The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels

by Valmore Daniels

  I could see the shock on his face; how appalled he was at my actions, and I felt a burning shame. The fireball above me faded as a trickle of tears spilled down my cheeks.

  “Don’t you understand?” I pleaded to Neil as he hurried across the street to me. “Barry won’t ever stop unless I stop him.”

  “Not this way.” Neil stopped in front of me and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Don’t do this.”

  I sensed, more than saw, Barry scramble to his feet and run off as fast as he could.

  Someone down the street shouted a warning as, beside us, the Camaro’s gas tank blew, and the entire car burst into flame with an ear-shattering thump. Metal parts sailed high into the air and fell back to earth.

  I fell into Neil’s protective embrace, shielding myself against the blast. He pulled me a safe distance away from the burning vehicle, and in a daze I looked back at the wreckage.

  So much destruction!

  “I’m so sorry,” I said to him. Now that the fire inside me was back in its cage, I was horrified at how I had changed when using it. I had been a different person.

  “It’s all right.” He made a shushing sound, as if trying to sooth a baby.

  “No it’s not,” I said. “I thought I could control it, but…”

  I struggled for a way to explain how I felt. Whenever I used the fire, I became more like it and something less than human. Or more than human…

  “It’s a part of me,” I said in a small voice. “It’s not a curse; it’s a thing, and it wants out. I can’t control it.”

  A thought came to me. In her journal Beatrice had said there had been a great sin in humanity’s past: when angels had lain with humans. God had banished those angels from heaven. Did those who had fallen now want to punish mankind? Was there truth in it? Was this, in fact, one of those fallen angels? But why me? Why was it inside me? Was it punishing me? Neil put his hands on my shoulders. “It’s over now. It’s going to be all right.”

  As if a dam had broken, the tears that had started as a trickle were now a torrent. “There’s something inside me, something primal and furious,” I said when my sobs lessened. “I can borrow its ability, but every time I do, it grows stronger and I grow weaker.”

  A troubled look fell across his face as he realized what I had been saying. “It? What, you mean like … it’s possessing you?”

  “Yes,” I said, and then changed my mind. “No, it’s something different, something more than that. Can’t you feel it when you use the power? A presence inside you? A fallen angel.” I said the last in a whisper.

  I looked up into his eyes, searching for reassurance that I wasn’t alone in this, that he experienced the same thing.

  “I never thought about it, but … I guess yes, I feel a kind of separation,” he said finally, eyes wide with revelation. “It’s like I’m standing outside of myself when it happens.”

  I nodded. “Like we’re being pushed out. They tempt us with the power, but it’s a trick. I think—”

  The scream of a siren cut off the rest, and I turned my head.

  Racing down Main Street, Sheriff Burke’s squad car skidded to a stop at the edge of the parking lot.

  Barry, seeing his father from across the street, raced toward him and dove behind the police car.

  Sheriff Burke jumped out of his vehicle. Keeping himself protected behind the open door, he drew out a rifle and pointed it at me. He put one eye to the sight.

  “Darcy Anderson. You are under arrest. Get down on the ground with your hands behind your head right now!”

  All along Main Street, people had stopped to watch in fascination. Cars pulled over and drivers and passengers stepped out to see what was happening.

  “Shoot her!” Barry called from behind the police car. “Just shoot the bitch!”

  “Shut up!” the sheriff snapped back. He kept his rifle pointed at me, however. “This is your last warning. Get down before I put you down.”

  Neil stepped between me and the line of fire.

  “Don’t shoot!” he yelled out.

  I have no idea if Sheriff Burke misinterpreted the action, or if a nervous impulse made him do it. His rifle kicked and a split second later a devastating sound split the air. The crack of the rifle shot was the only thing I could hear, and the unexpected force of the sound stunned me.

  “No!” I screamed when I saw a splotch of red blossom out of Neil’s back and grow in an angry red stain.

  Neil stood motionless for a moment, and then sank to his knees. He tipped backward. I dropped down and caught him as he fell into my lap.

  He stared at a spot far off in the sky, and I realized he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. Opening his mouth, he tried to speak, but a bubble of dark blood leaked out and streamed down the side of his face.

  “Oh, my God!” I cried.

  Neil managed to utter my name in a very weak voice. “Darcy. I feel … it going away.”

  “What? Neil. Don’t speak. Help is on the way.”

  “It knows I’m dying…” were the last words Neil spoke before he sucked in one last raspy breath and fell still.

  I threw my head back and opened my mouth in a silent scream. I couldn’t bear the grief that clawed at my heart. It suffocated me. I couldn’t think. I became something primal, something that bore no resemblance to anything human. When my voice finally returned, I emitted the most terrible sound imaginable; it was an elemental shriek that lasted for what seemed like an eternity. When I finally stopped to take a breath, I gathered every ounce of the power I could. I wanted it to take me over. I wanted it to possess me.

  Whatever it was inside me had won: I gave myself over to it completely. I surrendered to it; I embraced it.

  The air around me shimmered with heat.

  All the rage I had tried to contain welled up within me.

