Chapter 11, Part 2: True colors

                                    

                                          
Hawaii, present day

So relaxed, Diletta hadn't felt in ages.
With her eyes closed and ears submerged to block out all sounds, she let herself drift with the gentle waves as the sunrays warmed the front side of her body.
Peace, finally.
"Diletta, get out of the water."
It was too good to last.
She huffed and rolled up straight until her feet touched the bottom and saw the archangel standing at the beach, looking at her with arms crossed.
"Why? It's not like I have somewhere to be."
"I do. Come out," he said and headed back to the campsite.
Yes, mom.
As Diletta swam to the shore, her mind raced to last night's events; after offering her the bracelet made of grace, Michael left without another word and retreated into one of the cabins, leaving her alone at the table, puzzled by his actions. She examined the delicate piece of jewelry for a few moments, before retiring for the night. The next morning, the angel-alarm clock came to wake her up, being his bossy old self as if nothing unusual had happened.
Diletta decided to go along with it, giving herself time to figure the man out. After all, he was a celestial immortal being, so the unexpected was expected. One thing was sure though: she would never ask anything about angelic business again. Apparently, it was his breaking point.
She removed the shirt she used for a swimsuit, still uncomfortable walking around naked despite Michael's indifference, put on her clothes, and went to look for the angel. She found him raking havoc in a cabin. "What are you doing?"
The archangel was ravishing closets, drawers, and cabinets, piling stuff up on a bed. "We are leaving tomorrow. I am looking for supplies and somewhere to put them." He stopped and turned to her. "But first things first. Come with me."
They were leaving? 
"Why are we leaving?"
Taking her hand in his and ignoring her question, Michael led her outside, behind a nearby cabin, and pointed beside a barrel filled with their previous clothes. There, on top of a chopped tree trunk, lay the cross of the Faithful. Diletta had totally forgotten about it. She stared at the pendant, astonished that it hadn't been lost this whole time and through all that fuss.
"I was about to burn our stinking garments," said Michael, "and checked your pockets first. I remembered you had hidden a bottle of the mix in there,"–yet another thing she forgot–"and I couldn't have the substance released in the atmosphere." He pinned her with his gaze. "To my surprise, I also discovered this." He pointed to the cross. "Is it yours?"
He seemed pretty upset, and Diletta considered lying about it, but feared he might have lie-detecting abilities among everything else. "Yes."
"And you had it with you all this time?"
Well, dah. "Yes."
Michael approached the trunk and narrowed his eyes at the symbol of Christianity. "This cross has been blessed by one of my kind." He took it in his hand, the cross leaving a burn mark on his palm, much to Diletta's surprise. The angel dropped it back on the wood, his skin healing in seconds. "And it has been blessed especially for you. Who gave this to you?"
Diletta was gaping at Michael in a quite unattractive way. "I don't understand."
When the priest handed her the cross, she didn't believe for a moment his rambling about how it would protect her. She had just shoved the thing in a pocket and forgotten it there. And now she was finding out that the madman was actually telling the truth.