The Bringer

I feel numb. I bring my knee up to my chest and wrap my arms around it. I feel like I’m listening to someone else’s story . . . which to me I am . . .

“Why don’t I remember any of this?”

For a moment he looks caught off guard, but then he calmly says, “I took your memories away.”

“You did what?” My voice hitches up a couple of octaves.

His eyes harden and focus off somewhere else, as though he’s seeing another time, another place. “I only did what you asked of me,” he says, his voice slightly raised. “You told me you couldn’t bear the pain of losing Arran and you wanted me to take it away. You said you wanted me to erase your memory, remove everything and make you a Bringer so you would never again have to feel. I tried to reason with you, but you wouldn’t listen. I told you I wouldn’t do it, so you took it out of my hands and you wished it on me.” His hard eyes refocus back onto mine, sending a chill shivering through me. “You did to me what he’d done to you.”

His face is suffused with anger and, even though I know nothing of what I’ve done, I still find myself looking away, guiltily.

“And when you did that,” he adds, a touch bitterly, “it was out of my hands, there was nothing I could do other than to fulfil it. So I erased your memories, turned you into a Bringer, and took you to Pure Land.” He shakes his head. “Not my finest hour but, like I said, not my choice either.”

I pull my other leg up to my chest and rest my head on my knees, avoiding his stare and gaze out at the grassy meadow that seems to roll on endlessly.

Everything is upside down and I have no idea what to think about first.

“I couldn’t just leave you there, though,” he says, his voice suddenly soft but so very intense, “no matter how angry I was with you.”

And it’s the intensity in his tone that makes me look up at him.

He moves closer to me and takes hold of my hand, staring down at it. And I instantly realise this is the first time Arlo has ever touched me. I follow his gaze, no longer seeing what he sees, now only seeing my old sparkly self. My ability to feel his touch no longer there, back to the old desolate way I used to be. And all I feel inside is complete and utter sadness, mourning the loss of what I so briefly had.

“You were my friend, Lucyna.” He sounds determined. “I had to do something, so I did the only thing I could and I stayed there with you in Pure Land and passed myself off as a Bringer too.”

I’m suddenly struck with a thought. I look up at him. “How did the Elders not know you weren’t a Bringer. They must have sensed you were an angel – and for that matter, why didn’t they question my sudden appearance?”

He smiles, a very regal smile, straightening his back as he does so. “I am an angel, Lucyna” he says in a condescending tone. “A higher being. We have great powers at our disposal. I can make myself appear as I wish.” He sweeps his hand down himself with a flourish. “Make anything appear as I wish. Neither the Elders, nor any of the Bringers, would have ever questioned our appearance because, to them, we had always been there.”

“And just how long have we been there?”

He bows his head. “Three hundred years . . . and it was three hundred years of plain sailing. I didn’t even see what was happening to you until it was too late. I never saw it possible that he would come back into your life and –”

“Who?”

“Arran.”

“Arran?” I say with confusion. “I don’t understand? When did he come back?”

He keeps his sorrowful, green eyes fixed on my blue ones. “James is Arran.”

And I’m fairly positive that for a moment, time actually stops as his words resonate through me.

“What?”

“It’s Arran’s soul that resides in James’ body. He just doesn’t know it – doesn’t know who he used to be.”

I pull my hand from his, ignoring the look of hurt on his face. “I don’t understand,” I repeat, voice trembling.

He sits back, resting on his hands. “When Arran eventually died in his mortal body all those years ago, he couldn’t gain access to Heaven as a normal human soul would because his soul was cast as an angel – he may have had a mortal body but his soul will always remain the same. That’s something only God has the power to change. And when Arran decided to abandon us, abandon Heaven, it meant he could never again access it.” He presses his hand to his chest. “So each time his mortal body dies, he is instantly reborn into another, he can’t just be left to wander earth as a soul. It’s been this way for the last three hundred years and he will continue to do so for all eternity.”

I sit in shock, struggling to comprehend what I’m hearing, unwittingly watching Arlo as runs his hand over his hair, mesmerised by the efficiency of his movement, following it until it finally finishes its journey resting back in his lap.

“And you’re saying James knows nothing of this?” I ask not moving my stare, my voice sounding as empty as I feel.

“No.” He shakes his head. “He has no idea. Arran’s soul only reawakens at the point of death, but as soon as he’s reborn he instantly forgets. That is how all rebirths work, even for human souls . . . well except they come to Heaven before rebirth.” He lifts a hand and unbuttons his jacket. “And for the last three hundred years your paths have never crossed. And, as I incorrectly assumed, why would they ever? Out of all the soon-to-be seven billion humans on earth, it was very unlikely that you would ever meet. Well, currently, it would have been a . . . one in, six point eight billion chance to one, to be exact.”

