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When he first saw the winged creature in his dreams, he’d have sworn it was an Angel.
The irony pained him. All his life, he’d longed for a guardian to guide him forward, but none had appeared. Until now.
You’re too late! He wanted to scream. I’ve needed you all this time, and it’s only now when you show up!
When it had offered him something better, promised a future and a path forward, he’d laughed in its face.
Why? He had asked. Why now?
And the creature had the audacity to apologise. To say it was sorry that he’d experienced hardship and mistreatment, but now that it was here, things would look up. All he had to do was trust in it, to give fully and live vicariously. He knew that it had to be lying. It was impossible for anything or anyone to have that power, let alone the intention to genuinely help. Still, he found himself caught within its web. A single moment of weakness, a flicker of doubt, and it had pounced.
His humanity had been torn away from him as quick as a candle being extinguished. He noticed the changes immediately, the instant he’d woken. His fingers had prickled, dark grey eating at his pale skin and altering something intrinsically him. Something that h knew he’d never get back.
The man sitting, a little lost, on his couch, had been of little concern. The newly named II didn’t trust him. For what reason did he have to trust the emissary of the Angel he’d been cursed to follow? II no longer held the wicked kitchen-knife, now sitting on the table beside him, but it was close enough to grab in an instant. The way the man’s eyes had cautiously flicked between it and him had sparked pride within II’s chest, and he had to push down the smile that threatened to pull at his lips.
“I recognise you,” they’d said at the same time, when the man had stepped, uninvited into his flat. II swore he’d locked that door. Yet somehow, this Vessel had waltzed right in. But II’s head was full of cotton, a warmth that’d usually be pleasant lighting up his body. He hadn’t planned to get drunk. One beer became two, then three, then four, until his swirling stomach became an apt distraction from the horror he’d been shown by the Angel within his dreams.
He’d never forget it, not for as long as he’d live. Not the soul-wrenching agony, or the sound of tearing metal and snapping bones. Not the flashes of crimson and cream as the man in front of him died. Just like that. He was there one moment, driving alone across an isolated bend. The next, his car was smoking in a ditch, and he was gone.
That wasn’t the worst part by far, but he’d pushed it far out of his thoughts, into another box, for another day.
The Angel told him that he’d be approached by another. My First, it said. II had curled up his lip, unconvinced and far more afraid than he’d ever admit.
“It said you’d come find me,” II confessed, and it seemed, miraculously, for once, that the Angel was telling the clear-cut truth.
“Sleep,” the man had corrected him, far too incessant. II wasn’t sober enough to conjure up an appropriate response.
“Sleep,” he echoed wearily, taking another deep draught of his drink. He knew the name of his Angel, now. Though, was it really his, if this man had the same one? II’s head pounded, and he scrunched his eyes shut. He barely registered the presence of his cat, unwavering and loyal, purring on his lap.
Eventually, though, through the ache in his skull, II spoke.
“You’re not human anymore, you know that?” His tone was dry and bland. It would have been so easy to imagine he was talking about the weather or a particularly boring date. But there was conviction behind his words, a harsh glint in his eye that spoke of utter certainty. Did this man's resurrection mean he was an angel, too? Would he sprout wings and speak in tongues, calling II to a new cause? II scowled. “You can’t be, after what it did to you,” he continued. “You should be dead . But you’re not. I couldn’t believe it.” He laughed, a joyless sound. Faintly, through the haze of fear and alcohol, he had registered he was deep in the pit of denial.
It wasn’t until Vessel spoke that the broiling pot of emotions within him instead softened to a simmer. II listened. The man truly believed what he was saying, that this Angel had saved him, helped him. II had seen the horror that was his death, and his words resonated with him more than he’d ever admit.
“They showed me my future if I accepted them,” Vessel had said, voice steady and unwavering. “A good life. A better life than the fucking repetitive slump I’ve been living in. A better ending than dying in a ditch somewhere, without anyone to remember me.”
And for a moment, there had been silence.
“Okay,” II had finally said. “Alrigh’.”
For a brief, naive moment, he had allowed himself to believe that perhaps the Angel was telling the truth. That things would be fine, if he went with its Vessel.
If only things had been so simple.
The roaring miasma that had erupted from Vessel, wreathing his limbs and transforming his body struck bone-deep fear into II. He floundered, grasping for the knife, but the shadows pushed him back until he was pressed against the couch. White eyes opened from underneath the Angel’s cowl. One pair, then two, then three.
I’m going to die, he thought. This is no Angel.
And then the creature spoke. The words roared in II’s ears, the hand that reached to cradle his face icy-cold and menacing. It dragged a finger across his cheek, purring dark, lucious promises, and II had been paralysed. Something had drawn him in. Maybe it was the promise of something better, standing bright and beautiful against the gloom that was his life. Maybe it was the desire to be better, to be greater . Maybe it was the need for companionship, in one way or another, with the Vessel that floated, transformed before him.
The Angel saw the lapse in his conviction, and it was then that it struck.
II died.
He was reborn an Angel, a Vessel of Sleep, with piercing eyes and slate-grey skin, and too-keen senses that sent his head spiralling.
But he was not alone.
There was it’s First, Vessel. Anxious, naive Vessel, with a heart of gold and a silver voice. He was patient, more patient that II deserved. He taught him songs, and when he did, II caught a glimpse into his innermost thoughts and inspirations. II didn’t deserve it. He knew that as surely as the sun rose in the morning and set at night. But slowly, his guard had begun to lower.
II’s cat, Ruby, helped. Vessel never said it outright, but II knew he loved her almost as much as he did. II’s drumming did, too. He was good, and he knew it. His shitty old bandmates never treated him with the respect he deserved, but Vessel did. Vessel praised his drumming, tried to cook him food, laughed at his dry jokes: it was refreshing. Vessel, II thought, truly was an Angel, regardless of Sleep’s meddling.
They sat together on the veranda during the balmy evenings, eating fish and chips as the swallows soared across the sky.
“Y’know,” Vessel had said one night, as the roaring sun dipped beneath the dark line of the forest.
“I’m glad you’re the one here with me, II-” he paused, considering his words. “-if that makes sense. I’m glad I’m not alone in all this. I’m glad it’s you.” He smiled, awkward and all teeth. It set II’s heart pounding. “Thank you,” Vessel finished, and all II could do was smile.
It took just under two weeks for II to settle into Vessel’s presence, and the easy routine they’d established.
It took another week for II to realise he was in far too deep , with no way out.