Angel Dreams (An Angel Falls Book 2)

by Jody A. Kessler

  At first I’m afraid that I smacked a piece of Jared’s insides out, but then I see that it’s a strawberry. Marcus’s expression looks to me to be somewhere between interested concern and mild amusement, with maybe a little disbelief in the mix.

  “Killer fruit. Never would have guessed that in a million years,” Marcus says.

  I ignore him. Then without realizing I’ve moved from the chair, I’m in front of Jared urging him to sit down.

  He stumbles away from me until he hits a wall. He slips down it until he’s sitting on the floor. Jared is breathing hard and it makes him cough a few times. His color is returning to normal, but his entire body is trembling.

  As I squat in front of him, I have to continually push aside the screaming fact that anything can happen and how am I going to stop it?

  “Mmh-hmm,” Jared clears his throat between taking huge swallows of air.

  My eyes search his face as I watch him struggle for normalcy. I know part of me is trying to memorize everything about him, to take in every minute detail of him and store it somewhere safe and always retrievable. It’s been a problem to recall the details of my father when I want them, and the fear of not having perfect memories of Jared is unbearable. Stop it, Jules, I chastise myself. Jared is right here. You don’t need to memorize anything. And yet my brain keeps taking pictures and putting them away in that forbidden vault. The strands of his black hair hanging over his eyebrows, the ultra-long lashes framing his sparkling brown eyes. His wide mouth and his sculpted cheekbones. There’s so much life inside him. How can it be extinguished so easily?

  “Don’t worry, Jules,” Jared croaks.

  I wonder if he was just reading my mind, but then he continues.

  “I won’t eat another strawberry ever again.”

  ∞

  Later in the afternoon, after a shower, nap, more food, and a long session writing in my journal, I decide to start putting my plans into action. Downstairs at the computer, I find Corrine’s mother with little difficulty, thanks to the internet. As I stare at the name, Laura Petit, on my computer screen, I have a moment of doubt, no, in truth, I have about a hundred hiccups of hesitation about what I’m planning. Laura Petit’s address is in Taos, New Mexico. I find a phone number for her on another webpage and jot it down on a scrap of paper. Could this really be her? How is it that she is only a few hours away and Corrine doesn’t know it? I decide I will try to call, and if it works out, then it works out, and if it doesn’t, then it doesn’t, but at least I tried.

  As I click off the internet, I hear Jared coming down the stairs. There’s nothing distinguishable about his jeans and shirt, but he has an air about him that I recognize. Disturbingly, he smells of aftershave and plans.

  “Hey, thanks for finding out that name for me.”

  “No problem,” he says.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. My defenses are already up as I watch him. His fingertips pick at invisible guitar strings next to his leg and his face is a mix of false innocence and determination.

  “I can’t stay shut in the house forever,” he says.

  “We’ve been home for,” I look at the time on the corner of the computer monitor, “like nineteen hours,” I say with audible disbelief that Jared is already antsy to get out of the house, especially after all I told him.

  “Jules, maybe you can’t understand, but I’m not going to sit around and wait for something to fall on my head. Christ, I almost choked on a berry.”

  Jared’s agitation increases as he tries to explain what’s going on inside him. I know from past experiences the more emotional he is about something, the harder it is for him to find the correct words. He stares down at me. The side of his jaw bulges as he clenches his teeth. His dark chocolate eyes are hard and soft. He’s determined, but I think he’s also silently pleading with me to understand and not make this harder for him.

  “Stay home with me and Mom, J. We can watch a movie, or work on a new song. Anything you want.”

  Bringing up his music is a mistake. I can see it as his strumming fingers stop their constant movement and he hides his emotions by looking down at the floor. He shoves his good hand in his pocket. He’s been suffering at home with a broken hand while his band is on their very first tour. Now he knows about Marcus, and has realized touring and living his dream may never happen. The ache I feel at this realization is more painful than I would have ever imagined. Jared has so many dreams left to fulfill.

  We both hear a car pull up in front of the house. His shoulders shrug half-heartedly.

