Angel Dreams (An Angel Falls Book 2)

by Jody A. Kessler

  Hands grab my shoulders and push me against the cot. They feel strong and solid and mildly reassuring. A familiar voice says something I don’t quite comprehend. He speaks again.

  “Juliana, it’s time to drink.”

  “Drink?” It comes out as a raspy question. The lead weight in my gut isn’t painful, especially compared to everything else going on, and a cold drink sounds better than anything I could ever imagine. The hands lift my head until I’m partially reclined. The hard edge of a glass presses to my lower lip and my dry burning mouth opens to take in whatever he’s offering. It’s tepid and tastes bitter, but it’s not totally unpleasant.

  “Finish it,” he says.

  He stands mostly behind me so I can’t see his face, only the glass and part of his arm and hand are visible. I swallow the last dregs of the tea and then he lowers me back down. Aware that I’m at least half free — I never felt him remove the strap — it no longer matters all that much. Exhaustion and pain are the only two things in my universe. I turn my head to the side and look to see who had brought the tea. The coyote man watches me watch him. Behind him to the left and right are the others. Four of them, distinguishable and eerie in their own right. Each one has his face painted and they all give me the distinct impression of being a visitor from the past. My coyote man sets down the glass and picks up his drum. The beat he plays is heavy and rhythmic. My blood and bones pulse with the reverb. The sounds, and the smells, and the supernatural looking men, are inside and outside of me. They are above and below, like an inescapable dream. A numbing stupor takes a hold of my brain and I’m fixed like a mummy in her tomb. He continues his endless chanting. My head turns slowly to stare at the ceiling, but I see nothing. The pounding of the drum and his repetitive song lulls me deeper. The tea he gave me must have some calming effects. It helped soothe my raw burnt throat, but the rest of my body is still on fire. All but my core. The heaviness there is growing larger and is beginning to swirl. I take notice of the odd changes going on in the pit of my belly, but then I find myself drifting off to unconsciousness.

  ∞

  A piercing scream wakes me from my strange coma. Quickly, I realize it’s coming from my mouth. Something is stinging my belly, like a wasp sting, it’s sharp and excruciating. I suck in my breath and instinctively try to get away. Hands press me down, keeping me from rolling off the cot. My head bends forward looking for my assailant. My shirt is pushed up to expose my ribs. The few inches of skin showing seem to glow blue-white in the darkened room. Two puncture marks show clearly against my pale skin. In the near dark, my blood looks black as it beads up into two tiny spots. But neither the stinging nor the blood is nearly as terrifying as the large snake hanging over my stomach. It writhes with anger and then drops down on top of me.

  “Aheeeey! Aheeeey!” I scream and scream with primal outrage and absolute fear. I thrash to get the snake off me, but there’s nothing I can do to move under the weights holding me down. The snake moves over my stomach. The weight of it is surprising and its scales are smooth and warm. My eyes move to the coyote man standing over me. He has an oval dish in one hand and a thick smudge stick in his other. The smoke billows out of the glowing end, surrounding him, the other Natives, myself, and filling the entire room.

  He speaks an ancient language. To me it sounds like a prayer. A prayer for my soul, for surely this is the end of my endurance for torture. I think I black out again, but somewhere in the far reaches I become aware of his strange words coming to a stop. My eyes open to see the coyote man set the oval dish and the burning stick down on a nearby table. When he turns back to me, he steps in close to where I lay. His hand passes over me three times, shaking a rattle, from my head to my feet.

  “Oh Great Spirit, Grandfathers, and Blessed Grandmothers, I ask for your protection from the underworld, and from the spirits of darkness. Our Great Mother Earth has no home for you, she-demon. I command you to leave this body. I command you to leave this body. I command you to leave this body. With the help of the great feminine serpent, you must leave now. Take nothing that is not yours and never return here. Be gone!”

  His hand suddenly appears over my face and he smears something over my mouth. It feels thick and gritty. I press my lips closed, afraid of getting it inside my mouth. The next thing I know my stomach turns, clenching and roiling like a sea of angry vipers. I look to see if the snake feels it moving like I do. It lies motionless in a wide circle around my navel, as if in anticipation for attack.

