Heavenly Hell (Heavenly Hell Book 1)

by Aria Williams

  She was under the guide of angel named Benilde, who offered advice, and at times, strict instructions on how to live her life, under the pretence that if she disobeyed him, she will, ‘face his wrath.’ Ha, that bit I find funny. To cut a long story short, AJ hadn’t been honest about whom he really was or that he knew who Nardia was. She had to learn from Benilde that AJ had been deceitful. Nardia confronted him about the truth in such a rage that AJ hadn’t been able to fully explain the situation and his reasons for keeping the truth from her.

  The truth was too much, as she felt betrayed, and their love affair ended again with her running into the arms of another man. And that’s how I’ve found myself here, with Israfel, or I guess, AJ, sulking and begging for my advice. I’m not the romantic type, so really I could offer him nothing. Well, I did offer advice six months ago, and it was very simple and precise—tell her the truth. And if he hurt her, I also promised him a punch in the face. But being a male, he thought he knew best. But I think he’s punished himself enough.

  “So are you staying or going back?” I asked. I really didn’t want him around; we had been living as friends for a few years now, but I wanted my own space.

  “I think I’m going back,” said AJ.

  “Well, off you go then.” I wasted no time in trying to get him to leave. The faster I could get him to go back to Nardia, the better this may end up for them both. I don’t believe in running from your problems–they must be faced

  “You can try and be as tough as you want, but I know what you really mean is good luck,” said AJ.

  “Rack off out of my house now.”

  “One day you will meet someone, and you will fall in love. Then you will know how I have felt for the last few hundred years.”

  AJ had done it—he had said the dreaded “L” word to me, and he just realized it, too.

  “Where is my baseball bat?” I asked. I tried to project as much anger in my voice as possible, but cracked on the last word and burst out laughing. Being around Nardia must have made him forget that I wasn’t all soft and sweet like she was. If it had been anyone else he would not be standing at the moment.

  AJ joined in laughing; he stayed around to help me clean up, and I was glad because the mess was quite bad. They’re some slack arse friends that I have, leaving all of this to me.

  AJ packed up some more of his stuff he needed and then went back. I was glad he listened to me about disclosing everything and keeping no secrets at all. I lazed around on the lounge the entire day, picking out what case I was going to do next.

  Chapter Two

  Indiana

  I spend the first half of my Sunday watching Vampire Diaries re-runs. I could not stop swooning over Damon and felt that Elena was crazy for choosing the safe option with Stefan. That girl needs a bit of fun. I turned off the TV to go through some messages that were left on the answering machine. I needed to pick out a case to get myself out of this boring house.

  The battered wife cases were my favorites; I loved to sort those guys out. There was one particular case that was drawing my attention, and this scum bag thought he had a great cover. I dialed the phone number to speak to this poor woman. I introduced myself and explained that I would be taking over this specific case. At first she questioned my young voice, but I assured her I was much older than I sounded. She seemed happy with my explanation. She wept on the phone while giving me detailed information; this phone call took quite some time. She had to constantly blow her nose and try to compose herself while giving me a full history. I had a feeling I was the very first person she had ever opened up to, and she was desperate for help. During the call I acted like her counselor; I wasn’t too good at this stuff, but AJ had told me to just listen and allow her to get out the necessary words and emotions that were pent up within her. By the end, I felt like her lifeline—she needed me to survive—at least for the time being.

  I had made up my mind and decided that I needed to do something about this as soon as possible. This was already a bad case, and I could see it ending even worse if I didn’t intervene. This woman's husband's name was Constable Peterson. She had left him three months ago, in the hope that the abuse would stop then, but she was very wrong. The pair shared two young children, and the father had custody of the children every second weekend from Saturday afternoon to Sunday evening. When she dropped her children off for his visits, the abuse started. He would argue about any insignificant issue then start to emotionally abuse the woman. He ensured the children went into the lounge room or backyard before he would start the name-calling. She either left emotionally damaged or physically abused every time. The neighbors were too scared to report this matter to the local station for fears of retaliation.

  I was neither scared nor concerned for myself; he would not be able to hurt me anyway, so I welcomed him to try. To date, no human has ever been able to inflict physical pain on me, as I am immortal and God would be the only being able to destroy me. I would have to handle this case differently than others, though, as this man is a police officer. On the plus side, I could start this afternoon; I just had a three-hour drive to reach my destination. Throwing my handbag and some snacks into the car, I left straight away. I would have to put my foot down a little. I don’t recommend speeding, but if I missed this opportunity, I would have to wait a whole fortnight.

