Breaking The Angel

The day Caitlin Matthews watched her parents burn she was ten years
old.
Not just watched, but heard, felt and burned with them. Felt the skin
peeling back from her hands and face, airways constricting with smoke,
then choking, choking until merciful darkness swept over her.
Later she was told that she didn't speak for about three weeks after
the event, that there was fear that the shock would mentally impair her
for the rest of her life.
Caitlin would perhaps agree that they were right.
She was to be accused of being emotionally stunted at certain times in
the future, which she always found curious considering her particular
talent. Rather, she felt the problem was that she was overly
emotionally connected, drawn into other people like a moth to a flame.
The effect was one of drainage as she tried to escape the mass of
petty, self-righteous emotions that for the most part consist of other
peoples' thoughts. A part of her always thought it was the sheer
boredom of the experience that kills, but that was her unspoken
opinion.
Caitlin Matthews belonged to a race known as the Third Race. They often
referred to themselves as the Brotherhood, which she understood harked
back to the dark ages when women mothered and men postured, or some
such rot. Even when she began to blossom and was forced to challenge
some of their deepest held beliefs over the fragility of womanhood, the
elders had difficulty moving into the modern age.
She woke some days following the explosion with an intense thirst. Her
overriding need was for water, her throat felt like it had been sand
papered. Later she learnt this was from screaming. Mentally, she was
completely disengaged. Every time her eyes closed waves of sickness
threatening to engulf her as the image became focused, the burning car
imprinted on her eyelids that replayed time after time. What haunted
her the most, caused her throat to tighten with unspeakable grief was
the fact that she had seen it all through her parents' eyes. Her father
trying to reach her mother as she slumped on the steering wheel, her
body smoking. Then the pain became too much for him, and he collapsed
beside her, the unspoken link between him and Caitlin drowned out in a
rush of pain and extreme fear. For weeks after the event Caitlin could
not allow herself to feel. Her cloak was one of numbness, unwillingness
to probe the raised, contorted scars hidden in her mind.
The physical pain bit before the mental pain. Not only did it feel like
her lungs had been scraped with acid, but every bone in her small body
throbbed or ached regardless of which way she shifted. Muscles she
never knew existed had twisted and melded, and movement had woken a
pain that hammered through her skull. Probing fingers brought the
realisation that her head had been stapled rather firmly together to
cover a small but messy contusion caused by the car exploding.
The starched sheets of the hospital bed were rough against her skin,
antiseptic in their cleanliness. She was afraid to open her eyes, to
examine the machines she knew she was wired up to, to look at the
person who sat by her bedside who was not the person they should have
been.
A stranger, then. Impersonal, despite the sense of sadness, the muted
grief and confusion. Confusion about what, she wondered. It was easier
then to examine the stranger's thoughts than her own, to examine his
grief and fear and not wonder about her lack of either.
The man by her bedside had a quick, incisive mind though his thoughts
were morbid. There was something else there however, something that
caused her to retreat sharply back into her own space. The man was like
her - an emotive sensitive who could tune into the minds of others, and
read them more clearly than newsprint. At this point in her life
Caitlin had not been exposed to many people with this ability other
than her parents, and the shock of encountering it now forced them both
to open their eyes, as he sensed her rather clumsy attempts to read
him.
Caitlin recognised the face. From where wasn't clear, but this man had
known her parents, loved them even. The troubled dark eyes, the slim
bones of the face were familiar somehow, perhaps someone she'd met when
much younger. She saw herself mirrored in his gaze - pale, taut, all
eyes. She was later to complain that was a major problem for an emotive
sensitive - you see yourself quite often as other people see you, and
it is often unpleasant viewing.
There was a heavy silence between Caitlin and the stranger, broken only
by the noise of the monitors she was wired up to in various places and
the distant noise of the hospital outside of the doors of small room.
She caught an image of herself in his mind as a small child, asleep
against her mother looking like a dark, fey child. Her mother was
smiling in the image, and she instinctively knocked him out of her
mind, thrusting the image away. It was too personal, too soon to be
looking at such a rosy picture of mother and child. The connection
between them was broken, and Caitlin turned away to begin carefully
constructing a mental barrier in her mind to keep him out, to keep
everyone out. At that point she had no intention of ever letting it
down.
