May 30 2001
9:50 P.M.
It's been a while since I picked up this diary, hasn't it? I just found it in a drawer the other day, but really, only a few interesting things have happened since I last wrote something down. I don't know how many times I've read that it's best to start at the beginning, so I suppose I'll go from there.
It happened about five months ago, on Sean's eighteenth birthday. It was New Year's Eve, two thousand, on the verge of what many claimed to be the true millenium. He had been mildly ill and strangely quiet for most of the day, and by the evening he claimed his body ached so much that even the thought of moving agonized him. This worried me, naturally, but moreso than usual, because he'd not once been sick in all the time I'd known him. I stayed upstairs in my room, watching over him as the others cheered the coming of the new year in front of the television. As if on some dramatic cue, the clock struck midnight and Sean's body began to tremble. His scream was such that I felt its echo shuddering through the blood in my veins and shaking the marrow in my bones. A pair of great, feathered wings burst from his shoulderblades, drenched in a clear liquid that dried as it was exposed to air. Loose feathers rested on my sheets and pillows, shining with their white purity. It was horrifically beautiful--his wings were majestic, but his expression was contorted with such pain. He had passed out then, and did not return to consciousness until late the next morning. His wings have been with him ever since, much to his dismay. They make public outings a bit awkward, as the best he can do is fold them back (something which caused the skin around his shoulderblades to break and bleed), and still they cause problems--as well as receiving a lot of stares, a few disturbing people have even tried to pluck off some of his feathers.
From the moment this happened, I knew that it had something to do with Lucius and Donovan and everyone else I hadn't seen in almost three years. I just didn't know when the connection would be made, and frankly, there wasn't time to care, at least not then. But now it's the end of May and the start of summer, and while I still have so much to worry about (like my driver's license, college applications, and the like), I do have, as usual, a disturbing amount of free time.
My most immediate problem is that Sean's condition seems to be worsening. Ever since his wings sprouted, his mental stability has rolled on a downward spiral. Considering that it was already several hundred feet deep, this is fairly unsettling. As I write this, I wonder where Sean even is. Recently I've noticed him walking around outside when it's so late that there's no light, but for the moon. His silhouette merges with those of the trees and the bushes, which are newly bold with the life infused by the rainy heat of summer. I almost always fall asleep before he returns, but he is here, dutifully, every morning. I don't ask where he's gone, partly because I'm afraid to know.
--Claris
I capped my pen and set down the journal. I slid off my bed, dressed in little else but a long T-shirt and soft shorts that barely covered half my thighs. My hair, now cut short around my ears, was nonetheless unruly as I brushed it from my face. I stood in front of my windows, the blinds open but not pulled up. Sean had disappeared a few hours ago, and I, as usual, was fruitlessly awaiting his return. It seemed a stark contrast to the past situation, where it was always him, waiting for me.
I was surprised when I saw a human shape threading through the darkness towards my house. Though, of course, I always hope he will come home before I fall asleep, the occasion that this actually happened was rare. The excitement bubbling inside me was soon quelled, however, when I saw more shapes appearing. The number stopped at four, and I clutched my windowpane as they made their way across the grass. I was desperately hoping that Mom was expecting some late night visitors, as she was wont to do sometimes.
Less than a minute later, the doorbell rang.
*
"Are you sure this is the right place?" a sexless voice amongst them whispered.
"Of course it is," another grumbled. "God wouldn't give us the wrong house."
"I don't know, his sense of humor is kind of off sometimes...." the first voice answered doubtfully.
"Somebody ring the doorbell," the third member of the group whimpered. "I can feel the mosquitoes feasting on my flesh!"
The fourth sighed greatly, as though he were in the presence of many small, frustrating children. He broke from the cluster and stepped onto the stone porch, glancing back at his companions as he pressed the little white buzzer. As they waited for a response, the first speaker said,
"Why are we doing this so late at night, anyway?"
