Eternity Page 2
Please remember what I overheard our parents say. Ignorance is the only thing that has protected us so far. Ignorance about who we are has protected us—protected everyone, really—from the start of the end-days clock. And, if Ezekiel is to be believed, that ignorance is the only thing that has protected our parents from being very mortal pawns in a deadly game. Our parents have tried to re-create that ignorance artificially, by using other fallen angels to exercise their powers of forgetting on us.
So we must seem to forget. We must pretend that we are simply Ellspeth Faneuil and Michael Chase, two normal teenagers from Tillinghast. We must make believe in front of our classmates and friends, our teachers and coaches, and especially our parents. Since we can’t be certain if the exercise of our powers would lead the fallen angels to believe we have full knowledge of ourselves as Nephilim, we cannot fly or read thoughts or taste blood. We can’t take the chance that the use of our powers would trigger the end days and alert the fallen to our whereabouts.
We must even be cautious of speaking aloud the truth to each other. Because, if anyone is watching or listening or tracking us by whatever worldly means they have available to them, they will know.
So until we are ready—until we figure out what we’re meant to do and how to do it—we have to play at being wholly human. Until then, only through written words can we fly and taste and truly love. And I do truly love you.
Michael
Chapter Four
Stepping into the hallways of Tillinghast High School was actually weirder than acknowledging that I was an otherworldly creature.
I watched as girls chatted about their lip gloss, and guys shared apps on their iPhones. I noticed friends giggling about other friends’ outfits and teammates thumping each other on the back for games well played. I walked past kids furiously copying their friends’ homework assignments and others fumbling with the towers of books in their lockers. Of course, I suffered the occasional “accidental” bump by students still angry with me for the now-infamous Facebook incident in which I took the fall for a nasty prank concocted by two of the more popular junior girls, Piper and Missy, in order to protect many of my fellow students.
I couldn’t stop from staring at my classmates in amazement, like they were exotic creatures in the zoo. They had no idea that some kind of Armageddon was heading their way and that I was selected to play a special role at the end. Maybe even stop it. They were oblivious to the fact that all their gossiping and studying and worrying were meaningless.
I felt the simultaneous urge to sob and giggle. The whole notion of Ellspeth Faneuil as savior to the world was both overwhelming and ridiculous.
The only thing keeping me sane while I walked down the hallway was Michael. The link of his fingers in mine was like a tether to our new reality. I believed I could navigate through our conflicting worlds—the frivolous Tillinghast High School and the looming otherworldly battle—with him beside me.
Once I said good-bye to Michael before heading into English class, I lost my anchor. I felt like I’d been cast adrift into an unreal sea.
English class brought me near the brink. The minute I entered the classroom, Miss Taunton launched into me. Like a hawk circling a wounded animal, she bombarded me with questions about our latest assigned novel, which I could barely remember amid the more vivid recollections of my days in Boston and my encounter with Ezekiel. I wanted to scream at her that none of this mattered, even though I didn’t dare.
The second that Miss Taunton lay off me, my best friend Ruth texted me: “Wait for me in the hall after class.” Normally, I’d welcome a quick chat with my oldest and best friend in the world, especially if it involved commiseration over Miss Taunton’s unfair but not unusual treatment of me. For reasons best known only to herself, Miss Taunton had taken a decided dislike to me. But I didn’t know if I could handle a one-on-one conversation with Ruth yet. I had no idea what she remembered. The last time we were together—minutes before I boarded the train to Boston—she had confessed to having seen me fly. Had my parents tried to erase Ruth’s memory too, with more success? If so, could I pull off the regular Ellie act? How should I handle Ruth? I pled illness and intermittently coughed throughout class to support my ruse.
At the ringing of the bell, I raced out of class. My head was spinning. I needed a reprieve from the dual universes. A moment to catch my breath, to reassemble myself.
Instead, I ran smack into Piper, my next-door neighbor. She had been ignoring me for weeks, since I decided to take the blame for that wicked Facebook prank. Unbelievably, she had decided that this was the moment to break the silence.
“I know what you did, Ellie. I don’t get why you did it. Why would you take the blame for something you didn’t do? Why would you sit through weeks of detention and being grounded and walk down the hallways, knowing that all the kids in school hate you, and not ever point a finger at me or Missy? I bet you think you’re some kind of a saint,” she said with a shake of her perfect hair. Yet beneath the part of popular girl that she played so well, I saw the other, secretly self-doubting Piper. And she was pleading for my understanding, even for forgiveness.
I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to tell her the truth—that her snide little guess wasn’t totally off the mark. I was half angel, and I simply couldn’t have sat by and let others suffer at her hand. That she better rethink her future actions and ask absolution for those past, because there wasn’t much time left for malevolent games.
The conversation nearly delivered me to the edge. Who was I meant to be? How was I supposed to behave?
Before I could say anything I’d regret, Michael appeared at my side and dragged me away.
“Are you all right, Ellie? You look pale,” he said, once we were alone. I must have looked shaken, because alarm registered on his face.
