Airel - Aaron Patterson [54]
“I, uh…” The brilliant words that flowed from my lips in that moment would have made the great poets of the world stop, slack-jawed, and gaze at me in wonder and amazement at the brilliance of my answer. Michael had a tentative hand on my forehead and touched ever so gently the spot where my fatty welt used to be.
“Does it hurt?”
“No…” I responded, leaving all kinds of loose ends. What blanks would he fill in?
“Weird, it’s gone. Like it was never there. You sure that doesn’t hurt?” He pressed harder to test out his theory.
I pulled away, breaking free, and scowled at him. “Well…what. So it’s gone. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Maybe I didn’t hit it that hard anyway.” Pretty weak, lame and worst of all, chock full of maybe. It sounded like a lie to my own ears, and from the grimace on Michael’s face, I knew that he didn’t believe a word of it either.
“Come on, Airel, what’s going on? You know more than you’re letting on and now you’re lying to me.” He sounded angry and a little hurt as well. I sighed loudly and pulled on a few strands of my hair, and shoved my left hand in my back pocket.
I decided right then that I was going to tell Michael everything and hold nothing back.
I could not stop thinking about him and was afraid that if I didn’t let him in on everything I would lose him. Lovers don’t have secrets—right? And that’s what we were becoming, quickly. How could I keep secrets from him?
I didn’t want to lose something with him that, at this point, hadn’t even happened yet. I didn’t want to risk the destruction of something that felt so fragile in my heart, especially by keeping such an important part of myself from him. He might even be able to help me. I knew I was reaching for reasons to keep him close.
I sighed, surrendering. “Michael… I’ll tell you on our date.” Hook, line, and sinker. “I just need some time to think things over.” I nearly begged him with my tone of voice, “Please don’t be mad! And don’t worry, I’m fine. I promise I will tell you whatever you want to know. Just not now.”
Uh-oh. I had promised. And when I promise things, planets start to pop out of their orbits. It’s serious business. That’s what this was now, things were getting…complicated.
He looked at me with a calculating gaze. Then, as if weighing his options, nodded with a small smile. “Okay.” He took my hands in his and enfolded them. “But you promise to tell me everything?”
“I promise.”
Chapter XXXII
Eagle, Idaho. Present day.
The picture above the bed was large. It was an original painting; the master who had produced it unknown. On the canvas, simply depicted, was a drawn sword. It stood against a black background, alive, shining and luminescent even as a representation in oils. It was the Sword of Light. It hung above the massive bed in a stone alcove in an ornate bedroom of immense size; the architecture ancient, stately.
A killer lay sweating under the painting, spittle dripping, tears flowing from twitching eyes. The mattress, as well as the thick blanket that covered him, was damp with the manifestation of his toil. The room was well above ninety degrees, but he still shivered. His hair plastered itself wet against his scalp. He was more than simply sick.
The things he saw within his bedroom made him consider death as an exit strategy for peace. But he wondered if what was swimming in space above his bed would follow him when he left this world.
There were three lizard-like demons flying about the room. The two smaller ones were birdlike, over ten feet long at full length. The third was twice that in size, with huge sharp spines rising from its back. One of its wings was torn and around its neck pulsed the red glow of molten stone. The character of this pendant was decidedly unholy. Upon the face of the creature, if such a thing can have such a name, was the embodiment of hatred, the essence of malice, the expression of self-prostitution to vengeance at any cost.
The demon stood,