Wish by H.R. Davison (phonics books .TXT) 📕

protectors. In the past few weeks Andy and I have become really close. He has been helping with my calculus, history, and well… all the subjects. We share a lot of common interests, like the same taste is music, television shows, art style. We even studied the same language in school, Latin.

 

Should I tell him about the dreams and see if he knows anything? It sounds so silly, but my gut is telling me to go to him.

 

Trusting my instincts I send him a text message asking if he would stop by today. I hit send before I realize it is 6:30 in the morning. Oh crap. I should not have text him so early! Now he is going to think something is seriously wrong.

 

Right one cue my phone buzzes with an incoming message. It is from Andy asking if everything is alright. Suddenly exhausted with the memory of last night with DJ, I realize no, I am not alright.

 

Trying to decide how to word my reply I get another message from Andy saying he is on his way. Well that decides it; I won’t be going to school today. Andy rings the doorbell as I am cleaning up the mess from last night, throwing away the uneaten pizza, cupcake, wiping up the spill from the melted slushy, and straightening the house in general.

 

Andy does not look like himself when I let him into the house. His normally disheveled hair is sticking up wild tangles, his eyes are wide with worry, and the buttons on his shirt are mismatched, making him appear like a street bum. “Andy!” I say holding the door wide for him to walk in. “You didn’t have to rush over, really. Nothing is wrong. I just need to talk is all.”

 

Andy enters the house, taking me surprise, he enfolds me a swift hug, his long arms wrapping around my shoulders. “I worry about you Kat. You are every... I mean umm, I am in charge of your well being.”

 

Unsure of what to say I walk over to the couch flopping down on my back. Andy sits on the edge of the couch next to me; he leans over the top of me to place one hand on the back of the sofa. He is now face to face with me as he looks into my eyes. I stare back, wondering how I never noticed that we have the same exact eye color. “Tell me what’s going.” He says. It is not a question, but a statement.

 

I sit up on the couch, pulling my legs under me so he has more room to get comfortable. Wondering where to begin, it’s such a messed up situation. He is going to think I am crazy, telling him about my dreams. But looking into his eyes, I know he will be there for me, even if I am in a padded room. “This is going to be a long story. Do you need anything to drink?” I offer. He nods his head no, so I begin.

 

I tell him how my mother died or rather vanished, the car accident on the highway overpass. I pull up a video on a website showing him the scene. My mother’s shocked expression as she is pulled into the van, and then the van itself disappearing over the edge of the broken guardrail. I recount how the detectives say they never found her body, or any body for that matter.

 

There was no blood at the scene. My mother was just gone. The cops said that no one could have survived the fall, the van was demolished, but my mom had vanished into thin air. I describe the dreams I have been having. How it was always the same dream until recently, when they changed, when my mother started talking to me. I end my narrative with the last dream, explaining how she had told me to go to him and that he would explain everything.

 

When I am done I look up from my hands to Andy. I expect him to be on the phone with the psych ward reserving a room just for me; instead he is staring at me with a smile. Grinning broadly he says. “Kat you’re not crazy, your mom is alive.”

 

“What?” I respond flabbergasted. “How can that be? How are you so sure? What do you know? Tell me.” I order him, mustering as much authority as I can.

 

Can my mother truly be alive? That would be the best thing that could happen to me.

 

Andy runs his hands through his hair smoothing it down to lie over on one side. Sitting back onto the couch he clears his throat, “This is going to be an even longer story than yours. To tell it right I need to start at the beginning. You ready?”

 

I nod at him to go on. I am ready to hear how he can possibly think my mom is alive!

 

Andy starts his story. “Thousands of years ago, there were hundreds of angels that fell from Heaven, disgraced by God because they so loved mankind. The only one anyone ever talks about his Satan, because he dared defy God, but these others… well let’s say God was a little ticked off by Satan’s actions and wanted to set an example.”

 

Angels, God, Heaven, and Satan, what do they have to do with my mom? Andy better get to his point or I am done. With a sigh I rotate my hand in the air for him to get on with it.

 

“Anyway…” Andy continues, “These angels that fell from Heaven, were still by all rights, angels, they were just doomed to live on Earth for eternity and never again ascend to Heaven. There were twenty leaders of the fallen. Out of those twenty were a special thirteen, called watchers, and how do I say this delicately…” He trails off.

 

Interested in where this Sunday school sermon is going I shout. “Just tell me!” I playfully smack his shoulder.

