Читать книгу: «An Angel Under The Skin», страница 2

Chapter 3
Yekun

With my dermograph in hand, I trace the lines with application, following the lines I have sketched with the pen without ever deviating. My art is not an exact science, but a painting where the body becomes a work of art. I never imagined I would have my own tattoo parlour. It is thanks to Azazel that I am where I am today. I arrived on his doorstep in the middle of the night, like all the fallen ones before me. I smile as I recall his statement: being fallen is not a fate, but the beginning of a new life. I couldn't agree with him more. After all, I pushed the Ultimate Leader to banish me knowingly. I knew I wouldn't regret it. And I still don't, two centuries later. How could it be otherwise? I keep my mind closed as much as I can, and the vibrations of my device allow me to forget the voices the rest of the time. I hasten to finish the trace on my client, who does not move an inch. I prefer this to clients who whine throughout the session, complaining that it's painful or that it's taking too long. No, I'm not a magician! A tattoo is done with needles that penetrate deep into the epidermis. Besides, I can't draw a dragon in thirty minutes. I'm a fallen angel, not the superhero on TV who's as fast as lightning! On the other hand, I fly. That's better, isn't it? Except that the average person doesn't know it and that's just as well. I have no desire for lost souls to come knocking on my door for help. If I've done everything I could to be fallen, it's certainly not to do it again once on Earth. Anyway. It is precisely because I owe Azazel so much that I hurry to finish with the man lying on my table. My friend asked me to do him a favour. Although I found his approach a little strange, I agreed to his request. I couldn't see myself refusing him. I just hope he knows what he's doing.

The woman named Mallory stares at me without moving. I can see the fear shining in her pupils. Azazel explained her friend's phobia to me. I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see her right now. More than a phobia, it is a relentless struggle against breathtakingly painful memories that is playing out before me. Azazel taught me to close my mind in order to live among humans. However, I cannot shut off strong emotions and there is none more powerful than fear and anger. Mallory is feeling both right now. Yet I can see that it's not directed at me. So I give her time to adjust to the new data. After all, many people are put off by my appearance. I am tattooed all over. My arms, neck and legs. Not a patch of skin is left out. Only my back has not been inked, as it is already covered by the representation of my wings. Against all odds, Mallory chooses to trust Azazel, and thus me, in turn, and hesitantly steps forward to kiss me.

- Nice to meet you.

Her little voice is quite pleasant. The arrival of Caitlyn, and now Mallory, in our testosterone-filled group is a blessing. It changes the conversation a bit. I love my brothers. However, in the centuries we've known each other, I needed a little change. Abaddon and Kasyade have already told me a lot about Mallory and I was looking forward to getting to know her. The evening is very pleasant. We talk, we joke, like at any family reunion for real. To a stranger, we are a classic group. No one would imagine that the most powerful people the earth has ever borne are gathered in this room. Azazel asks us in turn about our plans. He comes to me last. My plans are simple: to expand my tattoo shop.

- I'm going to hire a new tattoo artist and a hostess.

Mallory's curiosity overcomes her apprehensions. She has relaxed during the evening and doesn't hesitate to ask me questions.

- Do you have a tattoo parlour?

Ha ! If she asks me about my baby, I'm not about to shut up. Angel's Ink is my most prized possession and I am extremely proud of it.

- For many years, yes. It was I who inked Azazel's skin.

As well as Abaddon's. However, I'm sure she's only interested in the first of the Fallen.

- They are very well done. Especially the wings on his back.

Azazel warned me that she knows nothing of our nature. I'm not going to lie to her, though. I've never drawn angel wings. Not even once. Even when a client comes to me with this request, I refuse. Angel wings are not decorative. If you're not born with them, why add them? I guess I think that way because I've never considered them a blessing. I prefer to deflect the conversation, although I suspect the answer to my question.

- And you, Mal, do you have any tattoos?

She shakes her head sharply, making her hair fly in all directions, and opens up to me without fear.

No offense, but I knew a man who had both arms tattooed and he hurt me a lot. I've associated your art with my pain for a long time, so...

