Beyond The Veil (A Paranormal Romance)

Chapter 20

She was still screaming when her eyes flicked open. Surprisingly, the hand that had muffled her mortifying cries was gone; her voice filled the air unfiltered and clear.

Immediately, she fell silent. It was only then that she noticed that the pain had stopped as well. Her hand shot up to her neck, looking for the wounds that without a doubt had to be rather severe, but there were none to be found. Not even one drop of blood tinted her fingers when she examined them.

Cautiously, she lifted her head, slowly taking in her surroundings. Her legs gave in as she recognized where she was, and with a loud thud she dropped down to her knees.

"Raphael?" His name left her lips so timidly that it would have been impossible for anyone to perceive it. "Raphael?" She whimpered, now louder, her eyes darting around the room, searching for him. But all remained quiet.

"Raphael!" Now she yelled hysterically, although she was all too aware that her efforts were pointless. She was alone.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

The racing heart in her chest, however frantically it was pounding, had a paradoxically calming effect on her. She was alive. All was well.

Taking several deep breaths, she noticed the bed that stood a few feet away from her.

It was exactly as she had left it that fateful morning. It hadn't been made; the comforter still hung sloppily over the edge.

Hastily, her legs carried her into the adjacent room. There, on the couch, was still Raphael's bedding. It looked like he had just gotten up and left for work. Something bright and yellow on the coffee table caught her attention, and when she stepped closer, she realized it was a post-it, waiting to be read. With trembling hands she picked it up.

Good morning, Emily.

I had to leave early but I fixed you breakfast. It's in the fridge. Make yourself at home. I won't be long.

See you in a couple of hours,

Raphael.

Carelessly dropping his old note, she ran into the kitchen and pulled the silver refrigerator doors open. The meal he had prepared for her the morning before their nightmare had begun was still untouched. The scrambled eggs and the slices of bacon that were lovingly arranged on a large white porcelain plate still looked and smelled fresh. And there was another note, leaning against a milk carton.

Enjoy!

P.s.: Don't think badly of me, Emily. I want you to know that last night meant a lot to me. Maybe even a little too much. Please understand that it was very difficult for me to push you away when all I wanted was to hold you in my arms, but some things are just not meant to be.

Raphael

Grabbing the note, she closed the fridge again.

"Raphael," she breathed, staring at his elegant handwriting. "Where are you?"

She felt so guilty, so ashamed. He had not lied to her. It was just like he had said; all he had ever done was protect her. He had promised to get her back safely, and here she was; in his apartment, far away from the endless darkness, out of reach for the Guardians, far away from any dangers that had threatened her life, and, as it seemed, also far away from him.

Why had he not come with her? Was he unable to leave? Maybe the Guardians had caught him before he could follow her. And if they had, what were they doing to him now? She shuddered at the violent images that forced themselves on her.

"I'm so sorry I doubted you," she mouthed, lifting his note to her lips. She closed her eyes and placed a tender kiss on the blue ink that formed his name so beautifully. Remorse and shame over her reluctance to trust him, over her lack of faith washed over her conscience and paired with deep hopelessness, creating a toxic mixture of bitter sorrow. As tears began to bathe the piece of paper she was clutching like an invaluable treasure, dissolving the words he had so neatly written down for her, she quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand and folded the note, placing it carefully on the kitchen counter.

She needed to clear her mind, she needed to figure out what to do. A hot shower, she thought, would do the trick.

And it did. Emily felt much better when she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy, warm towel. For a minute she stared at the clothes she had disposed of in front of the bathroom door, contemplating whether she should wear them again.

Sighing, she picked them up and carried them to the garbage can. She did not want to have them on her body ever again, not after what happened. With a feeling of relief, she dumped them into the trash and went into Raphael's bedroom, looking for something close to her size that could serve as a replacement.

His closet was full of black dress shirts, black slacks, black jackets, coats, and sweaters. Black, black, black, with an occasional white shirt. Emily smiled sadly at the signature lack of color of his wardrobe. Being so close to his most private possessions caused a sharp sting in her heart. She wanted him here with her. She wanted to apologize for misjudging him, for not trusting him, for misreading his intentions, but most of all, she wanted to know if he was safe. Gently, her fingers brushed over the silk fabric of one of his shirts before taking it off the hanger. She pressed it tightly to her chest, inhaling the fresh scent she had always subconsciously perceived whenever he was around.

Even though the piece of clothing was far too large, it felt wrong to lock it back up, so she pulled it unceremoniously over her head. No, it wasn't just too large. It was huge on her. The hem almost reached her knees, and the sleeves completely swallowed her hands. Rolling them up, Emily went on looking through the clothes in search for some pants. Hidden in the farthest corner of the closet she found a pair of sweatpants that she could at least somewhat adjust to her waist size.

Checking her reflection in the mirror, she had to admit that she looked rather silly with that oversized dress shirt and those baggy sweatpants, but she couldn't care less. These were his clothes, and as ridiculous as it was to hold on so dearly to inanimate things, she couldn't help the fact that wearing his clothes made her feel as if he was still protecting her.

I won't let go.

As his last words echoed through her head, her gaze fell on her hand; the very hand he had held so tightly not even an hour ago. Now, deprived of his touch, it just felt cold and abandoned.

I won't let go.

Then, suddenly, a thought so impossible, so outrageous, popped into her mind, reigniting the tender flame of hope in her heart.

Hurriedly, Emily rummaged through closets, dressers, drawers, even Raphael's desk, in search of a spare set of keys to the apartment. She did not want to lock herself out, since this was the only place she could stay at, the only place that held a connection to the man who saved her not only once, but numerous times.

Finally, in a small organizer bin underneath the shoe cabinet, she spotted a neon green lanyard that held three keys; a large black one with buttons, which was without a doubt the key to a car, and two smaller ones. Praying that one of them would be a match, she first slid the smallest one into the lock. Cursing under her breath, because it did indeed not fit, she tried the last one. She clapped her hands excitedly as it effortlessly glided into its proper destination. Just to be sure and not to take any chances, she turned the key several times, locking and unlocking the door. There was no mistaking, it was the apartment key.

"Thank you," she exclaimed, securing the lanyard around her neck and stuffing it under Raphael's shirt. With one last glance back to the living room, she slipped out the door and shut it behind her.