Ancient Blood: The Fallen

by Renea Taylor

  A few minutes later I was standing beneath the jets of the shower-head, the magic of the hot water felt wonderful, yet it was only able to soothe away a small portion of the chill that embraced me, for it seemed no matter the amount of hot water that sluiced over my frame, nor the length of time I stood beneath its spray, a large portion of ice water still shivered through my veins.

  A small whimper escaped my lips, and I found myself sinking to my butt, where knees drawn to my chest and arms wrapped tightly around them in a protective manner, I sat huddled in a tight ball, rocking back and forth for comfort as I finished what had begun earlier when I'd entered the cottage, and let the tears flow, their salty deluge mingling with the flow of water from the shower-head.

  How long I sat huddled on the floor of the shower, I had no idea. However, the temperature change of the water drove me to complete my bathing, for though having turned nothing less than tepid, the temperature alteration wasn’t a welcome occurrence and might as well have been chunks of ice that poured forth from the shower-head.

  Shuddering, I quickly rinsed and pushed aside the shower curtain, as grabbing a thick cotton towel, I wrapped it securely around my chilled frame and stepped out onto the bath mat.

  After drying I returned to my room and paused, not knowing what else to do, for I was lost to what came next. Shaking my head to clear it of the fog that enveloped my brain, I wondered over to my dresser and pulled out a pair of sweat pants and a worn, yet comfortable t-shirt from its depths and dressed.

  Though the well used clothing comforted me, they did little to warm me, in fact, placed doubt within my mind that I'd ever feel warmed again, and as trepidation continued to skate down my spine, I made my way back into the interior of my home, hoping that within my painting I would be able, if even for just a little while, to forget what I'd just experienced.

  Three hours later however, found me staring at where my canvas had been, a string of curse words blasting into the air around me.

  I'd struggled for days now to find the right color combinations, and when they'd begun to come together at last, my fingers had flown with the paintbrush, and I'd watched in joy as the canvas had filled with beautiful flowing shapes and lines.

  However, I now stood in frustrated shock, for in a blink of an eye it was gone, all of it completely burnt to a crisp before me.

  “Aw fuck!” I shouted, staring at where the now nonexistent canvas had once been.

  Though I felt an essence of anger at the small burst of leftover emanation that had developed within the room, which I knew was the culprit behind the criminal act upon my painting, I couldn't sustain the anger, for I should have realized it was coming, as a small burst always followed the more powerful exhibits of my gift.

  However, since I hadn't used the ability, leaving it to lay all but dormant within me for the last few years, I’d forgotten it’s pattern, and never even thought to allow myself time to expel any lingering emissions before I touched my painting.

  Something I’d learned the hard way in my youth, as my shield had burnt up several sets of televisions, radios and later, my paintings and drawings before I’d gained the understanding how to prevent the follow up occurrences.

  Letting out a breath, I figured I ought to thank God that all I’d lost was just the one painting and not the whole damn collection, for though the minute burst had been small, forcing within me a certain amount of confusion that it had caused the complete destruction of my canvas, it had obviously been enough to make the painting play Houdini and perform a disappearing act all together.

  Now, uncertain as to whether I wanted to laugh, cry or be royally pissed off at the very gift that had saved me, I decided that for the moment, crying suited the offense, for the fact was, if I hadn't had the ability, I’d be dead!

  Which brought me back to square one, and the fact that something out there hadn't finished yet, for whether it was stalking me or the bayous, it had come looking for death, and only once been successful.

  Wiping at my eyes as a shudder shivered its way throughout my body I turned, and in confusion made my way to the kitchen where I pulled open the freezer door of the refrigerator.

  Snagging the pint of ice cream that sat huddled within the swirling mist of iciness inside, I pushed the door back to with a hip before snatching a spoon from the silverware drawer, then opening the container I shoveled a spoonful of sin into my mouth, doing a double take at the carton within my hand.

  Holy shit I thought, my eyes widening in amazement, I'd definitely have to remember this flavor, for it was pure heaven!

  Gripping the ice-cream container in my hand, I slipped another spoonful between my lips, and savoring the taste, I did the best I could to shove everything but my upcoming exhibit to the back of my mind, preferring to forget my other troubles for the moment and preserve my sanity.

  Finally, after some deliberation, I settled on trying my luck again.

  A few minutes later I was standing before a new canvas, this one supporting a few blotches here and there of my abstract musings, when suddenly a bright flash lit the room, joined by a huge clap of thunder that made me jump as it shook the walls.

  The low rumble of the thunder was still echoing within my ears when the room was suddenly plunged into darkness, the space around me turning ebony, and the fierce lighting storm from without the cottage became the only implementation of light within.

  Frantically my eyes tried to adjust within the eerie nothingness between flashes of light, and I felt the fine hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end as I began uttering strange, funny little sounds in my throat with my fear.

  The feeling that someone else was in the room with me assaulted my senses to such a degree, I found it difficult to even draw a breath as the sensation reached out and wrapped itself around me, squeezing at my stomach until my guts were in a tight knot of fear.