She doesn't need to say any more. I understand her pain. It echoes in my head, as it does in the heads of my brothers who unconsciously wince. All except Azazel and Baraqiel. For Baraqiel, I understand. Since he's been linked to Caitlyn, he's only felt his wife's emotions. For Azazel, however, I am more puzzled. He is in love with Mallory, that much is obvious. Yet he doesn't seem to be touched by her distress. However, I wish Mallory would look at the tattoos in a different way. I have seen how the young woman strokes Cerberus. That dog may be impressive, but he always melts the ladies.

- You know, it's not the tattoos that do the bad things, but the people who wear them, just as a dog is not born evil, but can become evil because of its owner.

I see Mallory thinking about my words. She is smart. She knows her fear is irrational.

- You're right.

I'm glad to see that, although her fear is still there, she puts it into perspective. I can even ignore it now that Mallory is putting it in the background. I'm really glad I helped her even though I know she still has a long way to go. Azazel then continues the conversation.

- Do you also tattoo damaged skin?

That's a strange question for an angel who can't be hurt.

- It happens to me.

- Is it okay to have scars?

I see Mallory curling up on herself. I feel her tense and hesitate to answer. I'm not sure what Azazel is getting at. Only, the first fallen one has his eyes fixed on me, waiting, and I cannot do otherwise.

It depends on the scars and the pattern to be made. The design must be adapted to the texture and thickness of the skin to draw the eye to the representation and not to what it hides.

The scars must also be old, at least two years old, so that the skin has had time to regain some thickness. However, given the sudden mood, there is no need to go into detail. Mallory stands up straight, tense to the extreme. Her emotions choke me with their intensity. Rage, betrayal and sadness. A disaster is unfolding before us and Azazel seems to have no idea of the extent of the damage he is causing. This is confirmed when he clamps Mallory to his chest, preventing her from moving, to lift the back of her t-shirt.

- Could you cover this up?

He exposes the young woman's suffering for all to see. She must have gone through hell. Her back is all kinds of marks made by a sharp blade. I can't mistake the origin of the wounds. I've often inflicted them on myself to finally feel something that comes from me alone.

- Yekun?

I'm too shocked to answer. I feel like my skull is going to explode from Mallory's rage. It's a real physical pain for me. Especially when the anger of all the people in the room is added to it. Azazel finally pulls down the shirt of the young woman who runs away after having hit Azazel without restraint. I am tempted to do the same. He has humiliated his wife and reopened the wound of her greatest shame. Moreover, I am angry with him for having put me in a more than uncomfortable position. If he had explained to me why I was coming tonight, I would have declined the invitation with all due respect to him. I thought I was coming to help Mallory overcome her phobia. In reality, he used me to trap her. I prefer to leave without further ado.

