by Angela Hunt
I sat quietly, respecting his confusion and knowing there were no easy answers. I sure didn’t have any. Millions of other people had considered his question and come up empty.
But Tank was stronger than he realized. And wiser.
“I guess—” he lowered his head as if he were peering through a passageway filled with obstacles—“it’s all a matter of faith, isn’t it? We either trust that God knows what He’s doing, or we think we know a better answer. Like letting that thing sting me—that’d be a better situation, wouldn’t it? But God is good and He knows best, so He has a reason for my little buddy’s pain . . . a reason I just can’t see.”
“Do you have to see it?”
He lifted a brow. “I’d like to see it, because then it would all make sense. But no, I guess I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . God’s got it covered, and I’m not God.” He smiled, not the happy-go-lucky smile that was part of his nature, but a sadder, wiser version that made my heart ache.
Chapter 10
Chad and Tank had picked up the video camera from the campsite, but they had neglected to grab all the really important things. “Like my makeup kit,” Brenda said, frowning as she searched her back pack. “How could you forget that?”
So before heading to the airport, we had our driver take us back to the campsite so we could grab anything we couldn’t leave behind. I found my iPad beneath a sleeping bag, and Brenda found Daniel’s video game by the window. And her makeup bag, of course.
We left the tent, lantern, and all that other stuff behind, though we told the driver he could come get it if he wanted to—if no one else beat him to it.
Once we boarded the private plane waiting to take us back to Dallas, I opened my iPad and took a good look around. I had to make a final report to the Watchers, and wanted it to be as complete as possible. We had returned with answers, video proof, and wisdom about the effects of the fairy-locusts, but we had paid a lot for those gains. Daniel had been traumatized, Brenda had suffered, and Tank’s faith had been tested. This had not been an easy gig.
Reclining in one of the seats, Tank looked exhausted—not only from our adventure, but from the spiritual struggle he’d faced. I knew he’d come to terms with what happened to Daniel, but if he were God, he would have come up with an alternate plan.
Chad had actually been useful on this trip. He hadn’t been able to help get us an ambulance (when I asked about his attempt to find help via a mind-to-mind connection, he said the only person he was able to contact was an old woman in Cleveland who thought she was talking to an angel). He had provided some interesting ideas, and, thanks to his cold meds, he’d actually dropped his snarky facade for a while. Tank still didn’t seem very comfortable with the new guy, but he would adjust. We all would.
Brenda—one look at her face told me that she’d been through the wringer and back on this trip. Not only had the fairy freaked her out, but she’d taken Daniel’s pain on herself, and her face reflected that agony. For the first time I could see wrinkles in her skin, deep worry lines in her forehead, and shadows beneath her eyes. She remained quiet on the plane, and that was unusual in itself.
And Daniel—the kid had been a trooper, considering all he’d been through. He was resting now, his head in Brenda’s lap, a soft smile on his lips, as if he relished the gentle way her fingernails combed his hair. Poor kid. Considering all the years he spent in that psychiatric hospital, I’d bet he was way behind on his fair share of love taps and hair-ruffling. No wonder he lapped up affection the way a kitten laps up cream.
I plugged in my charger, synced my portable keyboard, and typed up a full report on my iPad. I tried not to leave out any important details, though I couldn’t escape a niggling feeling that the Watchers already knew everything. I don’t know how they would know, but the feeling persisted, all the same.
I also told our bosses about seeing the professor in the mirror before I found the mysterious folder.
None of us have ever heard of Ambrosi Giacomo, I wrote, but if the professor wanted me to have that information, it must be important. If it’s a piece to our puzzle, we haven’t found the place where it fits. But I’m sure we will.
In the meantime, we will see what we can dig up on Mr. Giacomo. If you have any information you can share, please do. We need all the help we can get.
Thank you for the support on this mission. And if you can send another set of communications units, we’ll try not to lose them.
Chapter 11
Back at the hotel, we walked through the lobby without speaking and went straight to the elevators. Something in our haggard appearance must have been alarming, because once we got into an empty elevator car, no one wanted to join us.
We rode up to the top floor, then stepped out into the lobby.
“I don’t care what happens next,” Brenda said, her arm firmly around Daniel’s shoulder. “Daniel and I are going to our suite and puttin’ out the ‘do not disturb’ sign. Even if there’s a massive earthquake or somethin’, don’t call us.”
“You’ve earned a rest,” I told her. “Both of you.”
Both Tank and Chad walked me to my door—an exercise in overkill, if ever there was one.
“Thanks, guy,” I said, pressing my key to the card reader. “Get some rest, okay? And Chad--” he hesitated— “better find some cold medicine without side effects.”
He laughed. “Will do.”
They waited for me to open my door, then nodded at me, glared at each other, and went their separate ways.
