Mark of Orion

by S L Richardson

  "What else did they say?" Olivia asked.

  He gave her a quick glance, worry etched on his face.

  "Nothing." He blew out an exasperated breath. "They wouldn't tell me anything over the phone. So, I wanted to get you first, and then together go to the hospital."

  "How did you know where I worked?"

  He expertly weaved his way in and out of traffic. Olivia thought he didn't hear her as he honked at the slow car blocking his way.

  "Mom keeps me updated about you." He gave her another quick glance before he sped down the highway.

  "What do you mean, she updated you?" Olivia’s brow scrunched.

  An awkward silence permeated the truck. Olivia slipped puzzle pieces together but didn't like the picture it created.

  "Well?" she asked, crossing her arms.

  "This was going to be explained tonight, before−" Olivia watched his Adam's apple work up and down; his grip tightened on the steering wheel. "This will all make sense soon, honey. I promise."

  "And that's supposed to make me feel better? Or just pacify me? I've grown up since you left us... well... left me." She huffed, but the pain in her chest spread. Something else occurred to Olivia as a big, white hospital loomed in front of them.

  "Why did they call you instead of me?"

  Did she want this answer?

  He waited until he slammed the truck into park before answering her. His tall, muscular frame filled the cab while the sound of a siren wailed in the distance.

  "I'm her point of contact in her wallet and phone." The tired lines around his mouth set in a grim line. His body was rigid, but his blue eyes were soft, as if knowing he was delivering her a blow.

  Dawning came as a swift punch in the gut. "You've lived near us this whole time," she sneered.

  He nodded, never taking his eyes off of hers.

  A cold, hard rage exploded inside of her as the totality of her parents' betrayal became clear. She held on to the rage, preferring it over fear.

  "I hate you."

  She climbed out of the truck and slammed the door, not looking back.

  Olivia's body vibrated as she stormed through the hospital doors, which hissed closed behind her. Dad's heavy footsteps followed but she didn't care.

  She couldn't care.

  If Olivia stopped to absorb what her dad had just shared, she'd stop functioning. She had to focus on Mom's accident. That was all that mattered right now.

  She stopped at the front desk. An elderly lady volunteer greeted her with a smile. Her white name tag, pinned on her blue cardigan, had Helen stamped on it.

  "Hi. How can I help you?" Helen inquired.

  "My mom was in a car accident. Her name is Stella Drake," Olivia said. The hospital's disinfectant smell repulsed her. Her heart hammered as the volunteer scanned the computer screen, fingers clicking on the keyboard.

  Please let Mom be okay.

  "Your mom is still in surgery." Helen reached for the boxy, beige phone blinking with miniature red lights. "I'll inform Post-Op her family is here. You can wait over there." She pointed to the waiting area on her left. Helen grinned, deepening the lines around kind eyes. "I'll let you know if I hear any updates."

  "Thank you," Olivia whispered. Her mind tortured her with images of her mom mangled in a car, or a surgeon in blood-smeared scrubs operating on her as she lay dying in a sterile surgery room. Olivia collapsed into a chair, covering her face with her hands. She stiffened when her dad sat next to her. His imposing figure sucked whatever air was left out of her lungs.

  "She'll be fine, Olivia."

  Her hands slid down her face, falling into her lap. He reached for her hand, but she snatched it aside. Why could she remember the warmth of his hand? Those hands now belonged to a stranger who would never provide her anything but pain.

  "I promise," he said.

  "You promise! You don't get to make promises to me anymore!" Olivia snapped, jumping out of the chair. "That privilege dried up when you walked out the door!" A few heads turned her way, but she didn't care.

  "This. Is. All. Your. Fault." She stabbed her finger in his face with each bitter word. "You should have never come back. I will never forgive you... Ever!" She stormed away, not giving a flip about his reaction. Curious eyes tracked her as she sat down across the room. She pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her head against them. Tears flowed, and her anger seethed.

  Time stood still in the waiting room as minutes turned into hours, leaving her raw from her rioting emotions, which only ratcheted up her fear. Olivia glanced over at her Dad. His broad shoulders slumped, and his head hung down.

