Read Online Proof of Angels by Mary Curran Hackett - Free Book Online

It defies logic. But you do. It beats the alternative: being swallowed and digested. Believe me. But the moment is so fleeting that most people miss it. They miss the subtlety of it. Every good surfer knows what to do when that moment comes. And once that moment passes, there is no going back. What is done is done. Sink or soar. The moment whenthe wave meets the board, wraps itself around it, and invites it to come in. One hesitation—even the smallest gesture at all of unwillingness—will let the wave know that you’re not ready. It’s all or nothing with the wave . She wants you all in, man. So you need to find that perfect moment between the rise and the fall. Right there; that’s where you’ll find it .
    Sean felt the moment. It swelled. Expanded. Not just the wave, but time. Sean could see the tip of his board, and could feel the speed and force building below him. He could feel her—this wave—pushing him toward the light and making her way toward the shore as he glided through.
    Sean could feel its perfection. What a ride . And it was glorious. The morning sun from the east illuminated the white foam crashing outside the crest so it appeared as if a halo of sacred water surrounded him. His hands felt the coolness as the wall of water enveloped him. He was whole and perfect. Alive. For the first time, he thought, if only for a second, he wasn’t missing his moment.
    The moment was his. This is life. This is life. This is all I need . “Yes!” he shouted.
    â€œYes!”
    But Sean looked back and the water was turning colors behind him. It was no longer blue. Behind him a swirl of orange and red was chasing him. He looked down and saw the flesh on his hands burning, turning black before his eyes, the flesh melting and dripping off the bone. He was touching fire. He heard cries outside the flames. Everyone on shore and in the water was screaming at him to get out.
    Just get out .
    Sean’s legs buckled. The pain was extraordinary. He feltit all the way up his spine, where it settled in the base of his neck. He fell off his board and continued to fall and fall and fall. There seemed to be no end to it.
    Until there was.
    Sean jolted awake in the dark room. He looked at his hands, wrapped, secure, and burned; and, he was sure, still disfigured underneath the bandages. He felt the throbbing ache in his head and looked around at the four walls surrounding him, closing in on him with each passing second. He pushed his morphine button. Though he knew only one dose was allowed and nothing more would come out even if he tried, he pushed it again. Like the addict he was and would forever be, even if he never had another drop to drink or popped another pill, he would always be chased by it. He knew this. And he, too, would always be chasing it. The moment. The aw, man. The yes, yes, it-could-always-be-like-this moment . He pushed the button again and again and again and again and again—hoping to chase that ephemeral and intangible moment before the sobering burn set in.

Chapter 8
    G ASPAR TURNED THE KEY , ENTERED S EAN ’ S APARTMENT , and dropped his bag by the door. It had all gone wrong. Cathleen had asked him to do one thing: convince her brother to come home. And all Gaspar managed to do within a few hours of landing in Los Angeles was to get kicked out of Sean’s hospital room. Her request was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.
    Thirsty and hungry, Gaspar headed straight for the kitchenette that opened into the small living space. He opened the refrigerator and was instantly assaulted by the fetid smell of rotten meat. Not one person , Gaspar thought, had the sense to come here and take care of Sean’s place . Take out the trash, pick up the mail . “What if he had a pet?” Gaspar wondered aloud how one could become so isolated, so removed from others that they didn’t have anyone to sort their mail, clean their fridge, and take out