by Tara Brown
“Hey, you.”
He walked over, kissing my lips softly.
I leaned into him, letting my troubles release as I wondered what kind of predicaments the new group of kids would bring. I thought about my own troubles and cringed. Nephilim were a dangerous group of people.
Lydia laughed behind me. “You’re thinking the exact thing I am, Ari.”
“Hurtful. You make me sound like a lunachick. I’ve managed to gain control.” I viewed the group of youths in front of me. “These guys will too.”
The older guy looked me in the eyes, holding my gaze.
Chapter 33
Hyde and seek
Aimee
I took a deep breath, winking into the room. My hands trembled, but it was the only way things could be. I owed him that at least. I walked into the living room and smiled. “Hi, Daddy.”
The older man began crying. He was afraid, but he got up from his chair and walked toward me with outstretched arms.
I remained motionless as his fingers made contact with my arm. His grip tightened and he pulled me to him, squeezing me. Had I been mortal, the hug would’ve hurt me.
“How?”
“I faked my death.”
He sobbed. “You’re not a ghost?”
“No.” I shook my head silently as tears streamed my cheeks. “I am dead, but not in the same way you would consider someone dead.”
He pulled me back. “Do you think you’re a vampire? I know that’s all the craze right now with girls your age.”
“No.” I laughed. “I’m a grim reaper, a death dealer.”
“How? This isn’t possible.”
“It is actually.” Shame flooded my face. “I sold my soul to the devil to stay alive, when nothing else could keep me here.”
“Aimee, are you on drugs?”
“No, Daddy—I swear. I’m a reaper. I promise.”
He touched my arm, gripping it. “I’ve lost my mind. It’s finally happened.”
Tears leaked from my eyes. “No, I’m here. I’m real. I swear.”
“No.” He shook his head and walked away.
I walked up to him, grabbing his arm. “Watch this.” I winked myself across the room and then back to him.
He reached out and touched me again. “Aimee.”
I smiled and squeezed his hand. “Yes. I can’t explain everything right now. Shane said he would come and answer your questions. I just couldn’t bear for you to think I’m dead for one more minute.”
“You’re real?”
“I’m real.”
He nodded. “Okay. Okay. I can live with that. I’m not certain I want any details, but I can live with that.”
“I’m so sorry I hurt you and made you think I was dead.”
“Are you in danger?”
“That, and I won’t age, I won’t get sick, I won’t ever have children, or be on the PTA. I will always be this. So if you saw me and noticed I wasn’t aging, you might’ve been scared.”
He hugged me again, soothingly. “You’re perfect the way you are, Aimee, and if this is all we ever get, then I will be thankful. I lost you once and I can’t do it again.”
I pulled back, giving him a stern look. “Dad, you can never talk about me like I’m alive; you can’t let on you know. There are things after me. They want me dead or at the very least to join their side. We call them the Dark Ones.”
He frowned. “You’re good then? As a grim reaper?”
“I am. I don’t hurt people unless I have to. I govern the laws for people like me.”
“You have a place to live, and food, and friends?”
“And you and Shane.”
“Then what else could you ask for? Will you stay for a while?”
I smiled. “I’ll come back tomorrow night—maybe some Austen?”
He laughed. “Done, but I want that—”
“I know, I know, Pride and Prejudice. You know, Dad, there is one you’ve never seen before. It’s a bit more Gothic.”
His eyes lit up. “Well, I feel more open-minded as of late, so why not?”
I squeezed his hands. “I have to go. Shane will be here any minute to talk with you and answer questions.”
“I love you, Aimee.”
“I love you too.” I winked from the room.
My broken heart felt as if it were mending, even if it was just a little. I checked my watch, winking myself to my Roses assignment. I liked being exactly on time.
I walked along the long gravel driveway, enjoying the feel of the night air on me. I looked up at the Gothic Tudor home at the end of the driveway. My cell phone buzzed and I pulled it out.
I smiled at the text from Shane.
He’s so happy, Aimes. You did the right thing. See you tonight.
I put my phone away and put on my game face.
I knocked on the huge wooden door with the forest scene carved in it and waited as the golden handle turned.
“Good evening, Miss Aimee. He is ready for you.”
I hated it when they were nice to me.
The house was massive and creepy as if Bram Stoker were to film there any moment. I walked in, listening to the click of my high-heeled boots on the wooden floors.
The man stopped me at a large bedroom door. I could hear voices inside.
“Wait here,” his soft voice broke and I tried not to feel sick for what I was about to do.
The door opened suddenly, revealing a girl around my age who appeared confused.
I came in slowly. “Do you want her here for it?”
The old man on the bed nodded. “A promise is a promise.”
“It is.”
He turned to the young woman. “I have loved you for hundreds of years, long before I ever knew you.” He closed his eyes. “I’m ready, Ms. James.”
I took his weathered hand in mine and caressed it for a moment as the warm seductive feelings filled me.
His life left his body and I turned away from him. I looked at the girl and spoke softly, “Remember the ancient creed, ‘Do what ye will but harm none,’ and we will never have to meet like this again, Hyde.”