"Obviously you know nothing of dramatic effect," answered the second. The owner of the first voice glared, but the door opened before it could retort. A teenaged girl with glasses and a mess of brown hair gaped at them, trembling visibly beneath her thin T-shirt.
"Metatron?" she said, to the one who had pressed the buzzer. He smiled and nodded. Lamps, designed like the tops of streetlights not seen since the early days of electricity, were attached to the walls on either side of the porch. The girl hit a switch, and they sprang to life, exposing the details of her visitors.
"Who are your friends?" she asked tremulously. Metatron gestured to each one as he introduced them.
That is Cadmiel. He is the angel of destiny.
Metatron pointed to the second voice. Cadmiel's long, green bangs fell over his golden eyes as he took the girl's hand and kissed it.
"Pleasure to meet you," he said silkily. Metatron's mouth turned down as he went on.
Next to him is Tialiel, the angel of the future.
Tialiel waved at the girl with one hand as he scratched a mosquito bite on his arm with the other. Although it was clear from his flat chest and straight, thin body that he was a male, the dress and lipstick he wore threw the girl off a bit. His pink and blue streaked hair was tied back into a braid that swung behind his back, and his green eyes were wide with faux feminity.
And that is Anael. Metatron said, failing to elaborate on this person's sphere of influence. Unlike Tialiel, Anael's gender was indiscernible. He (or she) was dressed in a white tank top that cut off at the waist and baggy, denim shorts. The features of the fair-skinned face looked as though they could belong to either gender: soft cerulean blue eyes, reddish but not terribly full lips, unremarkable cheek bones. Two red, squiggly lines ran from the bottom of Anael's left eye down to its neck, where they disappeared into its shirt. Its body was curvaceous, but still somewhat muscular, and the loose clothing betrayed no other clues. Not even its voice, which was the strangest, most androgynous sound the girl had ever heard, gave rise to its gender.
"Are you a boy or a girl?" the girl said finally.
"Either or," Anael answered cheerfully. "But I suppose you can call me 'he' for now. I'll let you know when I change."
May we come in? Metatron asked politely. We must discuss.
"I...I suppose," the girl consented. And she let them in.
*
"Sure thing, honey," Cadmiel said, and it was at that moment that I noticed a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
"W-was that there before?" I raised an eyebrow.
He took a long drag.
"Might've been," he said, exhaling smoke.
"Don't do that in here," Tialiel reprimanded. "It's so rude."
"Aw," Cadmiel said. The cigarette disappeared. I fought off nausea as I led them into the living room, where I directed them to sit on the chairs and couches. Anael opted for the piano bench.
"I love music," he said, examining the black piano's ivory keys.
"Claris!" My mother's voice called through the wall separating the master bedroom and the living room. "What's going on?"
"U-um... I have s-some friends over!" I said hopefully.
"Okay, honey. Don't stay up too late."
"I won't," I said, looking at the small angelic host before me. "So what's going on? Can you tell me why Sean sprouted wings?"
"Where is he?" Tialiel said abruptly. "I thought he would be here..."
"Well, he is...he's just out walking..." I muttered. "I dunno when he'll be back."
"Oh," Tialiel said with a sympathetic, sheepish look. "Alright."
"Well, it's kind of important that he be here," Cadmiel frowned.
"Want me to go find him?" Anael said, paging through a book of sheet music for Phantom of the Opera.
I'll do it. Metatron interrupted. He snapped his fingers, and in a poof of shimmery mist, Sean appeared on top of the coffee table in front of the couch.
"What the fuck?" he said. He was holding a soda can and looking, understandably, bewildered. His hair was pulled back, as it generally was when he went out, and his wings were folded tightly against one another on his back. Behind him, on the chair, I saw Tialiel almost melt into the fabric.
"He looks even better than I thought," he swooned, and Cadmiel's expression darkened noticeably.
"Who the hell are you people!?" He snapped, and then paused, "Oh, except you, Claris. Did you bring these people here, or are they hostile invaders?"
"U-um.. well, I let them in," I said. Sean hopped off the coffee table and took a swig of his soda.
