Forgotten Self (Forgotten Self #1) (8 page)

“
Holy sh-” I start, and swerve into a ditch. There's a clunk and
a whir as my wheels spin uselessly. I let off the accelerator and the car settles. Thankfully, no real damage seems to occur other than we're stuck. The cherry on top is that we are out on a country road and the street is empty. There is no one to bail me
out of this.

The engine idles loudly, so I turn the ignition. Out of tension, I crack my neck before talking. I might as well face this. 

I stare straight ahead. “I'm going to ignore the fact that you just appeared in my car out of nowhere, even though i
t's pretty messed up. I want to know who you are and what's going on. For real. And I'll try my best not to flee the scene this time, but -” Here I turn and full-on slap Jonathan's face. “That's for pretending to be my best friend. That's for lying to me f
or
years
.”

He doesn't react beyond taking a deep breath.

“
Talk,” I demand.

“
I think it would be better if I just showed you,” Jonathan finally says.

“
What, you have a diagram or something?”

He shakes his head, unaffected by my sarcasm. “No.” And he reache
s a hand out toward me. I flinch and he says, “I'm not going to hurt you. Just relax.”

Relax, yeah right, I think. But then something compels me to do so and I can't help but drop my shoulders. “Fine.”

When he touches my cheek, I am no longer in the car.

A man had been shot in an empty, darkened park and a young woman knelt next to him.“Stefan,” she called softly.

Through labored breathing and blood pouring from his stomach and out of his mouth, he managed to meet her gaze. He made no move to speak, thoug
h it was probably impossible for him at that point anyway.

“
Sie müssen jetzt gehen,
” she said in German. I watched her lay a hand on the man's forehead. His eyes fluttered and closed. His breathing slowed and after a moment, ceased.

I was in Germany. And
apparently I was fluent in the language because that young lady I was watching was me.

I wore bright white clothing of some sort. It glimmered, but it wasn't the material. Its source was something else. When I stood and turned toward me, Jonathan – I gue
ssed this was his memory – I saw that I was, in fact, that source. But her glow was different that what I'd seen before. It seemed shadowed around the edges.

My other self lifted a hand in greeting to Jonathan, then turned her attention back to the man she
'd just – well, I wasn't sure. Helped die? Suddenly that same man stood next to his body, staring at his former self in shock. This new version of the man was clearer somehow...I innately recognized it as  his spirit.

Jonathan and I watched as she quietly
talked to the dead man named Stefan.
“Ich für Ihren Verlust zu entschuldigen. Aber ich kann Ihnen versichern, dass Sie sich irgendwo besser. Sie gehen nach Hause.”

The man finally looked up at my gleaming self. “Und meine Familie?”

“
Sie sind gut. Sie hab
en Ihre Zeit hier hält es sicher verbracht, und sowerden sie bleiben,” she answered. I had no idea what she was saying. He nodded, relieved, and then disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Fuzziness – and then I am back in my own body, in the car, in the dit
ch, with Jonathan.

I look over at him and groan, “Aw, hell. I'm a freaking grim reaper?”

8

“
Not exactly,” Jonathan tells me solemnly. “More like you're an angel. An angel of Death.”

There's a hush, but then I roll my eyes.
“This isn't
Touched By an Angel
.”

“
You're right, it's not. It's way more serious than that. You see, in that world everything eventually ends up okay because God is leading the way. Here it's different. God isn't guiding us. We are just as accountable as h
umans for our actions. Our mistakes have consequences. We can choose.”

The back of my head hits the window as I reposition myself to look at him more directly. “Choose what?”

“
Whether or not to do our jobs.”

“
Elaborate.”

He folds his arms. “First of all, y
ou and I aren't in the same...position.
I
am a guardian angel.”

I laugh a little hysterically. I'm actually having this conversation. “You've got to be kidding me. If there are really guardian angels, then let your posse know that they're doing a pretty aw
ful job out there. Or maybe you don't read the news.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “It doesn't work like that. There's a certain way things go. Fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it – it runs the show.”

“
So free will is a sham.”

“
No. You can do whatever you
want. The smaller things, say like where you go to college, what jobs you hold, who you marry, and so on – that's not set in stone. What is fated is your time of birth, your time of death, and whether or not you create major influence on the world.”

“
So t
he guy who finds the cure for AIDS is already predestined to do so?”

“
Right.” He clears his throat and looks away.

The dude is so readable. One clear of the throat and I know there's something he's not telling me, but I let it drop for the moment. “So you
guardian angels
help with the day-to-day stuff, huh? Make sure that people don't pass before their time?” He nods, and I continue. “So what happens if they do die? Before their time, I mean.”

“
They don't, not really. You've heard of 'miracles' before, have
n't you? A person might end up in a permanent coma, but they don't ever really die. Not before their time.” Jonathan shifts uncomfortably.

“
It sounds like you aren't really necessary.”

He shakes his head slowly and looks at me in a way that sends chills do
wn my back. “No, Abigail. I take my job very seriously. If I don't intervene in time, before that moment of death occurs...” He takes a deep breath. “It scars them, Abby. Going somewhere they weren't supposed to go. And it disrupts their path. You see, aft
er you or another one of your kind send the deceased on their way, that person is Judged. That Judging is
not
pre-ordained. And getting scarred like that...the Judges prefer more or less pure souls. There are allowances, but it's tricky. That scar can lead
a soul to choose things he or she would not have chosen otherwise in their human lives.”

