Florian (Augarten Book 4) Page 8

  "Thank you."

  She leaned forward and wrapped me in a hug. I closed my eyes so I would not accidentally see through her form, and instead focused on her radiating warmth. "Thank you, Oma. Thank you for watching over me. I will try to be strong. I will try to ask for help."

  "I know you will." Emilia pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. "They'll be here in five minutes. You're almost there. You've made it."

  I didn't know what she was talking about, but I nodded.

  She cupped my face in her hands, and those tears finally fell. "Goodbye, sweet Florian."

  Then she kissed my forehead, and involuntarily I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, she was gone.

  I stared at the place where Emilia had sat with me, knee to knee. I was devastated still, but no longer lost. My grandmother's love, and her sorrow, had grounded me. I needed to call my mother. I could not take my own life, because Emilia was watching me. I knew that, and yet I did not have faith in my ability to keep my promises. I was too broken for my word to mean much of anything.

  Pounding on the door jolted me out of my thoughts. I scrambled to my feet.

  "Florian!" Klaus hollered. "Open up!"

  I wrenched the door open.

  Klaus and his wife Brenda crowded the doorway. Brenda scanned me from head to toe and I wondered how I must look right now. Klaus' eyes were red-rimmed. He dragged a hand across his nose and sniffed. "We got a call from the hospital to come pick you up, but when we got there they couldn't find you."

  That felt like a lifetime ago. "I walked out before they discharged me. I…wasn't thinking clearly."

  Klaus just stared at me, his bottom lip trembling.

  "Florian," Brenda said gently. "The hospital told us that Michel passed away."

  "Yes," I answered simply, then pointed back into the living room. "They've already cremated him. He's in that box." Again, I felt like I was watching a scene from a movie instead of living it myself.

  Klaus gasped in horror, leaning around the doorframe to look where I pointed. "Jesus Christ."

  Brenda kept her focus on me. "Florian, what happened?"

  "We were in the attacks. Just at dinner. Michi realized what was happening. He tackled me and covered me."

  Brenda's eyes grew impossibly wide. "Heaven, Florian. I'm so sorry."

  Klaus' shoulders began to shake, and he ducked his head like a child. It was the first time I'd ever seen Klaus express an emotion that wasn't mirth or joy.

  Brenda stepped behind her husband and ran her hands up and down his arms. Klaus looked up, tears openly running down his face. "Florian, come here."

  I stared at him, confused. "What?"

  He gently grabbed my shoulders and pulled me into a hug. Klaus was a big man and rather all-encompassing. He wrapped his arms around me and I felt enveloped. His chest was soft and plump, more that of a comfortable middle-aged man rather than someone who worked out. He shook, and when Klaus howled through his sobs, causing quite a ruckus, I finally entered my body again and stopped watching from a distance.

  Then he put his hand on the back of my neck at the base of my skull, unknowingly just the way Michel used to, and I lost it.

  As Klaus' body wracked with sobs, I did not know whether I actually cried, but I let the pain in and felt it one more time. I knew I was safe with Klaus and Brenda; I could afford to fall apart with them here, and I would need to keep feeling this until I finally got used to it. If I pushed it away, I would eventually go crazy.

  One of the neighbors opened their door and closed it again after a moment, but I didn't care that we were making noise. I let Klaus hold me while he cried like a baby.

  After a few minutes, he leaned his cheek against my head and let out a long breath. He'd cried into my hair. "You're not staying here. We'll help you pack a bag, then you're coming with us."

  "No arguing," Brenda added.

  I nodded and finally pulled back, forcing myself to say what I needed to. I had to get this out, before my ghost-grandmother got mad at me. "I might be suicidal. I feel a bit crazy. You're right—I don't think I should be alone right now. I still need to call my mum."

  Brenda nodded. "The hospital has arranged for grief counseling sessions for you. You can call your mother once we get settled at home."

  "I want food," Klaus said. "Nothing familiar. Nothing that reminds me of him."

  Everything reminded me of Michel. All of Paris did.

  "I want sushi," Brenda said.

  Klaus nodded. "We'll get sushi."

  I wiped at my eyes. "Thank you."

  Klaus clapped me on the shoulder. "Let's pack your bag. And leave the box here. Just leave everything for now."

  Chapter Ten

  I called my mother and told her what had happened. She insisted on coming to Paris and said she would get a hotel room. I ended up staying the weekend after the attacks with her, which gave Klaus and Brenda more time to figure out where I would sleep.

  Mum was reluctant to leave at the end of the weekend, but I had no intention of returning home since my father still had not budged on letting me inherit the shop. I thought it might have been a good time for such a change, to leave Paris and start my own business back home, to settle down somewhere that didn't remind me of my husband so much. But that was not to be.

  Klaus, Brenda and I had a meeting Sunday to discuss what Klaus and I would do in terms of work. The university had been informed of Michel's passing the week before. Klaus offered to stay with me if I needed to take more time off, but I worried that just sitting around thinking about it would be terrible for my mental health. Brenda thought Klaus and I should commit to at least a partial workday at first, and we could always leave at lunch if things got to be too much. The hospital called and I was able to set up my first appointment with a grief counselor.

