Chapter IV: Need

Melissa's dark past.

“I think it would be good for you to learn to swim,” Seth told Melissa. Her eyes widened in anxiety and she clenched his hand in hers. They stood in their swimwear facing his backyard pool, the morning sun shining down upon it. The more Melissa stared at the water, the more her nerves rattled inside her.

“I know, but it still scares me,” she said. “I don’t think I could take one step in it without holding on to someone.”

“I can feel that. Your hand’s trembling.” Seth turned her around to face him, and said, “Don’t look at it for now. I want you to be relaxed for your party.”

She exhaled slowly.

“Okay.”

Suddenly, Seth’s abdomen started bleeding. Melissa screamed, and then she was drowning in the pool all over again. She struggled beneath the water, desperately reaching for the surface, but it was no use. She couldn’t swim and her fear of water pierced through her.

When she lost all the air in her lungs, the water flooded in, choking her with its killing embrace. The hard, pool floor touched her back, and she heard the muffled sound of a gunshot. It echoed in her mind, as the light faded to darkness.

Melissa didn’t realize it was all a dream until she opened her eyes. Sometimes she would figure it out before that and pretend to sleep longer, but this time she didn’t want to risk falling asleep again. Every night her dreams got progressively worse and more nightmarish. It was basically the same thing happening over and over again: her last conversation with Seth, and then reliving the horror that took place later that day.

Late morning light shone through the window of her bedroom as she trembled beneath her sheets. She had slept in, having gone to pray at the church last night. When this venture crossed her mind, she remembered who she had met there. He was an angel with a pair of white wings spreading from his back, and he said, I will see you again soon. She left him, saying she had work the next day.

Each day she tried to work on her painting, using the skills she mastered in college. In truth, she hadn’t completed one since she ran away from her home in Annapolis. Whenever she painted, her focus delved entirely into her work, and she was afraid to do this.

The reason was, ever since Seth died, she felt like someone was watching her. After she moved to western Maryland, this feeling didn’t leave. Now she knew that no matter how far she ran, she could never hide. So the angel was right; she needed a protector.

Although she had pretty much accepted his offer, it hadn’t started yet. She needed to find him, but where could he be? He couldn’t have left town.

She rolled out of bed and put some clothes on. Looking around, her apartment was in a terrible state. Due to an unpaid electricity bill, there wasn’t any artificial light, and there was a bad leak in the kitchen faucet. The place had never been cleaned since she moved in two months ago, so dust and dirt covered the floor and furniture. Since she was very neglecting toward washing the dishes, they piled up next to the broken sink, and since she was equally neglecting toward washing her dirty clothes, most of it was thrown in the drawers or under the bed.

 With her only thought to find the angel, she left without eating breakfast and started exploring the town on foot.

 

 

Just around noon, Tristan was sitting on a swing in the park. He had spent all night making up some tunes on his violin, which was now stored away in his treasure box. This was a term he made up long ago for anything he could cause to appear or disappear without explanation. Like the sword he once possessed, it was from heaven. It was impervious to the weather, and any snow that touched it evaporated instantly.

To be honest, he never had so much time to himself before. Back when Sean fell asleep, he was sent to join battles against demons. He knew he wasn’t free, but he couldn’t help feeling closer to it.

Footsteps crunched the snow behind him and he glanced over his shoulder. He was surprised to see Melissa.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said, sitting on the empty swing next to him.

“Why?”

“I need you to watch over me.”

After hearing this, he passed a kind smile and said, “Okay.”

Melissa gazed down. “Sorry I left you last night.”

“I thought you had to work.”

“I can’t.”

          “Why not?”

          “I’m afraid. I have this feeling, as if I can sense someone watching me.” She was repeating what she had warned him of last night. His eyes never left her turned face. Even though she shied away, he attempted to understand her words.

          “Do you know who it is?” he asked.

          “Yes, but no. Who I think it is…he should be dead.” She shivered in her wool coat and Tristan could sense the fear.

          “So then he’s not dead?”

          “No. I was there when he died. I saw his dead body.”

          Tristan knew she was talking about Henry, the boy that murdered Seth. “And how many years has it been?”

          “About five.”

          He couldn’t believe it. After all this time, she was still afraid of someone she’d seen dead with her own eyes. “I don’t understand.”

          She left the swing and grasped his hand. “Please don’t leave!” she pleaded.

          He stared at her in shock. “I won’t. I’ll figure out what’s wrong with you. I promise.”

          Tears fell from her eyes. Trying to make her feel better, he stood up and hugged her tightly.

“Stay with me,” she whispered. Her voice floated through his ear, so innocent and timid.

“I will,” he said, touching her cheek. “Your face is cold. Let’s go back to your place.”

“Okay.”

He took her hand and followed her in the snow. They passed a fountain, its water long frozen over. When they reached the road there weren’t any cars or people to be seen, other than maybe through the windows of houses or small businesses.

“Looks like no one wants to stay out in this weather,” Tristan commented.

He glanced at Melissa’s face. She had stopped crying and he wondered if he had helped at all.

She led him down the road to a small apartment complex. “Is this where you live?” he asked.

“Yeah, on the third story.” To get there, they had to climb up a good flight of stairs. A chilly breeze drafted through the opening from below. Melissa let go of Tristan’s hand and replaced it with the rail.

"These stairs are a pain. They're the reason I don't go out much," she said.

Tristan gave her a sideways glance. "I think it's more complicated than that."

"How come?"

"You ran away here to hide. This town is strange to you and you don't know anyone. You're afraid to show your face because it's dangerous."

Melissa started climbing faster. "I didn't want to leave. My father was all I had left. However cold he was, he had a future in store for me."

"I could give you back your future, if you would only let me." The words tasted like poison on his tongue. It was wrong for him to offer her riches, anything she asked. He had to remind himself why he was doing this. Why he had lost himself to a lie.

 She hurried up the stairs without responding. When he caught up to her on the third floor, she turned on him and said, "I've already refused."

A look of desperation flashed over his face, and it was there long enough for her to notice it. She stared at him curiously.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"I need to make you happy."

"I don't need wealth to be happy. Now come with me."

She took him down the hall and unlocked a door at the end. They entered the apartment and Tristan could see how messed up everything was. From the sink with water spraying out of it, to the dusty floor. She left her coat on the couch, and he followed suit.

"No electricity," said Melissa. "Couldn’t pay the bill."

Needing a drink of water, she had to turn off the sink and twist off its broken nozzle. Then she filled a glass without it spraying in her face.

"What have you been eating?" Tristan asked.

"I don't know. Cereal, I guess. The fridge stopped running a week ago."

After mentioning food, she realized she was hungry. She took out a box of cereal from the cabinet and poured it into a bowl.

"Cheerios," said Tristan. "Nice."

She sat at the table and spooned it out. Seeing past all the mess, Tristan noticed a bare canvas on an easel in front of the window. There was a palette and paints on a table next to it, with a set of brushes and a cup of water.

"How long has your art setup been there?" he asked.

Melissa swallowed her cereal. "Since I moved in."

He looked at her and said, "It's not too late to paint something. What do you have in mind?"

"Usually I paint a made-up person, but I specialize in real-life portraits. For instance, I could paint a portrait of you."

"That's a good idea. If you look at it the other way around, I wouldn't be able to take my eyes off you, even for a second. You'd be safe."

For the first time, she smiled.