Always

By: Tiffany Long

© May, 2012
Prologue:

My name is Azrael Grace Hensley. I am seventeen, yet I’m much unlike others my age. I have a
reputation as a freak of nature, though this was caused by hands other than my own.
I am an outcast because I have the ability to communicate with the dead. Unlike the popular,
misguided belief, they cannot verbally speak with me. It’s more like having their thoughts projected into
my mind. Despite this, I have to reply or greet aloud. And so began the rumors of my sanity…
At one point in time, my mother, Amy, believed it only to be a phase I would grow out of. But as
I grew older, and my world leaned ever closer to the brink of death, she realized I wasn’t normal. She
discovered her daughter wasn’t and would never be the beautiful, perfect girl she wanted. Because of
this, she alienated herself from me and refused to acknowledge that I was hers. Amy left me alone in my
own prison.
At about the time I turned five, my life’s biggest struggle took root. By that time, I had already
discovered I was different. When a pit formed in my stomach one day, I knew something was seriously
wrong; never before had a spirit caused such a feeling. There had been others; trapped entities lost
between death and life. My instincts showed the truth when religious items in my home were broken or
set aflame. I began to know this entity as my demon, an enemy of all. Time proved this belief to be true.
Chapter 1: Misty

I smile at myself in the mirror; Today would be a good day. A glance at the clock reveals it to be
time to catch my bus for school.
I never minded school; I usually do well. Despite my loss of social interaction, I enjoy the many
laughs others shared. I can see in a few of the teachers the same parental attitude that my own mother
lacks. The only class I don’t enjoy, however, is my first hour: English.
It isn’t that I dislike the subject, because it’s one of my favorites. The teacher just hates me, and
though I know it’s a popular excuse among high school students, I truly believe it. I still don’t know what
I did that caused her to frown upon me that first day of school, and she has yet to remove it.
As I pull my head out of the clouds, I search for a seat. A few girls slink closer to the windows
and move their bags to the edge of the seat; the boys prop their feet up in the empty space. I try not to
let it show, but the consistent shunning that had started in middle school still hurts even after all these
years. In the back, my eyes fall on the one empty seat- the only seat that’s ever empty. I subconsciously
wonder if there is a sign that I can’t see hanging above that labeled it a “freak” seat.
The smell of dusty roads and the sound of gravel flying is enough to send some riders into a soft
slumber, but the sounds do nothing to soothe me. My sole comfort is books and occasionally music. At
the moment, I feel as though even the soft words of the greatest writer won’t help. So I stare blankly out
the window into an easy sunrise.
When the bus rolls to its last stop, I rise shakily to my feet. I pass from hallway to hallway as a
shadow, invisible to all around me. The students don’t acknowledge my existence as I stand beside
them, and I don’t press them to. I suppose that I could easily gain their attention, but only with the help
of my demon, and I don’t like conversing with him.
When the bell rings several minutes later, the halls are a sea of people, all bustling to get where
they need to go. I smile at the thought of fish traveling in schools. I take a deep breath and enter my first
class of the day.
At the end of school, I am scared and worried beyond my wits; my demon has followed me. For
the first time, he has reared his ugly head in my school. The thought has my stomach in knots as the bus
lurches down streets and dirt roads. The tension continues building until I am sick with an uneasiness
that I can’t understand nor cure.
As always, my mother waits for me at the door. She is a clothing designer, and despite her busy-
ness, she musters the time daily to interrogate me about the day’s happenings. Of course, I am still
unsure of whether I should tell her He had followed.
“Did anything new happen today?” she snaps. Her voice is sharp and impatient. I numbly shake
my head and drop my notebook on the glass table, all thoughts of spilling removed. She sighs and
angrily runs a hand through her pale, blonde hair. I wonder if I got my looks from her; she is beautiful.
Amy Hensley is naturally blonde, and her hair is always arranged neatly, no matter the style. She
has almond shaped eyes that are a pale green, though my eyes are pale blue instead. Her lips are the
perfect shape, and while she always covers them with lipstick, a pretty shade of pink.
“Are you sure?” she repeated. I nod again and open my notebook as she starts yelling.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Her voice echoes throughout the dining room, settling
when it has bounced from all four corners. I look up and meet her stormy gaze. She glowers at my
innocent face and stomps up the spiraling staircase in the corner of the living room. Doors slam as she
enters her office, and I quietly retreat to mine.
