Fallen Angels

by Terence West

  Glancing down at the calendar on his desk, he noticed that today's date had a large red circle around it. Damn, he thought to himself, it's Samantha's birthday.

  Picking up the phone, he quickly dialed her number from memory. He didn't like the fact that she lived so far away from him in Baltimore, but when the divorce was finalized, she had chosen to go with her mother to Maryland. He listened as it rang on the other end and finally picked up.

  "Hi!" A young woman's voice answered on the other end.

  "Hey Samantha! Happy Birth—"

  The rest of the recording quickly cut him off. "This is Samantha Silver. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave me a message, I'll get back to you!"

  He waited for the beep. "Hey Samantha, it's just your Dad. I just wanted to call and wish you a Happy 21st Birthday," he hated talking to answering machines. "I've got to go out of town for a couple of days, but I'll try and get a hold of you when I get back. I love you Sammy. Take care."

  He slowly hung up the phone. He felt like a heel for forgetting his daughter's birthday. He knew he would have to pick up a present for her when he got back.

  Laying the remainder of his cigar in the ashtray on the desk, he stood up and walked around his desk to his office door. He looked at his office. It was a disaster. He hadn't had time to buy a filing cabinet yet so all of his files and papers were strewn across the floor in the far corner. Jake's desk was a large metal one that he had picked up at a yard sale. It always reminded him of the ones the teachers sat at when he was in high school.

  Out the two windows behind his desk he could see Lake Tahoe. It was a calm day, despite the rain that had been falling intermittently through out the past few hours. He turned to glance at his office door. It had an opaque window with the words: 'Jake Silver—Private Investigator', stenciled sloppily on it. He recalled, vaguely, a dispute over a sum of money with the artist he had hired to professionally do it. He also recalled punching the artist in the mouth and buying a cheap set of markers. He told himself to be more patient next time.

  Opening the door he was greeted by a cool breeze blowing in off of the lake. Locking the door behind him he strode out into the crisp air. All around him were the mountains and trees of Lake Tahoe. He liked it here. It was very different from New Orleans where he had been an FBI agent for twelve years. He had steadily gotten used to the mountains instead of the flatness of Louisiana the more time he spent here.

  He had also grown to like his new life though. He did miss the days to day action of being an agent sometimes.

  Walking briskly across the street he spotted a familiar face inside one of the local coffee shops. Pushing open the door, a cowbell clang above his head. I hate that damn bell, Jake groaned.

  The stores sweet smell reminded him of his Grandmother's kitchen when he was a child. She always had cookies, or brownies or some treat fit for kids, cooking in her oven. He remembered spending a lot of time there as a child. He also recalled spending a summer at fat camp because of all of that.

  A young woman of about thirty emerged from behind the counter. "What brings you here, Jake?"

  Rachel Wills moved to Tahoe shortly after Jake had. She had taken the job at the coffee shop to help pay her way back into college. She was shorter than Jake, but not by much. Her reddish hair hung in curls above her shoulders while her light green eyes sparkled in the summer light. Her smile could always brighten up a room. She was what Jake referred to as a 'people person'.

  Jake walked around the end of the counter towards Rachel. "Would you mind keeping an eye on my house for a while?"

  "What's in it for me?" Rachel quipped.

  "You already live next door, so it shouldn't be any trouble," Jake thought for a moment, "and I'll return the favor sometime."

  She smiled. "You twisted my arm. I'll do it." She began to arrange a batch of pastries on the shelf in front of her. "Where are you off to this time?"

  "Las Vegas. I'll only be a couple of days at most. Jake reached down to grab a cinnamon roll out of the display case. Rachel immediately slapped his hand away.

  "Are you gonna pay for that?"

  "Are you gonna watch my house?"

  "I hate it when you answer a question with a question." She picked up the roll and handed it to Jake. "You better get going before I change my mind."

