― Irish proverb
Shelter from Storms
I awoke before Brooke the next morning. She was still curled up beside me on the couch, her warmth mingling with mine. I glanced down with a wry smile ―the fingers of her left hand were entwined with mine.
There were tears in my eyes and I felt my throat tighten. We were getting to know each other.
Gradually, the strange would fade to the familiar―she'd meet all the faces in my photos, places where I lived and all my fears and dreams for tomorrow. And then, we'd melt into each other without a trace, our lives merging seamlessly as we journeyed into the future.
But that uncertain future was a storm watch that unnerved me, that darkened hopes and dreams and put our very lives in jeopardy.
It can't be helped, I told myself, the best we can do is live through it.
They killed Tom and were looking for me. Odds weren't great that we could elude them, but we'd be together regardless of storms were brewing.
That was a consolation―togetherness in times of crisis―Brooke and me
...and Angelica?
How was this going to work? I couldn't keep questioning myself like this and had to push aside the fear.
The fact was necessity makes demands of us and forces us to dip into unplumbed reserves we only hope are sufficient.
"Umm," Brooke murmured, as she stretched and turned to gaze up at me. "How long have you been awake?"
"Only a few minutes, Love."
"And were you staring at me all that time?"
"I've always done that―stole furtive glances, even when we weren't talking―even before I knew you, even before..."
"Shh!," she commanded, putting her hand over my mouth, "I'm not interrogating you and you may say something that will make me melt and wish Angelica weren't coming... and that wouldn't help at all."
"You're right," I smiled.
She pulled my face close to hers and kissed me. "Now, I need coffee."
I nodded and forced myself to get up and putter about putting together breakfast. She was combing out her long honey- coloured hair and I was struck again by her beauty.
A short while later I was spooning scrambled eggs onto plates when Angelica arrived.
"Do I smell coffee?" she called out cheerily.
"That's something we have in good supply. C'mon in and I'll pour you a cup. You've met Brooke―just grab a seat and a plate. There's plenty of eggs and toast, but no bacon, unfortunately."
She smiled at Brooke. "Everything looks great. I'm almost convinced it's a normal day."
"I wish," Brooke frowned," but we have to make the best of things. Thankfully, we can escape the city―others can't and it'll be dreadful in another couple of weeks."
"That's why we're escaping this burg," I added, "To stay one step ahead of The Beast."
Both girls looked at me in surprise but said nothing. It was the first time I openly admitted my take on things.
We weren't just heading out of the city to escape the pandemic or to take advantage of off-grid facilities. We were running from spiritual wickedness in high places―from the Prince who controlled the power of the air―who could kill Tom Faraday and threaten all of humanity with solar flares.
We were running from the Devil's stronghold hoping we'd be less conspicuous in big sky country, out in the open air.
But something told me I was pursuing the same vain dream Tom Faraday had entertained, hoping to find shelter in the pouring rain...
and I knew how that turned out.