As we rose through the shimmering light of the moon, the reach of Elysium above touched the faint hue of our souls. We were close to home again; our blessed perfection in the sky.
Darkness wrapped around us as the night sky held our bodies, cradling them as we journeyed afar. A symphony of colours, midnight blue, ashen grey with brushstrokes of deep purple, cradled the stars as they lit our way, directing our flight across land and sea to the country of Bolivia in South America.
"Are you warm enough?" Gabriel asked as his wings flapped a flurry of snowflakes over the landmass before us.
"Yes, thank you." Gabriel's body heat was like sitting beside a roaring fire on a cold winter's eve.
As the snow began to fall, I relaxed into the flight to find my true love in Enoch. That wasn't the only reason we travelled there, though. I knew I had to meet my sister again. If she could hold back the darkness, then perhaps she could be saved too. We could be a family again, a big, disjointed family of supernatural beings.
Admiring the tranquillity of the turbulent free flight, I held Gabriel tighter. His athletic body rippled before me as his angelic nature caressed my soul. There was something about him. His strength was commendable. He'd lived his immortality watching over our family, blessed as an equal by God himself. Why had I never seen him this way before? I could never be with him like I was with Lucian, but I did feel a certain travesty of emotional attachment to him.
"How long have you watched over me, Gabriel?"
"All my adult life, Eve. Do you remember how we used to play together as infants?" He asked as he swooped past a plane flying below.
"No, tell me about it."
"You helped teach me to fly."
"But I can’t fly, how would I do that?"
"You used to bend the light to help lift me higher as I flapped my tiny wings." He laughed.
“Aww, you sounded cute!” I chuckled.
“No, I was a rebel, you were the cute one,” he said.
Flying through the night sky brought back memories of my own life; how I had lived, how I could have lived. It was a recollection of times past, but only time from the past eighteen years. On the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t long, not considering my true self had lived an eternity, never fading. Maybe I could try again, maybe I could remember. Adam said I’d have to watch for the corruption in my mind, be aware of the soulless books that were there to confuse and eviscerate. He said I’d know, and I believed I would. I had to know, I must find out who I was. It could be the key to the whole thing. If I remembered something, anything, then perhaps I could wield the light again, be a force to be reckoned with. It was worth a go, surely?
CHAPTER 39: TAYLOR
Gabriel flew silently as I told him my plan. He agreed to watch out for my physical body as my mind travelled the library in search of the past. Closing my eyes was the easy part, but finding solace was tough. How did I do this before? It just came to me, enveloped me. I needed to gain control again, needed to listen to my inner being. Gripping the sigil, my mind cleared, body relaxed, and reality gained.
Passing through the shards of time, my mind entered a forgotten realm. A period of disillusionment discovered only in the mind of oneself. Some meditate to reach it, but that wasn’t for me. I had to learn how to control my journey there, assess it at a moment's notice. As I entered the library, the books slept peacefully, coated in dust. Only one had been touched, only one removed; the red leather journal that lay open and blank on the floor. Walking over, I picked it up, closed the past, and shelved it. I knew that part of me now, that glimpse in time, I didn’t need the memory recalled.
Which one do I choose? There must have been thousands of books in there, stretching as far up as the eyes could see. A winding spiral staircase swept around the perimeter and I walked over, holding the rusty banister as I stepped. Higher and higher I rose, winding around lifetimes of love, happiness, and dismay. How many times had I lived? How many deaths had I died? How would I know which of these books meant something to me? Well, they all had to mean something, they held memories, after all. But which book meant something to Eve? Which book held her power, her key to destiny? Fate had entwined itself to bring me to this moment. Flying through the skies by the wings of an Angel, and I had access to a wealth of knowledge that spanned through creation from start to finish. This type of power alone was beyond recognition.
