Lash Broken Angel

8





Naomi opened her eyes to white mist. Her legs felt heavy, and she tried to move them. Nothing. She pressed her palms on a damp hard surface and pushed herself into a sitting position.

What is this? She brushed her hand against the wood’s bleached texture. She expected to find herself in a bed or still on the floor of her apartment. She looked around and blinked, trying to see through the thick mist. Where am I?

A tingling sensation spread through her legs as she slapped them awake. A cool breeze sent a shiver through her. She was outside, somewhere. The mist slowly began to dissipate, and she heard seagulls flying overhead. She looked up as one bird spread its white wings and soared through the sky. The tips of its wings were black as if dipped in ink. The sky began to spin, and she gripped the wooden floor to keep her balance. When the dizzy spell passed, she noticed that she sat on the bottom step of a platform facing a mass of water.

Waves tossed the grey waters, and seagulls dove in, catching their early morning meal. That is, she thought it was morning. It was hard to tell with the thick fog. She eased herself up and shuffled across the wooden platform, her legs still feeling wobbly. There was something oddly familiar about this place.

To her right, a flash of red caught her attention, and she blinked several times with disbelief. That’s the golden gate bridge!

She pressed her hands against her temples. Her head felt like it wanted to explode. What’s going on?

She tried to remember the last thing she did: the music, the letters, the razor blade. “I guess I did it. I’m dead. So is San Francisco Heaven or Hell?”

“That would depend on you.”

She spun around and yelped when she saw a tall figure glide toward her as if it were as weightless as the mist that surrounded them. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for something to protect herself with, even though logic told her if she were in Hell, it would be useless to even try. As the figure grew closer, she felt a strange sense of calm fill her. Then she saw him. Cornflower-blue eyes held onto hers as he approached her cautiously. His porcelain skin was flawless, yet the way he carried himself, it seemed like he was older than his appearance let on.

She tore her eyes away from his unearthly face and mentally slapped herself. Her father taught her that looks can be deceiving and always to be on guard with strangers, especially other men. Her fight-or-flight response came into full gear. She clenched her fist and straightened up, attempting to make herself look bigger than she was. Growing up in Houston, if you didn’t look like you could take care of yourself, you were toast.

“Who the f*ck are you?” Naomi tilted her head up, hoping she sounded tough.

The man flinched. “Please do not use that type of language in my presence.”

This was a first. Naomi looked at him suspiciously. Normally, she would have been offended by having someone scolding her about her colorful language. No one, except Welita and her parents, could get away with it. For some reason, this stranger’s reprimand made her feel extremely guilty.

“Uh, sorry. You caught me by surprise. Who are you?”

“My name is Raphael. I’m here to help you.”

“Well, you can help me by telling me how I got here.”

“I believe you have the answer to that.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.” This man was strange. Beautiful, but strange. There had to be something wrong with him.

He frowned at her. It was the type of frown that made her feel guilty again. What was it with this guy and guilt?

“A little help would be nice…please.” She added when he looked at her expectantly. It was the same look Welita gave her when she didn’t remember her manners.

He smiled and approached her, extending his hand. “May I?”

She nodded slowly. He looked harmless, but she still went over the few self-defense moves Chuy had taught her, just in case. She knew she should have crashed Chuy’s class.

He placed a hand on her head. She felt a jolt and then heard a humming sound. A series of images flashed through her mind: her parents, smiling, and posing underneath the Pier 39 sign; her ten year-old self tugging on her mother’s hand and pointing to the sea lions sunbathing on the platforms across the pier; her father kissing her mother as the sun melted into the ocean.

She jerked away, the pain of the memory hurting more than the physical pain in her head. “What was that?”

“You didn’t recognize it? They are your memories, are they not?” His voice was low and gentle.

“Well, yeah. That was me with my mom and dad.” Her parents didn’t have much money so they rarely went on vacations outside of Texas. Somehow, her mother was able to save enough money for them visit San Francisco. It was a dream come true for her father, a big football fan and a die-hard Forty-Niner.

Naomi walked down the steps of the platform and looked at the empty docks. “This is Pier 39.” She turned to him. “How did I get here? And how did you do that head thing that you did?”

“There’s little time to explain. I ask that you search deep inside yourself and find your strength again. Your life is precious, Naomi. Have faith, and you will find happiness again.”

