Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  I tremble at his words, spoken without malice. I avoid taking the hand that Freddie offers to me, stepping out of his car without aid. Straightening, I gaze at the building ahead of me, trying to hear what is going on inside. It is silent. No sound penetrates the blurry image, but the smell is like nothing I’ve ever inhaled before. It’s as if the worst offal has been strewn around and left to bake in the sun for days, and even that analogy can’t begin to describe the odor. My wings fly out of my back on their own, just as I turn and retch all over the interior of Freddie’s Mercedes. That might’ve been somewhat satisfying, if it hadn’t hurt so much; my broken ribs ache from the involuntary movement.

  “You’re a Seraph!” Freddie growls at me, jealous. I can’t answer him as I attempt to wipe the vomit from my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’re the most beautiful Seraphim I’ve ever beheld,” he says grudgingly. He reaches out and touches my wings gently, and I nearly vomit again. “You know that Seraphim are the highest rank …” he begins

  “I don’t care about that, Freddie,” I reply in a croak.

  My comment surprises him. “You want to see mine?” he asks me, but before I can answer him, he takes off his shirt, unleashing his wings.

  I don’t know what I would have expected Freddie’s wings to be like, but they are so far removed from the expected that I’m convinced I wouldn’t have guessed this. His wings aren’t like Reed’s wings, or even mine, since ours both resemble that of an avian. No, his wings are the exact image of a dragonfly’s wings; he has four, two on either side of his back. They are an iridescent bluish-green, and they look so thin, I can almost see through them. When he moves them, it sounds like a vibrating buzz saw, just like I would expect from a dragonfly. I reach out with my fingertips in horror and fascination, touching his wing; it feels delicate, like stiff paper.

  “I’m so stupid, Freddie, how could I not have known about you?” I ask him sadly, drawing my hand back from him. I want to mourn the death of my friend because this isn’t the Freddie that I know. “I love you like a brother, Freddie. Don’t do this.”

  Freddie’s eyes narrow viciously. “Just look at this like sibling rivalry then. You have what I need, and if it comes down to you or me, then I choose me. I can’t go back to Sheol and tell them I failed and let you leave. Reed will never let me near you. I only just avoided him to get this far. He’s not stupid; he would’ve discovered me sooner or later. Although, he’s quite blind whenever you’re around. He has trouble seeing anything but you. You’re his Achilles Heel, if you know what I mean. Now, do I have to go in there and bring out a piece of Russell to convince you he’s in there? Or, are you going to come in and cooperate with me so that I can start my new life?”

  I rest my hand on his arm pleadingly. “You don’t want to do this, Freddie.” I say, trying to reason with him. “You and Russell are friends. Russell loves you, I know it,” I beg.

  “I’m not so sure about that. I just watched Russell turn on his own soul mate in the parking lot tonight. I doubt Russell loves anything like he does you and yet, he almost smashed your face in,” Freddie says as if this intrigues him. “I didn’t see that coming. It kind of gave Russell a new flavor to me. He can be turned, you know, we could turn him to our side I suspect. Would you like me to see if he’ll go evil?” Freddie asks me, and I feel sick again.

  “Leave him alone! He hasn’t done anything to deserve this!” I rasp.

  “That’s it, Evie, I knew I could count on you. You’ll do anything to protect him, won’t you? I was hoping that you would. Now, shall we go? I’ve left Russell with some very nasty angels. They’re not good company,” Freddie says, taking my hand and dragging me effortlessly forward toward the 7-Eleven. “Time to save your soul mate.”

  He holds the door wide for me, and I recoil from the scene ahead. Placing his hand on the small of my back, Freddie ushers me into the florescent-lighted horror show. Searching for Russell among the desolation and destruction around me, I spot him at the back on the floor. A red-headed angel with the white wings of an Archangel guards Russell. Russell isn’t moving, but he is breathing. He has bruising near his left temple, and the cut above his left eye oozes blood onto the floor. He is unconscious.

  Stepping as lightly as I can around the debris littering the ground, I know it really isn’t debris, but pieces of flesh. There is so much of it that it is as if someone had unwittingly stepped on a land mine and was blown to pieces. My foot slips on it once or twice before I even step in a few feet; the vinyl tile on the floor is as slick as an ice rink from the blood covering it.