  Then, like a great vacuum, the weight inside my gut starts to suck upward and out of me through the bite marks in my skin. It rises in a thin black stream above me and floats in front of the coyote man. The snake lifts with the black streaming cord and wraps itself around it, in a strangling hold. The painted coyote man is quick as his hands release the rattle and then wrap some sort of cloth bag over the snake and the shimmering cord. One of his hands reaches down and he wipes a finger over my bite mark leaving a smear of the same thick substance that is over my mouth.

  “Wrap her up, and bring her to the door,” he says.

  Then like a shadow he glides out the back door. If I had not heard the screen door slam closed, I would have thought I dreamed it all because reality could never be this unbearable.

  Reassuring hands guide me to sitting and then I feel my head, shoulders, and back being enclosed with a large fur cape. Jared steps in front of me and pulls me to my feet. I collapse forward onto him, but he doesn’t let me fall to the floor.

  “Jules, I got you. Come on.”

  With my feet dragging, he pretty much carries me the short distance to the door. The bristly hair of my covering tickles my neck and shoulders, but Jared is careful to keep the huge fur wrapped around me. I don’t understand why I have to wear it, but I seem to have lost control of every part of my life.

  The coyote man stands next to a fire on the patio. The others, who are not of this world, stand with him as silent witnesses. My coyote shaman holds the bag, containing the snake and the succubus inside, over the flames. When he sees me watching, he releases it into the fire. The other Natives, which I realize all look like medicine men, move to encircle the fire. Maybe they know Jared and I are watching, because there is just enough room between two of them for me to see the bag burning amidst the glowing coals and licks of flame.

  The thin cloth bag evaporates in seconds, leaving what looks like two black snakes writhing. There’s a penetrating evil essence emanating from the struggle and I know it’s not coming from the snake. The battle is horrible, twisted, and dark as the succubus burns and suffocates in a fiery death. My overwhelming fear of the rattlesnake is gone, but the image in front of me is etched in my mind forever. The shamans begin to chant and tighten their circle around the fire, obstructing my view.

  The disgust and horror causes the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach to switch to cramps. I watched the thing that was inside of me burn. Either that, or I’m dying of snakebite. At least the burning sensation under my skin, which has been tormenting me for God knows how long, is gone. But don’t be fooled. Misery doesn’t begin to express my current state of being. My stomach gives a last wrenching lurch. Not sure what else to do, I stumble out the door.

  My hands hit the patio table as I start to fall. Jared grabs me around the middle.

  “Hey, I’m not sure you’re supposed to be outside,” he says.

  “Urrrg,” I moan. I can’t even speak, my stomach hurts that bad.

  “Jules, wait. You okay?”

  “Nooo.”

  I slip to the side out of Jared’s grip and stagger into the yard. The familiar crush of dirt and grass and pine needles underfoot gives me the tiniest bit of courage to keep going. Jared keeps the scratchy fur wrapped around my shoulders. The shadows deepen as I move away from the firelight until I find a thick tree trunk to lean against.

  I squat down and let my left shoulder rest against the crackling bark. The next thing I know, my stomach heaves. With as much effort that my bod
y puts into empting its guts, very little comes up to show for it. Small whimpers come from somewhere inside me. Apparently my body can cry for itself, because I don’t feel the urge to cry right now. Death would be my choice, if I had one. I feel Jared’s hand on the back of my head as he strokes my hair. He even makes little consoling sounds.

  “Dear God, let me die,” I moan. My stomach isn’t finished. Moving with near panic, I half stand and try to push Jared away. At the same time I try to work at the button on my shorts. As more dry heaves ruin my diaphragm and tear up my throat, I get my shorts and underwear down to my ankles and let my bowels and bladder take their turn at unbearable cramps and excruciating humiliation. My brother becomes a saint in that moment as he stands by me and holds up the giant fur pelt like a screen.

  “Tell me if you need anything,” he says.