She heard him speaking, a gentle, soothing voice telling her his name
was Stephen and that he'd be there for her in the future, that he'd
take her home (home? What was that? She had never had a stable one) and
that everything would be ok in the end. He was going to take her to
some place called Fitz House to live, where they would be with people
just like her.
She would always recall being distinctly underwhelmed by this.

Caitlin sat mute, arms curled around her knees and hid her face in the
curve of her arms, dark hair spilling unkempt across the hospital gown
she was wearing. The talking heads were babbling at her again. She had
no intention of listening to them - their empty concern meant very
little to her. She sensed rather than saw the dark eyed man return to
his customary seat by her bedside. His name was Stephen, she knew this
now. Lord knew, he'd told her often enough in his attempts to coax her
into conversation. He had realised early on that unspoken communication
was futile. Her barriers were intentionally impenetrable. She was lost
behind her eyes in a world devoid of any joy or love. Grief and rage
were her two most competing emotions, occasionally overlaid by an
apathy that rendered her incapable of thought for hours on end. In
these times she drifted, on an empty plain where once there had been
light and love, the ever-present reassurance of her parents.
Ended.
Absently she picked at a scab on her hand, partly fascinated by the
somehow satisfyingly superficial pain, partly revolted at her own
animalistic behaviour.
She heard the squeal of ill oiled wheels, and raised her head
suspiciously. Stephen was talking to a nurse, the ward sister she
thought. Their voices were muted. Picking through the debris in her
head Caitlin began to calculate how long she had been in hospital.
Stephen had told her she'd been unconscious for about four days, not
through any serious injury, rather from any lack of desire to regain
consciousness.
About two weeks, she calculated finally. Words like catatonic and
depression had been spouted about her, words she barely understood. Had
she felt inclined to speak she could have told them exactly how she
felt - dead inside. She was acutely aware that the car explosion had
not been natural, that she had also been intended to die. Something -
someone - had called her back from the door as she'd been going to get
in. Then strong arms had engulfed her, covering her mouth, preventing
the scream that had begun to build. She'd caught a glimpse of huge dark
eyes, sweeping cheekbones in an olive face, dark hair sweeping against
her cheek as he swung her away from the explosion.
Gabriel. She savoured his name, a glimpse of colour in the bleakness
that surrounded her. Gabriel, whose physical perfection was burned into
her mind from the first time she had met him. She found by following
his memory that the loneliness subsided a little. Forbidden
Gabriel.
She'd been wandering aimlessly round Carlisle Cathedral waiting for her
parents, who were deeply engaged in silent prayer. She was fascinated
by the ceiling, painted midnight blue and illustrated with tiny golden
stars. Then she saw them. Angels, watching her from their pews at the
side. Two of them, superior and perfect.
She froze, all the warnings her parents had ever given her going
through her young mind. Angels brought death and destruction, played
with humanity and mocked it with pain and misery. But these angels were
so beautiful she found herself unintentionally stepping towards them.
The female angel leaned forward, beckoning to her, smiling slightly,
showing kitten teeth.
'Little child,' she whispered, 'Do you fear me?'
Her scent washed over Caitlin, intoxicating, exotic. Her long swing of
honey coloured hair brushed Caitlin's face, as she cupped her chin
gently. Beautiful, Caitlin thought, so beautiful. Eve's predatory smile
widened.
'How could I be frightened of someone so lovely?' she replied,
confused.
The lady laughed, musical. 'Because I'm everything your parents warned
you about, child. They've been very careless, to let their only child
wander about so?unprotected.'
'They aren't far', Caitlin answered, turning to point towards the
altar.'
'Far enough' the lady murmured. 'Come closer girl, let me see who you
really are.' The fingers tightened again, pulling Caitlin towards her.
Caitlin found herself lost in the tawny beauty of the girl's eyes, the
pupils huge and swimming with golden lights. Instantly she understood
that Eve had seen all of her thoughts, understood her every desire. The
power of her mind was immense, far greater than anything Caitlin had
encountered before, and she found herself helpless, trapped in the web
of the angel's perfect eyes.
'Eve, stop!' A voice cut through her reverie, and she found herself cut
loose and shaking, back in her own fragile body.