That night, I am quietly reading in my desk chair, with my feet propped on the desk. Soft music
plays from the speakers and the house is utterly quiet until a glass shatters somewhere in the core of
the home.
 I drop my book on the desk and gingerly step out of my room; all is quiet in the hall. In the
kitchen, my mother’s favorite wine glass is broken, smashed against the cabinet. With an exasperated
sigh, I sweep the glass up and mop as well. I’ll have to explain what happened to Amy’s glass the next
time she has a dinner party.
Upon returning to my room, I discover my book on the floor. I run a hand through my hair and
wonder if I actually put it on the desk or if it were close to the edge and destined to fall off. I decide to
ignore the nagging feeling in my stomach and dismiss it as my own carelessness.
Foolish, his voice echoes in my head, and I cringe at the noise. I don’t answer, instead crawling
under the soft, black blankets of my bed. Curling into a fetal position, I face the wall. Seconds pass,
maybe even a minute goes by, before I hear glass breaking. Upon looking up, I see a broken photo
frame.
I softly pad over to the picture and take it off the wall, tracing the cracks with my fingertips. His
eerie chuckle radiates throughout the confines of my mind. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
The rest of the night passes without further interruption. The morning, as every other, is a
repeat of the one before. Only, the smile is not evident today: invisible, because my mother’s glare
follows my every move. Her eyes are like daggers. If looks could kill, I would be a goner.
“Did you break my glass?” she demands as I chew lamely on a slice of toast. I shake my head and
look up to her. Her eyes are set in stone, hard and cold.
“You’re lying. Why was it in the garbage this morning?” I can’t form the courage to further deny
her accusations, and when the bus honks out front, I find it to be my escape.
“We’ll talk about this later,” she shoots as I close the front door. I breathe in the scent of
jasmine and walk slowly to the edge of the gravel driveway. The bus is noisy on the street, absorbing all
other sounds around it. A low fog coats the ground, swirling around the bus with a spooky feeling.
The ride is silent as the trees whiz by us all, flashes of yellow, red and gold. I sit in the back, my
gaze out the dusty window. No one seems to notice His presence as He slinks by, but I do. My eyes are
trained on the spot where He hides, watching us.
When the doors open, I’m the first off the bus as people dash back into their seats to avoid me.
Ms. Auburn glares from the sidewalk as she directs the flow of students; she’s my English teacher.
Once opening my locker, I see a note dropped in the bottom. I slip it in my pocket and retrieve
my books for my first class, English. I bustle through the halls, eager to be alone. Inside the classroom, a
few students are scattered throughout the room, chattering about unimportant topics.
I go to my seat and slide my books in front of me. I remove the note and unfold it, spreading it
across the desk. The handwriting is sloppy, the letters curved and obviously written quickly. It is penned
in red ink. It reads:
Follow me.
I wonder who exactly I should be follow-perhaps a teacher? A role model? I am left with only
questions. Before another thought can form, the bell rings, and students pour in. Ms. Auburn steps
inside the room and closes the door as the late bell rings. A girl named Heather sits in the seat across the
aisle from me. She gives me a look that clearly defines her disgust and turns to face one of her disciples.
My heart pounds in my chest a minute later as my demon enters the room. Panic runs through
my veins as he grazes through the students, leaving a bit of his darkness in them. He pauses beside
Heather, and eventually he takes over her body. I stare in horror as she loses herself to him. I can think
of only one distraction: give him what he wants.
I don’t think; I just act. I jump out of my seat and launch myself at her. We tumble to the floor,
and I pin her squirming body down. She claws at me, though I can tell through the amount of force she’s
using that he is gone. If he weren’t, she would be drawing blood with each swipe.
 “Azrael!” Ms. Auburn exclaims. I look up, guiltily, my eyes trained on the gray-haired English
professor. Her gaze is hard, her wrinkled face stony. I glance back down at Heather and release her. She
immediately shoves me off, knocking me to the floor.
“Ms. Auburn, she attacked me!” she screeches. Ms. Auburn ignores her and marches down to
us. I stand up shamefully, and she grips me by the elbow. I wince and follow her as she leads the way
down the empty halls. A few stragglers are standing around the corner, perhaps skipping class, but they
snicker and disappear as I am jerked to the office.
