Angel's Breath: The Second Book of Fallen Angels

by Valmore Daniels

  On top of it all, I had a choice between going back to jail or running, and I had vowed never to set foot in prison again. There was no way Stacy would go on the run along with me, and that thought put a heaviness on my heart like nothing I had felt before.

  Pulling into my driveway, I turned off the car and took the key out of the ignition, but I didn’t immediately get out.

  I smacked the heels of my hands against the steering wheel. “Damn it!” I cursed aloud. I had made a royal mess of things.

  My goal in prison was to learn to take ownership of my mistakes and make better choices. That was difficult to do when I kept making the same mistakes.

  Weariness began to settle over me. Whether it was from the lack of sleep over the past two days, or from my body coming down off the adrenaline high of the morning’s events, I didn’t know. All I knew is that I would trade a significant amount of my worldly possessions for a few hours’ sleep.

  Feeling defeated, I pulled myself out of the car and slowly walked up the path to the house, my feet dragging by the time I reached the door.

  I remembered I had locked it when I left—an ingrained habit—and searched for the spare we kept under a flowerpot. Finding it, I slipped the key into the lock, but the light pressure I applied caused the door to open. I didn’t have to turn the key.

  The hairs on the back of my head stood straight up. Under any other circumstances, I would not have thought anything was out of the ordinary. Perhaps someone had stepped out for a breath of fresh air with their morning coffee; maybe Stacy forgot something from her car and gone to retrieve it … there could have been a dozen other reasons for the door to be unlocked.

  Today, however, everything was suspect.

  I stood stock-still and strained my ears. I couldn’t hear anything, and that made me feel even more alarmed. My mother was an early riser. I couldn’t remember a day when she wasn’t awake at the crack of dawn. Sleeping in on weekends, to her, meant seven or eight o’clock at the latest. Even with the strain of the past two days, I couldn’t believe she wasn’t awake yet.

  Trying my hardest to keep quiet, I pushed the door all the way open and took one step inside the foyer.

  —And that’s when I heard the metallic click from beside me, where the closet was.

  My first reaction was to run, but the voice accompanying the sound kept me from bolting. I felt the cold metal of a gun barrel resting gently against my temple.

  “After the stunt you pulled on me this morning,” Al said, “if you so much as twitch, I’ll put a round in your head. You got me?”

  I didn’t answer, but I did let out my breath in resignation.

  “Good,” he said. “Now, very slowly and calmly close the door behind you and step into the living room.”

  I didn’t feel that electric rush from this morning when Al had grabbed me, but my heart was thumping in my chest so hard I thought it might burst out.

  Cautiously, I did as I was told, and took the three steps down the entrance hall to the archway of the living room, and looked in.

  Both my mother and Stacy were awake and sitting on the couch next to one another. My mother was in her night robe, and her eyes were watery and puffy, either from sleep or from crying. She saw me, and her eyes widened briefly in hope.

  Stacy gave me a look that was a cross between worry and anger, and I suddenly felt like the world’s biggest ass for putting them in this situation.

  Behind them, holding guns, were Al’s men, Tom and Nick. Tom was tall, square-shouldered and square-jawed. Nick was on the shorter side, but he made up for it with his heavily muscled torso.

  Like Al, they had the dead eyes and bland expressions of men who had seen too much violence in their lives. They were not amateurs at this sort of thing.

  I was outmanned, outgunned, outmaneuvered, and I was running on less than five hours’ sleep.

  “Richy, what have you done?” my mother asked, her words coming out small and helpless, rather than the sharp accusatory tone I was expecting.

  I opened my mouth to say I was sorry, but Al cut me off.

  “Shut up,” he said evenly. “Now, I want everyone to listen to me very carefully. I don’t want any misunderstandings. I don’t want anyone acting the hero. All of us are going to get ourselves together and go for a ride in a calm and orderly fashion.”

