by Kim Petersen
Glen’s eyes tapered into a sliver. ‘And what was that?’ he said.
‘You remember? You told me you had to kill someone and then you went home and killed …’ Steve faltered.
‘Killed who?’ Glen said.
Steve’s hands found his pockets again and he shrugged awkwardly.
‘You think I planned it, don’t you?’ Glen sneered.
Steve’s eyes darted around. ‘No! … I mean I don’t know, man.’
Glen’s hands flew to either side of his head as he felt the last remnants of his self-control melt into a sizzling fury. Kill him, the black snake hissed gleefully through his mind.
When he looked at Steve again, his vision was clouded in a shadowy haze. Part of him saw and acknowledged the terror present in his friend’s eyes, yet he was unable to control his hands as they lunged for Steve’s throat.
Steve was quick on his feet to dodge the attack. He turned swiftly and pushed Glen against the brick wall of the house. Glen’s head thumped into the wall with a hard thud. He growled loudly and his eyes exploded with the flicker of golden rage. Kill him.
He closed his eyes tight against the persistent low cackle that infiltrated his senses.
‘Nooo!’ he screamed, ‘I won’t!’
His eyes flew open and they squared on Steve who had him pinned against the wall. ‘Run, Steve. Go now,’ he pleaded.
Steve gave a slight nod of his head and bolted down the steps of the porch, then ran down the street as fast as he could.
Glen watched him until he was out of sight. He felt a sudden rise of emotion come to the surface, and he gulped down the wedged lump in his throat. He tried to clear his mind with a shake of his head but it seemed useless; he hadn’t been feeling himself since he came home that afternoon to find his mother beaten and sitting in the kitchen. He groaned in frustration while the grisly smog in his mind twirled and intertwined with another feeling. As he resumed the search for the keys that had gone astray during the scuffle, the tears that had welled in his eyes fell in fat splatters over the porch floor. His fingers found and blindly clasped the keys. He clutched at his aching heart as he almost fell through the door.
He knew he would never see Steve again.
There was only one cemetery in Rockton, and it happened to take up a nice percentage of prime bayside real estate on the outer southern edges of town. The day was cloudless and blue, not the kind of day Glen had envisioned it to be at all. Somehow, he expected a sunless dreary day on the day he would lay his parents to rest. He had pulled on the only suit he owned. When he finished jamming his feet in a pair of his father’s black loafers, he peered at himself in the only full length mirror in the house. The suit was a little faded and white pin stripes spanned the thick fabric. His mother had bought it for him the year previously to wear to the wedding of her best friend’s daughter. He hadn’t wanted to go, but his mother had practically begged him. She said she couldn’t deal with Ron publicly with his drinking habit and needed Glen to help keep his father as subdued as possible.
Glen had looked at her for the longest time before conceding to her pleas. He knew enough to know if she was taking the risk of going out with his father, then it must be very important to her because she never went anywhere with him anymore.
He sat on his parents’ bed. His eyes trailed over to a framed photo on the dresser. It was a black and white portrait of the three of them when Glen had been about two years old. His mop of hair appeared white against his father’s black sweater, and his eyes betrayed the security and happiness he felt as he snuggled in his father’s arms. His mother had an arm entwined around his father’s neck and she rested her chin against his shoulder. We look like a family, he thought. A contented family.
Tears swam and lingered unspent as he realised there was a snippet in time when his parents had been in love. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his mother’s eyes as soft with affection as she leaned on Ron. Nor could he recall his father’s carefree grin or the obvious warmth in the embrace of his arms around him; his little son.
He studied the photo for a long time and strained to retrieve the memories of a happier past, yet try as he might, they eluded him. He knew those memories must exist and a joyful childhood prevailed at some point, as the evidence was right here in front of him.
Glen sighed and a few tears streaked over his cheeks. His mind was not his own lately, and when he looked at his reflection, he hardly recognised himself anymore. He knew there was something dark attempting to overpower his thoughts, and the fact that he could rationally ponder this sinister force, reminded him that he had not entirely given himself to the black serpent.
