“No. Oh, no!”
Still I hold on. She must see it all.
Gaze still fixed, her eyes rapidly move side to side, taking the imagery I show her. She pants hard and fast. I show her me walking into the club, discovering her mangled body. She moans at the sight of herself crumpled in a fetal position—at her dead eyes, the blood coating her face and neck from where it poured out of her nose and fountained out of her mouth, the horrifying wound to her chest. I show her myself, pulling her into my arms, concentrating, healing her. Then I show her how I brought her to where we are now.
Her eyes fly open, and she stares at me, speechless.
Then her eyes fill with tears. “My…friends. My family. They’re really dead.”
I brush her tears away, each one as it falls. “I am very sorry for their painful losses, Sazahn. If it’s any consolation to you, their souls went to Heaven.”
“Why me?” she whispers. “Why did you save me?”
“Because…you are special to me,” I reply. “You remind me of someone I once knew. And then I learned that you are significant to the Upper Realm. To Heaven.”
Her mouth opens and closes several times. Then, “You’re…really an angel? This place…is this Heaven?”
“It is not, I’m afraid,” I reply softly. “As I mentioned, I was banished from Heaven. I…fell.”
“You fell?” She swallows. “So you’re like, a fallen angel?”
I nod.
“Wouldn’t that make you…”
“I dislike the word demon,” I murmur. Sazahn’s eyes widen and she goes very still, but to her credit, she doesn’t pull away. “I still love my father, though He does not seem to return the sentiment. I will never accept Satan as my king.”
“S-Satan?”
“That is why I roam Earth,” I say. “I cannot return to Heaven. I refuse to remain in Hell. I brought you to this place, a small corner in a different place and time, because neither side can find me. Find us.”
Sazahn seems to collapse in on herself. She reaches up to cup her forehead. “This is…unbelievable.”
“Can I show you something?” I ask, then get to my feet.
She lifts her head and glances at my outstretched hand. Then she takes it, and I lead her out of the tent onto the beach.
“Stay here,” I tell her, then walk to the shore’s edge, a safe distance away, pulling my shirt off.
I close my eyes and concentrate.
A familiar tingle races across my upper back before becoming a full-blown burn. Once, so long ago, the unsheathing of my wings was a holy sight. There was no pain; only pleasure. My wings were brilliant white and slid from my back as easily as breathing in a glittering shower of celestial energy.
After my fall and after millennia of proving my “loyalty” to the Unholy Prince, he granted me wings again—great, powerful wings just as before, but inky black instead of white. The pain they cause when they emerge from my back is excruciating, and the celestial energy is now fire. But I hardly feel it anymore.
We can all adapt to extreme pain.
My wings extend to their farthest reach, twenty feet on each side, and with a mighty flap, I rise into the air, hovering above her.
Sazahn collapses to her knees.
I lower myself and walk toward her, then reach down and gently help Sazahn to her feet. She’s trembling, crying, but not hysterical.
“Do not be afraid,” I murmur.
“Th-they’re beautiful.”
Touched, I smile gently. “You should have seen them before I fell.”