  Whipping around, the chill of dread climbing my spine as a monkey did a tree, I bolted from the room, crushing the now forgotten empty ice-cream container within my hand as I fled.

  I could think of only one thing, and that was exiting the room as well the cottage, only I suddenly changed direction in mid-flight, for the sensation washed strongly through me that whatever was in the cottage might be far better than what was in wait for me outside of it.

  In an instant, I was scurrying like a frightened dog back through the rooms, and if I’d had a tail, it would have definitely been tucked between my legs as I scurried down the hallway in a harried, mad dash for my bedroom, where finally reaching its entrance, I shoved at the partially closed door.

  Hearing it crash against the wall as I shot through it, I grimaced, however, never slowed as I crossed the room, then leaped on the bed, jerking the light sheet I’d spread neatly across the bed just that morning up and over my body, before burying my head beneath the spare pillow, where I lay cowering, my teeth chattering nearly as loud as the knocking of my knees.

  * * *

  The next morning I awoke as the sun began poking its golden mane above the horizon, spreading its sleepy tendrils of orange and yellow ribbons across the sky, and rolling over, I watched through tired eyes as the ribbons journeyed their way across the hard-wood floor, creeping towards where I lay, as they washed the room within their announcement of the new day.

  Within the suns kiss, the room lightened and brightened as a particularly persistent ribbon of light climbed up and onto the bed as it continued to methodically inch its way towards where I lay, until it bathed my face in its warm golden touch, forcing me to hide beneath the spare pillow again in an effort to blot out its radiant smile.

  However, only a few seconds had passed before I was extracting myself from beneath the pillow, for I'd found I was suffocating within the insulated heat of my own breath, as within the confined space around my head, it had become overbearingly warm and stifling.

  Letting out a low, frustrated groan, I gave up and pushed back the sheet, sitting up, only to find myself staring nonplussed at
the crushed ice-cream container that had, apparently, shared the bed with me through out the night.

  Reaching out, I instinctively scratched with a fingernail at the small dried puddle of sweetened milk that had spilled out of the container, and onto the fitted sheet. Then, sliding my legs over the edge of the bed, I picked up the cardboard carton and shook my head.

  I felt my cheeks tint a light shade of pink from embarrassment, for now within the light of day, I felt silly at the pathetic state I’d allowed myself to fall into the evening before, for letting my imagination run so wild that it had conjured up an imaginary creature, a supremely evil...thing...that prowled the bayous, awaiting its chance to bring forth death. Jesus, was my life so uneventful that my mind was resorting this type of shit for stimulation!

  Blowing out a breath, I reached out and placed the ice cream container on the bedside table. Then rising, I began wiping the crystallized bits of sleep from my eyes as I made my way to the bathroom.

  A few minutes later, having relieved my nagging bladder, I stood facing the mirror, giving the features before me a cursorily glance as I picked up my hairbrush and began tackling the kinks and knots that made up the birds nest that was supposed to be called hair.

  When my hair finally fell in its normal smooth, silky curtain down my back, I set aside the brush, and glancing down at the t-shirt and sweats, I debated about changing, then gave a shrug. I wasn't going anywhere until later that evening, and could find no reason to dirty up anymore clothing than necessary.

  A few minutes later found the bed stripped of the sweetened milk stained sheets, and a snagged ice-cream container clutched against them as I exited the bedroom and padded my way down the hall, where I dumped the sheets in front of the doorway to the laundry room.

  I couldn't find it within myself to enter the room where I would be faced with the mud coated clothing, that I knew lay atop the washer, for within their condition lay further embarrassment and confirmation of my boring existence.

  Instead, I continued my journey towards the kitchen. My taste buds were already on alert as they anticipated a cup of coffee, and entering through the doorway, I dropped the ice-cream carton in the trash, then set about the simple task of preparing the dark, aromatic brew of morning ambrosia by pouring water into the pot, and dumping grounds into the paper filter.

  As I waited for the coffeepots final gurgling sigh of completion, I placed a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster, liberally slathering both with butter and jelly when they were done, having turned the nice, warm golden brown I tended to favor.

  Then, with steam rising from my cup and purple-coated toast in tow, one piece already missing a corner from my impatience, I made my way over to a window and rested one butt cheek on the inner ledge of the frame.

  I began eating my breakfast to the warmth of the sun enveloping me and the splendorous sound of bird song, thankful for their distraction, as I was having a hard time keeping my mind from wondering backwards.

  Now that I was able to recognize what had occurred the night before was nothing more than too little sleep, and too vivid of an imagination, and that death hadn’t really been in the swamp stalking me, I had to admit as well, that Dante hadn’t been real either. An admission that caused my chest to hurt.

  Closing my eyes against the moisture that had formed in them, I allowed the past to come alive within my mind, recalling what had brought me to this miserable point in my life.

  * * *

  Seven years earlier

  The year was 2003, and at the tender age of twelve, beaten down by life and disillusioned by the injustice of the world, I found myself being placed within yet another foster home.

