The Guardian

Chapter 2

I stood there, as the words faded from my mind, digesting the information. Considering everything that has happened to me, I thought I had taken the news rather well. Maybe it was the shock. Going in through the kitchen door, I tiptoed to my room, grabbed a coat, stuffed some clothes into a bag and grabbed my savings from the moneybox on my dresser.

 It was when I was sneaking past my parent's door, when it finally hit me. I would never see my parents again. I would never smell my father's Old Spice aftershave or taste my mother's cooking again. I would never attend another birthday party or go to the movies or watch TV in my own bed... My life was not mine anymore. Irreversibly changed. Forever.

The feelings threatened to overwhelm me, but before it could take hold, a warm peace stole over me. I walked out of the house, not looking back. I was no longer Rachel Greenwood, socialite. I was Rachel Greenwood, a mere tool in the hands of God.

__________________________________________________

Life in New York was difficult, harsh and almost impossible... I loved it. People were considered rude and unapologetic, but I've found them instead to be refreshingly straightforward. ‎Walking down the street, the high buildings creating shadows I could hide in, I observed the nightlife of the city that never slept.

Beggars sitting in doorways, rattling their Styrofoam cups, hoping for some change. Couples roaming the street, hand in hand. Laughter abounded, interspersed with the less pleasant sounds of sirens, running feet, shouting. A couple, proud in their rainbow attire, held hands, dancing in the street, shouting slogans.

I paused to drop a few coins into a beggar's cup, and he looked me in the eyes, everything faded away around us and I saw him. I saw into his very soul, and despite his filthy clothes, his haggard appearance, his soul was whiter than the purest snow, fresh and clean and without stain. An awareness passed between us.

 Instinct guiding me, I stretched out my hand and laid it on his head, and I gave him strength, actually feeling the strength flow from me to him and change his desperation and hopelessness into optimism and fresh hope. Suddenly, the rest of the world flooded back and the connection was broken. The couple was still dancing, now joined by others, all dancing joyously and holding hands and laughing.

Latinos, African Americans, White, Chinese and a whole lot of others, their skin ranging from palest cream to rich, dark coffee, all united in their joy of being alive.

A picture perfect example of New York: that melting pot of culture that went from well-to-do to downright bad and everything in between.

St. Paul Street was in one of those between areas. Right on the edge of the poorer side, filled with soup kitchens and houses barely better than shacks. The St Paul chapel was in fairly good shape, a little weather-beaten, but neat and tidy flowerbeds made it look quaint instead of worn down and tired. The door was closed against the weather, but the lights were on, inviting lost sinners to enter and find redemption. Feeling pretty lost and alone myself, I entered, tugging my bulky coat closer to my frame, trying to hide the fact that it wasn't doing much to cover the wings. My wings.

Inside the chapel, kneeling at the altar, was a priest, head bowed in prayer. I closed the door softly, not wishing to interrupt, not knowing what to say or do... Gabriel's instructions were pretty vague. How was I supposed to help a faithless priest regain his faith? It wasn't as though I could tell him my story or show him the ginormous wings that were still a strange weight at my back. My hopeless helplessness must have shown on my face, because suddenly the priest was before me, concern etched on his face as he took in mine.

"Good Evening. How may I help you find God's path tonight? "His words had a rehearsed quality to it, like he was saying what was expected of him, but didn't really believe what he was saying.

"Good evening, Father. I wish to confess my sins, so that Gods path may be clearer to me. "

'' Right this way. ''

Still not knowing quite what to confess, I followed him, silently imploring Gabriel to help me, to put the words on my tongue, to not mess up my first mission in the first stage.

He showed me to the confession booth, turning away to place the stole around his neck, while I took the opportunity to slip into the booth while his back is turned. Unfortunately, gracefulness has never been my strong suit, and I bumped into the -very solid- booth door. Hard. And uttered a very un-angelic curse that rebounded and echoed across the vaulted ceiling.

Blushing hard, I acted nonchalant and closed the door, glaring at it in the safely anonymous space - where no one could see me - and trying not wince at the reproach I felt radiating from the priest, who had taken in his place.

'' Bless me, Father, for I have sinned", I began... and stopped. I was stuck. I had no clue what to say further. Help me, i implored. I have no idea what I'm doing...I'm weak and only human...ish.

Everything became suddenly real. I really didn't know what to do further. I was homeless, helpless. Cut off from everything I'd ever known. Did it matter that I had supernatural strength and abilities? No. Nothing, in that moment, could take away from the fact that I had nothing. I couldn't even call on my dad for help. My daddy, whom I could always count on to offer guidance and direction. I was forever cut off from my parents, looking like I did, being what I was, now. I'd always be missing, presumed dead to them. I'd always be the one thing that they'd always -secretly- feared.

I started sobbing. And in that moment, I could understand why humans, weak, pitiful creatures that we can be, call on God for help and guidance. He is our Father. He will lead the way. And that's exactly what He did. I understood how to help this priest, and myself too. And I was peaceful. Sad, yes. But not angry or resentful. Just accepting.

''I have led a life of Vanity. 'I began, "I was always more concerned for myself, of my social status, of my own popularity. I never cared that I trampled the lesser, weaker people in my quest for dominance. I wasn't spiteful, or mean, but I never thought of people I might have unintentionally hurt in my climb up the social ladder."

I took a deep breath. This was going to be wild...

"And then, one day ago, my life changed. I was never much of a believer. I never really thought of God, or Angels or anything, really. One day ago, all that changed. I found Him. Or rather, He found me. Gave me a purpose on this earth. And directed me to... you."

As I was speaking, I took off my overcoat.

"Bless me, Father. And meet me outside this confession booth, so that you may lay your hands on me and bless me the old fashioned way."

Taking a deep breath, I left the confessional and waited. My wings were cramping a little and I wanted to stretch them, so I moved into the shadows and extended them fully, stretching them to the limits. It felt good to the point of pain.

The priest emerged, slowly. I had no idea what the protocol was, but I was pretty sure that this was unusual. I refolded my wings, and moved out of the shadows, towards him, very slowly, kneeling at his feet, and bowing my head. I felt his hand on my head, ready to deliver the blessing, and then felt him freeze. He'd spotted the two newest additions to my body.

A wordless sound escaped him, and I looked up, the (something) words dying on my lips at the sight of his face. Which was frozen between reverence, horror and awe. I quickly stood up as the priest started backing away, stretching a pleading hand towards him.

"Please, don't be afraid. I will not hurt you. I need guidance. I was sent here, and... and I'm completely lost. I need help."

The priest stood there, staring at my wings, at me, completely flabbergasted and looking at a loss for words. Silence stretched between us.

Sighing, I said: "I know this is all new... and completely unusual. Far beyond the weirdest thing. It's new to me too. And I'm entrusting this enormous secret to you, and I don't even know your name..."

A squeak escaped him, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Father Douglas. M-my name is Matthew Douglas...I'm sorry... Are you an Angel? "

He moved closer, tentatively, almost unwillingly. "Has God heard my prayers?"