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As I set upon my escape, I don’t hear footsteps behind me.
My pace is set to a ‘power-walking’ as I march down this dark, creepily quiet corridor, which is dimly lit with identical rich crystal wall candelabras, fitted at even intervals.
The only noise down here is the strangled echo of my muffled footsteps on the dark plush carpet, bouncing off the regal walls.
The walls are covered in blood red velour, with a golden panel dividing the wall at waist height. It’s like a long tunnel ahead of me, stretching for miles on end and there’s no light at the end of this one.
After a few minutes, fear stirs inside. It grips my gut, rising, and by the time it squeezes my throat, I’m running down the hall looking for a way out.
Only the balls of my feet are touching the ground. My arms are working in time with my legs, pushing me forward. My heavy breathing echoes in my ears.
I’ve been running for a while now, but the hall hasn’t turned, twisted or split even once.
Over time, my feet grew heavier, weighing me down now with every step. Salty beads of sweat bloom on my forehead, pooling on my body, streaming down my back, soaking my clothes and then running down my face, stinging my eyes. My heart is throbbing in my chest and I’m trying to swallow against my parched throat.
I grab hold of my side, now I have stitch. My pace slows to a pathetic limp and after a few more painful meters, I stop.
I double over, pushing my hands on my knees, trying to get some air into my burning lungs.
I slide down the wall, fighting with my lungs and my terrified heart. I need to find the cool in me, to think logically and composed on what to do next.
The sound of light skipping footsteps, muffled by the carpet, upsurges from the darkness of the hall. A bright crystal voice sings something in a strange language. The stride is short and the footsteps are light and fast as they could only belong to a child.
I claw at the wall behind me, rising unsteadily, ready to bolt when Tabby comes into view, slowly emerging from the shadows. Her grey wings are folded behind her back, protruding above her shoulders. Her wings look darker in the dim corridor light, hidden in the shadows behind her.
She stops a few steps away from me, silent, studying me with the seriousness young children are known for, and killer psychopaths.
“Why did you run?” she asks me after a while. Her brows are drawn, pretty eyes are gazing at me.
“Because I don’t want to be here and I want to go home. My sister needs me and I need to be there for her”, I reply, sliding down the wall again. The carpet is soft and plush under my hands.
“I don’t have a sister, or a mother”, she offers. “What is it like to have a sister?”
She plonks herself on the floor right in front of me. She sits, cross-legged, gazing intently at me, eager for a conversation. Her wings are open behind her back so that the bottom corners are streaming over the carpet.
I don’t think this girl has ever heard of personal space. I shift uncomfortably, sliding on the carpet away from her, giving myself a more comfortable space between us. But not so much that I offend her.
“It’s like having a best friend forever”, I say, thinking about my sister. “You love each other, help each other. You look after each other, and you know, that no matter what, someone will be there for you. Always. Now my sister’s in a hospital and she needs me.” I’m trying to explain the concept that is so easy for siblings to understand and so hard for the ‘only child’ to fathom.
“I’ve failed her already. I wasn’t there when she needed me, I didn’t look after her and now I need to be there to help her”, I say, simplifying mine and my sister’s problems.
Tabby’s studious gaze lingers on my face and her head is cocked to the side.
“I want to have a best friend forever too”, she supplies. “If I had a friend like that, I would want to be with her all the time. We could play dress up together and play with my dolls, and do colouring together and I would show her my collection of colourful rocks...”, she chatters excitedly as her gaze turns dreamy, her face lights up at the possibility of having a friend. Then her gaze snaps back to me.
“What is your sister’s name?” she asks, cocking her head at me again.
“Jess”.
“J-e-s-s-s-s”, she tries it around her mouth, stretching syllables. “Do you think you and I can be sisters as well?”
Tabby’s innocent question catches me off guard.
I turn my gaze to her. Her bright eyes are unguarded and earnest as she waits for my answer.
“Sure”, I hesitate. I don’t want to offend her but I don’t think she understands what sisters are, but nonetheless, she wants us to be friends and I can appreciate that.