  James charged around the counter when I arrived at work Monday morning. "Where were you last week? Where have you been?"

  I scanned his worried face. "No one told you?"

  James' dark brows furrowed. "Told me what?"

  I huffed. "Let's open the shop first, then I'll explain."

  Thankfully, James took my word for it. After a decade of working together, we opened the shop seamlessly. James flipped the light on to signal we were open. Once I got the accounting team set with their shots, I turned to him.

  "Michel and I were out to dinner during the attack. Michel covered me, so I was safe, but he died immediately."

  James froze. He paled so quickly I worried he might faint. "Michel was killed?"

  "Yes," I said softly. "But please, James, let's not talk about it here. I need to pretend some things are still normal or I'll go crazy."

  "Okay, yes, okay." James nodded over and over, way too quickly, almost frantic. "No problem. Yes, we've got to work. Morning rush. Let's do this."

  Just then, a customer came to the counter and I was relieved to change the topic. I rang them up at the register and rushed to fix their drink so I could stay busy and take Michel off my mind. Thankfully, the morning rush started soon thereafter, and I was able to compartmentalize my feelings in favor of the long line of customers. James and I traded off at the register and making drinks.

  At one point, a student leaned across the counter and whispered, "Is he okay?"

  I stopped, confused. "Pardon?"

  She nodded at something behind me. I turned to find James at the espresso machine. He had his face buried in his apron, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

  I whipped back around before I could watch him any more. "It's been a hard day. What can I get you?"

  James recovered enough after a few minutes that he was able to jump back in and help me finish the rest of the rush. Then he started crying again, so I cleaned up, mopping the floor around him while he sniffled and hiccupped into his apron.

  "You're staying with me," he said finally, his voice choked. "You're not living in that empty apartment with evidence of him everywhere."

  My chest clenched
and I swallowed, trying to keep it together. I couldn't fall apart at work. With so much out of my control, I simply could not lose face at work. "Klaus and Brenda said I could stay with them. Maybe I could alternate so I'm not too much of a burden."

  "Just move in with me, Florian," James said, scrubbing his eyes. "We're friends. I'm a bachelor. My daughter's only with me on the weekends, and she behaves around you."

  "We'll talk about it later," I said, blinking the tears back.

  Two weeks passed, and between Mum's visit and James and Klaus hosting me and keeping tabs, I somehow made it through. I cried more often, but it felt like a natural stage of grief, rather than something wrong. It took ten days for me to subconsciously acknowledge that Michi wasn't on a work trip, and when that acceptance finally went through, I stopped being numb and began to feel the pain my mind had been holding at bay.

  Once I let go enough to get the crying spells, I started having the most vivid dreams. I checked out a few books from the library on lucid dreaming and practiced the techniques therein in an effort to prevent such dreams from turning into nightmares. The grief counselor had told me I most likely had post-traumatic stress disorder.

  One night I sank into James' couch and felt the familiar sensations of dream space and wished I could ask Michi whether this was the astral plane. James had given me a heavy blanket—specifically designed to feel like someone holding you—which brought the feeling of Michel cuddling me in our bed at home. I relaxed into his hold and fell into a deep sleep, hoping this state would last through the night.

  Michi's hair tickled my face. His lemongrass soap and the bright feel of our apartment, the clear air and heavy-laden presence of books all served to comfort me. Breathing deeply, I wrapped my arms around him and he let out a grateful sigh. I loved anchoring him, as he anchored me in return.

  Further into the night, the background of the dream changed from our bedroom to that of the café. I recognized the signs of my recurring nightmare, and even as I held Michi, I started the affirmation I'd been practicing to pull myself out of the dream. I am in control, I stated in the dream space.

  The quiet of our apartment at home began morphing into the chaos from that night.

  I am in control, I declared, but did not wake.

  Instead, Michi became heavier. I was frozen in sleep paralysis. If I could not break its hold, then I would have to weather the nightmare. I am in control, I shouted, struggling to jolt myself out of the dream and wake up.

  The sounds grew louder and I steeled myself to endure what came next. The massacre in my nightmares took longer than the real event had. Instead of cars flying by with automatic gun fire, one moment there and the next gone, in my dreams the murderers took their time, often disembarking from their cars and going through the bodies to pick off anyone still breathing. I frequently saw a faceless man standing over me, and as I clung to my dead husband, the demon would place the barrel of his gun to my forehead and pull the trigger, exploding my skull and brain matter everywhere, but also finally jolting me awake.

  I tore my thoughts from the worst possible option, lest my fears be interpreted as suggestions. I am in control, I said with force.

  Even though I could not yet move, I was aware I was dreaming, and the affirmation still came to me when summoned. At any moment as this nightmare progressed, there was a chance I could actually seize control of the dream and wake myself up. I had a chance.

  The machine gun fire was the same from that night.

  The cars sped by. Awake and unafraid, I screamed my affirmation. I am in control.

  Feeling returned to my body. I grabbed Michel's waist and angled him so I could sit up.

