Pieces of Hope (35 page)

I heard
an odd whooshing sound and felt strong blasts of wind billow from behind us. It
was strong enough to push the hair into my face and rustle my stupid dress
around. I was afraid to look, afraid that what my gut was telling me was
right—that I had a darn good reason to be frightened. But Daniel was here with
me, my logical brain kept saying, and he would protect me—he would—unless
he
was the source of the problem . . . .
And maybe, heaven help me, that’s really what I was most afraid of.

Craning
my neck slightly, I caught the briefest glimpse of enormous leathery wings that
were the color of dried-blood. They had long, lethal, dagger-like tips. His
imagination had surpassed my expectations. Sprouting dragon’s wings? What, were
we about to go flying or something? A chuckle threatened to surface.

“Okay,
this wasn’t among my top thousand guesses, but I have to hand it to—”

Daniel
leapt from the cliff. We plummeted down at an alarming rate, the crashing waves
rushing up far too swiftly to meet us. The sound of my deafening scream bounced
off the massive stone walls. My hands clawed into his as I held on for dear
life, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
 

“Stop
screaming,” Daniel encouraged. “Nothing can happen to you here.”

We began
leveling off, travelling outward rather than downward. I slowly became
conscious of what that loud whooshing noise was now. At first I’d thought it
was the echo of a distant scream in my ears, but then I realized it was from
those enormous wings billowing in the breeze.

“And
open your eyes,” he said with a laugh. “You’re missing the view.” I inched one
eye open, but refused to relinquish my grip. “Ouch.”

I
glanced down at saw that his hands were bleeding.

“When
did you grow fingernails?” he asked.

“Sorry.”
Through chattering teeth, I extracted my nails.

“Open
the other eye, Hope. I’m sure that girl must have told you about this place,
that nothing can hurt us here . . . you know, the one that follows you
everywhere you go.”

“Not
everywhere,” I insisted, agitated. “And yes,
Creesie
told me.”

“But you
don’t trust it?” he guessed. Or was he was reading my mind?

“That’s
not the point. The point is I want you to put me down. I’m afraid of . . . of heights.”
It was lame, but I was
flying
! Who
could think straight?

“Hope,
you climb like a monkey on steroids. I’m the one who’s afraid of heights.”

“Put me
down!” I was growing weary of his childishness. “Put me down. Now!”

“Now?”
he asked, slightly amused. I could guess how funny he thought this was—me in a
ridiculous dress, trapped by his wild imagination as we flapped around the
Cliffs of
Moher
on dragon’s wings. “Right now?” he
questioned. “You sure you don’t want to—?”

“Now,
Daniel! Right now! Are you suddenly deaf?”

“Whatever
you say,” he agreed easily. “But I don’t know why you’re being such a chicken.”

His arms
released me and I fell like a stone toward the sea. The waves, rising like
angry wet fire, swelled and crashed below me. Right up to that last second, I
thought that Daniel was going to save me. I’d heard that hitting water from
great heights was a lot like crashing into concrete. I couldn’t muster enough
courage to scream so I relied on my old standby and closed my eyes. If I were
about to die, I didn’t want to see it coming.

Then, at
the moment of impact, I plunged into feathery softness—down, down—
down
? Feathery softness?
Chicken
?

Sprawled
flat on my back, I opened my eyes and started to speak. Something was stuck to
my lips and tongue. Hurriedly I pulled it from my mouth, examining it as I sat
up, then fell back down again. I could see that I was sitting in an enormous
pile—easily fifty feet high—of chicken feathers. Astonishment, then anger
rushed to take its place.

“Not
funny!” I looked up. Daniel was still flying languidly over my head, an absurd
smirk upon his face. “Get me out of here!” I shouted, pulling more feathers out
of my hair.

I heard
a tune. It repeated several more times. It almost sounded like a phone. As I
searched for the sound—digging first in the feathers, and causing more of them
to stick to me—I knew where it was. I lifted the hem of my skirt. From the
crisscrossed lacings that ran up my leg, I yanked out the phone. I had a text
message that read:

If you want out, you’ll have to sprout your
own wings and fly. 3 back 3
.

