Guardian Angel
by Kristin Renee Taylor
gelles@yahoo.com



She was scared. That in itself was nothing new; after all, this
wasn't the first time HE had done something like this. But this
time... It felt different. This time something was gravely wrong.

She gently pushed the door to her bedroom open, just enough to put one
frightened eye against the crack so she could see into the hallway
beyond. The darkness outside was unnerving, as was the total, unbroken
silence. It worried her, pushing her already adrenaline-fueled fear to
new heights.

She swallowed heavily and took a step back, breathing hard. The
faint, amber glow of her night light cast uneven shadows about the
walls of her room, but she preferred those nightmarish images much
more than the unseen, unfelt, yet powerful and familiar thing that
wandered outside of her doorway.

But something was desperately wrong.

She wished, not for the first time, that she had owned a
flashlight, for she feared darkness almost as much as she feared HIM.
But, she was forced to make do with what she had.

Tiptoeing away from the door, she carefully reached between the
mattress of her bed and the boxspring. After a few hushed moments of
feeling about, her hand closed on the hilt, and she pulled the knife
free of its hiding place. It wasn't much, just a small paring knife
that Mama had used to peel potatoes with, but it was sharp and it was
the perfect size for her small hand, which was exactly why she had
taken it.

She returned to her post at the door, straining to hear above her
labored breathing and the non-stop, rapid booming of her heart. Right
hand tightly clutching the knife's hilt, she pulled her door farther
open with her left, stopping when it was barely large enough for her
to slip through. Taking a deep breathe, she stepped into the hallway
and closed the door behind her. The soft click of the latch seemed
obscenely loud in that stillness.

When nothing leaped at her, she moved carefully down the hallway,
some untold instinct telling her to keep close to the wall, where she
wouldn't make the floor creak as much. At the end of the hallway she
froze again, straining to hear through all of that darkness, somehow
certain that HE was nearby and waiting for her.

Directly across from where she stood would be the entrance to the
living room/kitchen. There were windows there, overlooking the street
far below, and the light from the streetlamps would have been adequate
enough for her to see. But there was nothing, just unending darkness.
This was wrong.

Her mouth had gone dry. She worked her throat fruitlessly,
failing in an attempt to summon saliva. Her right hand was sweaty,
and the tight grip on the knife was making it cramp painfully. She
forced the fingers of that hand opened and transferred the small
blade to her left hand.

She had finally worked up enough courage to enter the living room,
when the windows abruptly came into view, as HE turned around and
walked fully into the hallway. She almost screamed, biting down hard
on her lower lip to stifle it, and immediately felt blood running down
her chin. She froze, not daring to move to wipe it away for fear that
somehow HE would sense her presence.

By the faint light of the windows, she saw HIM, HIS back to her,
peering further up the hallway. Waiting for her to leave her room,
she realized, terrified. HE was so close that if she reached out a
hand, she would touch HIS arm. But, at this range, she realized that
HE smelled different. The odor of old, rotting grass was familiar to
her, as was the smell that reminded her of the stuff that HE always
drank. But there was a disquieting, coppery scent on him, one she
knew she had smelled before, but she couldn't really remember where
or why.

HE moved farther down the hall, then, calling her name softly,
headed for her room. She darted forward almost as soon as HIS
presence faded somewhat, into the living room, and took shelter
beneath the large coffee table.

Panting furiously, knife forgotten, she heard the door to her
room open, then slam shut, followed by the furious bellow of her
father's voice. Lights flicked on in what she knew was the bathroom,
and she curled herself into a tight ball, whimpering, eyes locked on
the doorway.

In the backlight, she saw someone standing where she recently
had. A woman, she realized, and a stranger at that. The woman leaned
casually against the wall, looking down the hallway, an amused,
yet cold smile on her face. As though feeling her gaze, the woman
turned to look at her, and the coldness melted, replaced by a smile
full of warmth. Her lips moved, and there were words, but no sounds.

'Hello, Amber.'

The girl gasped and opened her mouth to reply, but the woman
shook her head slightly and lifted a finger in a gesture of silence.
From the direction of her room came a loud crash, followed by another,
all accompanied by HIS insane screaming. The woman gazed off in that
direction for a moment, then turned to look at her again.

'No need to talk. I can hear your thoughts.'

'Who...?'

The woman smiled at her again. 'You don't have to be afraid. Not
of HIM, or the darkness. I can make it so you won't be afraid.
Wouldn't that be nice?'

She nodded slowly. It would be nice. But how was the woman going
to stop HIM?

'Leave that to me, little one.' One hand lifted and gestured in
her direction. 'Sleep, and let your guardian Angel take care of
everything.'

Darkness reached out to claim her, but for once it didn't seem
frightening.




Angel watched the girl until she had relaxed totally. By then, the
girl's bastard of a father had finished tearing apart the bathroom,
his bedroom, and Amber's room. He now stalked back down the hallway,
oblivious to Angel's presence, muttering angry obscenities that only
her hearing could have picked up.

"Stupid bitch. Where the hell is she hiding?"

"Such words," Angel murmured and straightened, her trenchcoat rustling
softly as she stepped away from the wall. "Is that any way to talk
about your daughter?"

Halfway to her, he stopped, eyes wide and blood-shot as he looked
around. "Who the hell said that?" he shouted.

She smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know." A quiet hiss as she drew her
sword from the sheath at her side. Her eyes, formally brown, burned
red.

He stared at the source of her voice, actually stared through
her. She let her cloak drop, and watched with cold satisfaction as he
yelled and stumbled away from her. "Who? Who? *What* are you?"

"Don't you know anything?" She advanced on him, smiling ferally. "I'm
the Devil."

He screamed, and didn't stop for a long time.





Author's Note:

Comments, criticisms, etc. can all be sent to gelles@yahoo.com
Angel is my own creation. People like Amber's father, unfortunately,
exist in real life. Makes me wish Angel did, too.

This has been a production of Blueberry Enterprises.