Ms. Auburn pays the secretary no attention as she drags me to the principal’s office. We pass
the row of other troublemakers. She shoves the door open and Mrs. Davenport sits in a chair behind her
desk, looking down at some papers. When the door bangs against the wall, she looks up with a confused
expression.
“She tackled Heather.” That is all Ms. Auburn says before turning on her heel and returning to
the classroom. Mrs. Davenport’s gaze becomes a glare as she orders me to sit. I do as I am told and
uncomfortably take a seat in the hard, redwood chair. She folds her hands across the desk and begins.
“You tackled Heather?” she asks, though it seems more like a conviction. I nod and look away.
“Why?” she demands. I refuse to meet her gaze and shrug. What else am I supposed to tell her?
She’ll never believe me. “Why?” she snaps again. I open my mouth to say something, but close it just as
quickly.
She sighs in frustration and takes out a manila folder and several sheets of paper. Looking down
at one page, she dials a number on the phone. After a few moments, someone picks up on the other
end. I get a pretty good idea of who it is as Mrs. Davenport explains what I’ve done.
“Well, Ms. Hensley, it seems Azrael has attacked one of our other students… Not that we know
of… Well, I’m going to expel her-… Violence is not tolerated here, Ms. Hensley. She is expelled and I’m
going to give you the number to one of our local psychiatrists, as well.” I cannot believe the words she’s
saying. Expelled? For fighting? I know other students that have been in multiple fights and still attend
the school.
After giving my mother the phone number to the psychiatrist, Mrs. Davenport hangs up the
phone and looks at me. She informs me that my mother is coming to pick me up and that I should go get
my things.
Walking down the hallways, I wonder what else I could’ve done to save Heather. At the time, it
seemed that giving him a reaction was the only option. But now, I can see other options. As I zip my bag,
the secretary walks me back to the office. I sit down in the seat at the end of the row and wait.
A few minutes later, Amy walks in with a smug look. She looks down at me as she talks with the
secretary, Mrs. Dolly. Mrs. Dolly gives me a look of pity as I walk humiliatingly behind my mother. I feel
as though all eyes are on me as we leave the building. It’s strange to walk in the early, damp morning
during a school day.
In the car my mother refuses to say a word and drives straight home. She walks briskly through
the front door, leaving me standing morosely beside the open car door. She slams the door shut, and I
hope she hasn’t locked it as I look up at the sky, which is now drizzling rain. I pull my backpack over my
shoulder and shut the door, shuffling to the porch. Testing the knob, I find it refuses to turn.
I step back and sigh after glancing at my bedroom window. The window itself is shattered,
having happened sometime during the morning. It’s on the second floor, and there is no way I can climb
up. I walk around the brick house I live in and find the basement window, the only one that I don’t have
to climb to enter. I get on my hands and knees, ignoring the red clay mud seeping through my jeans, and
try to open the window. It doesn’t budge, and so I look around for a rock.
Any other time, and I would be able to find one almost immediately, but not today. With a deep
breath, I punch the window as hard as I can. The glass shatters, and I knock out the small, jagged pieces
left in the frame. I shove my backpack through the entrance and slip through behind it. I look down at
my stinging hand, and I notice blood seeping out of tiny cuts on my knuckles and the top of it.
Water droplets splash against the cement floor and linger on my lashes, though I cannot tell if
this is from tears or rain. Both are falling pretty heavily now. I look around the basement and spy a
wooden board against the wall. I wonder why we have it and press it firmly against the broken window,
using a hammer and nails to hold it there. I find some duct tape and seal the edges to be sure nothing
seeps in or out.
Shuffling into the kitchen, I catch the end of my mother’s phone conversation.
“Yes, I’ll pay you… Of course, I know it’s illegal… I don’t want her,” she hisses. My heart is heavy
as I realize she is talking about me. “Yes… Good. I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.” She hangs up as I travel
up the stairs.
“Azrael!” she roars. I pause for a moment. She stands at the foot of the stairs, hands on hips.
“Yes?” I inquire quietly.
“Why?” she demands. I keep walking upstairs, knowing that she would not understand nor care.
She continues calling my name as I enter my bedroom.
A few minutes later, she stops pounding on my door. Everything is falling apart.
