He handed her a business card. “If there’s anything you need, please contact me anytime.”
“Thank you,” she said again, and then she couldn’t contain her grief any longer. She turned into the waiting embrace of her father, and he pulled her back into the house.
Mrs. McMillan reappeared and said, “Did you want to come in for a cup of coffee…?”
Hollingsworth shook his head. “It’s a long drive back to Chicago. I should be going.”
They shook hands, and the detective picked his way back to his vehicle as Andrea’s mother closed the door.
Hollingsworth got into the driver’s seat, started the ignition, but didn’t drive off immediately.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked his passenger, who sat low against the back seat.
I said, “It had to be done. If anyone comes around asking questions, they’ll believe Andrea’s grief is genuine. The only way she’ll be safe from the priests and from Sam Lancaster is if they think I’m dead.”
The spirit of Araqiel, the angel of earth, was still in me. If I had not surrendered to it in the last moments before the boiler exploded, I would not have survived the blast. The power we had at our disposal when we were in control paled in comparison to the power of the Watcher when it was in control of us.
The impact from the explosion had cracked the bulkhead of the cargo ship, which had sunk within minutes. Unconscious, I’d been ejected out the breach and into the lake before being pulled down with the ship. Richard had come to my rescue, pulling me out and bringing me to shore.
He and Darcy had been unable to break the defenses of Father Webber and his priests in the hold, and they’d been unable to convince him of the imminent danger. The priests had all drowned.
In the end, Father Putnam’s plan had been a success: the cryonic chambers short-circuited, killing their occupants. Twenty Watchers were released to find new hosts.
Though Richard had gone back to the wreckage to search before the Coast Guard arrived, he found no trace of Father Putnam. The priest had gotten away. I assumed he was in the process of marshaling his forces and rebuilding the organization of exorcists.
Putting the SUV in gear, Hollingsworth drove away from Andrea’s parents’ house. “I’m sorry about your wife,” he said. “It’s got to be hard.”
“I won’t let anyone use her against me again,” I said. “That’s all that matters.”
“All right.” Hollingsworth glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to now?”
“I told Richard and Darcy to meet us in a motel outside of Madison. Just follow the I-90. We should get there in twenty minutes or so.”
I leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for doing that.”
“It’s the least I could do, after you brought me back from the dead.”
I frowned. “You weren’t dead; if you were, I wouldn’t have been able to save you.”
“Well,” he said, “if you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have lasted long.” His tone changed. “Is it terrible for me to say I wish you hadn’t done the same for Father Putnam? The bastard lied to you about your wife, and tried to manipulate you into killing Father Webber.”
I sat back and looked out the window.
“There is and always will be evil in the world,” I said. “But you can’t fight evil with evil. You can only fight evil with good.”
Hollingsworth cocked his head. “No matter what your philosophical views on it are, you know things are going to get messy.”
I drew in a slow breath, and let it out in a rush. “I’m not afraid of getting blood on my hands if there is no other option,” I said, “but there’s always another option. We just have to find out what that is.”
* * *
To be on the safe side, Hollingsworth stood at the window of the motel room and kept a lookout while Darcy, Richard, and I sat around the table.
In front of us, a tablet computer, propped up on a stand, framed the face of a rather portly young man with rusty red hair.
Eugene Yates was a friend of Richard and Darcy. He was compiling all the data we’d discovered. Between Hollingsworth and me, we’d spent the better part of the past twenty minutes giving him as much information as we had on both the priests and Enoch Enterprises.
“It sounds like you’ve got the exorcists on the run for the moment,” Eugene said.
“For the moment,” I agreed.
He said, “I’m going to run a search on Enoch and get some background on them.”
From the window, Hollingsworth let out a scoffing bark. “We’ve got some geniuses working for the CPD,” he said. “They weren’t able to find out anything about the company.” His techs had been stonewalled by the fact that Enoch Enterprises had been incorporated in Nevada using a nominee director.
“Ah, here we go,” Eugene said, and Hollingsworth jerked his head around.
Richard smiled at the detective, as if proud his friend had shown up the cop.
I asked, “What did you find?”
“Enoch Enterprises is a subsidiary of Grigori Ventures, also registered out of Las Vegas, also with a nominee director.”
Hollingsworth stepped over. “How in the world did you find that out without a federal search warrant?”
Eugene grinned. “This is the kind of thing I do to pay the rent, if you know what I mean.”
I remembered Richard mentioning something about insider trading, and thought it best not to delve too deeply into the matter, especially with a police officer standing right there.
Eugene looked off screen and raised an eyebrow. “This is interesting. ‘Grigori’ is a transliteration for ‘Watcher’. Wasn’t that what you said Father Webber called the fallen angels?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Looks like we’ve got the right information.”
Darcy tilted the tablet toward her. “Can you text me the address of the lawyer who incorporated these companies?”
“Sending it now.”
