“A sister is a gift to the heart, a friend to the spirit, a golden thread to the meaning of life.” -Isadora James

Christa

Christa woke in the middle of the night to hear gentle rain falling on the tiled roof. Low rumbles of thunder gently rattled the windowpane. A sliver of moon hung in the sky and shone through the window above her. It was long before dawn. One star stood sentinel near the moon. She snuggled under the covers and gazed at the moon, waiting for sleep to return. 

Her angel stood nearby, watching her as he had since her birth.  He noted that Christa had been restless in the night, tossing and turning, unable to allow her mind to rest. He knew the dread of her ex, out in the night, weighed on her, as well as her children’s pain over the loss of their puppy. 

The angel directed soothing energy toward Christa. As the comforting warmth enveloped her, she sighed deeply, and her body relaxed. In moments, she fell into a peaceful slumber. As her mind eased, her angel gently stepped into her dreams.

Once again, Christa found herself in the same forest where she had encountered the bear in her nightmare almost a year before. Through the trees, she saw a small cabin. Wisps of smoke curled from the stone chimney. Christa stopped and studied the cabin. It began to rain, and the cold raindrops on her skin made her shiver. 

Christa walked toward the cabin and slowly opened the door. Her hand flew to her throat, and she gasped.

A man sat in a chair near a table by the fire. It was the same man as in the first dream. He looked up and smiled when he saw her. A large black dog – the same – thumped its tail on the floor but didn’t get up. Christa paused in the doorway, taking a deep, steadying breath. The man’s proximity overwhelmed her, but she didn’t feel threatened by him. The familiar place, the dog’s presence, and the man’s reassuring smile all contributed to a sense of security that washed over her. In this space, she sensed, there was nothing but love.

The man looked exactly as he had before. Tawny hair curled around his ears. Piercing crystal-green eyes gently met her stare. He gestured for Christa to take a seat. Christa hesitated, then took the only other seat by the fire. She was still shivering but felt immediately comforted by the fire’s warmth. Rain pattered on the roof, and gentle thunder rattled the windows, creating a soothing symphony. 

“I know you,” Christa said.

The angel smiled.

“Are you…?” Christa stopped and looked around. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

The angel nodded and smiled at her. He turned to the table beside him and poured Christa a cup of tea. She took the cup from his hand. It was warm but not too hot as she sipped it. He had given her tea in the first dream as well.

“Who are you?” Christa asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and trepidation. The angel, his smile enigmatic, sipped his tea. Christa followed suit, and the familiar taste of rainwater, mint, and something citrusy soothed her senses. After a moment, he spoke.

“I am your guardian,” the man said. When she nodded, he went on. “I am only permitted to come to you in dreams. Most often, these are dreams you do not remember.” His voice was low and soothing.

Christa stared at him, then asked, “My guardian?” He smiled and nodded. “So, you’re – what – an angel or something?” She laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

“Yes, though not in the way you may think. Angels are simply messengers or guardians. I was assigned to you at birth to watch over you and to send you messages when you need them,” he said.

“At birth?” Christa blinked at him. “Have you always been with me?” she asked.

He nodded again.

“Does every person have a…a, um, angel?” she asked.

The angel shook his head. “Some do, but not all. It is a decision made before you return,” he said.

“Before I return?” Christa put her cup down and sat up straight, staring at him. “Do you mean, like, reincarnation? That I decided to be born as a human again and that I wanted an angel with me – you?”

He chuckled. “Your life – and afterlife — is a series of choices. This is your free will, and you always have it. Before you came to earth, you determined the lessons you wanted to learn. Some lessons, such as the ones you chose, require help. I am that help. The life you are living now is your predestined life, designed by you.”

Christa was quiet, trying to absorb what he had said.  After a moment, she asked, “So, basically, you’re saying I designed my…curriculum for what…Earth School?”

He smiled and nodded.

“Yes,” he answered. “You asked for difficult life lessons. Think of it as taking many AP courses, like the ones Gabby is in. Since you chose difficult lessons on earth, you had a choice of asking for a guardian.”

“Difficult lessons. You mean, like Jev?”

He sighed and nodded again. “And others.”

Christa hugged herself, remembering a “lesson” she had never told anyone about. “You mean, the one from when I was little?”

“Yes,” said the angel.

“And you’re here to help me?”

“Only through dreams or with light messages when you are awake.”