“I’m still alive? Am I dreaming?”

Instead of answering, Raphael looked off into the distance for a moment, as if hearing something. Naomi gazed in the direction he was looking, but saw nothing. “I apologize for my abruptness, but I have information that is of vital importance to you. Quickly, come here.” He rushed to her, his hands reaching out.

Naomi took a step back and ducked her head. “Keep away from me.” Her head was pounding and she feared that if he touched her again it would get worse.

“Forgive me, Naomi. There is no time.” Raphael took hold of Naomi and placed his hands along the sides of her temples. He leaned down and gazed intently into her eyes. “Remember,” he breathed.

For a moment, Naomi saw nothing except for his clear blue eyes, then a brief flash of an image. She was on a hilltop looking down at sheep, and a slender young man stood in the center of the herd. Although his back was to her and she couldn’t see his face, a sea of emotions washed over her at the sight of him. Who was he? Did she know him?

The sound of a bird caught his attention, and he turned to look at it as it soared overhead. Naomi’s breath hitched as she caught sight of his profile. There was something about his square jaw and aquiline nose that was familiar. She felt a strange pull to him.

As if he could sense her, he turned. When she was about to see his full face, a bird swooped down and the vision vanished. She fell to the ground, scraping her palms on the wooden deck.

“Remember, Naomi. Remember.” Raphael repeated the word as his body faded into the mist. “Remember, iiiit’s—”

Naomi woke with a start as the word “time” echoed the room. Across the room, the TV blared as the announcer introduced two athletes, who glared at each other from across the circular cage.

She fingered the thin white sheet and felt something clinging to her arm. Attached to it was a small tube that led to a bag hanging on a pole next to the bed. To her left, the sound of a loud chainsaw came from an entity known as Chuy. She sighed. She was in the hospital. He fell asleep before the UFC match even started. He must’ve been really tired.

She tried to sit up but fell back into the pillow when the room spun. She closed her eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass as she recalled what happened. She’d wanted to die. Now she was having crazy dreams, probably a side effect of some drugs they had pumped into her veins. Why did Chuy have to come looking for her?

She grabbed her pillow and threw it at him. “Wake up.”

“What? What?” He jolted up and then looked over to her. “You’re awake.”

He clicked off the TV and sat on the edge of her bed with a serious expression on his face. “What happened?”

Naomi dropped back into bed. “You know what happened. You were there.”

“I meant, why? Why did you do it? I could’ve helped you.”

She turned her head and sighed. Chuy took life in stride. Nothing ever got him down. How could he understand that she wasn’t as strong as him? “I don’t know how to explain it. I just don’t feel anything anymore. It’s like I’m numb. You wouldn’t understand.”

Chuy placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head back to him. “Believe it or not, I do. I’ve been there.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. She’d always known Chuy to be a glass half-full kind of guy—always smiling and teasing. She gazed into his eyes and saw that he was serious. She wanted to tell him, to share with him why she didn’t have the energy to go on anymore, but she couldn’t. He already had a lot of responsibility to carry on for a twenty-three-year-old. He didn’t need her problems, too.

“You’ll be more comfortable with the pillow.” His voice was gentle as he tenderly lifted her and tucked the pillow behind her head. “You’re not always going to feel this way.”

Naomi’s eyes pricked with tears, and her throat grew thick. As much as she and Chuy fought, she knew he loved her, and it pained her to know she’d hurt him. She wished that he wasn’t the one to find her that way.

“I want to believe that,” she said softly.

He brushed her hair off her face and kissed her forehead. “Then do. Have faith, Naomi. We’re family. I’ll always be here to help you, no matter what.”

She blinked. It was the same thing she’d heard in her dream. What were the chances of that happening?

“Where’s Welita?” She hated that she was putting her grandmother through this. Though now reflecting on it, it would have been worse for Welita if she had died. She was so focused on her own misery; she wasn’t able to see how it would affect others around her.

“She’s in the chapel, praying for you,” he said. “She should be back in a few—”

“My granddaughter is not crazy! No, I don’t want to talk with anyone about putting her in a crazy house.”

Naomi and Chuy looked at each as they heard Welita arguing in the hall.

“Oh, boy. Welita sounds like she’s in full form.” She wasn’t sure whether to be relived or afraid that her grandmother was taking charge.