  Grasping my husband's corpse to me, I looked around at the café, now able to see more than I had before. This was a new development. I had never been able to move in the dreams before, other than to reach after the archangel when he took Michi away, which then woke me. This time, I was able to move and observe the dream, but was still trapped inside it. A partial success by my standards, but then a thought occurred to me.

  Michi had always told me that if I ever decided to step away from my agnosticism and believe in something, that I could talk to the Archangel Michael on his behalf. I had tried praying to his Welsh gods a couple more times, but never heard anything back. I was working on blind faith, not based on anything I had experienced, material or otherwise, but I had no choice. I could move and speak within the dream, and the archangel was coming. I should speak to him.

  Then like an uncontrollable spasm, I realized if I could move, then I could carry Michi away from here and maybe he would survive. I flinched with my entire body, but did not rise from a seated position. I was rooted to the floor, sitting up, my legs folded to hold Michel in my lap, but I could not run away. I wrestled control of my consciousness again, reminding myself that I could not change my husband's fate, that the urge to run away was the part of me that succumbed to the dream, took it as reality and tried to survive within it.

  I am in control.

  Shattered glass and blood everywhere. Tables and chairs overturned. People lying in heaps on the ground, some of them moaning. This time, for the first time, I saw when the angels came. They set upon the people, pulling them up to standing positions slowly, leaving their bodies on the ground. The people for their part looked very confused, but when they saw the angel helping them, they seemed to recognize them. Their expressions took on a look of peace, and they followed the angel willingly after that. My throat clenched.

  Then there was a painfully bright flash of light, and the archangel appeared. He had enormous wings, his eyes burning with fire as he swept the scene. He came to land in front of us, but that was where things diverged from how I remembered.

  I clenched Michi to me, cradling his head against my neck, my heart crying out for Saint Michael to not take my husband from me. But then for the first time, the archangel moved his eyes from Michi and looked directly at me. In that moment, I realized once again that I was dreaming, and that I had a choice of what I could do.

  Though it broke my heart, I forced my arms to move. I held my husband out to the archangel, a sacrificial offering.

  Something I suspected was understanding shone in the angel's burning eyes, and he stood there unmoving for a moment longer, watching me. Michi's head lolled back, but I kept my eyes on the archangel, knowing I could not handle whatever carnage my mind would show me of Michi's body.

  That moment seemed to stretch into eternity. Then the archangel lifted my husband from my arms, both his body and his soul, and stepped back.

  "Thank you," I said aloud in the dream, though it crushed me to do so.

  Michael beat his massive wings and rose into the air. The powerful gale knocked me down and I lay prone without my husband to cover me. In horror I realized that if I stayed in the dream after Michael took my husband's soul, that meant I would stay long enough for the terrorists to come back through and murder any survivors. I let out a shuddering breath and steadied myself for what was to come. Yet I still knew I was dreaming. There was something I was supposed to chant…I am…I am…

  A shimmering to the left of my vision caught my attention. I gasped and froze. What was that?

  A humanoid figure was trying to take shape, but it was not one of the angels still moving over the bodies in the café—they were clear as day to me. This person did not have a visual body, but they were clearly trying to show themselves to me.

  I stared in shock as glittering streams of golden light fell to the floor in glistening drops. Then the body materialized in a translucent haze. He was a tall man of slim build, pale skin, dark blond hair and brown eyes. Those eyes cried beautiful, golden tears. Part of me wondered whether this was a ghost, but my gut instinct told me he was an angel. Just an angel who did not have a body.

  "Why are you crying?" I wanted to ask, but considering our surroundings, I already knew.

  Then the angel reached out to me and placed his thumb in the middle of my for
ehead. He was cool to the touch, and I recognized that sensation from the night of the attack. As soon as the angel touched me, everything went black, and I jerked awake on James' couch. I checked my watch—it was still the middle of the night. James snored in the next room.

  That was new, but the reactions flooding me post-dream were ones I had been struggling with since my body finally broke down and allowed me to cry.

  I curled in on myself, trembling as my emotions overwhelmed me. "To the Archangel Michael. Please…the man you took was my husband, and he was dedicated to you. Michi told me to go to you, that you would hear me if I ever needed help."

  My body thrummed as my grief saturated me to the core and my voice quaked. "Please, can I…can I love you? I don't want to hold Michi back from moving on."

  I dreaded finding out that Michel was in the astral plane in these nightmares, reliving his death over and over. I did not know whether this was true, but I knew I couldn't keep yearning for him like this. My body ached for Michel to make love to me, to let me hold him. I couldn't let go, but holding on only increased my pain.

  I tried to rephrase my request as my physical, emotional and spiritual loneliness overwhelmed me. "Please, can I love you…would that be okay? Would that bother you? Could you please let me know?"

  I wondered whether my grandmother Emilia, who as far as I knew was still standing in as something of a guardian for me, could speak to the Archangel Michael on my behalf, since Michi had not had a chance to do an introduction while he was still alive. As a Jew, Emilia surely had prayed to Michael many times. I did not know what else to do.

  "Can I love you?" I repeated, then fell back asleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Something's on your mind," James said with a friendly nudge at work, three months after Michi's death.