  Double doors glided open. A doctor in light blue scrubs with a white paper mask hanging from his neck stood at the entrance. His hands rested on his hips as he scanned the waiting area.

  "Family for Stella Drake," he called out. Olivia raced over, stopping in front of him. The roar in Olivia's ears was deafening. She wrapped her arms around her waist, struggling to keep herself together.

  Please be okay.... Please be okay.

  His hazel eyes were grim behind his black-rimmed glasses. "I'm Dr. Wilson. I performed the surgery on your mom." He extended his hand for a shake, and Dad returned it.

  "Hello, I'm Conner Drake, her husband. This is our daughter, Olivia. How is she?" he demanded.

  "Would you like to sit down?" Dr. Wilson gestured to the chairs. Dread snaked up Olivia’s spine as she followed them to a quiet corner. The blue vinyl chairs squeaked when they sat, as a monotone voice from overhead announced a code red.

  "The accident caused internal and external injuries. A broken left rib punctured her lung, but we found the hole and repaired it during surgery. The accident broke her left wrist, which we pinned and set. Her left ankle was banged up, but no break." Dr. Wilson paused, releasing a heavy breath. "The most concerning injury is her head wound from the force of the collision to the driver's side of her car. There's swelling on the left side of the brain, but we relieved the pressure during surgery. She's out of surgery in a coma and en route to ICU, where we'll continue to monitor her progress."

  Brain injury... coma... punctured lung.

  "When can we see her?" Dad asked with strangled voice. His dark beard was severe against his pale skin; he gripped the armrests, knuckles white.

  "Soon." Dr. Wilson stood up, but Olivia didn't trust her legs to stand. "I'll send a nurse to notify you. We'll run more tests and hope she shows improvement."

  "Thank you," was all Olivia managed to say as the world spun around her.

  Olivia sat in silence as fresh tears fell. She was paralyzed and couldn't think... couldn't process what had transpired. Two police officers emerged from the swoosh of the entry doors. They headed to the welcome desk and rested their hands on their utility belts. They murmured to Helen, and she pointed their way. Dad grabbed Olivia's hand and pulled her up next to him. She didn't pull away this time. His hand was the sole thing keeping her from doing a face plant.

  The officers approached through her haze of tears. The warmth of Dad's firm grip clashed against her icy hand. For just a moment, she soaked up his heat, willing it to melt the block of ice embedded in her bones. Dread clung to her as the officers stopped in front of them.

  "Are you the family of Stella Drake?" the older officer asked as their eyes roamed over them.

  "Yes. I'm her husband, Conner Drake. Is this about the accident? We have no information. What can you tell us?"

  "Not a lot," the younger officer answered. "What we can tell you is that she was traveling through a green light when she was broadsided on the driver's side by an SUV traveling at an excessive rate of speed, running a red light." The two officers glanced at each other. "We came to see how she was doing and to update you on the driver who hit her."

  "What about the driver?" Dad demanded, squeezing Olivia's hand tighter.

  "Indications are the young adult male was under the influence of drugs or alcohol," the younger officer replied.

  Olivia gasped; h
er hand flew to mouth as an explosion of heat ripped through her. Dad's once-pale face turned red, a vein throbbing in his temple.

  "And?" Dad urged.

  "He died in the ER."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Zach

  A persistent ringing permeated Zach's heavy sleep. He didn't want to wake up, drained from his night of tossing and turning. His nap felt too brief as he grudgingly reached—

  He couldn't move.

  Frozen.

  Anchored under the invisible field restraining him.

  Oh, God... Not again...

  Sweat broke out on Zach's back, trapped against the leather couch cushions. His heart slammed, begging his body to move. He'd been in this powerless position before, yet he fought back. The phone quit ringing, his lifeline now gone, alone in his home. The frantic, hissing voices took the place of the ringing phone. It was hard to make out any words, but their chaotic cries became intense, as if each were desperate to be heard.

  More this time!

  Zach's eyes searched the living room for any menacing, shadowy figures. Nothing but the afternoon sun streaming through the curtains. The sunlight a bright contrast to the darkness encompassing him.

