9Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight Saga and all its characters. Look at what her imagination and creativity has spawned all over the world!
WARNING: This story contains themes of attempted sexual assault, adult language, and violence. Do not read if these issues are too distressing to you.
Edward: "Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass by the innocent and pursue only the evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl—if I saved her, then surely I wasn't so terrible."
Bella: "I shivered, imagining only too clearly what he described—the alley at night, the frightened girl, the dark man behind her. And Edward, Edward as he hunted, terrible and glorious as a young god, unstoppable. Would she have been grateful, that girl, or more frightened than before?" -Twilight, Chapter 16
The Angel
From the diary of Mary Francis Roberts (nee Brannigan)
Dated February 12th, 1932:
As I walked down the snowy sidewalk towards home, I realized just how late I must be in getting back. The sun was almost completely gone and the coming snowstorm made the impending darkness thicker, more menacing.
A sudden gust of ice-cold wind blasted past me, and I pulled my shabby coat tight around me. It was too small, and it had several holes from wear, but there was no way on Earth Mama could afford to buy another one. We were both lucky to have any coats at all, worn or otherwise. Not everyone had coats to wear these days. The Great Depression had hit with full force here in Boston, and everywhere was desperation.
I was on my way home after having attended Father McCaffrey's evening mass at Saint Joseph's parish. Mama hadn't been well enough to come with me, of course. Not for a long while had she been able to - not since losing use of her legs sometime last October - so in a way I was attending church for the both of us.
Sometimes, one of the priests would be so kind as to visit our run-down little apartment to give Mama the blessing, the Holy Sacrament, and to pray over her. They did this often with their less mobile parishioners, and we all considered it a great kindness on their part.
As I walked, head bowed against the cold wind, I thought of tonight's sermon. The priest had talked of angels...Archangels, Seraphim, Cherubim, and The Fallen.
What I had found interesting was how they all had jobs and tasks. An angel might be called upon by God to mete out justice, to act as a messenger...or even sometimes, to be our guardian. I was so lost in thought on the topic that I wasn't as aware of my surroundings as I normally would have been.
As I passed the mouth of the alley between the tailoring shop and the booksellers, a man's voice said, "So...what's a pretty young thing like you doing out on a chilly evening such as this?"
It was so close to me that I jumped in surprise, my breath catching. I froze as he emerged from the shadow against the brick alley wall and stepped closer.
Upon first inspection he looked like a perfectly respectable fellow. He was around thirty I guessed, and was well-dressed and nicely groomed. He wore a tweed motoring cap, from under which ashy-blond hair peeked out, and also a smart beige long woolen overcoat that looked expensive. The clothing fit well and was in good repair, and even his gloves appeared to have no holes in them, as mine did. His eyes were a light blue and they were slightly bloodshot.
I needed to speak, as he had asked me a question and it was only polite to respond.
"Er, I uh... I'm m-making my way home," I said, and turned to keep walking.
"Oh no you don't, little Miss; I'm not quite finished with you yet."
I suddenly felt a large hand wrap around my upper arm, tightly. I gasped loudly as he spun me around to face him.
"You don't know anything about showing a man a good time, little girl," he laughed, as I wriggled to free myself from his strong grasp.
"I'm going to teach you how," he sneered.
His breath wafted into my face as he laughed and it smelled of whiskey.
His words made little sense and I realized in a panic that he'd had too much to drink.
My own pulse began pounding so hard in my ears that I could barely hear anything else and my mouth went dry as cotton. I looked about frantically for a witness or passerby that might assist me, but the blustery street was deserted.
"Please!" I began to beg, "I'm not allowed to talk to people I don't know!" I jerked suddenly and was able to free my arm, but he just grabbed a handful of the left side of my coat.
He pulled me with him as he retreated deeper into the alley...into the cold shadows.
My ragged coat tore nearly in half in his firm grasp as I struggled against his iron-like grip.
"M-my father is waiting for me just a block down the street," I bluffed, frantic to deter him somehow from whatever he was planning. "If I don't show soon, he'll head down this way...He's a big man, and he has a bad temper," I continued, my mouth barely moist enough to speak as I stumbled unwillingly at his side. "He will hear any noise I make - you wouldn't want to get into trouble, sir."