Despite the late hour, I go to the only place that can soothe my torment: Angel's Ink. I caress the wooden counter with my fingertips and look at the pictures of my work on the walls. My baby has grown up. When I opened it, I was a small, unknown tattoo artist who only wanted to please myself. Today, I am a recognized tattoo artist whose clients flock to the shop to have their skin inked by me. I even have a full agenda months in advance, which is why I have to recruit a tattoo artist and a receptionist. And to think that it all started for my own relief. Unlike my brothers, my downfall was not due to my disobedience. My problem came from my nature itself. Being an angel means putting the feelings of your protégés before your own. If at first this did not cause me any problems, over the centuries it became a pain. As an angel working for the Ultimate Leader, we are forbidden to close our minds. In fact, I only knew how to do this when I arrived on Earth, following Azazel's advice. The problem was that I could stand less and less the thoughts of others in my head. I longed for more. What I really wanted was to feel my own emotions, my own pain. So I found an unstoppable way. I cut myself. I took a blade and cut myself. I slashed the flesh of my arm all the way from the shoulder to the wrist. Strangely enough, it did me a world of good. Our wounds heal almost instantly, but we still feel the pain. For that brief moment, I finally felt something that belonged to me alone. The benefit of the cut was short-lived, however. My recovery came too quickly. One of my protégés needed me and my desire to start again was left unfulfilled. I did my duty with devotion, as in the beginning of my creation. However, my heart was no longer in it. For several decades, in fact. It was not enough to remember my brief moment of existence, because that is how I saw it. I wanted to live for myself. I felt a pressing need to do so, and to achieve this I had to mutilate myself. I am not a masochist. I don't like pain. I don't like my own pain any more than I like the pain of others. I just wanted to feel something else that belonged to me alone. So I got into the habit of stabbing or cutting myself in multiple places more and more often. Until I was doing it every day, then several times a day. But the Ultimate Leader sees everything and he didn't really appreciate my new hobby. He didn't agree with my idea of life. Not at all! He said that it was not worthy of an angel and that I had to pull myself together. At that time, I still wanted to be an angel. I didn't want to become a fallen one. I had obviously heard of Azazel, as had all my people. I knew that others had suffered the same fate. However, we didn't know what happened to the Fallen once they were stranded on Earth. I was not ready to leave the Other World. So I made a solemn promise not to harm myself again as long as I had the status of an angel. This promise was harder to keep than I thought. The Ultimate Leader had given me more protégés than usual to keep my mind occupied. He had not understood that it was the screams of my protégés in my head that threatened to drive me mad! I was becoming irascible and dangerous. Until one day I had to intervene to prevent the death of one of my protégés. I threw myself in front of him, and the sword blow that was intended for him went right through my abdomen. What happiness I felt! Behind the pain, there was only me. It was my pain. From that day on, I did everything to put myself in danger. I preferred to fight with swords, sabres and other weapons of all kinds as long as they had a blade, and I only used my power as a last resort. In this way, my opponents had time to inflict wounds on me before I finished them off. I had found a way to keep my promise and at the same time get back what I had missed so much. Of course, the Ultimate Leader was not fooled for long. He gave me an ultimatum: life as an angel with no emotions of my own, or life as a fallen one. I chose decay. I couldn’t go on fooling myself. I landed on Azazel's doorstep, my brain on fire from the pressure of all the locals. He began by teaching me to close my mind to the emotions of others. What a relief it was the first time I did it! However, I had resumed my bad habits. I was cutting myself several times a day. Azazel didn't say anything even though he knew it. One day he took me to this small, colourful place where a stranger with coloured skin was waiting for me. I got my first tattoo and was ecstatic. Finally. I became addicted to this sensation, a mixture of pain and joy, and what's more, I kept a record of it. The idea then arose to make it my profession. I learned the job from the very man who was carving his work into my flesh, and here I am, in my own living room. Being a fallen man brought me redemption, being a tattoo artist, a purpose in life. I sit on the leather seat that creaks under my weight. I caress my dermograph like I would caress a woman. It is the extension of my arm, the love of my life, even if I hope, like Baraqiel, to meet the one who will make my heart beat. Although. When I think of Azazel's behaviour tonight, I hope to be a fool myself the day I fall in love. I light the torch and approach the flame to my forearm without hesitation. I want to leave a reminder of my brother on me, to remind me not to follow his example. Only I have no more room. So I burn my flesh to make the intricate patterns disappear. I can't help but smile under the crackling heat. The smell of burning flesh bothers me a little, but never mind. I turn off the gas and watch the skin gradually reform, leaving no trace of charred flesh. It's as if nothing had happened, except that all the ink has disappeared. Once the skin is completely smooth, I grab my dermograph and the various inks, turn it on, and begin to stitch myself into an intricate web, much like Azazel and Mallory's relationship.

Chapter 4
Alexa

The fog finally lifts. After floating for an eternity in this white cottony space with its distant voices, the curtain is torn for the first time. The very first time. I have the strange sensation of my body, heavy as lead, resting on a soft surface. Regular beeps strike my now sensitive ears. It's so strange to hear, to really hear. I feel as if I have only heard whispers for so long! I hear Diego's voice beside me. His sadness pierces my sleepiness.

- It's time to get used to the idea, Mr Epalino. Miss Rezi is in a Glasgow Coma Scale 3. We have seen no improvement since her arrival on the ward. Her body is functioning physiologically with the help of machines, but otherwise there is no hope. It is time to consider letting her go.

- No, it's not.

Someone sighs. The doctor, no doubt.

- She could save many lives if you would agree to donate her organs.

Diego is now angry.

- She's still out there somewhere. You said it yourself the other day, her brain is intact.

- She could have a lot of after-effects.

- Then I'll take care of her. I know she'll be fine. I can feel it. She's still here and I would fight for her to the end. You don't know her. She's not about to give up.

The voice answering him is obviously angry.

- As you wish. You're paying for it after all.