“You and
me through eternity?” I shouted, angrily throwing my fist in the air and
flailing in the huge pile of fluff. Spitting feathers, I said, “I’ll kill you
long before then!”
 

He dove
straight for me—a dreamy apparition even in my distressed state—wings tucked up
neatly behind him, his naked chest bared to the wind. The long pointed tips of
his wings extended several feet above his head. When he was only a fraction of
an inch from our noses touching, he arced up gracefully, taunting as he passed,
“First, you’ll have to catch me!”

“
Ughhh
!” I screamed, struggling like a small flightless bird
in my feathery cage.

And that’s
when it came to me. This shouldn’t be that hard, I thought. It was, after all,
all in my head. Of course, knowing something was in your head was one thing.
Doing something about it, quite another.

Daniel
drifted further and further away. Even with my spectacular vision, he was
almost a speck on the horizon. I could hear the waves crashing around me. From
my high perch, it looked as if he had cut out a small circle in the sea to
protect me. That was good, but also terrible. Daniel might take all of eternity
to return. And so, with limited options, I forced myself to concentrate.

If this
worked at all like returning to the Station, it should be a piece of cake. This
thought made me hungry which, in turn, made me think of the café which then
made me miss my new friends—so I changed that thought to—It should be a breeze.
Not as easy as I’d first guessed. Distractions were becoming, as
Creesie
had predicted, the norm.

I tried
to visualize my new wings, but got hung up on the specifics. For one, I had no
idea where they should go. Attached between my shoulder blades—or higher? Too
low and I’d end up with a permanent downward tilt. Too high and they might not
support my lower half. I agonized on the structure as well. Should they be firm
but feathery? Translucent but tough? And last but not least, the color was a problem.
Blue—too traditional? White—too angelic? Red—too bold?

“Speed
it up!” I heard Daniel say, though he wasn’t anywhere in sight. “You may be a
perfectionist, but we’re talking about wings here . . . not a cure for cancer!”

I
settled on crimson to match my gown—what can I say; it was growing on me—tucked
between my shoulder blades, and finely veined. I couldn’t feel them resting
there, but the instant I wondered how they looked, one of them stretched out to
the side for me to see. As far as wings went, they were stunning. Translucent, not
feathery. Much shorter at the top, but extending in a long, narrow tip at the
bottom. Unlike Daniel’s—pointy and masculine—mine were smaller,
delicate-looking, and with softly scalloped edges.

“Hope!”
Daniel called just over my head. “Stop admiring your handiwork and get to
flying. You’re missing the fun!” Despite knowing that I would never get used to
people hearing my thoughts, a giggle escaped me.

Feeling
a bit like a baby bird, I couldn’t wait to test my wings! I tried to stand in
my loose pile of feathers, but failing that, I bent forward at the waist to
give my wings room to spread. They made a slight snapping noise as they opened.
Without me giving them much thought, they began to move—flutter, really—more
like a hummingbird’s wings than an eagle’s. Soon I was off my perch and zipping
around the sky in circles.

I
flitted over to Daniel, then stood immobile in mid-air before him, my tiny
wings gently humming as his loudly whooshed. The view was spectacular, better
than the one from the land. From here, you could see hundreds of layers in the
centuries-old stone—reminding me of frosting in an enormous chocolate cake. The
cliffs sliced straight down to the Atlantic
where the deep-blue waves lapped relentlessly. Here and there, the Brad Pitts
of the bird world jumped from isolated perches into the cold waters below.

“You
like it, don’t you?” Daniel flashed a diamond-bright smile

I
sighed. I did and I didn’t. The living weren’t supposed to be able to sprout
their own wings and fly. And despite appearances, I
was
very much alive.

Hearing
my thoughts, he said, “You have a choice, you know.”

“Choice?”
I choked. Which one?

In
mid-air, he bent down on a single knee, wrapped his arms around my legs, and
looked up at me earnestly. “Be my eternal angel, my love. Stay with me. Here.
Forever.”

Oh. That
choice.
       

“Don’t
be so dramatic, Daniel. I’m no angel and this isn’t heaven.”

“It’s
all hell without you,” he said as he clung to me. “Besides, being with you is
as close to heaven as I’ll ever get.” It was hard to take him seriously. Most
of the time, he wore a nearly permanent smirk upon his boyish face.