  The gravel around us shook; steam rose from the ground beneath us.

  The anger, the despair and the frustration of my existence came to a boiling point.

  Fire, hot and deadly, surrounded me and the dead man I loved. Flames danced around us, and grew until we disappeared into a furnace of fury.

  I heard panicked screams and shouts. Through the smoky haze, figures raced away as the bonfire around us grew larger and larger.

  The asphalt on the road not twenty feet from us started to melt. Telephone poles burst into flame and power transformers exploded in a shower of sparks.

  A deep rumbling sound filled the street as the darkness in me exploded outward like an incendiary bomb. Windows shattered and the gas tanks of nearby cars blew. Barry and his father raced for cover as the squad car detonated, hurtling the vehicle into the air and slamming it back to the street on its side with a thundering crash.

  The final explosion of fire and rage completely incinerated The Trough, every car in a one block radius, and most of the shops on Main Street.

  There was nothing left but a charred and blackened circle of ash smack in the centre of Middleton.

  Epilogue

  Four days after the inferno that ripped a swath of destruction through Middleton, the town held two sets of funerals. Early in the morning, the charred remains of Barry and Martin Burke were buried in plain wood coffins. Father Tomas conducted the service. There were only four attendees: Maisy Bell, the mayor, the fire chief, and Jack Creel—who made it a point of going to every funeral in town.

  Later that day, a much larger crowd, including Beth and John, gathered for a four-casket funeral. Two of the coffins held the bodies of Aunt Martha and Uncle Edward. He had never made it out of the hospital, suffering a second heart attack in the middle of the night from which he didn’t recover.

  Uncle Edward and Aunt Martha had many friends, and it was mostly for them the attendees came.

  The third casket was for Neil. His parents, when notified of their son’s demise, flew in from Maine just for the day; they were booked on an overnight flight back, and were not happy about paying their share of the funeral expenses.
/>
  Father Tomas again oversaw the service. He recited the prayers and motioned for one of the pall bearers to lower the four caskets one at a time.

  The bearer pressed a control for the motorized pulley, and Aunt Martha’s coffin slowly disappeared below ground. The priest made the sign of the cross.

  “Unto Almighty God, we commend the soul of our sister, Martha Johnson, and we commit her body to the ground.”

  Next was for Uncle Edward:

  “Unto Almighty God, we commend the soul of our brother, Edward Johnson, and we commit his body to the ground.”

  Jack Creel dropped his head and crossed himself.

  The priest then proceeded to the third casket.

  “Unto Almighty God, we commend the soul of our brother, Neil Dawson, and we commit his body to the ground.”

  Father Tomas came to the last casket and paused. The coffin was empty. There had been no remains to bury. He recited his prayer anyway:

  “Unto Almighty God, we commend the soul of our sister, Darcy Anderson, and we commit her body to the ground.

  “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

  In the front row, Beth clutched at John’s jacket and buried her face in his chest. Father Tomas prayed, “Grant this mercy, O Lord, we beseech Thee, to Thy servant departed, that he may not receive in punishment the requital of his deeds who in desire did keep Thy will, and as the true faith here united him to the company of the faithful, so may Thy mercy unite him above to the choirs of angels. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  “Amen,” was the muttered response from those in attendance.

  “May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace,” Father Tomas said, and the mourners rose from their seats. In low tones, they offered sympathetic words to each other as they slowly dispersed.

  Beth and John were the last to leave. She hung off his arm for support and rested her head on his shoulder as he guided her back to their car.

  * * *

  When everyone had gone, and the cemetery was quiet at last, I stepped out from behind one of the storage sheds a distance away from where my loved ones were buried. I knew I was taking an awful chance of being seen, but I had to pay my last respects to the three people I had grown to love so deeply over the past few weeks.

  At Aunt Martha’s headstone, I grabbed a handful of soft fresh dirt from a pile near the opening and tossed it in. The earth hit the wooden casket and I said, “Aunt Martha. I will miss you.” My tears fell to the ground and disappeared into the soil.

  Stepping around to the next grave, I placed my hand on the cold headstone and said, “Uncle Edward. I know you can never forgive me for the death of my mother and your wife. If I had never come back, both you and Aunt Martha would still be alive. I’m so sorry.”

  Steeling myself, I moved to the third grave and stood over Neil’s casket laying quiet and isolated.

  “There is something inside people like us; that much I know. What I don’t know is what they want with us. You told me once that people like me and you were here for a reason. I don’t know what that purpose is, but I promise you that I won’t rest until I know the answer.”

  I picked up another handful of earth with the intention of spreading it over his coffin, but the thought of saying goodbye was far too painful, and I let the dirt fall through my fingers.

  “You saved my life and they took yours. I love you,” I said and meant it.

  Finally, I stood before the last grave.

  My empty grave.

  By all rights, I should have died many times over. But I was immune from fire, and I alone had survived that catastrophic day. But it was a rebirth for me, like a phoenix from the ashes.

  I wanted to blame the thing inside me for the destruction, but the truth was, I had used it as much as it had used me. We shared in the responsibility. I was a murderess, and that was something I would have to try to live with, though my heart was so heavy I didn’t know if I could stand it.