My friend didn't let me down. He fought with me, for me. For how long? I don't know. I don't remember anything. My eyes open reflexively, without me having operated them.

- Alex?

I would like to answer him. However, I'm not really here. Not quite. I can feel it. I feel as if I am trapped in my mind, on the surface of my consciousness, unable to take the last step back to him. I can't even see my friend despite my raised eyelids.

- Alex. You'll make it. We'll fight together. I will guide you. You'll find your way home.

Home... How long have I been stuck in this place where nothing moves, where everything is frozen? The world kept turning without me. What have I missed?

I am again aware of the passing of time. My eyes open and close at a steady pace. I can tell the difference between day and night by the brightness of the room where I am lying, but also by the presence of Diego. He arrives at first light and only leaves at nightfall. He has put his life on hold to take care of mine. I am so touched... I would like to tell him how much he means to me, but apart from my eyes, nothing works. I have been trapped in this immobile body for two days already. I try with all my might to do... anything that will prove to my friend that he was right to believe. That I haven't abandoned him! Only I can't do it and I'm getting discouraged.

- Hey! Don't cry Alexa. Otherwise I'll get into it too and we'll form a puddle under your bed.

He wipes the water bead on my temple with infinite tenderness, then takes my hand, as he must have done hundreds of times. Suddenly he stands up straight.

- He starts again.

Who is he talking to? I see his face bending over mine. I don't know what he's talking about.

- Shake my hand, baby. Prove to all those doctors that they screwed up.

I concentrate on getting what little energy I have left into my fingers. I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere. Frustration swells in my chest. Frustration and anger. Plus, the ventilator in my trachea is bothering me and hurting.

- That's it Alex, keep going.

He reaches over my bed to press a button.

- You've finally found your way home.

I hear a door creak open.

- Something wrong, Mr. Epalino?

- No, it's not. No, on the contrary.

Diego is overexcited. He speaks quickly, with enthusiasm.

- She moved her fingers.

- I know you want to see your friend come out of her coma. The fact that Miss Rezi has opened her eyes is encouraging, but...

- Look, look, look, look, look! Her index finger is moving!

The nurse walks around my bed to see what Diego has said. She notices that I am following her with my eyes. I don't miss a thing of her movements.

- Miss Rezi? Can you hear me?

Oh yes, I hear her. I hear her and understand her. I am more lucid than ever. As I am unable to answer her, I blink to let her know that I have understood her request.

- That's fine, miss. Shake my hand now.

I do so. At least, I think so. Diego doesn't let go of me and I see moisture in his eyes. I feel that he is very moved. I think that deep down he had lost hope. He just didn't want to give up. Like me, perseverance runs through his veins. I look back at the nurse as she speaks again.

- I'm going to remove the intubation that is compressing your windpipe. You're having trouble breathing, but that's just because your lungs are fighting the machine. You should be able to talk in a short while. Above all, don't strain your vocal cords. They are rusty and will be painful.

I've been fully awake for a week. The doctors say I am a miracle worker. After going through all the phases of wakefulness that follow a coma, from eyes opening at the first voluntary word, I had to come to terms with the fact that I would never be the same again. How could I when I spent six months of my life in a hospital bed, unconscious of everything? Six months. Half a year. All that time wasted on a race. I would run to the police station to report the driver who caused the accident, but I can't walk. Nor am I able to stand up. Or eat alone. Frustration has become my daily lot. I thought I had done the hard part when I came out of the coma. I soon realised that this was only the beginning of the battle. A war against myself. I still have to do everything. I have to relearn everything. By a stroke of luck that the medical professionals can't explain, I haven't lost any of my thinking skills, my speech and my memories. The fractures from which I suffered have consolidated. My motor skills, on the other hand, are at a standstill. My muscles have melted, my reflexes have disappeared. I am starting from scratch. From less than zero, even. A child can walk at birth. I had forgotten how to do it. I had to accept the fact that my body no longer responded to me and that I needed help. This was not without difficulty. The conversation with Diego was stormy. He had to shake me to get me to admit it. I can be so stubborn! Some things haven't changed.

- Do you realise how lucky you are, Alex? You survived! Most people would have died, or just as well, in your place. So now you're going to get off your ass and do your physio so you can get out of this bed!

