Gargoyles I, II, III: Dark Angel Alliance

by Rach Elle

  Dedicated to: Robert Groat

  I love you grandpa

  And I’ll miss you always

  Dark Angel Alliance

  Gargoyles

  Rach Elle

  Copyright 2012

  For my non English/Scottish mates:

  Barmey - crazy

  Beastly - ugly

  Bobbies - police

  Codswallop – hog wash; B.S.

  Craw - rough

  Cuppa - coffee

  Knees up - party

  NED – non educated delinquent

  Take away - drink

  Tap – Faucet

  Tele - television

  The brew – unemployment line

  Wean – young child

  And so it was prophesized; every five-hundredth year a queen will emerge as leader of the gargoyles and through her Satan shall manifest to rule on earth.

  David the First and his revolution bowed to the Lord as He poured unto them light from His own divinity. “Go forth and protect those who need it most,” the Lord proclaimed. “And pray for the bloodline of David, for his is the blessed bloodline that shall deny the prophecy’s fruition in my name.”

  David the First shed one tear for the ultimate burden placed on all his children to come as the sea of gargoyles, filled with the love from God, prayed the bloodline would prevail every five-hundredth year.

  The year of war…

  - Arav Dave

  “The Ultimate War”

  INTRODUCTION

  Daniel Quinn was a first year psychology student at Portland State University. He was also about to get the best grade of the semester thanks to his brother-in-law Steve.

  Steve worked at Bain Asylum only a few miles from the school and agreed to let Daniel interview one of their patients. Under normal circumstances Daniel would have to tour the facility with a group and guide. He would get the chance to see the living conditions and hear a handful of stories about select patients. Never before was a student allowed to actually interview one of them for a school paper; but he was the exception to the rule.

  Daniel waited patiently inside the councilor’s room. The space was void of color with fluorescent lighting and a metal table bolted to the floor. The large one sided window stared ominously at the young student. He didn’t think there was anyone sitting behind the observing glass. It was late and everyone except Steve and a single guard had gone home for the night. Still, he remained as professional as possible; just in case.

  The student jolted as the door swung open and Steve led a skinny, frail girl into the room. She didn’t look any older than sixteen except for the scattered locks of petrified gray that ran through her dark brown hair. Judging by her weight he guessed one of her disorders had to do with anorexia. She wore a set of light blue scrubs that barely hung off her tiny frame and her wrists and feet were shackled. He could hear the steady scraping from her ankle cuffs as they dragged across the linoleum floor. He watched quietly as she sat across the table from Steve.

  “Daniel, this is Awilda Rose,” his brother-in-law began. “Awilda, this is Daniel. He’s here to talk to you.”

  Awilda lifted her gaze from the table and stared at Daniel with heavy lids. Her hair hung over her shoulders and cast shadows across her face. Her cheeks were caved in and she had heavy, dark circles under her eyes. She made him uncomfortable. “Where is Dr. Crispin?” She asked.

  “He’s not here tonight.” Steve answered.

  Awilda turned her head and looked at Steve. “Does he know about this?”

  “He doesn’t need to.”

  Awilda cracked a smile that sent chills down Daniel’s spine.

  “Now, Awilda,” Steve continued, “how long have you been a resident here at Bain?”

  “Five years.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  Steve turned to Daniel, “See, we ask these questions to get a clear understanding of the patient’s present mental state.” Daniel began taking notes. “If she didn’t know these answers then that would be a clear indication that she is not coherent enough for counseling.”

  “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Awilda interrupted.

  “I’ve been here for four months.” Steve answered.

  “They don’t usually handcuff me.” She raised her wrists and shook them to hear the small clinking of the chain.

  “By ‘they’ you mean Dr. Crispin?”

  “Perhaps,” Awilda shrugged. “I’m not dangerous. I’m a hundred-ten pounds soaking wet. What is it you think I’m going to do?”

  “It’s just a precaution Awilda, for Daniel’s sake.” Daniel crooked his brow. He didn’t need protection. Although, every time the girl looked at him the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end; so he decided not to object.

  “Why is he here?” Awilda asked, motioning to the student.

  Daniel was nervous, but Steve gave him the okay to answer, “To talk to you.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Well, um, I was wondering if you could tell me about your nightmares. I’ve read your profile and it said you’ve been experiencing them for over a decade.”

  “Well, Daniel,” Awilda leaned back in her chair, “I’m sure my profile describes my nightmares in grave detail, as I’ve repeated them many times. Why do you need to hear it from me?”

  “Um, I’m writing a paper for my class and I need to actually observe you, rather than read about you.” He was pretty impressed with that answer.

  “Oh, so I’m a class project then; a goldfish.” Daniel had no response. “Okay then, let’s see; in short, I’m plagued with monsters; I see them every time I close my eyes.” Daniel began writing frantically in his notebook. Awilda furrowed her brow. “Have you ever seen the movie, The Exorcist, Daniel?”

  “Yeah, a long time ago.”

