Chapter 5

Chapter Five

S itting up, Byron gasped as he realized it was all just a dream. He rubbed his face with his hands. It was the first night he’d had such a strange dream. It certainly couldn’t be real, but his whole body hurt as if he had indeed tackled someone, and his fists are now bloodied, as if he had thrown some punches. He got up from his chair and headed into the bathroom. Peeling his shirt off, which was slightly damp, he saw bruises forming on his torso. They appeared shaped like a fist. He stepped into the shower, letting the hot water soothe his aching body.

He wondered if the bruises were real, the pain factual, were the fairies also true? Was Angela? And if they did exist, how was he ever going to redeem himself to them? Would he ever see Angela again?

“Why can’t I be lucky enough to meet someone like Angela in real life?” Once dry, he wrapped a couple of bandages around his knuckles, feeling as though he now looked like some prizefighter.

As he headed out, he glanced at his latest addition. He stopped dead in his tracks. The face of his gargoyle statue looked like Angela; which was why she’d seemed so familiar to him. “Shit. I’m going crazy. I’m enamored with a fucking statue. ”

Angrily, he grabbed his coat and headed out to work. Although he realized Angela was only a figurine, he couldn’t help thinking about her and their talk after the fight.

He couldn’t wait to come home and examine the statue further. She had told him she was his good luck charm and with the bit of peaceful rest he had, despite the bruises his body sustained, she seemed to be just that. Was she real or only his imagination? Would she come back to him in his dreams? Would that be the only place he could be with her? He was anxious for nightfall, eager to see if she would appear again, and he yearned to be with her, to find out more about her, or if her wing had healed, then criticizing himself over his imagination.

Once home, he quickly fixed himself a sandwich to eat along with a bag of Oreos, then sat down with the gargoyle statue on his dining room table for companionship. “I don’t know if you are real or just a figment of my wishful thinking. I don’t know if I will see you again tonight, but I hope so. I hope your wing has healed. I hope we can talk more. I’m anxious to find out more about you. Who made you? How are you able to come to life? I’ve heard gargoyles are lucky, protecting those who have them on their housetops.”

He looked at the mail he had brought in the house after work, as he finished his sandwich.

Pulling a larger envelope from his mail, he frowned. “Shit.” He held the package up and waved it in front of the gargoyle. “This is the fairy ring stone. They returned it to me. I guess they don’t want to touch the stone either. I don’t know what to do.” He put his head down in folded arms on the table in total despair.

He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. “We will find a way to return it.”

Slowly, he lifted his head, sighing. “You came back.”

“Yes.”

“Where are your wings? Are you healed?”

“I’m mostly healed. It’s still tender, but the wings only appear when I want them to. ”

Byron looked at the table, but the statue was gone. “You’re the gargoyle, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Angela sighed softly. “May I sit?”

Byron jumped up and offered her his chair. “My apologies, of course. Can I get you something to eat or drink?” He pointed to the open bag of Oreos. “An Oreo?”

“I’m not sure what an Oreo is.” She peered over at the strange, dark, circular object. “Water, however, would be most appreciated.”

“This is an Oreo. A cookie that I’m addicted to. Try one.”

He bounded off to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, loosening up the cap for her. It was something he did for his wife, who hadn’t had the strength to open some of the bottles on her own when she’d been given chemo.

“Thank you.” She took a sip of the water before setting it aside. “For now, I’ll pass on the cookie. In answer to your question, I was cursed years ago. I used to be human. I was in a small county in Ireland about three hundred years ago. A sickness came through my village. My father died of the illness, and then my mother got sick. As I tended to her, my husband accused me of not being with him. I wasn’t aware that while my mother was dying, my husband fell ill. I often prayed at the fairy tree near my property. I left them offerings to protect my family from the scourge that afflicted many in the area. Yet, still, my family perished. I was so furious that the fairies did nothing to help me or my kin, that I kicked their fairy tree and swore at it. I fell asleep that night, and when I awoke, I was perched atop St. Colman’s Cathedral in Cobh County, Cork. At first, I didn’t understand why or how I got there. I was looking down on the world, and when I moved, suddenly I had wings. I realized I had been cursed by the fairies in retaliation for my ruining their sacred tree.”

“Cursed?”

She nodded. “Yes. ”

“Three hundred years? You must have seen a lot of changes since then.”

“I have. It amazes me the technology that exists in the world today.”

Sitting down next to her, he looked at the empty space where the gargoyle had sat before he turned back to her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Sorry.”

Angela smiled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard anyone say that. Thank you.” Sobering up, she pulled the package to her. “I can take us anywhere, even back to Ireland, to return the stone. I believe a ritual must be followed when putting the stone back.”

“And your curse? Can you be released from it?”

She looked at him, surprised. “No one has ever asked. I don’t know.”

Reaching out, he gently cupped her cheek. “I would like to help you however I can. I owe you that much.”

She lowered her head. “I don’t know. You owe me nothing. However, I can help and protect you.” She stood. “I need to check on the ritual. Will you be alright while I’m gone?”

Byron nodded. “I’ll be fine. Just be careful.” He added, then watched, stunned, as she disappeared before his very eyes. “Great. I’m absolutely losing it. I’m caring about a piece of statuary, an inanimate object, and I’m talking to myself. I’ve finally cracked up.”