“Light messages?” asked Christa.  “Oh, the warmth I sometimes feel — that’s you?”

“That’s all of us. I’m simply directing it,” he answered.

“All of us?” asked Christa, confused.

“We are all beings of light. Every living being, every angel, and our light flows together and is always accessible. I merely tap into it and direct it toward you.”

“But you cannot physically interact with me or the world, is that right?” asked Christa.

“Yes,” said the angel.  He looked sad.  He drank more tea.

Christa picked up her cup and sipped again, lost in thought. She was wildly curious about him now, but what he had told her made her head spin. Did he design this …person…vessel? Or…did someone else…design him? she wondered.  And could this all be fiction I’m writing in my head? That seemed more likely.

Christa watched him sipping his tea. After a moment, she asked, “Did you taste that tea? Also, did you choose the form I’m seeing now?” She had to know, even though it felt slightly rude to ask.

The angel chuckled. “As for your first question, I can…imagine what tea tastes like. To answer your second question, I created this vessel for our minds, but it does not exist in the physical world. That would take all my power. In any case, it is forbidden.”

“By whom?” asked Christa. “God? Gods?”

“The Good,” said the angel, smiling. “It is forbidden because it would be breaking an agreement. It is a binding agreement among us all, and the Good overseas it.”

“The Good?” asked Christa.

“The Good is…” He stopped, searching for words.

Christa sipped her tea. She could taste it and feel her own body. She rubbed her arms. She noticed she was wearing her favorite tee shirt, jeans, and sneakers—the same ones she wore every Saturday for chores.

“The Good is the original light,” said the angel after a moment. He shrugged and chuckled. “I do not have the words to describe it.”

“Well, is there a benign being or boss — a creator or something?” asked Christa.

“Yes,” said the angel.  He smiled at her.  “And no.”

“Pfft!” Christa frowned at him. “Riddles.”

“I am sorry,” said the angel. He smiled at her and went on. “There is only so much I can tell you with words. The rest is…far more complex.  You can think of the Good as a force not unlike the love you feel for your children. It is Love that is fierce, protective, and all-encompassing. That is the nature of the energy – the Love – that binds all of us.”

“So, the Good is like a parent?” asked Christa.

“Yes, much like that. And we are all part of that. And we can always tap into that powerful force, which is how I am creating this dream.” 

Her angel stopped a moment, and his face clouded.

“What is it?” asked Christa.

“He is near,” said the angel. “The dark one.”

Christa’s eyes went wide. The rain outside intensified, and thunder crashed. The storm was coming closer.  She shivered, put down her teacup, and wrapped her arms around her body.

“He will try to hurt you again,” her angel said. You must always be on guard.”  He reached across the table, took Christa’s hand, and squeezed it gently. As he looked into her eyes, his expression was serious. “Always.” He quickly released his hand and sat back.

Christa’s throat closed in fear, and she couldn’t speak for a moment. Finally, she nodded.

“I will be with you. I am always with you,” he said. “I cannot intervene, but I can try to warn you if I sense trouble.”

“How do you warn me?” Christa whispered the question.

“When I send light, you sense warmth, you said?” asked the angel.

“Yes,” said Christa. “All over, like a warm bath.”

“When I want to warn you, I send different energy. It is also light, but it has urgency inside it, like a mild electric shock instead of a warmth.”

“So, it’s like, when all the hair on my body stands on end?” Christa asked.

 “Yes. Pay attention to that,” he said.

Christa was quiet for a moment. The fire crackled quietly. The big dog yawned suddenly, startling her. She had forgotten he was there.  He looked at the man, chuffed, yawned again, then put his head on his paws and closed his eyes.

“Can you see the future?” Christa asked. She realized she knew so little about this…being and wanted to know more.

“No,” said her angel. “I can see the path you have chosen and the lessons you wish to learn, but I do not know your choices. Every choice you make changes your path.”

“Every choice?” asked Christa.

“Think of it as choosing between light and darkness,” said her angel. He smiled at her, and his eyes were warm. “You almost always choose the path of light, of love, Christa,” he said.

She blushed. To think this beautiful being had watched over her all her life. 

“Hey, wait a second. Do you watch me always, like when I’m…I don’t know, in the bathroom or dressing or…”?

He shook his head. “I see your soul, not your physical form. In this dream, I can see the physical form you have chosen, but in the world, I see your soul. Your soul changes color depending on what you are feeling or thinking. Did you know that? I can read you easily because of that. You are an endless rainbow of color.” He smiled.

