Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  I tried not to show my impatience for the remainder of my shift, but at the end of it I scurried out of the door and met Erica outside, reaching into my grey duster for a pen and my trusty little notepad. I also got out my Bluetooth, which I hardly ever used for real. It was just my cover to avoid drawing attention to myself. Normal people wouldn’t be able to see or hear her. I didn’t want to come off as a crazy lady talking to thin air.

  “Alright, give me everything you remember from the top and don’t spare any details, even if you think they’re minor,” I told her as we walked towards the bus stop.

  “I remember my last name, Davalos, and that I’m from Raleigh.” she said.

  “I can’t believe you walked all the way here from North Carolina. You’re definitely a trooper.” I scribbled the information down along with a brief description of her facial features and clothes. She wore a lavender button up shirt and grey slacks beneath a black sweater, no jewelry. Her feet were of course missing. She was a ghost and all of them were like that because they were no longer tied to Earth but suspended between the living world and the spiritual world. The clothing was a result of her internal self-image, which all souls inherently had.

  “And I remember that I was a kindergarten teacher and I loved my kids. I have a daughter. She’s seven.”

  “Okay. Is there anything you can tell me about your death? Anything at all?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t see his face, but I heard his voice. It was saying something in Latin. I studied it back in college so I actually remember what he said quite clearly.”

  I winced. “My Latin’s a bit rusty, but Gabriel should be able to translate for us. Go ahead.”

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her brow furrowing. “It went like this: Is quisnam suscipio lux lucis superne, ex fontis of lux lucis; haud alius doctrina postulo, sentential tribuo verus.”

  It took me a moment to get all the spelling correct—I could read and write in both English and Castilian Spanish but Latin was tricky—and by the time I finished, the bus arrived. We climbed aboard and sat in the back to stay out of earshot of other riders. Usually, I’d wait until we were home to ask all these questions, but an entire month with no new leads made me overeager.

  “He was repeating it like some sort of chant while he stood over me, lighting the place on fire as if he were…I don’t know, trying to purify it,” she said, frowning.

  I wanted to reach out and touch her hand in comfort, but it wouldn’t do her any good. It would pass right through her and send chills through me. Only poltergeists were solid and they were rare. I had only met two of them in my entire life.

  “Well, that says a couple things to me,” I told her. “The killer is well-read, perhaps a linguist, if he was pronouncing all of that well enough that you remembered it. Two, we’re looking for someone with a religious background. You’re not the first dead Seer that I’ve been investigating.”

  “Really?”

  “Sadly, yes. Over the past five months, there have been five others murdered in different parts of the world. Four of them were stabbed in the chest, laid on the floor, and then their homes were burned to the ground. One was strangled and his car was set on fire. It always happens on the eve of their Awakening, just like I’m assuming yours did.”

  “Awakening?”

  “That’s when your powers mature. It happens at a different time for every Seer. Mine didn’t hit until I was eighteen. Yours came a bit late, it seems.”

  “How is it possible that he knew when it would happen for me?”

  I shook my head. “We don’t know. Gabriel is supposed to appear whenever someone’s powers awaken, but this serial killer somehow knows exactly when and where these Seers surface and always beats him there. However, you are the first Seer soul to stay behind. The others passed over into Heaven and they gave the same report as you each time.”

  “So what’s going to happen to me?”

  “We’re going to find out what your final wish is and that will set your soul free so you can cross over for your final judgment.”

  “We?”

  I smiled. “My friends and I. They’re archangels.”

  A mixed look of astonishment and skepticism crossed her face, making my smile widen.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Don’t worry—you’re not the first person to say that. I have a, um, complicated sort of life. You’ll meet them when we get home.”

  A few minutes later, we arrived at my bus stop and I led Erica to my humble abode. The apartment was nothing close to nice. It was smack dab in the middle of a crowded, shady neighborhood, squished between a liquor store and a barbershop. That was why it was so affordable.

  We walked down the street and up a short flight of stairs to my apartment on the first floor, second room over. When I opened the door, there were two men at the kitchen table eating banana bread. The first was a blond man who was almost seven feet tall with sky blue eyes dressed in an impeccable Armani suit. The second was a significantly shorter curly-haired Hispanic man with brown eyes dressed in a tan sweater vest over black slacks and a black button up shirt. I didn’t panic. They had keys, after all.

  “Jordan,” Gabriel said as he unfolded his enormous frame from the chair after I shut the door.

  “Hey, Gabe.” He pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead in the same spot as always—over my right eyebrow. “Good to see you.”

  I hugged Raphael. “Hey, Raph.”

  “Evening, Jordan.”

  I grinned as I noticed half of my homemade banana bread had vanished. “I see you’ve helped yourselves to my sweets.”

  Gabriel blushed. “I…did not eat lunch today. Forgive me.”

  The urge to laugh was immense, but I pushed it aside. “Just this once. I’m charging you for the next one.”

  I gestured to Erica, who seemed politely bewildered by the two men before her. “This is Erica Davalos. I met her outside of the restaurant a few hours ago.”

  The blond archangel bowed his head to her. “My name is Gabriel. I am God’s Messenger here on Earth.”