Chapter 2: Diluted Reality
“Azrael?” calls the secretary. I look up from my book and stand up beside Amy. She
smiles, a fake one, and points at a door with Mr. Courtney printed on it. Amy opens the door and peeps
in, smiling when she sees a man sitting behind a desk.
“Mr. Courtney?” she asks the thin man. He’s bald, very tall, and lanky. He smiles up at
her and reveals his perfectly whitened teeth. He stands and shakes her hand, and while it may be my
own imagined paranoia, I think I see something slip from Amy’s hand to Mr. Courtney’s. She turns to me
and informs me that she’ll be outside without another glance. Mr. Courtney gestures for me to take a
seat as the door softly swings shut. I look at his outstretched hand and cautiously sit down on the worn,
dirty-green and grey couch. I notice that everything in the office, aside from the couch, is white.
“How are you today?” Mr. Courtney asks. I shrug and place my book in my lap. He
stands from his desk chair and walks around the desk. He sits on one of the corners and looks at me
crossly. He begins firing pointless questions: Has anything major happened in your life recently that
might encourage violence? I want to answer yes to that one, but of course, I hold back my response.
After half an hour of my shrugging, he gives up. He stands up and throws his hands in the air in
exasperation.
“Look, Azrael, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” I ignore him. Those are
the words of someone who cares, not the psychiatrist my mother bribed just the night before. He kneels
down in front of me and rests his hands on my knees, and I squirm back a bit at the unwanted closeness.
“Please tell me,” he begs, and while his voice is sincere, his eyes hold nothing. They are
empty. I shake my head and he jerks into a standing position. “Well. I guess our time is up,” he says
sharply. I’m actually a little fearful as I walk by him, and I slink closer to the doorframe. Amy sees me
leave the office and stands with a smile. She walks over and casts Mr. Courtney a glance with questions
written all over it. I turn just in time to see him nod.
Two days later, I am in the car with all of my belongings packed in suitcases in the
backseat. The last day has been a blur. Amy informed me that I was being sent to live in a mental
institution and practically packed my bags for me. Contrary to what one would expect, Amy was not at
all saddened to know that her child was being sent to live in a nut house. She welcomed it.
I cannot even describe my nerves as guards lead me around the hospital, gripping my
arms as though I am some sort of criminal. They take me to an empty room and close the door before I
can turn around. I slam myself against the door and pound on the cold, hard metal. When it is obvious
no one is coming to save me, I look around and examine the room I am locked in.
A small, single bed is bolted to the wall on my right side. A dresser is built into the wall
across from it, with only the drawers able to move. A bare desk and wooden chair, which are both
bolted to the floor, are on my left. Everything except the desk is white: the sheets, the walls, the metal
door, the dresser drawers, and their handles. Everything is bolted down or restrained in some way, too.
I sit down on the bed and drop my head in my hands. Tears splash against the cement
floor as the reality of my situation kicks in; I am locked in a mental institution with a demon following
me. Wait: Maybe the demon isn’t real. Perhaps it is a figment of my imagination, and has been since it
was unearthed. I toss the thought around in my head before a small voice catches my attention.
“Who’s there?” I ask quietly. Someone responds, and I follow the sound to the air vent
beside the dresser.
“Hello?” the voice asks again. It sounds feminine.
“Who are you?” I respond. I hear her chuckling.
“I am Jade. What’re you in for?” she asks. The way she words the question makes me
think of two inmates in a prison, and I suppose that’s basically what we are: prisoners of insanity.
“You go first.” I hear laughing on the other side and a moment later, Jade responds.
 “I take violent spells, and I’m occasionally delusional.” This, I think, is a condition that makes a
person belong in an asylum. With a shaky breath, I tell her what I’m “in for”.
“I see ghosts. They think I’m a loon.” Jade seems to weigh this in her mind. All is silent
for a while, and I wonder if I’ve scared her away. I lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling; I
wonder who else is staring at it in this prison. A guard knocks on my cell door, and he opens it seconds
later. I sit up, and he instructs me to follow him. I do as he tells me, and we end up in a sort of living
room.
There are a few dirty-white couches scattered around the room and a television set in
one corner. A wooden coffee table rests in the center of a few arm chairs. I wonder idly if the chairs and
table are bolted down, also. I see Jade sitting on the couch, watching a man sitting next to her as he
talks. She smiles and laughs at something he said. I don’t really know anyone here, other than Jade, and
I don’t want to intrude on her conversation. I walk over to one of the other couches and sit down,
folding my hands in my lap.
