Falling (Girl With Broken Wings Book 1)

by J Bennett

  The dim glow of the dashboard offers enough light for my eyes. I finish Karen’s letter in six pages, skipping some of my more forgivable blunders. I can’t apologize enough for leaving her alone; for being alive and letting her suffer my death. The worst stain of all I save for last and scrawl it hastily on the bottom line, crowding the letters to make it fit. I always secretly resented Karen for not being my real mother.

  Now I’ve just got one letter left. One more monumental apology. Avalon destroyed forever, but I can’t even think about that right now. I just can’t.

  * * *

  Sometime in the night we all switch seats. Now I’m in the front, Tarren is at the wheel and Gabe lies down across the back seat, tucking in his legs. “Seatbelts,” he tells us, clicking the middle strap around his waist before promptly falling asleep.

  Tarren glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking. I see a grim determination on his face and imagine this is the same way he would size up an enemy. His energy flicks dangerously, the dark blues growing brighter at the edges.

  “Why don’t you tell people?” My voice comes out as a too-loud chirp.

  “Tell them about the angels?” Tarren guesses correctly.

  “Okay, so the cops might laugh at first, but you could catch the angels on tape. Hell, you have me now. I could show the world. As soon as this hits the light, the FBI would be all over it. There’d be a task force, 60 Minutes exposé, they could — ”

  “No,” Tarren’s voice is sharp. “People wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

  “Well, yeah, they might freak out at first, but once they recognized the danger, they could mobilize — ”

  “You don’t understand,” Tarren says, and, as always, his face is a hostile landscape, cold and closed. “They wouldn’t be afraid. They would want to become angels.”

  “What?”

  “Anyone who ever dreamed of being stronger, faster, smarter would demand to be changed. It wouldn’t take long for a team of entrepreneurial scientists to crack the code and remake the original formula. Anyone with enough money and the inclination to be part of a new master race could buy their way in.”

  Tarren’s voice takes on the tones of a doomsday prophet. “There would not be enough guns, enough bullets in the world to stop them if the formula ever got out. The population would fragment into angels and food.”

  “But…” I manage.

  “So far the angels have kept themselves hidden. We’re not sure why. Maybe they know they’re not strong enough to stand up to a united military offense if the world ever figured out how dangerous they were. Or maybe it’s just greed — they don’t want to share what they have. Whatever the reason, they’re not talking and we’re not talking. But if Grand ever does rediscover the formula, he’ll be able to spread the disease faster than any army could stop him.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “The risk is too great,” Tarren insists, though I’m not arguing anymore. “Our parents weighed all the options. The public can’t know, for their own protection. It’s only us.”

  I put the window all the way down. The cold fingers of the wind feel good on my face. I stare out across the night, trying not to think about how utterly hopeless and stupidly funny it seems that two grungy kids and a tweaker angel girl are supposed to save the world.

  We stop for gas. I open the glove compartment and hand Tarren his cap, which he pulls low over his face before stepping out. My own straw fashion gem is in the back seat, so I take Gabe’s lucky hat from the pocket in the side door and put it on despite the smell. After Tarren’s got the gas pumping, I lean out of the open window.

  We still have a score to settle even if he doesn’t realize it yet.

  “Tarren?”

  “Don’t turn your face to the cameras,” he says sharply.

  I ignore him. “I need something inside.”

  “What is it?”

  “Never mind, I’ll get it.” I open the door, and Tarren pushes it shut.

  “But, I need ChapStick,” I whine.

  “I think we have some in the car somewhere.”

  “And tampons.”

  “What?”

  “I need tampons. I’m on my period. Right now. It just started. If you could grab some Aspirin too, while you’re in there, I’m cramping like crazy.”

  Tarren searches my face for any hint of deception, but the darkness is all stirred up inside of me, and I give him a perfect grimace of discomfort. He launches his granite face/arctic eyes combo attack, but I do not waver under the barrage.

  “It’s up to you,” I shrug. “As long as you don’t mind blood all over your car. And not just any blood…” I pause for dramatic effect and lower my voice. “Menstrual blood.”

  “Fine,” Tarren growls and turns on his heels.

  “Supermax please,” I call out after him. “I’m pretty much gushing.”

