Wingless Page 4

  I don't think I was always this skeptical of things that went on in the Viel. Maybe it's just my forever horrible mood and how literally everything in my life has been turned upside-down. But now that I'm in here, I have a bad feeling that something tragic is going to happen to me—even more tragic than what's already happened. My fingertips prickle, and the hair on my head stands on end.

  The two Domineers carry me to the fifth floor. One has my arms in his and the other is holding onto my legs. I feel like an invalid. When we get to the correct level, they drop me on the ground and start to drag me behind me, each taking one arm, as they hover just above the ground. They're flying, but since I don't have wings, I just cling to them, my legs dangling below me on the white ground. They push open a door, revealing a vacant room that I'm guessing is now mine.

  They push me inside without a single explanation and shut the door after me. I hear the lock click, and I run to the door. I check the handle, jiggling it; it's clear it's sealed shut and I'm stuck here.

  I bang my fists against the narrow window in the white door and try to get the thing to smash. My knuckles scream when I switch to punching. I'm not sure why I bother since it won't do me any good. But I bang and bang all the same.

  By the time the seventh Angel flies by without so much as a glance in my direction, I decide to give up. Nobody cares about me. Nobody is going to rescue me. Even if they did, I can't fly out, so I'm stranded in this center until they release me.

  I retreat into the room, searching for an escape plan or something to help me break free from this torture. The room is stark white, but I should've known that to be the case. Everything in the Veil is white: chambers, rooms, houses, lawns, sky, clothes. Maybe that's part of the reason I wanted to be a Fighter—so I could have my dark gray wings and stand out against the white world I live in.

  The room I'm in has a lounger, which is useless since I won't choose to meditate anytime soon. There's a window and, of course, I have a view of a white courtyard that's full of white bushes and white flowers. They probably knew that sticking me so high up would prevent my escape.

  There's a few other things in the corner of the room that are probably used for medical use, so I just ignore them, unsure what to do with them anyway. I bang on the walls, trying to see if there's a hidden door or something of use, but once again, I come up empty handed.

  So I sit on my bed and wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  Finally, what seems like hours later, two new Domineers enter the room. They have thick gloves over their hands and their wings are perked up, like they're afraid of me or on edge. One is a female, the other male, but with their white caps and facemasks, I can hardly tell the difference facially. I glare at them, hating them without even knowing them for what they're doing to me.

  The woman speaks first, "Hello, Annie. We're going to see what's wrong with you." She's kind to me, but I know that it's a front.

  "How do you know something's wrong with me?" I sit back, putting some space between the Doms and me. I don't want them to touch me. I don't want them to find out what's wrong with me. I just want them to fix me.

  "Well, it seems you missed getting your wings. That is most certainly abnormal. We'll be doing some testing. It may be uncomfortable, so we'll have to have you lie down." All I hear is 'testing.' Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. My heart sinks into deep in my gut, and I struggle to breathe.

  "Um…okay…" I answer back hesitantly, backing up so my back is flush against the wall. I don't want them to touch me. I don't want them any closer.

  "Lie back, sweetie."

  The Dom comes over and basically throws me down on the bed, stomach up. It's highly uncomfortable, and I have to push myself up with my legs to lie straight. I try to convince myself that this is going to be okay. Just as I think I have my nerves under control, the two Doms pin my arms to the table at the same time, like they've planned my capture. They stand on their side of the bed, glaring down at me. Their eyes are the only things that I can see through their covered faces, and they're intimidating.

  "I'm lying down. You don't have to hurt me!" I yell at them, wanting them to ease up on my throbbing biceps. Another Dom enters the room with metal looking clamps in his hands. First, he captures my left leg and clamps it down hard against the bed; when I realize he's strapping me to the bed, I flail my other leg around, not wanting to be stuck here. I hate not having control with my own body.

