One More Troubled Soul

Nine-With Eyes The Size Of Baby Worlds

A thing that I find impressive about Patrick (out of many things that I find impressive) is that everything is played by memory. He never learned how to read sheet music and basically messes around with the instrument until he gets the sound he wants, and remembers it.

Adira's P.O.V.

I didn't think, only responded as he dropped past me. I jumped and wrapped my arms around him, trying to protect him from the lashing branches as they jabbed at the two of us in our decent.

"Patrick!" Pete yelled, and we both landed on the ground, Patrick on top of me. He was curled into a ball, his face pressed into my neck, and I kept my arms around him. I was breathing hard, trying to calm my racing heart. Did I really just save him from breaking every bone in his body?

He started squirming, pushing against my grip. I released quickly in surprise. He could feel me that time. He hadn't passed through me. Pete grabbed his shoulders, his fingers going through me, though Patrick was solid. He lifted him off of me, and I scrambled to my feet as Pete questioned him, patting him down.

How did I save him? How had I been able to grab him? I screwed my eyes shut as a wave of dizziness came though me. When I opened them, I was no longer by the two men's side, but in a round white room. A golden staircase wound its way up the wall, and the man in white stood on top, a great big smile on his face. "Well done!" He boomed, his arms spread wide as he glided down the stairs.

"W-well done? What did I do?" I asked, stuttering through my confusion.

He laughed and wrapped me in a tight hug. I froze and felt my fingers begin to tingle with anxiety. The man released me quickly, an apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry, I forgot you don't like being touched. But, you did it! You saved him! You've proved yourself!" He clapped his hands excitedly and walked around me to a table, a single guitar pick placed on a pillow with a goblet sitting next to it.

I shook my head and followed him, desperate for answers. "I-I'm sorry, proved myself? For what? Where even are we?" I stopped and waved a hand. "No, no, better yet, who are you?"

I jabbed a finger at the man, his hand hovering over the pick. It closed into a fist and he turned to face me, a your-kidding-me smile on his lips. "I am God. But I prefer Elton, if you please." He answered simply, then reached for the pick again. "And you've just proved to me that you're worthy enough to be a Guardian Angel."

This was too much to take in all at once. I mean, I've never been spiritual, believing in angels and demons and god. But, but now he's here, talking to me. He actually hugged me, and he's now saying I'm going to be a Guardian Angel.

I shook my head from side to side as Elton approached me, the pick in one hand and the goblet in the other. He smiled like he was offering me the deal of a lifetime. "Well?"

I stared back in disbelief. "You're expecting an answer now? Right now? I just saved Patrick, learned that you're God, and you want an immediate answer as to if I want to be a Guardian Angel? Who's angel am I even going to be?"

"That'd be Patrick's, sweetheart. Now, I know it's sudden and you'd usually be trained, but I'm afraid we don't have time to train you the full five months. We only have-" he glanced at a watch on his wrist. "About two days and six hours to train you. So, yes. I'm sorry, but I am expecting an immediate answer."

Patrick's angel. Yeah, sure, no. I can barely take care of myself. How will I do taking care of Patrick? And why does he even need- okay, no. He could've died climbing a tree. Someone wants him dead from what I remember with the events of my own death. He needs an angel, someone to watch over him and protect him. And for some odd reason, that's me.