  “Me too; I was thirteen. I hated it back then because it scared me. I hate it now because it makes a joke out of me.” Daniel stopped writing and looked up to see the pale, skinny girl staring at him wildly. He couldn’t look away, no matter how much he wanted to. “People think possession is demonic voices, heads that spin and green fluorescent vomit; but do you know what it really is? It’s a presence always lurking just around the corner. You know its there even though you’ve never seen it and no one else has either. You never know when it’ll strike but you know it’s just a matter of time. You begin to give it definition. You start seeing terrifying faces and having visions of what it will be like when it finally does get you. You get to a point of not knowing if your visions are products of your imagination, or premonitions. You never know if your dark thoughts are your own or are embedded in your brain by the very evil that will one day pull you into the shadows, never to see light again. That’s what possession is Daniel; its helplessness, hopelessness, and pure hell.

  “My monsters are minions of the ultimate evil. They’re sickening, anorexic, winged creatures with sharp teeth and citrine eyes. Their fingernails are fungus filled and they’re covered with liver spots and unsightly moles.” Awilda’s eyes drifted to the metal table in front of her as if in a trance. She didn’t notice the small cell phone Daniel lifted, pointing the tiny camera in her direction. She continued, “I’ve searched my brain too many times, trying to remember a movie that I watched or a book that I read from which I first derived my monsters; but I can’t for the life of me remember; and I don’t think I could have conjured them up out of thin air. I tell myself they’re not real but I can’t stop thinking that one day they’ll come for me and I won’t be able to stop it.” She locked eyes with Daniel, sensing how uncomfortable he was with the contact. She smiled barely enough to show the
white of her teeth. “Until then,” she softened her voice, “I have no choice but to resort to a life like this; constantly observed. It’s the only way I can stay safe. This place is a giant fishbowl. No matter where I go someone is looking through the glass.”

  Daniel was quiet as Awilda was escorted from the counseling room. Steve had a large smile plastered across his face. “So,” he started, “What’d you think?”

  I think she’s crazy. “I don’t get it.” Daniel said.

  “Get what?”

  “What’s her clinical diagnosis? There’s nothing in her profile.”

  “Ah, that’s what makes her the best subject for your paper. She’s nothing more than an extreme hypochondriac. There is no diagnosis.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously; she underwent a slew of tests when she was younger but nothing was ever found; no disorder, no deterioration; hell, not even so much as a hormone imbalance. When she turned eighteen she stopped consenting to more tests. She truly believes she’s possessed.”

  “Why doesn’t she get an exorcism or something?”

  “From what I’ve heard no priest will go near her. They probably don’t believe her. It’s a pretty crazy story she’s spewing.”

  “Who committed her?” Daniel asked.

  “She did. She put herself in here five years ago. Everyone here seems to like her okay. They don’t think she’s a danger to herself or to society; but she seems to think so. Technically, she could leave any time she wanted.”

  “So this is basically a hotel for her.” Daniel observed.

  Steve shrugged, “Or a hospice. I don’t think she’ll ever leave.”

  “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess when you’re BFF’s with The Golden Doctor you can do anything you want.”

  Daniel left the asylum alone; tired and pissed off. No diagnosis? What a joke. Where was the thesis; the conclusion? There wasn’t any, thanks to Steve.

  He crossed the dimly lit street toward his parked car. He stopped in front of his old, cheap compact, reached into his pocket and retrieved his keys. They jingled just as rapid footsteps ran behind him. He whipped his head around to see… nothing. He looked to his left and right but the street was deserted. He pushed the keyless entry and turned back toward his car. As his hand pulled the latch on the door someone ran behind him again. This time they were so close he could feel the light breeze on the back of his neck and the rustling of his clothing as they blazed by. His entire body went ice cold. He slowly turned around once again to find absolutely nothing. His breathing sped as puffs of chilled air escaped his lips. He tried not to stutter as he spoke, “Who’s there?” The streetlamp yards away flickered as the freezing wind rushed his body. Quickly, Daniel jumped into his car and shut the door. He turned the key in the ignition, threw the car in drive, and drove away as fast as he could.

  Daniel had been in the safety of his dorm room for an hour before finally shaking off his nerves from earlier in the night. He grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down at his computer to write his psychology paper. He considered making up a subject and giving them textbook characteristics he could derive a conclusion from, but his eyelids were growing increasingly heavy and his mind was not as sharp as it needed to be. The paper was due tomorrow morning; he needed to write this thing tonight. He pulled out his notebook, opened it to his notes about Awilda Rose and began typing her story of winged monsters and satanic minions.

  As Daniel typed he could feel himself becoming more and more enthralled with the tale. He began seeing vivid imagery and feeling himself being thrust into the thick of the story. He could feel his mental being separate from his physical one in a sort of outer body experience and despite his best efforts, couldn’t pull himself back together. He could see himself wrapping at the keyboard with speed beyond his abilities. He could see himself hunched over with his face mere inches from the computer screen; the small table lamp barely illuminating him.