The man Jade was talking to happens to looks up, and after a few minutes, he shuffles
over.
“Hi,” he says, sitting down beside me. “I’m Thomas.” I nod in greeting. “So, you’re
Azrael?” I nod and he simply looks at me for a moment. “You’re really shy, aren’t you?” I nod once more.
He sighs and looks around at the array of other patients.
“How come you’re in here?” I ask him, anxious to see what forced him to be here. He
chuckled a bit before replying. “I have Huntington’s Disease. Even though it’s a gene disorder, it causes
physical and psychiatric problems.” I nod, suddenly feeling a bit bad for him. He actually has a reason to
be here.
We talk for a few more quiet minutes before a tall man with short, black hair and
tattoos covering his arms, walks over. While his appearance is slightly intimidating, the smile on his face
erases any lingering fear in my mind.
“Hi,” he says, sitting between Thomas and me. “I’m Danny.” I smile weakly.
“I’m Azrael.” He smiles again, and I strike up a conversation about his tattoos.
“I got this one first,” he says, pointing to one on the top of his right hand. “It’s a bat. I like
Batman.” He laughs at the expression on my face; it’s one of awe.
“Batman is the greatest superhero, ever,” I manage to say. I’m amazed that he has forever
plastered Batman’s symbol on his hand. He nods in agreement.
About forty-five minutes later, my guard returns to the room and says it’s time to return
to my cell, and I wonder if he means the room I was placed in earlier. Danny stands as well, and he says
something quietly to the guard. A moment later, he turns to me with another smile on his face. “I’ll take
you.” I frown in confusion.
“I’m a guard, too,” he explains. This takes me by surprise. He certainly hadn’t acted as a
guard earlier. With a smile that seems permanent, he escorts me to my cell and waves goodbye before
closing the door. I wonder idly as I lie on my bed. Why is he so nice? When am I getting out? But mostly,
I wonder: Where is my demon?
 Chapter 3: Gazing Off Into Nothing
A week goes by, and there are no further disruptions from my demon. As I lie in my bed
on a warm Sunday morning, I wonder if I had imagined Him. I can’t distinguish whether He is real
because, what if the serenity of the mental hospital calmed my imagination?
A light knock at the door brings me out of my thoughts, and I sit up quickly. Danny,
whom I’ve grown to like immensely, smiles as he opens the door. I leap up off the bed, ignoring it as it
squeaks in protest. I follow Danny as he leads us down the hallway.
“How are you today, sweetheart?” he asks, turning back to look at me. I try hard to
ignore his nickname and answer.
“I’m fine; just a little bored.”
He chuckles softly, and we enter the room where I met Thomas. I’ve grown to know Thomas,
Jade and Danny as… best friends, really. Thomas and Jade sit on the couch, watching something on the
old television. I look at the TV and wonder why there’s no sound. The room is completely silent except
for our breathing.
“It’s fun to just watch and try to figure out what the characters are saying,” Thomas
says, noticing the look of confusion on my face. I smile and sit down between Jade and Danny. As I stare
off into space, and my companions watch the silent TV screen, I realize I’ve smiled more in the past
week, locked in a mental institution, than I have in the last year.
Thomas, Jade, Danny and I sit around and talk all through the evening, laughing loudly
compared to the low hum of other patients. Thomas and Jade return to their cells, which we’ve all come
to joke about; the hospital feels more like a hotel or something similar. We all feel more comfortable
inside these white walls than we ever did on the outside.
Danny and I sit and toss amusing conversation about the show on the television. The
room is empty aside from the two of us. Silence falls between us, and neither of us make a move to end
it until the show is over.
“Azrael, can I ask you something?” Danny asks suddenly. I meet his gaze and nod. He
bites his lip before following through with his inquisition.
“Why are you here? You seem perfectly normal.” I swallow nervously, afraid to tell him
the truth.
“You’ll think I’m crazy,” I protest. He deadpans and raises his arms, gesturing to the
place we’re in.
“You’re locked in a mental institution, Azrael. I thought you were crazy, like the rest of
them, before I even met you.” I frown at his sentence and sigh.
