***
Michael coughed and more blood gushed out from beneath his hand. His pants felt soaked with it. Looking down he could see that most of his shirt was too. He thought he heard someone say, “What is it?" Could’ve been the wind. He glanced up and wanted to shout in relief. Well I’ll be damned, he thought. That scrawny dog had actually bought help. If he made it, he’d buy the mutt a sack full of burgers—no, steak. He deserved it.
Erica stopped short as she finally realized what the dog had been dragging her towards. The man lay at the back of the alley, unseen from the street. She quickly put a hand to her mouth as bile rose to the back of her throat. He was soaked in blood. It looked like the tail end of a massacre and this man was the only victim.
“I’m sorry," she said to the dog, which was looking up at her with sad eyes. “I think he’s already dead."
At that moment he looked up at her, opened his mouth and coughed. He glanced down at the warm liquid dribbling from his chin onto the ground. He spit onto the ground and tried again. “Help. Please." Even with the wind howling, she caught those soft words loud and clear.
“I—"
“You’d better hurry," a voice from behind her said. “He doesn’t have much time."
She turned, startled to see a man in black. He appeared to be floating a few feet above the ground. Faintly she could see a building across the street through his hovering form.
“Oh my God!"
“Not quite," he responded.
Her eyes widened. “Why are—"
He stopped her with a single glance. “What I’m doing here is not important, what you are is. Help the man before it’s too late."
“You have to explain," she whispered, finally getting out the words that kept getting stuck in her throat.
“I think you already know." The figure disappeared and Erica stood there for a moment, wondering if the entire thing had been in her imagination. She didn't put it past her mind to start playing tricks on her. It had been that kind of night. The man on the ground moaned incoherently and she turned to face him. The figure appeared again.
“You’re an angel."
He didn’t respond to her comment. It wasn’t a question, really. As he’d said, she knew. She glanced down at the bleeding man and sighed. She wanted to help him, but she couldn’t. Not the way she wanted to.
“Yes you can. You are the only one that can help him."
She shook her head. “Wait, no. This is can't really be happening. I—I can’t help this poor man."
The look she received in response made her blood run cold. “This isn’t just some poor man, you know better than that. You also know a few other things you’ve been denying."
The angel was right. She recognized him, of course she did. It seemed his face had been everywhere most of her life. A man once revered and then torn down by those who sought to climb above him, to possess what he had. His humanitarian efforts were overshadowed by personal demons he couldn't escape and a media presence that focused solely on the negative. He’d been great, still was in fact, and now it seemed he was dying before her eyes. And there was nothing she could do about it.
“Have you ever thought," the angel began, “that man never really lives up to his potential? There are those among you who are blessed with bringing so much good into this world, and for so many reasons, you see fit to waste God’s gifts. This man was born to bring messages of peace, love, and acceptance to those he touched, but he became afraid to share his gift because others taught him that the way God had shown him was tainted. But he has a chance to go back and renew his purpose in God’s path. His gifts don’t have to be wasted." The angel paused. “And neither do yours."
Erica looked down at her hands, at once understanding but still not wanting to believe why she’d been brought here this night. Tears flowed as she contemplated what was said, feeling some small inkling in her heart, while her mind screamed fierce denials.
“My purpose is to bring this child of God Home. That is, if you can’t serve your purpose."
She glanced up again quickly, realizing what he was saying. If she didn’t—no, if she couldn’t heal this man, he would die, and it would be her fault.
“Fault is not an issue here. Purpose is. You’ve given up many chances in your life to use your gifts and you’ve let them pass you by without so much as a regretful thought."
Her mind flashed back to the car accident she’d witnessed a few weeks ago. The passenger, a young woman—a girl really—had been thrown out of the car and landed almost at her feet. Around the corner from this very alley, in fact. She’d wanted to hold the woman in her arms and help her, but she’d felt doubt. Just as she’d doubted God’s will when she’d watched her father life’s taken away by the cancer eating away at his stomach. But she hardly had time to doubt now.