  Raphael did the same. “Raphael. I am God’s Healing Missionary. We are terribly sorry for the loss of your life, Mrs. Davalos.”

  “Why? It’s not your fault some jerk-off killed me.”

  “I am responsible for facilitating instructions to new Seers. If I had arrived sooner, I could have prevented your death. For that, I am truly sorry.” Gabriel’s voice was low with shame. I could feel his sadness like a cold weight in my stomach and started to say something, but Erica did it for me.

  “I don’t blame you. No one’s perfect, not even angels. I just want to make sure that my family is taken care of now that I’m…gone.”

  Raphael offered her an encouraging look. “Your husband and daughter are safe, Mrs. Davalos. They have found somewhere to stay and they are being watched over. Nothing will happen to them. I swear it on my honor as an angel.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, finally smiling again.

  I withdrew the notepad from my pocket and flipped to the page with her name on it, then addressed Gabriel. “She remembered something that the other victims didn’t when I spoke to her earlier this afternoon. You told me that they heard the killer chanting something, right?”

  Gabriel nodded. “Yes, but we were never able to get a transcription.”

  “Now we’ve got one. It’s Latin. Can you translate it?”

  He took the notepad from me, his lips just barely moving as he read. “I know these words. It’s an excerpt from Paradise Regained.”

  “What does it translate to?”

  He took a second or two, as if trying to remember his English. “He who receives light from above, from the fountain of light; no other doctrine needs, though granted true.”

  “You’ve got a damn good memory, Gabe.”

  “Well, I did help dictate most of it for Milton in my earlier years. Still, this is a strange thing to chant while murdering someone.”
r />   “Why is that?”

  “It suggests that this killer thinks that he is following orders from on high, perhaps that he has a superior knowledge or truth. The fountain of light implies Christ or God the Father rather than heaven itself. In my opinion, it sounds like he thinks that this ‘truth’ he has discovered is his only mission and that he will follow it without question.”

  “Great. There’s nothing worse than a man on a mission. And it still brings us back to the same question…” I sat in the chair by the kitchen table, suppressing a long sigh. “Why hasn’t he come for me yet?”

  Erica spoke up then. “I don’t understand. If you all work for God, can’t He just tell you who is doing this?”

  Raphael shook his head. “God will not interfere on Earth until the Rapture. He charges the angels with solving any problems between heaven and the world below it. He believes that this will bring us closer together if we work as one without His help.”

  “Oh.” She paused. “That sucks.”

  I grinned in spite of myself. “I know. I said the same thing when I found out.”

  “Regardless,” Raphael continued, though he was smirking. “I will escort Erica back to her home and help her find her final wish.”

  “Thanks. Be careful.” He nodded to Gabriel and I before gesturing to the door. Erica waved to me before walking through the closed door while Raphael left the traditional way.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to absorb the new information I’d learned. My skull felt fit to burst.

  Gabriel sat down across from my chair, watching me. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Jordan?”

  “I don’t get it, Gabriel. I’m not an exceptionally powerful Seer. Why is it that I’ve been spared and six other people lost their lives just for being born of a certain bloodline?”

  “It’s possible that whomever is doing this knows that your soul is bound to Michael’s and it would be nearly impossible to kill you without risking his own life. The other Seers led normal lives. You’re living with a dyed-in-the-wool warrior.”

  I frowned harder. “But that’s not right. I shouldn’t get a pass just because I happen to be married to an archangel.”

  A soft chuckle escaped him. “Jordan, are you telling me that you’re feeling guilty because someone has not tried to kill you? It’s a far cry from your usual behavior.”

  I snorted. “Point taken. No one’s tried to kill me in over a year. I’m starting to miss the adrenaline.”

  “Perhaps I could make an attempt on your life if that would make you happy.”

  I had to smile. “Thanks, that’s sweet of you, but I’ve got a reminder right here to tide me over for a while.”

  I touched the spot over my heart where an ugly brown scar lay beneath my button-up shirt where the Spear of Longinus had once pierced over a year ago. I couldn’t believe it had been that long since my life changed forever. “Dying once is enough, trust me.”

  “Indeed.” He went silent and a thought occurred to me.

  “Tell me something. Why would this killer recite that passage in Latin? Wasn’t Paradise Regained originally written in English?”

  His brow wrinkled. “Yes, you’re right. That is curious. Perhaps he knows that Latin was one of the languages most used by the angels in earlier times?”

  “But what does that imply? Clearly, he knows about Seers and angels or else he wouldn’t be able to always disappear before you arrive. What’s the connection?”

  “Maybe he sees himself as the angel of death for these Seers? But, again, that leads to another question: why is he killing them in the first place?”

  I massaged my left temple. “I’m starting to think I should start wearing an expressionless mask and a blue fedora.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing.” I glanced at the clock on the microwave and groaned.

  “Shoot, Michael’s concert starts in half an hour. I’d better get dressed. You coming?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t. I have other obligations for the night. Please give him my support.”

  “No worries. You’re overdressed anyway.”

  He grinned as he stood. “I thought you had finally come to terms with my preferred attire after I bought you that Dolce and Gabbana dress for Christmas.”