  In the middle of his paper Daniel suddenly got an awful idea. A devilish grin played across his darkened face as he searched the internet. He located a website; a homepage for the tabloid The Global Observer. He clicked “submissions”, and retold Awilda’s story. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone to locate a photo then pulled another from the endless bank of images on the internet. He attached them both to his file and finished writing. He clicked “submit”; his smile growing freakishly wide and a throaty laugh quietly escaping his lips. Without finishing his psychology paper Daniel stood from his computer and exited his dorm room. He walked down the dark, quiet hall and ascended a staircase. Without certainty of his own motive he climbed the stairs to the rooftop.

  As he stepped onto the roof he was vaguely aware of the harsh, cold wind that plastered against his face. The moon was full and the stars hung low but his eyes never drifted from the ledge in front of him. His pace quickened and Daniel tried to scream. He could feel his throat ache from the strain but his mouth remained shut. With his mental being separated from his physical one he watched as he walked to the edge of the roof; and jumped.

  After three days a funeral was held for Daniel Quinn; two days later the boy’s first and last tabloid article was published in The Global Observer.

  Four very important people read the tabloid that morning…

  Sunders Harper

  Kingsley Leon

  Gayle Rose

  Dr. Simon Crispin PhD

  ………………………………………………

  London England…

  Sunders Harper bolted through the front door to the office building on 5th. He moved as quickly as he could through the front lobby and took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. When he finally reached his floor he was out of breath and tiny beads of sweat had started to form above his brow. He barged into his office and began rifling through his desk drawers. He pulled out a large manila envelope and emptied the contents onto the desk; various forms of currency, a map from his last trip to Cairo, and his passport. He dusted off the little book and double checked the expiration date; still good. He ran to his closet and dug out an old carry-on bag. He placed the passport in a zippered side pocket and returned to his desk where he turned on his computer and anxiously waited for it to power up.

  A light knocking sounded against his door and Sunders’ manager, Bill Maines entered the room. Bill was older than him. Not that Sunders was young, he had just turned forty, but Bill was a much older gentleman. He had to be past retiring age. Bill stood just inside the doorway with his hands in his slacks pockets and surveyed the mess Sunders kept his office in. Papers were everywhere, sports jackets that he wore to work but always forgot to wear home were strewn all over the sofa. The ceiling light hadn’t worked for months; Sunders had never gotten around to changing the bulb, so the entire space was lit only by a small table lamp. Sunders liked it that way, anyway. He liked the intimacy and feeling of being alone. Plus, his office was a huge mess and he preferred not to see it.

  Bill looked at Sunders’ carry-on sitting next to the desk. “Going somewhere?” He asked.

  “Yep, I’ve got a lead and I’m going to follow it all the way to the states; Portland, Oregon.”

  “America? I thought they were in Egypt.”

  “They’re everywhere Bill. This time I’m going to find one myself.”

  “I see; and when will you be back?”

  “I don’t know, hopefully soon. I’m excited about this one. I think it’s going to go somewhere.”

  Bill sighed, “I truly hope it does Sonny. You know the Protectors are still upset about the last excursion you led them on.”

  Sunders cringed. “I know, and that’s why I’m going on this one by myself. They just make a mess of everything anyway; no tact.”

  “And what do you plan to do if you actually find a gargoyle?”

  Sunders looked up at his boss and smiled. “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out.”

 
Bill laughed under his breath. “Be careful Sonny, I can’t afford to lose you, you know. It’s so hard to find good Finders these days. They’re all too overzealous and want to be Protectors; but it’s the Finders that are the heart and soul of The DAA. You and me, we’re a dying breed.” Bill turned to leave the office. “Good luck,” he said over his shoulder.

  Sunders returned to his computer and retrieved images and data he had collected over recent years. As he waited for them to print he grabbed the most important piece of evidence he had in his possession; this morning’s tabloid. He looked at the front cover photo of a young woman with dark, stringy hair laced with gray and wearing a set of light blue scrubs. She was too skinny with boney fingers and caved in cheeks. His eyes flipped to the small picture in the upper right corner. It looked like an old school photo of the same girl. Her top layer of hair was pulled back in a ponytail as the bottom layers framed her face and shoulders. Her smile was sweet and innocent. What happened to this poor little girl? Sunders wondered. He folded the paper nicely and set it at the bottom of the carry-on. The printer finished spitting out everything he requested. He grabbed all the materials and just before shoving them into the bag he read the headline on the tabloid one more time: I’m The Gargoyle Queen!

  Charlotte, North Carolina…

  Kingsley Leon walked through a metal detector only to be poked and prodded by a guard at the West Coleman Maximum Security Prison.

  “You’re back so soon?” The guard asked him as he frisked Kingsley’s right leg.

  “Yeah, unfinished business from last week.”

  The guard finished the search and began escorting him to the visiting center.

  Kingsley appeared to be an old man. In reality he was an ancient one. He was eighty years old when he first shifted and by the law of shifters hadn’t aged a day since. How old was he now? Three hundred, at least. He could remember the day he shifted for the first time; he felt incredible. The arthritis in his joints disappeared and he could actually stand up straight. He didn’t need a cane anymore and was more limber and agile than he was at twenty years young. The euphoric feeling died, however, when he realized he couldn’t. He watched all of his friends and every close member of his family pass away. For many years he wished he could join them, but that was another law of the shifters; death was not your choice to make.