Unafraid

Unafraid Archangel Academy - 3 by Michael Griffo

Thanks to my entire family—

from Aunt Marie to Shawna C.

And especially Aunt Ann, who has emerged

to become my biggest fan.

one drop

two drops

three drops

four

nothing is like

it was before

lives have been shattered

secrets revealed

will the world be destroyed?

or will it be healed?

prologue

Outside, the earth was asleep.

All of Archangel Academy was under a spell. No creature, human or otherwise, stirred, and the only sounds that penetrated the darkness were gentle, calm, and soothing. The sighs of the midsummer breeze, the whispers of the leaves and the tall blades of grass as they swayed in the faint wind, and the collective breath of the students who were sleeping in their beds, the few who resided here before the official start of the school semester, were all that could be heard. It was a melody that became even more beautiful when it started to rain.

As the first drops fell from the sky, Michael stirred in his sleep. He didn’t wake up, not completely, but he was roused by the arrival of the familiar sound and the fresh, invigorating scent. Drop after drop after drop of water fell against the windowpane, creating a lazy rhythm, a lullaby that seeped into Michael’s dream, making him feel comforted, protected, loved.

Underneath the cotton sheets his hand instinctively reached out for Ronan’s, not stopping until it touched warm flesh and their fingers intertwined. Even while sleeping the boys knew their destiny, knew that their bodies, like their souls, were meant to be joined together, interwoven, one. They had no idea that it was a belief that would soon be put to a test.

A roar of thunder erupted from the sky, disrupting the peace that had cradled the campus. The rumbling continued, growing louder, louder, louder as it spread out, invading building after building until it reached St. Florian’s. When another wave of thunder exploded, Michael woke, startled, unsure of where he was, unsure of what had created the noise, unsure as to why he had been ripped from the serenity of his dream. He looked over and was surprised to see that Ronan was still sleeping, completely unaffected by the harsh intrusion. Michael wished he could be so lucky.

He waited a few moments until his breathing returned to normal and then quietly got out of bed, flinching when his feet touched the floor. Even though it was the end of June the floor was cold, and as he stood before the window he shivered. He crossed his arms against his bare chest and felt chilled air pierce through the thin material of his pajama pants and swirl up and around his legs. He didn’t have to look out the window to know something wasn’t right, but when he did he saw that his fears were confirmed. As far as his eyes could see, the only thing they saw was water.

Racing to the other window in the room, Michael looked out, and the view was the same, water, water, water, nothing more. “Ronan,” Michael cried out, trying to make his voice sound less frightened than he was feeling. “Ronan, wake up!”

His boyfriend didn’t stir, his eyes didn’t flutter, his breathing didn’t quicken, he remained exactly the same. Ronan slept as if the world was simply resting in preparation for a new day. To Michael, the world looked as if it had come to an end.

Bolts of lightning lit up the night sky like electric eels in a black sea, thunderclaps continued to howl like banshees, and the rain, the rain that Michael loved so much pummeled the windows with such fury it was as if the sole purpose of each drop was to shatter the glass. Hoping to prevent such a result, Michael threw open the window and was instantly battered by the freezing rain that felt more like shards of ice than water. He stepped to the side to hide behind the wall and protect his body and was surprised to find that he wasn’t bleeding from the attack. Shielding his eyes with his forearm, he glanced out the window and saw that nothing had changed. He couldn’t tell if his room was still connected to the building; all he knew was that it was somehow floating in the middle of the ocean.

And the sea was no longer calm.

Whether because of the storm or because the sea was not thrilled to have a huge, foreign substance floating on its surface, the waves were cresting higher and higher with each passing second. Even with his preternatural agility, Michael had to hold onto the window frame to keep his balance. He was gripping the floor so tightly with his feet that he thought his toes were going to break through the wooden slats. And all the while Michael was trying to stay upright, Ronan was sleeping deeply in their bed.

Something flew past the moon and caught Michael’s eye. He thought at first it might just be another streak of lightning, but it was too small and not as bright. Crouching under the window, Michael rose slowly, his hands positioned in front of his face in a continued attempt to protect it from the onslaught of rain. He squinted and realized with a surge of delight that it was the lark flying in the glow of the moon. His heart swelled at the sight of his old friend, and he watched him dip and curve and weave between and above the glut of raindrops, his wings outstretched to their maximum potential. Michael thought he had never looked so magnificent. He wished that the lark would fly closer so he could hear his song, hear again his signature tune, da-da-DAH-da, da-da- da, but the lark stayed away from the eye of the storm. Michael couldn’t blame him, but he wished he were closer so he could tell him how wonderful his life had become, how worthwhile the journey had been, how incredible and amazing every day had been since he came to Double A from Nebraska. But suddenly the lark flew even farther away.

Michael watched, fascinated, awestruck as a giant wave, directly in front of the window, slowly split in two and parted. Looking down into the abyss created by the parting of the wave, Michael couldn’t see ground, he couldn’t see a bottom of any kind, just infinite space. The room hung in the air, suspended, as if the millions of raindrops that continued to shower onto the roof were actually strings being controlled by an unseen puppeteer, a mastermind hiding within the clouds whose only purpose was to keep the room airborne. Until the room fell.

The abrupt descent thrust Michael upward, and he slammed into the ceiling. The accelerated speed kept him glued there until the room shifted and Michael was sent smashing to the floor. Dazed, he tried to get his bearings during the free fall, and if it weren’t for his enhanced vision he would not have seen the bed speed toward him. He jumped up without a moment to spare and heard, but didn’t see, the bed hurtle into the wall behind him; he was too busy looking around the room to make sure another inanimate object didn’t suddenly come alive and hurtle in his direction.

“What the hell is going on?” Michael mumbled to himself.