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THREE DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, the sound of screeching tires pierced a snowflake-laden sky. There was a horrific thump, and two overstuffed shopping bags flew into the air. From the bags, a motley storm of green and red ribbons rained down, coloring the icy white pavement. Gifts spilled onto the ground: video games for her brother and sister, a purse for her mother, and the blu-ray of her father's favorite television show. For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still.
Reagan McCaffrey heard horrified murmurings from onlookers as she rose from the frigid ground. The offending vehicle was an SUV, and it certainly packed a punch. Despite the sheer force of the impact, she felt very little pain. Reagan smacked the snow from her pea coat and approached the first person she saw. He was a relatively young man, and considering his close proximity to the accident, he must have witnessed the whole thing.
“Did you see that?” Reagan asked with a gasp. Ice crystals clung to her coat with impressive persistence, so she gave up on trying to dislodge them. “I was trying to cross the street to get to my car, and that stupid driver came out of nowhere!”
“Yeah,” the young man agreed with her. “Very stupid driver.”
“I don't care if it is Christmas, I swear to god, if I have some kind of permanent injury from this, I'm going to sue that man!” Reagan shot a thunderous look at the driver of the SUV as he climbed from the driver's seat and went to inspect the damage.
“Oh, your injury is definitely permanent.” The young man chuckled nervously. “Quite permanent indeed.”
Reagan detected a hint of a British accent from her companion. In spite of everything that happened, she had to wonder—what could possibly compel an Englishman to visit Nowheresville, Iowa?
“I guess I should probably collect my stuff,” Reagan said. Before she could gather her scattered gifts, the British guy grabbed her arm and pulled her backward. “Hey!”
“There's no sense in that, really,” he said. “For now, you should stay at my side. Let's just... watch for a bit.”
“What if someone steals my stuff? My purse is over there! I need to get my cellphone and—” Reagan's voice trailed off when she saw the body on the ground. The driver of the SUV was hovering over it, looking panicked as he fumbled with the touch screen on his phone. “Oh my god.”
“You've figured it out, have you?
“Oh my god!” As she repeated the words, a chill of dread settled on her spine. “Is that me over there?”
“Unfortunately... yes,” her companion answered with a sigh that sounded less than sympathetic.
“So I'm...”
“Dead,” he casually finished her thought. “Indeed you are.”
“Oh god...” Clutching her head in her hands, Reagan paced back and forth. Every time she glanced at the body on the ground, she felt like she might be ill—except she didn't even feel ill at all. In fact, she felt no pain whatsoever. “So none of these people can see me?”
“Nope.”
“Why can you see me? Are you a ghost?”
“Not a ghost. An angel.” He extended one of his hands as he introduced himself. “I'm Miles. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Miles.” She heard sirens approaching, and a considerable crowd had gathered around the sight of the accident. Despite the commotion, Miles had her full attention. “An angel?”
“Why do you sound so bloody incredulous? Do you really think an angel would lie?”
Reagan crossed her arms and shook her head. “You don't look like an angel.”
“And what exactly are angels supposed to look like?”
“Well, for one, you're a little bit short.”
“Short?” Miles threw back his head and chuckled. “And you, Reagan McCaffrey... are you the self-proclaimed expert on angels? You believe all angels should be hulking?”
“No, not hulking. They should be... imposing.”
“I'm not imposing?” He sounded surprisingly hurt by her assessment. “At least I'm taller than you!”
Reagan rolled her eyes. “Not by much.”
“I'm five foot ten!”
“I'm five feet and seven inches, and we're practically the same height,” Reagan countered. “You're obviously rounding up.”
“Rounding up? Rounding up?” he shrieked. “My god, listen to the nerve of this girl!”
“And your hair is black. Like, really, really black,” Reagan observed. “Aren't angels supposed to be blonde?”
“Well, I'm sorry I've failed to live up to your storybook definition of an angel.” Miles was shaking his head with disbelief. “The next time you die, love, I'll be sure to bleach my hair before I come to fetch you!”
“I'm sorry if I upset you, Miles. I'm just teasing you. Honestly, I'm just trying to distract myself from the fact that I'm... well...” Reagan looked over at her body, which was now swarmed by uniformed officers. “I'm still trying to wrap my head around all of this.”
“It can be overwhelming,” Miles agreed. “But I assure you, death—and life after death—isn't so bad.”
“And you really are an... an angel?” Reagan's skeptical eyebrow was raised so high, he could picture it leaping off her forehead.
