by Elle Lewis
It was the most conflicting torturous feeling to leave someone you love, someone that was slowly destroying themselves. The guilt and pain that I felt was indescribable, and some days it seemed like I would drown in it. Guilt because I had left her, and pain because I loved her and there was nothing I could do to save her. But after that night, what she did had been the breaking point. I had to leave. I simply couldn’t take anymore.
I dissolved into tears, finally releasing the tight bundle of control that had been in place all day. It all crashed over me, and I cried until there were no tears left, until I felt hollow. This was my life, my pain, my loneliness, my sharp jagged reality. A happy ending was not possible. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. No encompassing redemption.
CHAPTER TEN
COFFEE AND RESEARCH
The deep red flower stood before me. It was centered upon the golden table. I reached out and touched one of the petals, rubbing my thumb across its warm fuzzy surface. Tiny veins wove through the petals creating an intricate web of minuscule lines. I felt a rhythmic throbbing beneath my finger-tips, as if the flower had a pulse.
Darrow appeared on the other side of the table. His black wings were folded. The table was between us, but it was small, and I was within reaching distance. I remained still, waiting.
Darrow gazed at the flower, his eyes drinking it in. He reached out, sliding his fingers down the length of a petal. Sharp pain flared inside my chest, in the same direction that his finger was running. I grabbed my chest, gasping.
“Who is Katerina Anosov?” he asked.
Without thinking of the consequences, I curled my hand and threw a right hook. My fist collided with his cheek. He didn’t even stagger. I may as well have punched a wall.
I kept my hands balled into fists, my feet firmly planted.
“That was a mistake,” he whispered.
“It was worth it, you piece of shit.”
Darrow grabbed me around the neck and lifted me off the floor. I couldn’t breathe. He turned, slowly bringing me around the table. Stars burst at the corners of my vision, my lungs screaming for air. A savage smile broke across his face and then he threw me with incredible force. I soared across the antechamber, colliding into one of the glass mirrors.
The mirror shattered, shards of glass exploding all around me as I crashed violently to the floor. I sucked in air greedily and then got on my hands and knees. I felt like a hunted animal that had been backed into a corner, afraid at first but now willing to kill. I grabbed two of the biggest shards of glass and got to my feet.
“Come on!” I yelled. “Finish what you started!”
He closed in on me, immediately backhanding me across the face. The force of it made me stumble backwards, my back hitting the antechamber wall. I tasted blood in my mouth. I pushed off the wall and began slashing savagely at him with the sharp pieces of glass, aiming for his face and neck.
He dodged every swing with graceful ease. I yelled and doubled my efforts. I wanted to see him bleed.
“Enough!” Darrow roared. His fist came at me in a blur, colliding with my jaw. It knocked me off my feet. I landed on my back, my head smacking against the floor. Pain exploded through my skull. My vision swam. I tightened my hands, but they were empty. Without meaning to, I had let go of my makeshift weapons.
Darrow kicked the glass away from me. I scrambled backwards. The room was tilting at a sickening angle. I backed into a corner and then tried stand, my palms pressed against the walls for support. My legs wouldn’t cooperate. I sank down as nausea rolled through my shaking body.
Darrow knelt in front of me and leaned in. “You think you have nothing to lose and so you are ready to die.” His tone was smooth, confident.
I brought my knees up and hugged my legs, trying to hold myself together. He stroked the side of my face. I flinched. “But you’re wrong,” he continued. “There is so much more that I can take from you, so much more that I can torment you with. And I will, if you continue to fight.”
I refused to look at him, instead centering my gaze on the red flower that sat beneath the black chandelier. My messed-up vision broke it into several red fragments, as if I was looking through a kaleidoscope.
Darrow grabbed a fist full of my hair. I gasped.
“Look at me,” he growled.
I met his eyes, those fathomless pitch-black eyes.
“You would not be in such pain if you were incapable of love. But it lingers in you still, like a jagged blade, causing you constant torment.” A smile twisted his lips. “You have much still to lose human, do not deceive yourself.”
He pulled me towards him, forcing me to unfold from my huddled position. I fell forward onto my knees, his hand still tightly wound with a fistful of my hair. He brought his face close to mine, our noses almost touching. “I will rip you to pieces.”
With a sudden burst of force, he slammed my head into the side of the wall. I felt an eruption of pain and then lost consciousness. Impenetrable black nothingness filled my mind.
*
I woke to the feeling of soft cotton against my cheek. It took me a moment to realize that I was lying on my stomach in bed and not regaining consciousness in the antechamber. The sound of my alarm clock slowly registered, as if my ears gradually started working. I reached over and turned it off, feeling an intense wave of relief that the dream was over. I stayed on my stomach but propped myself up on my left elbow, using my right arm to gingerly touch the back of my head. There was no tenderness or pain. I was fine.