Richard sat up straighter. “Looks like we’re heading for Sin City.”
Glancing at Hollingsworth, I asked, “What do you think?”
“It’s a good lead,” he said, as if having a hard time admitting that Eugene had found something the CPD hadn’t. “I have no jurisdiction there. I wouldn’t be of much use.” He took a few measured strides back to the window. “You guys should definitely go, though.”
“What about you?” Darcy asked. “What are you going to do?”
“After you told me what the priests did, kidnapping Kyle, I got some of my snoops looking into the organization’s tax records.” For the first time during the conversation, he gave me a satisfied smile. “We’ve already seized millions in their holdings. I figure at some point, if we squeeze hard enough, Father Putnam will try to stop the hemorrhaging. The moment he shows himself, I’ll be there waiting to put him in cuffs.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” I said, sharing a determined glance with Richard.
To Eugene, Darcy said, “Looks like we’re off to Nevada. Can you keep digging into Enoch Enterprises and Grigori Ventures?”
“Sure thing. Uh, Darcy…” Eugene looked uncomfortable.
“What?”
He said, “I’m not sure if it’s important or not, but since all this started, I set up a bunch of subscriptions to certain online papers.”
“And?”
“I saw something on one of them that might be important.”
Frowning, Darcy said, “What is it?”
“In yesterday’s crime section of one of the papers, they talked about a break-in.”
“Eugene,” Darcy said, “spit it out.”
“It was from the Denver Post,” Eugene said, and I could see the blood draining from Darcy’s face. “The address of the break-in matches Neil Dawson’s apartment.”
At first, I didn’t understand the significance of the news, but then I remembered Neil was the man Darcy had been seeing in Arizona, who had been killed.
�
�What did the article say?” Darcy asked. “Did they catch the burglar?”
“No, and it looks like nothing was taken. A neighbor scared off the intruder right away.”
“Send me the link,” Darcy said. “I want to read it for myself.”
“It could just be what it looks like,” Eugene said. “If his apartment’s been empty for the past few weeks, someone might have noticed and thought they’d take advantage of the situation.”
“No,” Darcy said, standing up from the table. “This isn’t a coincidence.”
She looked at Richard and me. “You two go to Las Vegas and track down the attorney, shake the information out of him.”
Turning from us, she strode over to her backpack. “I’m going to Colorado.”
…to be continued in Angel Tears…
Angel Tears
The Fourth 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 © 2014 Valmore Daniels. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
Ecce ego adducam aquas diluvii super terram, ut interficiam omnem carnem, in qua spiritus vitæ est subter cælum. Universa quæ in terra sunt, consumentur.
(For behold, I will bring a flood of waters upon the earth to destroy all flesh in which is the breath of life under heaven. Everything that is on the earth shall die.) – Genesis 6:17
I sat in the back seat of the police car, the handcuffs around my wrists pulling my arms tight behind me, and tried to hold back tears of anger and desperation.
My stomach tightened when I saw a familiar face approaching the car, shooting me a look of deep concern. Mr. Ulrich spoke to the police officer who’d taken me into custody. I couldn’t make out what he said.
We were parked in front of the Portland Youth Development Center for Girls—a bland name for a hateful place. Why couldn’t they just be honest about it? It was a juvenile detention hall.
The politicians had decided to portray the Center as an institution of hope and rehabilitation to the public, though the only real lesson we learned was the oldest one in the book: either you learned how to fight, or you learned how to run.
I’d been running since I was a kid, and I wasn’t going to stop now.
Even the staff didn’t suspect half of what went on in the dark corners of the halls when they weren’t looking, or after the lights went out. I had the bruises to prove it—many girls had it much worse—but none of the staff ever wanted to hear about it. If there wasn’t a broken bone, then it wasn’t worth reporting.
The only one who seemed to have a clue was Mr. Ulrich. He was still a jailer, as far as I was concerned. Despite his efforts to help, I knew better than to trust adults of any kind.
Ever.
Still speaking to the police officer, but looking at me through the back seat window, he gestured to the door. The officer unlocked it and took a step back.
Mr. Ulrich opened the door and hunched over toward me. He didn’t say anything right away.
He was old. Probably thirty or forty. His short brown hair was thinning into a widow’s peak, and he’d started to grow a goatee. If he thought he was being stylish, he was fooling himself.
Though he was far from fat, a potbelly stretched the fabric of the cardigan sweater he wore.
When he first arrived at the Center a month ago from somewhere out west, a few of the other girls had tried flirting with him to get special treatment, but he acted as if he had no idea what they were doing. He wasn’t married, and no one ever saw him socialize with any of the female staff.
It wasn’t until one of the girls waiting in his office came across a personal letter in his desk that we partly figured out what the deal was. Mr. Ulrich used to be Father Aaron Ulrich, but he was no longer a priest. No one knew why, but it was great sport coming up with scenarios.