“That’s – wow. So, I’m like a giant mood ring?” Christa laughed.

“Your soul is much more beautiful and complex than a mood ring,” said the angel. He chuckled and then sighed. “I must leave you,” he said. He stood up. “I have overtaxed myself, and I need to rest.”

Christa stood, too. On impulse, she went to him and hugged him. He didn’t move at first, but then he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. It was like being held by the forest — earthy, clean, and warm.

She closed her eyes and relaxed against him.  When she opened her eyes again, she was in her own bed.

Saturday was a busy day. Christa made the shopping list, and Christa’s sister Rachelle made her own so she could join her. Richard, Rachelle’s husband, offered to hang out with the kids while they were gone. Miles still had to finish his book report. Harry had his small Saturday chores to finish, and it was Gabby’s turn to sweep the living room. Christa would do the bathroom and kitchen floors when she returned from shopping. She loved weekends with the children. She was so grateful to finally have a home free of fear and violence.

Later at the supermarket, Rachelle asked, “How are you hon?”

Christa looked up from examining the lemons. “Hmm?”

“You seem a little preoccupied.”

“Oh,” said Christa, “sorry. I had a strange dream last night.”  She frowned and tried to remember it.

“Oh? A sexy dream? Or was it clowns? I hate clown dreams.” Her sister shuddered.

Christa burst out laughing.

“Nothing like that.” Christa grinned at her sister.  “It was a pleasant dream. I went to a place I’ve been before in another dream. It’s a small cabin in the woods. Inside, there was a big black dog and…”

“The Grim!” teased her sister.

Christa smiled. “Just a dog. There was a man…”

“Oh, ho! So, it was a sexy dream,” Rachelle said. She picked up a cucumber, shook it at Christa, and grinned.

“Stop that!” Christa laughed. “Nah, nothing like that. It was…he was a friend. I think. He was good. Kind. I can’t remember what we talked about. It was raining, and there was thunder.” She frowned, trying to remember.  “There was a cabin with a fireplace. It was very comfortable. We sat at a small table and drank strange but delicious tea.”

“Hmph. Boring.” Her sister put the cucumber in her cart and grabbed a few more.  “So, what did you talk about?” she asked.

“I really can’t remember,” said Christa. “I just felt…loved, you know? Cherished. That’s a better word. I felt cherished.”

“That’s…huh.” Her sister looked at her strangely, smiled then looked away.

“Sis, what is it?” asked Christa.

“You…never told me, you know, about Jev.” Rachelle’s eyes filled with tears. “What he was doing to you all those years.  When did it start, hon? Is it okay that I asked? Can you talk about it?”

Christa shivered and rubbed her arms. She looked at her list and walked to the fruit aisle. Her sister followed.  “Yes, it’s okay. I actually kind of want to talk about it. It started before we were married,” said Christa. She couldn’t look at her sister, so she absently examined the lemons and waited for her to respond.

“God,” said Rachelle. “Why did…?” She stopped.

“Right? Why did I marry him?” asked Christa. 

“I’m not judging you, sweetheart,” said Rachelle.

At that moment, an older woman approached them and pointed at the apples.

“Excuse me,” she said. She smiled.

“Oh, sorry,” said Rachelle. “I’m in your way.”

“No worries, honey,” said the woman.  She smiled again and grabbed a bag of apples. “Enjoy your day.” She looked at Rachelle and then at Christa. “Sisters?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Christa. She didn’t smile. She looked back at her list and turned away from the woman.

“Enjoy your day, too,” said Rachelle. The woman walked away looking a bit put out by Christa’s gruffness.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Rachelle touched Christa’s arm. “You’re safe now.”

“Oh, but I’m not,” exclaimed Christa. Her words were unintentionally sharp. “Sorry, it’s just that none of us are safe, and it’s all my fault. I was needy. I was blind. As stupid as it sounds, I thought he was wounded and that I could…heal him.” She shook her head and made a sound of disgust. “After we were married, it got worse, and then the other women…”

“Oh babe,” said Rachelle. She put her hand on her Christa’s shoulder. “Women? Plural?”

Christa nodded. “Several. When I found out, I wouldn’t allow him near me. I got tested, and I was fine. I guess he used protection.” She made a sound of disgust and started throwing fruit into her cart—bags of oranges and grapefruit—without looking at her list.

