Subject: [SpikesSalvation] Phoenix Dreams Chapter 3 Date: Mon, 27 Oct 2003 10:05:21 -0800 (PST) From: Jerusha Hancock Reply-To: SpikesSalvation@yahoogroups.com To: SpikesSalvation@yahoogroups.com Chapter 3 Erin pulled her jacket tighter around her body, her curly dark hair blowing in the early October wind. It was late and getting dark, the heavy cloud cover obscuring the light from the setting sun. Her car had broken down the previous week, and so she had relied on her own two feet to get her to the book store and back, a walk of a mile and a half or so. In Newport, even an after-dark stroll wasn't too dangerous, but she still felt the thrill of fear run up and down her spine as she walked past an alley. She murmured the old prayer her grandfather had taught her as a small child. "The good Lord protect us from ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night." Looking back later, she supposed that the good Lord was working overtime that day, because the things that came at her out of the alley never got a chance to sink their teeth into her neck, as they were so obviously trying to do. One minute two creatures were grabbing her and forcing her back into the darkness, and she was crying out in fear. The next minute they were dust on the wind, and a thin man in ragged clothing stood in front of her, a broken piece of wooden crate in his hand. She stared at him, her heart still racing frenetically. "You okay?" he finally asked, as though pulling the words out of a deep well. Erin could tell he was having trouble focusing on her. "Yeah, I think so." Her heart began to slow, and her breathing was returning to normal. "Thank you." He frowned as though he was unsure of his next move. "Do—do you need an escort home?" he asked. Erin smiled at the odd phrasing. "I could probably use one," she admitted. He fell into step beside her, still silent. "I'm Erin O'Connell." The man beside her was silent for a long time before he said, "William." Erin's eyebrows went up at his short answer. "No more than that?" she asked, her tone light. "I don't know," he replied. "It's—it was all fuzzy till I saw you. Don't know much before that, but knew I had to save the girl." The way he said it, it sounded like a memorized line, something he'd said before. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?" Erin asked gently, knowing even as she did so that she was probably crazy. Sure the guy had just saved her life, but he was obviously a little off, and he was a complete stranger. Sane women did not ask strange, ragged men home with them. But it felt right, and she remembered her grandfather telling her, as she was struggling with some long-forgotten decision, "You have a good heart, alanna. You follow your heart and you won't go far wrong. And any mistakes you do make, they'll be honest ones." Her grandfather had also taught her about debts of honor, and she owed William not only for her own life, but also the life of her unborn child. He was in trouble, and possibly friendless, and so she would do what she could for him. William looked at her as though she had just gone insane, and she realized he probably wasn't as off as she thought, just a little dazed from whatever had happened to him. "Why?" "Because I owe you." The simplicity of her answer seemed to throw him, and she watched, fascinated, as he blushed and ducked his head. "I didn't do anythin' special, luv." "Sure you did," she replied and stopped in front of a darkened building. "You can spend the night tonight, have a decent meal, get cleaned up. Tomorrow, if you're still having trouble remembering things, we can call the police, see if there are any missing persons reports." He paused, considering her choice carefully, turning it over in his head. It seemed both right and wrong at the same time, but he realized the wrongness was in consideration for the woman's safety and nothing else. He might not be the best person to bring home, but he no longer remembered why that might be. And then he suddenly realized that he was hungry and tired and cold, and wanted nothing more than to take her up on her offer, if only for tonight. "Okay," he finally replied, and Erin nodded, having waited patiently for his decision. There was only about another hundred yards to go before they got to her apartment building, and she led him up the two flights of stairs to the third floor. She unlocked the door and entered, waiting for him to follow while William seemed to be waiting for something from her. "Did you change your mind?" she asked, bemused. Hesitantly, he stepped through the doorway, a look of surprise on his face. It seemed as though he'd been expecting some resistance, and Erin had no idea what that might mean. "Come on," she said quietly. "I'll make us some dinner and then you can get