“This should convince you. Here.” Miles closed his eyes, and a few seconds later, a pair of snowy white wings erupted on his back. They were such a pure, brilliant white that they seemed to radiate a pale glow. A moment later, the wings were gone, and Miles looked more than a bit pleased with himself. “Are you satisfied now?”
“Wow. You weren't kidding.”
“I never kid,” Miles added. “Actually... that's not true. I've been told I never take anything seriously. But death, of course, is a very serious matter, and I'm here to escort you to the other side.”
From the ground, Reagan picked up a white feather that had fallen from his wing. It was so beautiful, she was tempted to keep it. “Wow...” As she ran her finger along the length of the feather, she knew she had never touched anything softer. “An angel.”
“Not just any angel. Your guardian angel,” Miles said. “It was my job to protect you... which I have obviously failed at... and now it is my duty to escort you to the place you belong.”
“I belong with my family!” Reagan exclaimed. “It's Christmas, and I haven't seen them in weeks! I thought I'd do some shopping on my way home from college, but that was obviously a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.” Reagan clasped her hands to her face and bellowed into her palms. It was a most horrible turn of events—one for which she was certainly not prepared. “You seem like you're itching to take me away, but could you give me a few days with them? I need to see my family.”
“Reagan.” He uttered her name in a most condescending way.
“Please? It's Christmas! Surely an angel, of all people, should understand the importance of that. I don't want you to whisk me away to God-knows-where. I want to stay here, with the people I love. Just for a few days.”
“If I let you stay, I'll have failed as your guardian angel,” Miles said with a sigh. “Again.”
“How long have you been my guardian angel, Miles?” Reagan asked, studying his face as she spoke. He was certainly handsome, as she expected an angel to be, and his skin was nearly as pale as his feathers. His pallor starkly contrasted with his inky black hair. “I'm just curious.”
“Five years.” When Miles smiled at her, a pair of disarming dimples appeared on his cheeks. He had also been in love with her for the last five years, but he did not think it was necessary—nor appropriate—to mention that.
“Wow. So... you've been with me since I was seventeen?” When she had him distracted, she started walking in the direction of her parents' house, and he obediently followed. It would have been a short drive, but the walk would take nearly an hour. “And who was my guardian angel before that?”
“Your last guardian wasn't the six foot two, blonde, imposing angel of your dreams, if that's what you were hoping for,” Miles said. “He was a short, old bearded fellow who looked a bit like Zeus.”
“So what happened to him? He just... retired?”
“We swapped subjects. You started drinking and flirting with boys, and it was more than the old man could handle. I, however, was up to the task.”
“Oh... yeah... I guess I was kind of naughty back in high school, wasn't I?” Reagan winced. Despite the fact that she was—apparently—a disembodied spirit, she could hear the slushy ground crunching underfoot. “If you see him, will you tell him I'm sorry?”
“Reagan, don't think I haven't noticed you're attempting to walk away. You can't evade me. I will follow you, and I will take you where you need to go!”
“And I will see my family!” Reagan insisted. “I don't care who you are, Miles, I won't let you stop me!”
“You intend to walk the entire way to your parents' house?”
“Yeah. It's not like I can drive, right?”
“All the way to your parents' house?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, have fun.” Miles lightly clapped a hand on her shoulder. “I'll meet you there.”
In an instant, he was gone. The snow immediately started falling faster, as if it was brought on by his absence. An eddy of snowflakes swirled around her, and an icy gust of wind lacerated her cheeks. If not for the fact that she was dead, Reagan was sure her nose would have been frozen. Even though she felt curiously warm, it felt natural to react to the cold. She pulled her scarf over her mouth and hugged herself as she charged forward.
She had a few miles to walk, and the snow was relentless. She did not miss aching feet, but she soon discovered her eyesight hadn't improved. Part of the journey was a complete whiteout, and she had to squint to see where she was going. Blind and disoriented, the walk to her parents' house took twice as long when she was forcing her way through a snowstorm.
As luck would have it, the snow tapered off as soon as she neared her destination. Perhaps not surprisingly, Miles was already there when she arrived. He was leaning against the door with his ankles crossed. He grinned when he saw her, as if he was amused by the fact that her journey was plagued by ceaseless snowfall.
“Hello again, Reagan,” he jovially greeted her. “Was it a refreshing walk through the winter wonderland?”
“You are an evil angel,” Reagan replied, sidestepping him as she entered the house. She was able to pass through the door without opening it, which was a bit eerie, to say the least. Upon entering, it took her a moment to realize the house was empty.
“They're all gone,” Miles stated the obvious.
“Yeah. I can see that.”
“I imagine they got a very devastating phone call.”