“I’m not sure if I can do this, Michael. I know we need to pretend, but I’m already having a hard time—knowing what we know,” I whispered.
He put his arm around my shoulder and walked me down the hallway, bringing us into a darkened alcove. More than anything, I wanted to stay in that warm, shadowy recess, wrapped in his arms. It was the only place I felt safe. It was the only place that made sense.
Michael placed his finger under my chin, and tipped my face to his. “Ellie, I know you can.”
He slipped another letter into my hands. He nodded that I should read it immediately, so I smoothed out the paper and started.
My Ellie—
Do you remember the first time we went flying over our field? You were so nervous about everything. You were afraid to fall from such heights; you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of me; you were fearful of doing something so clearly otherworldly. Still, you were determined and strong. And I watched in awe as you furrowed your beautiful brow, willed your fears away, and took to the air.
You were breathtaking up there. The wind at your back, your black hair whipping all around you, you owned the skies. From the beginning.
And the very next day, you walked down the hallways of Tillinghast High School like nothing had happened. Like you were a regular girl—prettier and smarter than all the rest, of course, but just a regular human girl.
You can do that again, Ellie. You can walk the tightrope between the two worlds with courage and determination. You’ve done it before.
I love you,
Michael
I smiled as I read the letter. Somehow he had anticipated my feelings and perfectly knew how to restore my confidence. How to bring me back to myself. Michael truly was my soul mate.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Remember who you are. Remember that you walked this walk before, and you can do it again.”
I nodded and closed my eyes for a second. Conjuring those days from earlier in the fall, my self-assurance returned, slowly and shakily and only on the surface. I had no other option. I had to successfully playact at being a regular high school junior, concerned about homework and m
y new boyfriend. Michael had to convincingly make believe that he was an average senior guy, focused on football and college prospects and me. Too much depended on our role-playing.
Off to calculus I went. As I listened to Mr. Dalsimer rattle off theorems, I stopped fixating on the surreal nature of my situation and started to map out my next steps. Focusing on action helped take my mind off my still-shaky core.
By the time class ended, and I joined Michael in the hallway, I wasn’t surprised that his next letter had the same focus. I had already drafted a similar note in my head.
My Ellie—
Now that your resolve has returned, did you spend all of calculus thinking about what we should do next? I bet you didn’t take a single note. I’m guessing that you stared out the window, dreaming up a strategy.
I did the same thing.
What should we do next? The trip to Boston definitely gave us a better sense of our natures as Nephilim, and the encounter with Ezekiel linked our births to the emergence of some kind of apocalypse. Crazy as that sounds. We need much more information in order to act next. We need to know exactly what the Nephilim are and were—creation, history, powers, even mortality—and we need to know how the Nephilim fit into this whole end-of-the-world scenario that Ezekiel revealed to us. How are we going to get that knowledge while playing dumb and suppressing our powers? Wouldn’t any research we undertook—either in a library or by talking to experts like that professor in London we were going to track down—serve as a red flag to our parents or anyone else who might be seeking us? Wouldn’t that be the same as using our powers? Wouldn’t it make the fallen aware of our knowledge and start the end-days clock ticking? We need to act, but what do we do?
My brilliant, brilliant Ellie. Did you drum up any amazing ideas in calculus? We need a plan. Now.
I love you,
Michael
Between the last few periods of the days, we exchanged a flurry of letters. We each had our theories on how best to get the information we required, and they weren’t the same. Among other ideas, I proposed that I undertake some covert research in the university library, under the auspices of visiting my parents at the office. Michael objected; he was adamant that I not do any work directly. Instead, he suggested that, through an intermediary, we reach out to the professor in London that we had intended to visit after our trip to Boston. I reminded Michael that Ezekiel knew about the London professor. Who was to say that Ezekiel hadn’t alerted some of the other fallen that we might try to contact the professor?
Finally, by the end of the school day, we concocted a plan we could both agree upon. It was risky. And it was our only choice.
Chapter Five
When the last bell rang, I walked Michael over to the football field for his practice, as I would any other day. We needed to stick closely to our usual activities and schedule. Just in case any of the fallen was watching and waiting to see what we knew.
Before he headed into the locker room, I leaned in to kiss him, as I always did. Today, instead of the usual “see you later,” I heard him whisper, “Good luck.”
I needed it.
I walked over to the parking lot to meet Ruth for an after-school coffee. I knew I had to face Ruth sooner or later, so before our final class I texted her that my cough had subsided and I felt up to our regular meeting. It sickened me to lie to her; we’d always told each other everything.
Amid all the cars and all the kids preparing to bolt from school, I didn’t spot her at first. Then I caught a glint of her red hair against the backdrop of the gray day. I hustled over to her used, green VW bug, not sure what reaction I’d get. Did she remember seeing me fly, or didn’t she? How was I supposed to behave?
“You look really ready for a latte,” Ruth pronounced, sounding very normal.
“I am really ready for one,” I said, attempting to match her light tone.
