OVER AGAIN

GUARDIAN

"Mr. Nichols."

"Weston, you don't seem surprised to see me."

"I've just found out the love of my life, and I am stuck in purgatory; nothing can shock me now."

"So, what is it you want to talk about?"

Weston eyed the elder up and down. He was unable to believe Mr. Nichols did not know why he screamed in the streets in the middle of the night.

"Who are you?" Weston asked.

"I think you already know, for every one of you beings, there's one of us."

Here Mr. Nichols did not disappoint Weston as he answered precisely the way the drifting spirit expected.

"So, you are an angel?"

Mr. Nichols smiled, straightened up his posture, and placed his hands behind his back, "a keeper, we watch over you."

"Wait a minute, you watched over me, and I died."

Mr. Nichol's face became grave, "oh, it was part of the plan. I can't go against that. Your time had come in that lifetime."

Weston scratched the back of his head, "wait if you're my keeper, that meansㅡ."

Mr. Nichols sighed as he knew where Weston's question was heading, "yes, Ms. Brentwood has hers."

"Who? ㅡ."

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask," a small voice said from the shadows interrupting Weston's discussion.

Weston was shocked to discover who the voice belonged to, "you're the little girl; you kissed me."

The little girl crossed her arms, "I'm way older than you are."

"Hey, listen, don't play Miss Wisdom with me, you messed up, you didn't do your job right, Tilda killed herself," Weston accused.

Mr. Nichols sighed in front of the scene, a routine between the writer and Tilda's protector. The older man let them bicker for a few minutes before attempting to establish the truth.

"No, the principle of free will is something we can't transgress, even if your actions sadden us. We watch and guide. We can muster up a little gust of wind to make your head turn. We can hide your keys when you are drunk, but we can't stop you from searching for them and taking your car. We can make you miss your bus so that you meet the love of your life, but we can't stop you from taking the tube. Free will, the greatest gift to humanity, and our overload of work."

"So you are telling me you just watched Tilda go to hell?"

"This is purgatory; it has nothing to do; hell is 106 666 floors below, besides you watched too," the little girl returned.

"What do you mean by you watched too?"

The little girl played with the end of her braid, "you refused to go across because you didn't want to leave your grieving lover, so you hung around and drove Tilda up the wall."

As Tilda's keeper spoke, images came to Weston's mind. He saw himself in bed with weeping Tilda; he followed her as she took pills with alcohol. He watched as Theresa yelled at her to go to rehab.

The man was there, unable to leave Tilda. Weston remained attached to her like an anchor. Tilda felt her lover's presence around her; the aura was so strong the singer could not accept his death. Weston was everywhere for Tilda, who stayed in his apartment. The woman would spend her time talking to herself, Weston would answer, but Tilda could not hear.

"I'm with you."

If only Tilda heard, she was not alone; Weston would never abandon her even after death.