“I… I talk to dead people.” I let the words hang, so many thoughts whirling around in my
head it’s almost dizzying. Danny gives me a speculative look. “Honestly, Danny, I talk to dead people. I
mean, I used to have conversations with my dad, and he’s been dead for nine years.”
His expression sobers up a little and he sighs with exasperation.
“Whatever, Azrael. I’m not going to argue about it. Are you ready to go?” he asks. I nod,
and we travel back to my cell. Once inside, I turn to see Danny wave through the small, rectangular
window in the door. I watch as he walks down the hallway, and as he turns the corner, I go to my bed.
An hour later, I recognize the ominous feeling that has somehow crept into the room.
The feeling won’t go away no matter how hard I try to ignore it. It just keeps getting stronger. It’s almost
choking. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. I’m the only one in the room again.
The next morning, I awake to guards rushing down the hallway. I count four as they
speed down the hallway. I throw my blanket off and tread silently to the door. I peek out the windows
and see several of the doctors employed here running into a cell. I crane my neck to see what’s going
on, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t see the cause of the eruption between the staff.
 I watch the hall for at least an hour, but I still am unable to identify the raucous. With a
soft sigh, I shuffle back to my bed and stare up at the ceiling once more. It seems as though a roof can
replace a television. Eventually, I grow bored with the white block of tiles.
Danny arrives just in time. He pushes my door open and waits as I scramble up. He leads
me silently down the empty hallway and into the front room. He’s not joking or smiling, and I know
something is wrong.
“What’s going on?” I ask, taking a seat on the old couch. He sits beside me and rubs his
face, closing his eyes as he speaks.
“One of the other patients was murdered last night.” My heart pumps ice as I stare at
his face.
“Who was it?” I ask, voice wavering. He looks over at me with eyes almost tearful.
“It was Thomas, Azrael.” His bottom lip quivers a bit, and he turns his head. I wonder if
it’s to keep me from seeing him cry. I, on the other hand, am not even trying to stop the tears rolling
down my cheeks. Who wouldn’t cry if their best friend had just been murdered?
“Danny, we need you to come help with…” The guard trails off as he spies me beside
Danny. Danny stands up and wipes his eyes. He extends a hand to help me up, and I graciously accept it.
We walk back to my cell, and Danny hugs me firmly before locking the door again.
I sigh loudly and wander over to my desk. I stare down at the flat surface. I pick at the
paint and gaze off into nothing.
A week goes by, and a bad feeling brews in my stomach. I know it foretells something bad is
about to happen, but I don’t know when or what it is. So, I simply wait and see.
I lay down for bed, wondering what could be bothering me. I toss and turn, but I’m unable to get
comfortable. I recognize the unsettling sensation of falling, and I finally doze into an uneasy sleep. It
feels like I’ve only been asleep for a few seconds when I’m pulled into a dream.
I look around, recognizing that I’m still in a cell. I scan the cot in the corner and notice a figure
lying on it. I gingerly step forward and peer over the figure to see who it is. I smile a bit at the sight of
Jade, sleeping soundly. I step away and look around the room; it’s exactly the same as mine. I gaze out
the window and see a line of trees. Just the sight of something that isn’t white is enough to put a smile
on my face.
As I enjoy the trees and their leaves blowing in the wind, the choking feeling overcomes me
again. I turn around and see Jade lying as still as a rock, and the black figure I’ve grown to fear hovers
over her. Pain streaks Jade’s face, yet I’m unable to help her; it seems as though the choking feeling has
frozen me. I scream, as loud as I possibly can, and everything stops.
I wake up with a start, breathing rapidly and bolting upright. I don’t even try to calm down as
the choking, the same choking from my dream and the night Thomas died, envelopes me once more. I
throw the blanket off and launch myself at the door. I pound angrily on the door and scream loudly.
Danny’s face suddenly appears, and with one glance at my face, he tries to unlock the door. I
smack the window and scream Jade’s name. He looks confused until I yell at him to find Jade.
Finally, he runs off down the hallway. I try to calm down, but I hear an earsplitting
scream just as the choking feeling stops. I sink to the floor, my back against the door. I hear several
guards running and shouting, but I know it’s too late- Jade is dead
It’s your fault…. His voice condemns. I shake my head.
“No,” I deny. Surely it’s not my fault that Thomas and Jade are dead; I didn’t kill them.
Well, I dreamed about Jade dying. But that doesn’t count, does it?
