Terri Wilson
English 140-01
Nicholas
10 October 2012
Angel
As I slide another book onto the shelf, I am drawn back to that night….. The old oaks lining the street created a perfect canopy over the sleeping neighborhood of neat and tiny cottage homes. The branches seemed to be expertly woven together. The moon was full and fat but only small slivers of light slipped through the leaves. I stood as motionless as a statue on the corner, watching and listening for any other signs of life. The night air was so crisp and my senses so predatorily heightened that I felt sure I would be able to detect even the softest scent of another’s presence. I was alone and undetected, my natural state. I began to silently saunter down the little lane. I nonchalantly inspected the houses as I went, until I came upon the one that drew me in with that magnetic pull I had come to know and love so well. That feeling meant that that peace would soon be restored to my aching, raging mind. I knew that other voice inside of me would be silenced once I had carried out its orders once again. I cautiously crept around to the back of the home and immediately took note of the swing set in the yard. A small smile turned the corner of my lips up ever so slightly. This was the place. I looked across the back of the house, and couldn’t believe my good luck. No, not luck, destiny it must have been. Some force out there in the universe was as intent as I that my task be completed. At the corner of the little home I could see faint light through the window that must have been left open a crack to allow passage of the night breeze. I approached it cautiously, but I knew that fate was on my side. I peeked in to discover that it was indeed the room I had come to enter, and that gaining access would be easier than I could have dreamed. I noiselessly slid up the pane of glass and climbed in. The sound of my feet hitting the floor was muffled thanks to the thick plush carpet. I began to survey the layout of the room by the dim light of the porcelain pastel carousel nightlight. There was wallpaper hung, with tiny rosebuds strewn all over it. A glass of water left on an all white nightstand was sweating drops that were collecting on the coaster placed underneath. I could just make out a lump under the pale purple duvet on the four poster single brass bed, so I warily stepped around the remnants of a tea party to get closer to the bed. As I approached I could just make out her face peeking out at the very top of the covers. I had to hold my breath to keep the gasp from escaping me. Her beauty was undeniable. A sweet cherub of a girl was lying there, barely taking up the top third of the bed. She could not have been more than four years old. Her light blonde ringlets were clinging to and framing her face with the sweat of sleep. Her chubby little hand was closed up in a fist brushing her alabaster cheek as if the habit of thumb sucking had been broken, but only recently. I felt frozen to the spot just taking her in, but then she shifted, a small sigh escaping her perfectly pink lips, and I came back to my senses. There was work to be done, and the time was near. I stepped back into the shadows by the window, just in case her tiny movements meant that she was awakening. I could not be found at that moment, I could not risk the chance of having my opportunity for release taken away. I eyed the petite form on the bed, watchful for any additional signs of movement. After minutes, that felt like hours, there was none. My heart began pounding out a jungle beat, and I knew my cue was growing ever closer. My hand slid down to the sheath on my thigh and removed the blade. Even in the soft light I could make out the glint off its edge. I had run it on the honing stone myself, and knew that it would slice into flesh easily. I grasped the hunting knife in both of my trembling hands and raised it over my head, prepared to deliver the devastating blow. The bedroom door began to creak open and the blood rushing through my body made it sound as though a stormy ocean was trapped within my ears. I had to attack. I brought the knife down in a sure and deadly arch. The man who had entered the room looked at me with shock and horror, but my eyes were fixed on the splatter of blood on the little angel’s face. The mess on her ideal little form seemed so entirely out of place. The room began to glow red. At first I believed that it was a result of my supercharged fury, but I promptly realized that all of my anger had abated when I had struck the fatal blow. The eerie cast of the room was being caused by the arterial flow that had splashed on the pretty nightlight. I had no time left to take in my expert handiwork. I dove out of the window with the gauzy white curtains, and tucked into a roll as I hit the back lawn. I sprinted out of the yard and to the end of the street with the speed of a gazelle. When I had reached the corner I stooped down to drop the knife down the sewer grate. It was a beautiful tool, but it had served its function. I let it go with little remorse, and then did a swift inspection of myself. The black clothes I had chosen with care showed no signs of the violence that had occurred. I placed my no longer anxious hands in my pockets and began strolling down the street towards home. Peace was mine again, at least for a time. I knew that girl’s mother would wake to terror. She would find her precious little baby sleeping with a man’s dead body at her bedside. Perhaps the trauma would leave scars on that child’s mind, but they would be nothing compared to the ones the man would have left on her pristine little body. After screaming, and scooping up her daughter the woman would call the police. They would find the man’s bag filled with rope, duct tape, and numerous instruments of horror. The police would deduce with ease that the girl had been saved by some kind of vengeful guardian angel, but by then I would be back at my job at the bookstore. Here I work with the joy of the smell of the pages and a level of anonymity. Not many people come to peruse the stacks these days. I will continue my ordinary existence until the voices creep their way back into my mind calling me to my next charge.