“I’m very disappointed in you, Serena,” he said to me.
Though I could hear the honesty in his voice, I hardened myself to it, and lifted my head in defiance.
“Join the club.”
“And what have you done to yourself?” he asked, lifting his hand toward me.
I’d dyed my hair green, to match my eyes, just like I used to have it before juvie. I’d painted both my top and bottom eyelids with black liner—only partially to hide the shiner Trudy Hartman gave me two nights ago. I’d also used the liner as lipstick.
“Did you think you were trying to disguise yourself?” he asked.
I tried not to flinch at the comment. I wasn’t trying to hide who I was; I was just trying to be me.
The hair salon where I’d stolen the electric shaver, makeup, and dye yesterday after I’d escaped from the Center had reported exactly what products I took. The police had pictures of me from when I was arrested, so it was easy to guess what I looked like. When I’d gone into a discount store in a strip mall to lift some new clothes earlier, a patrol officer spotted me. He’d been waiting outside for me with handcuffs ready.
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” Mr. Ulrich asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “What kind of crap are they serving for supper tonight?”
He frowned and stood up. To the officer, he said, “All right. Take her inside.”
* * *
Going through processing again was humiliating. I had to shower in front of the nurse and one of the female prison guards, both to make sure I was clean, and that I wasn’t concealing any contraband.
With all the makeup washed off my face, the only color left was from the black eye.
The nurse made me scrub my hair twice, as if that would get the green dye out—it didn’t, which gave me a sense of satisfaction when the old prune made a sour face. She threatened to shave the rest of the hair off, but I knew the rules.
“Not unless the warden says.” I glared at her in defiance.
Then she did a cavity search, and I was sure she was extra rough out of spite.
By the time I slipped into the orange scrubs and flip-flops, I was back to feeling just as much of a loser as every other girl in the Center.
I hadn’t eaten anything besides scraps I found in a dumpster since I escaped.
My stomach was starting to rumble again, and though I wasn’t looking forward to eating the slop in the cafeteria, I knew I couldn’t go another day without some food … especially if I had to keep one eye open all night in case Trudy—one of the three others sharing my room—decided she wanted to blacken my other eye.
I thought the guards were going to escort me back to the block for the evening meal, but I quickly realized we were heading for Mr. Ulrich’s office.
As much as I loathed returning to the population and dealing with my roommates, I hated having to sit through lectures from Mr. Ulrich even more. He always droned on for what seemed like hours, repeating the same crap over and over again.
I sighed, and my head hung a little lower as I let the guard lead me to the counselor’s office.
* * *
“I don’t think you fully realize the impact your behavior has on your future.”
It was everything I could do not to roll my eyes.
“I know, I know,” Mr. Ulrich said, trying to give me an understanding look, “you’re only fourteen. You think you’re going to be a teenager forever.”
I didn’t think that, but I wasn’t going to correct him.
“Are you even sorry about what got you in here in the first place?”
I said the same thing I’d always been saying. “The bastard deserved it.”
“Stealing a truck and driving it into the Atlantic is a serious matter. I
t’s only because you’re a youth that you got a three-month sentence. As an adult, the judge would’ve been much harder on you. We’re talking years, Serena.”
I shrugged.
He sighed. “Now, you pull this stunt.”
“Whatever,” I said, and he looked at me in that patronizing way I hated.
“Unfortunately,” he said, “the warden is furious. He’s contacted the judge, and he’s agreed to extend your stay here for six more months.”
“Fine with me,” I said, my voice harsh. At the same time, I felt my throat close up. Six more months? The moment they dropped their guard, I would break out again. This time I wouldn’t stop for anything.
I fidgeted in my seat and avoided his eyes.
Finally, he said, “You might think being in here has been hard on you, but it’s nothing like adult prison.”
Curling my lip, I said, “I can take it.”
“That’s a terrible attitude.” He sighed. “You’ve got a lot of potential. The staff always mention that in their reports. If you just applied yourself, you could do something meaningful with your life.”
“Potential?” I scoffed. “I’ve got potential?”
“Yes,” he said. “But you have to stop this self-destructive behavior.”
Shaking his head, he sat forward and leaned his elbows on the desk. “I don’t understand why you decided to run—you were due to be released tomorrow! Are you still having problems with Trudy Hartman? I could have moved you to another room until you got out.”
I kept my mouth closed. He wouldn’t understand, even if I told him. Yeah, I hated this place, and Trudy had made a career out of beating on me, but at least here when they kicked the crap out of you, they didn’t lie about loving you.
Going home would have been a lot worse.
“Are we done?” I asked, glaring at him.
I hoped he was going to lose patience with me and send me back to the block, but it seemed Mr. Ulrich had more to say.
“Serena, you know you can talk to me about what’s going on.”
“Thanks, Aaron,” I said with a sarcastic tone. He didn’t react to my using his first name, though. “What do you care, anyway?”
The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels Page 60