  “I’m out. Later, Jules,” he says without looking at me.

  Jared takes a couple long strides over to the front door and he pulls it open. I move to follow him outside, not sure if I should force him to stay with me, or just let him go. Marcus follows behind.

  “He has a valid argument, doesn’t he?”

  Marcus’s low tone seems to vibrate into my senses, filling my ears and my head clear to the brim. I shoot a glance at him as he moves to step around me.

  “He wants to live his last moments. Can you blame him?” Marcus says as he follows Jared off the front porch.

  “Yes,” I answer with a pout.

  “Say goodbye, Jules,” Marcus tells me.

  I shake my head in stubborn refusal and absolute denial that this is the last time I will see my brother.

  Standing in the driveway, Marcus turns and gives me the slightest of bows, mostly with a small nod and a slight sway of dreadlocks. Then he catches up to Jared with super-human speed, or maybe it’s just his super long legs. The two of them climb into a black BMW parked at the end of the drive. The recognition of a BMW causes a spasm of fear, but then I have to calm myself as I remind my brain that Travis’s beamer was silver. I squint to see who’s driving the car and it’s not much better. Patrick Dawson, Travis’s son.

  As the sleek black car pulls away, Jared gives me a single wave with his un-casted hand. I return the gesture and then silently plead for his safe return.

  Who am I pleading to? I’m not totally certain, but if it’s to God, then so be it. I will start praying everyday if I get to see my brother alive again. I watch the dust clouds churn from the tires as they make their way down the street. When I no longer see the car, I realize I’m watching another familiar vehicle driving toward me.

  Chapter Eighteen: Boundaries

  Juliana

  He parks his truck behind my car, but doesn’t immediately get out. The engine stops and the relative quiet of our mountain neighborhood returns. A Steller’s jay squawks somewhere over my head and then I hear the distant caw of a raven. Chris Abeyta leans over and grabs something off the seat next to him and then opens his door.

  I would really like to scurry inside the house with my tail between my legs and hide in the nearest corner, but it’s way too late for that. How could I forget to call Chris? I’m a horrible, selfish, no-good, thoughtless, piece of dung. And here he is, at my front door. Yay.

  I do my best to not squirm under the self-imposed pressure. It’s so unlike me to forget about someone. The instant heat of embarrassment pulses through me. I’m sure my cheeks are flaming. As he walks over to me, I manage to say, “My excuses are lame and inadequate, but I still owe you an apology.”

  He stops at the bottom of the steps. “Accepted,” he says, straight-faced as always and impossible to read.

  The Steller’s jays in the branches overhead multiply to at least a half dozen. Their raspy call surrounds us like a chorus of sickly sirens. I look up trying to pinpoint just how many of these little bosses are yelling at me and then the sound ceases, and they’re all simultaneously quiet. Then one of the large blue and black birds jumps off a branch and swoops down in front of me, landing on the wood railing of the porch. The large crest of black feathers on his head flexes and stands at attention as he eyes me dubiously. These birds are impressively intelligent, and they’re smart enough to know to keep their distance from unpredictable humans. Slightly unnerved by his clo
se proximity, I step closer to my front door. The jay lifts his beak, lengthens his throat, and then puffs up all his feathers. The next thing I know, the bird is screeching at me. He imitates the sound of a hawk exactly. A smile of surprised wonder takes over the corners of my mouth as I stare in amazement. Only a couple of seconds pass, and then the jay lifts off the railing, but he doesn’t fly away from the house. He comes straight for the front windows of the living room.

  “Watch out,” I gasp, but it’s unnecessary. The jay sees the glass and makes a swift and hard turn left, now heading directly for my face. I duck, feeling the wind from his flapping wings ruffle my hair. I stay crouched down longer than necessary, startled and watching the feather dust float in the air.

  “He came to tell you something,” Chris says, as I straighten up.

  I sneeze and a tiny fluff of down feather drifts past my nose. “Yeah? Is he saying beware of the wildlife? He almost took my eye out.”