I winked from the room, feeling bad for the girl, but grateful I’d been able to help the good doctor out.
He had always been a good man, when he was a man.
Ari
I slipped up the stairs, noticing how noisy my tall black military boots were. The sound of them made it nearly impossible to remain undetected.
I could see a light or two on under the crack between the door and the floor. The nuns would be reading the Bible before bed. I rolled my eyes, imagining such worship by those kinds of people.
The long, dark hallway would’ve scared the life out of me, but I didn’t let it, not anymore. I walked on my toes until I reached the last set of stairs that led to HIS room. I slipped up the stairs in the dark, full of anticipation.
The sickly smell of filth and sin filled the cool air. It hung like a black cloud, polluting everyone and everything. I could see the faint flicker of candlelight coming from under the door. I could also hear the faintest of sounds. I wondered if he was alone in his room.
I took a deep breath and kicked the door open. My legs had grown fiercely strong, causing the sound to echo through the halls as the door was ripped right off its hinges.
He pulled back, lifting covers in an attempt at hiding his fat flesh. The head nun who had beaten the street rat version of me many a time was atop him, also gripping the covers.
“GET OUT!” he blasted, trying to intimidate me.
I laughed. “You’re a disgusting piece of crap. Both of you. And trust me when I say this, God is not happy with either of you.”
The nun leapt at me, completely naked. My hand came up as fast as lightning, grasping her throat.
I smiled and put a finger to my lips. “Shhhh. I’m not ready for you yet.” The woman went motionless in my hand.
“You little bitch, I don’t know who you think you are,” the fat impersonator of a ma
n of God spoke through his teeth, jumping off the bed and grabbing at me. I let go of the nun and seized both sides of his face, pushing into him as violently as I could.
He shot back, tripping over the bed and slamming into the wall, letting out a scream as he held his face.
The air filled with the sweet smell as it sparkled and came to life. His picture was different this time.
He was a young man. He was peeking in a window of a house. A lady was changing inside. He walked slowly around the corner, almost tiptoeing. He slid the sliding glass door open and crept into the house. A noise frightened him and he chickened out, racing out through the back door.
The picture rewound and he was back at the patio door slipping inside. He disregarded the sound, hurrying to the back of the house. The woman screamed as the front door opened and her husband came running in. He grabbed a knife from the counter and ran behind the house. Police and paramedics filled the home as the man sat on the stairs, sobbing, staring at the blood covering his hands. I watched as two stretchers were carried from the house. The chubby young man’s hand fell out of the white sheets.
I smiled as the priest faded away to nothing, leaving a ring floating in the air. I let the ring fall, ignoring it.
I wasn’t taking his memento this time. He was nothing to me.
I turned back to the nun who stood stunned from the mini push she’d received.
“So now it’s your turn.”
Her eyes grew wide with fear as I touched her face, pushing firmly, letting it rip from me.
I didn’t even stay to see where she went. I walked from the room quickly as the air began to change throughout the building. I ran as fast as I could, bursting through the front door. I was out on the street before the new priest was even in his bed.
I walked out to the figure standing under the streetlamp, smirking at me.
“I told you I could do it quietly.”
“You call that quietly?” Lucas laughed. “I heard you rip that door off the hinges from out here.”
“Whatever. We still have two stops.”
He put his arm around me. “Fine, but then we go home.” He kissed the side of my head and we walked down the road, enjoying the quiet of the neighborhood.
The End
Volume Three
Chapter 1
A promise is a promise
Hanna
I eyed my surroundings, confused. My body trembled as if cold, but my skin burned with a fever.
My breath left my face only to rebound on something.
The darkness around me should have been comforting. I had always felt safer in the dark—it was easier to hide.
But here I felt lost in space.
Something was moving me, floating me.
Nervous, I put an aching hand out to determine how far I was from the wall, but my hand was stopped within inches. The wall was a carpet of sorts with a rumbling behind it and beneath me.
Half a foggy second later, I realized I was in the trunk of a moving car.
As with most people who don’t enjoy small places, the diminutive space shrunk as my panic built.
Suddenly, as though I were Alice and had eaten the cake to make me grow, I felt as if I filled up the trunk.
My shivers increased as fear turned to shock and blood left my extremities.
The last remaining flicker of common sense forced me to close my eyes as my focus turned to the other obvious problem, instead of falling victim to a panic attack. I was still in a trunk.
I moved my hands over my aching body, touching torn clothing—shredded almost. The tattered ends of my shirt hung open. I flexed my muscles and noticed they were tender but not wounded.
Still calm, I closed my eyes, trying to recall the last thing I could.
My thoughts were stuck as if the gears in my mind required oiling. Everything was hazy, except my heartbeat which pounded with a fierceness I could feel in my socks. Scratch that—tattered socks. My toes dangled from the ends of them.
“I’ve been raped.” The statement rolled off my lips as a subtle whisper, but weighed a ton once it hung in the air around me.
