Angel

Beautiful creature

The crumpled person was laying on the floor, they left him there to die. He was bleeding from his back; huge, deep wounds were from his shoulder blades down half of his back. He was whimpering. I ran over to him and rolled him over to where I could pick him up. He screamed in pain.

"I-I'm sorry. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." My own voice was so foreign to me. I wrapped him in sheets, trying to stop the bleeding. I grunted as I pulled him up. I put his arm around my shoulders, "C'mon, you have to walk." His feet dragged and stumbled as I started to pulled him out of the large basement. We took it one step at a time, his heavy breathing and grunting covering the noise of the creaking stairs. I pulled him up, one of his hands gripped the railing and one gripped my shirt weakly.

I felt the blood seeping through the sheets. "C'mon, I'm gonna help you. It's gonna be okay." My words were as much of a reassurance for me as they were for him. We reached the top of the stairs and he slumped over on me. I grunted and pulled him up. I dragged this bony creature out of the hell he was in and laid him in the hatchback of my SUV. I re-wrapped his wounds and jumped into the driver's seat. I started the truck, then stared down at the blood covering my hands. I shook my head, "We have to get out of here," my voice was now a whisper.
I drove what seemed like eternity before coming to a long dirt road. I drove slowly, the bumps would make him wince in pain. I saw his shaking body in the rear view mirror. His eyes were still open, but only slightly. He laid on his stomach, red-stained sheets covered his back and trunk of the truck. I changed the sheets covering him several times along the way, but I knew he needed more than pressure to stop the bleeding.
I drove up to the house, the land surrounding it was littered with junk from years past. I ran up to the door and knocked. I rocked back and forth, no answer. I banged my fist on the door.
"Go the fuck away or I'm calling the cops!" Came the voice from inside.
"Mike, it's me, Jimmy! I need your help!" My voice was shaking as I yelled. My throat was sore from not stopping to get any food or water on the way.
The door swung open and I stepped back.
"I told you, I'm not in that life anymore, Jim." He was my oldest brother, and I was his youngest brother. He was nine years older than me, but looked just like our dad. Brown hair, military cut. Sharp jawline and scruffy beard.
"I need help," my voice cracked, "I found someone and they need help. I think he might need stitches or something and-"
"Take him to the damn hospital then." He slammed the door shut in my face. I sighed and banged again, "He's not human!"
The door swung open, "Not human? Then why the hell is he with you?" He paused with a look of disappointment. "You didn't just find him did you? You've been searching for them again, haven't you?"
I nodded and he sighed, "where is he and how bad?"
"He's in the back, and I don't know." He sighed and walked out the door. He opened the trunk and stared at the crumpled body. He started unwrapping the bandages carefully to see the wounds. He sighed, "What the hell did they do to him?" He sighed again before picking him up, bridal style, careful of his wounds.
"I don't know, that seems to be the only wound he has. It must be some kind of new torture bullshit." I looked at the face of the creature my brother was carrying into the house. He was beautiful. Deep black hair. His eyes were two different colors, green and blue. My brother carried him downstairs and laid him face-down on the table. He turned on the light above the table and began working. He got out some instruments and began to draw painkillers into a syringe. Once the syringe was filled to what he wanted, "hold him, he's not gonna like this." I grabbed the creatures shoulders and held onto him as my brother slowly put the needle in his back. The being on the table growled in pain and tried pushing off the table. I held him down as Mike emptied the syringe. The black-haired boy calmed down and his breathing slowed. Mike took out the syringe and started cleaning the wounds on his back.
"So, are you gonna tell me where you kidnapped him from?" Mike broke the silence.
I stood, not wanting to tell the truth. He looked at me with the look that Dad always gave us when he knew we were hiding something. I sighed, "House up in Washington. I followed the hunters there and waited until they left. They left without anything resembling a body bag, so I looked around and found him," I pointed at him, "laying on the floor. I didn't even know if he was alive until I moved him."
He began to put stitches in his back and sighed, "I've told you that you need to stop. You're gonna get yourself killed." He pulled the stitch tight and started on the next. "I've never seen anything like this. I haven't even read about it anywhere. I might have to call Dad." He gave me a look, "and you know damn well he's gonna be pissed cause you're supposed to kill them, not save their lives."
I nodded, "I know..."
A few hours later we were sitting in the living room, books in piles all around us. The only thing that broke the silence was the knock at the front door. Mike got up and rubbed his temples as he went and answered. I heard the familiar voice of disappointment as he walked in the door.
He walked into the living room and set down his bag, "I thought I told you it was a stupid idea. You could've been killed, kid." He sat down across from me. "Tell me what you know about this thing."
I sighed and sat up, "He looked human, but the way he's bleeding made me think otherwise. He bled enough for four or five people completely drained of blood. He can't heal himself, he's got huge wounds on his back, and no other wounds. He looks roughly 18-23ish in age, black hair. He looks like a normal human."
He listened carefully and headed down stairs with us. He walked over to the being laying down carefully and opened one of his eyes. The boy jumped up and winced in pain, all while staring up at us. My dad backed up quickly and had his hand on the knife he always kept in his pocket.
"Hey. It's okay." He looked over to me as I spoke. I held up my hands showing that I had no intention of hurting him. He slowly pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged them tightly. He shivered, my dad keeping his hand on his knife the entire time.
"What are you?" My Dad asked, his voice making the boy flinch.
He stared up at my father, looking like he was afraid of him.
"Nangfa" the boys voice was timid and either of us barely heard him.
We were later sitting on the couch; the boy being watched cautiously by my father. He seemed scared.
I started looking up the word the boy spoke.
It was Thai.
"Angel." I whispered.
"What?" My Dad got up and looked at the computer screen.
"Nangfa is Thai for Angel. That what he said. The Thai have a different translation for angels. Theirs are beings that drink blood and look human and are most know for-" I paused on the last words.
"Known for what?" My impatient thing of a father spoke.
"They are most known for their beautiful wings. They cut off his wings Dad" I looked over to the boy on our couch.
"They cut off his wings and left him there to die."