Angel: Scene 10

22 February 2055

        She was flying south over new territory, finally headed for warmer climes, when the Call tugged at her mind. A very strong Call. She banked and arrowed for its source. She covered the last two miles in a near panic. Someone was dying, Calling to her with unbelievable intensity. She couldn’t fly fast enough. Straining her wings to the utmost, she covered the final distance in less than two minutes, grounding heavily in the back yard of a run down farmhouse and falling to her knees with exhaustion.
        As she looked up, she saw a young boy gaping at her. Then he ran into the house. “Daddy! Daddy! The Angel is here!” he cried. “Mama’s gonna get well, now!”
        She pulled herself to her feet before the boy or his father could return. Her wings rustled as she mantled them, then folded them behind her, the tops of her pinions arching high over her shoulders and the tips just brushing the ground by her heels. A big, dark man with a grizzled beard and wearing clothes that looked even more ragged than those the boy wore opened the door.
        ”You’re a mutant,” he observed.
        ”Yes.”
        ”Can you save my wife?”
        ”I can try,” she replied. “I haven’t lost a patient yet.”
        ”If you can cure her, anything I have is yours! Just don’t let her die.”
        ”I’ll try. Now, may I come in? It may already be too late!”         With uncharacteristic haste she dashed through the door he held open and made her way unerringly to the side of the critically ill woman.
        She knew at once that the illness had almost finished its job. The woman’s face was covered with small, bloody growths that oozed pus and slime. She stepped swiftly to the bedside and lifted the sheet slightly. She grimaced with horror at the ruined body of the woman who had been mother to the children standing in the doorway behind her.
        ”I need clean cloths and warm water to wash her,” she said as she turned towards the door. “Then I’m going to need some time alone to work with her.” In moments, several towels lay piled by the night stand, followed almost as quickly by a large pan of steaming water. The farmer stood in the door and watched as she took the top edge of the sheet and started to pull it down. The door closed softly behind her.
        The woman’s life had already left her, but there was still a chance of reviving her once she healed the body. She ran her hands slowly over the woman’s body, the pale blue nimbus glowing around them, concentrating her healing efforts on the skin, smoothing it as she went. She used the cloths to clean the sores as she healed them, trying to remove any residual of the infection. She finished her first pass, revealing a surprisingly young looking body.
        She started her second pass, working more slowly, concentrating her healing deep within the contaminated form. The effort drew heavily on her waning energy, and the blue nimbus glowed brighter, enveloping her as she worked. The bedroom door opened behind her and the farmer peered in. The glow surrounded her like a halo. He quietly closed the door again, swearing to himself that she had to be an Angel from God.
        At last the body was healed. Alaina sagged wearily against the side of the bed. She was too tired to go any farther, but the Call was stronger than ever. She would have only one chance to call the woman back to her body, and time was running out. She had to put everything she had left into this effort. Placing her hands over the woman’s heart, she concentrated.
        Two hours later, the farmer eased the door of the bedroom open. On the bed lay his wife, as beautiful and pure as the day he had married her. The winged form of the Angel lay collapsed in the loose pile of damp towels beside the bed. He stepped up to his wife. A soft look of love suffused his face as he took her slender hand in his own. For a moment, all was quiet and serene. Then he tensed, shifting one hand to his wife’s throat. The hard glint of rage changed his features to stone.
        He struggled to control himself as he laid his wife’s hand back on her breast. He stepped to Alaina’s side, shook her awake, then dragged her to her feet.
        ”I’m … sorry,” she whispered. “I … could not … call her back.” She shook her head and pushed away from him, staring at the perfect body on the bed. “Too tired …”
        She sagged, nearly fainting. He grabbed her before she could fall and carried her out of the room, down the short hallway, kicked open the door to another room–his eldest daughter’s–and dropped Alaina onto the bed. He returned to his wife’s bedroom, closing the door behind him.
        He emerged a few moments later. “Beth? Sarah? No matter what, don’t let that mutant out of this house! I’ll be back in a little while!” He stalked out to his battered truck and drove off, gravel flying from beneath the worn tires.

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        “There she is, that Spawn of Satan!” The harsh voice cut through her sleep like a knife. “She said she would heal my wife! Instead she kills her! Only Satan or one of His ilk would do what she did!”
        Before she could move, something large and heavy enveloped her. She tried to struggle, but something struck the back of her head and she knew no more.