  Where is it?

  Invisible hands raked over his body; grabbing, groping and tugging at him like each wanted a piece of his flesh. Zach screamed into the crushing field.

  No... Let go.... Go away.... Please!

  His pulse drummed an erratic rhythm. Panic seized him, helpless, as their hands kept up a frantic pace. Zach strained against the forces yanking at him, but their malicious intent wasn't deterred.

  More whispers. "Want him.... Take him...."

  His mark burned against his flesh.

  You can't have me!

  His body thrashed against the couch. A distraught grunt escaped his lips, now freed from his captors.

  The demons, you mean.

  He pressed down on his mark, trying to ease the burning sensation radiating from it. What was happening to him? No demon had come to his room since his first experience before Christmas. How ridiculous to have hoped the earlier episode had been a nightmare fraught from stress. But, now, during a nap? In the living room?

  They could get to him anytime, anywhere... if he slept. Were they toying with him?

  He jumped as his phone beeped. His sweaty hand snatched it off the coffee table.

  Olivia.

  My mom has been in a bad car accident. Can you get Sergio and come?

  I'm at Mercy. With my Dad. I'm scared.

  Zach's breathing hitched. He understood Olivia's helplessness... the numbing fear. Knew first-hand how despair clung like a heavy cloak in a hospital waiting room and didn't want Olivia to go through it alone. Her dad's presence would only make her stress worse. He had to get to her.

  Be there soon with Sergio. Hang in there, Liv.

  His shaky legs stumbled to the front door as he shoved aside his hideous encounter.

  Zach and Sergio rushed through the hospital's automatic doors. Zach turned and found Olivia sitting alone in a chair against the back wall with her head down, face hidden by her tumbling hair. He tapped Sergio on the arm and headed her way. The harsh fluorescent lighting buzzed over the muted female voice speaking through the hospital intercom. He passed a young couple holding each other, crying, while a baby wailed against another woman in the far corner. Wisps of anxiety fluttered in his chest as he shut out his own traumatic memories of a hospital waiting room. His vision focused on Olivia, not himself.

  Olivia glanced up, her eyelids puffy and red, her blue eyes brimming with fear. She jumped up and dashed toward them, lunging into their arms. Her wet tears dampened his shirt as she clung to them. Sergio and Zach exchanged concerned glances as they let her cry.

  "Hey, Liv. What happened? Is your mom okay?" She shook her head into his shirt. Zach's brow furrowed as Sergio pulled Olivia out of the hug.

  "Come on, let's go sit." Sergio led them back to her spot. They each held one of her hands while she filled them in on the accident.

  "The doctor hasn't been back yet, so Dad left, searching for answers. His pacing was driving me crazy." Her voiced cracked. "I can't lose her. She can't die." Fresh tears welled, but her face and body stiffened. Zach followed her line of sight and spotted a tall, broad-shouldered man speaking to a nurse. His chiseled features and beard gave him a dangerous, ominous persona. He nodded at the nurse and stalked their way. Had to be Dad. Under his frown lay eyes that were a carbon copy of his daughter’s.

  Zach and Sergio stood up with Olivia. Dad's intense gaze summed them up from head to toe.

  Pretty possessive for not having been around.

  Her dad stopped in front of them and extended his large, tan hand. "I'm Conner Drake, Olivia's dad. You are?" His voice was scratchy and tired.

  "This is Sergio, and I'm Zach." Zach's hand was engulfed like a warm mitt. Dad continued his examination of Zach, then acknowledged Sergio in the same uncomfortable way.

  Dad's face softened when he turned to his daughter. "She's settled in ICU, so we can see her. She's still in a coma." Olivia covered her mouth, stifling a sob.

  "Good. I need to see her." Her chin quivered as she pulled her keys out of her purse. "My car is still at work. Can you guys drive it over and drop it off for me?"

  "No problem. Go be with your mom." Zach put them in his pocket.

  "My family is praying for her. They send their love." Sergio hugged her.

  She nodded against his chest. "Thanks for coming." She pulled away and waved at Zach before turning down the bleak corridor. The polished floors couldn't disguise the dull, throbbing pain she oozed with every step she took.

