The Watcher

“I know it’s warm, but it won’t do any damage. Just keep breathing.”

“As if I’m going to stop,” I said, but I focused on my breath anyway.

My mind blanked as though it were rebooting, obliterating any thoughts I had about what we were doing or what would happen next. An exploding fireworks display of colors and images followed, pictures that came so fast I couldn’t make sense of them. I winced, inhaling sharply as a piercing pain shot between my eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nice, deep breaths. This will pass too.” The resonant tones of her voice echoed right through me.

I closed my eyes,  the sound of her voice guiding me until the pain subsided, and a tu

Michael stood, his full height almost to the ceiling, and held out his hand to me. He spoke a different language, but somehow I understood it.

“Come to bed—wife.” The corners of his lips curled into a smile filled with desire and the promise of such pleasure that my skin flushed even remembering it.

Was this it? Was this what he was forbidden to do? Marry me?

But in that life, I smiled and danced, twirling around him and humming a tune from that time as I meandered toward our bed. Light from the fire flickered in the blackness of his eyes. He was different then. Even though his face held all the signs of his beauty, it was shadowed by a sadness that I hadn’t seen in him before, as if his glory had dimmed somehow. But in that moment I didn’t notice. I was focused on him, fueled as much by his desire as by my own. When I was close to the bed, he grabbed my arms, raising them above my head, and kissed me hungrily, without restraint, and a rush of passion flowed through me.

From what Michael had suggested about our past, I would have expected a wild disrobing or something forced at this part, but this was gentle, beautiful. It was strange to have a full memory of something I hadn’t done in this lifetime. I couldn’t see myself but saw it through my own eyes, as though it were happening to me, which it did. Even back then, the chemistry between us was incredible, and though it was only a memory my body responded.

Grappling for self-control, knowing that it wasn’t actually happening in the moment, that I wasn’t alone, I nervously pushed the memory aside, hoping Arielle couldn’t see it. At least Michael wasn’t with me. I would have jumped him for sure.

Next, I saw us waking with the sunrise, naked on a bed of furs, Michael peaceful as he slept. Scars ran down the length of his back where his wings had once been.

Like being startled awake, I snapped out of the memory with a pounding heart, a dry mouth, and sweaty palms. Arielle’s hands rested on my shoulders as she searched my face for an answer.

“Could you see what I saw?” I said.

She shook her head. “I could only see you were getting memories and feel your feelings.”

“All my feelings?” I cringed, thinking that some things should be private.

“You were so in love.”

“Still am,” I muttered under my breath.

Arielle hugged me. “Human love is frightening and tempestuous, but it can be beautiful, I’ll give it that.”

“I don’t understand what Michael did that was so wrong.”

“What did you see?”

“Our wedding night,” I began, then explained the image as clearly as I could, leaving out the personal, embarrassing details. Arielle asked me if I was forced or in pain at any point, but I wasn’t. There was nothing in that memory that I didn’t want to hold onto. It was beautiful and I would cherish it. “He slept. He told me that angels never slept.”

“That’s because he’d fallen,” she explained. “Angels were forbidden to mate with humans. Breaking our laws would drain him—make him mortal—so he had to be careful. Those who continued to fall would steal people’s life force in order to survive.”

“You mean Damiel?”

She nodded pensively. “Would you be willing to look again? Perhaps a different memory?”

“Yes. But I’m thirsty,” I said, and got up to pour myself a glass of orange juice. The muscles all over my body were strained and achy. My legs wobbled, so on my way back from the kitchen I stopped to stretch them out. As I bent forward and clasped my hands behind my back, one of my ribs popped back into place at least, but the pain in my muscles frustrated me.

“What you’re remembering isn’t coming from your mind in this life. It’s coming from your soul. I’m taking you so far into your soul’s past that your mind can’t process it, so it resists with physical pain. You may also experience fatigue or anger,” Arielle said, smiling kindly at me. “You’re doing really well.”

“How will this ever help Michael?”

“Are you ready to try again?” she asked. “You’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll be right here.”

“Yes.” I tried to not betray the sense of anticipation that welled inside me.

When she placed her hands on my head again, the heat was less intense than before. The images came as soon as I closed my eyes.

This time, I saw more of the ancient city where we used to live. It was near the sea. A huge sandstone wall surrounded it like a fortress, and in the center of the city was a great sandstone ziggurat. The house I lived in was on a farm near the edge of the city. It belonged to my family. Not sure where to go next, I thought about Michael.

Next thing I knew, I was in the woods outside the city walls. Michael stood before me wearing a long robe, and his downy white wings glowed behind him in the shade of the trees. Physically, he was huge. The top arc of his wings reached a good two feet above his own head, compounding his size as he towered over me. Seeing him filled me with a mixture of dread and awe that drove me to my knees. My breath came in gasps and I was dizzyingly afraid, astounded by this wondrous creature.

He caught me and lifted me back to my feet, shaking his head. Kneeling before me, he bowed his head and stayed there, motionless, until my fear subsided.

From a pouch on his belt, he presented me with a small ornate jar, carved from a clear crystal. Each incision captured the light, refracting into colored spectrums—like the light from his wings. When I opened the jar, the oil inside smelled of flowers and amber from the trees. He motioned for me to put some on my wrist, so I did.

“What are you seeing now?” It was Arielle’s voice, interrupting my memory.

“A meadow. He’s giving me perfume,” I said. The image wobbled slightly as I spoke. It was difficult to talk and focus on it at the same time.

“Try to see what happens next,” she offered.

“Okay.” I strained to concentrate. The images flickered slightly and faded out.

“Relax a bit more. You can’t force it.”

I tried to relax, but a flash of light erupted between my eyes again, followed by that short, stabbing pain. Instinctively, my hand gripped the bridge of my nose. Then the image flickered and shorted out, giving way to darkness.

I let out a groan of frustration. “It’s gone now.”

“It’s late,” Arielle said. “You’re tired. We should take a break.”

“What about the other memories?”

“The soul’s memories are delicate. They’re between a person and God. As an angel, I can take you to them but we can’t force it. If we do, we could damage them, which is what Damiel tried to do,” she said firmly, “and I won’t do that.”

“When can we start again?”

“A few hours. I’ll be right here.” Leaning forward on the couch, she tilted her head sideways and closed her eyes, listening. I imagined it was the way she tuned in to the others. “Michael’s fine.” She waved me off. “Get some rest.”