’s enjoying
this angelic hovering way too much.

In my peripheral vision, I
noticed Celia pump her speed to catch up, and she points straight
below us just in case I missed the beacon of a soul ready to depart
its body. As if I could miss that. Celia really should know
better.

When we land, I find myself
at the same hospital where Elizabeth had been admitted a week ago.
That alone makes me pause outside the entrance. Celia looks from me
to the hospital and back, waiting. “Is there a problem,
Lev?”

“
No, not at all,” I mutter
and force myself to start walking again, yet no matter how hard I
try to get rid of the recent memories, I can’t do it. Is that
because it’s too recent or because it has to do with Elizabeth?
Somehow I’m betting on the latter.

“
Are you ready?” She nods
toward the entrance where two EMTs hustle a loaded gurney inside.
The woman lying there wears an oxygen mask, and her closed eyes and
still form suggest she has slipped far from
consciousness.

“
Let’s go,” I say, my voice
deeper than it should be. I glance at Celia, wondering if she also
hears the difference, but if she does, she doesn’t give anything
away. Instead, she turns back toward the entrance and slips around
the all the people who don’t see her and never know that she even
walks among them.

As we slip inside, the
calling feels ever stronger, almost overwhelming. That’s probably
why Celia suddenly ups her pace and I have to hurry to keep
up—although if I wanted to know exactly where the calling is coming
from, I could figure it out. Instead, I blindly follow Celia’s
lead, twisting us through the crowded hallways that makes me wonder
how humans get by every day without damaging themselves somehow.
The hospital is full of hurt and ill people, a testament to just
how fragile they are. And of course that line of thinking only
brings me back to Elizabeth, as if I’d ever really left her behind.
She seems to stay with me regardless of what I do or how hard I try
to push her out.

Even before we reach the
room where we are headed, I see nurses running toward it. The world
around them seems to slow, and all the noises become long, slurring
sounds that don’t remind me of words. I’ve probably watched a scene
like this a million times. The first sign is always chaos. Humans
have this thing about spin control. The truth is, whatever is
unraveling is often something which can’t be controlled.

Of course, as we step toward
the doorway, leaving a clear path for the frantic medical personnel
to try to get through, I realize it would be an unfortunate time to
share this information with the doctor who tries to start her heart
again. He’s watching the flat line on a monitor, and I can tell by
his expression he is troubled by the woman lying there—a
twenty-year-old whose mortal journey had barely started. It’s a
strange thought, really, considering the human part of existence is
just one step among many; perhaps if humans understood this, they
might not panic so much when difficult things happened. They might
be okay with life unraveling if they understood there is so much
more than mortal breath. Then again, perhaps it wouldn’t really
matter, either.

Then why does Elizabeth
concern you so much?
a little voice asks
me. It seems it should be a simple enough question, but truthfully
I can’t answer it, not with a memory like Swiss cheese.