  Chris climbs the few steps up to the porch. He shifts the furry bundle under his arm and his almost black eyes meet mine. He’s unblinking and looks as stern as always. I’ve come to know by now that his serious face doesn’t mean all that much. He’s a master at revealing nothing he doesn’t want to. I, on the other hand, have what some would call a glass face and, oh how I wish I could learn Chris’s trick.

  “A jay will present itself when you need to learn about power. Using your power, or someone else using theirs against you. The jay bird knows how to acquire the forces of Great Spirit and of the earth, and to use it. Pay attention right now to figure out the message he brings.”

  The dream instantly comes to my mind. It was so real feeling. I had been flying and then I was falling to the earth. Nathaniel was with me. Being with him always overpowers every other feeling inside me. His strength is not just physical. He has the power to wipe away all of my reason, to turn me into a girl who is absolutely carefree, and something else too. I struggle to remember the exact feeling, and then it hits me. I’m so happy when he’s around. The joy inside me when he’s near is unlike anything I have ever felt before. Happy. I didn’t know I was without it, until he entered my life and I could really experience it for the first time. The change he brings out in me should set off alarm bells. I’ve always sworn I wouldn’t let anyone change me, but it feels so right when we’re together, like I am powerful. Except we’re not together anymore.

  My stomach clenches at the realization. He said he wasn’t going to see me again. Except, what about last night, in my dream? Was the dream real? All of it, or part of it? What about Nathaniel? He told me I was like a penguin, able to move from one realm to another. Can I travel in my sleep? I think I did that very thing last night.

  But penguins and squawking jays? A bird that can use the powers of the earth and of Great Spirit, like flying between heaven and earth — with an angel to keep me from falling. Is that the message? Am I supposed to use my power to find joy? Are angel dreams the path to my happiness?

  “Can people leave their bodies when they sleep?” I ask, half absent in my own thoughts. Then I shake myself and try to focus on Chris.

  “Of course. It is a matter of the person doing it on purpose, or by accident.”

  “What if I’m not sure?” I say.

  “Learning to master your dreams is a skill worth practicing. The dream world is a powerful place. Your jay may be a reminder to pay special attention to a dream perhaps?” Chris says as a question.

  “Maybe,” I say aloud. Definitely, I say to myself, not wanting to share the details of my dream with Chris — my shaman friend disapproves of Nathaniel’s presence in my life.

  “Why did he call out like a hawk?” I ask.

  “They’re great imitators. Smaller birds think a hawk is near and they will find cover, letting the jays come in and eat all the food. He’s telling you, ‘do not be fooled by someone.’”

  “Hmm,” I ponder, thinking back to my dream. Nathaniel wouldn’t try to fool me, would he? No. My gut knows the answer. He was as surprised to see me as I was him. Nathaniel’s not the one. Then my thoughts flicker to my plans about trying to help Corrine reunite with her mother. Could I be fooling myself into thinking I can make a difference? Images of the faces involved, Corrine, Patrick, their mother — whose face is unknown — Nathaniel, and of course the insane stepfather, Travis, flash and then die like sparks from a fire. The pieces won’t come together, but the itching sensation on the edge of my subconscious is real enough. By now I should know better, but I shove the warning tingle aside.

  “So, do you want to come inside?” I ask with a little hesitance. I know it was wrong of me to leave Chris’s house without a word or note of explanation, but really, what does a shaman do for follow up care?

  “Inside, or out here. It is up to you. Your treatment was not complete, Jules. The spirit needs healing as much as the body.”

  I open the door and then stand aside for Chris, but he gestures for me to go ahead. The sound of movement in the kitchen alerts me that Mom is awake and probably getting ready for work.

  Stopping in my tracks, I turn around and whisper, “She doesn’t know anything. I want to keep it that way, okay?”

  Chris’s blank face doesn’t agree or disagree.

  “It’s just easier this way. Follow my lead,” I hiss.

  “Jules? Is that you?” Mom calls from around the corner to the kitchen.