"What business have thee here, o strangely dressed knaves?" he asked, licking his lips.
"Hn..how to put this," Cadmiel rubbed his chin. "The universe as you know it, as well as every other universe in existence, is on the verge of a violent demise and only you can stop it?"
He paused.
"Perhaps that was too heavy."
"It's true, though," Anael said.
The fate of the world--on Sean's shoulders? My brain refused to process such nonsense.
"Y-you must be joking," I said thinly.
"If you think we'd come all the way down here, at this time of night, for a joke, then..." Cadmiel trailed off. "Well, I guess it is something we might do. Or me, anyway. Possibly Anael too."
But this is not a joke. Metatron massaged his temples.
"Why did it take four of you to tell me that?" Sean said irritably, otherwise unperturbed.
"I'm here to prepare you," Cadmiel said, having apparently recollected himself. "Tialiel is my partner. He can also see the future, which I think is pretty cool."
I am here to oversee the goings-on. Metatron spoke quietly into our minds, his hands folded primly in his lap.
"And I am your.." Anael stopped. "Uncle, right now. But sometimes your aunt."
"You're related to me?" Sean blinked, almost dropping the soda. "That..that isn't possible."
"What, do you think your body developed wings because it felt like it?" Anael leaned in close to Sean, almost leering. "I'm your mother's...sibling."
"What we're trying to say is that you're an angel," Tialiel said helpfully. "Like us."
Sean was quiet, but I cringed when I heared the sound of crunching aluminum. He squeezed the can until it nearly collapsed onto itself, its center crushed.
"I...I don't have a mother," he said tonelessly. His fingers bled as the edges of the can cut into his skin, but he was unconcerned. I could see from his eyes that his mind was locked in a memory.
"Perhaps you neglected to tell us that he was INSANE!" Cadmiel yelled at Metatron, who shrugged in chagrin.
"He's never told me anything about his family," I offered.
"Not surprising," Anael said. "I bet he's blocked most of it out."
Sean cleared his throat.
"I think you all should leave," he said with forced calm.
"We'd love to, honestly," Cadmiel said.
"Whatever is happening doesn't concern me," Sean said firmly. "I don't have a family."
"Oh, but it does, my darling," Anael purred dangerously, looming over Sean. "And you do."
Sean moved to strike Anael, but too slowly--Anael caught his wrist before the punch made contact and held him, twisting his arm behind his back into what looked like a painful position.
"H-hey!" I cried in protest as Sean growled angrily in his throat, gripping his can ever more tightly.
"Your mother is dead and your father has been missing ever since," Anael began, causing Sean to squirm violently. "Something-possibly whatever got to your parents-is tearing the dimensional fabrics. If this situation is not remedied, then all existence--everywhere--will cease. This is not simply the end of the world we're talking about here. It's not even the end of the universe. This is the end of everything."
Sean stilled, though his body was visibly trembling. His fear was palpable, and that, in and of itself, unnerved me. Anael let him go.
"You can't run from the past forever."
"It was working pretty well until you showed up," Sean muttered.
"We know this is a lot to take in," Tialiel said gently, resting a hand on Sean's shoulder. Abruptly, Sean turned to look Tialiel in the eyes.
"Why are you wearing a dress?" he said. Tialiel blushed and stepped back.
"W-well.. I just like dresses, is all," he laughed behind his hands. "And makeup."
"I see," Sean said, wandering into the kitchen. "Where are the bandages, Claris? I need a bandage..."
"O-oh," I jumped up. "I-I'll get you o-one."
The others watched as I followed Sean and opened the cupboard above the microwave, taking out a package of Band-Aids.
"Wash your h-hand," I instructed, and he finally set the can down. For a moment, as I tore off the bandage's wrapper and Sean drenched his wound, I forgot about the harbingers of doom sitting on my couch and my chair and my piano bench. For a moment, it was just us two, as I applied the band-aid to his torn skin and walked behind him as he went to toss the can. But the gravity of the situation pulled us back down as we returned to the living room, where the four angels had risen from their seats.