As I rose higher, the shelves became darker. The light diminished, faintly frozen and falling from sight. All it left was darkness. Adam said I’d know. He was right. That unearthly gut instinct that captures your breath, the way your hairs stand on end, goose pimples caress your skin. It all meant one thing. Something was wrong here, something lived in these walls. Sliding down the stairs, I ran from the darkness. I couldn’t face it, not yet. It could take all of me and then what hope would humanity have? What hope would Lucian have? No. For now, I would play it safe. I needed to succumb to the light and airy books, the happy memories, well, at least the real ones.
Ten steps down and I fixated on a green book. It was an old, dusty, withered green book. It wasn’t unique, not compared to the other wondrous books, but something about it felt natural to me, homely. Stepping forward to the old oak shelf, I reached out and pulled it free. The green, cloth book had the symbol of a rose on the front, delicately smudged in yellow ink. The corners were cracked, the binding was warped. Should I open it? Dare I try? Last time I shared the horrors of a tiny girl scared of her father, only to be saved by her big brother. What would this journey hold? What would become of this book?
Gripping the front cover, I pulled the book open, careful not to damage its delicate exterior. As before, this book was blank too. But I knew, I braced myself for it. I stood against the side so when I fell I wouldn't topple down the staircase. And just as before, bright sparks fizzled and spiked, jumping from the pages as the book trembled and groaned like a giant waking from his slumber. Light screamed out towards me, shot through me, and knocked me down, flat to the floor.
Entering a memory from afar, I felt the hormones of a delicate teen, wiping teary eyes as I watched the horror before me. How could I ever forget such a moment, such a painstaking lifeline? This moment should be enshrined in truth, written for all to see, inscribed on the tapestries of our mighty land. That moment was the moment my mum died. It seemed to be a common theme in all the lifetimes I’d experienced; living my life as a motherless child. Only this time I couldn’t blame the magical realm above and below. This time my own genetic coding was to blame. When I created humanity, I gave them freewill, but with that choice came consequences, and over time, over centuries in fact, millions of people became casualty to their own physiology. Diseases grew, mutations developed, and life hit a standstill as the parameters of health took over. There was no cure for this pain, no end to their suffering. I’d seen it myself, lived through it time and time again. They died, she always died, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
As I sat wearily in the chair by her bedside, the hospital alarm beeped outside. Another patient needed assistance. It drained my eardrum every time they sounded. They wouldn’t last just a second or two, it’d be ten minutes before someone answered their call. Ten minutes of beeping was enough to drive the mildest person insane. Looking at the clock, it was five in the evening, time for the driver change. That explained the constant ringing in my ears as the nurses came to shut off the alarm. After a while, you forget where you are. The door opened and a team flooded in to update you on the latest news, the most recent tests. But nothing changes, it’s just pain management from there on out. The days passed, the nights lasted longer. My tired head waned as I struggled to keep my eyes open. They finally closed as I waited for that phone call, that time to rush in, watch her die, hold her hand and kiss her goodbye.
Shattered. That’s how I felt every morning, waking up as if I’ve only just closed my eyes, still needing eight hours rest. There weren’t enough hours in the day, or the night. Everything b
lurred into one. My body felt fractured from the tips of my toes to the shreds of hair on my head. Hair, that’s something she didn’t have anymore. Her smooth head shined from the shimmering fluorescent light above, warming her grey complexion as she entered the realm of the unknown. Was she there anymore? Did she still reside in that automated shell of a body? It’d been days since my mum spoke. She barely opened her eyes anymore, hadn’t eaten or drank as her catheter bag was blackened and dry.
The lights in the room dimmed as day turned to night. Hours passed without a murmur, no sign, no grunt of life. Only heavy breathing with a gurgling strangulation. That was when she changed, her breathing, her body collapsing within. Relatives rushed to her side as I sat watching and waiting. I held her skeletal hand as it twitched under the murmur of her final breaths. She would have wanted it this way, with her family by her side, raw and definite. This brought her immortality, forever etched in the memories of those she loved.