He looked back at the photo.
‘I need a wife and my own family to keep me sane. To keep from going crazy,’ he said out loud to himself.
He lifted himself up and strode from the room, taking a whiff of his pin-striped shoulder on the way out. Smells like mothballs, he thought with a distasteful screw of his nose.
But it didn’t really matter. Already his steps fell lighter and the thaw in his heart warmed, as tomorrow was Saturday. And after he farewelled his parents today, he was determined to put this episode behind him and move on with his life.
Tomorrow he intended to finally meet his future wife.
Epilogue
T he strands of her hair clung together and flowed like a dark velvety sheen under the radiance of the afternoon sun. Glen threw the last of the stale breads crumbs to the ducks and his eyes strayed towards her again. He could make out two huge blue and black butterflies floating about before her; they seemed to drift yet their wings took them nowhere. They appeared to hover before her purposely as if they were aware of the strokes of paint against the canvas that portrayed them.
He filled his lungs with a deep breath. This is it! It’s now or never!
He looked at the ducks. ‘Wish me luck guys,’ he whispered.
They squabbled and squawked over the last crumbs and ignored him. Glen grunted at them and grinned. ‘Silly ducks,’ he mumbled.
He drew himself up off the park bench and strolled over to her as casually as he could manage. He became aware of his quickening pulse, and suddenly began to feel clammy everywhere. His heart thumped harder with each step he took until he could barely take no more.
He came up behind her and took a long look at the canvas in front of her. He cleared his throat. ‘Did you know that many countries associate butterflies with our souls? They are a symbol of transformation and resurrection,’ he said with as much charm as he could.
She paused mid-stroke and flung her head around to look at him. A smile broke her lips. ‘Yes, that is why I love them so much. They remind me to keep my faith,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘I’m Glen,’ he said.
Her smile spread and reached the corners of her eyes. ‘Hi Glen. I’m Samantha,’ she murmured.
A Stroke of Faith is the prequel to Millie’s Angel and Angels & Vixens
Millie’s Angel
Millie's Angel is an inspirational novel that tells the story of Millie and a family that is both cursed and blessed. Abandoned by her mother in disturbing circumstances, Millie grows up relying on her own strength and the comfort that comes from a friend and a guy who has smitten her heart. As Millie struggles to make sense of life, she finds inspiration through the visionary visits of an angel that will guide her in realizing her own extraordinary gift.
For the path that reveals the golden threads of light ahead of me,
and the family that steps upon it beside me –
With all my heart, thank you.
“Actually, you are destined to reach the point
where you realise
that through your own desire you can consciously create your successive destinies.”
“Make believe – great wonders are possible.”
Neville Goddard
Prologue
October 11, 1987
D ear Journal,
Today was a good day! M
y 14th birthday! I got some really cool stuff. The coolest bubble-gum jeans ever! Mum and Dad took me out for dinner; oh, and of course my little brother Ace had to come … I suppose he had nowhere else to be! Anyway, we went to the Black Stump, my second favourite restaurant (second only to the Spaghetti Factory). I really only like the Black Stump for the fire engine drinks (Don’t tell anyone), but yum!
Mum gave me this journal tonight. She told me it was to keep track of my dreams; she said I should write about my aspirations. Especially when I have an inspired thought, she said. And I should always be true to myself and listen to the whisper within me. Whatever that means. She looked sad when she said it. I wonder why. Sometimes, I catch her crying in the kitchen over the dishes. She pretends she’s not and most of the time I pretend I don’t see her cry because I don’t know what to say to her. I wonder if it’s me or Ace, or even my father because I hear her bicker at him some nights when he comes home later than usual. Other than that, I don’t really hear them talk about much at all really. I wonder if that is normal. Well, silences are normal in this house. Sometimes I want to scream as loud as my lungs will allow me just to break an awkward silence. Sometimes, I don’t know how I will endure another and another … but I do. Ace and I have learned to live with it, I guess.