"Your training begins tomorrow," Cadmiel told Sean. He bowed to me slightly. "It was a pleasure meeting you. Terribly sorry that you're entwined in the mess."
"Er..um, nice to m-meet you too," I fumbled. Social situations were never my strong suit. Metatron smiled at me benevolently and spoke to me only.
Don't worry, Claris. There is no better protection in the stars or in the earth than that which you are under now.
I was mildly reassured by his confidence and kind (if eyeless) face. They left then, disappearing into the dark, quiet night as a group. They did not fly, which, I admitted to myself, I would have liked to see, but simply faded away.
"I think it's time we talked, Claris," Sean said, as I shut (and locked) the door.
"I'll s-say," I grumbled.
"First I want to thank you for, you know... never asking," Sean began, rubbing his bandage absently. "Because the fact is that I don't really remember most of my life before I met you."
"I f-figure you didn't," I said, and this was true. Although, of course, I wondered sometimes where he came from and what he had experienced, I was always either too afraid or too distracted to ever really ask.
"I..I have dreams, a lot," he said carefully, "that I think are from that time. I try not to remember what they're about."
"Are they like...what that screen showed?" I ventured, remembering the events of my freshman year of high school. Sean nodded his head, allowing his bangs to fall and overshadow his face. I also recalled his experience in front of the fireplace, though fire didn't have much to do with what was on that screen.
"I know that there's a lot of stuff wrong with me," he said soberly, "and that I probably won't even remember saying anything about this in the morning."
I laughed a little in spite of myself, and the corners of his mouth turned up marginally.
"I also know that your life has probably been kind of disjointed since I started intruding on it," he continued, "and this situation is much worse than what happened a few years ago."
He took a breath, as if he were trying to force a voice onto his feelings.
"What I mean is...that.." he shut his eyes, "that...if you want me to go, to not get you involved...then I would understand."
"Wh...what?" I whispered. "Do you really think I would do that to you?"
His eyes opened quickly, and I went on, doing my best not to stutter.
"I mean...yeah, I'm scared and everything, but I figure that's inevitable, and you know I'm naturally nervous...but I'm not just going to abandon you now, not after so much time," I said. "Actually, I'm a little offended that you'd think I would."
Sean hugged me fiercely.
"Thank you."
I blushed, pressing against him. Sean was almost a foot taller than me, and I only reached about to his chest when standing straight. He held his arms around my waist, his chin resting on the top of my hair. It was wonderful, and it didn't last nearly as long as I would have liked. He broke away, smiling genuinely, without madness or malice. And then, his eyes closed, and his body turned limp, sagging against my own. Scared at first, I pushed him off of me and realized with a quick examination that he had, spontaneously, fallen asleep. His breathing was steady and even, and the placid smile remained fixed on his face. I dragged him as gently as I could to the couch, straining under his weight. Although he was grossly thin for someone of his height, he still weighed well over one hundred pounds, and I tended to have problems with more than ten. I set a fuzzy blanket over his body and undid his ponytail, allowing his sea of purple hair to spread freely over his neck and chest. Then I walked back up to my room, too tired to be affected by the sense of fear and foreboding fermenting at the back of my mind. As far as my body was concerned, it could all wait until tomorrow.
*
"Please sit in your seat," she said gently, "you might tip the chair, standing like that."
"Ohh..okay," Lucius agreed, settling down. "But are we?"
"Yes," Leliel said. "All of us, this time."
"Yay!" Lucius cried. "You can meet our friends! They're really nice."
"They're not our friends," Donovan said. "We're probably going to end up killing them."
"I hope they don't mind that," Lucius said worriedly, nibbling on his lip. "They are very nice."
"When do we leave?" Leliel faced Donovan. He rose from his chair.
"How about right now?"
"Yaay!" Lucius said, as Shateiel and Leliel both stood. "Can we get ice cream on the way?"
Uhhh... yeah.