“
But, I mean, how often can that happen?”

Jonathan lets out a low whistle. “Well,” he starts.

I sit up straighter. “Don't tell me. It's good versus evil related, righ
t?”

He nods. “It's not just a temporary biological death that can scar a person. A demon can damage a person's soul, too.”

I lean my head back, contemplating. “Before we go any further, Jon, I need to know something.”

“
What's that?”

“
Why are you here? And,
if I'm an angel like you say I am, why am
I
here?”

A guy from the nearest tow trucking company pulls my car slowly out of the ditch. When the front is visible, it's clear that there's more damage than I thought.  “Damn.” I bite my lip. .

Jonathan had l
eft after telling me he'd explain everything later. When I say left, I mean he disappeared. One second he was there, the next he was not. No breath of air or noise whatsoever. Creepy, creepy, creepy. But I shove all my fears and misgivings down. Now is the
time to be strong and being numb helps. Yes it does.

The towing man waits as I try my ignition. To my undying gratefulness, the car starts up. I hand him a hundred and drive home. On the way, the scraping sound of bent metal on pavement jars my thoughts.
My bumper had suffered the worst in my little ditch run-in. “Fabulous,” I say as drivers honk and pedestrians stop to stare at the sparks created by the twisted bumper. I wave and smile. “Yes, yes,” I say through clenched teeth. “Enjoy.”

When I finally get
home, it is quiet and eerily still. The fridge doesn't even do its popping thing. I plop onto the couch and switch on the television for some distraction. I don't want to think about things right now. CNN is still the channel that first comes on. I see th
e picture of a burning building and the caption “Fifteen Dead in Factory Fire.” Blech. I switch to Nickelodeon.
Spongebob
is on, something I used to watch a
lot
in junior high. No shame.

Spongebob is jelly-fishing when I hear Jonathan's soft voice beside m
e. “I've seen this episode.” He smiles.

Having since resigned myself to the fact that Jonathan could pop in and out of wherever as he pleased, I am not startled. “I love the jellies,” I tell him.

We are silent for a while as we watch the various mishaps th
at Spongebob and his crew encounter. When there is a commercial break, I mute the television. I don't move my eyes from the screen as I ask, “So, you here to finish our talk?”

“
I am here to answer your questions, yes.”

I shove the afghan covering me aside
and sit up. Coolly, I watch him and say, “You could answer the ones you didn't when you left the car.”

“
Yes. Well...” He rubs his chin.

“
You know, for an angel, you sure do have a lot of human-like tics.”

Jonathan smirks and drops his hand to his lap. “I
have been around for a long time, Abigail. Those
tics
are not hard to pick up.”

“
Did you live with a family while you were here? How did you grow up if you're already old? I mean, I assume you're old.”

“
Very,” he responds.

I file that little tidbit away fo
r later. “So how did you do it?”

“
I lived alone. Sometimes as this adult being, and otherwise, at school and with you, I was a child. We can change appearance as we please. It's a sort of a comfort thing to help us do our jobs. We are whomever our assignme
nt feels most comfortable with.”

“
What do you actually look like?”

He smiles smoothly. “I'll show you sometime.”

I frown. “And what about me? How did the other me in that memory look like me now?”

“
I showed you an image you'd know.”

Okay...

There is silen
ce for a moment and then I blurt out, “Was I in a car accident at the beginning of the summer?”

“
Yes.”

“
And was it you that saved me?”

“
Yes.”

“
Are you my guardian angel?”

Again, he smiles. This all feels very rehearsed, like we've done it before. I almost
know what he's going to say before he says it. “Angels don't usually have guardian angels. But for your time here, yes, I suppose I am.”

“
And something's trying to get me, isn't it.” Not a question. I just want confirmation.

It's a minute before he answers
. “I'm afraid so.”

“
Why?” But he's quiet once more, so I try, “How did my car end up normal? I mean, there was nothing to suggest anything happened.”

“
I'm an angel,” he says simply.

On impulse, I roll my eyes. “Okay, all-powerful Jonathan.” Then I change t
he subject. “Tell me more about me before I was...well, here.” His eyes light up. Oh, great. We probably had a 'thing'. Not that that would be so bad, it would just be weird right now. But not then. Or maybe it was. Oh, whatever.

“
You were really, really g
ood at your calling. Helping ease people from one journey to the next – it was your gift. Which isn't unusual in itself. I mean, you were made to be an angel of Death, but you just had a special touch...for whatever reason.” I know he has more to say – 'wh
atever reason' obviously means 'I'm not telling you this part yet.' “But -” Here he falters for a moment. “Some angels started some problems. You tried to stop them. It was...this is the result.”

I purse my lips, feeling that he won't go further with that
line of thought. “So where do you come in?”

“
Well, that's an interesting story. We've always known each other, of course. Ever since we were created. But you and I didn't start working together 'til around the birth of Jesus Christ.”