Dad just came in to say goodnight. I know Mum said I should use this journal to write my dreams, but I’m thinking I’ll write whatever I am feeling or thinking about as well as those dreams. Lately I’ve noticed my dad looks at me different to the way he used to. His green eyes seem new to me, even though I’ve looked at those eyes a million times. I don’t know, it’s almost like a look of surprise – the kind of look you get when you see a ghost or something. Maybe it’s just me; maybe I’m losing my mind already at fourteen … maybe not.
As for those dreams; I have an overwhelming feeling that something is missing. It’s like an empty pit in my tummy and I have no idea why. I guess I need to figure it out before I can hear the whisper within me.
Millie xo
Chapter One
T he afternoon sun offered no escape from the heat as Amelia Anderson made her way home from the bus stop. She pushed back a dark lock of hair that clung to her forehead and paused in the scant shade offered by an old paling fence that ran bent and crooked along the front yard of a dilapidated old house. She thought she might collect Ace and head down to the bay where she planned on spending the rest of her afternoon daydreaming about the cutest boy in school, Damon Richards. Oh my, if only he might notice me, she thought. All the girls in her year at school had a crush on Damon. His hair was a rich dark brown, and from her viewpoint behind him in science class, she sometimes thought it might even be black. Shiny dark strands tumbled over eyes that were like a crystal blue lagoon, and accentuated his square masculine jaw. Millie had lost herself in those dreamy depths too many times to count. And with his tall athletic build, she had also lost herself within his imaginary embrace. Only he was unaware of her daydreams about him. Those eyes and his confident swagger betrayed his almost arrogant nature. However, she didn’t care. To Millie he was perfection, and despite the attention of all the other girls, she would make him notice her one way or another – eventually.
She skipped up her pace, engrossed with thoughts of Damon and eager to get to the bay where she could be alone with the deliciousness of her contemplations while her brother played by the water’s edge. Millie threw the white front door open with a little more force than she had intended. She ignored the little flakes of old paint that drifted to the floor as she burst into the house.
“Ace,” she called through the stale heat of the hallway, “Let’s go to the bay!”
Her voice echoed back but there was no reply. Usually she could find her brother in the lounge room eating his after-school fill and watching TV when she arrived home in the afternoons.
“Ace!”
There was still no answer. Strange, she thought, as she dumped her bag in the hall outside her bedroom door and made her way across creaking floorboards. There was no-one in the kitchen. She paused at the fridge to grab a can of Coke. “Score!” she muttered to herself. It was rare to find a can of Coke ready to be plucked from the fridge. The fridge’s noisy old motor kicked in as she shut the door, temporarily disguising the silence in the house.
She drew closer to the back door and peered out into an unruly backyard. She stepped out and made her way down the three cobblestone steps that led off the porch into an unkempt garden filled with overgrown flower beds dotted with ferns of various sizes. Their leaves were hidden among weeds and vines that hid the gardens that had once flourished. Grass the depth of her calves teased her legs as she caught a glimpse of her brother’s sandy blond hair in the far corner of the yard.
“Ace!” she called to him.
Picking up her pace, she ran over to where he sat in silence staring into the flattened bed of lawn he had made for himself.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked breathlessly.
Red-rimmed eyes gazed up at his sister. He shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight and the bottom of his lips trembled. “It’s Mum” he said softly. “Have you seen her? She’s in her room.”
“No, why? Is she home already?” She slid down to her knees. “What’s wrong with Mum?”
Ace flung himself at his sister in a clumsy attempt to hug her. “She’s hurt.” His voice was full of panic, then he cried out louder. “She’s hurt!”
Millie sprang to her feet and ran towards the house with Ace hot on her heels. She slammed through the fossil that passed for a screen door and opened the door to her mother’s bedroom with a jolt, unprepared for the horror that would confront her.
“Mum?” Millie whispered.