One, in and out. Two, just as strong. Three, rapid and released. Four, struggled and strained. Five panic-stricken gulps. Six... nothing. Breathing stilled as her body sank into the sheets below. How could someone so human be so small? Ten seconds, twenty seconds. Nothing. Was she gone? Was this the end? No, a loss like that would be too simple. The breathing started again, more rapidly this time, and with each breath her head wretched to the side, her stomach jolted heavily, her chest caved in complexion. The immense struggle just to breathe gave a dramatic ending to her final hours. Time passed slowly, hours strained by. Each pause we waited, counted, tears streaming as we cried. But she kept on going. Kept fighting to the bitter end. And as time went on, minutes strained by, the pauses grew less and less. Her head jolted harder and harder as her breathing became more rapid. Her stomach bubbled and boiled like a cauldron brewing a spell, a spell of love, one of pain, and one of sorrow. For having fought for so long, she had lost. Given in to the fight, but damn she made it a good one, lived such a long time.
The noise was unbearable, a deafening rattle that bled through my eardrums as I covered them in pain. I couldn’t keep going. Couldn't see her like this. How do I stay here? How do I watch her die, with no control as the tumours take her away? Nausea grasped my stomach as I gagged. I can’t do this, can’t be here. Heat swarmed over me, the room closed in. Vision distorted, hands sweated as the pain in my heart resembled a thousand shattered pieces.
I gripped her hand tight, her bony fingers held on for dear life. Death isn’t peaceful, it isn’t the beautiful moment everyone portrays. It's brutal, honest, and vile. It’s the body spasming, fighting for breath. It’s the lungs screaming out as they drown in their own saliva. It’s the organs shutting down, one bodily piece at a time. There was no peace there, not for the family. There was only shock, torment, and tragedy. What about her, though? Did she feel pain? Her face never changed, it was only her head that twitched up and down. How did we know if she was inside there, crying in agony? How would we know if she was at ease with the eventual fact of life? How did we know anything? We only had the doctor's say-so. What if he was wrong? Make it stop. Make her stop. Release her from this agony, someone please. No-one listened, no-one came. She had to forgo the process of dying. There’s no easy way out, no simple injection or dagger to the heart. This was, apparently, a peaceful death. I’d hate to see a shitty one. Is this what I gave humanity? This is what they looked forward to? Watching their loved ones suffer, scream and cry? Watching in hopeless sorrow as they can’t even take the pain away before they died? What the hell was I thinking? Since when did I think I could play God? No wonder humanity hated religion, no wonder they’ve created numerous ones just to appease the fact that no-one gives a shit anymore.
Each breath slowed as my mum’s lungs filled further. Every breath was a struggle as she became submerged in her own bodily fluids. Her mouth opened with each jolt as her body succumbed to the pain. Rapid little breaths peaked as I gripped tighter, hands clammy, face hot. I couldn’t hold on any longer. This was it, this was the moment we had all waited for. An end to her suffering, a silence to her pain. There was only the hope of peace left. Her hands iced over as she took her last breaths; her face greyed and body quietened. Sobs struck through the room as every person let go. This was the time she died, the time she passed, and with her final moments, she opened her glazed eyes, one grey, one brown, and looked at me as she took her last breath, withering down into the sheets that surrounded her. Nothing but silence returned from her as I spoke the last three words she would ever hear. ‘I love you’. And then she passed.
In a windowless nightmare, the feeling of claustrophobia hits you hard in the heart, striking down your body as it resonates within you. The gripping pain wails through your chest as you fall to the floor. Hysteria hits as you die within. There is no end to this pain. I am now a motherless child, and I shall forever remain one. Goodbye, mother. I hope Heaven treats you well. One day I’ll see you there and we shall smile once again. I love you.
Darkness took over as the room faded to black. I laid sobbing in the arms of an Angel as he held me close, singing the words of humanity as he cradled the song of the spirit, sending me off to a natural, peaceful, and much needed sleep.
