Angel Blood: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance Novel

by Jae Vogel

  I got out of the chair, and nearly stumbled to the floor. I had to prop myself up on the chair and breathe deeply to try and find my bearings once more.

  I made my way toward the kitchen once more, but I had just barely made it to the back door when I heard a voice from behind me call out.

  "That's it, huh?"

  My shoulders dropped, and I realized that I was actually fleeing again, and not really acting as righteously as I had managed to convince myself. Turning around, I stood before my host, and squinted as the lights in the kitchen flared to life.

  "At least stay for a cup of tea before you head out."

  His voice was a bit irritated, but there was a grudging sort of acceptance to his tone. It became clear to me that he hadn't exactly expected me to stick around. I nodded toward him, and then made my way to the kitchen table.

  In the light of the room, I was able to see that there was no way I would have made it very far at all as I was. For starters, I had several bandages around my body in obvious places on my shoulder, hands and upper thigh. I was wearing a shirt and underwear, but that was about it, which meant that I clearly hadn't been thinking very clearly about what I would do once I left, or how I would appear to those outside of the house.

  I sat down at the table, defeated, and allowed Ravik to bring the pot of water to a boil while silence dominated the conversation.

  The kettle boiled, and Ravik got out some loose leaf tea and a couple of strainers. The tea was placed in two mugs, and set down on the table between the two of us.

  "Are you this impatient with everything?"

  I raised my head and offered a smile.

  "It's going to taste better if you let it steep for a couple of minutes."

  We sat for another couple of minutes, until he spoke up again.

  "I've got something for you, by the way. Something you should see."

  He got up and left the room, and then came back with a broken firearm, my sweater, two bloody bullets, and a pair of smashed electronic sensors. The damning evidence was splayed out on the table in front of me, and I looked at the collection of puzzle pieces in silence, while Ravik removed the strainer from his mug, and brought the tea to his lips. After taking a drink, and setting the mug back down, he pushed the broken electronic sensors toward me, on the surface of the table.

  "You know what these are?"

  It was hard to tell. They had bits of blood stuck to them, and the sight of them made my skin crawl. I intuitively knew that he had pulled them out from inside of my body. The implications made my mind swell with fear.

  "Don't worry," he said, clearly seeing the look on my face. "We got lucky. I assume since they haven't come knocking on my door that I got them out in time. Turns out they are short-wave radio responders. They use a similar sort of tracking device for prisoners and stray dogs."

  "I'm sorry..."

  And I meant it. But there was nothing more for me to say. I could have put the two of them in a lot of danger, or trouble at the very least.

  "Don't be. I don't have any love for anyone that uses this sort of technology without consent. Particularly since I found both of them in entrance wounds on your body. Anything you want to tell me about?"

  I didn't know what to say exactly, but a sudden impulse to tell the truth came into my mind. I took a deep breath, and then let it out.

  "I'm not sure exactly how accurate this is, but I have a suspicion that i may have killed someone very important."

  "Government?"

  I nodded.

  "Solis Ent."

  "Jesus Christ, Daux, what the fuck were you thinking?"

  I shook my head.

  "I wasn't. I'll be honest, I don't really understand everything that is happening here myself. All I know is that the cops have been after me, and apparently they don't have any problems treating me like a stray dog."

  "Can you go to your work?"

  "My work!" I laughed. "That was what started this whole mess to begin with. I don't know. I can't go see Hep. I can't see anyone from my work. I don't have any money. I don't have any drugs. I don't have anywhere to be."

  I was losing it.

  Ravik, on the other hand, simply took another drink of his tea and let me rant for a minute.

  "There's some weird psychic shit that's going on. I basically believe that I'm possessed. And to top it all off, I'm pretty sure I killed another man yesterday."

  I pointed to the gun on the table and looked up at Ravik.

  The room grew silent once more, except for the sound of my breathing. I was trying to bring some composure into my life again, but the fact was that all of the evidence of exactly how fucked my situation had become was hitting me in the face at once, and I didn't even have a joint to calm down.

  "I'm sorry, Ravik.” I lowered my voice, suddenly self-conscious. "I know that none of this has anything to do with you. To be honest, I'm not even really sure how I ended up here. I just needed some help, and this seemed like a safe place to go."

  "Sounds like you're in some deep shit, but if it's any consolation, I'm not afraid of you."

  "Afraid?"

  "Well, yea. According to you, you're guilty of two accounts of murder. You showed up at my house with bullet wounds and two short range tracking chips in your body. Got a fucking police issue handgun on my table, and a history of drug abuse... One might think you were in over your head in some cartel shit. Only problem I see with that theory is that you're dead sober."

  I stopped, and realized that what he had said was true. I hadn't touched junk in well over two weeks. We sat there together for a time, drinking our tea, and then Ravik spoke up again.