  "This is for your safety," the girl Dom says, before she stabs me with a long needle. Suddenly, I feel dizzy. I shake my head, trying to concentrate on what's going on, but it only makes the sensation worse. My stomach rolls again like it did last night when I ate the cake. I shake my legs, but when I look down, they're not moving at all, despite the fact that I can feel my muscles tensing. I thrash and kick and punch, but all it really does it make me really tired.

  Before I know it, blackness surrounds me.

  Whatever they gave me to put me under hardly works. Even though I can't see a single thing, I feel and hear it all. It's like something straight out of a tale that my mother read to me once. It spoke of the Lower Veil and all the cruel things that Lucifer, the king, does to bad souls and misbehaving Demons. He tortures and burns people just because they made a single mistake—nobody gets second chances there.

  But, my mother says that that's the way the universe works. There has to be a balance between bad and good. If one side gets too powerful, horrible things can happen to us all.

  I can feel the cords hooked into my body. I can feel the needles and probes, sticking into me and fishing around inside of me like slithering tongues lashing me from below. I don't know what they're looking for, but since they refuse to let up, I'm guessing they're not finding it inside me. I'm just an Angel who didn't get her wings—not an abomination.

  It takes them six thousand, nine hundred, and thirty-seven seconds to finish examining me. My body is still stuck to the bed, pinned down in case I start "acting crazy"—their words, not mine. I'm pretty sure anyone in my situation would be acting crazy, too.

  When they finally leave the room, I'm filled with joy. I'm elated to be left in peace and quiet. Yet, it's unsettling and anticipation-filled since I can't see anything yet. I keep waiting to hear someone else enter.

  My eyes are still shut and refuse to open; I feel relief for the first time in hours. They got their results; now they can tell me what to do to be normal, and I can go home and this can all be resolved. I miss my Guardians for the first time in my life. I miss Tab and Perry. I miss my future, which I thought was so promising. It's funny how things change with just a flick of the fingers, a failed minute in time.

  Just as I'm about to force myself to meditate so I can heal, I feel the hands. Angels touch me again and I don't like it one bit. They're at my sides, almost tickling me as they flip me over so I'm on my stomach again. I don't even remember being flipped face up in the first place. They're pulling things out of me, adjusting me to their liking. I feel like a doll, bent and bruised for their own play.

  The worst part is that I can't even move. I'm frozen, paralyzed.

  After a few moments, there's nothing again. The final tube rips out from my arm like ripping a piece of paper in half as fast as you can. It stings, and I feel something trickle out of me down to my fingers in a thick, warm river. I push back my inkling to cry and try to just remain calm. I really don't want to panic right now, so I convince myself not to through some serious mental yelling.

  "She should be waking up. She was acting like a lunatic before. Just be careful," the original female Dom says to someone. I recognize her voice. Sadly, it will be engrained in me forever from this traumatic experience. She wouldn't shut up when they were experimenting on me. She kept talking bad about me, saying I was a screw up, worthless, a failed follower of Rem.

  "I can handle myself," a deep voice rings out with authority. I'd recognize that voice anywhere, too. Micha.

  My stomach flut
ters at knowing that he's here. But, I'm also filled with embarrassment. Micha knew of my dreams to be a Fighter. He supported me and taught me everything I know. And now I don't have wings. I'm a failure.

  I don't want Micha to see me like this.

  I don't know what does it, but I will my eyes to open so I can confirm that it really is Micha beside me. I have to see him. He's standing next to my bed, his blue eyes glassy, his eyebrows furrowed in a tight 'v.' His dark hair is styled like it usually is: cropped on the sides with a little extra swirl on top. He's beautiful—Rem's perfect creation.

  As I stare at him, I realize that I must look like a mental case. I force myself to tear my gaze away from his unreadable face. I train my eyes to the floor like I've been scolded and wait for him to break the awkward silence that expands between us.

  "How are you feeling, Annie?" he asks me, making my stomach flutter with lust. Hearing my name come out of his lips is like a sucker punch to my rational thoughts. I'm instantly reminded of the last time that I saw Micha.