  “Where?” Stacy demanded, and then let her eyes fall to the floor in contrition when Al glanced at her in warning.

  My mother started crying. Or continued crying. Either way it made my stomach tighten.

  Before I could take Al’s suggestion and shut up, I blurted, “What did you do with Chuck?”

  It added up: the missing computers, Chuck’s front door open, and Chuck missing. While I was wasting precious time commuting on the Metro, they had driven out to his apartment and grabbed him.

  Stacy shot to her feet, eyes wild. “Chuck? What does he have to do with this?” She glared at me. “What did you get him involved in?”

  It was the first time in our relationship she had been angry with me. I couldn’t blame her. Chuck was her brother. Her blood. Sure, things between us had been growing over the past few months, but a serious boyfriend didn’t hold a candle to the only blood relation she had left in the world.

  I couldn’t think of what to say, or how to explain that I hadn’t gotten him involved, but the opposite. No matter what I said, she wouldn’t understand.

  After all, I was the felon. Al and his men had come here to my house for me. They had rousted Stacy and my mother. My guilt was evident. I had no defense that she would possibly accept.

  I had to admit it; I really stepped in it this time.

  Once again, Al answered for me, but this time he ground his teeth as he spoke. “That little hacker brother of yours bolted before we could grab him. But don’t worry, we’ll get him soon enough.”

  “Hacker?” Stacy looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

  That made Al laugh outright. “Missy, just be thankful you’re a pretty piece of ass.”

  Stacy reddened, and quickly stepped toward Al before Tom could grab her. Using her momentum, she swung her open hand in a windmill motion and connected with Al’s face. The resounding sound of the slap shocked everyone.

  Al grabbed Stacy by the shoulder, but he didn’t hit her back. Instead, he thrust her toward Tom, who gripped her arm securely.

  “Hold on to her this time,” Al said in a growl.

  Stacy struggled, but couldn’t break the big man’s hold. “Why are you after Chuck?” she demanded.

  Al, holding his fingers to his cheek gingerly, spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t worry your vapid little head over that. In fact, once we track that rabbit down, all of us are going to have a little get-together. Work a few things out between us, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t know what you mean,” Stacy said, showing her stubborn side even though I could tell she was frightened out of her mind. “I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

  “Enough talking,” Al said, losing his humor. He motioned to his men. “Nick, Tom, get them up and let’s go.”

  Nick, who had been standing just behind my mother, reached out to grab her arm. She pulled away before he touched her, letting out an indignant cry and giving him a scathing look of contempt.

  “Leave her alone,” I said, feeling as protective toward my mother as Stacy was of her brother.

  “Cut the crap, everyone,” Al said. “Just a friendly warning; I’ve had a bad day, and I haven’t had my coffee yet. I’m not in the mood.”

  As if assuming everyone would automatically cooperate, Nick grabbed my mother’s arm again. She pulled away, but he had a tighter grip this time. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw my mother spin around and slap him in the face. She must have been emboldened by Stacy’s act of defiance.

  Nick turned several shades of red and shook her so hard I thought he might pop her arm out of its socket.

  I could fe
el something cold begin to swell inside me, but before I could move, Al pressed the gun to the back of my neck.

  “Easy, boy.”

  My mother was still trying to pull away from Nick, and the words she yelled at him were unintelligible to me.

  Stacy stood and grabbed my mother by the shoulders to help pull her away.

  The other man, Tom, wasn’t going to get involved in a four-way tug-of-war; he simply hit Stacy on the back of the head with the butt of his gun.

  She crumpled to the floor.

  That cold force inside me from this morning rose again. It burst out of me and toward Tom.

  Something with the power of an industrial piston hit him, lifted him off his feet, and sent him clear across the living room. He didn’t have a wall or a table to break his fall; there was only a window there, and he went through it with a resounding crash.

  Al screamed into my ear. “Shut it down now, or I’ll pop your mother!”