  I was happy to get away from this town for a few hours. We are experiencing a heat wave. Sweat and me do not mix. I hate smelling like a pig. The town I was heading to reported temperatures in the late twenties, and I would welcome this change, greedily. I had never been to this town and was expecting a small run down community, but instead, it was a town with a population of over forty thousand. There must be quite a few police officers here and hopefully one of them would take the information package that I was going to leave seriously. I had collected all of the information that the wife had given me over the phone. Just in case, I might use one of my dummy emails and send all of the photos to the local television station and a few other sources if there was some dirty business. I didn't doubt that this happened these days, but I was still unsure how far police loyalties ran. I had met a handful of police officers in my time and they were all wonderful people and did not ignore domestic violence, but I just had to protect the children and their mother.

  I parked my car down the road and walked the small distance to the policeman’s house. It was a beautiful new home. I knew it had to be worth a fortune. I wondered how he had been paying for this with one wage and child support payments for two children. Maybe that was a factor in this whole case.

  Mrs. Peterson arrived at the arranged time, and she looked very nervous, for obvious reasons. I hadn’t told her I would be watching because I didn’t want her to act different. This police officer should be trained to recognize these differences in body language signals. As Mrs. Peterson walked up to the front door, out came her ex-husband, pointing his finger at her.

  “What have you been feeding the kids for dinner during the week, Michael won’t eat his vegetables. Have you been going to McDonalds or KFC?” he snapped. Michael was the three year old boy, and I’m guessing kids could be picky when that young.

  “No, I haven’t; he is going through a stage, that’s all,” pleaded Mrs. Peterson.

  “Are you saying that I’m stupid, I think I know my own son,” he growled.

  Mr. Peterson had moved forward and stood centimeters from his ex-wife. She would be able to feel his warm breath against her cheek—this had to be intimidating. Her body became stiff and fear filled her eyes. He took great pleasure watching her shake with anxiety. She tried to back away, but he matched her steps. Looking to the side as to not speak to him directly, she whispered, nearly afraid to ask, “Can I please have the children, so we can go?”

  Mr. Peterson grabbed her upper arm, squeezing it extremely tight; a nice purple bruise would be visible in the morning. Pain rippled through her, and tears welled up in her eyes.

  It was almost impossible to
watch without jumping in and pounding his face against the cement. I had to draw some inner strength and continue recording with the hand held camcorder.

  His hand moved to her throat, and while he did not grip her, the fact that he had his hand there at all was threatening enough. The front door opened and a blonde haired boy came running out and stood at the bottom step. A little girl who could have been his twin, apart from the obvious age gap, followed after him.

  “Mummy, you're here, can we go home now?” asked Michael.

  The little girl looked at her father, with the same fear in her eyes as her mother. She was about seven years old, and it was obvious that her fear was not for herself, but for her mum. Mr. Peterson stepped away from his ex-wife and his cold, hard exterior melted away as he became a loving daddy. I didn’t care, as this did not change anything; I was still paying him a visit tonight.

  “Yes, it is home time.” She looked to her ex-husband and silently pleaded with him.

  Because the children were present, he gave in. If they had not turned up, I would have put down my camcorder and thrown myself in front of her. Mrs. Peterson took the children’s hands, walked to the car, buckled them in, and drove off.

  It took me no time to find a department store and print off the two sets of prints I had selected from the recording. I bought two envelopes and wrote on the front who the people were in the photos, and that I was forwarding copies to other services in case this is covered up. I also emailed a copy of the photos to the local television station, explaining the situation and that immediate action should take place. I then contacted Mrs. Peterson and told her to go for dinner tonight and enjoy her evening. I drove past the restaurant making sure she had an alibi, just in case I lost it, then made my way back to the constable’s house.

  Pulling my hair into a ponytail and covering my head with a hat, I walked to the front door. After a small knock, he looked out the window, opened the door, and smiled a lovely smile.

  “Hi, how can I help you?” sweetness dripped from his voice.

  “I’m lost ... can I use your house phone to make a quick call to my parents?”

  He turned around and pointed me in the direction of the cordless phone, then turned back to face me. Up close this man was very tall and extremely built—steroids use crossed my mind. He had biceps that were the size of two-liter coke bottles and these ugly veins popping out from his arms. Apart from that, he carried himself in a naturally intimidating manner, even as he stood in front of me now. Like a snake, my hand struck his neck and slammed him up against the wall. My sweet, innocent façade was replaced with disgust. This tall policeman tried to fight me off, but I tightened my fingers and pushed my knee into his groin.

  “I have nothing of great value, only electronics ... and my bank accounts are dry. Take what you want,” relented Mr. Peterson.

  “I don’t want your money, you’re a policeman. Tell me the statistics of domestic violence,” I snarled into his ear.

  “So that bitch sent you, what does she want?” he questioned, thinking he had me figured out.

  “She doesn't want anything, but I want you to stop being so nasty to her, for the sake of your little girl. You know kids absorb everything—do you want her growing up thinking it's okay for her boyfriends or husband to abuse her?” I questioned through clenched teeth.

