Daniel Nichols tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Why had he put his name down at that aged care home? Hell, he was only seventy-three. He sighed, remembering Elizabeth, wondering how he’d cope on his own. He rolled over, face down, hoping he’d dream about the times before she died; the day they’d first met, raising the kids, the day Kevin—
A light flared inside the bedroom.
Daniel jerked around, right hand shielding his eyes from the glare in the doorway, left hand fumbling for the baseball bat that should have been lying on the floor beside his mattress.
‘What the bloody hell?’
He was answered by a giggle behind the light.
‘You might say we’re from the other place.’
The ‘we’ was the only word his befuddled mind really heard. The rest didn’t even make sense. They can’t be burglars, he thought. Surely, it’s not a home invasion. He remembered a recent news report: a man, his wife and daughter, all bashed.
The bat wasn’t there.
Perversely, a small part of him worried about the mess in the small bedroom; papers strewn about the threadbare carpet, clothes hanging over cupboard doors, a sweaty t-shirt draped over the cluttered bookcase to dry so he could wear it tomorrow.
What the hell do bloody home invaders care?
‘You have been chosen,’ a voice said. It was a musical voice, female, a soprano, perhaps.
Daniel growled at the light, hand still shading his eyes. ‘There’s nothing to take. Get out of here.’
From Language Barrier, a Human Factor story.
Don't worry Daniel, they're only angels.
The only thing they might take from you is what little naivety you might have left.