Night of the Hunter

I followed Shannon slowly up the stairs, my stomach curling in anxiety. He had such a solemn face when he told me that, and I had to wonder what he meant when he told me not to cry. Cry at what?

We passed the door to my room, which was firmly closed. Passed what seemed to be empty rooms, doors closed and open. Finally, we reached the end of the hall, and Shannon paused at the door, before turning to me.

"I swear to you, Christian," he said, his tone becoming low and threatening. "If you breathe a word of what lies in this room, I will see to it that your end is swift, and quick."

I gave him a shrewd look and opened my mouth, making a lame attempt at a word. He stared at me for a second, then his cheeks flamed.

"I'm sorry, that was a poor choice of words. But my point; don't tell anyone." I nodded and he turned back to the door, opening it and leading me inside, pointing at the table where I was supposed to put the food. I walked toward it carefully, setting the food down with the utmost care, and then I backed slowly to the door, my back meeting the cool dark wood. I watched the food with wide eyes, and only looked up at Shannon when he cleared his throat quietly. He nodded toward a corner of the room and I glanced over at it, starting when I realized there was someone standing there.

His eyes were locked on the food, watching it hungrily, warily, as if it were about to start running away. He moved toward it carefully, then picked up the bowl and began drinking the soup down. Once the liquid was gone, he began eating the meat and potatoes with his hands. The food was gone within minutes. When he was done, he let the bowl fall from his hands and wiped his mouth sloppily, what sounded like a low burp coming from his throat.

"Don't do that," Shannon scolded as the bowl clattered to the floor. "Bad, that's bad! You're supposed to set it down!"

I stared at this man with wide eyes. He wore a pair of black jeans that he had probably gotten from Shannon, but no shirt, with no effort to hide his muscular chest or arms. He had blond hair with dark roots spiked off his forehead, which I found odd. There were no traces of jell or other product in his hair. That wasn't what caused me to ogle at him, though.

On his back, two long, black angel wings rustled and twitched. He stared at Shannon with an annoyed look on his face as the shorter continued to scold him for what he had done. Eventually, the annoyance turned to boredom, and he yawned and moved away. As his back turned to me, I caught sight of what looked like thousands of scratches and lashes. Each one had been carefully cleaned and stitched, but they looked extremely painful. My hand flew up to my mouth to hide my gasp, and immediately, the angel turned to me, his bright blue eyes staring into mine. If it weren't for the door at my back, I would have taken a step back from the sudden movement.

Shannon gave me an annoyed look and tried to get the angel's attention again, but he stalked up to me, looking very much like a predator instead of a cute little cherub. His eyes almost looked like they were glowing, studying every inch of me like he could see past it all. He crowded me against the door and I'm pretty sure he smelled me a few times, looking down at me like he was looking into my past. After a minute of this, he made a soft sound and pulled away, looking at me expectantly, waiting. I stared right back at him.

Shannon rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the mess the angel had created with the bowl. He stared at it thoughtfully before looking at me. "You know how to learn without language," he said. It wasn't a question, but he was looking at me with a sort of awe. "Could you teach?" I gave a helpless shrug. I'd never tried to teach anyone to do anything. It's hard to teach without speaking, or so I'd assumed.

"Try," he continued. He gestured to the bowl and said, "Try to teach him to pick that up and put it away."

I bit my lip and looked at the angel. He was still staring at me, waiting. I pointed at the bowl and he glanced at it before looking at me again, still giving me that expectant look. I ran my fingers through my hair idly and walked over it, hyper aware that he was following me. I pointed at it again and crossed my arms, feeling like my mother, and also feeling useless. I had no idea how to convey to him what to do without speaking, but after seeing the way the angel had disregarded Shannon earlier, I don't think speaking would have helped.

He was still staring at me.

I huffed in frustration and he stepped closer to me and if his face didn't seem so terrifying I'd almost say there was concern there. I wanted to scream, pick up the damn thing! I pointed at it again and suddenly he was bending down, picking it up and standing again, looking at me expectantly, waiting again.

Shannon stared at us, but didn't say a word. Unsure of what to do, I patted the angel's hand as if that were a valid form of reward before moving out of the room, checking to make sure he was following, which he was. I led the way to the kitchen, watching him pause at the stairs before literally jumping down to reach the landing. I stared at him for a moment, but he just watched me, the bowl held awkwardly in between his hands. Shannon followed down the stairs, one at a time like a normal person, and I turned and moved into the kitchen. The angel sniffed as he entered and his eyes zeroed in on the pot of soup, which sat on a low simmer to keep warm.

I waved to get his attention and he looked at me as if I'd interrupted his hunt. I swallowed and pointed at the bowl, which he looked down at briefly, then at the sink. He stared at it for a moment, looked at me, then slowly, carefully, placed the bowl in the sink.

Shannon grinned. "So he can learn." He was diving into a lesson plan - "We'll see if we can teach him how to read!" - when a shriek filled the room. We covered our ears and turned to the angel, who was holding his boiling red hand like it had betrayed him. The lid to the pot was rolling on the floor and some of the soup had overflowed from where he must have thrust his hand in to get to the food.

I rushed to him, pulling him away and turning off the fire quickly. The red was fading, but some of his skin had blistered. Shannon ran out of the kitchen to get the medical supplies from the study as I ran the tap until it was a little warmer than room temperature and gently put the angel's hand under the water. Tears were falling in his eyes and he was trying to get my attention, but I was too busy watching the blisters as they healed.

Shannon rushed back in as the angel collected one of his tears on a finger and held it to my lips. I recoiled in shock and before I could register what he was doing he had his finger in my mouth. Shannon had pulled away his hand to look at the lack of scarring, but the taste of his skin was still in my mouth.

Memories that weren't mine filled me. They were brief, almost like a stream of consciousness. Images flashed by, other beings with long wings, black and white and ten feet long. Some of the memories were light, at least, that was the impression they gave me, but some of them felt dark and terrifying.

They ended after a while, and Shannon was trying to get my attention when I finally snapped out of it. The angel was staring at me intently, and yeah, he knew what he had just done.

"What did you see?" Shannon asked. I looked at him and signed helplessly, but he didn't understand any of it. I ran my hands through my hair, biting my lip anxiously. Shannon nodded. "Wait here," he said, "I'll go get paper and a pencil."

He disappeared again and I looked up at the angel, twisting my hands. He took them both and shook his head. There was a message he was trying to convey, but I couldn't understand it.