Few Are Angels by Inger Iversen Page A

remorse. It surprised me because he’d been nothing but callous and challenging, but he stood there looking guilty and ashamed.
    “I don’t think you have a disease. It was you who thought I was diseased.” He whispered so softly I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. I’d never met him, so why did he think that I believed he was diseased? His face fell even more at my silence, and I wanted to go over and comfort him, but I was afraid of the rejection I’d face.
    “What? I never said that.” I prayed that he’d believe me. We stayed there in silence for several more minutes before I finally decided that I was going to get more answers from him while he was in a slightly forthcoming mood. “Can I ask you something?"
    He studied me through thick dark lashes and smiled the first real smile I’d seen on him since we’d met. It was beautiful. White teeth sparkled in the light—a perfect contrast to his dark brown eyes. I returned his smile. My heart seemed light in my chest, and I had to catch my breath.
    “I thought we agreed?” he asked, teasing. He moved closer to me. I tried to lie to myself and say that it wasn’t exciting to have him so close so that my face didn’t betray me.
    “We did, but I’m starting to think that this is all in my head.” The look of confusion on his face was priceless. For once, he seemed interested in getting information out of me.
    “What do you mean, all in your head?” He moved even closer.
    My heart galloped, and my face felt warm. My hands shook, but not because of the cold. I needed him closer. I didn't know him well, but everything inside me said there was something familiar between us.
    “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. I’m crazy,” I said unconcernedly as I scooted closer to the wall and made myself comfortable. I waved my hand. “This could all be in my head. You could be a figment of my imagination, a coping method.”
    His eyes were still focused on me, but I couldn’t tell if he was taking me seriously, so I continued talking, the words falling uncontrollably out of my mouth. “I guess I’m lucky. I've never had to have Nurse Laura stick me with a needle. But I wonder if the past two days weren’t some sort of drug-induced dream.” I shuddered.
    “Stick you with a needle?” he asked.
    “Yeah, a needle in the arm for when patients got too unruly. I think it was some anti-psychotic drug that they used. I don’t know. I never had to use them. My hallucinations weren’t so bad then, I guess.” I felt free to confess my secrets, even though he hadn’t done or said anything to suggest I should. I just knew that I could. I wasn’t worried about confused glances or the soft sounds of a pen scratching a note pad. Maybe it was because he couldn’t send me back to Ocean Trace, or perhaps I truly believed that he was only in my mind.
    “Memories,” he said calmly as he moved to sit down beside me. His body gave off no heat, but I felt the jostle of air as scooted a little closer.
    “No, these are hallucinations, and they make me sick—literally and figuratively.” I trembled at the thought of the hallucinations. I was called crazy because of them, and at times, I wanted to believe I was crazy, so at least I could take a step in the direction of getting better. “I started having them after my parents died. I don’t think that they’re just a coping method like the doctor said, because I get physically ill when I have them. I’ve often asked myself if they were something more, but if I am crazy, would my answer be worth anything?”
    He observed me for a moment, then the small creases around his eyes smoothed. “I’m real, and you’re not crazy. Nor do I believe you have a disease.” He placed his hand on mine. It was icy, but I felt a familiar wave of warmth spread across my body.
    “Why have you been so horrible to me?”
    Looking at him, I was positive he saw more than a broken person. There was more to him then he would ever show. It