  There are pieces of bodies everywhere I look. Seeing a torso with a red smock covering it, I know that the clerk hasn’t survived the angels’ rampage. Near the dismembered torso, I spy a strikingly handsome angel with olive skin, sitting on the floor. He is holding the hand of a dead girl to his lips, casually ripping the flesh from her fingers with his teeth. Thick mottles of blood run down his chin on either side. Looking up at me, it takes a fraction of a second for his face to be a hair’s breadth from my own. Wincing in terror, I turn my face away from the scent and sight of blood on his face and teeth while he smiles broadly at me. Unbelievable fear makes my insides fall to pieces as I recognize him as the monster from my nightmares.

  Freddie puts a restraining hand on his chest. “Gaspard, not yet! She’s not ready for you quite yet,” Freddie says at my side. “Be patient, killa, it will not take long, and then she’ll be yours, like I promised.”

  Gaspard speaks to me in Angel, but it is not even remotely compelling when it is delivered with tiny droplets of blood-soaked spittle. I don’t shrug at him when he is done speaking because I’ve learned that they consider that rude, so I whisper in a low tone, “I don’t speak your language.”

  Gaspard smiles at me again, showing the flesh that is stuck between his teeth. “That is too bad. It sounds so much better in Angel, than it does in Human. I just told you that the centuries here have been worth every moment that I have suffered, now that I get to desecrate you, my beautiful Seraph,” he breathes, shuddering with delight and pressing his cheek to mine. The blood on his face smears my cheek, delivering its metallic scent to my nostrils.

  “I’m sure I won’t enjoy a moment of that, Gaspard,” I whisper back, clenching my teeth so that I won’t gag again. Being near Gaspard has me reeling and off kilter because he is such a strange, even absurd, dichotomy. His black hair is finely groomed and well kept with no stray hair to mar his perfect forehead or the masculine shape of his arching eyebrows. Only an angel could have a straight nose like his is. His mouth is sensual in its shape and fullness, but the gore that covers him and the sadistic twist of his top lip, makes my heart pound with revulsion and ache to get away.

  Gaspard smiles angelically. “It could surprise you … you smell so delicious. Fear is just pouring out of you. It smells so … stimulating,” he says, inhaling deeply as he licks the blood from my cheek. I jump and shy back from him as a feral growl rips from his throat. He instantly turns from me to the angel approaching him from behind. He snarls a warning as if he is protecting his kill from another predator—his kill being me.

  My legs have gone numb, but I’m not sure if it is with relief or with fear as the other angel says, “She’s not yours, Gaspard. I outrank you in this mission. You must relinquish her to me.” This is the angel with the white wings and the red hair that has been standing by the coffee machines as I entered. He is the angel that was guarding Russell’s limp body.

  Hesitating for only a moment, Gaspard stands up, straightening out of the defensive crouch he had adopted. Stepping back from me a fraction, he shrugs passively. A wicked smile crosses the other angel’s face as the red-headed one comes toward me. I brace myself for whatever he might do to me, but I don’t find out. Gaspard reaches out, grabbing him by the throat as he tries to saunter by. Snapping his neck, Gaspard then rips the head of the Archangel right off of his body. He continues dismembering the angel as blood spatters across my face
and body. The crunching and grinding sounds are almost unbearable as I close my eyes to block out the horrifying gore in front of me.

  “Well, I don’t think Cade saw that coming,” Freddie remarks. He turns to me and says, “Archangels think they own everything; they’re kind of snobs, but they forget that Power angels sometimes don’t play nice. Sucks to be him.”

  Gaspard, breathing hard from the exertion of dismembering his partner, doesn’t look a bit remorseful. In fact, he is smiling at me almost tenderly. His twisted sneer is gone, and he is attempting to wipe some of the blood from my face with his hand. It is not working well, since his hands have more blood on them than my face does. “Ah, mon cher,” he says in a seductive tone, “do not worry, he will never have you. You are mine, and I don’t share.”

  “Thank you, Gaspard, you’re too good to me,” I reply softly, trying to match his seductive tone. “But, you know, it was probably all for naught, since Freddie plans on taking my soul from me. I doubt that I’ll survive very long without it. You may have just killed your friend for nothing.”

