Chapter 20 #2
In New York City, walking slowly is downright a crime. Hell, I’m walking as fast as possible to keep up with the flood of people near me, and they can’t even see me.
I’m convinced that the ability to speed walk is a requirement for living in a massive city like this. I don’t mind the pacing one bit, though. The faster, the better.
Time goes by more slowly down here than above.
I’d assume it’s been nearly a full day up there.
Considering I’m hoping to return to the Middle Realm relatively soon, everything should be fine.
Quite frankly, up until now, the Archangels have been relatively merciful in their disciplinary acts.
My punishment, for instance, could’ve been far worse, based on what Cleo has shared with me. I’m sure she’s okay.
After taking a couple of turns, I halt in my tracks and gape at the pristine building in front of me.
I purposely took this route so I could catch a glimpse of one of my favorite historical landmarks ever—a gorgeous cathedral in the heart of Manhattan.
It’s not too crowded here yet. I walk inside, determining there’s no real rush to get back to that antique shop.
Frankly, I don’t think a person has to be religious or spiritual to admire the beauty held within a historical building like this.
Built in the 1800s, it almost seems like the cathedral is frozen in time.
Despite how much the city has developed since then, this chapel holds a timeless beauty that reminds me of some of the Middle Realm’s towers.
Beams of natural light pour in through the chapel’s stained-glass arched windows, casting a subtle glow over the massive space. I glance around the expansive room. Not a soul in sight.
I take a seat in one of the wooden pews and grab a hymn book to fidget with to keep my hands busy.
It’s nice—even though I’m dead, I can still grab hold of objects casually.
Come to think of it, most people automatically assume inanimate floating objects are the act of ghosts or malicious spirits.
I wonder if they’d find comfort in knowing angels can do that, too.
Or if they’d still be creeped out. Come to think of it, I’d probably still be pretty freaked out.
I feel like more of a ghost than an angel these days. My zest for living has decreased more and more since my guardianship ended.
I flip through the book’s brittle, yellow pages and faded text, taking note of how old the book is.
How old is Cleo? Is this book older or younger than her?
It's wild how this girl has captured my attention every moment since my guardianship ended, and I don’t even know her age.
Sighing, I lean back in the pew and set the book off to the side for a bit.
I’ve been thinking a lot over the past couple of days and haven’t been able to process my thoughts effectively. Iris used to say I was a ‘verbal processor,’ so maybe thinking in silence isn’t helping me the way it probably helps many people.
I thought sitting in this chapel would be poetic in a way. Seemed like a great way to clear my mind and get deep.
But as I sit here and think about where I want to go from here, the same words keep playing in my mind over and over again.
You know when you find a song annoying, but its jingle is remotely catchy, and your mind latches on to it for no reason at all?
Then, before you know it, you’ve heard that song in your mind a thousand times and can casually sing it backward against your will.
This phrase, repeating in my mind, reminds me of that horrid sensation.
You’ll always be stuck, even in death.
It may not make much sense, but in my mind, the only way to get unstuck—I’m sure there’s a better word for that, but that’s irrelevant—is to run. I’ve been running for as long as I can remember.
It’s easier to run.
Should I stay down here indefinitely and run forever? The Archangels have much more important matters to tend to than one rogue angel.
Staying down here may make Cleo’s life easier. She deserves better than babysitting someone like me. A thousand times better.
I doubt she’d really get reprimanded for this anyway—Nial seemed fucking obsessed with her if you ask me. My jaw tightens while thinking about him and the way he interacted with her during my trial.
Not hearing that cute laugh of hers again would kill me, though. I’d miss her feathered wings and brown eyes and little scowl, too.
Truthfully, I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least correctly say goodbye to her before running, either.
Damnit. What am I going to do? My feelings for her are growing stronger by the minute, being stuck in the Middle Realm is literally driving me insane, and I really miss my life. I miss it a hell of a lot. All three of these things are problematic.
I lean forward and rub my forehead, drawing a deep breath and resisting the urge to scream.
Movie characters make chapels look magical. They walk in troubled, walk out clear-minded. I, on the other hand, am feeling even more conflicted. This is probably what I deserve for believing in fiction.
Eventually, I leave, hoping I’ll find clarity sooner rather than later.
At the very least, spending time in such a cool building was nice.
I walk out of the cathedral and begin my speed walking regimen again, fitting right in with the locals. Not that anyone can see me.
Well, okay, I guess that’s not entirely true. Animals can see me. In fact, they often gravitate toward me. If I form a connection with an animal, we can speak through our minds to each other. Truman and I had a connection like that. He’s a sassy little guy, but damn, he’s the best cat ever.
With the number of birds and squirrels who flock to my side in this city, I’m practically a modern-day Snow White at this point.
I put my hands in my pockets and continue walking, sights set on the antique shop, when I notice a sign for a bookshop across the block. I’ve never been much of a reader, but that doesn’t occur to me as I change my course and approach it.
No, instead, I choose to stop there because it reminds me of my angel.
As I get closer, I notice the quaint shop has several books on display.
From afar, I can’t make out the finer details, but I can clearly see a woman with her backside facing me, currently perched over to get a closer look at the books from the sidewalk.
Dressed in knee-high black leather boots, black tights, a navy plaid skirt, and a light gray sweater, I feel drawn to her for reasons I can’t understand.
Crossing the street, I catch an even better look at her and notice she has short black hair that barely runs past her shoulders.
I rub my eyes and determine my mind must be playing tricks on me because she looks a hell of a lot like the angel I can't get off my mind.
But she hasn’t spent time down here in the land below for leisure since dying, so it can't be her. In fact, I tried to get her to join me recently, and she utterly refused. She said she had no desire to ever visit this realm for fun. So, this simply can’t be my angel.
I finally reach her side, and before I can even get a good look at her, she turns and pierces me with her brown eyes, saying, “I finally found you.”