  He was slowly relaxing, so I pulled my knee away and loosened my grip on his neck. He responded by sweeping my leg. I didn’t lose my footing enough to unbalance my body, but the punch he slammed in the side of my face threatened to re-arrange my facial features if I had been human. This made me lose my temper, and fast. A dull, barely existent ache vibrated around my face.. I remembered seeing some antique fire pokers behind him. I grabbed one and quickly slid it around his body pulling him back into the lounge with this around his neck. I applied a lot of pressure.

  “Whatever she is paying you, I will double it; I will get the money,” he whimpered very slowly in a low, croaky voice because of the metal bar.

  “I already said I don’t want your money. Now the next time you see your ex-wife, you are going to be nice and apologize for all of the nasty things you have done. Otherwise, I will come back and I won’t be alone,” threatening him in a menacing tone.

  Hopefully when he did offer this apology, it would be behind the bars of a jail, but he didn’t know of my empty threat. I didn’t need help to come back here, not if the police and other channels acted swiftly. I would be back in a heartbeat if he laid one hand on her ever again. To emphasize this threat, I pulled the poker back, pulled the knife out of my pocket and made a tiny cut along his neck.

  I put the knife back into my pocket and walked toward the door.

  “I will be watching you, so don’t even think about contacting your ex-wife,” I said.

  I felt very successful in this mission; Mr. Peterson was clearly scared by my threat. The big ones always fell the hardest. I think it's because no one ever has the guts to stand up to them. I imagined it would be quite some time until he was able to move, and by the time that happened, I hoped the police were here.

  I reached my car to discover I had a missed call from Nessa and an email from the radio station. I checked the email first and was delighted to read that they had contacted the Office of Police Integrity, and they would be acting immediately. This division of the police were known as the cleanest police unit in the country, as they took every allegation seriously and completed their own investigations. This unit decided when charges could be laid against officers or if they were of a non-serious nature. They would be keeping a close eye on this case and make sure that it was dealt with professionally. You could hardly have this police officer's friends investigating this matter. My work was done for now. I rang Nessa, and before the second ring, she answered, asking, “Hey, do you mind if I come over?”

  She sounded tense and a little unsure. I knew something was wrong, and I didn’t think I could help her being this far away.

  “I'm actually not home and won’t be ‘til late tonight, what’s up?” I asked.

  “I just wanted to talk to you about the other night and about Brandon,” said Nessa.

  “I will put you on my hands-free and talk while I’m driving. Is that okay? I asked.

  “Yeah that's good; I’ll go sit in my car for some privacy from the olds,” said Nessa.

  “Yell when you’re ready,” I said.

  “Okay, I’m good now ... you know how Brandon and me were a little friendly at the party? Well now he wants to take me to a late dinner tonight when he finishes work.”

  “Okay ... what's the problem with that?” I questioned.

  “What if I’m not ready for a relationship and stuff it all up with him?” asked Nessa, very concerned.

  I was the last person who could offer dating advice in any situation. I was stupid enough to be tricked by a man, and I still had hatred with fresh wounds for him. I was taking it out on the male race, but I could not think of a better way to spend my time. Now I was expected to comfort and give sound advice as a friend on a subject I was more hopeless in than her. I drew on my past experiences with some of the women I had befriended and tried to sympathize with Nessa. I remembered one situation with a lady who refused to give up and gave advice based on that women’s philosophy.

  “Yesterday is done, tomorrow is here, and our futures are forming. Use yesterday as a stepping-stone toward something beautiful tomorrow. Do you like Brandon?”

  There was silence on the other end, and I figured that she was nodding her head; I knew he had treated her right at the party.

  “Don’t let Hopwood wreck your future. Brandon may not be Mr. Right, but he could be Mr. Right Now.”

  “Thanks Indy, you’re a gem; he is cute, hey?!”

  “Yes he is, now message him back and tell him yes,” I said.

  “I will! So ... when are you going to date someone?” pressed Nessa.

  There it was, for the second time today my relationship status was h
ighlighted. I’m sure it is pretty normal for teenage girls to not date—Casey never dated. No one ever seemed to care what she did. I thought this over while I drove home in silence; why was it that everyone was concerned about my dating life, but no one else’s?

  The drive home was long and exhausting, and the lack of sleep was starting to play with my mind. I had to go to school tomorrow, and I knew I would be in a cranky mood. Even though I was immortal, I still needed a decent night’s sleep. I wound the windows down, trying to get some of the lovely cool breeze. The air conditioning in this car was not working properly, and I was getting annoyed sitting in my own sweat. The last twenty kilometers was dragging on painfully, and when my house came into view, I felt that twinge of excitement in my belly—I was almost home free. That was pretty pathetic for a thousand year old angel, I must admit. I dashed to the shower to wash off the pool of sweat that had been sticking to my legs, then climbed into bed. I wasn’t surprised to hear the chime of my phone. The text was from Nessa, explaining that my advice, like always, was correct and that she had a wonderful night. Little did she know, the advice was bogus; I knew nothing of men and dates. If a handsome man showed any interest in me I was likely to knock him out before kissing him.