  The back of Freddie’s hand cracks across my face in an instant, knocking me into the stacks of shelving. Looking up from the floor where I have landed, I face away from the two angels who are arguing heatedly about what I have just revealed. Gingerly putting my shaking fingers to my cheek, it aches, just like in my nightmares.

  Movement in the corner of the store catches my attention. Turning, I see several people huddling there. Horror and bewilderment mar their faces. They are pale and clinging to one another, so I motion for them to run. I don’t think that the angels will pursue them, now that they have me. But I realize after seeing the terror on the face of the girl with the piercing in her brow, that she is the clerk whose torso I had spotted earlier. It will make no difference if they run now, because they are already dead. I have to turn away from their faces. I’ve failed them—I’ve failed to realize that Freddie would be the one to perpetrate this crime, and now they are all just souls, helplessly trapped here with me.

  I think that I might go insane in a moment; the fear that has numbed me before is now driving me slowly crazy. Crawling on my hands and knees away from the souls, I try to get to Russell.

  I don’t get far. Freddie’s hand on my shoulder lifts me up, dangling me above the ground before him. Rage twists his face as he sneers at me, before throwing me effortlessly backward into the glass door of a refrigerator at the back of the store. Something in one of my wings snaps on impact while the glass cracks like a spider’s web. Sliding to the floor in a heap, I lie there for a moment, entirely still, until my lungs decompress. Wheezing out a cough, I try desperately to get air back into me.

  Walking in front of my line of sight, Freddie squats down, bringing his face to where my cheek rests against the floor. “You know,” he growls, “I think I’ve changed my mind, Evie. I think I’ll just go ahead and kill Russell, and then I’ll beat the soul out of you. You’ll give it to me if you’re in enough pain. It really doesn’t matter to me how I get it,” he says as his wings buzz in agitation.

  I want to beg him not to hurt us, but all I can do is groan. Grasping me by the arm, he drags me effortlessly across the floor, back toward the coffee machines where Russell is. My body leaves a clean path on the floor, mopping up all of the debris as he sweeps me over it.

  Coming to rest right next to Russell’s body, Freddie drops my arm, and it sprawls out limply. I can’t move yet to see Russell next to me, so I watch Gaspard in front of me; he is extremely agitated. He has sprouted dove-gray wings; they’re long and powerful. He is pacing the floor with supernatural speed, and every now and then, he pauses to run his hand through his black hair. He seems like he is torn about something. Maybe he is afraid there isn’t going to be much of me left to play with once Freddie is done with me. Maybe that’s a good thing, I think to myself.

  Walking over to the counter by the cash register, Freddie picks up a velvet cloth lying on it. The cloth contains several tools and a few knives. Selecting a thin, sharp knife with a bone-colored handle, he throws the rest aside. Stepping between my body and Russell’s body, Freddie crouches down, showing me the blade of the knife in his hand. Putting his finger to his lips, he giggles before his face twists in a sneer. Then, he turns the knife, plunging it into Russell’s thigh.

  All of the blood drains from my face, and tears brighten my eyes as a hoarse scream tears from Russell’s throat. “No, Freddie, stop! I’ll do anything you want, I’ll give you anything you want … just stop, please … stop,” I beg him in a wheeze.

  “Oh, I know you will. This is just for fun,” he says, pulling the knife out of Russell’s thigh and wiping the blade on my silk top.

  “SON OF A … LORD, THAT SUCKS! I’m gonna kill ya, Freddie! I promise ya, I will kill ya. I’m gonna squash ya like the bug ya are,” Russell shouts and then groans, writhing in pain next to me. Turning over towards Russell, I can only imagine what a shock it will be to him to see me. I am covered in blood and my red wings are exposed. When Russell notices me, he freezes and all of the blood drains from his face. “AHH SHOOT, RED, what are ya DOIN’ here?” he yells at me, holding his thigh. Then, closing his eyes, he says, “I told ya to leave. I told ya to go and to never come back. I wanted to save ya! I didn’t save ya!” Balling his hands in fists, he brings them to his forehead.

