Ryder's Angel

Chapter Thirty-Six: Past and Present: Angeline

Chapter Thirty-Six: Past and Present: Angeline

One minute I was standing in the seventh circle, the next I was somewhere else. I was on a train, going seventy miles an hour – only backwards. I was zooming past everything and anything, and all that were only multicolored blurs. Wind whipped my hair, and I lost my grip on Angeline’s waist. My vision swirled madly, so fast I could barely focus on anything, and I couldn’t make sense of it. Just blurry colors and dizziness.

But then, it ceased.

I was overlooking a busy street, overcrowded with humans. But there were blurs, and only three people were moving at normal speed, as if the humans weren’t important. It was around noon with a bright blue sky, but the sun was sweltering. The heat poured down on the family of three, heat waves rising on the hard, black asphalt. It looked like New York, but older.

I looked closer somehow, getting a better view of the family of three stumbling through the street. There was a mother holding a three-year-old boy with the father’s arm around her waist. The mother had brown hair and blue eyes; the father black hair and hazel eyes. The boy was resting, not asleep, his head draped on his mother’s shoulder.

“Momma,” he whined, “where we goin’?”

The mother stroked her boy’s thick black hair. She was exhausted. “We’re going somewhere safe,” she whispered tiredly.

“Where dat?”

The brown-haired woman glanced at her husband desperately. The father patted his son’s hand, and they stopped. “Where we’re going we won’t have to run,” he answered. “We’ll be safe.”

The little boy lifted his head. “No more runnin’?”

The mother gave a small smile and kissed the boy’s cheek. “No more running, sweetie, no go to sleep. When you wake, you can have anything you want.” Sadness coated her voice, so thick she began to cry.

He rested his head back on his mother’s shoulder, closing his eyes. They resumed walking. “Anythin’?”

“Anything,” she murmured, laying her cheek against his. “Anything for my little warrior.”

The little family walked for a long time, but in my vision, it sped up. When it stopped, the husband and wife were standing at a very familiar place – a very old, shabby bookstore with boarded up windows.

Miss Sadie’s New York Orphanage for Mutants.

The black-haired boy was deep in sleep in his mother’s arms. The mother let out a soft sob as she kissed his neck, her tears dripping onto his skin. The father embraced them both, face contorted in unbearable sadness, like he’d never see them again. They stood there, seemingly frozen, until finally the mother looked up. The sky was darkening.

She took a shaky breath. “Now you be a good boy, okay?” she whispered, stroking the boy’s hair again. “Play nice and do well. You’ll learn to be the greatest warrior ever. Be Momma’s pride and joy.”

The father rested his hand on her shoulder. “You’re destined for greatness,” was his broken whisper.

The mother squeezed her toddler tightly, trying to hold back her tears and sobs. She kissed him over and over, as if it would protect him. It was hard for her to let go. Her husband pressed her shoulder.

“Evelyn,” he murmured. “We have to go. They’ll be here soon.”

“I can’t leave him,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to let him go, Luke.” Her voice was so sad.

Luke glanced at the darkening sky, where it started to swirl unnaturally. His voice took an urgent note. “We’ll see him again. Come on, Ev, we’ve got to go.”