The second angel had spoken, and when she gazed into his face Caitlin
knew she would hold it in her mind forever. The sweeping high
cheekbones, the predatory dark eyes, swept with long lashes, golden
skin?the angel was perfect. His beautiful face was marred slightly by
an irritated expression as he pushed Eve's hand away from Caitlin. She
turned on him in a fury. 'What harm can removing one child do? She's
unprotected.'
'She's just a child. I'm not in the habit of killing children.'
'Grief Gabriel, morals? From you? Our master will be disappointed.' Her
face twisted, and she hissed at him. Caitlin stepped back, suddenly
aware of the menace facing her.
'We're here to deliver a message, not destroy children.' He turned to
look directly at Caitlin, and she knew the instant she met his gaze
that he could have destroyed her with a single thought. 'Some advice,
child, stay away from our kind. Run back to your parents and think on
how close you came to death today.'
She needed no second invitation. Bewildered and more than a little
frightened she ran from the centre of the Cathedral, pausing to stop
only once at the door to look behind her.
Gabriel was framed in a ray of sunlight watching her, his expression
troubled. A kind of recognition passed between them, and Caitlin was
suddenly certain that this angel would never hurt her.
Holding the rough wood of the door firmly, Caitlin smiled at Gabriel,
lighting up her serious small face. She would never be certain, but she
thought she saw his answering smile, before he turned and walked into
the darkness to follow Eve.

Caitlin became aware that Stephen was sitting at the edge of the bed,
trying to catch her attention. Detachedly, she noted the concern that
lingered in his large dark eyes. She lifted her head from her arms,
blinking her eyes into focus, away from the picture of Gabriel.
'Caitlin, are you listening to me? It's important that you do.' His
voice was gentle, musical even. A well-spoken voice, devoid of
accent.
She nodded almost imperceptibly. Her green eyes met his, blank,
shuttered and Stephen found himself shuddering inwardly.
'You're being discharged today. There is nothing physically wrong with
you anymore, nothing to justify you staying in hospital any more, so
I'm going to take you home with me. Do you understand?'
Home. There was that word again. She turned it over in her mind
solemnly, before nodding briefly again.

It was a difficulty journey. The girl sat mute beside him, knees pulled
up against her chin, gazing blankly out the window. Once or twice
Stephen tried to engage her in light conversation. Each time she turned
and looked at him briefly, expressionless, before returning her
unseeing gaze to the passing scenery. Stephen felt lost. Nothing in his
experience had prepared him for ownership of an eleven year old girl,
let alone one caught up in her own personal tragedy behind closed
walls.
The journey was a long one, and eventually Caitlin drifted off into
sleep, her tightly defensive face relaxing slightly. Stephen glanced
often at her, caught up in his own morbid thoughts. This should never
have happened, he kept thinking. We could have prevented this. And he
knew, more than anyone, that Caitlin's fight was not over. Fine lines
at the corner of his dark eyes tightened. Well, anyone who had a
problem with the child would have to come through him, he decided,
trying to block out the dangerous thought that kept creeping in, the
sound of his Father's voice. Better she never been born at all, the old
man had always said. He glanced involuntarily at her again, noting how
a dark elflock had fallen down over her pale face, the small curve of
her nose, the sad bow of her mouth. Well, the old man wasn't home right
now, and it wasn't his decision to take.
Besides, he'd promised Daniel. In their last fraught meeting he'd
seemed to have some premonition of the danger his small family were
under, and he'd begged Stephen to promise to care for their only child.
Stephen had refused at first, but finally capitulated seeing the fear
in his friend's eyes. He'd never been much of a seer, but Daniel could
see the path much clearer, a fact that had always infuriated his Father
who couldn't understand how what he thought should have been such a
straightforward decision to end the life of an unborn child caused so
much dissent amongst the most loyal of the Brotherhood. Stephen
recognised a capacity for ruthlessness in his Father that went far
beyond level he could ever aspire to. Perhaps that was why he was such
a disappointment?
He was wool gathering. He shook his head sharply, drawing his focus
back onto the long straight road before him. A road sign brought
welcome news, ten miles until he reached home, only five until he
turned from the broad major road to the curving, narrow route that
would bring him to Fitz House.
It was early evening, and the sun was slanting though the trees as he
turned onto the long drive. He sensed the child stir, and spoke to her
quietly.
'We're nearly there. Just around the bend you'll see the house. No more
than five minutes til we arrive.'