  His hands clench into fists. I fall back against the seat and smile.

  “Pants on fire,” Gabe calls out. I catch his elf eyes open and bright in the rearview mirror. “But that was pretty awesome.”

  “You should really clean this thing once in a while,” I toss the hat back at him.

  “What, and wash all the luck out?” Gabe crosses his arms over the hat and drifts back to sleep.

  It’s just past one in the morning. A new day that feels no different from the last.

  Chapter 33

  We make it to Redmond, Washington in the morning, though you would hardly know it. A thick bank of clouds hangs heavy in the sky, their faces gray and threatening. Pale light trickles through the cover and casts a pall across the lush forestry that lines the highway. The air smells wet and earthy.

  Gabe guides Tarren to a motel, and I wait in the SUV while they check in. I hum to myself. Gabe’s habit must be contagious. I don’t know what song I’m humming, so I supply my own words.

  Monster Maya eats bunnies

  Wants to kill you too

  Angel girl in the floppy hat

  What’s a monster to do, do, do

  The brothers argue about rooming arrangements as soon as they think I’m out of earshot. I try not to listen by only kind of straining to catch their words. Tarren proposes one room with two beds and a rotating watch. He doesn’t say what they’re watching for. Gabe proposes that Tarren is a paranoid tight ass and that this is Maya they’re talking about. He points out that the little incident back there was nothing really and that since she (me) is terrified of Tarren seeing as he tried to kill her (me) that one time not so long ago, it would be best for everyone if Tarren took a second room and stopped being a total prick if at all possible.

  “Do you really trust her?” Tarren asks his brother.

  “We have to,” Gabe says. “How else is she going to get through this? We’re all that she has, and fuck, look at us. That ain’t much.”

  * * *

  The room is done in beige, nice and impersonal. I scan the carpet but find no immediate sticky black globs. I also notice that the television remote is not bolted to the table. It seems we’ve moved up in the world.

  I put my gray duffle bag on the bed nearest to the window and unzip it, curious of its contents. I see jeans. Something black. Tennis shoes, not wide. A pack of underwear. Gabe lied, they’re plain and white. Some t-shirts and other safe Target buys. I sigh.

  “What?” Gabe drops his own bag at the foot of the other bed. He already has his laptop out.

  “I want to buy my own clothes. I already have grandma underwear.” I wave the package at him.

  Tarren takes this opportunity to step into the room and glower at me. I have a mad urge to throw the underwear at his head. His energy field is low and hazy, and reading the exhaustion he tries to hide gives me some pleasure.

  Tarren sets down the hutch of rabbits near the door, which is to say, as far away from my bed as possible. Their odor fills the room, and I can’t help but glance at them longingly. I’m already missing the sun, and we’ve only been in this state for a co
uple of hours. Washington blows.

  “I like that one.” Gabe is looking at a rabbit standing separate from his huddled, shivering companions. The animal has soft, silver-gray fur, the color of the clouds hanging over the city, and a splash of white across his forehead that dribbles down the bridge of his nose. His ears hang down on each side of his face, giving him a sad countenance. Mr. Brave is clinging onto the mesh with his front paws and pushing his nose through the wire. He seems oblivious to my evil monster vibe.

  “Don’t get attached,” Tarren says. I give Gabe a sheepish oops, sorry I’m a killer of small and adorable animals smile.

  Gabe shrugs and puts his laptop on the desk. “Alright, here’s the deal. We got two bodies. Both found at Marymoor Park. Three days ago it was a dead homeless guy lying in the brush. Called it a heart attack. He was 32. Day after that, they have a concert in the park. Guy goes off to pee in the woods, doesn’t come back out.”

  “Another heart attack?” Tarren asks.

  “Bingo, Yahtzee and Connect Four. Guy was 44. And get this, a runner just went missing yesterday.”

  “In the park.” Tarren says. It’s not a question.

  Gabe nods. “They’re searching for her now.”

  “Police suspicious?”

  “Nah. Heart attacks all around so far. If they find that runner they’ll call it the same thing.”

