The Guardian

Chapter 4

I had been sitting there, feeling sorry for myself, for barely a minute, when I felt a tentative hand on my head, and a sigh. Sitting down next to me, he spoke.

"I know it's hard. You have been singled out, and that's always hard. The pressure to live up to expectations is a weight that seems to drag you down, and you're so afraid of disappointing that you burn yourself up trying to shoulder that weight. It's...ok to fail, sometimes. It's what makes you human. It's ok to cry, too. Showing weakness doesn't make you weak. It makes you strong. Being that vulnerable in front of people, it takes courage. It means that you're strong enough to weather the storm. "

I moved my wing just enough to look at him.

He had a twig in his windswept hair, and no longer pristine, looked youthful and boyish. I wondered why he became a priest.

He stood up, and held out a hand to me. When I didn't take it immediately, he smiled and reached down to take it.

Pulling me to my feet, he squeezed my hand and whispered "God never lets go of our hand, you know. He's always there, watching over us, giving us strength. We are always under His Hand of Protection. And you, my dear, have been chosen to be His Ambassador on this Earth. Out of all the billions on this planet, He Chose You. "

The words struck me like lightning.

HE chose me.

He CHOSE me.

He chose ME.

Resolve and determination snapped my spine straight. I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath. I could do this. I would do this. My wings opened of their own accord, the uniform appearing and Father Matthew backed away, a little wide eyed. I gave him my best smile and just took off.

Euphoria. Sheer bliss. Freedom. It was like... nothing I've ever felt. Like an avid biker describing his first ride on the back of a motorcycle. Like you're an adrenaline junkie going on your first bungee jump. Like, finally, I've found my place in this world. A sense of belonging. Pure joy squeezed my heart, made my fingers tingle, and a rush of adrenaline pumped through me, making me beat my wings and soar higher.

My fears melted away like mist before the sun. The whole city lay before me, a breath-taking bird's eye view that no one but birds, and now me, could fully appreciate. I could stay up here forever, but I was getting tired, unused to the strain and peculiar exercise of beating wings. I was dropping lower and lower with each wing beat, and I braced for the landing I wasn't prepared for. The ground rushed up, and I met it. Hard. Owwwww.... Ow ow ow. Oh, ow.

I just lay there, stunned. It was then Father Matthew's face swam into focus, looking faintly panicked.

"Hi," I breathed, not attempting to sit up.

"Are you ok? Anything broken? Your wings, are they--"

"I'm ok. Nothing broken... I think. I'm going to have to work on my landing, though. That was rough. "The pain was already fading out, though, and for the first time, I could appreciate the fast healing thing.

I made to sit up, feeling perfectly sound again, but the good Father insisted on running inside for a cup of sugared water. I stood up -slowly-and started flexed my wings, stretching them and giving a few test beats. Next, I stretched each of my limbs, and found them in excellent condition.

Nothing twinged, and apart from the slight soreness of muscles being exercised, I felt like before. A cup got shoved into my hand and seeing the good fathers face, I decided to not test him and drank it all.

I was just handing him the cup back, when the morning went dark again, that sense of otherness stole over my senses and making the hair on my neck stand upright.

Instinctively, something in me shied away from the feeling of evil that suddenly choked the air, and my wings opened of their own accord. I barely had time to register Father Matthew's startled face before I took off, something guiding me to the west. Central Park loomed into view, and voices whispered to me, driving me to a spot near the edge. I landed silently, mentally sighing in relief that it wasn't a repeat of my earlier landing, and looked around. The wooded area I landed in was eerily dark, in spite of the bright morning.

Goosebumps skittered over my flesh as the whispers grew louder and more urgent and forced me to go deeper into the murk.

I walked for a minute before I was attacked, the heavy stick rushing towards my head before glancing off the helmet that suddenly appeared. My body reacted on instinct, blocking the next attack that my eyes couldn't see coming, and moving with a catlike grace I didn't normally possess, I saw rather than felt, a booted foot connecting to my assailants jaw.

It was over in less than a minute, my attacker, a twenty something guy, lying unconscious and unmoving on the ground. Pausing a minute to catch my breath and focus, I moved over to him and checked his pockets. His wallet revealed him to be one Jared West, of 202 Greendale road. He had 20 dollars to his name, and it being a lovely Tuesday morning, was missing work at the General Contractor Co.

Another, more thorough search, revealed a penknife, handkerchief, loose change and a bulky envelope.

Curious to know why he attacked me, and why the whispers led me to him, I opened the envelope and shook out a folded piece of paper and a braid of auburn hair.

I have your daughter. She's alive, but not for much longer. You see, I've injected her with a lethal but slow acting poison, and there's still time to save her. You will bring the blueprints to the warehouse on 65th, and leave them on the table in the office on the first floor. Your next instructions await you there. No police, or I might forget to administer the antidote. I will be watching.

Cold horror flooded through me and I stumbled back, trying to get my bearings.

Hurry. She's alive but not for long. Hurry.

Warehouse. Get to the warehouse. Desperate to get away from the stench of brimstone suddenly emanating from Jared West, I took off. Still smelling the rotten egg smell, I realised it was a scent trail and that I could let it lead me to the place I wanted to go , instead of floundering and trying to locate it from the air.

Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I tucked my wings and ran, using my new strength to push harder and go faster. Light broke the gloom ahead and suddenly I was in a near silent industrial district, the sulphur fainter in the open air, the breeze almost replacing it with the normal smell of exhaust fumes and pollution. It smelled almost like perfume after the stench of rotten eggs. I followed the faint spoor of evil to 65th, keeping to the shadows and alleyways along the way.

The warehouse I wanted was easy enough to spot and smelled atrocious. It was the only warehouse that was in deep disrepair, the windows broken, the yard choked with weeds. Chain-link fence that was full of holes. The whole cliché. Sighing at the obvious lack of originality, I flew over the fence and onto the roof, figuring that any booby traps set would be geared towards the front door and not the roof access. Approaching the door, my senses tingled and I withdrew, taking a closer look at the handle. A putty like substance was stuck to it, and a tripwire set to, well, trip, if someone turned it. Well. Ok then. A window should serve my needs as well as anything else, and probably not wired and trapped within an inch of its life. I took the sky again, looking for a window large enough for me -and my new appendages- to squeeze through, and spotted one on the second floor, unbroken and grimy, but no bars on the window. Taking a deep gulp of air, I acted quickly, not allowing myself to think of what I was going to do next, and I took a dive and crashed through the window, cutting myself in several places and tearing out a few feathers, and landing on my back for the second time today. OW.ow ow ow ow. Again. Ow. That wasn't my best plan....

Rolling to my feet, the scratches and scrapes healing up as I limped, I located the stairs and moved down to the next level, following the now fetid air.

By the time I reached the last stair, I was all healed up again, and thoroughly creeped out. the place looked like a b rated horror movie set, with all its dark corners, broken chairs and crates standing haphazardly around. The only thing real about the place was its atmosphere of derelict neglect and the silence that soaked to ones bones. The whole building seemed to be holding its breath, waiting, waiting. For what, I didn't know, but it made the hair stand up on my neck.