"Accidental Angel" by Mandy Burnham

Erela sighed as she adjusted her heavy pack over her shoulder. Her night classes had run late—again. As if pathology wasn’t bad enough… Why do the busses have to stop running at ten? she questioned in her exasperation of her long walk home.

The woman jumped when her cell phone vibrated and then beeped once in her pocket. The brunette laughed at her own nervousness and dug for the often-broken article in her deep coat pocket. Of course, she didn’t stop—she wasn’t stupid after all.

Erela flipped open the phone and read the screen. She furrowed her brow and pressed her lips together. Was it really possible to send a text without a number?

Might as well read it… Haven’t heard of any cell phone viruses yet…

Erela’s jaw dropped in astonishment. What sort of sick joke was this? Who’d gotten her number and how? Her frustration with the busses and her nervousness of walking home culminated in a blind anger towards the thoughtless lunk who would send such a horrible, insensitive message.

Her finger mashed the reply button, and she poured her angry response into the text editing field. She hoped that the individual would get it despite the fact that her phone didn’t display a number. Whoever it was needed to know that this wasn’t funny.

Almost as soon as her thumb sent the furious text away, her phone shivered and beeped again with an incoming text.

Still no number. Her shock at the person’s audacity began to fade into real abhorrence. She wanted to delete the message and shut her phone down, but curiosity got the better of her.

Erela actually stopped walking as she stared down at the phone. What if it wasn’t a joke? She chewed on her bottom lip as indecision flashed before her. What if it wasn’t a prank… rather some kind of trap? More than one woman had gone missing within the last year in this part of town.

She shook her head and furrowed her brow. Even before she finished typing the text, her phone announced another message.

The woman swallowed hard as she glanced down the side street that branched off of Tower Road. Her building was so close—she could just go and tell herself it was a prank or worse. She could live with that. Even as the thought flashed through her mind, she knew she lied to herself. From that day onwards, she would always remember that she’d abandoned someone who asked for help. If it was false… She had no time for such thoughts.

Erela shored her courage and started down the shadow-laden alley. Her skin began to shiver beneath her thin coat, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“Uhm… hello?” she called. The woman forced herself to breathe and release the death grip with which she held her bookbag’s strap. About halfway down the alley dented metal trash cans reflected some of the minimal light. Just beyond that lay a mound of black trash bags.

Erela gasped when she realized that ‘mound of trash bags’ moved. As she edged closer, the faint outline began to sharpen into an image she would not believe could exist. The woman’s jaw dropped and she shook her head. It just wasn’t possible.

A pale-skinned, raven-haired man, wearing nothing more than loose pants, curled in a protective ball. There was dried blood smudged over his left eye and an untouched flow from his mouth and nose. Bruises, both old and fresh, showed on the skin she could see around the blood that covered most of the rest of him. Even for the horror of his condition, that wasn’t what shocked her. The angle of his shoulders offered a clear view the place where the black mass connected to his back.

Wings?

As she stared in her muted shock the man—could she call him that?—stirred. His head lifted a fraction, and one grey eye opened a sliver. She watched the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly before the eye sealed again.

The woman locked her apprehension away for later use, and bent down to his side. No mater who—or what—he was, nothing survived without help after losing as much blood as he must have.

Erela gave thanks that he was much lighter than he looked. Even with his half-conscious body offering what little help it could, the task of getting him to her shabby apartment halfway up the block verged impossible.

The woman grunted as she lost her balance as she tried to lower him to her broken-down couch. Erela felt her face blanch and then flush as she scrambled from on top of her strange guest. His face remained a mask of unconcerned ease—nothing like the pained, stormy expression that had covered his face only fifteen minutes ago.

“It’ll be okay,” she murmured before dashing off to her medicine cabinet. Panic slammed around her mind. Firstly, she was terrified that he would die. How would she explain that to the police? Secondly, she’d brought a complete stranger into her home. She had to wonder if she’d ever listened to her parents’ advice when they’d told her what to and not to do to be safe.

