Angel lay drowsily on his back, his arm around Evelyn who was sleeping at his side. Her head was on his shoulder, her short hair tickling his neck. Her hair smelled of sunshine and her arm was a pleasant weight across his chest. He had never been this close to a girl before, had never even touched one that he could remember, never felt breath on his neck as she slept.
He moved slightly, shifting her head because his shoulder was going to sleep. She stirred and sighed nasally, but did not awaken. Her leg shifted and pressed against his. He felt again that delicious pain in his genitals. He had felt it many times before, but never so strongly. Always it had been there vaguely in the morning, growing pleasantly stronger as the day progressed, but it was always absent after his lost, blank afternoons with Haverstock. Often he had wished it to continue, to grow to greater heights of pleasure/pain, but always, in the afternoon, it receded to begin building again.
The movement near the ceiling had caught his eye some time earlier. He had been watching it without really seeing it. He floated halfway between sleep and wakefulness, confusing dream with reality. Images passed through his mind and vanished, brilliant images that he could no longer remember after they had passed. But the movement near the ceiling was a constant, a movement that did not flicker out of existence as soon as he thought about it. Gradually it drew his attention, dimming the random images.
A net of spun glass, spun thinner than the finest hair, suspended in space, glistening in a shaft of moonlight. The movement was black and quick. It scurried around the silvery net, increasing it geometrically, disappearing into the shadows at the top of the web, then appearing again like a drop of pitch with legs as it rounded the bottom side of the circle.
Angel’s drooping eyelids raised slightly, bringing the spider into focus, giving the movement a name. He watched it go its busy rounds. Around and around and around.
Then it tired, or perhaps thought of something better to do. It descended, dropping toward the floor on a shiny thread. Halting and dropping, halting and dropping, as if unsure of its purpose. A movement of air caught it, swinging it to one side a few inches. It rotated dizzily at the end of the thread.
Angel watched it as it turned and scrambled back up the thread a couple of inches and stopped. Had the movement frightened it? he wondered. The spider swayed again in a longer arc. Are you confused? Angel thought. The spider swung in a circle, its legs motionless, as if it hoped to go unnoticed.
The circular motion stopped. The spider continued to hang motionless, waiting to discover the source of possible danger. Then it cautiously turned, preparing to scurry back up the thread.
Suddenly the spider began bobbing like a weight on an elastic band.
Angel’s drowsy eyelids opened all the way and a frown puckered the bridge of his nose.
The spider bounced violently, its legs scrabbling at the air.
The frown faded from Angel’s face and a smile crept across his lips.
The bobbing spider began to swing in increasing circles.
Angel’s smile flowered into a wide grin.
The spider sailed across the room and was suspended a foot above Angel’s nose, squirming in frustration.
Angel grinned at it.
The spider careened back up toward the ceiling and plopped into the web. It sat for a second without moving, then scrambled upward into the darkness.
Angel eased his arm from beneath Evelyn’s head without waking her and moved quietly from the house. He stood on the edge of the porch and stretched out his arms to the night. His mouth opened in a silent shout.
It was all inside him. It had always been there, but Haverstock had closed the door on it, made him forget how to work the latch. Now he had the door open again, and it was all there. Everything. Flowing in his blood, oozing from his pores, bursting to get out.
Electricity.
Force.
Power.
He ran across the grass, hardly able to contain himself. The fireflies sparkled around him like energy escaping from his own body. He fell to his knees in the snowstorm of light. He plucked a dry grass blade and held it in his cupped hands. He looked at it with eyes like flame. The blade of grass rose from his hands, hovered in the air, and circled him like a minnow swimming in moonlight. He twisted around to watch it, sitting flat on the ground, leaning back on his hands, rotating his thrown-back head. Faster and faster it went, making a thin, dry hum, until it disintegrated from its own vibrations.
Angel plucked another grass blade, without touching it with his hands, and shot it straight up, higher and higher, and then abandoned it. It caught in the upper air currents and fell to the ground three days later near Jefferson City, Missouri, unnoticed by anyone.
Angel scrambled to his feet and ran in sheer joy. He carried the wind with him, writhing the tall grass around him, scattering the fireflies in swirls and eddies of light motes. He stopped and hugged himself, his arms wrapped tightly across his chest to keep him from exploding with exhilaration. He threw back his head and yelled silently at the moon.
He flopped on the ground and rolled through the brittle grass and pungent weeds, sprawling on his back, arms and legs spread, smiling and breathing heavily. Then he raised his arms and brought them together, gathering an armful of moonlight. The fireflies swept toward him from all directions, in streams and rivers and currents of light, a vortex a hundred yards across, spiraling in to the brighter center. They met over his supine body like ocean breakers, cascading, fountaining into the air.
He waved his arms like a symphony conductor. The fireflies obeyed every movement, every gesture, swirling and dancing in a fantastic display. Then the expression of wild exuberance left Angel’s face to be replaced by studious concentration. The fireflies ceased their abandoned gyrations and began to coalesce, to take form.
A gigantic shimmering nude image of Evelyn stood over him. It was a spectral image, unreal and idealized, sculpted of fairy light, suspended in the air, dwindling below the knees to merge with the night. The image bent over him, seemed to look at him, and reached down sparkling arms. He held his hands up to her. Her large hands closed over his and his arms turned black with crawling, confused insects.
He expelled them and the image of Evelyn shifted. She grew giant butterfly wings that moved and lifted her. The image flew around him and dissolved in a glittering cloud that settled to the ground.
Angel jumped to his feet and ran to the top of the rise. He stood silhouetted against the moon, his legs apart and his head thrown back. He lifted his arms and brought a warm wind that screamed around him, whipping his cotton hair, plastering his clothes to his body.
He closed his fingers into fists. The muscles swelled in his outstretched arms. The wind died and his taut body trembled. His face froze in icy purpose. Concentration wrinkled his forehead. The earth at his feet shuddered and sighed, then split with a grinding rumble. A gout of flame shot up between his arms. His eyes shone as clear and hard as garnets. The flame encircled him, spun around him in a ring, spread wider and wider, spinning faster and faster, singeing the air with sound, and then vanished.
Angel’s body relaxed slowly. His arms returned to his sides and the hard light left his eyes. He sat on the ground and went to work.
A shaft of sunlight crept across the floor and awakened Evelyn. She felt Angel’s absence before she saw the vacant spot beside her. She drew in her breath and turned her head in the other direction. Henry and Tim still slept. And Angel sat cross-legged on the floor, smiling at her.