“Sweetie, are you planning to make a fruit salad in your pool? That’s a lot of fruit,” said her sister.

“What? Oh!” Christa looked at the cart and laughed. “Weird, I don’t remember doing that.”

“Well, you were telling me about all his…hobbies. That’s probably representative of the number,” she said. She winced. “Sorry.”

Christa laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” She put most of the fruit back. She was quiet for a long time, and they walked through the store, adding items to their carts.

Christa stopped in the dairy section and turned to her sister.  “Rach, I think he hurt some of those women. I remember he got a summons from Atlantic County several years ago for a battery charge, but he told me the woman never showed up at court. They had to drop the charges.”

“That’s strange. I wonder why.” Rachelle frowned. Christa was silent. Rachelle saw the expression on Christa’s face, and her eyes flew open.  “You don’t think he might have…hurt the woman, do you?”

Christa nodded. “That’s exactly what I think, and I don’t think she’s the only one. And when I realized what…he was capable of…if he could do that…I became terrified for the kids. He has never touched them, but he hasn’t minded slapping me around or yelling at me or insulting me in front of them.” She took a deep breath and glanced at her sister.

Rachelle nodded, and there was no trace of judgment on her face. Christa went on.

“After I learned about the others, I wouldn’t allow him to touch me,” Christa said after a moment, “and most of the time, he wasn’t interested. But sometimes, when he was drunk…” She shuddered.

Her sister stared at her. “That bastard,” she said. “I fucking hate him.”

Both sisters stood still, facing each other next to their carts.

Christa nodded, then continued, keeping her voice low. Now that the words were finally coming, she had to finish. “I knew I had to get away. I just didn’t know how. Also, I was ashamed of allowing it to continue for so long. As hard as it is to understand, even for me – part of me still believed he would change.” Christa scowled. “Right up until he beat me into unconsciousness on the floor of our living room.”  She started walking toward the dry goods aisle. “The last time I saw him was when I faced him in court.”

Rachelle followed. “You’re free now,” she said. “Sis, wait.”

Christa stopped and turned. Rachelle walked up to her and hugged her. After a moment, Christa pulled back, wiped her eyes, and laughed. “I’m going to start crying all over the macaroni if we don’t speed this up,” she said. She smiled at her sister, but Rachelle didn’t return the smile.

“Sis, you’re brave, and you’re strong. The cops will catch him. I know they will.” Rachelle chuckled. “But yeah, no crying on the macaroni.”

They continued shopping and soon finished.  As the put the groceries into the car, Christa turned to her sister.

“Thanks for listening,” she said. “I love you.”

“Of course you do,” said Rachelle. “What’s not to love?!” Then she laughed and smiled at Christa. “Me too.”

Jev

Jev listened to the sisters’ exchange from the shadows of the refrigerator rooms behind the produce and dairy sections. He had slept in the woods all night and had followed them from the house to the food store that morning.  

So, he thought she knew about the other women. He balled his fists. And now that stupid cunt told her sister. He felt his rage blossom, engulfing him in a familiar feeling of power. If one sister knows, they all know. Jev began to beat his fists against his thighs. He watched the two women leave the dairy aisle and walk to the store’s interior aisles.

“Can I help you?”  

Startled, Jev turned to see a man in a white uniform holding a clipboard.

“Yeah, where’s the bathroom?” asked Jev. “I thought it was around here.”

“Oh, no problem,” said the man. “It’s right over there.” He pointed toward the exit sign in the back of the store.

Jev strode away from the man without another word, resisting the urge to pummel him into the ground. He needed to vent his anger. He quickly left the store before Christa and her sister could see him. He got into the car he had stolen in Omaha and waited for the sisters to leave the store. A large machete sat on the floor under the passenger’s seat. He opened the glove compartment to see that the Glock was still inside. The gun had been his father’s, and he had taken it after his father’s “accident” before he left his childhood home forever.

Satisfied, Jev nodded. He started the car and drove to a remote part of the parking lot under the shadow of some trees. He could still see Christa’s car from here. He got out and checked the trunk. Rope, duct tape, and his entire kit were safely stored inside, stashed under the spare tire. He never went anywhere without it. He never knew when an opportunity would present itself. The key was to be bold, swift, and ruthless, to take them by surprise. This strategy had never failed him.