Yes… You killed them, Azrael. You are the… of death,” he says, his voice fading midsentence.
“How can you be so sure?” I question. A few seconds pass before the wooden leg on the desk
cracks.
 Because I am. I sigh and try to decipher what he’s saying. I am the something of death,
apparently.
It makes no sense. How can he pin Jade and Thomas’ death on me, when I have been
locked in this cell during the time of both murders? There’s no physical way possible for it to be my
fault. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m desperate to get away from him.
I lay awake in bed a week later, unable to drift off into sleep; he is watching me. I thrash
my bed covers for hours before giving up and staring at the ceiling for another hour. Finally my eyes drift
shut and I fade off into nothing.
Only, it’s not actually nothing. I find myself in a dream, one unlike any other I’ve ever
dreamt. Everything in the dream is white, almost blindingly so. It’s nearly impossible to find any defined
shape.
“Azrael,” a voice breathes. The voice sounds out of breath, almost gasping for air.
“You’re the ‘Angel of Death.” I frown. It makes no sense. The angel of death? Me, an angel? This person
must be dreaming. But then again, so am I…
“That’s not true,” I say, persistent with my first thought. A light chuckle, the entire
opposite of the one that haunted me after Jade’s death, reverberates through the room-like space we’re
in. I’m not sure whether to call the space a room or not as I can’t see any walls or even the floor for that
matter.
“It is true, dear. It’s as true as the fact that Danny is the “Guardian of the Tree of Life”.
You know he is different. Your demon hasn’t killed him yet.” This statement truly puzzles me. It wasn’t
long ago that I was told that it was my fault that Jade and Thomas were dead.
“My demon, do you know who or what it is?” I ask, hopeful that this strange being can
give me the answers I haven’t yet found. A long silence ensues, and I wonder if the voice is still there.
“I’m still here,” the voice says. The idea that the voice can hear my thoughts is more than slightly
unnerving. “He is the world’s worst nightmare. He is the source of all evil.”
My eyes open.
 Chapter 4: She Is Truly Happy
Throughout the day, I struggle to understand my dream; did it mean anything? Perhaps it was
just a product of my imagination. The day idles by; I’m lost in my thoughts. The daylight fades away,
replaced with darkness.
Around eight o’clock, Danny asks me why I’ve been so quiet today. I tell him everything about
my dream, from the blinding brightness to the voice’s long silence. He listens quietly, not interrupting
once. When I finish my story, a confused look spreads across his face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, fearful of what he might say. He rubs his face in agitation and frowns.
“I had the same dream. Only, they told me I was Haniel. I don’t even know what that is.”
The expression on my face goes from worried to bleak.
“Do you know what it is?”
I frown and nod.
“In my dream, they said something about you and a Guardian of some ‘Tree of Life’.” It sounded
completely ludicrous. He grimaces. A few minutes of silence pass, and eventually Danny stands with a
long sigh.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks, and he helps me stand. We walk back to my cell, and he stops
me before I enter. Against protocol, he hugs me and smiles before locking the door.
I giggle to myself and sit down on my bed. I’m too hyped up to sleep, so I stare at the ceiling for
an hour or so before sleep overtakes me.

DANNY’S P.O.V. (Point of view)—

After locking Azrael in her cell, I travel down the long corridor and return to the other
guards. I see Avery and Joey, both guards, talking in the lounge. I overhear part of their conversation.
“I ain’t kiddin’,” Avery smirks; he has an accent because he spent the last year in Tennessee.
Joey chuckles at Avery and turns to face me.
“Danny! I haven’t seen you around much. Where’ve you been?” he asks. I shrug and respond
with the same thing I tell everyone.
“Oh, I’ve been here and there. Did you hear anything about Thomas and Jade?” I ask, cringing at
their names; even though it has been a few weeks, and we weren’t really all that close, Thomas and
Jade’s deaths had really spooked me. The pair shake their heads solemnly. I sigh to myself and catch
sight of an older patient walking through the hallway. Forgetting my colleagues in the lounge, I open the
door and step outside of the lounge and greet her with an uneasy smile.
“Is there something wrong, Ms. Schaeffer?” She points back inside the lounge with a speculative
look on her face.
“Can’t you see them?” she asks me with annoyance. I look back inside the lounge and frown; all I
see is Joey and Avery.
