Captive Angel

1. "I will marry you"

I was sixteen when I met him. It was at my mother's funeral. My father and I were watching four men carry my mother's casket. They held her gently and carefully. I squeezed my father's arm when they lowered the casket in the dark ground.

Watching my father's tears fall from his eyes brought tears to mine. It hurt me having to see him grieve over his wife... my mom. After the benediction from the pastor, my father and I walked to her gravestone. He knelt on the ground, touching the letters that formed my mom's name:

ELIZABETH A. DAAE

BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

1973-2014

Friends and family paid their respects. My best friend, Meg Giry and her mother stood right by my side. I needed someone next to me when I thanked people. I gave hugs to about all the women there. I certainly did not to the men, which would be awkward if I did, except if they were relatives.

The last person to walk through was a tall man with a black mask on his face, and he wore a dark suit. I don't remember seeing him before. Maybe he was my mom's friend? I didn't know then. I was about to shake his hand and say "thank you for coming" but when he whispers in my ear:

"I will marry you someday, Christine." He kisses my hand, and walks away. I barely could stand after what he whispered to me. I thought it was creepy and somewhat disturbing in my mind.

Dad and I left thirty-minutes later after everyone else did. I said goodbye to Meg and her mother. Going home I stared out the car window. "Dad, who was the man that came to the funeral with the mask?" I asked.

"Probably Erik Desslar." Dad answered. "He was a... friend of your mom's."

"What kind of friend?" I inquire. I hoped he wasn't romantically involved with my mom, because he did seem like in his early thirties. Dad said Mr. Desslar wasn't. But that didn't help me get over what he said to me.

The man with the mask didn't leave my mind on the rest of the way to our house. When we get home, I step into my room. There, the most frightening nightmare to me was in my bedroom. On my desk was a bouquet of red roses, with the thorns removed, next to a note that read:

To mon ange, Christine