As we got into her car, I thought how pretty she looked under those wire-rimmed glasses. I smiled a bit, thinking about how shocked our classmates had been when Ruth unleashed her inner runway model at the fall dance, only to tuck that beauty away again for school on Monday. Loyal, whip smart, yet incredibly reserved, Ruth loathed any unnecessary attention. She saved up her animation and lovely smiles for a select few, and most of Tillinghast High School didn’t make that cut. I hoped that the frank conversation I planned for our after-school coffee wouldn’t wipe the pretty grin right off her face.
I tried to mask my nervousness as we rode to the Daily Grind, and bolstered my courage by remembering the words of Michael’s first letter that day. We chatted away, mostly about a benign argument she had had with her new boyfriend, Jamie, about his chronic lateness. The conversation continued as we ordered our coffees and settled into two brown club chairs that sat side by side. As I feigned interest, I lifted my latte to my mouth for a sip. Suddenly, I noticed that my hand was shaking. I put the cup down on the table; I didn’t want Ruth to see and wonder why. Not quite yet, anyway.
Once she finished, I waited until the Daily Grind buzzed with noise. Then I scanned the room to make sure no one was paying us the slightest attention. Leaning over the arm of my chair, I slipped a piece of paper into her lap.
I prayed that the information we divulged within wouldn’t shatter her world. More fervently, I prayed that after she read the letter, she wouldn’t decide Michael and I were crazy and alert my parents to the disclosure, in an effort to “help” us with our delusions, of course. That would undermine everything that Michael and I were trying to accomplish.
Either way, it was a gamble we had to take.
Ruth stared down at the letter sitting in her lap, and said, “What’s this?”
“Read it, Ruth. Please.”
Laughing, she said, “So we’re passing notes now? What are we, in the third grade?”
I bit my lip and motioned for her to read the letter that Michael and I had so painstakingly crafted. I thought about the words we had carefully selected to describe our natures, so as not to upset her too much. We used vague phrases like “special, angelic gifts” instead of describing our ability to fly or, worse, the power of blood. I considered the language Michael and I had used in begging Ruth to help us better understand who we were and what the end days were. We had written about the “mystery of Nephilim selves” and the “looming troubles.” And I deliberated on the way we’d explained our inability to do the research ourselves—that others might be watching us and the importance of our pretending to be normal. In the letter, we told her everything we knew . . . but with kid gloves.
Hesitantly, she picked up the letter and unfolded it. I held my breath as she started reading. Even though Ruth had been my best friend for nearly ten years, I didn’t know how she would respond to our plea for help researching the nature of the Nephilim and the impending apocalypse. Even though we’d been careful not to use “apocalypse,” Ruth was no dummy. How could I possibly predict her reaction to the claim that I was an angel of some sort, no matter how prettily phrased? That our world teetered on the edge of annihilation?
Ruth cleared her throat, and whispered, “So you do remember?”
I was flabbergasted. Nothing in her behavior had given me the slightest hint that she remembered anything. “You do too?”
Ruth leaned toward me. In a voice so low that I could barely hear it, she said, “I remember watching you and Michael fly. And I remember taking you to the train station a few days ago. Today is the first day I’ve seen you since. I’ve been so worried about you and Michael, but who could I ask? Certainly not your parents.”
Relief coursed through me. I reached over to hug her, and said, “Thank God.”
As my hands touched her back and shoulders, I received an intense flash. I saw Ruth pacing her tiny bedroom. Her eyes were red rimmed, and she was staring down at her phone. Desperate with worry over my and Michael’s disappearance, she was willing it to ring.
For this very reason, I’d avoided touching anyone since I returned from Boston.
Once I made contact with someone, I couldn’t prevent this exercise of my powers, no matter how hard I tried.
Unaware of the images I’d received, Ruth squeezed me back and whispered, “I thought you had forgotten what you could do, or that I knew about your and Michael’s . . . abilities. Or that you didn’t want to talk about it for some reason. So when you pretended you were sick earlier today, I kind of backed away from you.”
“Now you know why I haven’t mentioned it.” I tried to apologize. In our letter, Michael and I divulged how our parents had tried to make us forget. And why. To help us, Ruth needed to know everything.
I felt her nod against my shoulder.
“So you’ll help us?” I whispered.
“Yes, Ellie. I’ll do the research that you and Michael need.”
“You understand that there are risks? Huge risks? We don’t know if we’re being watched. If we are, that means they might start watching you. And we have no idea what else they might do . . . to us or to you!” My voice cracked at even the thought of harm coming to Ruth.
“Of course. That seems very clear.” Even though her voice sounded firm and strong, I wondered if she comprehended the dangers. How could she, unless she’d stared evil in the face, as Michael and I had?
I started to cry. “Thank you, Ruth. Thank you so much for helping me and Michael.”
“Ellie, I’d do anything for you, you know that. This research, though, you understand that I’m not doing it for you and Michael alone, right?”
“No?”
“I am doing this for everyone, Ellie. Because if I understand your letter correctly, everyone is at risk. If it becomes known that you and Michael understand who you are and what you’re meant to do, then you will be engaged in some kind of conflict. And the entire world will hang in the balance.”