I collapsed onto my pillow, my nose squishing into the soft material. “Holy fucking shit,” I whispered into the pillow case. Note to self, do not punch Darrow in the face. I lay there for a few moments, knowing that I needed to get up but unable to. The things he said and did were deeply disturbing. My mother’s name had passed his lips. I mentally chided myself for underestimating the connection we shared. I needed to be aware that it worked both ways.
I got ready for work, slowly, a little dazed. I wondered why the dreams occurred in the same place every night. It was such an odd collection of rooms, without any variations. With one exception—I never wandered back into that very first tunnel, with the black liquid that dripped down the walls. It had disappeared, the wall converging over it. Is it all metaphorical puzzle that I’m supposed to solve? I dismissed the thought. There was a long list of things I needed to understand, and the physical composition of the dreams was not a priority.
I was running late and didn’t have time to thoroughly blow dry my hair, so I decided to French braid it. The braided portion hung down to my lower back. The bruise and scratches on my face were healing. A little foundation and powder covered them up completely. The bruises on the rest of my body were also fading, which I was glad to see. I added a little black liner and mascara, accentuating the vibrant colors in my eyes.
I was meeting James directly after work and didn’t have time to pack a change clothes. Instead, I decided to simply tone down my typical business attire. I put on a pair of black skinny jeans, a trendy white tank top, and a pair of nude pumps. I also added a creamy ivory blazer. Penny didn’t usually approve of such casual attire, but I made sure to stop for coffee, getting the order exactly right.
She eyed my clothes with obvious disapproval and then examined the contents of the coffee tray. When she didn’t find anything amiss she grabbed the tray from me.
“Well at least you got one thing right,” she said, and walked away.
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes and got to work. I still found it hard to focus completely, but I made myself do a better job than yesterday. Penny noticed and left me alone for majority of the day, as if she didn’t want to interrupt my apparently frail attention
span. It was a busy Tuesday in the office and I did my best to stay focused, which made the hours pass by quickly. Occasionally, I found myself rubbing my fingertips together on my left hand, an unintentional habit as the pain thrummed within my veins.
*
The sky was overcast as I drove to Café Presse, but it didn’t rain, thankfully. The dark clouds made the sixty-degree evening feel colder and I felt a twinge of nostalgia. What I wouldn’t give to lay in the sun for a few days. Maybe if I made it through this I would move somewhere warm. It was a dark thought and I immediately squashed it as I focused on parallel parking the Jeep. This was the downside to going anywhere downtown, the annoying task of finding street parking.
Café Presse was a French café with a lot of personality. The front of the shop featured a large expanse of windows. The inside was eclectic, the walls a mixture of exposed brick and brightly painted concrete. A pale-yellow standup bar extended from the left wall of the cafe, bottles of beer and liquor displayed on glass shelves behind the counter.
I stepped into the café. The smell of fresh coffee and hot food saturated the air. I instantly wanted espresso. Many of the tables and bar stools were already occupied. I moved to the side, while scanning the people at the tables. I didn’t see James.
Is he sitting outside, and I missed him? I looked out the window but did not see him out there either. Maybe he was running late. I decided to sit at the bar and wait when I noticed someone waving at me from one of the tables.
“James?” I said.
He smiled as he stood up and walked over to me. James had not only shaved but had gotten a haircut as well. His hair was still on the long side but trimmed neatly and styled. It fell around his head in dark brown waves. The beard was completely gone, revealing a strong jaw and nicely shaped lips.
“Hey, I didn’t recognize you.” I said. Damn, talk about cleaning up well. He was incredibly attractive.
“Yeah, well,” James said, rubbing his jaw while grinning. “I had to get rid of that scraggily beard.” He was wearing a simple white T-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of boots.
“Did you already order coffee?” I asked.
“No, I was waiting for you.” He replied.
We settled down at the table he was sitting at when I first walked in. There was a stack of leather bound journals on top of the table, as well as a faded green army style backpack on the floor. There was also a grey jacket draped across the back of his chair. I grabbed a menu. The food looked tempting, but I could barely stomach it right now. When the waitress came over, I ordered a large Americano with cream and sugar. James ordered a medium coffee, black.
We chatted for a few minutes, making small talk while we waited for the coffee. He asked me about my job and smirked when I told him I was an assistant to an executive assistant.
“That law office is so busy they need two assistants?”
I grinned. “Not really. My theory is that at some point Penny just refused to do certain mundane office tasks, so Mark gave her the ‘okay’ to hire her own assistant.” I shook my head a little. “You won’t ever see her making a copy or sending a fax.”
“She sounds fun to work with,” he said.
“An absolute blast,” I responded dryly.
James smiled. “When do you paint?”
