The Deal (The Fallen Angel Series Book 1)

by S C Cunningham

  “Nuns and Priests etc pray for Erthfolk all the time, surely their prayers blanket everyone, everything,” offered Amy.

  “It helps, but the energy needs to be directed to a particular person or incident. We’re part of the physics they haven’t caught up with yet,” Maggie shrugged. “We need rules, otherwise everyone would be playing God up here. And if Witnesses start infiltrating, we’ll be in trouble.”

  Shaking his head with frustration, Jack ran his hand across his forehead and through his mane of dark hair. Amy watched him, wishing she could just reach out and touch him. Maggie noticed her longing, but said nothing.

  “Why can’t they just trust us to make the risk assessment and act autonomously?”

  “They do. You’re an excellent soldier, Jack. You all are, and that’s why we have a strong Unit here. I’m proud of you and will support you all I can, but I’ve been asked to remind you of the rules.”

  “But…why if we’re doing such a good job?” asked Amy, her eyes narrowing. “Is someone complaining?”

  “Consider it like the army. A soldier doesn’t go solo or question what, where, or why they’re working on a mission. They just follow orders, trusting their superiors and the governments making decisions for them.”

  “Yeah, and look where that got us,” scoffed Jack.

  Maggie ignored him.

  “You’re doing a good job, but to do my job, I need you to trust me and keep quiet. Otherwise, I’ll lose you and they’ll close the Unit.”

  “Has someone said something about us?” Pyke asked.

  Silence.

  “OK. I admit. We stretch the rules a bit sometimes, but we get things done,” Jack mumbled, hands stuffed low in his trouser pockets. He disliked authority, and this felt like the inflexible control of authority breathing down his neck.

  “I understand you have to think on your feet out there. That’s fine. But actively going on solo missions is not permitted. If you have a request, put it forward. Nine times out of ten, if ethical, we can help. Going solo ruins all we’ve achieved here; and if we are caught, it gives someone the opportunity to have us shut down. If you have questions ask now, and that will be the end of it.”

  Silence.

  “I have a question.” Amy summoned her courage.

  “What?”

  “How much time do we have here? I thought it was six months, but I’m not sure.”

  “It depends how much life you have in you when you die. Some die young, unexpectedly, not ready to go, still have things to do. Some are old, terminally ill, or commit suicide and are more than ready to move on, to rest. Some have the will to do more. The traits of life live in them for longer: hope, justice, love, anger, these are powerful energies. Once they are drained out of you, for some it takes six months, for others a year or so, you are of no further use here. You don’t have the passion and are happy to leave the Unit.”

  “So, we are like batteries, just draining out.” Jack muttered.

  “In a way. You and Pyke are unusual, driven and dedicated. I’m guessing you’ll have a longer stay here than most, and I’m lucky to have you on my team. Amy, you’re new, and sooo not ready to go anywhere for a while. But be warned. You’ll be asked to leave if you’re not considered suitable, i.e., if you break the rules,” she cautioned.

  “When do we know it’s time for us to leave?”

  “You’ll know.”

  “I’ve another question,” Amy said, hesitantly but bravely.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Where do we go from here? When we’re finished, I mean. What happens next?”

  “That’s what everyone asks. I’m afraid I can’t tell you. You’ll be told nearer your time to leave. All I can say is you’ll be dead, and this was just a stop-off point on the way out. I don’t know any more than that, so don’t ask me. You’ll find out when your time comes.”

  “But…”

  “But, nothing. I simply don’t know.” Through slit eyes, she shifted her gaze between them, daring one of them to respond. “Anything else?”

  Amy looked to the two boys, hoping they would speak and carry on the discussion, but they remained silent. Intimidation had worked. They had no questions.

  “Sorry, ma’am, but I have another quick question.”

  “OK. What is it? And then I really must go.”

  “Is…” Amy paused.

  “Is what?”

  “Is…”

  Silence.

  “Spit it out, for fuck’s sake, Amy. I haven’t got all day.”

