New Wings

Chapter 1 - The Boy

Scott's POV

I was wandering the streets of LA when I saw someone standing at the top of a building. They leaned forward and began to fall.

That building is five stories tall. They wouldn't survive a five-story fall. But something made my legs betray me.

I ran to where I believed they landed.

Bile crawled up my throat when I saw all the blood. I swallowed it and ran to their side.

I couldn't really tell in the darkness of the alley, but I assumed it was a guy.

"Hello?" I said. "Can you hear me?"

My ear hovered over their mouth. I could hear them breathing.

They're alive, thank goodness.

I checked for a pulse in the wrist just in case. It was there, but it was only a trickle. Even though they're not dead, they're dying.

I scrambled for my phone, calling 911.

I heard a heavy sigh from the other line. "911 what's your emergency?" The voice was flat and obviously bored out of their mind.

"Hey, someone just jumped off a building, but they're still alive. They're bleeding a lot." I replied.

"Are you sure the victim is alive?" He asks.

"Yes, I checked for a pulse and breathing; they're still alive. But they don't have long." I sighed as I grew frustrated. "For heaven's sake send an ambulance!"

"Where are you?"

I told him where we were.

The other line went dead.

I heard a small moan. I could see the streetlights reflecting in their eyes.

"They didn't catch me," They mumbled, words slurred and jumbled together. Their voice was high-pitched, but not high enough to be a woman's. The voice was silvery and clear, like still water. He spoke again. "The voice told me they would catch me, when I was surrounded by my blood, my feathers, my tears..." His voice trails off and he's silent.

"Hey, man, stay with me. Help is on the way." I reassured, taking his hand. I placed my thumb on his wrist. I could still feel a pulse.

How is he still alive?

I could hear sirens in the distance.

"Please hurry," I whispered, feeling the man's pulse slowing down dramatically. "Don't give up. Stay with me."

The paramedics came running up with a stretcher. They lifted him onto it and pushed him out of the alley. I ran after them and finally got a good look of the guy.

My breath caught in my throat. He was beautiful. He had dark hair that was shaved on the sides and layered on top. It was parted to the left, getting into his eye as his head lolled. His pink, full lips were parted, revealing white, shining teeth. His nose was prominent, and slightly crooked. His face was albicant and pale from all the blood he lost. His eyes were closed, his dark eyelashes standing out against his pale skin. His fingers were long and elegant, dirt caked in his nail beds. He was barefoot, the soles of his feet dirty and covered in small cuts. But what was strange about him were the clothes he wore. It was almost like he was brought here from Ancient Greece. He wore a white robe that went down to his ankles, and it was pinned together with an intricate gold pin at his left shoulder.

He was almost like an angel.

~

As they treated the boy's wounds, they talked to me in the waiting room.

"Was he conscious at all?" The doctor asks me, clicking her pen.

"Yeah, but only for a little bit." I replied.

"Was he disoriented? Were his pupils dilated?"

"Yeah, he was pretty confused." I paused. "He was saying some pretty weird stuff. He was talking about how he was falling. He said he saw feather, blood, tears. But what was really weird was that he said they were his."

The doctor looks up at me, her eyebrows furrowed. "Really?"

I nodded. "He also said he heard a voice as he fell." I added. "Then he lost consciousness."

The doctor writes down my account on her clipboard, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Do we know who he is?" I asked.

The doctor sighs. "This is very unusual, and you may not believe it, but this boy died two years ago in a car accident."

"What?"

"He was driving one night and a drunk driver rammed into him. He was killed on impact." She replies.

I blinked. "Then how is he here?"

The doctor shrugs. "The DNA and the fingerprints match with the ones we procured post mortem. His name is Mitchell Grassi, Mitch to his friends. Once we patch him up and he regains consciousness, we'll ask him some questions."

I nodded. "Thanks for helping out, Doc."

"It's my sworn duty, Mr. Hoying." She replies.

I say good-bye and drive back to my apartment.

I plop onto the couch and sigh heavily.

My cat, Wyatt, jumps up onto the couch and lies down on my belly.

"Hey, Wyatt." I say, petting him. "Something really weird happened today. I saw a guy jump from a building. I found him, called 911, and then the doctor told me he died two years ago in a car wreck. His name was...Mitch, I think? Yeah. Mitch Grassi."

Wyatt just purred, eyes closed.

"Aaaaand you're not listening." I muttered. "I'm so pathetic." I rubbed my eye and sighed.

Who was he?