  "I appreciate this, Rachel. I'll be leaving tomorrow morning. I've got a long drive ahead of me, so I want to get started early." Rachel nodded as Jake began to walk toward the door. Opening it with his free hand. He had taken one step out the door when he turned and looked back. "Thanks again, Rachel," he smiled, "and for the roll."

  Walking out of the shop, he pulled off an edge of the pastry and popped it into his mouth. He hadn't eaten all day. The light rain that had been falling was gradually turning into a small storm. Realizing that he better get inside before it got any worse, Jake ran back across the street to where his car was parked. He hopped into his blue Taurus and started the engine.

  He had always wanted something bigger like a truck or an SUV, but the first rule of Private Investigators kept him from that. P.I.'s usually tried to drive a very unassuming car in an effort not to be seen when tailing someone. This was about as unassuming as it got. His house was a couple of miles down the road from his office. Pulling onto the street he kicked on the windshield wipers to try and wipe away the endless stream of rain.

  Taking the last bite of the cinnamon roll he licked his fingers to get the extra frosting off them. "Rachel sure can cook," Jake laughed to himself.

  * * * *

  "Christina, lie down and try to relax." Dr. Bill Monroe was trying to be as calm as possible. He had done many such physicals, but never one on an alleged 'alien abductee'.

  "I'm trying." Her voice was still a little rough from all the screaming she had done several nights before during the 'incident', as it had now become known. She was wearing the standard light blue hospital gown loosely tied around her back. She was very familiar with this room. She had been here many times since her family had moved to Las Vegas. She suffered from a touch of Asthma, a disease of the lungs. Christina's condition required her to see a doctor for a checkup at least once a month. She knew the sink in the far corner where he always washed his hands before and after an examination, the yellow flowered wallpaper, and the black padded examination table where she now sat. She usually liked seeing Dr. Monroe, but she didn't want to be here today.

  "I'm gonna take a look at some of your abrasions now, okay?" Monroe tried to be as gentle as he could. He had always heard that people who claimed to have an abduction experience were a little on the strange side, and he didn't want to set her off. He started by examining her foot that she had caught on the rock. "You have a really nasty cut on your foot, Christina. How did you say you got it again?"

  "I told you." Her tone was firm, but full of exasperation. She was tired of all the endless questions. "I tripped on a rock and cut my foot."

  "I see." He leaned in for a closer look. "It seems you're going to need a few stitches in this foot. We can take care of that right here in the office." He stood up and pulled off his rubber gloves. "Let me go get the nurse and we'll stitch you right up, okay?" He smiled. "Maybe we'll even give you one of those cool Flintstone Band-Aids." He was trying to lighten the mood.

  "I'm not a child. I don't want a fucking Flintstone band-aid, okay? I just want to go home."

  Monroe nodded then left the room. Walking down the hallway he entered into the waiting room. It was full of people, but he easily spotted Christina's parents. "Susan, Jonathan!" He motioned for them to join him.

  Both parents looked up and then quickly walked across the room to meet him. "What is it Bill?" Sarah asked first. "Is there a problem with Tina?

  "No, no," he assured them, "it's just that..."

  "What is it Doc?" Jonathan asked.

  "It's just that I have never seen Christina treat me this way."

  "What way, Bill?" Susan was like all mothers. She n
ever wanted to acknowledge that her baby was growing up.

  "I have been your family doctor ever since you moved to Vegas," he steadied himself. "She's treating me like the enemy."

  "She's been that way ever since the 'incident'." Susan confessed, embarrassed of her daughter. "She's always been such a good girl."

  Jonathan cut in, "Is their anything wrong with her Doc?"

  "Besides the cuts and bruises and a mild concussion, no. Nothing. She seems to be perfectly healthy." He knew what he wanted to advise the couple of, but he didn't want to hurt their feelings. Sometimes being friends with patients is the hardest thing. "I think," he fumbled the words around in his mouth, "maybe she should see a—"

  "What Bill? A specialist?" Susan was hoping, but she knew what was coming.

  Bill shook his head. "I think she should se a Psychiatrist." That word shook Susan deeply.