  “Russell, what? No … you’ve got it wrong! Freddie is here for me. He wants something I have,” I say, searching his face. “He’s going to let you go when I give it to him, aren’t you, Freddie.”

  Freddie’s smile is angelic as he says, “That’s right, Evie. Just give it to me and Russell can go.”

  Russell pulls his fists from his eyes. “What’s he want, Red?” Russell asks between panting breaths, trying to control the pain in his leg. He is looking at me now like he is seeing me for the first time, which makes sense, since he has never seen my wings before this moment.

  I am cognizant enough to realize that this is the last moment I will ever get to spend with Russell. This is the image of me that he will carry with him for the rest of his life. “Nothing that I’m not willing to give him, right, Freddie?” I say in a soft tone, making sure that Freddie knows I am going to go along with his plan, so that he won’t continue to hurt Russell. “I just want to make sure that Freddie will honor his part of the bargain, when I give him what he wants.”

  Russell’s expression turns desperate as he asks, “Red, what does he want?” I don’t answer him. Finding his hand, I hold it in mine.

  Freddie frowns, saying, “Evie, you ought to tell him, since it involves him. You see, Russell, Evie is the most extraordinary being we’ve ever seen. She’s an angel who possesses a human soul—a half-breed. She said she’ll give me her soul if I agree not to kill her soul mate, which is you. She can be assured that I won’t be able to kill you after she gives me her soul because I will have to try really hard not to sin so I can get back into Paradise. But, the really interesting part comes after I take her soul from her. Will we, then, be soul mates, you and I? I hope so! I can’t wait to bump into you in your next life. Won’t that be fun?”

  “Red, if ya give yer soul to that devil, I’ll never forgive ya! Never! I’d rather die now than be saddled with him forever,” Russell spits out. “Ya make me attracted to him and … ugh … don’t ya do it,” he pleads with me.

  “Shh, Russell, it will be okay. I’m positive that you’ll never be attracted to Freddie, since he’s a sadistic creep. He’ll mess up sooner or later, and then he’ll be sent back to Sheol. You’ll be okay,” I reason in a soothing tone.

  “What happens to her if she gives ya her soul?” Russell asks Freddie in despair.

  Freddie’s brow wrinkles. “I don’t know for sure, but I think she’ll hang around for a while, waiting, as her body dies slowly, and then she’ll probably go into the dark alone. I suspect that Gaspard will hasten the darkness, since he’s super violent,” Freddie says, sounding giddy as he explains. He is getting wha
t he wants, and it is making him euphoric. Gaspard, showing relief over this pronouncement, slows his pacing to grin in delight.

  “Red, c’mon … ya can’t do this. It’s wrong and ya know it!” he pleads with me. “What am I gonna do here without ya anyway? Ya can’t do it, ya just can’t!”

  “I can’t watch him kill you, Russell. You have to live,” I say, squeezing his hand in mine when I see the pain and fear in his brown eyes.

  Russell’s voice cracks as he says, “I can’t watch ya die either …”

  Freddie snarls in disgust next to us. “Okay, this is making me want to puke. I’m ready for my soul now. Just don’t resist me, and I’ll take care of the rest,” Freddie says, gripping the handle of the knife and straddling my thighs so that I can’t move beneath him.

  Freddie speaks in Angel; his voice is so musical that it’s calming me, lulling me as I stare up at him. Closing his eyes, he concentrates hard, making arching symbols in the air with his knife. A pulling sensation erupts in the core of my body when he draws the knife over me, inches from my flesh. As his knife passes downward again, my eyes widen, and a harrowing gasp comes from me. Clutching my chest, I attempt to hold myself together, while something tears inside of me. But it is no use; I am ripping apart from the inside out.

  “Alfred, you stupid, evil parasite! Get off of Evie before I knock your nasty head off of your shoulders!” Brownie calls from the doorway of the store. Inching in the door, Brownie growls as she sizes up Gaspard, who has stilled his pacing and is crouching to attack.

  “Sweetie, you can’t give Alfred your soul; he will ruin Paradise,” Buns chimes in, coming to stand next to Brownie. With her eyes never leaving Gaspard, she hands something to Brownie; it is a stick that resembles field hockey equipment, but it is crafted of shiny gold metal with a deadly blade curving wickedly at the end.