by Brian Rella
Her breath hitched in her throat. The credit cards. They’ll know I’m here. She wanted to disappear for good, until she figured out what to do, but using credit cards left a trail behind her.
But she also wanted to live a little. It was the first time she had been out on her own and she wanted to experience a big city like Chicago and everything it had to offer. Her mother wouldn’t be coming after her anytime soon. No way. She had a few days at least, right? Why not live a little?
“I want to go shopping,” she said. “Take me to the nicest stores in Chicago.”
The man nodded. “North Michigan Avenue,” he said.
“Sure,” she said, and the taxi sped off toward downtown Chicago.
FRANK
October 14, 1983
Garrison, New York
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Outside the house, Frank sat by his father’s side. His leg was spewing blood and he looked deathly pale. His mother looked on, holding his brother David to her chest, kissing his forehead, and telling him it would be okay. Frank thought she might be telling herself more than him that it would be okay.
Frank stared at the man and woman warriors that glowed blue; the warriors that had defeated the small army of giant insects that had attacked his family. They were staring at the mangled flesh and bone that had once been his father’s leg.
His father groaned. After looking over his leg, the bald man told his father to look into his eyes. His father slowly raised his gaze and the bald man chanted something in a language Frank had never heard before. His father stopped groaning and seemed to fall asleep.
The woman reached inside her black shirt, pulled out a pouch, and sprinkled glittering dust over his father’s injured leg. Then the warriors started chanting. Frank looked at his mother and she seemed worried, but none of this scared him. He knew they were helping his father and the gory leg did not upset him.
David sat in his mother’s lap, his hand in his mouth, tears rolling down his cheeks, drool pooling on his lap. His gaze had gone to his father’s leg. He did not look well and Frank thought he might get sick. Frank tugged at his mother’s shirt and she glanced down at him.
“Mommy, is David all right?” Frank asked.
Her eyes grew wide as she followed David’s stare. She turned him and rested his head on her shoulder. He shuddered and Robin held him close and closed her eyes. She reached down and tried to pull Frank toward her.
“I’m okay, Mom,” Frank said.
She looked down at him, confusion on her face, seemed to decide he was fine, and went back to rocking David.
Frank glanced back at the warriors. Their eyes were closed as they chanted. The dust on his father’s leg glowed, slid, and slithered over the wounded area. As it passed over the crushed leg, Frank heard stretching and pulling, like skin rubbing against rubber. His father’s leg slowly changed; the bone took shape and the flesh reformed over the bone. The wound gradually healed and after a moment, the leg appeared normal again. Frank glanced at his mother. She had stopped rocking David, and her mouth fell open with a gasp.
The warrior’s chanting grew louder, and Frank could see a rippling under his father’s skin, like a rolling boil. The chanting slowed, his skin settled, and the warriors opened their eyes and fell back on their arms.
Frank’s father’s eyes fluttered open. He brought his hands up and rubbed his face. He sat up, looked at his family, then at his leg, and finally at the Asian man. Rolling onto his knees, he stood up.
“Come on,” the woman said. “We must go now. There may be more coming.”
“I don’t think so,” Frank said. “The flashing stopped.”
The bald Asian man touched Frank’s shoulder and smiled. “Come, young one. You may be right, but you may also be wrong.”
They rose, and Frank’s father took his hand. Looking back at the house, then to his wife, he said, “I’m okay,” and kissed her. “Let’s go.” A worried crease spread across his forehead as he turned, and led his family across the road and into the woods.
Holding his father’s hand, Frank looked over his shoulder at the house. A dark cloud passed overhead, blotting out the sun. A chill went through Frank and he shivered.
After a short time hiking in the woods, the blond man rejoined them, falling in stride with the bald man. Frank overheard the two talking.
“Shizu, he’s gone,” the blond-haired man said.
The bald man nodded and touched his shoulder. “Another day, Rowan.”
“There will be more next time,” the blond man called Rowan added. “It will grow more powerful the longer we wait. We should continue the search and destroy it.”
Shizu nodded. “Indeed, Rowan. We will hunt it down, but not today. We are weakened from the battle.”
“Yes, Shizu,” Rowan answered. “What of the family?”
Shizu ran his eyes over Frank’s family and rested them on Frank. “They must come with us. It knows about the boy. That’s why it came after them.”
“What are you talking about?” Frank’s mother said, an edge of hysteria in her voice. “Who wants Frank? What is all this? Who are you people?”
Her body quivered and a tear rolled down her cheek.
“What were those…those things? They looked like giant praying mantises! How is that possible? What is going on?”
Frank’s father went to her side, took David from her, and pulled her to him. He stopped.
“Shizu. Stop, please. What is this?”
Shizu stopped and faced Frank’s father. “Glak'xhohr attacked you. He is a powerful leader of the Fallen. He wants your son.”
“Who are the Fallen? Why does this Gla…Glak'xhohr or whatever you call him want my son?”
“Not him, it. The Fallen are not from here. They are from another place. You will learn more in time. Know this: the boy has a gift, and the Fallen will try to capture him and turn him, or worse.”
Frank’s father looked at him, then back to Shizu. “What are you talking about? What gift does my son have?”
Shizu bent down on one knee to meet Frank’s eyes. He had a kind and gentle face. His whole body glowed with a bluish hue. Frank reached out and touched his cheek. It tickled his finger. When he withdrew his finger, the blue glow shifted, and fell back into place, wavering on his skin gently.
“You know what I speak of, don’t you, young one?”
Frank’s father pulled him to his side. “Frank, what is he talking about?”
“He’s blue, Daddy. He’s magic,” Frank said.
“Who are you people?” Jason asked.
“We are Watchers,” Shizu replied.
Get the next book in the Second Death Series…
Have you read them all?
In The Second Death Series
Watchers of the Fallen: Book One of the Second Death
Descended from the heavens to the Earth, and banished by the Watchers to the scorched wastelands of the Second Death, Nalsuu, King of the Fallen, rises to destroy the world.
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* * *
Queen of the Fallen: Book Two of the Second Death
Jessie’s mission to raise an army and free Nalsuu continues across the barren Arizona desert. There she must find and free the treacherous Dalkhu, who has the power to release Nalsuu from the Second Death. But a rogue Watcher and the U.S. government stand in her way with a new weapon that could kill the Fallen and her plans to destroy the world.
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* * *
The Short Story Collection
Monsters & Demons: A Collection of Short Horror Stories
Brian Rella brings together his best of 2015. His collection of short horror stories will indulge your dark side. This horror anthology contains seven contemporary tales of terror that will lead you down a twisted path of suspense and revenge.
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I want to leave you with a sincere thank you for reading my book and for providing an honest review. I really am tremendously grateful for your continued support. You are helping me follow my dream of being a full time author and I can't thank you enough.
My very best wishes to you and your loved ones,
Brian Rella
About the Author
Brian lives in Tarrytown, NY with his wife, who is far too good for him, and his two vivacious boys who challenge his light-saber skills daily. Most of his writing is done on the train to the cube farm where he works so he can buy stuff. He published his first book in 2015 and hopes to write from his beachfront property overlooking the Mare Tranquillitatis one day.
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Copyright © 2016 by Brian Rella
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
* * *
Brian Rella
Elder and King
New York
www.brianrella.com
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.