He only laughed again, not looking threatened at all.
"Don't think you can lie to me, little Mary," he said in a low, taunting voice. I froze in horror at the mention of my name coming from this menacing stranger's lips. He gripped the collar of my dress with his other hand and pulled my face close to his.
"Yes, Mary, I've been watching you."
It felt like my skin was trying to crawl off my body and abandon me to my fate as what he was saying sunk in.
"And I'm quite aware that your father passed away two years ago, so you can stop threatening me with his mighty wrath," he continued with biting sarcasm. "I know all about you, and your cripple of a mother, too." He seemed very pleased with himself, and gleeful at my shock.
I wasn't sure what came over me - some survival instinct kicking in - but I tried to bolt.
I screamed out, "NO!" and shoved at him, then turned and ran for the sidewalk. His hand was still gripping my coat in a tight fist, and I struggled with all my might to slip out of it. I got half of my body untangled and heard a lot of ripping as the worn fabric rent and gave way, practically leaving nothing but large shreds in his hand.
I dodged away but I only made it a few yards before I felt two iron-strong arms wrap around my slender waist. I was dragged backward with unavoidable force and the breath was squeezed from me.
It all took only seconds and now he was grunting and huffing in rage as he shoved me against the bricks, hard. His gloved right hand was all the way around my small neck.
He then did something strange and awful: he removed his left glove and touched my face with his hand, which was warmer than my freezing skin. I cringed so hard that my shoulders touched up to my ears. I wanted to bite him but I figured he would only hurt me for it, so I tried to be still as he stroked my cheek, hair, and jaw.
"You're just like her..." he said, and his voice became low and cold. "You all are...every one of you manipulative little whores!"
At that, his hand, which had been stroking me gently, came to the back of my head and he fisted a handful of hair close to the scalp. I screeched as he pulled my head back sharply, and tears sprung to my eyes from the pain of it.
"Aren't you!" he yelled next to my cheek, specks of his warm spittle hitting my skin.
"Aren't you just... like... her?" He seemed to be demanding an answer, but I didn't understand what he meant!
My legs began to shake and give out, but I felt a desperate need to stay awake and alert. If I fainted, I knew I was at his mercy and likely done for.
I shivered violently – now without any coat - and tried to answer him through parched lips.
"L-like who?" I asked quietly. Please, tell me the right thing to say!, I silently begged of him.
I realized my eyes were shut and I forced myself to look into his face, hoping to decipher just what this man wanted me to agree to.
His light blue eyes blinked for a moment and his face slightly softened. He looked truly puzzled for a second at my question as if I were daft, or hadn't heard him correctly.
"Her. Why my mother, of course." He started in a whisper, but ended in a harsh tone, with gritted teeth. He was seething now.
I felt my eyes widen in confusion. He wanted me to say I was like his mother? Was he...angry with her? Would admitting that I was like her be a good thing...or a bad thing?
"Uh...you...you think I look like your mother?" I asked hesitantly.
He sneered again. "You all do," he spat. "Every stinking one of you. Every girl I've ever taken."
I gulped as the sickening realization dawned that I was not the first girl he had attacked.
He pulled the hand holding my hair up to his nose and sniffed, chuckling. "Same dark hair." He let the hair fall and gripped my face roughly, inspecting me closely.
"Same sneaky blue eyes..." His mouth moved to my ear and his breath was disconcertingly warm as he whispered, "Same black soul."
I whimpered in fear.
"Don't worry though little Mary," he fairly cooed. "I'll be fixing all of that. Just as I did with the others."
At this, his hand moved from my face and was lost momentarily in the folds of his coat.
When it emerged, it held a long, silvery knife.
"You see, I will first cut off all of that offending hair. Then, I'll remove those evil eyes of yours... and finally, I'll cut out your deceptive tongue, so you can't tell any more lies," he finished in a soft, almost soothing voice, as if he were about to do me a great favor.