  “Yeah, it’s me. I’ll be in my room,” I call back.

  “Not your bedroom,” Chris says.

  “Why?” I ask.

  The look he gives me should be a no brainer, but I’m choosing ignorance. His face is either saying, “you’re not serious, or get a clue.”

  “Come on,” I whisper as I take a couple of steps toward the stairs.

  Chris shakes his head once, his feet planted squarely on the entry floor.

  “Oh, hello there,” Mom says, as she walks out of the kitchen. She stops, takes a look at Chris and then at me, waiting for an introduction.

  I can’t, I mean I really cannot tell my mother about being possessed or being exorcised.

  After a silent pause, which is becoming uncomfortable — at least on my end of things — I say, “Mom, this is Chris Abeyta. Chris, this is my mom, Diane.”

  “Nice to meet you Chris. Abeyta? Are you related to Sherman White Wolf Abeyta, out on the rez?”

  “My father,” Chris answers. “It is also nice to meet you, Mrs. Crowson.”

  A strange look passes over my mom’s face when Chris says “my father,” but she hides it quickly and says, “Please, no formalities. Diane is better. Mrs. Crowson makes me feel old. I think we’ve met before when you were, well, much younger.”

  “A definite possibility, Mrs. Diane. My father knows your late husband’s family well.”

  “Um, we were about to go upstairs, but I think we’ll go out back instead,” I say before either of them get into some long-winded conversation about whose family is doing what and what’s been going on out on the rez.

  “Oh, okay. I’m off to work soon, too. Hey Jules, did your brother just leave?” she asks me.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “He left me the sweetest note. Will you tell him thanks, if you see him before I do?”

  “Sure, Mom,” I say. Then I walk straight for the sliding glass door to the back deck, hoping Chris will follow me without any more protests or words with my mother.

  Chris sets his medicine bundle on the patio table and opens it. “I brought you a few things.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I protest.

  “I know I didn’t,” he says curtly.

  Sitting quietly in the chair to his right, I watch as he removes the implements of his trade from the fur bag. Chris has accused me of talking too much, so this time I wait and hold back the hundred questions that are already beginning to form. He places a leather pouch, some feathers tied together at their shafts, and two glass bottles filled with a clear liquid on the table.

  “Are
you willing to continue my treatments?” Chris asks.

  “Do I have to give you an answer before I know what the treatment is?” I ask. “I mean, I can’t agree to something as painful as what I’ve already experienced. No one in their right mind would volunteer to go through that again.”

  “I understand. No, the follow-up consists of food, rest, protection, and some medicine. I don’t want to waste my time is all. I have never had a patient disappear in the middle of recovery before.”

  With this last statement, Chris gives me what I think is a pointed look, although his expression really didn’t change much. I can more or less feel the exasperation coming from him.

  “It wasn’t entirely my fault — leaving your house. I had something come up and I…had a bad reaction. Then Jared overreacted and took me to the emergency room.” I try to explain my abrupt departure without having to really explain about Jared’s situation. “Then we came home and I slept.”

  Chris’s face actually shows expression as his mouth turns down and his eyebrows dip in concern. “Reaction? Were you ill after I left the house? Please tell me everything. I may need to change the medicines I brought for you.”

  “No. I just passed out. It was nothing,” I say. I rub my temples with the pads of my fingers. “Jared wanted my mom to check on me. That’s why he took me to the hospital. She works there.”

  “But why did you pass out? Did you fall, or hit your head? Did you vomit again?”

  “Chris, no. I was upset and really exhausted. It was all too much, I think. Don’t worry. It hasn’t happened again. Actually, I feel tons better today. Maybe not perfect, but a lot better.”

  Chris stares at me. His focus moves from my face to a spot higher and then lower, as if he inspecting me inch by inch. “This is about your brother,” he says with certainty. He frowns and then continues. “I can see the energy around you is healthier today. Your normal purple and green energy is brighter than the last time I saw you but there is a new cloud hanging over your head. I suppose you met the other Shadow.”