“Yeah.” Reagan collapsed on the couch with a tremendous sigh. Her mom, her sister, her brother, her father—they would all be shattered when they heard the news. She wished there was some way she could reassure them, to tell them she was alright, and to comfort them. “What am I supposed to do now, Miles? How am I supposed to go on without them?”
“Well, technically, you'll never be without them,” Miles encouraged her. “And they will never be without you.”
“That's... very optimistic.”
“It's not just optimistic, it's the truth.” Miles sat beside her and offered a weak smile. “You have no reason to doubt me, because I'm not the sort who coddles or patronizes.”
“Look...” Reagan jabbed a finger in the direction of her family's Christmas tree, which was positively bursting with ornaments and tinsel. “Do you see the angel on top of the tree? With the long blonde hair and flowy gold dress?”
“I do.”
“That,” she said, “is a proper angel.”
“Well, she is lovely. That much is undeniable. You must have been very disappointed when I showed up. I'm even the wrong gender!” Miles said with a chuckle. “Shame on me!”
One of Reagan's shoulders hitched indifferently “Nah. I wasn't too disappointed. At least you're kind of cute.”
“Kind of cute?”
“Pretty cute.” Reagan smiled as she upgraded him.
“You know, you seem to be in incredibly good spirits for a woman who recently died.”
“I'm not in good spirits.” Though she felt heat emanating from her eyes, Reagan already knew it was impossible to cry. If tears were possible, she would have been a mess. “I'm terrified, actually.”
“I know how you must feel, Reagan, and I'm here for you,” Miles whispered. “I'll stay with you as long as you need to stay.”
“Thanks. That's really nice of you.”
“Well, I am an angel. Niceness is kind of our thing.”
Several minutes later, the front door opened, and her family shuffled into the living room. As soon as they were through the doorway, Reagan's mother collapsed to her knees, sobbing.
“Cathy.” Her husband knelt beside her and stroked her hair. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her everything would be okay, but it simply was not true. With Reagan gone, nothing would ever be the same. “Sweetheart... I'm so, so sorry.”
“Why did this happen, John?” Cathy clutched a tattered tissue in her hand, which she used to dab her eyes. “Why? Are we being punished?”
Reagan exchanged sorrowful glances with Miles and shook her head. “My poor mom.”
Heaving a sigh, Miles said, “The grief is always difficult to see.”
“It sucks that she can't see me. I wish there was some way to tell her I'm here.” When Reagan saw her brother's tearful face, she swore she could feel her heart breaking beneath her chest. “Oh god, look at David!”
Only nine years old, David was very attached to his oldest sister. Tears poured silently from his eyes, but his head was dipping between his shoulders, as if he was trying to hide his sadness.
All of a sudden, Cathy screamed. Her husband wrapped his arms around her, lowered her head to his shoulder, and whispered, “Try to be strong for the children, Cathy. They need you to be strong right now.”
Chelsea, Reagan's teenage sister, dashed up the stairs to her bedroom. Chelsea never shared her emotions easily, and she probably preferred to cry in solitude.
When the mother saw her son's tears, she scooped David into her arms and pulled him against her chest. They were a tangle of arms, sobbing against each other, struggling to catch a breath. John stayed beside them, kissing their heads, muttering useless words of comfort.
Reagan rose from the sofa and turned away from them, away from the spectacle of sorrow. She stared at a stocking with her name on it, and realized it would never be filled again. She saw a gift with a tag that said: To Reagan. She would never open it. Even if she could see them, she would never truly be with them again.
Through her tears, Cathy said, “We should probably postpone the funeral until after Christmas.”
Nodding in agreement, John helped his wife to her feet and escorted her to the couch. Cathy fell into the sofa, clutched a cushion to her chest, and continued to cry.
“I hate Christmas!” David suddenly declared as he stomped up the stairs. His footsteps were thunderous, fueled by rage, and they did not stop until he reached his room. From his bedroom, he yelled, “I never want to have Christmas again!”
And with that, he slammed the door.
“Come on.” Miles coiled an arm around Reagan's back and steered her in the direction of the kitchen. He thought she needed a break from the heartbreaking scene that was unfolding in front of them. “I'll make you a hot cocoa.”
Reagan's eyes swelled. “I can still have cocoa?”
“Yes. Of course.” If his perplexed expression was any indication, he thought her question was ludicrous. “You can have everything you had when you were alive, but it will all be twice as good.”
“That's... good to know.”
“In other words, my cocoa should rock your world.” The dimples on Miles' cheeks reappeared as he studied her. “I'll even give you extra marshmallows.”