  Was it a fallen angel in me? I didn’t know enough about them. I would have to do much more research. Why had they fallen? What did it want with me, with us? Neil didn’t seem to have been at odds with the one inside him. Was mine different? Angrier? Did it want to co-exist with me, or take me over?

  Either way, it would be a battle of wills.

  * * *

  The next day, I was walking north along the highway, my thumb out. I was far enough away from Middleton that I wasn’t too worried about seeing anyone who might recognize me. A sky-blue pickup pulled over and an older man in a straw hat curled up on the sides grinned at me. He tipped his hat.

  “Where you heading, Miss?” he asked through a mouth full of tobacco.

  “Denver,” I said, hopeful that he was heading in that direction.

  “That’s a long way to hitch, especially for a young pretty thing like you. What’s in Denver?”

  “Uh, I might have a job there.”

  Neil had spent years scouring newspapers and the internet looking for people like us. As far as I knew, all his research was still at his apartment in Colorado. That was as good a place as any to learn everything I could about what was happening to me.

  The man nodded. “I can get you as far as Winslow, that’s a few miles east of Flagstaff. That all right by you?”

  I smiled. “Perfect. Thank you.”

  “All right, then. Get yourself on in.”

  I had barely hopped into the passenger seat and put on my seat belt before he started chatting.

  “Name’s Al. I got a ranch outside Prescott. Where you from?” The happy grin never wavered from his face.

  He drove the truck ten miles under the posted limit. This was going to be a long drive.

  “Phoenix,” I said without missing a beat.

  “Oh, yeah? Hot there this time of year, huh?”

  “Hot there any time of the year,” I said with a polite smile.

  “You got that right.” He turned his head to look at me. For the first time, his smile faded and he looked troubled. “You must have come up past Middleton,” he said. “You hear about that stuff that happened there a couple days ago?”

  “No,” I replied, and kept my expression neutral.

  “Some kind of gas main explosion or something. Killed a bunch of folk. Such a shame.” He shook his head.

  My heart was still for several moments. I turned to the window and bit my lip. “That’s terrible,” I said in a low voice.

  “They say these thing come in waves. Disasters, I mean.” He hawked and spat out his window. “Just like that tornado that ripped through Seattle yesterday.”

  I turned back around. “A tornado in Seattle?”

  “That’s what I said. It was all over the news. Didn’t you hear? Some kind of freak storm or something. Destroyed half a city block. Can you imagine?”

  Seattle? I didn’t have Neil’s gift for intuition, but something tickled my thoughts.

  “Actually,” I said, “can you drop me off at the bus station in Flagstaff? Maybe there’s something for me out on the coast.”

  …to be continued in Angel’s Breath…

  Angel’s Breath

  The Second Book of Fallen Angels

  by Valmore Daniels

  This is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book may not be re-sold or given away without permission in writing from the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or distributed in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means past, present or future.

  Copyright © 2012 Valmore Daniels. All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  Ecce turbo dominicae indignationis egredietur et tempestas erumpens super caput impiorum veniet.

  (Behold the whirlwind of the Lord's indignation shall come forth, and a tempest shall break out and come upon the hea
d of the wicked.) – Jeremiah 23:19

  “Richard Riley?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  I looked up at the nurse, and my first impression was she was scowling at me, as if I’d done something wrong.

  However, when I blinked my eyes and looked again, she had that clinical look of polite concern. I must have been tired. My eyes were playing tricks on me.

  Sitting in the waiting room outside the emergency ward was a crappy way to spend the first hour of my twenty-first birthday. The mixture of fear and boredom was working on me. I had been up before six in the morning, and it was now past midnight; I was exhausted. The constant patter of Seattle rain beating against the windows did nothing to soothe me.

  I was glad to get back up. My legs were cramping from sitting for so long.

  I held my breath waiting for the nurse to speak again.

  “You can see your mother now,” she said. “She’s finally stabilized.” She turned around and retreated down the hall, her soft-soled shoes making a squeaking sound on the polished tile floor with every step.

  I thrust my fingers under my glasses to rub my eyes, and then I followed her. I spat the wad of gum I was chewing into my hand and dropped it in a garbage can as I passed the reception desk. It lost its flavor.

  We wound our way through a connecting hall into the examination area where they brought my mother. The room was windowless, and large enough to house a dozen beds, each separated by thick curtains on rails attached to the ceiling. The nurse led me to the last room, and drew back the curtain and motioned for me to go in.

  I clenched my teeth at the sight of my mother.

  There was a pale tinge to her skin, which was pulled so tight she looked inhuman. Her normally blonde hair was dark, thin and matted. An oxygen tube extended from her nostril down over her high cheekbones and behind her ears. A slight wheezing sound came out from between her dry, cracked lips. Her eyes were squeezed shut as if she were in pain.

  Though she was still unconscious, she had wrapped her hands around her waist, and she had pulled her knees up to her chest.

  “We had to pump her stomach,” the nurse said, and this time her tone was softer, more reassuring.