She jumps up and hugs me tight, startling me. She smells of fruits and sweets. Once my surprise dies, I raise my arms to hug her back.
Her wings open up wider, shooting up, away from my embrace. Her wings are now beating faster behind her back, creating a soft gust of wind, which moves my hair and caresses my face.
My hug is awkward and unsure. My arms are wrapped around her back, below the wings.
She is a soft little child in my arms, just like my sister always was. Sadness and guilt tug at my heart as I think about Jess. If only I was there to protect her; if only I had found a way to stay.
Tears begin to stream down my cheeks and I can’t stop them. The stress of the last two days has finally caught up with me. It pushes at the walls that I built so carefully around, to protect myself, to keep everyone out.
But there is a crack in the wall and the misery is here, swallowing me, pulling me down under its weight, reminding me of everything that I was so eager to forget. And I can’t hold it in any more. I’m crying for mine and my sister’s lives, so powerless, broken and abused.
Sobs escape me, but Tabby doesn’t pull away. Tears run down my chin, darkening the top of her head.
Now she’s holding me.
I wail. The ugly sound of unchecked pain echoes along the walls, pouring out for everyone to see. Tabby strokes my back, not rushing me, not asking to stop. She comforts me and I grab hold of her, afraid that this tide will take me with it and I’ll never come back.
I don’t know how long I’ve been crying, but I’m out of tears and completely dehydrated. Soft hiccups escape between my lips. When I press my lips together, trying to keep them back, I sound like a frog in a pond in the evening.
“Sorry... about... that”, I hiccup as I pull away, and Tabby lets me go.
My nose is blocked, snot pools underneath it and I have no tissue. I wipe my face on my sleeve. My face is probably blotchy and red – I’m an ugly crier.
“What can I -”, hiccup, “... do?” I say to myself, not really expecting an answer.
“Sometimes you only do what you can do”, Tabby says, looking up at the dark ceiling. “Sometimes surviving is all that’s left, but it can be even more than you thought you are capable of”, she declares, like she is reciting someone else’s words.
She turns her gaze back to me.
“Mia is out there and she’s going to kill you. For sure”, Tabby offers, all practical and rational like discussing a dinner menu. “And your human ‘palees’ couldn’t protect you from her, but Sam can. You have to stay here for now.”
“But for how long?” I’m desperate.
“I don’t think for that long. He is a good hunter”, she nods confidently. “But Mia is very good too”, she mumbles. “So maybe not that fast, but definitely not that long.” She smiles at me again, happy with her appraisal of the situation.
She is open and candid like a child, and I feel that I can trust her ‘truth’ more than others.
“Cause if you’re dead, how are you going to help your sister and play dress up with her?” she asks, dramatically spreading her arms.
Then she leans in closer to me.
“The dead are not allowed back into the human world”, she whispers, looking around, sharing the secret with me. “Sometimes they sneak in, but you will never be allowed”.
“Why not?” I mumble, shocked. It’s not like I plan to come back from the dead to look after my sister, but I want to know why I would never be allowed.
“You’ve already crossed it”, she whispers, smiling with excitement, her bright eyes bulge out of their sockets.
“What? How? When?” I’m so shocked that I can’t seem to formulate sentences longer than one word. It doesn’t help that Tabby is not making much sense either.
“Your Qal did”. She nods her head urgently, willing for me to believe her.
“What is ‘Qal’?”
“It’s inside you”.
Dear god, give me strength. She must be delusional. She’s not making any sense.
“How?” I ask again, praying for patience, taking a different route with her.
“Through the passage”, she nods proudly, sharing the knowledge.
Oh, boy. That might take a while.
“What passage?” I try again.
“There”, she points her finger up to the ceiling.
I crane my head and look up at the ordinary ceiling above us, covered in thick grey shadows from the candelabras nearby. I see nothing, no passage, no hole, not even a crack.
I look back at her. Tabby smiles wide at me, her open eyes are unguarded and earnest.
