The Tears of Time

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Ella stretched, though her limbs were neither stiff nor aching. Merely, she stretched for the pure pleasure of the act, enjoying the feel of observing every muscle in her being. Next to her, Raphael slept, his eyelids fluttering gently. She watched him for a while, his thin lips, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out.

He sighed, opening his eyes slowly. Ella smiled at him, though an edge of subtle fear hit her as well. He pulled her head to his, their lips touching briefly, then lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Ella sighed slightly, unsure of how she felt. At first she had given over to her instincts, gone along with Raphael and then… something inside her had panicked. But she couldn’t stop it, and the darker side of herself didn’t want to.

“What is it?” Raphael asked, concerned.

“I don’t think I can stay human much longer,” Ella said, switching her thoughts to something similar, but less revealing.

“Does that matter?” he asked.

“One month,” Ella whispered, realising her time limit. The limit on every soul that had ever survived. She sat up, knowing what she had to do before then.

“It’s long enough,” Raphael said, leaning up on his elbows. He kissed her neck softly, marvelling at the smoothness of her skin.

“There’s something I have to do.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I’m not sure Lucifer would be too pleased,” Ella laughed, the fear which dwelled in her stomach swirling slightly.

“Lucifer? What’s he got to do with it?” Raphael asked, suddenly jealous.

“I have to warn him. Just like the Counsel,” Ella replied, her face dark.

“Oh,” Raphael said, “I still want to come with you.”

“Ok,” Ella answered.

Dawn was barely beginning as they set out, Elanor in borrowed clothes she had found in her room. A wide belt around her waist carried the sword in its scabbard, an item Ella didn’t feel she could leave alone. Her wings rustled to life from her shoulder blades as she thought of her need to fly, and they set off into the expanse of colour that painted the horizon.

They crossed through to the Realm of the Dead, emerging in the twilight land with a shiver. Elanor landed silently, the dust flowering up around her feet in a brief swirl. Her wings rustled softly away, dispensable for the moment. Without a second to gain her bearings she began to walk purposefully forward, an infallible sense telling her that ahead was where she must go.

They travelled quietly, Raphael a few steps behind Elanor who walked uneasily, his eyes watching her with a sense of loss. For a brief moment he had captured her, and now that sense of belonging was fading away, impossible to keep a hold of. With a languid sigh he realised that Elanor had a task to do, and the brief time last night in which she had given in to him was over already. For the moment he could only stay by her side, nothing more, nothing less.

Ahead of him, Elanor came to a halt, surprise stopping her from continuing.

“Miss Grey?” she asked, her voice amazed.

“Who speaks?” a restrained, whisper-thin, yet fearful voice asked.

“Ella Cooper,” Elanor answered, her eyes fixed on the unsubstantial grey figure that stood in front of her.

“Ella Cooper,” the figure repeated, the faint outline of a face wavering into existence, a harsh rasp bursting from whatever part of it formed the words. Ella realised, with a start, that it was a laugh.

“You were right,” the figure that had been Miss Grey replied, “You were so right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?!” the figure screeched, “You killed me! In fear, you drove me to stay late, and then I had to walk home, because the buses had stopped! And it was dark, and there was the fog just as you’d written…”

“I never meant to hurt you,” Elanor cried, tears streaming from her eyes. Raphael stepped forward, placing a hand on Ella’s shoulder, protectively, but she shrugged it off as if it bit.

“Well it’s too late for that,” the figure screamed, her voice grating dreadfully.

“Elanor,” Raphael whispered, “Who is this?”

“My English teacher from middle school.”

“Why does she think you killed her?”

“Because I saw it happen,” Elanor sighed, backing away from the figure, “And then it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

The figure lost its face completely, hatred pouring out of it with terrible force. It flung itself at them, but both were already gone. Elanor kept running for some time, fearing that the figure would chase them. But the remnants of Miss Grey’s soul were not up to revenge, and it merely drifted away once more, forgetting the brief human nature which had been stirred up inside it.

Soon after they stopped running, than Elanor heard a second voice, this one sharper and more familiar. She turned, to see one of the figures following them; its willowy form distorting as it moved forwards as fast as it was able.

“Elanor!” called Professor Miller, his soul still retaining its human form with little difficulty.

“Professor,” Elanor replied as the figure came to a halt in front of them.

“Elanor, you mustn’t go that way, the devil will have you,” Miller whispered, fear flashing across his shadowy features.

“It’s alright professor, he can’t hurt me,” Elanor reassured, resting her hand on the space his wove around in.

“Elanor, he murdered me,” the professor continued, “He murdered me to get to you.”

“I know, Professor.”

“You do?” the professor asked, his voice quiet and childlike in its confusion.

“Yes, don’t worry yourself. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“I have a wife…” Miller whispered softly, his voice sad.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Elanor lied.

“How long has it been since I died?” the professor asked, his face troubled.

“Two days, Professor,” Elanor said.

“Oh. It seems so much longer here,” the man sighed, “How are you?”

“How am I?” Elanor repeated, puzzled.

“Yes. Did you figure out who you were?” the professor asked.

“You knew!” Elanor realised.

“It wasn’t too difficult to realise, once I’d seen your picture in that book.”

“Of course…”

“Who’s this young man?” the professor asked, looking behind Elanor at Raphael.

“This is Raphael, Professor,” Elanor said, motioning a hand towards him, forcing an uneasy smile as he caught Raphael looking at her.

“Pleased to meet you,” the Professor said, offering a hand shake before realising that it wouldn’t be possible.

“Same, Professor,” Raphael said, returning the gesture with a nod.

“Ah,” sighed the Professor, “You would be one of the Host, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Raphael replied, “How do you know?”

“There are whispers in the wind here.”