- That's just it, I can't move my ass! I'm pissing my pants and there's nothing I can do about it!

- You... what?

I started crying uncontrollably. What a shame! I couldn't even control my bladder! I started sobbing as I spoke.

- I peed on myself.

I had released all the tension that had been in me since I woke up, all the dreams I had lost, all the regrets about my stupid behaviour before the accident. Finally I understood my friend's words. He didn't run anymore because he wanted to live. He too had had a serious accident which had made him realise that life is precious and that you must not burn it at both ends. I was there too. Diego took me in his arms and rubbed my back until my tears dried up. That evening I accepted my transfer to a specialised institution and the real ordeal began.

I am swimming! Whereas I have past the stage of rehab in the pool. I am wading in my own sweat. I'm shaking, clenching my teeth until my molar pops out and I'm persevering.

- Keep going Alexa. You're doing great.

With my coach's encouragement, I move forward, one awkward step after another, my arms stretched to the limit. One of my instruments of torture for the past two months. Two months of intense physical suffering. I could say I regret it, but I don't. My efforts are finally paying off. After a phase of paralysis of all four limbs from which I thought I would never get out, the rehabilitation in the water and the passive physiotherapy sessions have worked miracles. My arms finally follow my orders. I bend and unfold them at will without difficulty, whenever I want. My legs... they'll come, with practice and a good dose of willpower. I won't give up. I won't feel sorry for myself anymore. If I'm going to be a stubborn bastard, I might as well use it for a good cause.

- Alexa? You're over the moon again. Isn't Diego supposed to be coming? He'll be waiting for you if you don't hurry up.

Diego... he's the best friend anyone could have. He's put up with everything, from my crying spells to my tantrums. He got me back on track, he carried me at arm's length, physically and morally, and with the agreement of my great physiotherapist Sarah, he is going to allow me to leave the centre. I am finally going home. Finally, to his home. Our home. In short, it's complicated. I make a final effort to take my last step before collapsing into Sarah's arms, who was waiting for me at the end. She hiccups under my weight, but supports me with strength. I didn't think I'd dropped heavily though. However, I feel as if I have hurt her.

- Sorry, Sarah.

- No problem.

We pivot together and I land gently in my wheelchair, my second best friend. It took some getting used to. Nevertheless, it gave me my freedom and compensated for the weakness in my legs so I adopted it without too much fuss as soon as my arms recovered from their long sleep.

- It's great Alexa. You're recovering at an amazing rate.

I smile at the physio with all my teeth. I'm proud of my progress and obviously she is too. I have to say that since I have been receiving treatment for my spasticity, my movements are much more coordinated. The absence of involuntary muscle contractions has allowed me to regain control of my muscles, and the daily exercises have allowed me to build them up. I've got my biceps back! Eating has also helped me, and I have an excellent appetite, although I have been prone to nausea lately. Nothing serious, but it is annoying. The doctors think it's a reaction to the exercises. I've been working hard and my body has become unaccustomed to it. It is rebelling against this sudden change in condition.

- How is the most beautiful one today?

I swivel around in my carriage to find a smiling Diego.

- In great shape. Ready to get out of here.

- So here we go. We get your stuff and we go home.

I don't have to be told twice.

Diego's place is overrun with my stuff. Literally. My paintings are on the walls, my sofa is next to his and my coffee pot is still smoking from the coffee that was just poured. It's strange to feel at home in a strange place. But that's exactly what it is. He's made a perfect blend of our two worlds into one, like a couple settling in.

- Is the flat all right for you?

- I don't intend to be difficult. You're already nice to have me here.

- I'm sorry I couldn't keep your flat.

- We've already spoken about this, Diego. It's all right.

How can I blame my friend? He took care of everything! He paid my rent for the first month, only I didn't wake up and the hospital bills started to fall. He chose my health over my house and I thank him for that. And I don't mind living with him. He's the one who's going to regret it when I have to call him in the middle of the night because I have to go to the bathroom.

- Make yourself at home, sweetheart. Your room is right next to mine.

Hm. I've slept enough as it is. It's time to tackle a thorny issue I've put off for too long.

- It's time to talk to the police.

Diego opens his eyes wide. We haven't discussed this before. I think he wanted to give me time. Now I'm ready.