  "I'm, uh, okay," I mutter like a moron. It's like I never met the guy before. "So, I guess we do meet again," I try to joke, but it's flat.

  "Did they hurt you?" He steps forward towards me.

  "Not really. They just took tests, I guess." I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to admit the actual pain I felt. The stabbing, prodding and weakness I experienced for hours on end.

  "I have to ask you some formal questions. Do you think that's okay?" he asks. I just nod, not wanting to open my star struck mouth again. "What year were you born?"

  "1994."

  "Great. You were one of five in that year, correct?" he asks me, taking down notes on a brown clipboard hurriedly.

  "Yes," I answer, and he nods again, writing it all down.

  "What were you hoping to become?"

  "A Fighter," I respond back, glaring a bit, because he knows that.

  "What are your plans now?" he asks quickly. He looks up from the clipboard and our eyes clash.

  "My plans now? What does that even mean?" I ask him back, not understanding. Shouldn't he be the one that tells me what to do? I should be asking him what my plans are.

  "Now that you've been deemed human," he answers, as if I should know this by now. I just stare at the man, wondering what he means by 'deemed human.'

  "I'm deemed human? I'm not a human. My Guardians are Angels!" I yell at Micha, unable to hold my anger back. I try to get up from the bed, but I'm still locked in place by the stupid metal clasps. The Doms must've known I'd try to attack when I found out I'm apparently human.

  Micha steps forward instead of backwards, shaking his head from side to side. "I'm so sorry. I thought the doctor spoke with you," he mutters under his breath. "You apparently got a recessive gene from both of your Guardians. It's rather rare." He pauses, collecting his thoughts. "You're human, Annie."

  "No," I whimper, trying to understand how this could be. I try to cover my face with my hands but I fail miserably. As if understanding what I want, Micha drops his brown clipboard on the table beside the bed and steps towards me.

  I cower away, not wanting him to see me so weak, but he doesn't care. He touches my hand, and the locks break around it. I'm freed at last. I roll over into the fetal position and try to control my breathing and panicking. I try to sink into the lounger and hide, but it refuses to swallow me whole.

  I can't cry here.

  But it happens anyway. I'm sobbing, my body violently shaking with each ragged intake of breath. How is this possible? I was born of two Angels, and I'm a human? This is ridiculous. Surely this is a prank, some sick joke Rem is playing on me to make me stronger.

  Micha's voice is just a whisper to my ears. "I'm so sorry." His hand reaches for me and touches my back ever so slightly. A surge of electricity shocks me from the inside out, but it's relaxing.

  "Stop," I tell him, pulling away from his touch. I don't want to be coddled. I don't want his super awesome powers to deliver relaxation that makes me feel better. I want to hurt and grieve over everything I'm losing. My life as I know it is completely over.

  "I can make it hurt less," he says, reaching under my chin with his soft fingers. He lifts my chin up so we're even, and I stare at him through my tears.

  "What happens to me now?" I ask him, my voice so small it's barely audible to even my own ears.

  "I'm not sure yet," he tells me, making my tears spill over. He looks down at me with pity, and I don't even have the energy to get upset. I lean forward as Micha cradles my head against his shoulder and lets me cry.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Seven Archers

  Doctors and nurses flutter in and out of my room for the next day or so. To be honest, I've lost track of time, which is a first for me since I'm constantly counting. I don't really care about much anymore. Time doesn't matter, as I have nothing to look forward to, no goal in my life to pursue, no real direction. Since Micha freed me from the bed, they must assume I'm stable, because they don't force me into cuffs again, which I'm thankful for. My ankles and wrists are still chafed from the first time I was locked in place, and sometimes, when I itch the scabs, I bleed.

  As far as thankful goes, that's all I can muster.

  I've never been in so much pain in my life. It drives me mad as needle after needle stabs into my arm, back, and stomach. These aren't just the regular needles we're forced to endure once a year. They're twice the size and length and feel as if they go right through me and out the other side each time they're close. Over and over again, they draw blood and then force me to meditate so I can revive my blood since I'm losing more than normal.