Jev got back into the car and opened the window, waiting. As his fingers thrummed the steering wheel, he thought about all the women whose bodies lay in shallow graves along the NJ Turnpike and NJ Parkway from Cape May to Long Beach Island. There were seven. No one knew where they were except Jev. Christa and her sisters would make it an even ten, he decided.  A thought suddenly occurred to him. He would have to wait until all the sisters were alone together. He would need more supplies to be able to subdue all three quickly.

Jev started the car and drove off. Time to go shopping, he thought. He glanced back in time to see the sisters leaving the store, and a slow smile spread across his face.

Chapter 16 Author Note: 

This part of the story is not based solely on Jev’s resemblance to the Soul Eater in my life. Instead, it is based on the true story of a serial killer named Stano, whom my stepsister and I probably met—and escaped from—one summer night in 1974. But that is another story.

Also, the “Jev” in my life did not own a gun. This is based on another abuser to whom I was engaged. I woke in the middle of the night many years ago to find the muzzle of his gun pressed to the side of my head. I survived, obviously, but many did not. That is why the recent SCOTUS ruling upholding the ban on the ownership of firearms by domestic violence offenders is so integral to women’s safety in this country.

One of the reasons it’s taken so long to write this story is that I have difficulty entering these memories and trying to imagine the minds of the people who, together, represent the antagonist in the story. Yet, once I finish each chapter, I feel a sense of relief.

Truly,

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” -Maya Angelou

Feature painting “High Priestess” by Stephanie Pui-Mun Law, Shadowscapes.com

border by niki flow

About “Her Angel”

The first chapter of Her Angel was written almost exactly as it appears in my journal on December 16, 1996.  That was the day Samuel‘s father cleaned out our joint bank accounts and fled the country.  He came back, unfortunately.  That began the descent into “a new kind of hell.”  As I ran from him, from one side of the country to another, fearing he would one day keep the lethal promise he made, I continued to write this story.  This was written from my heart’s most desperate longing, and my friends made me promise to publish it.  This story is 27 chapters.

It’s been almost 30 years, but I’m finally keeping that promise. Eventually, I want to figure out how to make this into an eBook that anyone can download and make printable copies to give to DV shelters. This was the plan from Day 1—to pay forward what was given to us so freely while we searched for sanctuary.

The two people I want to thank the most, however, are Manuel and Rachel M. of Santa Cruz. They took my youngest son and me into their home when I was running from the Jev in my life. They are two of the most beautiful, selfless people I have ever met. I won’t be able to repay their kindness, so I am paying it forward.

With love and gratitude,

Niki Flow

Author Note:

Her Angel is work of fiction only very loosely based on my life.  I began this story in my journal in December 1996 the day after my ex-husband cleaned out our savings and checking and fled the country.  It was just before Christmas, and instead of celebrating the birth of a son who was due on Christmas Eve, I was mourning his death.  Every check bounced so, on top of all the check fees, all my utilities were shut off, like dominoes.  I didn’t have gifts for my three children other than the few I had already purchased.  My mom, my kids’ teachers, our church and the Lady’s Axillary saved us that year though it was very hard for the kids knowing we had to accept charity.  I was grateful, and I always will be.  But yes, it was hard to have been trusted and to have been betrayed.  Writing this story was my way of easing the pain.

I was physically, emotionally, and mentally abused but never to the point of hospitalization until the abuse resulted in the loss of my unborn son, Samuel Christopher, in September 1996 in my 27th week.  Her Angel draws not only from my story but from all the stories of the women I met and listened to over the years in DV shelters, at group sessions, and later when I published my poetry in my guest book.  These were their survivor stories, and I cherished each one.

I know how hard it can be to speak about these things. These brave women also spoke — too often — of the wives of abusers that did not make it, who believed, one last time, he would change. This belief cost them their lives. This series is dedicated with sorrow and prayers to those women and the families who still mourn them.

If you are not safe; if you are being abused; call 1-800-656-HOPE or visit www.RAINN.org to connect to a free, anonymous and immediate counselor who can help you make plans to get safe and free. Do not wait. You deserve a life of safety and freedom from harm.

Her Angel is a 27-chapter story that will be published here and in PDF form on Moonsongs.net. Her Angel and Moonsongs (fka Songs from the Dark Side of the Moon – A Survivor’s Journal) will be free to anyone who is or loves a survivor.