Abruptly, as if sent on a twisted path beyond my control, my mind raced backward to the recent summer, fresh and warm on my skin. I’d dated Jimmy Stratton who had waited eight months for us to lose our virginities together. It happened on a hot August afternoon, lazily by a river near his parents’ house. I remembered how it felt. It wasn’t great, considering the effort that had gone into making it the perfect experience, and I also recalled how violated I’d felt afterward.
That sense of violation was fresh and multiplied.
Tears slipped silently down my cheeks.
How had this happened?
Where had I been?
I pushed my mind, flexing it as I had with my muscles, desperate to recall something. My memories were going back days but not hours.
It didn’t matter what I could remember.
Everyone knew that girls who woke up in trunks, sore and exhausted, with clothes ripped to crap, had been kidnapped and raped. Torture was also a real possibility. I thought about the pain involved in torture and decided instantly, cringing with disgust, I would be a good girl. I would do whatever my cruel attacker wanted. I wanted to live. I planned it out in my mind as the car rumbled along the road—I would live through this.
Then I would recover from my PTSD by becoming a nun or maybe a monk. As I felt around the small space, my ridiculous brain argued over whether girls could be monks. As if that mattered in this moment.
My thoughts slowed along with the tires of the car, stopping altogether as they did. Fake sleeping might buy me a little time. It would at least get me a few answers, as most rapey people were less guarded around sleeping girls.
It was hard to relax while I pretended to be unconscious. My muscles refused to play along. They twitched, wanting to come to life and fight for my freedom. I knew I would never get back the memories, not with the state of my clothing. But deep down, I truly didn’t care to ever get them back. What terrified me was the possibility of making new memories with my attacker. Memories I might never let go of.
The car went into park.
The parking brake groaned.
The keys pulled from the starter.
Driver door opened.
Feet crunched down on the gravel, soft gravel.
Door closed.
Feet crunching closer to the trunk.
Steps stopped outside the trunk.
Breath of the stranger hit the crisp air.
Keys slid into the lock.
Cold breeze rushed into the trunk as the latch opened.
I fought with my eyes, forcing them to remain closed. Desperately, they struggled against me to see him.
Who was he? I thought about the possibilities—janitors or construction workers, fellow grads, teachers? Realistically, it could be anyone.
It was always someone you knew.
“I see you’re holding your breath. I know you’re not sleeping, and honestly, I don’t want to carry you anymore.” The voice was old—old and English.
Continuing to hold my breath, I contemplated long and hard but came up blank. I didn’t know anyone matching that description.
He didn’t touch me or come closer. He wasn’t threatening me. He just stood there. I waited ten more seconds and sluggishly opened one eye.
He was incredibly old.
“You?” I paused for a moment focusing on him, stunned. “You raped me?” Dazed, the words crept from my mouth.
“What?” He jumped back, startled. “My word, I most certainly did nothing of the sort.” His cheeks flushed as he stammered, “I-I only rescued y-you.” He was genuinely offended.
“You didn’t do this to my clothes?” I gazed down at my torn clothing, confused.
“Of course not!” He sounded insulted.
“You found me like this?”
“Indeed.” He sighed, possibly annoyed as he held a hand out to me.
The unknown that hit me as I searched my brain for a tiny shred of a memory was worse.
Before taking his hand, I paused and thought for a moment. “You found me like this but decided to put me in your trunk, instead of taking me to a hospital? I need a rape kit done, buddy. You’re going to have to answer to the authorities. Back up!” I pointed at him. I couldn’t stay in the safety of his trunk, obviously, but he was too close. “Just get back!”
“Good lord.” He frowned, visibly confused. “Miss Hanna, no one has harmed you.” He tilted his head off to the side, speaking as though I should know the answer, “You did this to yourself. I put you in the trunk to protect myself from you.”
“What?” Everything stopped. My eyes widened as did my mouth, wanting to speak more, although my jaw remained slack in perplexity.
“Get out of the car and come inside to clean yourself up.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t.” He pulled a dark-green fleecy blanket from the trunk near my feet and held it up for me. “Your father will explain everything.”
“My father?” I observed the warm blanket and the elderly man holding it, and realized I’d been to this courtyard. Many times. “I hurt myself?” I asked, still hazy.
“Yes, dear.” He raised his eyebrows. “Now the rest of your answers are inside.”
To my right sat the large manor house my father had bought. I loved it the moment I first saw it, inventing fantasies about growing up there. I’d imagined a childhood in the old Tudor home with a tire swing out back and my father wanting me after my mother died; it could have been our home, if he had.
I closed myself off from the imaginations of a lost little girl and welcomed back the snarky comments of a bitter and twisted young woman as I took the old guy’s weathered hand and climbed from the trunk on shaky legs.
When I got to my feet, he covered my mostly naked body in the warm fleecy blanket. “There you go,” he muttered and shuffled off toward the house.
I wrapped myself completely and winced at the gravel stabbing my feet. I stepped gingerly, trying to find the path of least resistance. “Who are you?”