Atonement (A Science Fiction / Fantasy Romance)

by Fall, Carly

  It felt odd to have such a secret as the ability of astral travel, and for someone to actually be able to see her when she did it. It bonded her to that male, and she wondered again how he could see her in spirit form.

  Micah groaned and drove his hips forward one last time, his breathing labored. He hovered above her for a moment, and then rolled to lie beside her.

  “I hoped this worked,” Micah murmured a moment later as he stood up and put his clothing back on. “We need more males for our fight against the Colonists and half-breeds out there.”

  Sophia held back a gasp. She couldn’t imagine sending one of her children into war, and this was the first she’d heard about it from Micah.

  “If you are without child in two weeks, I will have Jael come in for the next mating cycle. Perhaps your body will be more willing to accommodate his seed.”

  “Micah, I would prefer not have Jael inside me,” she said, not meeting his gaze.

  Micah sighed and sat down on the bed. “Sophia, what you want and what I want are irrelevant. We are fighting for our survival, and you are the only SR44 female left. We must keep our race alive. If Jael is able to conceive with you, then that's one more of us. Please don't be selfish as Beth was. Please don't make this difficult. Our race is at stake."

  Sophia nodded. She knew her place, knew that what he said was the truth. During these mating cycles, her existence was difficult to experience. “I’m sorry, Micah. You’re correct. We are doing this for the greater good of our race.”

  He smiled. “Yes. Now get some rest.”

  Sophia glanced over at the clock as Micah walked out of the room. His whole visit had lasted fifteen minutes.

  Rolling to her side, she heard the click of the front door. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She longed for a different life, one where her body belonged to her, not to a race as a whole.

  Chapter 18

  Blake sprawled across the couch in Brandy’s apartment watching a marathon of Judge Judy. His whole body felt as it were floating, and for the third time he glanced down to make sure his butt still touched the couch. He looked at the little packet of heroin on the table in front of him and wondered if he could get higher, or if he’d tapped out on top. He had no intention of overdosing; he just longed to be a bit higher.

  God, he felt incredible—absolutely amazing. Nothing in his world mattered. A bomb could detonate outside and he wouldn’t care.

  He waited for his angel to appear. Sure, she only came to him when he was high, and maybe she was a figment of his drug-induced imagination, but he wanted to see her again. She was so pretty as she stood before him, her silvery form shimmering like ripples of water. She looked at him with those dark eyes, and her small grin made him feel like they were both in on some big joke or secret. The joke was that she probably was a figment of his imagination and she didn’t exist.

  Shutting his eyes, he didn’t know how much time passed, but when he opened them, the woman was standing in the corner of the room by the kitchen. “It’s you,” he slurred, staring at her.

  Her eyes bore into him, as if she could see his internal secrets, his aches, and regrets deep within him. He looked her over from head to toe, her ethereal beauty making him wonder if she truly was from heaven and simply stood there waiting for him to die.

  However, considering his many sins, he doubted he would be heading upstairs.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “I wish you were real.”

  He tried to stand, but his legs gave out. She slowly walked toward him, her stride graceful. She stood on the other side of the coffee table, and he could see through her transparent form to the television. She smiled again, and he couldn’t take his gaze off her.

  “Who are you?” he whispered. “Why do you keep coming to me?”

  Could she hear him or understand him? If he conjured her, he figured they’d be able to have a conversation, but she didn’t answer. She watched his mouth, as if she were trying to read his lips.

  A key rattled in the door, and Blake stood still. Brandy burst inside and paused, seeing him sitting on the couch, then rolled her eyes. His apparition scurried back to the corner.

  Brandy set her purse and keys down on the table and squared off at him, her hands on her hips. “I asked you to do the dishes and clean up your mess. Why haven’t you done it, Blake?” she demanded.

  Blake stared at her, no words coming to his mind. Even Brandy ragging on him couldn’t break his bliss. He glanced over at his angel and she watched Brandy, seemingly confused. Blake longed to tell her Brandy was just a stopover until he could clean up and figure out his future.

  “Are you fucking high again?” Brandy snapped, walking over to him. She moved around a few papers and soda cans on the littered table, and picked up his packet of H. “Goddammit, Blake!” she yelled, tossing it back on to the table. “I was supposed to sell this one!”

  Blake smiled, not really caring as he looked over Brandy’s shoulder at the angel.

  Brandy turned around, her gaze following his. “What are you looking at?”

  Blake shook his head. “An angel. She’s so pretty. If she could speak to me, I bet she’d be so sweet. I bet she’d—”

  “Shut up, Blake,” she muttered, and went into the bedroom. Blake focused on his apparition.

  “You would be so kind,” he murmured, Judge Judy forgotten. “I can tell.”

  The angel smiled at him, then looked down the hall.

  “Don’t go,” he whispered, reaching for the packet of H. “Please, come back. You’re the best thing to happen to me in so long.”

  She gazed at him, concerned. Looking at the small paper packet, she shook her head.

  “I shouldn’t do anymore, should I?”

  She shook her head again.