Finally, my legs did give out, and he caught me halfway to the ground and lowered me the rest of the way until I was lying on my back in the dirty, snow-filled alley.
My eyes rolled skyward, and now when I heard him speaking it was as if from far away - just at the edge of my hearing range. I supposed I was going into shock - I didn't know.
"Oh but first," he continued from some other space "I'm afraid I'll have to break you, Mary." He sounded slightly sorry, like a dentist revealing bad news about a tooth that needed pulling.
"I can't send you to your rightful place in hell as a virgin, after all. That's just not right," he explained.
Something in me wanted to reply, to say something...to claim I wasn't a virgin to save myself from being violated...anything!
But nothing would come.
I couldn't feel my lips or tongue, my jaw was trembling uncontrollably, and my teeth rattled together. It was the only sound I could hear besides my pounding pulse. My hands and legs were also numb and my mind was following swiftly.
The terror of what was happening to me had swamped over me like a great oceanic wave, and I was swept helplessly under and sent reeling into the inescapable darkness below.
I had no hope of fighting him.
Nobody could hear me.
I was going to die.
Suddenly, I saw Father McCaffrey's kind face in my mind. He smiled a little and nodded his head at me, as if urging me.
To do what?
It gave me comfort to envision him, so much so that I barely felt my evil attacker's large hand squeezing my breast roughly through my dress.
I was hardly aware when his hand slid up my leg, moving the hem of my dress up with it.
I only vaguely caught the tiny glint of silver as the man pulled the shiny knife into view and placed it against my throat.
I looked numbly at where his face should be, but only saw a dark blob of motion.
I heard only one thing more from my captor: "I'm doing what I have to do, Mary. You won't be missed, once people realize what a bad girl you were..."
His strong hand was on my thigh, moving my leg to the side.
The prayer bubbled forth from my lips, no more than a whisper to the outer world, but shouted in my heart:
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I offer you my heart and my soul.
Assist me in my last agony.
May I breathe forth my soulwith you in peace.
From sudden and unlooked for death, O Lord, deliver me.
My eyes had lost focus completely, and odd warmth stole over me.
I wasn't afraid anymore. I wasn't anything anymore.
No fear, no pain...no cold.
Just silence.
I thought of Papa, and how, if I was lucky, I would see him again.
I wondered about Mama, and about how she would get along without me there.
Mama...NO!
The thought of poor Mama, lost and helpless without me, jolted me back to full, sharp consciousness. I had to fight; I had to live...If not for myself, then for my sweet Mama.
With a strength I didn't know I possessed, I gripped the man's wrist that was holding the knife, bending it back with desperate force.
He was taken aback at first, but then he used his other hand in an attempt to pry my hand from his.
That's when it happened.
There was a strange and frightening hissing noise...almost like that of a cat - but much louder, deeper, and wilder.
My attacker moved as if startled, half-turning.
Behind him, he and I both beheld a tall, dark shadow that had not been there a second before.
I barely had time to register that the shadow was actually the form of a man before the wrist I was holding was jerked from my grip...along with the man attached to it.
With blinding speed, my assailant sailed through the air landing with a sickening thud a few dozen feet to the dead end brick wall at the back of the alley. He bounced off the wall into the snow, muck, and rusted trash cans.
I sat up, my mouth agape and my eyes staring as the shadow man bent next to me and held out his hand as if to help me up.
He was beautiful.
I had never seen any man who even came close to the perfection etched into this man's features.
It seemed impossible that a man could be that lovely and still be...well...male. But male he obviously was, as evidenced by his square jaw, strong chin with a slight indentation, straight nose, and broad forehead with heavy eyebrows. He had high, sharp cheekbones. These features were balanced out and softened by the prettiest-shaped mouth with perfectly-curved, full lips. He had large mesmerizing eyes fringed with long, dark eyelashes, but hair was the most distinctive thing of all. It was an unruly mass of a unique shade...sort of a light brown with a reddish tinge to it. I wondered briefly why he didn't tame down the wayward strands with a good pomade, and then decided that it suited him, somehow, the disarray. He wore no hat, despite the cold weather and the demands of gentlemen's fashion, and he was clad in a long, expensive-looking wool overcoat, matching wool trousers, and a crisp white shirt and suspenders. His shoes looked like they must have cost a pretty penny. It was hard to guess at his age, for though he looked youthful, his eyes spoke of an older soul. That was when I really looked into his eyes, and what I saw startled me greatly. They were not blue like my attacker's had been, nor were they brown or even green.