  Gabe is at the desk, pulling up windows on his computer, and Tarren sits on the bed behind him. They have melded into a cohesive unit, speaking quickly, plugging into the same thought pattern. Even their energies seem to be syncing — Gabe’s speeding up, Tarren’s smoothing down. The envy inside of me is sudden and sharp. They’ve had each other all these years; a brother to depend on, to worry about, to argue with and care for. All I got was a damn guinea pig.

  I stand next to the bed, trying to look serious and engaged.

  “This is one big ass park; we’re talking perfect angel killing ground,” Gabe continues. “Over 600 acres filled with people wandering off by themselves. Kids, dog walkers, runners, hikers, those crazy bird watching people. Total nightmare.”

  “But why isn’t the angel moving on or at least spreading out the kills to multiple locations?” Tarren asks.

  Gabe turns in his chair and shrugs. “It’s possible we’ve got a newbie here. Doesn’t know the tricks of the trade yet. Then again, this angel really doesn’t need to move. This whole state is filled with humongo parks. Lots of people running alone, hiking away from others. Heart attacks happen all the time.”

  “What’s the history here?”

  “High wealth area. You got Microsoft and Nintendo just around the corner. Lots of executives and well-paid engineers. These guys know the right people and could definitely buy their way in. Wait a minute.” Gabe’s eyes get big. “Do you think it could be Bill Gates? Oh my god! All those mosquito nets for African orphans were just a cover. Diabolical!”

  Tarren ignores his brother. “First thing we’ve got to do is confirm we’re really dealing with an angel. Could just be some heart attacks.”

  Gabe rolls his eyes. “Witness statement describes our dead homeless guy as ‘ice cold.’ Dude got touched by an angel in a very bad way.” Gabe smirks and looks up to his brother.

  “Alright, then we’ve got to move fast,” Tarren says.

  “Yeah,” I say. Both brothers ignore me.

  “I call park,” Gabe says.

  “I did the morgue last time,” Tarren scowls.

  “Yeah, because you never call it. Them’s the rules. Maya and me’ll sweep the park, see what we can find. You get a look at those bodies. Radiation is confirmation.”

  “Yeah,” I say again.

  Both brothers turn to look at me for the first time. Tarren sifts through his huge arsenal of expressions which includes such favorites as grimace, scowl and glower, and determines a slight frown will do the job now.

  “Be careful,” Tarren says softly to his brother before turning to leave. He pauses at the door. “You too Maya.” It sounds like a threat.

  Chapter 34

  At Marymoor Park, Gabe and I present ourselves at the check-in table to participate in the search for Sunshine Bailey, the runner who went missing yesterday. I scrawl Mercedes Dantes onto the sign-in sheet. We accept a park map, two orange vests, a bright red whistle and a folder filled with emergency numbers, a guide to constructing a splint from a tree branch and missing person flyers.

  While we receive instructions from a search organizer, I keep my head down and pretend to study the flyer of Sunshine’s smiling face. The missing woman is pale as milk, has dark, pretty eyes, round cheeks, and short curls. The combination of her features immediately strikes me as someone whose profession requires scrubs: nurse, dental hygienist, something along those lines. Sorry Sunshine, I think. You are dead. No tree branch splints for you. How do you feel about some sweet vengeance in the near future? I might be able to arrange that.

  Gabe politely declines to be included in the larger search groups. “We’ll just go our own way and whistle if we see anything,” he tells the woman at the table.

  Her chins tremble. “Bless your precious hearts.”

  We don our orange vests, a perfect complement to my hideous straw hat, and make our way into the park. The air is chilled and soggy; Gabe is underdressed in a t-shirt and jeans but doesn’t seem to mind. The clouds give up sunlight in sporadic hiccups that aren’t worth chasing.

  We follow a wide path past trimmed fields and what a sign tells us is a community garden before finding a trail and moving into the woods. I notice posters flapping against trees. Missing Sunshine. Missing dogs. Lots of missing dogs. Gabe pauses to tear down a flyer for a lost golden retriever named Buckeye. He tucks it in his pocket before continuing on.

  The forest is alive with chirps and scrapes and gnaws and smells that light up my brain. I follow closely behind Gabe, trying not to wobble as I catch more scents and attempt to process the cacophony of new sounds around us. We tramp along the trail, and Gabe half-heartedly calls Sunshine’s name while I get myself in order. I hear other voices across the park raising the call. Stupid hope.