I pushed
his arms from my legs and zipped backwards fifty feet. He laughed as he beat me
there. I crashed into him, my wings bending in his embrace, but before he could
get a good grip, I fluttered off again. Several times I
zigged
,
believing Daniel would
zag
, but he beat me every
time. While playing this game of flying Tag, it occurred to me that it might be
fun to stay here. Guilt seized me immediately. Had I forgotten so easily about
Ethan?

Daniel
caught up and flew alongside me. I couldn’t get past him.

“Ask him
when you see him.” Daniel’s expression turned dark. “Ask him if he’d stay with
you here. My money’s on no.” I flew into a cloud, popped out the other side.
Daniel waited a few feet ahead, then slowed to match my speed. “I bet he’ll
make up some noble excuse—something about valuing life or something else
equally lame. But the truth is, when you get right down to it, he’s just a
selfish coward.”

“He is
not!” I shouted. But my voice betrayed my doubts. I wanted Daniel to shut his
big mouth. I wanted to get away from him and clear my head. I flew faster, but
couldn’t lose him.

We flew many
miles over nothing but the vast ocean. I spotted several enormous blue whales
as they journeyed to their destination, blowing water, the little ones chugging
alongside their mothers. Daniel knew how much I loved this stuff. For our day
together, he hadn’t overlooked a single detail.

Eventually,
we turned back inland, my thoughts drifting to wishes I had no right to wish
for. “I can help make your wish come true,” Daniel announced, startling me.

I glared
at him, hating the small part of me that wondered if he could.

“You
shouldn’t poke your nose in people’s thoughts,” I snarled. “That’s private!”

“You’re
right,” he said, surprising me a second time. Daniel rarely agreed with me.
“But I understand better than you know as to why that one wish is so
important.” He caught me in his arms, gently crushing my wings. Immobile, I
watched his enormous leathery wings rise and fall through the air, easily
supporting us both.

I
bristled, but he had my attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have
a feeling my mother didn’t run away. I can’t imagine her ever leaving me on
purpose. I think John
Hartlein
”—he paused, and I felt
his grip tighten—“killed her.”

“What?”
I gasped in horror. “Your father is a sheriff, Daniel . . . and she was his . .
. his wife, the mother of his only child.”

“Who
better to commit the perfect crime than someone who knows how to hide the
evidence?” His voice came out in a low growl. The skin on my arms pinched where
he held me. “Besides, he’s hated me since I was born. I think he believes she
cheated on him—that I’m not even his son.”
 

“Daniel,
you’re hurting me.” I wiggled my shoulders.

Looking
wounded, he released me and flew a short distance to a small spire of rocks
that sprang from the ocean. I followed. The waves crashed loudly around us as
we sat near its peak. But I was thinking . . . hadn’t John
Hartlein
said something to that effect—Not my son. Was that it? And there was something
more, something dreadful that followed . . .

I
considered all that Daniel had told me, trying to determine if he were making
it up for the sake of gaining sympathy—or winning my heart. He could be charming
(too much so) and sometimes he could manipulate facts, but when it came to his
mother, he would never intentionally mislead me.

“Tell me
why you think he did this,” I said, unable to think of it as real. An angry
sheriff with a vile temper killed his wife and successfully passed it off as a
missing person?
   

“I told
you my mother kept a packed suitcase in the trunk of her—”

“That
doesn’t prove a thing, Daniel. Only that your mother was afraid.”

“I
checked the trunk the day they found the car, abandoned at the Portland airport. Not a soul, other than the
two of us, knew about the suitcase. She showed it to me when I was thirteen,
back when we were still living in California.
I swore on my life I’d never tell anyone it was there.”

When I
looked down, Daniel was grinding his knuckles into the rock. I reached for his
hands. They trembled as I held them. For a while, he couldn’t speak.

“It was
difficult to get to,” he said unsteadily, seeming to see it as he spoke. “You
had to pull all this junk out of the trunk first. Mom did that on purpose in
case he ever got the idea to do some investigating. He had no patience. Zero. So
unless he had a reason to be suspicious, he wouldn’t actually dig down into the
spare tire well where the suitcase was hidden.”