They were RED.
After shakily rising to my feet, I stood gaping at him like an imbecile.
"Are...are you an angel?" I sputtered out from trembling lips.
At that he threw back his beautiful head and laughed heartily. It was a strangely musical sound, hard to describe but enchanting, and I felt I could listen to it often.
"No, just the opposite, actually," he replied, and there was suddenly a bitter tone to his words.
"I...I d-don't understand what you mean," I told him. The cold and the confusing combination of pull and repellence I felt for this creature, combined with my shock, was making my voice tremble.
He frowned then, and his voice grew hard and icy – it was still somehow lovely though - as he leaned forward and spoke again.
"What I mean is, I am a demon, Mary Francis... a monster from your darkest nightmares in fact...not an angel...not an agent of good."
He was confusing and frightening me now. "H-how...how do you know my name?" I gulped at his strange knowledge, and asked another question before he could answer the first. "Have you been following me?" It was too much to comprehend that TWO strange men could have been watching me without my knowledge. And WHY would they? I was a nobody.
"No," he answered flatly. He looked over at the unmoving form lying in the snow.
"I've been following him."
I avoided looking at the man who had tried to harm me and pressed, "But, why?" Did the dead man owe the beautiful stranger money? Had he stolen something of his, or perhaps harmed someone he loved? The way he had tried to hurt me?
He shook his head before answering, almost as if he was listening to the litany of guesses within my mind. "I have...known...of him and his...deeds...for a while now. I was waiting for him to strike again. Unfortunately, he went outside his regular hunting grounds tonight, so it took a while to find him."
I didn't understand. Had this man struck before then? He had spoken of "others" when he was taunting me.
How did the handsome young man know of the older man's crimes? Had he met him somewhere before...or perhaps overheard his confessions to someone?
He looked like he was struggling internally, as if there were words he wanted to say – things of which he yearned to speak – but dared not.
As I was about to ask some of my unspoken queries, a sudden gust of icy wind blew down the alley and I shivered violently in response.
The young man then took off his coat. He didn't even flinch as the freezing air hit his now vulnerable body. I realized in that moment that he wore no hat, scarf, or gloves to ward off the biting winter weather, which didn't seem to bother him.
Odd.
"Here," he said, and handed me the coat. "It is far too big on you, but it will keep you warmer than the one you were wearing, at any rate."
I blinked at him, but made no motion to take what he offered; I was still too shocked, frightened, and fascinated for normal reactions. "Turn around," he ordered quietly. I obeyed him then, and slowly turned my back on him. It was hard to do for three reasons: one, I was still frozen with shock; two, some part of my basic survival instinct didn't want to turn my back on such a dangerous person, whether he had saved me or not; and three, I would have to peel my gaze from the most beautiful face I had ever seen.
He helped me into the coat, which I realized with a start was almost as cold as the snow around us, not warm, as it surely should have been after having been on a person's body for more than a minute. He gently turned me back to face him, and as I watched his face again, he buttoned it up around me so swiftly that I missed the movements altogether.
It was then that a low moan sounded from behind me and I trembled, knowing it was the evil man, awakened at last. I turned and saw him struggling to rise, and then heard that same strange hissing noise erupt from my rescuer. I looked at him, but he had his full attention turned to my fallen captor.
He bared his gleaming, perfect teeth at the man; it was a very animalistic gesture. Looking at my savior's fierce countenance, the man began to scream.
I say "began" because before the sound had even fully articulated into the night air, the young man moved in a blindingly quick flash and grabbed my attacker by the throat, lifting him off the ground with one hand. The man's feet dangled helplessly, and the young man's grip must have been very tight indeed, for all sound from his throat was promptly choked off. The older man's eyes bugged out grotesquely, and the terror coming off of him was palpable.
