The church is empty, Christmas music still playing in the empty nave, multi-colored lights glowing softly against gleaming and polished wood. I scan the pews, looking for anywhere that someone might have run off to try and hide like a little bitch. But there's no one.
I close my eyes and press my fingers against my temples, focusing on the throbbing in my veins as I try to gather myself. I'm hallucinating from the stress of the last twenty-four hours.
When I open my eyes, I jump back, surprised by the person inches from my face... so close I can't make out any of their features.
A chill passes down my spine, a sense of foreboding running through my bloodstream like ice as I scramble backwards, knocking over one of the larger, real poinsettias set up on the stage.
The figure moves just as quickly as I do, stalking me the whole way, until it's over top of me as I reach around for anything to use in my own defense. My fingers close around one of the potsfor the flowers; I adjust my grip on it, bringing it down on the psychopath on top of me.
A heavy blow straight to the chest makes me suck in a breath full of soil as chunks of the pottery rain down on me and the plant falls to the ground, rolling away from me. All I can do is stare, unable to catch my breath as my mind tries to process what the hell just happened.
"Hey, Nick." Nikki smirks, leaning back to get a better look at me, coughing around the bits of soil I inhaled in my attempt to bash her over the head with the poinsettia.
She looks entirely unaffected by my attempt to knock her out with a potted plant; in fact, she looks entirely unaffected by everything that happened last night.
She looks...alive.
"What the fuck?" I shake my head like that will clear the apparition in front me, but her smirk only deepens a little.
"You don't look happy to see me." She says, running a hand between my thighs and making me jump, prepared to launch her off of me and run the other way. Instead, she just slips through my hands like moonlight, like she's not even there at all.
When I scramble to my feet, she's watching me, and that smirk has softened a little, looking like more of a smile.
"What are you?" I demand., despite the fact that she's obviously a fucking demon. There's no other explanation for it.
I killed her myself.
I smashed her head in with her boyfriend's last gift to her and dragged her body into the woods.
I shoved her in the lake.
No way did she pull herself out of there.
"I'm an angel." She says, gesturing to the long white dress skimming the floor.
When I only stare at her, she sighs, and I blink, questioning my sanity when two large wings sprout from behind her, makingher look every bit the image of the angels we grew up hearing about.
"You can't be..."
"Well, I died." She laughs. "You know that. You made it happen..."
In this moment, all of my years of Bible study are failing me. I've spent years actively rejecting everything my father pretends to stand for and trying to block out all of the religious indoctrination. I can't remember if angels can be made or if they simplyare.
Either way, she's standing before me, a pale and beautiful vision, light and... glistening.
"I'm sorry." I tell her, reaching out a hand to try and feel her, needing to feel something tangible beneath my fingertips so that I know this isn't just the byproduct of a bad dream. "I didn't mean for that to happen..."
"It's okay." She says, stepping forward, like she's giving me permission.
She doesn't dissolve beneath my touch; she stays steady, watching me as I trail my fingers over her face, struggling through the shock to believe that this is real... that she's here.
"I'm here to forgive you."
My eyes snap to hers, seeking confirmation that I didn't just imagine those words. "You do?"
"Of course." She nods. "You didn't mean to hurt me, right?"
"No." I tell her, letting go of all of the grief I've been holding onto. "No, I'd never hurt you, snow angel."
