Free Few Are Angels by Inger Iversen Page A

walking distance. I didn’t have my car, but we planned to pick it up after the holidays. Sarah thought that it would be a good idea if I walked to work and got rides home from Mr. Knope. “And we bought you that new snow gear, so I think it will be okay for now,” she added confidently.
    I didn’t care either way, as long as we got my car back soon. A few weeks of walking would do me some good. I’d gained a few pounds in the last months from sitting around doing nothing all day. “Okay, that’s good, I guess.”
    Sarah left, and I paced the floor, hoping that deep breathing would help. I shook my head to rid myself of the fog that crept into my sight, but that didn't help, either. The last thing I remembered was making my way to the bed so that I wouldn’t crack my skull open on the hardwood floor.
    I open my eyes in a small room with a makeshift bed and a chair in the corner. I walk to the bed and take a seat. The bed is soft, and every now and then a feather comes loose and floats carelessly in the air. On the pillow, a dull yellow piece of parchment paper catches my attention, and I pick it up.
    Hélène
    Je renverrai sous peu Mon amour.
    J'apporterai l'eau et plus d'approvisionnements, bientôt nous serons libres du prince foncé I la jurons à vous!
    Votre coeur et âme Kale
    I only took one year of French in high school, but I can still translate the note from Kale. He is going for more supplies and will return soon. My heart flutters. My body heats at the thought of his touch. I know that this is the Kale that I met last night, but in this hallucination, he is someone I love and who loves me. He writes that he is my heart and love, and reading those words makes my heart melt and flow through my body—fast and hard—like blood through my veins. When will he arrive? Will he have the same icy tone with this Hélène as he does with me? I need to figure out who this Hélène woman is, and why I am reading her letter. My confusion causes conflict with the waves of joy I feel from Hélène as we dance around this small room, dreaming of Kale.
    I accept that this is a hallucination of Hélène, and that she and I are the same person here. My eagerness for Kale grows as we spin and turn, full of happiness and anticipation. I can feel the soft cotton as it hugs Hélène’s figure tightly. The cool dirt floor nestles between my toes as I dig them into the earth for balance, and I can smell the warm smell of baking bread in the room above us. Normally, I fight the vision, because the longer they last, the longer the after-effects and sickness remain. Now, I fight to stay in the vision because I want to see Kale. In my heart, I know that he will greet Hélène with a kiss, and I want to feel his cool lips against my own.
    As Hélène and I settle down, she makes her way to a bucket against the wall. She cleans her face, hands, and feet, and I wonder in what year this vision takes place. There is neither running water, nor a proper kitchen in which to cook. I decide to settle into Hélène’s mind and wait for Kale to return, but I am rocked with sudden dread, and it is Hélène’s fear, not my own. It’s powerful enough to demand all of my attention. The sounds of several footsteps trample above our head, and Hélène moves to the door incredibly fast to check the locks. She runs to the back of the room, and I can feel her growing sense of terror as though it is choking me. I do all I can to hold onto this vision. Muffled words and fearful voices rumble above our head. Hélène knows what is going on—the Dark Prince’s men have come for her. Hélène looks around the room for a weapon, but finds nothing.
    “Là où est elle?” demands a strong voice. He wants to know where Hélène is, and she knows well that the questioned person will comply to save their own life. We hear a muffled reply followed by the sounds of booted feet closing in on us. I feel her terror change to sorrow as the door bursts open, leaving