The angel nodded at her thought. “Time is short. For the longer you continue to throw away your gift, the less time God will give you to waste it. A wasted life will end much quicker than one of purpose. But you, as do all creatures of this life, have free will. Do what you must, but choose quickly. Time grows shorter for you both."
She glanced down at Michael again, sorry that her wastefulness had caused God to put him in her path this way. She could... she would at least try. There was nothing wrong with trying. And, as the angel had said, she had to do it quickly, time was short.
“How do I—"
She looked up but the angel was gone, he was apparently more confident in her abilities than she at the moment. Erica kneeled down next to Michael. His hand had slipped away from the gaping knife wound in his side and his breathing had become alarmingly shallow in the past few moments. He was slipping away. She could almost see the aura surrounding his body fading as each shallow breath came to a shuddering end.
She put both hands over the wound, changed her mind, and moved one over his heart as well. She could do this. She had to.
“Heal." Her voice cracked on the word, but she knew now she shouldn’t be afraid. “Heal," she said again. Louder. Firmer. More confident. She repeated the word a third time, believing in her heart that it would work this time.
Maybe it wasn’t working. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated. She felt the warmth of his blood on her fingertips and sweat strained over her skin as she willed his body to restore life. She repeated the word under her breath like a mantra, running it together from her mouth until it rolled out as one long chant, the end of one word indistinguishable from the beginning of the next.
Her voice faltered as she felt it beginning, but she kept going, chanting faster and rocking slowly as she felt the power flow through her. His life, the one she’d been sent to save, passed before her eyes. The memories he shared with admirers, family members, friends, the moments he treasured most flowed from her fingertips and into her heart, becoming a part of her. His joys became hers, his love was shared, the happiness he felt sharing his gifts became her own. The beauty of the life she was saving overcame her and she shuddered with the power of it, praying with all her heart that the world wouldn’t lose the gifts of a creature such as this.
She opened her eyes. They were surrounded by a white light, blinding in its beauty. She tried to fight back the tears but couldn’t as the power increased, flowing through their bodies, bonding them, healing his body and her broken heart.
They stayed that way for a few moments until the alley was so filled with light it felt as if they were sitting in the heart of the sun. A warm glow embraced them and, for a moment, Erica was sure they were suspended, leaving the troubles of this Earth behind and below. But in this light she didn’t care. She wanted to go Home. Could practically feel God’s presence as she walked through the Garden. She couldn’t wait to go back. But she would. They both would. Because it wasn’t their time just yet.
The light began to fade and Erica’s chanting slowed, then stopped. As the last of the healing light faded, she ran her hands over Michael’s side, astonished that the wound was not onl
y healed, but that there wasn’t a trace of blood to be seen. She could’ve imagined the whole thing. But she knew better than that.
A moment later Michael stirred on the ground, stretching as if awakening from a deep sleep. He sat up next to her and stared. He seemed to recognize her and he pulled her into a tight embrace, squeezing until she held him back. “Thank you," he whispered. “Thank God for you."
She leaned back in his arms to take in the joy crossing his face at that moment, his happiness at being alive. A joy she shared. She kissed him, sealing the bond she’d felt the moment she’d laid hands on him. Then she returned to his tight embrace, weeping into his shirt. “And you as well."
About the Author
Sara Winters began reading at three, writing fiction at six and had become totally immersed in the idea of creating new worlds before becoming fully aware of her place in this one. Writing has always been her number one love, bringing hours of enjoyment and earning her the privilege of being able to connect with people from all walks of life with just a few descriptive sentences. When she allows herself to spend time in the real world, she is a professional procrastinator with half a dozen unfinished novels and ideas for two dozen more.
For more information, go to sarawinters.net or contact the author on facebook or twitter.
Works by Sara Winters
Short stories
True Purpose
First Impression
Morning
Worth the Wait
Special Delivery
The Art of Teasing
Getting in Deep
Starting Over
Novellas
The Strength of a Man
See Right Through (Savannah, #1)
Envy
Novels and Anthologies
Hooked
Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Three
Love is Always Write: Volume Eight
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