  My brain couldn’t interpret the words or their meaning. I wasn’t myself. Something had taken over. I was a creature of rage and anger, and I turned my focus on Nick, who had a red welt in the shape of a hand growing on his cheek.

  “Let. Her. Go.” I realized I was the one who said it, but the voice was alien to me. It must have sounded just as scary and foreign to everyone else, because they all looked in my direction.

  Eyes widened in horror, Nick raised his arm, leveled his gun at me, and pulled the trigger.

  It all seemed to happen in slow motion.

  Maybe it was my eyes or my memories playing tricks on me, but I could see the bullet burst out of the end of the barrel in a spray of powder and sparks.

  That power inside me raced forward to meet it.

  Meet it. Stop it. And send it straight back at Nick.

  With a crazed look of fear, he jerked away. At the same time—his hand still on her arm—he pulled my mother with him and directly into the path of the returning projectile.

  The bullet hit her low in the neck, and an arterial spray of blood showered Nick.

  Stunned, I could only stare as my mother fell to the floor, clutching at her throat, her mouth opening and closing in a silent cry for help. She fell against the coffee table and rolled off of it.

  Her face contorted in a grimace of pain as the life poured out of her. In a last desperate act, she reached her hand out for help; and then, as her arm fell to the carpet, she died.

  There was no mistaking it.

  I had killed my mother.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As if the chains that held me back had suddenly snapped, all the frustration, anger, and desperation that had consumed me over the past two days burst out.

  A primordial scream escaped my lips, and it felt as if all the cells in my body were breaking their bonds and exploding outward.

  Beneath my feet, there came a swirling of energy, like a million tendrils of air particles wrapping around my legs in a vortex of power and wind. It grew bigger and stronger with every passing moment.

  Peripherally, I could hear someone shouting, but I didn’t know whether it was Al or me. All I knew was that there was something in me that had been unleashed. Something had broken through any possible measure of restraint that I might have been able to apply.

  Lamps tumbled off tables; pictures fell from the walls and smashed on the floor; the flat-screen television toppled over backward and shattered. The couch and loveseat slid away from me as the force of the whirlwind increased.

  An inhuman roar filled my ears. Pain from a million tiny flecks of dirt and debris whipped at my skin, flaying me where I stood, at the center of a tornado.

  The ceiling cracked open and wooden beams snapped and fell. Furniture from the room above fell toward me. The vortex caught them before they hit the ground, and flung them in every direction.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t handle any more pressure, the cyclone that I had become doubled in intensity, and I felt an unimaginable sensation; it was as if my soul were being shredded.

  It was as if I had become a hundred times larger in the span of a second.

  Then everything turned pitch black.

  * * *

  The first impression I had when I regained consciousness was that the world was moving, but then I realized that I was the one moving.

  Or, rather, someone was moving me.

  Groggy, I tried to focus my eyes, but my sight was blurry. Every inch of skin on my body was screaming in pain, and it took all I had not to scream as well. I allowed myself an anguished moan, but it felt like razor blades slicing the inside of my throat.

  I blinked and turned my head, and saw that I was on the front lawn. My house was destroyed, as if a wrecking ball had smashed through it. Shingles, wood splinters, siding and various pieces of furnishings and clothes hung from the skeletal remains of the building, and were spread out on the lawn beside me.

  Whatever had flattened my house had also ripped the neighbors’ houses to either side apart. Several other buildings in the area showed signs of damage.

  Although I had parked in the driveway, my car remained unscathed. Oddly enough, Stacy’s car, which she had parked at the curb, had a two-by-four sticking out of the windshield. It had smashed the steering wheel, and gone right through the back of the driver’s seat. Several other vehicles on the street had also sustained damage.

  Overwhelmed by the destruction, I somehow managed to choke out a question. “What happened?”

  Stacy was crouched beside me on one knee. Her arms were scored with several cuts and bruises. Her makeup had streaked from her tears, but she wasn’t crying now.

