* * *
Reaper grabbed a tall glass out of the cupboard before he began filling it up at the old sink. Watching the liquid fill the glass made him thirstier, along with the noise of the rushing water. It wasn’t until it was about half full did something else grace his ears, causing the hairs on his arms to stand.
Slowly, he shut off the tap when the water rushed over the rim, making his fingertips wet. He thought he might’ve been dreaming, hearing the song from the voice that had kept him alive when he had been in hell. But with the rushing water silenced, he could hear the angel’s voice clearer, and it didn’t come from his head, but on the other side of the cracked open window where he was standing.
He still stared at the metal spout, too scared to look up and through the glass, but when he did, Reaper’s heart suddenly stopped as the glass that was in his hands fell.
It was like looking at a painting, and the white wooden pane was the frame. The sun made the green grass golden as the just-hung white sheets on the clothesline blew gracefully in the wind, matching the grace resonating from voice of the silhouette behind the white, billowing cloth. He felt a sudden peace, like all his pain, his demons, his fury had just vanished, and he returned to the man he once was. The man who had been strong, pure, and untouched. The man he had been when he had heard that voice for the very first time … Gavin.
Gavin walked to the door of the forge then out it, like jumping into the painting to follow the angel’s voice. Her voice had changed but only slightly, her tone that was once young and modest had become more mature over the years, now holding a slight rasp of longing.
Getting closer, he moved one of the sheets out of the way. The womanly silhouette was just on the other side of the sheet before him.
The angel had kept him alive in his darkest days. Hearing the song had given him hope to endure. He had thought it was a figment of his imagination, just a coping mechanism that had kept him alive, but she had been real … all this time.
It was a distant memory that sat in the deepest recesses of his mind, like a hidden jewel that his body had protected himself from remembering in order not to taint it with what he had become. The memory, however, had slowly crept back when Gavin saw the beckoning light from outside the window, a memory he switched to Taylor, because his mind hadn’t been able to accept the truth. A memory …
“She has a beautiful voice, doesn’t she?” Lucky said, taking his eyes off the window to turn back toward him.
Gavin couldn’t have answered if his life depended on it.
Standing up from the desk, he walked to the window. He braced his hand on the wall and looked out.
The girl was sitting on a picnic table with her back to the church. She was singing “In the Arms of an Angel” by Sarah McLachlan, and the way she sang held a wealth of pain, making him wonder if she was aware of it. It was hauntingly beautiful and spoke to his soul as if she were speaking directly to him.
“She was here last night, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, she’s the girl I’m tutoring.”
“Who was the woman with her?”
“You must be talking about her foster mother.”
“She’s a bitch.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Lucky’s rueful voice told of the dislike for the foster mother. “She’s a good kid.”
“She’d have to be in order to sing like that.” Letting his hand drop, he forced himself to take a step away from the window, ignoring the whispers of the light wind that was stirring the curtains, telling him to wait just one more sec—
Feeling ridiculous that he was imagining the wind talking to him and that he was watching a young girl, he strode away, refusing to look back. He had not an ounce of sexual interest in her. It was more like sensing … something … Like seeing someone in a grocery store and unable to place a name or face or why it mattered ….
A sudden gust of wind blew the sheet up, revealing the identity of his guardian angel. Her singing suddenly stopped.
“Gavin?”
It’s me, he wanted to tell her. Instead, he could only form her name. “Ginny ….”
Concern crossed her face, not recognizing the man standing in front of her. “Is everything all ri—”
“I didn’t see … I didn’t hear it before.”
“What?” she asked as the sheet fell back down between them.
“You were right,” he was finally able to admit it as Gavin stepped forward, moving the sheet out of the way with his tattooed hand so he could stare at her. At last, he was able to say the words that Reaper had denied himself to admit. “Soul mates do exist.”