She made no answer, but pushed herself up, shoving her hair roughly
behind her ears. She looked apprehensive he noted, and he found himself
babbling, a soothing litany of nothing, about the countryside, the
house, the grounds - anything to calm the panic he felt rising inside
of her.
The car crested a hill, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. The
House stood below them, bathed in the evening sunshine, mullioned
windows reflecting the light. He tried to see it through her eyes, the
solid red bricked exterior of the main house sat cushioned in a green
valley with long lawns stretching to a vale of trees to the front,
running down to a large lake to the right, fed by a sparkling brook
winding out from the wood. A large gravel drive ran up to the imposing
front entrance, with a smaller drive veering off to the left behind a
high red brick wall. Many of the rooms on the ground floor of the main
house had balconies, doors thrown open in the warmth. There were people
dotted about, some walking across the grass, others sat on benches at
various vantage points, others turning to watch the car approaching
curiously.
'I forgot about the welcoming committee' Stephen murmured. 'I think
we'll take the back door.' He swung the car round to the left, pulling
behind the looming wall into a small carport that bordered both the
side of the main house and an extensive kitchen garden.
Caitlin was fully awake now, her jumper pulled firmly down over her
small hands, eyes wide and anxious. He parked the car, and let himself
out, before walking round to open her door. His thin face was almost as
anxious as her, his slender brown hands reaching out to take her by the
shoulders.
'Welcome to Fitz House, Caitlin. I hope you'll be happy here. This is
your home now -'
'Home!' she spat at him suddenly. 'How can you say this is home?' The
bitterness in her voice shocked him, and he had to remind himself that
she was just a child. Then he looked at her properly. She was rocking
backwards and forwards in the car seat, her face pinched and white as
she gazed out of the windscreen with unseeing eyes.
'Cait' he spoke gently, 'there is nothing to fear here. No one can hurt
you in this place.'
She could feel his aura washing over her. He was warm, sincere, and she
wanted so much to believe him. There was more however. That air of
hesitancy, as though he was frightened of her. Reluctantly she turned
to face him, and the sadness in her small face caught at his
heart.
'If that's true, why don't you believe it?' Her voice was barely more
than a whisper.
'What?' Stephen was caught completely off guard.
Her great turquoise eyes watch him expressionlessly. 'You're worried.
You're not sure whether you're doing the right thing. And - and
something about me scares you.' Her voice was completely detached,
emotionless.
Stephen gazed at her profoundly shaken, then jumped as a voice boomed
over the top of them.
'Stephen! It's good to see you!' The voice was warm, loud and throaty,
and Cait could see a large, middle-aged lady bearing down on them.
Stephen turned back to Cait, touching her face briefly.
'We'll talk about this later, little one' he murmured, looking at her
with a measure of surprise and concern in his dark eyes.
In the next moment he disappeared under the embrace of the large lady
bearing down on them, a cloud of flour rising up around them.
'Lord, I've covered you,' she laughed pulling away to gaze up at
Stephen's embarrassed face. Her expression became shrewder. 'You look
tired, boy. Tired and sick to the heart. And you've forgotten to eat
along the way.'
He laughed ruefully, pulling himself from her tight embrace. 'It's been
a long three weeks, Marcie. I'd rather not go there again.'
Marcie's eyes were sympathetic, then she looked round him to gaze in
the car. Caitlin gazed back, no longer hostile, but a child again, with
terrified eyes.
'Oh, child,' Marcie breathed. 'You look so like your mother?' She
walked forward and touched Caitlin's small face. Something hard inside
Caitlin crumbled at the woman's touch. There was no confusion here,
just sorrow and uncomplicated sympathy that soaked into her. She closed
her eyes tightly and fought back the unwanted emotion, her face
closed.
Marcie pulled back, looking at the pinched, white face. 'Stephen, this
poor bairn's exhausted. We'd best get her inside before the others come
prying,' Marcie spoke, pulling the reluctant child into her bone
shaking embrace. 'Your father's home' she continued to speak over
Cait's head.
'Oh that's just great,' Stephen muttered, 'I was hoping for some time
to get Caitlin settled in before she met him. Well, I guess there's no
time for that. Come on, Caitlin, I'll show you your room'.

Entering the house Caitlin was soon completely confused by a maze of
corridors lined with tall panelled wood doors. Eventually Stephen came
to a door at the very end of a corridor, and opened it with a large
brass key motioning for her to enter before him.