  “I don’t know. It was like some kind of freak tornado.” She shook her head. “And this is Seattle!”

  The memory of that storm came rushing back. My mother was dead. I had killed her. Whatever power had developed inside me, however incredible it was to believe possible, it had nevertheless manifested when the Nick shot at me.

  I had caused that bullet to reverse direction. My heart felt like it was in a vice.

  My mother!

  Stacy continued. “I woke up and the tornado just … vanished. The house started to collapse.” She looked at me, searching for an explanation. “I pulled you out just seconds before one of the walls caved in.”

  Too numb to say anything, I looked at the ruins and clenched my jaw.

  “I’m sorry,” Stacy said. “I tried to get your mother out.”

  Immediately, I moved toward the house, still on my hands and knees. “I have to help her.”

  Stacy held me back. “Rich, you can’t go in there. You can’t help her.” When I looked up at her, she said, “I’m sorry. When I got to her, she was dead. She’s gone.”

  Biting back the emotion welling up inside me, I tried to concentrate on something else, like standing up. It was easier to decide to do it than to actually do it, and I only managed to get to my feet with Stacy holding my elbow. My knees felt like rubber, and my entire body was quivering as if I had run a marathon.

  “Al,” I said. “His men. Where are they?”

  Stacy narrowed her eyes. “The three of them took off. Got in their SUV and went that way.” She pointed south.

  I looked back at the house. I was too stunned for words.

  “Rich, I’m so sorry about your mother,” Stacy said. I turned to face her. She chewed on her lower lip. “I know this is the last thing on your mind, but I have to ask. Is Chuck all right?”

  I let my head drop. “I don’t know. I don’t think they wanted to kill me—or Chuck—or else they would have done it this morning.”

  Desperation crept into her eyes. “All right, you’ve got to stop dancing around the truth. What the hell is going on and who were those guys?”

  Neighbors began to emerge from their houses to see what had happened. A crowd was forming on the sidewalk as they speculated about the catastrophe. In the distance, I heard sirens.

  A part of me wanted me to give up. I could just sit there and wait for t
he authorities to come and take me away. The enormity of what I had done was almost too much for me, and I felt separated from reality.

  But there was another part of me—the pure survival instinct inside every person—that urged me to action.

  “You deserve a full explanation,” I said, trying my hardest not to think about my mother, dead inside our house. “But first we have to get out of here before the cops show up.”

  “What? Why?”

  “If I get arrested, then there’s no way I can figure out how to find or help Chuck. Or myself.”

  Stacy paled. “What did you guys do?”

  I took one more look at my house. I wanted so badly to race back in there and haul my mother out. I knew she was dead—and it hurt to acknowledge that—but she didn’t deserve to be abandoned amidst the ruins of our house. Unfortunately, my options were limited.

  “Come on,” I said, fumbling in my pocket for my car keys, and setting my jaw.

  Stacy reached out to grab the car keys from me.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I’ll drive.”

  She gave me a peculiar look. “You must have lost your glasses in the house. How can you drive?”

  I headed for the driver’s side of my mother’s car. “I’ll explain on the way to your place.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I hate to be the one to tell you this,” I said once we were well out of sight of the wreck that used to be my house, “but it was Chuck who came to me originally.”

  Stacy was sitting in the passenger’s seat, half-turned toward me. I could feel her unblinking eyes boring holes through my head. She was still trying to figure out how I was navigating the streets without my glasses.

  “He came to you?” she asked. “With what?”

  Taking a slow breath to give me some time to think about how I was going to approach the story with her, I asked, “What did your brother tell you he did for a living?”

  “He makes websites,” Stacy said

  “It’s a front.” I didn’t want it to sound so accusatory or blunt, but I didn’t have time to spare her feelings. My own emotions were brutally raw, and I didn’t have the energy to couch my words. “What he really did was hack into corporate computers and steal sensitive information. Then he would sell that information to investors.”