  What I need is to curl up in a tiny ball and disappear, but I don’t say so. After the gut wrenching stops, my body is so weak and shaky I don’t even have the strength to pull up my shorts. I manage to inch away from my mess and fall to the ground. Pine needles are as comfortable as anyone would ever need to leave this earth, I decide. Jared catches me before I get to rest my head on the ground. He uses the fur pelt as a sort of sheet to keep me covered and I feel his hands tug my clothes back into place. Jared carries me to the house. I look up at him as he cradles me against his chest. His jaw bone is strong and defined yet delicate. His nose is long but fits his face beautifully. His eyes sparkle even after being awake for hours upon hours. My brother will always be here for me. In my short life, I always thought this was so, but now I really know for sure. He’s got my back. Behind him, the eastern sky glows fuchsia and creamsicle orange. It’s the beginning of a new day.

  Chapter Fourteen: A New Reality

  Juliana

  “Juliana, I want you to wake up now.”

  I hear the voice, but I’m seriously inclined to ignore it as long as possible. Go away and I’ll promise not to bite your head off, my inner voice tells him.

  “You do not stand a chance at getting your teeth into me. Now, will you open your eyes for one minute? Then, I will leave you alone.”

  Chris. How does he always know what I’m thinking? If I wasn’t half out of it and as weak as a hatchling I would be annoyed that he’s still reading my mind.

  “Whaaat?” I groan, and keep my eyes firmly closed. The sunlight in the room is glowing bright under my eyelids and it’s about as comfortable as being stabbed with pins. The thought of facing the brutal rays is torture enough, let alone actually doing it.

  “Sustenance. You must have some, Juliana.”

  Sure enough, the faint smell of food teases my senses. My nose wiggles and my dry mouth somehow salivates. I turn my head away from the sound of Chris’s voice. Sleep wins. I don’t want anything else right now. He doesn’t accept my rejection. He props me up and shoves thick cushions under my back and shoulders. I hear, or maybe feel, him sit down near me.

  Before I open my eyes, I do a quick survey of my body. All burning sensations are gone. My stomach is feeling somewhat better, no churning gut, only hollow like a carved out pumpkin. The fragile and empty feeling inside my core is also inside of my limbs, making me feel like a shell of myself. My eyeballs feel heavy and sunken. Put all this together, and my mental picture confirms that I must look like a ghoul. Maybe my looks will scare Chris off.

  When I dare to peek over at him, he resembles his old self, Mr. Serious Sourpuss. It’s mildly comforting. And to my great relief, he’s no longer half coyote. He wears his usual vest. A navy blue one, with a beige T-shirt underneath. He holds a mug of something to drink. Before he hands it over, he shows me a wet cloth. I examine the room behind him. His friends, the medicine men, are nowhere to be seen. Neither is Jared.

  “For your face,” he explains.

  My fingers move to my mouth. The grit is still there. I take the washcloth and wipe my lips. When my skin feels smooth, I hold the dirty thing up for inspection. There are dark smears on the terrycloth.

  “Charcoal?” I ask. My voice is hoarse and barely able to make sounds.

  “Yes. From burning the sacred wood.”

  Chris takes the damp towel from my hand and replaces it with a mug of warm tea. My hand automatically lowers to my lap and I stare at the liquid with suspicion. The last thing he made me drink caused me to be violently ill. At least I think it was the tea.

  “It is nutrient rich and I added some mint for your stomach,” he says.

  “Hmphh,” I blow the sound out through my nose.

  “Don’t trust me?”

  “No.” I continue to stare down at the cup rather than look at Chris. Inside, my soul feels drained, like I’m exposed and vulnerable to everything and everyone under the sun and the stars.

  “You can trust me. Then again, people who say that are often the ones who you should not trust. The medicine you drank before was supposed to turn you inside out and this one is supposed to bring things back to normal.”

  Lifting the cup to my nose I give it a tentative sniff. Peppermint is the main ingredient with something else, which I can’t name for certain. I cut my eyes to the side, looking to see if he’s still watching me. He is. Not having the strength to argue with him, I take a sip of the warm liquid, barely enough to wet my mouth. It’s excellent, warming, and cooling from the mint, and it’s sweetened with honey, which will help my raw throat immensely. I take another drink.

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  “I did not think it was terrible, and there’s more in the kitchen for later. When you are ready for food, you will eat this.”