She stepped forward, a little overwhelmed at the grandeur of the room,
which revealed itself as a bedroom. Stephen followed her in, and sat
wearily on the edge of the bed.
'This will be your room for as long as you chose to stay with us,
Caitlin. You can do whatever you want in here, no one will disturb you.
Treat it as yours.'
Strange, she thought, his phraseology. He must have caught an echo of
her thought, because he looked at her sharply.
'We can't force you to live here against your will. If you're not happy
here you can chose to live elsewhere,' he told her.
'Is that why my parents didn't live here?' She stared at him blandly,
her expression hiding a maelstrom of thoughts.
His expression became tense, and he seemed reluctant to answer
her.
'Or weren't they allowed?' Her tone was flat.
Finally he answered her, reasoning that to lie from the start would be
a bad move.
'No, they weren't allowed to live here, for various reasons. Many I
didn't agree with.'
'Are you going to tell me them?' Her voice was verging on hostile, her
eyes like sharp emerald daggers.
'Yes, when the time is right.'
She gave him a look of utter contempt, and turned her back on him,
walking to the large wooden French doors at the bottom of the
room.
Stephen sighed, feeling utterly defeated. 'Caitlin, I have to go see my
father now. Once I'm done, he'll expect to see you also. You're not too
tired are you?'
'Would it matter if I were?' This time she made no effort to disguise
the bitterness in her voice.
'No I guess not.' He stood looking at her hunched shoulders uncertainly
before speaking. 'I'm sorry this had to happen to you Cait, for what
it's worth.' Then he quietly left the room.
When Stephen left the room, Caitlin cautiously began to examine her
surroundings. The room was large, comfortable, with the doors opening
out onto a wide stone balcony overlooking an immaculate lawn that
sloped down to a small stream that ran golden in the shallows over
gravel. The boundaries of the house were defined by a thick spread of
trees. To the left of the house was a high, red brick wall supporting
masses of white clematis and sweet-blossomed honeysuckle. The house was
huge, a mass of warm, solid redbrick, mullioned wooden windows flashing
in the sunlight.
She turned her attention back to the room. A large dark wood desk stood
in one corner, scarred and burned with age. A vast closet was built
into the wall, with a solid mahogany door. The walls were light and
creamy, in contrast to the dark wood all around her, the high skirting
boards, the deeply polished floor and the small wooden chest pushed
against the wall next to the desk. A tall bookshelf stood empty in one
corner, next to the closet, looking forlorn.
A door in the centre of the room led her into the most sumptuous
bathroom she had ever seen, full on Victorian splendour. A huge claw
footed bath stood in the centre, surrounded by an immaculate expanse of
gleaming white and green tiles, filmy white drapes fluttering at the
small window. Quite overawed she retreated to the bed, also enormous
and draped with thick cream throws that dimly struck her as quite the
wrong colour for a ten year.
She felt shabby in this gleaming palace, an impostor straying into a
foreign world. Absently she picked at the scab on her hand, and began
to contemplate how she could get out, who she could run to, but found
silence echoing back from her memory.
No one.
She knew no one, and she was completely and utterly alone.

A soft knock at the door woke her suddenly about half an hour later.
Startled, she sat up, fuzzy headed and suddenly aware that she was
extremely cold. The knock came again, and she reluctantly opened the
door a few inches. Stephen was standing outside, dark eyes mildly
concerned.
'Did I disturb you? I'm sorry, it's just my - our master asked to meet
you.' She stepped back, and let him enter the room.
'Is this room really mine?' she asked, her voice sounding high and
unnatural even to her own ears.
'The room?' he answered, looking around distractedly. 'Oh, yes. The
room, it's for your use for as long as you stay with us. Is it ok?' He
looked at her with anxious eyes.
'I guess' she shrugged. He looked at her. She was standing uncertainly
in the centre of the room, looking lost and tiny, her dark hair mussed
and her clothes creased. Her thin arms were clasped protectively round
her body and in her eyes he saw a hurt, defensive look. He felt a
sudden surge of compassion and he reached out to touch her face
gently.
'It won't be for long. Then I'll show you the house, introduce you to
some of the other residents. Tell you a bit about us if you
like.'
Shutters came down in her bruised eyes. 'Do I have any choice?'