 

“Okay, okay, but trust me Kat this next part is going to be hard to swallow.” Andy quips while scratching his nose. “Where was I? Oh yeah the watchers were the most powerful of all of the fallen, so one of the thirteen watchers, Bezaliel…”

 

“I know that name!” I shout excitedly. “The dark figure in my dream said that name when he pointed at me!”

 

“Yes, well, um…” Andy clears his throat again. “Bezaliel broke away from the Thirteen. She liked it so much here, on Earth, with mankind, she did not care to return to Heaven. But the other leaders and their followers were, pardon the pun, Hell bent on getting back to Heaven. A large faction of the hundreds of fallen angels stayed with the remaining twelve watchers, some left with Bezaliel. Now the angels see, each brought something with them in the fall. A gift for man, fire, written word, stuff like that. Each angel had their own unique gift. Bezaliel’s gift was a conscribed text from Metatron, the voice of God. Supposedly this script describes how a fallen angel can get back in to Heaven. But the path would be bloody, and mankind would suffer, so Bezaliel said the scripture was lost in the fall, since then the remaining twelve watchers of the thirteen, and yes they still call themselves the Thirteen, have been searching for the lost word of God.”

 

“And… they haven’t found it yet?” I ask, engrossed in the story now.

 

“Well…” Andy says. “Recently word went around the world that Bezaliel was lying about the text being lost. That the scripture was never lost, but that she had destroyed it after committing it memory. The Thirteen, they found her, and they have been torturing her since to get this information. I just learned today that Bezaliel has broken and is writing the lost text down for them, once she is done they will kill her.”

 

“I see.” I say tapping my chin with my pointer finger, “That is a great story, but what does it have to do with me, or my mom being alive?”

 

“Err…” Andy mumbles. “Well this is the weird part, now hear me out, your mom, well she is… she is Bezaliel.” He finishes with a raised eyebrow.

 

I can’t help myself. He is so sincere, but I burst out laughing. You have got to be kidding me, first my boyfriend is a wish granting genie, and now my mom is supposedly an angel. Oh this is rich.

 

After my laughter tapers off a little Andy continues talking. “Kat I know it is a lot to take in, but there is more.” Wiping tears from my eyes I wave my hand for him to continue.

 

“So… the angels that joined your, uhh, your mom, went out into the world to live as humans, my dad was one of them. I… uh, we, are Nephilim. We are the progeny of man and angel. We possess both the spirit of God and the soul of man. We are not immortal but we will live for a very, very long time unless we are killed, and we can be killed like any man. We will not get sick, we are impervious to germs, and we have some, but not all angelic abilities.”

 

I think about what he is saying for a moment. It is true, I have never been sick in my life. Not even a headache, or a pimple. “How…” I whisper to myself.

 

“Kat.” Andy says pulling my hand into his own. “I am assigned your protector. My father was your mom’s friend and general after the fall, when she broke away from the Thirteen. After your mother had you, she went to my father asking for him to raise me to one day be your guardian. I have lived my whole life to keep you safe. I watched from afar, I made sure your dad would ask me to take care of you so that… so that I could be close to you and mentor you. Because I knew this day was coming when you would be ready for the truth. And your mother is alive, Armaros is keeping her captive for now, but I, I mean we, we can save her… if you will let me teach you.”

 

This is all too much to handle my mom is alive, DJ, magic, angels, Andy-my protector. My head is swimming and my thoughts are racing. I tremble as everything hits home. I know it is true. I feel it deep inside me. I always knew my mom was alive, I always knew she was special. Maybe that is why I so readily accepted DJ’s crazy story as fact. I am the product of an angel. Did my dad know? There is no way he could have known, I didn’t know and I am apparently part angel. Nephilim. That is what I am, and I can save my mom!

 

What I wouldn’t do to have my mom back.

 

Fight? Yes.

 

Die? Yes.

 

Kill?

 

Suddenly I feel as if I can’t breathe, the room is closing in on me. I need to get away from it. Without bothering to put shoes on I run out of the house and into the bright sunshine of the early fall day. I hear Andy call out for me, the sound of his shoes behind me slapping on the concrete. I keep running. I don’t know if I am running away from something or to something, all I know is I need to run. I need to feel the sun warming my face and the wind in my hair. My heart beats faster in my chest; my breath comes out in bursts, the muscles quiver with strain, but I don’t stop running.