  I’d expected nothing less than what I’d already become acquainted with in the others, having in fact, not even unpacked for the first several weeks I was on the Lambros Ranch, my tiny clutch of clothing remaining in the small, cheap chain store plastic bags as I'd fully expected each day to see the old and battered orphanage station wagon pulling up outside the Ranch-house, prepared to whisk me back to the orphanage, once again having been unwanted by my foster family.

  You see, over the past several years my clothing and I had been carted from orphanage, to foster home and then back to the orphanage, before being placed, yet again, in another foster home, leaving me to feel as if I never really belonged anywhere.

  In truth I hadn't, for with each placement, I quickly became unwelcome and feared, for I often woke screaming in the wee hours of the morning, suffering strange nightmares and leaving those that lived within the home distressed from the strange unexplained events within the home, for often small fires would flare up out of nowhere during these times.

  It was only within the walls of the Lambros home though, that I began to find what it was like to be held and comforted. To be soothed, and receive understanding when I would wake from the horrible visions that held my mind shackled tightly within their grasp, awaken wrapped securely within the fatherly arms of Miles, or the brotherly embraces of either Arreon or Luke, even, on the odd occasion, those of Dante’s.

  Slowly however, and over time, months in fact, as I was reluctant to lower my guard, not trusting the authenticity of anything lasting, and fearing that if I did relent, the strange fires would begin again, bringing about the occurrence of being vanquished back to the orphanage, I allowed myself to open up and respond to the warmth and patience I was shown. To at last, feel!

  Then it happened. What I feared most began to occur. The internal storms of my ability begun to attack the house, and I again retreated into my shell, fearful my secret had doomed me. However, as the burnt items that dotted about the house were replaced without fuss, the odd fires declared to be expected of old wiring that was within the house, days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.

  Time passed, and as I found myself still part of the Lambros home, I began to flower again, for I was part of a family, a real family.

  Months went by, months that turned into years, and with each winters end, a new year begun, bringing forth the blossoming of springs and the multitude of greens and brilliant splashes of heady scented floral.

  Greens and floras that burnt to crisps, as and before anyone was quite ready, summers would come upon the Ranch, breathing its hot breath across our flesh and scorching the land we toiled upon, and where after, we would ease those hot grueling days by rewarding ourselves with languishing laziness in the small tributaries within the bayous, and ending the evenings gazing up at the stars, breathing the sweet scent of the freshly cut hay that floated on the whispering breezes.

  I truly belonged somewhere at last, and did my best to harness my ability out of respect to my home, and the man that I'd come to look upon as my dad, or that was to keep it controlled to the best of my ability.

  Arreon and Luke had, as well, became true siblings, for we fussed and fought as only brothers and a sister could. However, Dante and I were never quite able reach that comfortable area in our relationship, for something different simmered between us, and as nature would have it, it was Dante that broke my heart.

  Chapter 3

  We don't receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey no one can take for us or spare us.

  …Marcel Proust

  2008 Baton Rouge Louisiana

  Five years pass

  “…The soul known to us as Miles Lambros we place within the hands of God…” I heard the priest’s words, words meant to soothe, to comfort in times of grief and though I followed the rite, I felt no comfort, no soothing, I only felt loss, a great abandonment.

  I, as well, felt a sense of irony, for a storm had moved through the night before, cleansing the air and spreading fresh life upon the ground that we now, not twelve hours later, prepared to place death within.

  The funeral was simple, as Miles would have wanted, a solemn ceremony, a simple coffin, simple flowers, simple music, a few words of sympathy at his passing, then simply...over.

  Realizing that I was
the last to say my goodbye, I stepped forward, running my hand over the smooth surface of the coffin, feeling the warmth of sun kissed wood beneath my palm.

  My eyes shone with moisture as I laid the single rose I held clutched within my hand atop the coffin whispering, “I'll see you again Miles...daddy...thank you…” then with a catch in my voice I continued, “…for loving me.”

  As my quivering and breaking voice died away, I wiped at the tear that slid down my cheek and turning, became aware that Arreon and Luke had stepped forward, standing near me as I'd offered my goodbye to the only man I'd ever been able to look upon as a father figure, the only man that had ever given me a reason to in my seventeen years.

  Gently Arreon reached out, draping an arm across my shoulders, drawing me close as he wrapped me within his arms, his own inky black lashes shimmering wetly within the sunlight as he huskily murmured, “ready?”

  Pushing slightly away so that I could peer up into his face, I gave him a trembling smile and nod, then glancing away, I looked about us, searching for, and encountering the sapphire blue gaze of Dante's, where he stood solemn and alone, some distance away as the rhythmic click of the Imperial device began echoing about us, indicating that the process of lowering Miles remains into the ground had begun.

  The sound was mournful in its cry of finality, enforcing within me the reminder that life was forever changing.

  * * *

  Six months had passed since the day we’d placed Miles body into the ground. Half a year that had been wrought with a plethora of change. Which was why, in the process of dumping a load of manure from the stalls, I felt my stomach do a funny little somersault with the onslaught of uncertainty that swept through me at the sight of the beat up old Chevy pickup that came barreling down the drive.