  "Really? A Psychiatrist?" Jonathan was a little rattled by the word too.

  "I think it would be in her best interest. She doesn't seem to have any physical problems. Maybe her problem is psychological." He seemed apologetic for even suggesting it. "That's the only thing I can think of."

  Suddenly the door to the waiting room burst open "Doctor! We need you right now!" It was one of Monroe's nurses.

  "What is it Janice?"

  "Something is wrong with the Anderson girl!" Bill looked at Jonathan and Susan very quickly then dashed off. As he neared the room he could hear the panicked screams of Christina. Throwing open the door, he found two nurses trying to hold her down on the examination table.

  "What's going on here?" Monroe shouted.

  "We don't know! I was ready to begin putting in the sutures—"

  Christina screamed again as the tears rolled down her face, "Let me go, let me go, let me go, let me fucking go!" Fragments of hidden memories flashed inside her mind's eye. Images of beings with large black eyes ... the black eyes ... those terrible, soulless black eyes...

  The nurse began again, shouting above Christina's screams. "I brought out the lamp so I could get more light. I accidentally flashed it in her eyes and she went berserk!"

  "Hold her down, I'll give her a sedative!" Moving over to his table in the examining room, he yanked open one of the drawers and quickly pulled out a serenge. Setting the serenge on the table, he quickly opened another drawer a pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid.

  Christina let loose another blood curdling scream. She couldn't see the doctor, or the two nurses. Her eyes were filled with images of another examination room, of horrible beings with large black almond shaped eyes.

  "All right. I'm ready. Keep her still!"

  "We're trying Doctor," the nurses exclaimed.

  Using all his skill, he swabbed an area on her upper arm with alcohol. Taking a final deep breath he tossed the cotton swab aside and plunged the serenge into the soft flesh of her upper arm. Christina wailed again in agony, but slowly began to quiet down. "All right, you can let her go now. She's gonna be all right."

  "Doctor, she's saying something..." The three leaned carefully over her.

  She was mumbling incoherently, "I just want to go home," Christina moaned. "...Please, don't hurt me ... the eyes ... the black eyes ... no, they're not human..."

  * * * *

  Jake arrived home minutes later. He turned into his driveway and glanced at his house. The rain was giving everything a very tranquil look. The sprawling pine trees behind it dwarfed his small two-bedroom house. From his driveway he could see Rachel's house. Hers was very similar to his in design and area. Pulling his car into the garage, he shut off the engine and got out. Walking to the front of the garage he leaned up against the edge of the door and just watched it rain for a while. Pulling the garage door closed, he walked inside.

  His house was loosely decorated. The entire house was painted a dull tan with brown highlights for the door and window frames. His walls were bare except for a few scattered remnants from his past. His living room was filled with a green flowered couch against the far wall and a small nineteen-inch television sitting on a milk crate opposite of it. Two other milk crates sat in front of the couch with a piece of plywood on top to form a table. There was also a small red lamp sitting on the table. The final piece of furniture was a bookshelf in the corner of the room. Home, he thought to himself.

  Walking over to the television, he clicked it on to the news. It made a crackling noise as it slowly sputtered to life. He moved past his makeshift table and clicked on the lamp. The lamp barely gave off enough light to illuminate the room. Pulling off his coat, he dumped it on the floor.

  Heading around the corner he found himself in his kitchen. It was a disaster, looking as if a small tropical hurricane had hit it. Pots lay piled on top of each other atop the stove, and his glasses, plates, and silverware lay heaped in the kitchen sink. "Probably time to invest in a dishwasher," he pulled a plate out of the sink that seemed to have something growing on it, "or some new dishes." He smiled to himself as he dropped the plate back into the sink. He ransacked the kitchen for a clean, or partially clean glass. After searching for several minutes without much luck, he decided that he wasn't thirsty anymore.