  “Is someone following us?” she asked, softly under her breath for fear of being ridiculed. Jack rolled his eyes at her.

  Maggie closed in on her. “Why do you ask?”

  Amy saw the unease in her eyes and punched the air.

  “I knew it,” she squealed, nudging Jack. “See, I told you so. We’re being followed, you never believe—”

  “What makes you think you’re being followed?” interrupted Maggie, her voice going up a notch.

  “I don’t know,” Amy shrugged. “It’s just a feeling.”

  Silence.

  “Do you have a smell that goes with this feeling?”

  “What?” Amy giggled. “What a strange question?” She looked nervously between the two boys, expecting them to laugh at her.

  “Well, yes, actually I do. It’s like pongy, acidy, cigarette smoke, like someone died, but it’s not cigarettes, maybe a pipe, or a cigar. I don’t know.” She peered from one to the other. The boys and Maggie stared at her, making her feel hot under the spotlight.

  “I know it sounds weird, but I get a waft of smoke sometimes. It feels like someone else is there…someone from this world, not down there. They don’t say anything, they are just watching, witnessing everything we are doing, up here and down there.”

  Maggie gripped the edge of the desk for support. Her body weakened. Her legs buckled as fear washed over her, white knuckles squeezed tight. It can’t be. He no longer exists, or if he did, it would be down there, certainly not up here.

  “Many people smoke,” quipped Jack.

  “Not here. Not generally. Only if they request it on their privilege list,” murmured Pyke, thoughtful. “I could run an HR profile search; see who’s listed a pipe or cigars as a keeper.”

  “No…no, don’t,” barked Maggie, a little too loudly.

  Pyke watched her, puzzled. He moved in close and put a concerned hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey, are you OK?” he asked softly. “You look a little pale.”

  “I’m dead, Pyke,” she grinned nervously. “I’m supposed to be pale.”

  Pyke didn’t laugh. “Maggie?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she squeezed his hand in thank you. “Sorry.”

  “Who was that call from earlier, the one you took outside?” Pyke questioned.

  Maggie waved him off.

  “Uh…of no importance,” she turned to Amy. “Leave it with my Amy, I will look in to it.” She walked unsteadily around the desk and pulled out her chair.“Now, unless there are any further questions, get back to work. Thank you.”

  “I have one more quick question, ma’am,” cringed Amy. “Sorry.”

  “What?”

  “Errr...well…”

  “Spit it out girl, for fuck’s sake,” Maggie didn’t have time for this.

  “Ermm…are we allowed to…”

  “What!”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter.” Embarrassed, she felt everyone’s eyes on her, like lasers lining her up in target practice, impatient to end the meeting and get on with it.

  “What?”

  “Ermm…”

  “For fuck’s sake, spit it out, girl.”

  “Fuck…ma’am…”

  “What?”

  The two men stared, incredulous, looking from one woman to the other.

  “Fuck!” blurted Amy. “You know, shag, make love, have sex, fornicate, hump the rhino, roger, do it…fuck, ma’am.”

  “I know what fuck
ing fuck is,” barked Maggie.

  “Well…are we allowed to?” asked Amy

  “You are joking, right?” muttered Pyke.

  “It’s a legitimate question. Are we allowed to have sex?”

  Jack looked as if he would explode. “Why are you asking that?”

  Maggie took a deep breath to answer, when her head beeped with an incoming call. She put her hand up to silence the three of them.

  They were saved by the bell. Maggie hit the side of her ear and answered it.

  “What?” she shouted at the caller.

  Listening to the reply, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “OK, OK, yes… wait one minute; I’m just leaving a meeting,”

  She looked at the three of them.

  “Amy, we will finish this conversation later. Meanwhile, all of you get on with the fucking job. We have work to do.” She clapped her hands and waved them away.

  “But…” Amy started to speak.

  “No buts. You all bleedin’ asked to be here,” Maggie quipped. “Remember?”

  She looked each of them in the eye, daring them to speak. Her cold glare ensured they got the message. The conversation had ended.