Blowing out a breath, I stepped into the stillness of my room, dropped my bag in the entrance, and paused before the wall mirror in the hallway. I saw myself reflected there, along with the silk flowers on the foyer table and the wall behind me. Nothing else—no professor, no fairy, no creatures from the black lagoon.
For the moment, at least.
Afterword
¡Hola! Angie here, with two bits of information for you.
First, Al G. is fond of saying that if you have a 100,000 word manuscript and it is 99.9 percent perfect, you’re still going to have 100 mistakes.
We try very hard to create perfect stories for you, but the occasional typo may slip by. If you spot one, you can help by writing us and telling us where and what it is. We’d love to make it right.
So if you find one of those pesky typos, please write us at [email protected]. We will quickly put it out of its misery.
Second, I have always thought that the best fiction is based on fact. My delight lies in taking what is real and exploring possibilities. The fish and bird deaths I featured in Sentinels are really happening. The black-eyed children I featured in Hybrids have been reported around the world. And now: fairies.
In the summer of 2016, I was finishing up a historical novel when I learned about something my friend L.A. Marzulli had discovered. His exploration of “the fairy” caught my attention, and the possibilities naturally lent themselves to a Harbingers adventure.
If you would like to see video of the actual creature, visit L.A.’s blog at this link: https://lamarzulli.wordpress.com/tag/watchers-10/
I would also love to share a chapter from L.A.’s latest book, Nephilim Hybrids. It contains an interview between L.A. and a veterinarian who examined the actual X-rays of “the fairy.”
FROM L.A. MARZULLI
The “Winged Nightmare” or, as Richard Shaw calls it, “The Fairy,” has been controversial to say the least.
As we are getting ready to go to press, Jaime Mausson gave me the X-rays of the winged creature. I had them mounted and presented them, along with other pictures, to a veterinarian who wishes to remain anonymous.
(I have found that many people are reluctant to officially come on the record because of the fear of ridicule.)
The vet looked at the creature and this is what he said:
L.A.: So…we’re looking at the wing structure where the wings actually attach themselves to the creature. Ca
n you speak to that, please?
Vet: Yes, I’m looking at the X-rays, the radio- opaque structure that wings attach to. They appear to be some sort of bone and it looks like the thin bones that hold the wing structure together are fused very nicely to whatever that structure is. I assume it’s a bone. It looks like they’re fused in there naturally, as opposed to someone slopping it together. The only problem is that it’s almost too opaque. It doesn’t match up with the radiodensity of the other bones.
L.A.: Yes, but wouldn’t having a creature like this with the wings protruding from the back, wouldn’t there have to be some kind of anchoring to the skeletal structure? Wouldn’t the bone be thicker there?
Vet: Yes, it’s very possible—could be if this is a flying creature.
L.A.: Which it is.
Vet: For example, chickens [and] birds are going to have a lot less radiodensity in their other bones; in their legs and those bones are more hollow compared to, say, mammal bones. So these bones up here—that hold the wings—could be a little more thick and radiodense and calcified because it needs more stability to keep the wings attached.
L.A.: In your opinion, looking at the pictures and X-rays we’ve been looking at . . . could this be some sort of a composite, based on four or five different animals? Look at the face and the teeth and the ears. What are your thoughts?
Vet: If it is, it’s a very, very good composite. Someone very professional put this thing together. I mean just the way the bones… I can see the joints; I can see where the ribs lead into the sternum. I can see the femur, going into the hip. For someone to put this together would require a lot of work.
L.A.: And for what reason? No one’s making any money off this. It’s not on the cover of the National Enquirer or something, selling millions of papers. That’s not the case here. This thing has been in formaldehyde for three or four years.
Vet: I suppose anything’s possible. If it’s a fake, someone put a lot of work into this to put this together. I can’t think of an animal that you could add stuff on too. Very odd.
L.A.: Very unsettling. When we saw it, we were speechless.
Vet: Whatever this is that’s trying to hold this fracture together in the tibia [the leg]. For someone to think ahead of time … How would you know where the fracture was, unless you were some sort of medical professional? How did you get that stuff that’s holding that fracture together under the skin? It’s not an easy job.
L.A.: How would you do that?
Vet: Yeah, that’s not an easy job to do, to get that under the skin even though it’s not in the right spot.
L.A.: It’s a classic gargoyle. It’s evil to say the least. Again, when we saw it, it was unsettling. Look at the way the wings are attached. I mean, anatomically it’s very proportional isn’t it?
Vet: Yes. I don’t see the teeth in the back of the jaw…
L.A.: What would be your take away?
Vet: From a medical standpoint, these are real bones, real joints, and real X-rays. The question is, what kind of animal is it? And if it is a fake, what animals did they use to put this together? It would be a very professional job if it was a fake. You need to get a forensic pathologist, because I’m just looking at some X-rays. They look like real X-rays to me.