  At first, I tried to object to meditating on command. I refused to meditate and make myself stronger, because it was pointless since they would just take away my strength again. I refused to comply with their obnoxious demands. But after a while, I gave up resisting. They're stronger than me since they're real Angels, and I'm, allegedly, a mere human with human strength and a human body. Plus, they just shoot me up with some serum that forces me to sleep anyway.

  I've been alone for a few hours now—the longest time alone since I checked in. Nobody has been in or out or even peeked in the tall, rectangular window. It's oddly quiet around here, and for the first time since I've been admitted, I can hear myself think. In the silence of my stark white room, I crave familiarity.

  I feel like I'm on the verge of a breakdown when the doors to my room suddenly swing open. One slams against the wall, making pieces of white flecks fall to the ground as it creates a crater like dent. I sit up in my bed, finally having some movement, and stare at the spectacle in front of me.

  All seven Archers fly into the room, their feet just two inches above the ground. First is Gabriel, then Uriel. Both are blonde with electric blue eyes. Their heavy presence looms in the air as they come in beside each other, barely fitting through the wide doorframe. Gabriel nods at me in greeting, while Uriel just follows behind him, his face drawn tightly together in what seems like a scowl.

  Power radiates off of them. I can feel their charged energy, and the closer they get, the more it suffocates me. I want to be like them. I want to have that same thing. But, I never will. I guess I should accept it, but it's just too hard.

  Behind the pair is Raphael and his brothers Raguel and Remiel. The trio is almost identical in every way—both personality wise and appearance. Their black wings are exactly the same length and size, shooting up past the top of their heads. They all have brown hair and their eyes are so green, it's like the most magical grass you'd imagine from Earth. The green that the televisions show us pales in comparison.

  Last is Saraqael and Michael, the ultimate couple. Saraqael is the only female Archer, and she flaunts it well. Everyone says it's because Rem couldn't create a more perfect woman than her, and seeing her in the flesh, I believe it. Two blonde braids cascade down to her kneecaps in intricate hand-woven designs. She has dark eyes, but when the light from the window hits them just right, they're like liq
uid gold.

  And of course, Michael: dark hair, blue eyes, and the darkest wings of all the Archers. To say he is perfect would be an understatement. I can't help the jealously I feel looking between all of these Angels and then down at myself. I feel pathetic in comparison. I guess it makes sense that I'm human after all.

  I sit up a little straighter in the bed and fix my matted down, painfully boring, brown hair. I don't bother to say hi to them. If they've all assembled here, it's for a pretty good reason. The curiosity eats me alive. All of them surround my small lounger in the order they came in, making a 'u' shape around me.

  "Hello, Annie. My name is Gabriel, and we've all come to figure out what to do about your situation."

  "Okay," I answer back quickly, nodding my head.

  "Through our tests, it's clear that you are mostly human. While you did not get your wings, you will still carry all of the Angel traits you've had since birth," Gabriel explains.

  "So what traits do I have?" I ask, my eyes darting between Micha and Gabriel. They're the only two I trust for some odd reason. Call it natural instinct, but it is what it is. I don't fight it.

  "Well, from the testing, we've concluded that you'll still have to meditate to regain energy. Solid foods have no effect on you. You'll be a little stronger and faster than humans in general. Other than that, you're just human," Sara speaks up from the edge of the group's semicircle. Her voice entrances me, making me hang on to her every word despite how much I hate what she's saying. It's amazing the affect her softness has on me. I don't like it one bit.

  "But I'll never have wings. How will I get around?" I ask. I know I can't be a Fighter anymore, but what am I going to do in the Veil? I can't even get home from here without having to fly. Rem, I'm crippled. I'm going to have to be carted around by Angels and watched constantly to make sure I don't hurt myself. What job can I have? What purpose do I have to the Veil?