I’d rather wait up there then down here. Jesus, what the hell was all that about? I shake my head but can’t dispel the image of an angel – the painting my mom had above the hutch – from my mind. Could all that talk, all those years ago, really be true? Am I really an angel? But if I’m an angel, doesn’t that mean that I died? “Not necessarily.” “Jesus!” I sputter, stumbling in my surprise. Falling against the wall, I look behind me, but there’s no one there. There’s not a person to be seen in either direction. “No, not Jesus, angel. I am Seraphina – your guardian, your teacher.” Rather than look like an idiot talking to myself in the middle of a deserted hallway, I try speaking to her in my thoughts. Then show yourself. Good God, I really am loosing it. “I cannot show myself to you. Not until you’re ready.” But don’t you think it will help me better understand what is going on?