Her mother lay still on top of a spread of lilac sheets on her bed, looking as stiff and unmoving as a body without a breath of life within it. She was still in the nightdress she had been wearing the evening before, only now the gown had been torn in places. Millie could see dried blood stains around the shredded neckline of her gown. Smears and droplets littered what had been an elegant white lace nightdress. Leaving her mother now adorned in a night dress that resembled something out of a bad horror movie. She was hardly recognisable. Her long golden mane of hair was a tangled stringy mess, and the strands that curled around her bruised and swollen face were now burned a deep crimson-pink, as if someone had dipped the ends of her hair into a pot of paint. Some of those strands had dried up against the side of her cheeks, giving her a ghoulish appearance against the pale of her skin now tarred with the crust of rusty-coloured blood. Her normally blue eyes were bruised thunder-grey and puffed up to the size of large strawberries. Each corner seeped with a continuous flow of pink fluid. The skin around her left eye had been torn into a savage gash. The ridge of her delicate nose was now bent and so swollen that it dwarfed all her other features.
Millie called out as she rushed to her mother’s side and perched herself carefully on the bed beside where her mother lay motionless. “Oh my god!” she anguished.
“Ace, call for an ambulance – now!” Millie screamed over a shoulder to her brother who was still lumbering by the bedroom door.
Her mother reached out to touch her with her lips parting as she attempted to say something to her daughter. A grimace of pain crossed over her face and a weak groan escaped her bruised lips.
Millie gently moved in closer. “Oh Mum,” she cried, tears now cascading freely down her face, “Who did this to you?”
“No ambulance, Millie,” she whispered. “Please.” Her mother lifted a bruised arm and tried to reach out for her daughter, but it fell short. Her head lolled sideways before falling into the soft folds of the pillow, unconscious.
***
Millie sat beside her unconscious mother while they waited for help to arrive. She rested her hand protectively over her mother’s, unable to move while her mind whirled in a painful twist. Is she going to die? Who could have attacked our beautiful mother so brutally? Millie thought.
Ace cowered like a broken shadow in the corner of the bedroom, the stumps of his fingers stringing together in a muddle. “M … Millie?” Straining to control the teary anguish that threatened to bubble over. “Is Mum going to be okay?”
The sound of his voice startled her as she looked over to his confused figure hovering in the corner. Her eyes bore the red-blotched evidence of her own tears. She knew that her eight-year-old brother was as lost, confused and shocked as she was. And she knew that she needed to be strong for him.
“She’s going to be just fine, Ace.” Her voice tremored. Then firmer, “Just fine.”
She beckoned him over to her and circled the crook of an arm around him when he sat on the floor beside the bed. The two of them were silent beside their mother until the ambulance arrived to rush her to the hospital.
***
Millie’s head felt as if it might explode after the ambulance left. They had little answers to all the questions they were asked – “Who did this to her? What happened? Where is your father?”
Millie could only assure the paramedics that they would soon follow suit to the hospital upon their father’s arrival home. Holding her face in her hands, she crouched in the hallway against the peel of the old wall paint. Her mind swirled with questions and hurt for her mother. She needed to call her father but she was hesitant to call him at his work. She knew he would not run to Lilly’s bedside in hospital. His recent coldness towards her mother was testament to this. Her stomach was so knotted up with grief that she felt nauseous. She leaped up clasping her mouth, and ran down to the bathroom. Her body convulsed violently while she heaved up the contents of her stomach into the toilet.
Afterward she lay, her body curled up against the cool bathroom tiles. She tried to take deep breaths and steady her mind. “Help me, help me, please!” she murmured to herself. As she lay trembling on the gritty tiled floor, the chirping of birds slowly infiltrated her awareness, their sweet strains penetrating the walls of the bathroom from the trees outside. Quieting her mind, she listened to their soothing tones. Their song became boisterous, and she felt as if they were directing their music to her, even though there was no way they could know she lay on the bathroom floor beyond the walls that separated them. She began to feel them, and the rhythm of their sweet melody vibrated through her being. She felt an odd tingling sensation crawl up her spine, settling around the back of her slender neck, and she began to perceive a powerful awareness that she was not alone.