L.A.: Closing thoughts?
Vet: I’m perplexed about these round objects in the X-ray.
L.A.: We are, too. Any idea what that might be?
Vet: Perhaps someone shot it with a BB-gun and that’s how it died…
L.A.: So you think these round things are metal?
Vet: They look like metal. If I had to guess, metal objects round like this . . . I’ve seen this before; in animals it’s pretty clear. BBs, it could be buckshot. A shotgun. Buck-shot. Someone mistook it for a bird or something.
L.A.: Ahhh. Ok. That’s interesting. Buck-shot. That would really make a lot of sense.
Vet: It’s a far away shot.
L.A.: Yes. Wow. Interesting.
Vet: The shot may have broken the bone [in the leg].
L.A.: Thank you for coming on the record with us.
Vet: Nice to meet you.
Summation by L.A. Marzulli:
So as of June 2016, I will state that I believe the Winged Nightmare is not a hoax and that is the real thing. The fact that the vet was able to state that he believed the BB-like balls showing up in the X-ray were the result of buckshot or bird shot solves a lot of what perplexed us for some time.
In other words, this creature may have been blasted out of the sky by someone with a shotgun.
This explains the broken leg and the BB’s randomly placed throughout the body.
More testing needs to be done and I’ll be giving updates as they come to us.
We are now in the process of trying to get the creature out of Mexico legally so that extensive DNA testing can be done in the States.
L.A. Marzulli
June 2016
Preview of Harbingers 16
At Sea
Alton Gansky
Rocking.
Like an infant in a cradle.
Gentle. Smooth. Even.
Then came a new sensation: Someone had been using my mouth as an ashtray. A vile film covered my tongue and teeth. Still, I wasn’t ready to open my eyes. Mostly I just wanted to slip back into the blanket of sleep I had been living in a short time before.
Blanket? I could tell I lay upon a narrow bed but I felt no blanket over me. I was warm. Too warm. Only then did I risk opening an eye. The room was lit but only dimly. Missing was the harshness of an incandescent light. What I saw was natural illumination, enough to see but not read comfortably.
I forced myself to take several deep breaths. The air was a tad stale and carried a hint of salt. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, buried my face in my hands and tried to focus my thoughts. It wasn’t easy. My brain was filled with a thick London fog and my thoughts were as slippery as a sink full of eels.
Lowering my hands, I stared at the thin carpet on the floor. It was a perfectly acceptable beige, which somehow managed to look new and old at the same time. My brain fog lifted a little and I was capable of noticing something that shouldn’t be: black, highly polished dress shoes. The kind of shoes a man wore with a—
Tux.
Sure enough, I wore a pair of well-tailored tuxedo pants. I stood and touched my waist. Cummerbund. There was also a white shirt with posts instead of buttons, and a bowtie. I had been sleeping in a bowtie. The thing is, I hate tuxes. At least I think I do. Try as I might, I couldn’t remember the last time I wore a tux, or why I was wearing one now.
Across the room was a full length mirror that confirmed everything I had just discovered. I didn’t need a mirror to tell me what I was wearing. I puzzled that out pretty quickly. What I did need was a mirror or something else to tell me who the guy in the reflection was. He looked familiar. Young and big. Extra big. A little wide in the shoulders too. I stepped closer to the mirror and touched its cool, smooth surface. The reflection touched its side of the glass.
A man should recognize his own image shouldn’t he? Why then couldn’t I recognize mine?
My first question had been: Why am I sleeping in a tuxedo? That seemed like a small question now. What I really wanted to know was who I am. I also wouldn’t mind knowing where I was. I didn’t recognize anything in the cramped room.
“Well, this ain’t right.” At least my voice sounded familiar.
Don’t miss the other books in the Harbingers series which can be purchased separately or in collections:
CYCLE ONE: INVITATION
The Call
The House
The Sentinels
The Girl
CYCLE TWO: MOSAIC
The Revealing
Infestation
Infiltration
The Fog
CYCLE THREE: THE PROBING
Leviathan
The Mind Pirates
Hybrids
The Village
Al
so by Angela Hunt
Roanoke
Jamestown
Hartford
Rehoboth
Charles Towne
Magdalene
The Novelist
Uncharted
The Awakening
The Debt
The Elevator
The Face
Let Darkness Come
Unspoken
The Justice
The Note
The Immortal
The Truth Teller
The Silver Sword
The Golden Cross
The Velvet Shadow
The Emerald Isle
Dreamers
Brothers
Journey
Doesn’t She Look Natural?
She Always Wore Red
She’s In a Better Place
Five Miles South of Peculiar
The Fine Art of Insincerity
The Offering
Esther: Royal Beauty
Bathsheba: Reluctant Beauty
Delilah: Treacherous Beauty
RISEN
Web page: www.angelahuntbooks.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/angela.e.hunt