“You should have heard her earlier. She kept looking over the nurse’s shoulder whenever she wrote into your chart. She told the nurse that she saw something on the news about medical mistakes and wanted to make sure that she didn’t make any.”

“Great. Now the nurse will have it in for me.”

“Or pity you.” Chuy grinned, trying to lighten the mood. He moved back to the seat near the window. “For once, I’m not the one in the hot seat.”

“Thanks a lot.” She didn’t know how he did it, but somehow Chuy always found a way to make her feel better.

The door swung open and Welita marched into the room. A woman with short chestnut hair, dressed in a navy skirt suit followed close behind her then stood off to the side.

“Ay, Mijita. You’re awake.” She dropped her heavy purse in Chuy’s lap.

Chuy grunted. “What do you have in this thing?”

Welita ignored him and headed straight to Naomi. “I prayed so hard for you.”

“I’m sorry, Welita.”

Welita wrapped her arms around Naomi. “Mijita, you know your family is always here for you.”

“I know.”

“You need to let us help you. If you’re sad, don’t keep it to yourself.”

“I know, Welita.” It felt so good to be with her and Chuy. She hated being in that dark hole she’d placed herself in since her father’s death. Part of her was glad that they knew she was having a difficult time. She felt a burden being lifted, knowing that she wasn’t alone in her grief.

Welita pulled back and kissed her cheek. “Don’t ever do that again.”

She gazed into Welita’s eyes and saw that she had really scared her grandmother. It was not an expression she had ever seen on Welita. Silently, she vowed she wouldn’t do it again.

“Excuse me, Naomi. I’m sorry to interrupt.” The woman stepped beside the bed.

“Who are you?” Naomi asked.

“I’m Mrs. Cynthia Watson, a psychological intern assigned to you by the hospital.”

“Maybe now is not the best time.” Naomi knew what the woman was there for. She’d been flagged as mentally unstable.

“I’ll make this quick. Perhaps your family would like to step outside for a moment? Give us some privacy?” Mrs. Watson glanced at Chuy and Welita.

“I’m her grandmother,” Welita said. “I’m staying.”

“Naomi is a legal adult. She has a right to her privacy.”

“We don’t keep secrets in this family.” Welita stood and placed her hands on her hips.

Naomi glanced over to Chuy nervously. Mrs. Watson didn’t know what she was up against when it came to Welita. Chuy shrugged his shoulders.

“Mrs. Watson, whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of my family,” Naomi said.

“As long as you give your consent, I guess that’s fine. In most cases, I like to talk to the patient first and then bring in the family. It helps with building trust and rapport in the therapist-client relationship.”

“Her relationship is with her family,” Welita huffed.

“I know.” Naomi patted Welita’s shoulder, trying to calm her. “Mrs. Watson, can we move on with this?”

“Of course. The psychiatrist will be here in a few minutes to ask you some questions and determine whether or not you should be detained—for your safety.”

“I already told you, we’ll watch over her,” Welita said.

“I’m sure the psychiatrist will take that into account.” Mrs. Watson pulled out a pamphlet from the folder she was carrying and handed it to Naomi. “After your release, we recommend that you seek psychological treatment.”

“She’s not crazy.”

“I’m not crazy.”

Naomi and Welita spoke in unison.

Chuy took a breath and was about to say something, but he shut it when Welita threw him a glare.

Mrs. Watson pursed her lips. “As I mentioned to your grandmother, you can benefit from receiving psychotherapy. We have some good therapy groups in the city. In fact, I know of a fantastic psychologist not too far from where you live,” she pointed to the pamphlet Naomi held. “His information is in there.”

“I have my own plans for healing her,” Welita said.

“And how is that?” Mrs. Watson eyed her skeptically.

“She is going to start going to mass with me every Sunday, and Rebecca will help me watch over her.”

“And who is Rebecca? A psychologist?”

Oh, boy. Here we go. Naomi leaned back into the bed. She knew her grandmother’s faith was important to her, but she doubted anyone else would understand or believe that she had a guardian angel named Rebecca.

“Uh, Welita.” Chuy got up from his chair and placed an arm around her. “I think it’s a good idea for Naomi to see someone.”

Naomi blinked with surprise. One, he dared to interrupt Welita, and two, he was challenging her. She’d never seen him do that.