cleaned up." William followed her into the kitchen, his blue eyes taking everything in at once, and Erin pulled out a can of Campbell's Vegetable Beef soup as well as bread and cheese for sandwiches. "So you don't remember anything at all?" He stood, shifting from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. "No. I—I remember my name, and that Spike is dead, but nothing else." "Spike?" She frowned. "Your dog maybe?" It didn't really make any sense, unless it was this death that sent him over the edge in the first place. "Sit down, please. You're making me nervous." He obeyed her immediately, feeling slightly abashed. The cobwebs were beginning to clear from his mind, but he still felt oddly out of place, as though something were fundamentally wrong. "Dunno," he admitted frankly. "Dunno what happened before I saw you in that alley, either. Just that I saw you, and suddenly I knew what I had to do." Erin nodded, considering his accent. He wasn't American, by the sound of it. Or, at least he hadn't been raised in America. There was nothing to say that he couldn't hold dual citizenship. And it was slightly odd, really, since he kept alternating in between high class British and something close to Cockney, or what she considered to be Cockney. They were both silent as she continued preparing the meal, and when she put the bowl of soup and toasted sandwich in front of him, he fell upon it like he hadn't eaten in weeks. For all she knew, he hadn't. When they had both finished, she put the dishes in the dishwasher and turned back to him. "Why don't you get cleaned up?" she suggested. "I'll see if I can't find something for you to wear." He nodded. "Thank you. For the food." His eyes were clearer now, she realized, and calm. It was as though he had centered himself, in spite of not knowing who he was. "Of course," she replied, and reached out to touch him on the arm. Suddenly, she felt blinded. It was a sensation she had never experienced, one that she could barely grasp even as it happened. It was as though she were on fire, and she could see him. Truly see him, and it was as though he were a great being of light and fire and beauty. It was like touching an angel. "Let me—let me get some clothes," she finally said, unsure if he had caught her reaction. Erin showed him to the bathroom and demonstrated how the taps worked. Then she went into her closet and started digging around. She'd only moved in a month or so before, and hadn't yet unpacked everything. But most of what she had left in boxes were things she couldn't bear to throw away. The box labeled "Mark" was the one she was looking for. She pulled it out of the closet and begin to sift through the contents, trying to find clothing that might fit her guest. Her brother had been two years older, but they had been inseparable. When their parents died in a car accident, they'd both come to live with their paternal grandfather, an old Irishman with a touch of the Sight. She still remembered what he'd said to her the day they'd arrived on his doorstep. "Ah, alanna, you've got a hard road ahead of you, and so much loss. So much joy, but so much loss." Mark had dismissed his words with a laugh; he'd had a practical mind and didn't much believe in the Sight or anything like it. But her brother had died at the tender age of 24 in an accident on the aircraft carrier he'd been stationed on. And her grandfather had died only a year later of a massive heart attack. And now she was all alone except for a baby on the way. "Ma'am?" She turned to face William who stood in her doorway, a towel around his waist and a sheepish expression on his face. His hair was damp and curly from the shower, and she couldn't help the bolt of pure desire that hit her somewhere below the belly. If touching him was like touching an angel, it no longer surprised her. Because right now he certainly looked like one. "Sorry," she apologized. "I was just remembering." Erin held out the pair of worn green pants she'd found as well as a gray sweatshirt. "They were my brother's." He looked at the clothing he held and his eyes met hers for a long moment. "I'm sorry." There was such compassion in his eyes, she wanted to cry, but instead she forced a smile and went to exit the room. "I'll make up the couch for you. It should be fairly comfortable." "Thank you," he said, and he touched her arm as she passed him. For an instant, she felt it again, and then it passed, and he was only a very ordinary man standing in her bedroom. Erin smiled, a real one this time, and squeezed his hand, relishing the contact. She had truly been alone for too long. "You're welcome, William." "But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted but not forsaken; struck down but not destroyed." 2 Cor 4:7-9 ---------------------------------