“See what?” I ask, stepping closer to the old woman. She looks back up at me with a puzzled
expression.
“The leprechauns, don’t you see them? They’re hard to miss, Danny,” she says, chuckling. I
remind myself not to laugh as I take her arm and guide her back to her room. I close the door firmly
behind her to be sure it’s locked. One of the other guards must not have closed it right. As I walk away
from Ms. Schaeffer’s room, an urge to visit Azrael overwhelms me.
 I make my way down the hallway, locating her familiar room with ease. Upon opening the door,
I find her gone. I search everywhere that she might hide, but to no avail. A piece of paper flutters on the
desk, and I pick it up with shaky hands.
It reads:
Danny,
I’m sure you’re the one that found me missing. I don’t think I can say sorry for running
away; I shouldn’t be sorry. It was my demon who killed people. It follows me. Everyone should
be safe now. I won’t return. I hope that we may contact each other someday. –Azrael
I dropped the square of paper and watch as it sails to the floor. How could she do this to me?
Where has she gone?
As the paper hits the ground, the backside faces up. I pick it up once more to examine it closer.
It’s a sketch of a map. There’s a solid black line from the parking lot of the hospital all the way through
town and out into the woods.
Why would she leave me a map if she doesn’t want me to know where she is? I ignore that
question. Checking the clock on my wrist, I see my shift is over in a mere five minutes. I dash out of
Azrael’s cell, down the hallways and to the lounge.
“Hey- Danny, what’s wrong?” Avery asks.
“Family issues,” I lie smoothly. I throw on my jacket and leave the room before he could say
another word.
The drive to the “X” marked on the paper is unbearable. Passing the golf course seems to take
fifteen minutes, when in reality it’s less than five. I drive a good distance out of town and see an old, run
down gas station. The building is about to fall down, and all the paint has faded. It’s like the old gas
stations you see in horror movies, which, I suppose is fitting in this case.
I drive farther down the road, which has become dirt. A creek runs alongside the road, bubbling
above the muddy rocks. I drive farther out for another fifteen minutes or so. I come upon a large, clear
hill. I assume houses are to be built on the misshapen land, oddly enough. I park my car and step out
onto the dry, red dirt.
Seconds after I shut the door, a shot rings out. The hill hushes, and time stands still. I run as fast
as I can to the sound of the gun and eventually reach the top of the hill. What I see makes me want to
turn and run as far away as possible.
Azrael’s body lies limp on the red earth. A gun rests in her hand, and a pool of blood surrounds
her body. I inch closer to the scene and drop to my knees upon seeing her face: eyes wide, a look of
desperation evident. Her blue eyes, the eyes I know so well, stare blankly at the darkened sky.
I can’t bring myself to believe she’s really dead. The idea is simply unfathomable. I take her still-
warm hand in my own. I can’t stop the steady flow of tears streaming down my face. Before I think
about it, I catch myself praying, for Azrael to somehow be okay again. Some would say it’s useless, but I
can’t stop pleading.
Some sadistic part of my imagination feels a heartbeat in her hand. I can’t restrain myself from
feeling it, and it grows stronger with each passing minute. I throw her hand away from me. Resting my
head between my knees and crying like a baby seems like my only option.
“Danny,” Azrael says firmly. I try with everything in me to convince myself that it, too, was a
figment of my imagination… but it sounded so real. So much for praying, I think sarcastically.
“Danny,” she scolds, sounding almost offended.
“God, just stop it!” I scream outright. I feel like I’m going to explode if I keep hearing her.
“No, Danny… He can hear you.” I freeze instantly… How did she know what to say to strike me
to my core? Ice courses through my veins, but I feel like my body is on fire.
“He heard you… Danny, look up.” With an obvious shaking, I raise my head.
 What I see amazes me: Azrael sits Indian style on the ground in front of me. The blood that was
so evident before has disappeared, as well as the gun that had been in her hand. Her body is perfectly
intact- not a scratch on her.
Without thinking, I launch myself at her to hug her close. I accidentally knock her back to the
ground, but she embraces me in return with a gentle laugh. But something is different about this laugh
than any other. It sounds free, free of worry and fear, of pain and anger. She is finally, truly happy. Then
I know that her demon is gone. He’s back where he belongs.
“Danny, He heard you. He always hears you. He always stands beside you- Always.”