  “So, get on with it,” she instructed, walking out of the room.

  As the door slammed shut, Pyke turned to Amy.

  “What was all that about, Ames?”

  “Nothing. I’m just curious about all the rules,” replied Amy, waving it away as not important. She tried to change the subject. “Didn’t you guys have any questions? I’ve got loads. What is it with you?”

  Jack’s gaze bored into hers.

  “Who do you want to fuck? Is it that guy from the Rome Unit?”

  “What guy from the Rome Unit?”

  The double doors burst open again to a fuming Maggie halting in the doorway.

  “… and why are you still standing there? Please, do tell. Get back to work.”

  They jumped away from her desk and skipped over to the screens. Pyke started to open the files for the next job.

  Maggie spun out of the office, back to her call. Her voice echoed in the corridor, shouting at someone. And from the intonations and high pitches, she was not happy.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jack

  Two months earlier, Fulham Road,

  Chelsea London, UK

  As Jack walked up the street, he saw his home in darkness, no lights, no sign of life except for a soft, low glow teasing through the gap in their bedroom window curtains. Maybe she was reading. Good, he wouldn’t have to sit through her excruciating small talk over supper.

  After his last, particularly disturbing tour of duty in Syria, he had returned home to this beautiful, sexy, intelligent woman named Mara, a creature who had lured him into her lair. She sat with him whilst he repaired mentally from the pain, torture, and death. Grateful for her care he had agreed to marry her one crazy, heady weekend in Paris, where she had whisked him away for a Valentine’s Day surprise. Mara always got what she wanted.

  He knew little to nothing about her and never bothered to find out because the truth of the matter was, he didn’t care. His heart and soul were consumed elsewhere. What he did in marrying her was wrong, a lie, cruel to her and him. He’d paid for it ever since. He had to find a way to escape, to spare them both.

  Rain-drenched, he inserted his key into the lock and stepped into the quiet, dark hallway. The house’s cuddly warmth stung his face. He kicked off his trainers and socks and placed them on the mat. He eased his body out of soggy, sodden clothes and left them in a pile beside his shoes to sort them out in the morning. Naked, he paraded into the kitchen and poured himself a large whiskey. Then another and another, anything to ease the pain of being without her.

  He’d dallied long enough, hoping Mara had drifted off to asleep. With his cold skin now covered in goose-bumps, he poured a final tumbler of whiskey, hugged it to his shivering chest, and tiptoed quietly upstairs, taking two steps at a time to get to his warm bed.

  The bedroom door, ajar, released the smell of perfumed candles, a pungent odour assaulting his nostrils. The candlewick flames danced and flickered, spreading a yellow glow and distorted shadows about the room. He lingered in the hallway, considered slipping into the spare room, but she may still be awake, waiting for him. He sipped the whiskey.

  A voice cooed from behind the door.

  “Jack, I’m waiting…come here…puhrrrrr, puhrrrr.”

  She always purred when she wanted sex, her signal for pleasure. Jack stood still, naked, shivering. He didn’t answer.

  “Jack, I need you.”

  He took another sip of his drink. Giddy from the alcoholic effects, he swayed in the darkness.

  “I’m ready for you, Jack. You don’t have to say anything. Just come in and take me. Just do it…just do it.”

  He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. He needed the sexual release, but he would just be prolonging the agony of leaving her. He needed to get her out of his life. He needed to tell her it was over. He needed to tell her now.

  He pushed open the door, spilling his drink as he did so. Whisky splashed onto his chest and trickled down his stomach.

  “Mara, we need to talk….”

  She was laid out, on her stomach, naked, star-shaped across the bed. Her buttocks arched upwards, welcoming, willing. Her splayed legs showed him everything. Her lips curved slightly open, glistening wet.

  She had been playing with herself in preparation for his arrival. She was ready, open, willing to get fucked.

  He stood at the edge of the bed looking down on her. His cock leapt with anticipation. The bitch.