It was then I had the errant thought, "Now we'll see how youlike being hurt and afraid!"
The beautiful man seemed to almost give a small nod in agreement with that thought, and he slowly brought the man's face closer to his own. The man clawed and pulled frantically at his captor's hand around his throat, but seemed to have no luck. Then much to my shock, a ferocious, feral snarl erupted from my rescuer. It was somewhat like that of a lion I had seen at the Franklin Park Zoo once, but much more frightening, and distinctly unnatural. It was hard to believe such a sound could emanate from any human being, and it made me shudder and cower against the opposite alley wall.
As if remembering I were still present, the fierce young man turned to face me, still holding my attacker aloft with one hand as if he weighed no more than a newspaper.
"Go home, Mary," he said in a voice so low I barely caught it before the wind carried it away. Then, for some reason I will never understand, I shook my head no. Surprise touched his divine features, and he regarded me with curiosity. Then oddly enough, he looked back at the captive he held and licked his lips as if he were very thirsty for a drink of water.
He looked back to me then, his square jaw hardened and flexed, and his eyes became stern-looking. "Go home" he commanded this time, in a louder, deeper voice and through tightened lips. His crimson eyes compelled me to do as he bid, and, as if I was a dove suddenly released by a pair of hands, I exploded into flight, turning and running away from him,
As I reached the opening of the alleyway, I heard behind me a gurgled scream that suddenly cut off, followed by an eerie silence.
I burst forth from the alley and back down the snowy sidewalk.
I ran all the way up to the third floor to our apartment. My legs muscles ached and burned, but I felt like I had to keep moving until I was inside our door.
Safely ensconced at last, I leaned against the entryway wall, panting heavily. My heartbeat was thundering in my ears and my hands and legs were shaking violently. I had to sit down before I fell down.
"Mary FrancisBrannigan!" My mother called out from the parlor, "I was so worried! What on Earth kept you so long, child?"
I composed myself, wiped my face, and joined her, plopping into the old wingback chair. There was no way I was going to tell her what had really happened to me. Her health and state of mind were too frail to endure such a thing. When she asked why I appeared distressed, I told her that Father McCaffrey had given a particularly moving sermon on the nature of angels, which was true.
Mama did ask me where on Earth I had gotten the expensive mens' coat I was wearing. She noted that it smelled absolutely marvelous. I muttered something about a clothing donation box at church, and she vowed to hem it to the right length for me.
Once she was fed, toileted, and put to bed, I went to my room to pray. I lit the candle, and knelt down.
O Most Merciful Jesus,
lover of souls,
I pray Thee by the agony of Thy most Sacred Heart,
and by the sorrows of Thy Immaculate Mother,
wash in Thy blood the sinners of the whole world
who are now in their agony,
and are to die this day.
"Thank you God, for sending your angel to save me from evil and for Thy mercy be praised." I made the sign of the cross.
He could call himself demon, he could claim evil...but he would always be angel to me.
The Angel of Death.
A/N: So, was it an answer to Mary's prayer that Edward came to save her? Or merely a coincidence? I'll let you decide that for yourselves.
St. Joseph's Irish Catholic Church is a real place in Boston I discovered during some research. It was built in 1862.
I also researched Irish Catholic prayers, which is where I got the prayers Mary uses in the story.
I wanted to be as authentic as possible. Though I did some research for this story, I am not Irish Catholic, so please forgive any mistakes I may have made.
Thank you to the majestic MadamThang for agreeing to beta this story and for all her kind words of encouragement. If not for her, this story would be marinating in excessive commas and assorted grammatical errors. I dare you to read her AWARD NOMINATED writings and NOT get addicted. *smirk*
Story rec: The wonderful Willowby writes a fabulous story called FINDING FRED. It has been nominated for a much-deserved Shimmer Award for Best Comedy and it is a hoot! If you haven't yet read S. Meyer's Bree Tanner novella, you might not get exactly who Freaky Fred is, though...just sayin'.