Chapter 4: Revelations (Pt.2)

"Do you remember," Michael said, laughing softly as he took a spot by Taylor, who lay on her bed texting. An untouched history textbook sat next to her. Michael reached for it, trying to flip the page, interested in the Great Depression era. "Do you remember when you met your first... boyfriend?" His voice cracked at the end.

Taylor absentmindedly flipped her hair to the side, rolling over in bed to examine her phone closely. A smile formed on her face, apparently caused by the recent conversation advancement. Michael placed himself closer on the bed, focusing on every fiber of his body to stay on the object. He turned to face her; his eyes only met the side of her cheek. "He told you he loved you. He said he loved you until the end, and everything afterward." Michael stared up at the ceiling. Taylor shifted into a more comfortable position.

"His name was... damn, I can't remember. Do you remember?" Michael chuckled. "Of course you do. How could you forget? I know how much pain you went through. I hate myself for being unable to comfort you through it. I'm... I'm being pitiful again." Michael kicked his feet off of the edge of the bed and placed them onto the carpeted floor. He stood fully, crossing his arms as he turned to Taylor. She was furiously texting.

"Do you remember, Taylor? I really hope you do. I hope for a lot of things." Michael tried to part the window curtains, trying nonchalantly to do so. To no avail, he just stared out through the small parting between the curtains. "Since I died, I hoped I could stay with you forever. That's probably true... Well, I also hoped that you would live a happy life." He cast a quick glance at her and noticed a bright smile as her fingers moved rapidly across the phone. "That's probably true, too." Michael hung his head low.

"I'm still getting off track. You know? I suddenly realized that I'm indecisive. I can't seem to decide on what to say, on what to do. I hope all of that changes, considering the circumstances." He sighed. "Anyway. Do you remember when you met your first boyfriend? He told you he loved you. He said he loved you until the end, and everything afterward." Taylor rolled back to lay on her stomach and kicked her feet into the air. Michael drew near. He placed his hand on her shoulder; he knew that she did not recognize the touch, nor ever will. Nonetheless, he smiled.

"I share the same phrase. I'll love you until the end, and everything afterward." With a sweep of his hands, he proceeded to leave the room. "I already loved you until the end. This, though, is everything afterward." Michael turned to see her one more time with a smile. He waited patiently for five minutes; in some point in the texting conversation, a sentence or two made her grin and giggle. Michael smiled. He turned to leave, closing his eyes and feeling deep regret. Absentmindedly, he reached to close the door behind him. The thought of him, still dead and now a restless soul, escaped his mind. He felt the chill of the brass door handle, and brought it slowly to a close.

Taylor jumped, bringing a pillow close to her at the eerie movement. "Dad? Was that you?" No response. "Hello?" Curiosity gripped her, and she stepped to the door, flinging it open. A pang of anguish shot through her stomach; the spasms had been recurrent since a few days ago, at the party. Her dad had said it was a volatile stomach flu. Another stab at her stomach made her eyes shut. Her vision grew blurry, and she blinked furiously. She doubled over, and her hearing grew deaf for a few seconds.

A muffled voice whispered in her ear. She opened her eyes with a pained look crossing her face. A dark, translucent figure flashed across her eyes before she closed them again. She formed into a fetal position on the floor, heaving dryly. She tried to choke out "Dad!" but no words came. Instead, the voice began to grow louder. It screamed at her, telling her she would be okay. Rushes of wind ensued, and more figures crowded her vision. They circled her with frantic movements.

"Taylor! Taylor, are you okay!? Taylor?" The voice was familiar. Taylor tried to trace who said it; the clouds hovered over her vision began to dissipate. She found herself staring at a face that resembled an old friend. "Peter! Is she fine?" A man on the edge of her vision nodded.