  "Seems like at least two separate problems."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Well, for starters, the first transponder I pulled out was from a gun wound in your shoulder, and the second was in the flesh of your asscheek."

  "Did you do a cavity search too?"

  He shrugged.

  "I wanted to make sure I got everything. There was a mark on your topside of your ass, right on the left, and I was curious what was going on. All I had to do was poke it, and it became clear that there was something going on there that wasn't normal. Usually medical implants are placed in more conspicuous locations. As soon as we found out what they were, we fucking smashed them. Apparently, you need to be within a hundred yards for it to work. They probably go through town with an undercover car and try to pick up signals."

  "That must be how they found my house the first time."

  "The first time?"

  I shook my head.

  "I'm pretty sure I've gone through the possession deal twice. When I raided the hospital, I found some records indicating that I assaulted some people and escaped. There are some holes in my memory, but the consequences are too real to ignore."

  He looked at me skeptically, and then looked down at the gun.

  "Never really pegged you for the assault type. You get into some adrenaline or stimulant kick or something?"

  I shook my head again.

  "I don't do that shit."

  "Well, stranger things have happened..."

  "What do you mean?"

  "A simple look into history shows all sorts of situations where people have come across strange entities that have motivated them to take action in the name of some cause that they believed in. Joan of Arc is solid example of that sort of thing."

  "I thought she was just a cross dresser who fought in a war of some kind."

  "Not exactly. She believed that voices spoke to her, and gave her direction for how to move forward in her own version of a holy war. She ended up being a liberator for her people. Undoubtedly finding strength from a higher source that managed to help her out along the way."

  "So you think she was possessed."

  He drank another sip of his tea, and set the mug down on the table once more.

  "Possession is a strange concept to talk about, because one could easily argue that we are all going through va
rious degrees of possession throughout the course of our daily lives. The question, as I see it, is not whether or not you are possessed, but how conscious are you of the relationship between yourself, and whatever force you perceive to be possessing you."

  "So, you're saying this might not be a bad thing."

  "Again, it depends on your relationship. I'm certain that serial killers undergo certain forms of possession, but then again, in the example of Joan of Arc, it's totally possible that some form of divine agency could be just the thing to give you strength to take care of some sort of problem in your life. It all comes down to the suspension of disbelief, and the intersection of actual experience."

  "All right, so lay it on me."

  He had always been a philosophical type, but I had never really given him the time of day in terms of actually listening to his rants. I guess I had never actually found it applicable.

  “Well, regardless of whether or not you are actually experiencing some form of possession, the truth of the matter is that you, Jayne Daux, have gotten into some trouble. By all standard appearances, this is because you yourself have taken actions that have caused this trouble to be brought upon you. The tricky thing about this experience is that you seem to be attributing these actions to someone else besides yourself. I would say that regardless if these actions have come from another source, they have taken physical form in your body. What I'm basically saying is that maybe you don't know your own strength."

  "But I've met her. I've watched her take over my body. Her name is Luna. She told me in a dream."

  He nodded.

  "Well, it might be that Luna is actually helping you out, and if that is the case, then I would be grateful that you're not alone in whatever it is you're going through. However, I think it would be shortsighted of you to believe that this is all her doing, and that you had nothing to do with it. Any time we are dealing with psychic forces that are beyond our control, it is always a better idea to be as conscious of them as possible. If you believe that possession is much more common than we give the phenomenon credit for, then we all undergo different forms of possession throughout our lives, perhaps constantly. The difference is whether or not you are aware of that relationship, and what you choose to do with that information."

  I struggled to integrate everything he was telling me, but it was a bit much to process. The very concept that possession was something that took place all of the time was a lot to swallow, but after all I had experienced, it seemed much easier to believe that this wasn't an experience that was unique to my own life.

  "So, why doesn't this happen to everybody. I mean, surely if this is something that happens all of the time, then I would have heard about it by now."

  He finished his tea, and then stared at me for a while before responding.

  "I didn't say that what you are currently experiencing is common. I'd say it's actually quite uncommon for people to be aware of the psychic forces that take place in their own lives. Tons of people are content to walk through life being pushed and pulled at every whim, without any real concern for the reasons for their own behavior. The complaint that most conscious people make about society is that there is an overwhelming lack of awareness on part of the general populace."

  He shrugged.

  "If you can find a way to integrate this Luna person into yourself, without imagining yourself to be somehow exceptional, then I'd say that you have got something really special going for you at the moment."

  "If it's not common, then why am I not exceptional?"

  "It's a mental trick, having to do with keeping your own pride in check. If you pretend like you're above everyone else, then it would be far too easy to abuse the power that you seem to have come in contact with. Any abuse of power, regardless of the source usually has terrible karmic implications for the person using that power. One might even see this as the greatest source of downfall within human history."