Before Welita could say anything, he continued, “I mean, she can still go to mass with you, but she needs someone to talk to who can help her work out her troubles. It doesn’t mean that she’s crazy if she goes. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Watson?”

“Of course, Mr. Duran.” She turned to Welita. “Think of it this way, Mrs. Duran. When a person has a tooth pain, they go to the dentist. Well, when a person has emotional pain, they can go to a therapist.”

Chuy took Welita’s hand in his. “We don’t want her to be in pain anymore, and Naomi’s willing to go.”

Welita looked at Naomi. “Are you?”

Naomi looked at both of them, at the concern on their faces. Although she didn’t feel like going, she knew it would put their mind at ease if she did. “Yes, I’ll go. And I’ll go to mass with you, too. Mrs. Watson, I’ll look into this”—she glanced down at the brochure and read the name of the psychologist—“Dr. Ryan Dantan.”

Mrs. Watson let out a breath and smiled. “Wonderful. I’m sure you will find him most helpful.”

***

In the waiting area down the hall from Naomi’s room, Lash paced in circles, stopping every time he heard someone walking down the hall. From where he was, he should’ve been able to hear if Naomi was awake, but the beeps of the machines and various noises of other equipment muffled any noise coming from her room. When he saw Welita marching down the hall and into the room, he felt a bit of relief. He doubted that she would look so fierce, arguing with the woman in the navy suit, if Naomi was close to death’s door.

Lash sank into the chair and dropped his head into his hands. How could he have missed it?

When he saw Chuy banging on Naomi’s door, it took every ounce of self-control for him to not run across the street, push him aside, and knock the door down himself. There had to be something terribly wrong for Chuy to lose his cool like that, but he couldn’t figure out what. No one had gone inside the house, he was sure of that. He hadn’t smelled smoke so there was no danger of fire.

When two paramedics jumped out of the ambulance and sped into Naomi’s apartment, Lash felt sick to his stomach. How could he have messed this up? His assignment was simple: Watch over the girl and make sure nothing happened to her. Yet, in less than a couple of weeks, there she was, being carried out on a gurney with blood-soaked bandages wrapped around her wrists.

A door creaked open, and Lash’s head popped up. The woman in the navy suit walked out and then down the hall. She looked around, making sure no one was watching before knocking on a closed door. A man with crocodile boots stepped out into the hall.

Sal! Lash jumped to his feet and got as close as he could to the pair while trying to stay hidden.

“It’s done,” the woman said. “Ms. Duran has agreed to meet with Dr. Dantan.”

Sal nodded, stuck a hand into his jacket, pulled out a small, thick envelope, and handed it over to the woman. Before she could touch it, he drew it away. “Don’t forget our agreement.”

“Of course. I’m a woman of my word,” she said as he placed the packet in her hand. She opened it and sifted through its contents.

Sal touched her hand. “Don’t count it here.”

She looked at him, and Lash saw her shudder slightly before jerking her hand away from him. “You do realize that I took a risk with my job for this.”

Sal smirked. “And you were well paid to do it. Don’t forget, if any word of this gets out, you’ll lose more than your job.” With that, Sal turned and exited to the stairwell.

As soon as the woman was out of sight, Lash hurried after Sal. He flew into the stairwell expecting to at least hear Sal’s footstep echoing in the corridor. There was nothing. It was as if he had disappeared.

Lash sped down ten flights of stairs, stopping to listen for Sal at every floor. When he got to the first floor of the hospital, he rushed outside. There was no trace of him. He had a funny feeling that Sal was more than a man working for Luke Prescott.

Shaking his head, he looked into the cloudless sky. “Are you trying to make my life difficult?” First, there’s Rebecca whom he’d never met, and so far had not seen, assigned to someone in the same family Lash was assigned to. Then there was Luke Prescott and his bodyguard, Crocodile Boots. Something about them both just rubbed Lash wrong. He wondered if they were fallen angels. He knew there were others, but it was hard to tell since most didn’t use their powers out in the open. If they were of the fallen, why were they so interested in Naomi?

He sighed. There was only one he could think of to get more information—he had to find this Dr. Dantan and the connection between him, Sal, and Luke Prescott. He was going to figure this out, even if it meant showing himself to Naomi.