When she re-entered the living room, all her supplies hit the floor. For a moment she could only stare in utter shock. She approached the man and swallowed hard. He still appeared to be unconscious, so she reached out to grip his upper arm. Erela bit her lip as she stared down at his back. Instead of the massive appendages that had so confused her earlier the only thing on his back was a set of black, twin tattoos. At the top of each appeared something like a whirlpool. Extending downwards were harsh, curved wedges that completed the severe-looking wing-design.

She shook her head and lowered him back down. Erela felt her wide eyes wander to his face as confusion gripped her. Erela sighed and returned to gather up her supplies again. When she’d seen to his wounds she would take the time to question what exactly he was.

Erela felt her head nod forward but struggled to draw it up again. Now was not the time to fall asleep—not with an odd stranger lying on her couch. And what was with his tattoos? The odd-wing tattoos on his back and the interlocking anchor-like-shapes that encircled his left arm were strange enough, but who had the number 347 tattooed in block numbers down the side of their neck? And why?

Every moment she was sure that the authorities would suddenly burst into her home and arrest him—for being tattooed—and her—for harboring him. She shivered as she tried not to think about the type people who risked tattooing. It wasn’t exactly a crime you could hide, after all. Erela hugged her bat a little tighter and shook her head. Hopefully, despite his tattoos he would at least have a concept of gratitude.

The woman jerked when a strange noise and vibration ripped her from her half-awake state. She swallowed as she forced her rapid breathing to calm down. The man still lay on her couch in the same position. Erela shook her head and reached into her pocket for the source of her discomfort.

She pulled out the cell phone and flipped it open. Her eyes widened. It was a text message. Without a number. She pressed the ‘read’ button and gasped.

Erela lifted her eyes to stare at the stranger. Who was texting her? Had someone watched her? A chill ran down her spine at the thought. If someone was watching, why didn’t they help this stranger?

She shook her head. There would be no answers until her patient pulled away from the deep chasm back to the land of the living.

Erela winced as she started to move. What in the world…? Her eyes fluttered open as she groaned and reached up to rub her neck. Why am I…? Her gaze fell on the ebony-haired man curled up on her couch.

“Oh…”

The woman forced herself to her feet. A sharp stab of pain shot down her back in bitter protest of the way she’d fallen asleep propped up against the wall.

The medic-student sighed as she looked down on the stranger. A little color had come into his pale cheeks, and for that she was grateful. His bare chest expanded and collapsed in a regular rhythm. In answer, the wisps of hair hanging over his face danced in time. As she looked down on him a wave of pity welled up stronger than any she’d ever felt.

The man’s eyes fluttered open, and he almost seemed to shrink farther into the couch. His grey eyes turned up to her and held only one thing: trepidation. She noted a tiny tremble in his form, and she frowned. He was just like a starved and beaten dog she and her brother had stumbled upon once.

“It’s okay,” she soothed as she dropped to her knees beside him. She mashed down the urge to reach out and caress his head. He didn’t trust her, and trying to touch him would do anything but comfort him as she desired. Erela tilted her head to the side. “You’re alright now.”

He gave no response, only kept his frightened gaze on her face. She did notice that his grip tightened around his upper arms though.

“Do you have a name?”

His head shook back and forth.

“Where did you come from?”

His head continued to shake.

“Shhhh,” she tried to comfort. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Erela jumped when her cell beeped and buzzed in its vibration. She sighed at her own jumpiness and reached for the article. Still no number…

She gazed at the text as her mouth dropped open. Erela ripped her gaze from the glowing screen and stared up at her pale patient. Her finger pointed at the little piece of electronics as her eyebrows searched for a hiding place beyond her hairline. “Did you…?”

A single nod answered her unfinished question.

“What are you?” she gasped.

A sad smile appeared and then faded into a heartbroken frown. Tears gathered in the pale eyes before he closed them again. The puzzled woman looked down to her buzzing cell phone.