Too Many Questions

Narrator: Rosie

I pulled my hood over my head, so that nobody recognized me.

"Good thinking," Matt commented, as he lead me through a catwalk between two suburban streets.

I assumed he was leading me back out to the main street, without passing the scene of the incident.  "This happened to you?" I asked.

"Something similar. They paid off the media."

"They?" I asked, though I had a feeling it was Anavex.

"Anavex," he confirmed. "And it will happen again. Twice more. We need to be there first."

"How do you know this? And what makes you think God has anything to do with this?" I asked. I'd been raised a Christian, kinda, but I wasn't even a believer. I had so many questions though. "I'm sorry," I told him. "Too many questions."

"It's to be expected," he told me, as his pace accelerated.

I jogged to catch up.

"It has something to do with ancient theories of alchemy. One for each of the four elements. Something like that," he muttered, as I made long strides beside him.

I let it rest for a minute. That minute became two minutes. And then three. All the while, he kept leading us on past cookie-cutter houses, a schoolyard with a park, and then a recreation centre.

"Where are you getting this information from?" I asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Matt.

"Err... you project a lack of energy from your hands, sucking the humidity out of the air and condensing it at icy cold temperatures," I pointed out, remembering the crisp dry air I'd felt when he'd shown off his power. "And I'm a human flamethrower. Heat. Fire. Pressure. What can be harder to believe than any of that?" I was distraught by his guarded nature. "Do you not trust me?"

He smiled. "I trust you. But I doubt you'll trust me. You probably already think I'm a Bible-humping Jesus-freak."

I stopped in my tracks, "Is that so bad?"

We were one walkway away from a street corner where I knew to expect a stairway down into the subway. I suspected that was the escape he was heading for.

He spun around, and grabbed me by the arm. Goosebumps caressed through my shirt and up my sleeve. "Do you dream at night? Regularly?"

"I've scarcely had any dreams since I was a child," I admitted. "I mean, I know I'm having them, but I can never remember them when I wake up."

"Well," he went on, "the dreams I've been dreaming, since before this has happened, most of them aren't dreams. Not like we think of them. Too vivid. Too real."

"What's in them?" I asked him, my eyes catching on the sway of his jeans ahead of me.

Matt turned his head to the side. There was something wistful about his expression. For a moment, he seemed sculpted. A single word fell from his lips, "Gabriel."

I raised one eyebrow. That wasn't enough of an answer. "Gabriel? As in the--"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, deeply flustered. "The angel, Gabriel from the New Testament. Speaking to me in plain English!"

I gulped. "I can see how that would be... hard to expect me to... b-believe."

We made our way through the walkway, and he nearly dove toward the shelter of the underground subway station. I followed him as he rushed down the steps, one hand fiddling in his pocket for a token.

The End

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