  “It was lovely, but it’s so nice that I’m afraid to wear it,” I admitted. It was an evening gown the color of dark chocolate that was made of pure silk. Gabriel often invited me to his high class social events, but half the time I couldn’t go because I could never afford the right clothes. He decided from then on to upgrade my wardrobe whenever he got the chance. It was beyond thoughtful of him.

  He chuckled again before bending to kiss me on the forehead. “Good night, Jordan. I’ll see you soon, hopefully with good news about the case.”

  “Night, Gabe.”

  Chapter 2

  Jordan

  “I TAKE IT from this supposedly mandatory back rub that things didn’t go well with the talent agent?”

  My husband sighed and the smooth skin on his shoulders shifted with each exhale. My fingertips worked small, slow circles in the middle of his spinal column where I could feel knots of tension. An archangel with back problems. Who knew?

  “She said that we had the talent and the look, but we’re not ‘marketable enough’,” Michael said with no small amount of bitterness in his tone. It hurt to hear. He worked at Guitar Center to pay the bills and took the odd gig on the side. He wanted to work on his music full-time, but with two apartments and all the traveling working on cases, he had to compromise.

  “That’s the third agent to tell me so. I’m beginning to think this profession isn’t as enjoyable as I once hoped.”

  “C’mon, don’t say that. You love music. You’d better not even think about giving it up,” I scolded, but in my most supportive voice.

  “Besides, getting a record deal is like getting published. All it takes is one yes, so you’re going to have to wade through a hundred no’s before you get there.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slow, folding his arms to prop up his head. “Yeah, I know. But it still sucks.”

  I leaned down and kissed the top of his head, resting my hands on his shoulders.

  “Welcome to showbiz, stud.”

  A soft sound escaped him, one similar to a laugh. “How’d you get to be so savvy about this?”

  “Life. Alright, let’s get to work.” I reached over and grabbed the manila folder lying next to us and handed it to him. Gabriel had left it for me on the kitchen counter and I hadn’t seen it since I’d headed to the concert. He pushed up on his elbows and opened it, reading the files out loud while I resumed my careful massage of his lower back.

  “Victim Number One: Danny Bowen. Thirty-four. Mechanical engineer. Kentucky resident. Found murdered in his home five months ago. Deep puncture wound in the chest. Traces of steel found in the rib cage indicate a large blade. Entry and exit wounds suggests it’s shaped like a sickle.”

  He flipped to the next page. “Victim Number Two: Todd Lovett. Twenty-one. Biochemistry major at Oxford. Found murdered in his car four months ago. Strangled to death in the front seat at roughly three o’clock in the morning. First to remember the killer chanting something in Latin as he died.”

  Next page. “Victim Number Three: Imani Ibekwe. Thirty-one. Missionary. Found murdered in her home in Nigeria four months ago. Wounds consistent with the first victim. Confirms that if it is the same killer, he’s using the same weapon. Angle of the wounds suggests the killer is less than six feet tall.”

  Page four. “Victim Number Four: Faye Cunningham. Forty-two. Nurse at a hospital in Poland. Found murdered in her home like Victims One and Three with the same wounds three months ago.”

  Page five. “Victim Number Five: Yusef Nolan. Twenty-five. Television producer. Found murdered in his studio apartment in Brisbane two months ago. Defensive wounds on his forearms suggest the killer knows an extensive amount of martial arts as Yu
sef was a brown belt in judo and still ended up dead.”

  Page six. “Victim Number Six: Erica Davalos. Forty-three. Kindergarten teacher. Found murdered in her home a month and a half ago. First victim not to immediately cross over. Like the other spirits, she remembers seeing a man chanting in Latin.”

  I rested my chin on the top of his head, folding my arms across the back of his broad shoulders. “Aside from being Seers, what do we have on similarities?”

  He flipped to the last page. “Based on the records I had some of the angels compile, Todd and Faye are of the same bloodline. They’re descendants of Matthew. Danny is a descendant of Luke, Imani is a descendant of John the Baptist, and Erica is a descendant of Thomas.”

  I shook my head. “That doesn’t really have any relevance. So far, their Awakenings tie them together, not their bloodlines. What else?”

  “Their homes and possessions were all burned to the ground. That suggests that the killer believes in some sort of purification ritual. However, he doesn’t leave markings on the ground afterward or any memorabilia. If it’s a cultural thing, it’s not one we’ve seen before.”

  “Which means it’s newly formed by Captain Psychopath. Great. And you’re sure this isn’t a demon’s doing?”

  “No. Demons can only sense the Awakening of a Seer sometime after the angels, not exactly when it happens. Only archangels and experienced Seers can sense when someone’s powers are developing. It gives us a bit of a head start. Besides, we’ve been tracking Belial’s movements for the past year and they aren’t consistent with the murders.”

  A little shudder went down my spine at the mention of the demon’s name. I had been fortunate enough not to see him for over a year and that still wasn’t long enough. Every time I left the apartment, I felt a tiny shadow of fear rest between the back of my shoulders—fear that he was watching me, waiting for the opportunity to strike and get back at me for foiling his plans three times in a row.