  Gabe pulls us off the main trail, following small veins of beaten dirt through thick hedges of spruce and pine. Birds take wing overhead, and I can’t help but turn my head toward each new noise. My hands are pulsing with heat, and I ball them into fists. Though I can still hear the other volunteers nearby, I suddenly feel like we’re alone and vulnerable. A branch snaps behind me, and I shiver. Gabe’s energy is smooth and controlled, though I notice it moves fast and tight around his body.

  “Do you think it’s here? The angel? In the woods somewhere?” I ask him.

  Gabe looks up from his map and shrugs. “Don’t know. Probably not. It seems to come out in the evening.”

  “Does any of this ever scare you? I feel like we’re in the opening credits of a cheesy horror flick.” I step over a twisted root.

  “This is kind of my hobby, remember?” Gabe smiles. He seems to have a lot of different smiles. Some are sad smiles, and some are thoughtful like the one perching on his lips now. Some hide things. Gabe and his smiles. Tarren and his frowns. Maya and her sighs.

  “Not ever?” Ferns reach out and brush my socks.

  A ruddy flame sparks and dies in Gabe’s aura. The smile on his face grows wider, and this is how I know he’s going to lie.

  “Nah, course not.” He shrugs and keeps walking. “I’m a warrior, baby. Death, destruction, and impossible escapes are what I live for. Much like Chuck Norris.”

  “Of course. Forget I asked.” The low hanging branches keep clutching at my hat, and I have to put a hand on the brim to keep it in place. We stop, and Gabe consults his map again.

  “They found the homeless guy ‘bout a quarter mile up the trail.” He shrugs off his backpack and pulls out a bright yellow box. It’s bigger than a lunch box, with a handle jutting out from the top. I lean over the machine and watch as a needle beneath its faceplate jumps to attention
.

  “Do you mind?” Gabe arches an eyebrow. “Radiation detector. Not very useful with you standing next to me.”

  I step back, and something twists in my stomach or the place where my stomach used to be.

  “Gabe, is it safe for you to be around me?” I ask. “With the radiation?”

  Gabe fiddles with the device. “Uh-huh, we started taking radiation pills for that, and Tarren will test our blood at the end of the month. It’s cool.”

  “Oh.” I tug off a wide leaf and twist it between my fingers.

  “It’s cool Maya. Really.”

  “Sometimes I forget how weird this all is.”

  “Everyone’s weird,” he shrugs and gives me a warm smile. Speaking of Gabe’s smiles, they are the most powerful smiles of anyone I know, seemingly able to resist even the most direct onslaughts of reality. “We’re just slightly weirder than most. At least we don’t collect Beanie Babies.”

  I give him the laugh he’s looking for, and we share one of those moments that are becoming more familiar and more important to me.

  “Stay here,” Gabe says. “I’ll sweep and see if I can pick up a trail.” He takes several steps forward, stops, turns to me and says, “Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits. Ponder that,” and then resumes his tracking.

  I do not ponder Chuck Norris. I ponder all the little snacks scurrying up the trees and weaving through the plants. Then I remember why we’re here and ponder how terrifying it would be if some mad, foaming super human suddenly dropped down out of the trees and disemboweled me with its bare teeth. Not that angels disembowel people, but I’ve still got those cheesy horror flicks on my mind.

  I look up into the trees, straining to catch some sense of a predator lurking up there. Then it dawns on me — the only thing that seems to be dawning in this dismal state — that if I were an angel, or at least an angel looking for a human snack, the trees are exactly where I would hide.

  I ditch the hat and climb up a thick tree. Needles digs into my skin and hair. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Claw marks? A convenient bloody handprint? I stand on a high branch and walk out as far as its strength will support my weight. Scanning the vast area, I try to imagine what route the angel would have taken. It looks like a whole valley of Christmas trees fanning out in front of me. They halt at a wide expanse of river. Moisture hangs in the air, so does the fresh piney scent of the trees, the animal odors and the fresh release from the wet forest floor. I breathe in, close my eyes and jump, letting instinct take my body. I don’t catch a scent, don’t find footprints on the air, but I know the angel has been here. It’s discovered this same natural pathway through the trees, leaped along the branches just as I am now, thrilled at the freedom, the rush of motion.