  "I feel awful for Olivia," Sergio said. "I'd be out of my mind if my mom was in here. Hospitals are not for me."

  Zach shoved his hands in his pockets. "I can't imagine it either, but she's a strong girl. Stronger than she realizes."

  "Jeez, her dad's an intense dude." Sergio scoffed. "Strutting up to us like he wanted to peel back our skin with his laser vision and get a better look." They hurried out the doors and into the sunlight. Zach welcomed the much-needed fresh air. The disinfectant smell clung inside his nostrils.

  "That's an understatement," Zach said. "And Olivia didn't seem fond of him either."

  "Yeah, she's messed up about him." Sergio jumped into the passenger's seat. "I don't think she ever expected she'd see him again. And now with her mom in the hospital and everything else going on−" He paused, peering out the windshield. "A person can only handle so much."

  "She's got us," Zach said as he started his truck.

  But Sergio was right. She was scared about the demons, upset about her mom and angry that her dad was back. A heavy bucket of water for her to carry. He'd figure out a plan to help her. Whatever it took. Besides, it was simpler to think about her pain than his. Zach was a pro at burying his troubles and not dealing with them, except his nap still lingered, his flesh still tingled.

  Nope. Not going there.

  Too many present and past demons haunted Zach as he raced off to Cuppa Joe's.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Delilah

  Delilah glided above the busy hospital corridor. Her long white seamless dress flowed behind her. Below, doctors and nurses moved in and out of rooms, checking on patients and conferring with family members. Running feet slapped against the glossy tile floors as a hospital team rushed into a patient's room, where a long, sharp tone emanated. But none of these rooms beckoned her.

  She recognized the luminous orbs of the guardian angels next to those souls who had prayed for their help, for their comfort, for their intervention. Worried families in need of their spiritual support.

  Other rooms were devoid of angels. Those patients chose not to appeal to their guardian angels, ignoring them as if they were only folklore from their childhood. Those rooms’ occupants held no hope, only despair or anger. Or worse, apathy. They had no other place to turn except toward themselves and their fruitless
endeavors to control their lives.

  Still other rooms had a distinctive air; dark and malevolent, full of hate and misery. Those souls had turned entirely from God. They chose a life of unrepentant sin, corrupting their soul with their immoral behavior. Demons didn't sit with them as they suffered. They only arrived to claim their souls, dragging them into another realm, becoming eternal slaves of the Fallen Angels.

  And Satan.

  Or Lucifer, as he was called by all who knew him. All who fought him. All who still fought for the spiritual welfare of Man and for the welfare of angels themselves.

  Delilah left those thoughts behind as she approached her destination. The room she sought because he was there with his wife.

  Conner.

  Tortured by Conner and Stella's reunion, driven by indignation and anger, she'd dared return to the house. When he wasn't there, she sought his essence and, to her delight, found him in the hospital with his wife. Could her dark secret wish for Stella to be out of his life have come true? She had to see for herself. Perhaps he could be hers again.

  Afraid Conner might sense her, Delilah kept her distance, watching through the wall as she hovered at the hallway's ceiling. It was reckless, but dark, dormant fires rekindled inside her when she'd been close enough to touch him, a need for him to desire her with the same desperation he had for his wife.

  But her worst fears played out before her. Conner's head lay in Stella's lap. His shoulders shuddered while his hand grasped hers. His thumb stroked Stella's hand in silent comfort as machines beeped; IV bags and tubes surrounded her still, pale body. Conner lifted his taut face, his profile a hue of sickly green against the small fluorescent light above her bed. Stella wasn't dead. Her soul was still present, as was her guardian angel next to her. Delilah shrank back, but she couldn't force herself to break away, even as the knife of jealousy twisted deeper.

  Delilah lost track of how long she observed from above, transfixed by Conner. Memories of their past tormented her, but those days were gone, lost in Conner's betrayal. Conner didn't want or need her anymore. Instead, he cried over his pathetic wife. Her anger deepened, taking root, leeching into her heart and soul.