  If his angel told him to stop, he would. Maybe she knew something he didn’t, like he would overdose. He threw the packet on the table and sat back on the couch. “Don’t leave, okay? Tell me why you’re here and who you are.”

  She stared at him for a moment, concern etched on her face. Then she gave him a slight wave and disappeared just as Blake heard the bedroom door open.

  Brandy walked into the living room wearing her leather shorts and corset, and he wondered for the millionth time how her tits stayed in the damn thing. Glue? Tape, maybe?

  “You listen to me, Blake,” she hissed at him. “Clean yourself up. I’m at the end of my rope with you. I either want you to get your shit together and get a job, or get out.”

  “C’mon, Brandy, just—”

  “No, Blake. You’re hallucinating about some angel. You stink. When was the last time you showered?”

  As he ran a hand through his greasy hair, he couldn’t remember.

  “I’m supposed to be selling this heroin!” Brandy yelled. “It is not for your pleasure. It is to help me pay my fucking bills. You’ve been sitting on my couch for two weeks now, spending more time high than you have sober.”

  Okay, he’d give her that one. He’d really been on an H vacation—completely checked out.

  “So listen to me closely,” Brandy continued, “clean yourself up and help me out, or you’re gone.”

  She turned, grabbed her keys and purse, and slammed the door behind her. Blake gazed over at the television where Judge Judy was tearing some dirtbag a new one. He glanced down at the packet Brandy had tossed and thought about what she said.

  Yes, she was supporting him, and he did feel sort of bad for not contributing. In order to get a job, he needed to get a new identity. In order to do that, he had to get somewhat sober and motivated.

  He picked up the packet and stared at it for a long time. Opening it, he studied the brown powder, and decided that yes, he would get sober. However, it wouldn’t be today. Tomorrow though. Yes, definitely tomorrow.

  Throwing it back on the table, he promised himself he wouldn’t do anymore tonight. If his angel said he’d had enough, then so be it.

  Letting his eyes cl
ose, he sunk into the couch and floated off to the place he loved, the place of peace and tranquility, the place where nothing mattered.

  He hoped his angel came back.

  Chapter 19

  Sophia watched as the female slammed the door to the apartment and walked down the hallway. What had she called him? Blake. Yes, that was it.

  She ghosted through the doorway again to check on him, concerned. Whatever was in that packet seemed to alter his state of awareness, and it was disarming to see him that way.

  He sat on the couch, his legs stretched out onto the coffee table. His head was tilted back, soft snores emanating from his open mouth.

  She walked over to him and stared at him for a while. Then she held up one finger and brought it to his cheek. If he could see her, could he feel her touch him? Could he touch her?

  He didn’t move.

  Looking around the apartment, she wondered what it sounded like to live in such a place. She walked over to the window in the kitchen, and imagined the traffic below would be annoying at first, but would eventually become a background hum. Could they hear their neighbors? Her world while astral traveling consisted of dead silence.

  Turning, she looked at Blake again. Almost as if he sensed her, he opened his eyes.

  He said something, but she couldn’t make it out. He reached for her, but she stayed where she was. As he kept talking, she shook her head, hoping he understood she couldn’t hear him.

  He stared at her a long while, and then said two words she could decipher: don’t go.

  She smiled and nodded as he closed his eyes, deciding to stay with Blake a little while longer and watch over him until the woman came home.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, Blake’s whole body suffered incredible pain. His joints hurt, and his muscles and tendons felt like they were being ripped from his bones. That was the one thing he hated about heroin—the excruciating “ouch” factor it left him in after a superb high.

  He stood from the couch on wobbly legs, realizing he never even made it to bed. Staggering to the kitchen, he looked at the clock. It was ten a.m., and his eyes watered from the sunlight streaming in. Brandy would still be in bed, as she didn’t get off until two in the morning and had probably rolled in around three or four. Hell, for all he knew, she never even came home.

  Thinking of his angel, he knew if she were real and an actual physical presence in the room, she would heal him. He imagined her long, slender fingers caressing his skin, his pain instantly relieved.

  However, she wasn’t real, and he needed to remember that.

  Shaking his head as he made coffee, he recalled the conversation with Brandy the night before. Just like with the Saviors, he was on his way out, but this time, he had nowhere to go. If Brandy booted him, he could claim the badge of homeless, and that didn’t appeal to him.

  She had said to shower and clean up, so that was exactly what he would do. He had a roof over his head and a direct line to heroin. What else did he need?

  He straightened out the living room and threw away the old newspapers and used tissues, and loaded the dirty plates into the dishwasher.

  Next, he went into the bathroom, used the toilet, and ran the shower. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and did a double take. For a split second, he wondered if there was someone else with him in the small space, because he barely recognized himself.

  Letting out a low whistle, he studied his reflection.

  His skin was pale, bordering on a yellow color. Deep, purple bags drooped under his eyes, and he guessed he’d lost at least twenty pounds in the past two week. How was that even possible?

  As he stared at his shrinking chest, he wondered when he ate last, and he honestly couldn’t remember.