"She'll be fine. The protection I gave her is kicking in to its full extent now. She will no longer feel these symptoms so long as she lives. No need to worry," Peter echoed. He punched him playfully on the arm. Taylor's pain began to fade. She gazed at Peter. Suddenly, he gripped at where his heart was. A man with long white hair and odd eyes stretched a hand out to him. Peter slapped the hand down, mumbling that he was fine.

He bent over and dropped to one knee. A cough parted his lips. More followed suit, growing vicious. Peter shut his eyes, trying to restrain a scream. "I'm... I thought... I knew it. I just... knew..." Peter lifted his chin, facing Michael, who drew near. He grabbed his shoulder with a tight hand as Michael knelt beside him. "I... I hope that she'll be okay... no, I know she will... be..." A violent wave of coughs overtook him. His face grew pale. "This was worth it, Michael. Every last bit of it. Don't let... me die..." he smiled, dark blood dripping down his chin. Everyone watched in horror, including Taylor. His eyes started to darken. The clothes he wore started to disintegrate along with his fading body. He laughed dryly. "Don't let me die in vain, okay? Taylor, I know you can hear and see us now..." Half of his face began to deteriorate. He faced her with pitch black, bleeding eyes. "You'll be okay. We'll all be okay." Peter was born as a Soul Angel laughing. When the dust of his body drifted away, his hardy laughter echoed throughout the household. Peter was gone.

The three bigger angels faced each other. The one with braided hair burst out crying. The blond with spiky hair gripped him in a comforting hug. The blind one buried half of his face in one hand, stepping down the stairs to escape the brutal scene. The last two walked together, following the former. Michael remained, choking as tears tried to escape. Taylor, relieved of her pain, crawled towards him. She hesitated, then set her hand on his back. Michael twitched at the touch, but continued to stay still.

"Hey, it will be okay," she said, understanding nothing about what just happened. "I'm sure he loved you enough... no wait, I mean... he meant well, right?" Michael relaxed his tensed shoulders. He dropped to a sitting stance, and turned to her with puffy eyes. He smiled.

"He didn't die in vain, I know that much," he kept grinning like an idiot. The sheepish smile was contagious, and Taylor smiled back. "There is so much I want to tell you, Taylor." Her eyes perked up at her name.

"It's a bit rude that you know my name and I don't!" Her eyes flickered to the wings that sprouted from his back. She tried to say something; her mouth moved, but no words came. She cleared her throat. "And you are...?" Her voice was a bit shaky.

Michael stared at the ground. "My name is... Michael. Please believe me, but I was..."

"My best friend," Taylor whispered. Michael slid closer to her, gently grabbing her hand. "I... I remember, now... I..."

Michael smiled and brushed the hair out of her face. The image could be humorous, depending on how you looked at it. Michael had not grown from his short stature where Taylor had; she was a tall sub-6-footer. Michael's gloved hand reaching up high to clear her face looked odd. Taylor closed her eyes; her back straightened at the touch. It was cold, yet familiar. "I don't want you to think about it. Please don't. I'm... we should talk about something else." His wings flapped slowly. Cool air emanated from them as they worked slowly back and forth. Taylor relaxed even further. The temperature was to her liking. "How are you, Taylor? How's school? How's your... boyfriend?"

Taylor giggled. "How did you know I have a boyfriend?" she questioned. A slight inflection in her voice gave away that she was humoring him. "Do you watch me all the time?"

Michael laughed uneasily. Pain shot up through him, and his voice betrayed the feeling. "Just a... lucky guess..." He cleared his throat, nervous to pursue the conversation. "So... please go on! How's life?" He forced a smile. Taylor returned it.

"Well, we had this dance at school..."

And there the two sat, chatting for hours. Taylor ignored the fact that she was talking to a dead friend, and Michael ignored the fact that he was dead, just for a little while. It brought ease to his tortured mind. Taylor drew on. Michael, eager to listen, sat attentively. He occasionally reached out to brush hair out of her face. The strands strayed often. Michael felt happiness, or what seemed like it, for the first time in years. He hoped Taylor felt it, too. It would make him even happier.