I crossed my legs and leaned back a little, wondering if he was genuinely interested or simply making polite conversation. “Usually after work. I converted my garage into a makeshift art studio. It isn’t much, but—”
The waitress approached, setting the coffees on the table.
“Thank you,” James gave her a polite smile. The girl blushed crimson and muttered something in response. She then left abruptly, clearly embarrassed. I felt bad for her. James was a good looking man—even I had noticed—but he probably ate cold Spaghettios out of a can just like any other guy.
James took a sip of his coffee. “Ready to get started?” he asked.
I nodded and tried to quell my nerves. I was honestly a little scared of what I might find.
He put a hand on top of the stack of journals. “Okay, uh, where do I start...these journals are marked one through twelve and filled with information I compiled from researching books, the internet, documentaries, and so on. My hand writing is a little messy. It might be easier to explain it all to you.”
“Yeah, whatever you think is best.” Twelve journals filled with his own personal notes. Wow, he had been thorough.
I sat quietly, listening intently as James methodically went through the journals. He explained each one, showing me his notes, outlines, and compiled illustrations. It seemed disorganized at first, but the longer he talked, the more it made sense. Each journal had its own specific topic. For example, the first journal was entitled Christian Demonology, its contents filled with Catholicism and modern Christianity. Many of the sections were outlines of demons, their physical characteristics as well as spiritual aspects. Several pages were dedicated to the Nephilim, fallen angel-human hybrids.
Journals three and four interested me the most. Three outlined Islamic Mythology, and mentioned a creature called the Jinn; sentient beings with free will that co-existed with humans. Four referenced Japanese folklore and the Tengu, a class of demons that were harbingers of war. The journals went on and on, covering religions that had existed throughout history including information on Hindu spirits, Norse mythology, Greek Mythology, Mesopotamia, and ancient Egypt. He even had a journal dedicated to Grimm’s fairytales.
The more I listened, the more my heart sank in disappointment. James was right. Nothing fit. His collection of information was extremely impressive, and I could not think of anything that he may have left out. No wonder he gave up.
I took a sip of my coffee and then said, “Maybe he is Hades, come to take my soul.”
James closed the last journal. “Hades was a decent candidate for quite a while,” he said. He smiled and then became serious. “I’m sorry, Sloan.”
I shook my head. “There is nothing to apologize for. You have compiled so much information, from all over the world. And I agree with you. I don’t see anything that sounds or looks like the beings that we have seen. The Hindu and Islamic mythology has potential. The demons associated with Christianity do not match, at all.”
James nodded. “I agree, but that’s also part of the problem. It’s easy to rule out demons because Christianity is so specific about what they are and what they do to humans. The Islamic Jinn on the other hand are only mentioned as sentient beings. It’s vague in the extreme. I mean, that could be anything.”
“It creates more questions than answers.”
“Exactly,” he said.
“And not only that, the illustrations are not accurate. The Tengu have bright red skin. There is nothing that depicts the shade of white hair, the black eyes, the wings. It’s so frustrating,” I added.
“I know,” said James.
I held my cup thoughtfully, the heat warming my hands. “What do you think they are?”
James leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no idea. I know that they are evil, powerful, and they can show up at any moment. But not, like, appear you know? They aren’t invisible. They drop out of the sky. Maybe they are from another planet.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Aliens?”
“I know it sounds stupid.”
I thought of the dream in which I had learned information about Darrow. I had seen stars, wide expanses of space. “It’s not stupid, Mulder.”
James laughed. It was a warm and sincere sound. I couldn’t help but smile in return.
“We are insane for finding humor in this. You realize that, don’t you?�
�� I said.
“Yeah, but what else are you going to do?” he replied.
I shrugged, my eyes lingering on the journals. “Leave. Maybe now is a good time to see the world.”
“I doubt these things need a passport to travel,” he said.
I thought about that for a moment, picturing black wings soaring over continents and oceans. And then something occurred to me. “It’s all the same thing. Different versions of a universal truth. Gods, Demons, heaven and hell. It varies with the culture but essentially all religions have the same principles.”
“So?”
“So, I think you were onto something at the bar.” I went on, “When you said that we had witnessed something unexplainable. Maybe human kind has never come close to defining what they are. Maybe when these things are spotted, they are explained by whatever religion presides in that region.”
“Your saying that perhaps people all over the world have seen them but just equate them to whichever religion is in that area?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“If someone saw them in Spain…”
“Demon,” I answered.
“And if someone saw them in the Middle East...”
“Jinn,” I said.
James looked at me steadily for a few moments, his light brown eyes calculating. “I could agree with that. But that conclusion is even more alarming than anything in these journals.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because that means that no one, anywhere in the entire world, knows what they really are.”
I took another sip of coffee, my stomach twisting anxiously. “I think it’s true. I think it is the only thing we can know for certain.”