  He didn’t meet his own eyes in the reflection. The eyes were the window to the soul, and he knew his soul was a tortured, battered mess, something he didn’t need to see.

  He stripped down, feeling as if the clothing were taking his skin with it. He stepped into the shower, the hot water needling his body. Tears came to his eyes at the agony, but he was determined to get cleaned up. He’d fallen pretty far over the past few years, from an elite FBI agent, to a member of an exclusive group of Warriors, down to a junkie living with a heroin-dealing club waitress. God, he hated even thinking about it.

  As he massaged the shampoo into his scalp, it felt like the skin was being torn from his skull. All he wanted to do was curl up into a fetal position and go back to sleep.

  Stepping out of the shower, the towel reminded him of sandpaper, and he realized he would have to wake Brandy because his duffle bag was in her room. He wrapped the towel around his waist and went to the kitchen. He actually felt just a little bit better after the shower.

  He decided to let Brandy sleep a little longer, and he sat on the couch, running his hand through his wet hair. It had been months since he had a haircut, hell, maybe even close to a year. For someone who used to wear his hair short, running his hand through long strands was strange.

  Looking around the apartment, he decided he’d done a decent job of cleaning everything up. The place still looked depressing as hell in comparison to his quarters in the silo, with the thick black carpet, the king-sized bed, and the black silk sheets. He’d spent a lot of time lounging in those overstuffed chairs while watching his own flat-screen TV. He’d spent many nights in those quarters with Annis, laughing and sharing a bottle of wine. Watching TV hadn’t been necessary when they were together, as they had been happy with each other's company.

  What did she see in Cohen that he didn’t have?

  It always came down to that for Blake. Why Cohen? What had Blake done, or better yet, what did he lack that Cohen possessed?

  He sighed and pushed the thoughts aside. That was his past, and he looked around at his present. As the soreness ran through his body, tears stung his eyes, but he wasn’t sure if they were for his present or his past.

  Putting his head in his hands, he gazed down at the floor. A small corner of paper poked out from under the couch. His heart skipped a beat, and he reached down for it.

  It was the packet of H from last night. He thought he’d finished it, but apparently not. Opening it, he saw there was just a little bit left, and he smiled. It wasn’t enough to get drastically wasted, but enough to take the edge off. Sniffing it right off the paper, he immediately felt the effects.

  Leaning back against the couch, he closed his eyes and relished the weightlessness he felt.

  He didn’t know how long he dozed, but the click of the bedroom door opening brought him fully conscious. Brandy took a detour to the bathroom, and he shoved the packet of heroin back under the couch, just a little bit remaining. He sat up and tried to look as normal as possible. Well, as normal as he could look sitting in the middle of the living room in nothing but a towel. Shoving the scratchy blue towel between his legs so Brandy didn’t get an eyeful of junk, he waited for her to come out of the bathroom, trying to think of what to say to her convince her he needed to stay.

  Brandy came down the hall and stopped at the precipice where the hallway met the living room and kitchen. Blake gazed up at her, smiling.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning,” she mumbled, looking around the living space. “You cleaned up.”

  “I did,” Blake said, feeling pathetic at the pride in his voice.

  “It looks good in here, Blake,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”

  Blake stood. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a dirtbag,” he murmured as he approached her. “I promise to change, Brandy.”

  Opening his arms, she stepped into them and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Blake, I really like you,” she said into his chest. “But I can’t have some loser hanging out on my couch from now until forever.”

  “I know,” he said, squeezing her tightly. “I’m sorry I’ve been that loser.”

  They remained quiet in the embrace for a few moments. It didn’t feel awful o
r foreign to Blake, but it had never felt right. It had never felt as if it was where he was supposed to be.

  Brandy pulled away. “I’m going to get some coffee,” she said, stepping into the kitchen. “Would you like some?”

  “Sure.” Why not be agreeable?

  “And I have tonight off, Blake,” she said, scooping the dark brown crystals into the coffee pot. “Let’s do something fun.”

  She gazed over at him, her eyebrows raised. It looked like he was back in Brandy’s good graces, and that was all that mattered. He wouldn’t be homeless.

  He had no idea what she had in mind, but he figured he could get through the day with the remains in the packet underneath the couch, and hopefully tonight he could get another reward.

  “Sounds good to me,” he grinned.

  Chapter 21

  As the sun set, the mild cramping quickly became full-fledged pain, and Sophia ran to the bathroom.

  Shutting the door, she leaned her head against the wall, took a deep breath, and recalled her pregnancy with Megan. There had been cramping then, and there was cramping each month as her body told her pregnancy had failed. She hoped to be with child, because the alternative was too terrible to think about. The thought of lying with Jael made her stomach turn.

  Fighting back tears, she set her cell phone on the sink, pulled down her jeans, and sat on the toilet.

  The red stain on her panties made the tears fall, and the horrific cramps ripping through her belly gave her all the news she needed. She was without child.

  Pulling the towel from the rack and then setting her head in her hands, she let out her fears, frustration, and anger through the cries she muffled with the towel.