For God’s sake! She doesn’t make any sense.
I sigh. I don’t think I’ll get any more from her following this road so I try a different angle.
“But why me?” I search her face for an answer, but she just shrugs her shoulders.
“And angels? I always thought that you guys weren’t real. You know, like a legend or a fairy tale and stuff”, I say, shrugging my shoulders in return.
“I’m not a fairy”, Tabby huffs, folding her arms at me. The hurt is clear on her lively face. “We are primordial beings and not basic elementals, who are tied up to their area and birthing element. It’s like comparing a mammal to an insect”.
Oops. I think I’ve just offended her.
“I’m sorry, Tabby”, I gently touch her arm. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just all of this is very new to me and up until two days ago, I didn’t even know that you guys existed”.
Tabby unfolds her arms, gazing back at me with a renewed adoration.
Wow. This girl’s mood changes so fast that it makes my head spin.
“You know, once Sam took me to one of your safari parks. A big one, in Africa”, she says. “I really wanted to see a giraffe. When we found a mummy and baby giraffe, they were standing next to a ve-e-e-ry tall tree and the mummy was eating leaves off of the top of that tree. But there were three naughty hyenas nearby and one jumped up and bit the baby giraffe on the leg. Mummy giraffe came to the rescue and kicked the hyena away, but later she told me that she didn’t see the hyenas”.
She looks at me, checking if I’m following her story. But I don’t know if I am.
“You see, her head was high up in the sky and she didn’t see anything that was happening low on the ground, hidden under the leaves”, she explains. “So I think you, humans, are like that mummy giraffe. You only can see your section of the tree”, she says, “but your section of the tree is down below, next to the ground, and not high up in the sky”.
She beams at me, pleased with herself and with her explanation.
Only one sentence sticks in my mind. “Mummy giraffe told you?” I ask incredulous.
“Yeah”, she animatedly nods, her glossy curls bouncing around her pixie face. “Straight after those naughty hyenas ran away”.
“So you can speak to animals?” I ask, trying to sound cool and composed.
Tabby’s baffled expression answers my question better than any words.
“Can’t you?” she replies, confused by such possibility.
I slowly shake my head at her. Here’s another piece of this crazy jigsaw to wrap my head around.
I sit quietly for a minute, digesting the latest revelation.
“Maybe you are right”, I mutter. “At the end of the day, lots of things in this world still remain unexplained. Maybe angels are just one of them, like an undiscovered species in the Amazon or something. I spoke to Sam, touched his wing, felt it and it felt real”, I mumble to myself.
“You touched Sam’s wing?” Tabby breathes out. Her frightened eyes rapidly blink at me. “By accident?”
“Well, no. He wanted to show me that he’s real, that he is not a part of my crazy imagination, so he let me touch his wing and I stroked his wing for a bit”, I say, shrugging my shoulders. “It was very soft and silky” I add.
She stares at me, blinking her big eyes in stunned confusion.
“What’s the big deal?” I ask, irritated by her mute shocked face.
“Angels never let anyone touch their wings”, she whispers, bug-eyed. “Unless they are married”.
The next second a fresh thought crosses her mind and her face blossoms with a beautiful smile.
“Are you and Sam married now?” she chirps. Now her eyes are wide with excitement. I wonder if this girl is even capable of calm restrained emotions.
“What? No!” It’s now my turn to wear “the incredulous face” mask.
“I hope not!” I blurt out.
“I’m sure we are not! What a ridiculous suggestion that is. I just touched his wing to make sure that he’s real. That’s it!” I ramble, shaking my head.
“Oh”, Tabby’s face falls.
“That’s okay”, she says, lightening up the next second. “You’re still my sister”.
We sit in silence, while I try to think of other alternative options out of my predicament, consistently coming up empty handed. I don’t see any other way out of this mess.
“We need to get back to your room. I can take you there”, Tabby offers.
“Great”, a bitter sarcastic laugh escapes me. “Just my sodding luck”. I adjust myself to the idea that I’m here to stay, even if it’s just for a short while.