CHAPTER 40: LUCIAN
The sun rose beyond the mountains as the sleepy six-year-old kid snored in my arms. I’ve got to put him down, I might have supernatural strength but damn my legs are killing me. Speeding through the countryside, we’d reached the second largest city in Bolivia; El Alto. This is where I should have landed if Ms. Ditzy hadn’t splattered herself all over the back of the plane. I could still smell her blood staining the kid’s wispy, brown hair. My stomach rumbled, it was time for a feed. No, I just can’t, I thought as I looked down at the neck of the kid before me. It was too tempting. Damn it, he wouldn’t notice. No, I still can’t do it. I had to be better than that, must be worthy of her love otherwise I would be alone on this devastating wasteland of a planet.
Shit. So, who was I going to pick a fight with now? It’s not like I could go up to someone and ask them to hold the kid while I sucked them dry. Where was the nearest blood bank? There had to be one around there. It would end up being too late and I would lose control, mass murder every citizen on the farmland. There were lights ahead, dimly lit as the sun rose over the city. It had to be about six am. I would have checked my watch, but the kid’s hands grasped mine.
Damn what was that stench? The water was rank. Did they never think to clear up their shit? Burgh, I didn't want to be dining off any animals around there, I might grow a third head or an extra testicle or something. That was a fun thought. Right, time to slow down to the dull depressing mortal speed. They were like snails taking sedatives, and it’s not like they had immortality, either, so why take so long?
Ahead with the rising sun came the early risers, the local dog walkers, pedal pushers, and the mail delivery guy, as he trudged up the path of a lowly dilapidated house. Heading into the centre, I spotted an old guy sleeping on a park bench. No-one would notice he was missing, let alone suspect the father of the year over here, out walking with his six-year-old son. I placed the kid on the bench beside sleeping Henry. I say Henry as it was polite to give the dead a name, not that he was dead, yet.
I couldn't quite fathom how the kid was still asleep. Was he dead? No, damn it, his chest was still going. He must have fought so long to stay awake after his mum died, he’d sleep for a week, no doubt. Right, the homeless chap. Burgh, he stinks of alcohol, one too many beers last night. It didn't matter, he wouldn't mind. I’d try not to suck him dry completely, it would leave too much evidence behind.
Hmm, the smell of fresh blood in the morning, like waffles and maple syrup. Those smelled gorgeous but tasted like cardboard. When Elisha tried to do human cooking, it turned to crap. Nic was a much better cook. His waffles were actually edible. I missed those. Granted, I didn't have to eat, but who wouldn’t want to? Unless it was Elisha’s food, of course.
Leering close, I looked around and s
aw that no-one was there. The man’s neck was bright on show, soft, supple, and deliciously warm. How could I resist the urge any longer? His jugular was there for the taking. Fangs protruded as I slipped in beside him, piercing his skin as it softly rebounded when my fangs bit deep. The moment when the first taste of blood hits your tongue is one of exquisite delight. The warming sensation, as the thick red fluid caressed my insides, was euphoria all over again. Tingling over my body, the sensual beauty of such an intimate moment eased my conscience as I suckled his neck a bit longer. Gulping down each mouthful can only be described in the sense of orgasmic enticement. A tranquil moment between the predator and its prey as I felt the soul detach, remove, and pass on. For me, it always hit the spot, like a cool drink on a hot summer's day when you’ve walked fifty miles across the Sahara Desert. It was the only thing that would quench the thirst, and in that moment, the blood was all that mattered.
Placing the dead man down beside the sleeping kid, I wiped my mouth, fangs slipped back away, and picked up the child so we could head over the mountain to delve into the darkness once again.
“Morning, sleepy head,” I said as the kid began to stir in my arms. “Do you fancy a trip to Hell?”
“Yes, please, Mr. Fang.” Apparently, he loved my fangs that much; I was now named after them. He hadn’t, however, actually seen what I could do with them. Maybe the kid would change his mind after I’d killed a few innocents and glared at him with that bloody smile. Then again, knowing the kid, he’d probably want to have a go. Like I said, I’m not the best role model.
“Right, kid, it’s time for walkies.”
“I’m not a doggy.”
“Pardon?”
“Mum used to say walkies to Bernie, my dog.”
The Celestial Rose BoxSet Page 33