  Leaving the kitchen, he walked down the hall into his bedroom. This was the only room in the house that was partially clean. Mostly because he still hadn't unpacked many of his clothes. The floor was scattered with brown cardboard boxes still full of clothes and decorations. On the far wall next to the window was a tall wooden dresser. In the middle of the room was his bed, which was rarely used. Jake usually fell asleep on the couch.

  Pulling off his white T-shirt, he tossed it on the top of a stack of clothes that had been accumulating for about two weeks now. He paused for a moment. His house seemed unusually still this evening. He decided it was probably due to the rain outside. Moving to his closet he dug out an old gray sweater that was very close to falling apart at the seams. Slipping it on, he returned to the living room and sat on his couch to watch the news.

  "...Plane crash today in Los Angeles. The 747 apparently couldn't put down her landing gear. Officials say that the pilot was advised to try a belly landing. The plane hit the runway and skidded to the end where it capsized and burst into flames. The fire caused massive structural damage to the plane ... " The woman reporting the gruesome story was your average blonde broadcaster. Her lips were a dull shade of red and her teeth were pearly white.

  "The news is so dammed depressing. I should really stop watching it," but Jake didn't.

  "Twenty-seven reported fatalities along with the pilot. Rescue workers arrived on the scene with in minutes to save the remainder of the crew and passengers. This ... " A knock at the door startled him. Standing up he walked over to the TV and clicked it off.

  "Hold on. I'm coming," he shouted at whoever was at his front door. He strode past his bedroom and bathroom doors as he walked down the hall to his front door. Opening the door he found a very wet Rachel Wills standing there. "What brings you over tonight, Rachel?"

  "You forgot to give me a key to your house Jake," Rachel said as she walked in the door.

  "Oh, yeah. Sorry." Closing the door behind her, he followed her into his living room. "Go ahead and grab yourself a beer out of the fridge. I'll get you a towel."

  "Thanks." She moved around the corner of the living room into the kitchen and let out an audible gasp. "Jesus, Jake. What the hell happened in here?"

  He handed her a towel as he peeked around the corner. "What can I say, Rachel, I'm a bachelor." The pair moved into the living room and sat down on the couch.

  "Wow, Jake. Did you decorate this place yourself?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  She began to giggle. "A red lamp, brown carpet, a green couch, a table made out of milk crates and plywood?"

  "I like it."

  Rachel sat her beer on the plywood table watching it for a moment hoping that the table wouldn't tip over. "Tell me about your job."

  "It's a long story."

  "I have p
lenty of time."

  "I don't." Getting up, he walked over to the bookshelf in the corner of the living room. Reaching up on the top shelf he produced a small silver key. "Here's the key to my house, Rachel. I don't mean to be rude, but I have to get some sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

  "I understand. I just was wondering." She stood up and took the key from Jake.

  "Tell, you what. As soon as I get back, we'll go out for drinks and I'll tell you about my job, okay?"

  "Sounds good to me." She started to make her way towards the front door. "How long are you going to be gone again?"

  "Shouldn't be more than a couple of days."

  "Okay." Opening the front door Rachel stepped out into the rain. "You be careful, Jake."

  "I will, Rachel." Closing the door behind him he walked into his bedroom. Pulling off his sweater and jeans he slipped into his bed. Reaching over to his nightstand he set his alarm for seven am. The display read 10:45pm. Clicking off the light, he laid thinking about the case he was about to begin the next morning. He felt more and more confident about his chances of solving the case the more he thought about it. Eleven o'clock rolled around and he was fast asleep.

  Chapter 2

  Christina couldn't sleep. Ever since the incident, she had gotten little rest. Even though she had gotten to come home, she hadn't been able to relax. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the hovering blue light, but there was something else ... something elusive. It nagged at her like a splinter in her mind, coming so close to remembering, yet it felt as if something was blocking her.

  Burying her face in her pillows, she began to cry out of frustration. Waves of fear and anger washed over her body just as a light knock on her door caught her attention.

  Christina quickly sat up and watched as the door began to creep open. She felt a burst of fear grip her body as those long, gray, fingers slipped around the door.