  “Mara, please, I can’t go on like this. We need to take time out from each other. We need to…”

  She wasn’t listening; she tilted her hips up and down, rhythmically grinding, as if being fucked, long and slow, enticing his burgeoning cock.

  She groaned softly as she reached beneath her body and between her legs, fingering her cunt. Strands of juice stuck to her fingers as she eased in and out.

  “Fuck me, Jack! Fuck me now.”

  His hard cock swayed proudly before him, just feet away from her body. He knocked back the last of his drink and threw the glass to the floor. He couldn’t bear it; he would talk later. If that’s what she wants.

  He took a step forward and lunged into her open, gaping body, pushing deep inside her. His pent-up frustrations came to the fore as he pummelled hard and fast, over and over, not caring for her feelings.

  In a final thrust he came, high up inside her. With arched back, clenched muscles, eyes closed and mouth wide, he cried out like a pained animal.

  “Amy…”

  The word struck hard, a slap to her face. He said her name…her fucking name.

  Every sinew of Mara’s body tensed with disgust. She eased her hips forward, off his still rigid cock as he tumbled exhausted onto her sweaty back, her eyes glazed with hatred.

  Reaching beneath his pillow, she slipped a cold hand around a rubber handle. She heaved herself up and pushed his limp body aside. He rolled onto his back, stretched out beside her, breathing heavily and regulating his breaths.

  With an almighty scream, Mara drew her arm up high above his torso and drove the knife hard into his chest, angled up and under the ribcage, deep into his heart.

  “Don’t you dare mention her name,” she cried, dragging the blade out and thrusting it in again, harder, faster, just like his needy cock had thrust into her.

  Jack’s eyes burst open in shock. He jerked his head off the pillow, gagging against a soft groan gurgling in his throat.

  “Don’t you dare,” she screamed, relishing the surprise in his eyes.

  Still lost in the afterglow of sex, he stared back at her, confused, stark eyes, not understanding the mix of pain and orgasm.

  He looked backward and forward from her angered face to his naked chest, trying to comprehend how his hunting knife had gotten there. He’d slept with the knife under his pillow out
of habit, always alert, always ready for combat; it had lived with him for years, his faithful friend. But now, its familiar black handle stood proudly erect in his body, as the surrounding skin oozed pumping blood.

  A few seconds of silence deafened as the realisation of what she’d done sank in. After the initial disbelief, his face seemed to relax and soften. For the first time since they’d met, his furrowed brow softened, his tight jaw loosened. He looked younger, happy, at peace.

  Regretting her actions, tears welled in her wild eyes. For all the pain he caused her, she loved this beautiful, complex man.

  “Take it out,” he whispered, laying back, his head resting on the pillow. “Take it out…quickly.”

  She shivered with horror.

  “Noooo, Jack, I’m sorry. Please don’t move.” Reaching for the side table, she hunted for her phone. “I’ll call an ambulance…Oh my god, Jack, what have I done?”

  “Pull it out of me…now…now,” he begged, his soft voice impatient.

  “I can’t.”

  “You must.”

  “It will make it worse.”

  “No, it won’t. Take it out, now.”

  She followed his command, believing it would help, but more blood gushed from the wound as the blade slipped out. He’d tricked her.

  “No, no...no! I didn’t mean for this,” she cried, frantically trying to block the hole with a bed sheet, but the blood kept pumping, drenching her and the linen.

  “Stop it, please! I can’t stop it, Jack. It won’t stop…no…no.”

  He peered down at her blood-stained face and noticed rivets of tears track down her cheeks. He gave a contented smile and raised his finger to his lips to hush her.

  “It’s OK, Mara. It’s OK. It’s finally over. Thank you…thank you,” he rasped, his voice failing. “I’m sorry.”

  His eyes glazed, his head rocked back, and a loud breath rasped his throat. His body lay still. He was dead…finally free.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Present day, Cloud 9

  Pyke readied the screen for briefing.

  “I need to go to the loo. Back in a min.” Amy strode out of the room. Jack followed her. Maggie could be heard shouting at the end of the corridor. Someone had upset her; she was not having a good day.