My head is buzzing with all this information. It’s just too much. It can’t be true. I don’t want to listen to this anymore.

I jump to my feet. Arlo looks up at me startled.

“I don’t believe you,” I say resolutely, admonishing him with my hand. “I don’t believe any of this.”

He looks stricken. “Why would I lie to you?”

“How should I know?” I say bitterly. “Apparently you’ve been lying to me for the last three hundred years so . . .”

Anger skims his brow and he lithely gets to his feet. “Right. Fine,” he says in a controlled voice, re-buttoning his jacket. “You can just see it for yourself then.”

He starts to move toward me.

“What are you doing?” I say, holding my hand up, taking a big step back.

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Calm down, Lucyna. I just meant I’ll return your memories to you, then you’ll know the truth for yourself. I can also return you to your angelic form if you wish?”

“You can do that?”

He looks at me as though I’ve just asked the most stupid question ever. “Of course I can. All you have to do is wish it and it’s done.”

“As easy as that?”

“As. Easy. As. That,” he affirms.

I think quickly. If what Arlo is saying is true, then is this what I want? Do I really want to know who I used to be? I must have been in an inordinate amount of pain to want to forget it and never feel again.

But then that also means I’ve spent the last three hundred years hiding from who I truly am.

I look at Arlo. He has his arms folded across his chest and the impatience is clearly stamped on his face.

I don’t want to hide anymore.

“Okay,” I say tentatively. “Change me back and return my memories, Arlo. I wish it so.”

He comes over to me until we’re a breadth apart, and cups my face with his hands. “Close your eyes,” he instructs.

I do as I'm told.

I don’t feel anything for a long moment – then I suddenly feel it.

My head is all warmth and fuzziness, my whole body tingling, and then a white noise rushes through my mind, filling every crevice. Doors that were once sealed shut are now opening, the memories flooding back to their rightful place.

Scenes begin to flash through my mind like an old movie, and I have to work quickly to catch hold of them.

Mainly I see Arran. His face fills out my mind. The lazy smile he used to wear on his lips, his light brown hair that always fell messily around his face, his dark, penetrating eyes . . . and that’s when I see James. It’s the eyes. They have the same eyes . . .

I can hear Arran’s soothing voice so clearly, it’s almost as if he’s standing here before me now, telling me he loves me and he will until time ceases to exist. I remember how happy I was. Then I feel it, the pain I felt the exact moment he told me he was leaving me for her. Oh God, it hurts . . . it hurts so much – too much.

I feel desolate, alone, wretched. It’s like I’m been crushed by it.

I see it all. I remember it all.

“Lucyna.” I open my eyes to a very concerned Arlo, his hands gripping my arms, us both sitting on the floor. “Are you okay?” He shakes his head. “Of course you’re not. I should have known this would be too much for you to take all at once.”

I stare blankly at him, wincing as the memories continue to wash over me like a tidal wave. The pain is so raw, it’s like a darkness taking me over.

“Say something, Lucyna. Please.”

I steel myself, seeing how worried he is, and force myself to speak. “I’m okay,” I say.

He moves to sit beside me and puts his arm around me, pulling me to him. “It’s a lot to take. I should have warned you how overwhelmed you’d feel, especially with the memories I’d concealed. Even though they are hundreds of years old, right now, to you, they’ll feel fresh. They’ll very quickly dull, I promise you.” He sounds so sure, so confident and I want to believe him.

I lean into him, needing comfort. Then I notice my body. I look just as I did when I was on earth. No more sparkle, just creamy white skin. I should be elated at the sight, but nothing can overtake this pain I feel.

“This is my fault,” he says sorrowfully. “I should have handled this better. I shouldn’t have just given you your memories back like that.”

I glance up at him and he regards me warmly, his green eyes gazing down at me. But for some reason I find myself shifting back slightly, away from him. If it bothers him, he doesn’t show it.

“No, Arlo, I asked you to do this. None of this is your fault. I’m the only one at fault here.” I look down at my hands, feeling like I barely know myself anymore – which is odd considering the barrage of memories I’ve just received back.

“No,” he says sternly. “The only one ever at fault was Arran.”

I can see it so clearly now. I can now see why I was instantly drawn to James, why my feelings returned the moment I met him. My memories may have been buried, but my love was just hiding, waiting for his return. James and Arran may look and be different in so many ways, but the eyes clearly show they are one in the same person. The same dark, unfathomable pools I fell in love with all those centuries ago. And now, here I am, once again in love, once again in unimaginable pain.

“Lucyna?” Arlo squeezes my hand. I can hear the concern lacing his voice.