  He got up and walked over to the sink, and quietly washed his mug. Ravik had a way of delivering this kind of shit to people, and then continuing on in his life as though nothing had ever happened. I had seen him drop this kind of shit on his clients before, and laughed. Being on the receiving end of the matter was a much less enjoyable experience.

  "So, what am I supposed to do about it? Find a monastery or some shit?"

  "I doubt you have time for that. Again, all of this is nothing more than the theoretical speculations of an occult philosopher, and tattoo artist. One thing that might help you is the concept of Active Imagination, though you will have to find a place to take some time and reflect on whatever path you're going to choose going forward."

  The implication was clear that he didn't want me around any more than I wanted to impose on him. I let that information sink in for a moment. My body shook in a minor tremor of muscular tension, and then I finished my tea.

  "Active Imagination is really just a fancy word for making believe that imaginary things have real consequences. The concept is really as simple as closing your eyes and having a conversation with this Luna character. If you have done it in a dream, then the idea is that you shouldn't have too much difficulty reaching out to her in your waking life. Of course, this implies that you have a certain suspension of disbelief about what most of society considers to be normal behavior."

  "Meaning I have to develop a relationship with an imaginary friend."

  He nodded, and frowned.

  "That, or keep killing cops under the premise that you are possessed by a murderous devil. At which point, they will probably either shoot you on sight, or lock you away for the rest of your life."

  "Devil..."

  The words stuck with me and rang something awful inside of my mind. I didn't want to be a devil. The image of the sadness on Luna's face in the dream came into my mind of its own accord.

  "I don't think she wants to be a devil."

  "Then I suppose you ought to find out why she cares enough about you to do something like commit assault, and break into Gratis."

  He smiled, as though he were suggesting that I simply take my imaginary angel out for tea, and have a pleasant conversation.

  "You aren't even the slightest bit concerned that you might be talking with a murderer?"

  "You haven't really given me enough information to be able to determine whether or not you're a cold killer, Daux. I'd say you've demonstrated that you're not always the best at making solid decisions in your life, but you've always struck me as the sort of person who would rather see more compassion in the world than less."

  "Assault doesn't really seem like that compassionate of a crime."

  He nodded again, and scratched his head.

  "Funny thing about crime is that it is often determined by those in power, and not by the people who are supposedly governed by those in power. Meaning, that there have been a lot of freedom fighters who have committed crimes, and have been venerated after death. If nothing else, that says to me that there are some things worth fighting for - assault is really just another word for conflict."

  "Joan of Arc."

  "Exactly. I'll be right back."

  He left me alone then, to stare at the weapon I had stolen, as well as the two smashed transmitters that he had taken out of my body.

  Even though the blood on the transmitters made me uneasy, I felt somehow cleansed, to know that those two pieces of surveillance equipment were no longer hidden within my body. I shuddered to think about what might have happened if I had simply picked up junk again, and not even bothered to care. There is no way that I would have paid any attention to what was happening in my mind or my body.

  I would have been numb, and totally out of luck. They would have picked me up that day back at the house, and right now I would be inside of some detention cell, likely this time with armed guards and a security system that was more much more intense than the psych ward on the twelfth floor of Gratis.

  I picked up the weapon and looked at the damage sustained from the descent down
the elevator shaft. The magazine no longer slid into the handle of the pistol. The metal had warped and bent past the carefully engineered fitting that enabled the two pieces to join together. When I tried loading the clip into the weapon, it got stuck half way through, and couldn't be pressed any further. Frustrated, I set the gun back down on the table. Then Ravik showed up again from the dimly lit hallway.

  "By the way, how does the back of your head feel?"

  My hand moved instinctively to the base of my skull.

  "Sore as fuck, now that you mention it... why?"

  "Well, I would imagine it feels sore, but what I'm asking about is if there are any headaches, or if it's difficult for you to clearly form thoughts. Stuff like that."

  "Why do you ask?"

  He paused and looked at me with real concern in his eyes. I didn't understand the implications right away, but if I had been aware at the time, I might have felt more than a bit of laughter. The irony in the situation was unreal."

  "The implant."

  “Implant? What fucking implant?"

  "You woke up in the middle of the surgery and grabbed a hold of me while I was working on you. You were out for most of the process, but that one moment, you woke up and stared straight at me while gripping a hold of my hand. Actually kind of hurt a little."

  "What did I do?"

  "You made me promise to give you a VR chip."

  "Fuck off."

  My hand went immediately to the base of my skull, and I felt beneath the skin. Sure enough, right in the area that was tender, there was a little bump. Barely evident, but there nonetheless.

  My first impulse was to tell him to remove the damned thing right away, but I was curious about what I had apparently said to him. I had trouble believing that I would actually request such a thing, but Ravik had been so phobic of anything that ever breached the borders of consent that I couldn't imagine him doing something like that and telling me about it afterward, just for shits and giggles.