  On his lap, is a small plate of food, which I didn’t notice before. There are three small servings of what I think is corn, dried cranberries, and some kind of roasted meat.

  He continues, “Before the day is over, eat all of this. Remember to have gratitude for the food.”

  I feel my eyebrows rise in questioning uncertainty. The entire contents of the meal would fit in the palm of my hand. I don’t think it will be a problem, except I’m not hungry. I look away from the food and to the windows. It’s already late in the day. The sun is still above the trees, but in the western sky. How long have I been sleeping? And what’s with the gratitude?

  “Your spirit has been under the control of another. Then you have been burned from the inside. I am trying to help you put all of your pieces back in place. The food will help you feel connected to your physical body again, and having gratitude for it will help your mind connect to your body. In a healthful way.”

  “You burned me?”

  “Not with fire, but in a way, yes.”

  “I felt like I was on fire. Is it gone forever?” I ask.

  “The she-demon is gone, but you are not completely in the clear. You must stay here for some time. Where you are protected. Until your strength rises your spirit is compromised. Especially you,” he adds.

  “What does that mean? Especially me.” I take another drink of the tea and watch Chris over the rim of the cup.

  “You need guidance. I don’t think this is the best time to get into it, but I will say this. You are sensitive and open to other dimensions and the things that live there. This attracts them to you. You should stay here while you recover.”

  I let the mug rest in my lap and lay my head back against the cushion. “How long?” I ask.

  “I am not sure. Are you willing to do what I ask?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer, not willing to commit to the unknown.

  “Drink, eat, and rest. The hardest part is behind you,” he says and I think I hear a softening to his tone.

  “That doesn’t sound unreasonable,” I concede. Then it occurs to me, “Is Jared still here?”

  “Yes. He’s asleep on the couch in the front room. Do you need him?”

  “No. I was just wondering if he was still here with me.”

  “He’s going to stay while I make a run to Earth’s Heart Spring. You could use more of the water.” He
looks down at my mug of tea. “Again, it will help you connect to your body.”

  “So if I eat and drink this stuff, then I’ll quit feeling like a dog turd?” I ask. The uncaring, broken, hollow shell of myself lying here, needs to be a thing of the past. At least I can acknowledge that much. It’s a step, isn’t it?

  “Dog turds are in your past,” he says. “I’m going now. Try to eat, then rest. There is food and tea in the kitchen if you want more. For today, you can only have this food. It is pure and has its own medicinal value. Understand?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I hum and nod my head at him.

  “One last prayer before I leave,” he says and then places the plate of food on the nearest workbench.

  Chris takes a small pouch from a pocket of his vest and opens it. He faces the north wall and takes a pinch of whatever is in the leather bag and puts it in his mouth. In his native words he says the prayer. I don’t understand the exact meaning, but I watch as his aura expands and glows brighter. He turns to me and takes another pinch. I see the tiniest amount of something pure gold, a powder of some kind as yellow as the sun, between his fingers. Chris reaches forward and sprinkles the mystery powder over my head as he completes the prayer.

  I could be imagining it, but my hollowness suddenly feels the tiniest bit fuller.

  My eyes close and then before I can thank him I hear Chris leave the little sunroom. Instantly, I start to nod off, but I force myself to wake back up. Drink your tea, Jules. Finishing the drink soothes my throat and stomach and I’m mildly disappointed when it’s gone. I reach over and place the empty mug on the chair. Later, I’ll eat it later. My hand grabs at the cushions behind my shoulders and pulls them out, letting them slip to the floor. Sleep please, that’s all I need.

  ∞

  As far as I can tell, not much time has passed. It’s still daylight, but I can tell the sun is farther west. Maybe an hour since Chris left. His tea and prayer apparently lifted my spirit because I feel ten times more alert than I did before. The tea is also putting some unwanted pressure on my bladder, which I suspect is the real reason I’m awake. Can I move, I wonder? I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter. I roll to my side and push my body up to sitting, letting my legs rest over the side. I see the plate of food still sitting on the workbench near me. Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it. The wood floor is warm and reassuringly firm beneath my feet. Let’s see if my legs are as firm. Baby steps, right? They hold as I shuffle out of the sunroom and into the main part of Chris’s cabin.