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I manage to get his torso on the board, propping it enough that I can pull his feet level. He’s wearing black boots. Not the kind men wear here in Vermont, but the kind city people wear. The kind that wouldn’t protect your feet in a storm. “What are you?” I whisper to the creature I just dragged from the woods.
Other than the large black wings protruding from his back, he looks human. Coal black hair, the same color as the wings, looks to be cut and styled not long ago. The shiny designer belt he’s wearing probably cost more than my car.
Bob lays down next to the board, curling close to the man/bird. I smirk at my mental description. “No, Bob. You’re not staying out here with…with whatever that is.”
He turns his head away from me and moves even closer to the stranger. “Dammit, Bob. What if he eats you?”
Finding an old horse blanket in the corner, I throw it over his torso, hoping to keep him slightly warmer. I wrap my arms around Bob, pulling him out of the shed, unwillingly, and lock the door behind us. Using more energy than he’s used in his entire ten years on this planet, Bob pulls away and hurries back to the door.
I run into the house, grab Bob’s leash, and return moments later. Pulling him with me, we enter the house and lock the doors behind us. “What the hell was that, Bob? Were those wings attached to him?” My mind works to label the creature without much luck.
I spend the next few hours poring over my research, hoping to find an explanation for the man in my shed. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was an angel. In all my research of angels throughout time, none of the descriptions I’ve uncovered match anything close to what Bob found.
“He can’t be an angel, can he?” Bob ignores the hours of questions, continuously working to open his locked dog door and return to whatever it was he found.
Five hours have passed since I locked the manbird in the shed. Bob hasn’t left his vigil by the door. From my viewpoint out the window, the shed door hasn’t budged since I closed it. What if he’s dead? What if he’s hungry? What if he kills me as soon as I open the door?
I continue working on my thesis, managing to type one paragraph in the span of the afternoon. Sliding back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest. “Okay, you win.” Bob jumps to his feet, ready to head outside. I make a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich and unlock the back door. Bob makes quick time across the snow, heading straight to the shed.
“Hello?” I call through the still-locked door. “I’m bringing you food. Don’t kill me.” I lift the hinge and pull it open. Bob runs straight to the still-sleeping winged creature.
I move to his side, not sure what to think. “I brought you a sandwich. I hope you’re not allergic to peanut butter.” Turning to set the sandwich down, I feel a blast of wind, and in an instant, I’m being pulled tightly against something rock-hard with an elbow crooked around my neck.
“Who are you?” a deep voice breathes down the back of my neck.
“Lucy,” I whisper. “You’re in my shed.”
“How did I get here?” The voice behind me has a slight accent I don’t recognize.
I fight to turn around. “I don’t know, you fell from an airplane. Or maybe you were skydiving?” I squeeze my hands between his arm and my neck, allowing me to breathe a little easier. I try kicking backward without luck. “I can’t breathe, asshole.”
He releases his hold on my neck slightly. “Did you bring me here?”
“My dog found you this morning. I brought you here so you wouldn’t freeze to death. I can see how grateful you are.” My words are rushed.
“I’m going to let you go. Please don’t try anything,” he warns.
What the hell does he think I’m going to do? He’s at least a foot taller and outweighs me by a hundred pounds of pure muscle. “Okay,” I croak.
He releases me and moves quickly toward the still-open door. “Where am I?’
“Vermont.”
“Vermont?”
“It’s a state in New England.”
“I know what Vermont is. I just don’t know how I got here. My memory seems to be slow.”
I rub my neck dramatically, making sure he sees. “From the looks of those wings on your back and the snapped pine tree I found you in, I think you flew here and either crashed or need to work on your landing skills.” His dark wings move slightly with my words. Blood drips from the joint where they connect to his skin. He shakes his head, reminding me of a confused animal. “Are you injured?”
“I need to get out of here,” he announces, ignoring my question. “Do you have a car?”
“Right now, you’re going to have to fly out. The roads will be iced over for the next few days. February in Vermont does that at times.” His wings flap, and he winces in pain. “You are hurt.”
“Was I alone?”
“Yes. Do you want to see where we found you?”
