AngelFire

by Luke Valen

  Copyright ©2018 Luke Valen

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without prior permission from author except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Certain long-standing locations, cities, countries and other public areas mentioned are used completely fictitiously.

  Luke Valen asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Published 2018

  First Edition

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-7327366-0-3

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018910473

  Cover design by: Luke Valen

  Cover layout by: Luke Valen

  Wing design: Mr.SuttiponYakham/shutterstock.com

  Snow vector: Ya_blue_ko/shutterstock.com

  Pine forest: Grop/shutterstock.com

  Title Font (modified) by: SDFonts/dafont.com

  Interior design/Typeset by: Gessert Books

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved

  For more information or book orders please visit:

  www.lukevalen.com

  To my queen and two angels. You are powerful beyond measure. The gift courses through your veins like liquid fire. Spread your wings and spark the embers. It’s time to fly.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1: HOMECOMING

  CHAPTER 2: REALITY CHECK

  CHAPTER 3: TWENTY-ONE QUESTIONS

  CHAPTER 4: TRAINING DAY

  CHAPTER 5: DISCOVERY

  CHAPTER 6: FAMILY

  CHAPTER 7: DADDY DEAREST

  CHAPTER 8: A PAST LIFE

  CHAPTER 9: NILE

  CHAPTER 10: RESURGENCE

  CHAPTER 11: FROM DARKNESS WITH LOVE

  CHAPTER 12: FRIEND OR FOE

  CHAPTER 13: THE BIRTH OF DEATH

  CHAPTER 14: SILVER TONGUE

  CHAPTER 15: THE FOUR-HEADED SNAKE

  CHAPTER 16: A SOUL DARKENS

  CHAPTER 17: READY OR NOT, HERE I COME

  Sixteen years after the First Event

  CHAPTER 1

  HOMECOMING

  Knock. Knock.

  Who’s there?

  A boy and a girl.

  A boy and a girl who?

  “All right, everybody. Settle down, settle down,” Mr. Allan announced as the class came to an end and the restless teens began to lose interest. “It’s time to go over this week’s writing assignment. The one I’m sure you all completed.”

  I heard the voice drift out the open classroom window as I walked nearby, taking a drag of my cigarette. I glanced over, my eyes making out the details. Mr. Allan stood there in his khaki pants, blue short-sleeve button-up shirt stretched to the limit from his extended stomach, tie loosened, hair a mess and large spectacles, with a distasteful look on his face…yet a twinkle of hope in his eyes.

  And then I saw her.

  Abigail Li’ved—AngelFire’s very own princess—was drawing in her notebook next to the classroom window. So beautiful, sunrays seemed to dance around her soft blonde hair, like a flower blossoming for the first time in spring, swaying in the breeze. Keeping my distance, I hid under the tall oak tree in the yard just below the classroom. I hadn’t been in one of those in years, just the word made me shudder—class. I had hoped she wouldn’t notice me, though as fate would have it, just as I found myself staring, so did she. She saw me looking up at her wide-eyed and all. I tried to play it off and act cool; I took a drag on my cig, let out one last puff of smoke, flicked it in what I perceived as slow motion, lifted the collar of my long black peacoat…and walked away.

  I wondered what she was drawing.

  Mr. Allan’s voice drifted through the open window behind me. “Abigail!” Mr. Allan snapped. “What are you drawing there? Would you like to share it with the class?”

  “Nothing, Mr. Allan. It’s nothing.”

  I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see as she slammed the notebook shut. I stopped, curious what would happen next.

  “Mmmhhhmm.” Mr. Allen folded his arms, not believing her for one second. “Well then, maybe you can tell us about our assignment’s subject. What is love to you?” The weight of this question was that of a rocket scientist being asked how he plans to land on the moon July 16th, 1969. This question was the Apollo 11. Buzz, Neil, Michael…your answer please…

  I smirked, shaking my head at the grandiose.

  Abigail squirmed slightly. “Love to me is…”

  All eyes were on her, ears perked, as the class transformed to a conglomerate of focused minds all wondering what love was to her. Something they could feed off of and construct into a weak variation of their own, since no one bothered to actually do the assignment themselves.

  Abigail straightened, meeting the teacher’s eye. “Love to me is patient. It is something that is selfless and perseveres through all hardships. It is hope and protection. It’s like the story of Odysseus and Penelope. He was called to war to protect the one he loved the most. Out of selflessness and patience, and the two never gave up on one another, knowing that the hope in their hearts was strong enough to reunite them once again.”

  A successful landing. Perked ears became pencil to paper as the ideas began to flow.

  Fully expecting her to disappoint him with an answer like, “I don’t know,” Mr. Allan was at a loss of words with the beauty and justice she had brought to his question.

  Approved.

  “Hmmm, well okay then. Very good. Class, take note. This is what it looks like to come prepared.”

  Ring, Ring, Ring.

  The end-of-class bell, although sharp and quite annoying, was always a joyful pain in a kid’s ears.

  “Okay, class, make sure you read chapters seven through nine of your textbooks and have your assignment on my desk Monday morning!” he tried to say over the ringing bell and the rustling of backpacks and sliding desks.

  Abigail slowly collected her books and then stopped for a second and looked out the window once again, possibly even with a slight hope that the mysterious me was still out there.

  “Abby!” Cherry shouted from the open hallway door, class books held close to her chest.

  Oh, Cherry, what a delightful young lady. I say that with a slight touch of sarcasm. And it is CH-erry, not SH-erry—she’s very sensitive about that. She’s the one who always seemed to be on top of all current gossip going around school, partly due to the fact that she started most of it. This redheaded, freckled, five-four (and a half, according to her) girl, was for some odd reason Abigail’s best friend and cocaptain on the cheer squad.

  “Abby!” she shouted again, cocking her head in frustration.

  “Hey, Cherry. What’s up?” Abigail looked back out the window.

  “Abigail, come on, let’s go! We’re going to be late for the pep rally.” Cherry stopped and stared out the window as well. “What ar
e you staring at?”

  “Hmm?” Abigail smiled and turned from the window. “Oh, nothing. Let’s go.” That old oak tree was a saving grace, hiding me from her sight.

  —§—

  The music from the band began to play as the cheer team came out from behind the bleachers, waving their pom-poms and kicking their legs in the air. Abigail, front and center. Balloons and streamers hung from the walls and ceiling, all the school pride filling the room like the oxygen itself. The football team took up the first three rows of the bleachers in their jerseys rolled at the sleeves and puffed-up egos. The cool guys. Among them was Chase Andrews.

  Chase Andrews wasn’t always a bad guy—he actually used to be pretty nice. I remember about ten years ago, six-year-old me was getting bullied by a couple of older kids at the local park when Chase came up and stopped them. They would make fun of me saying, “No one loved you—that’s why they left you.”

  Savages.

  Chase used to be good guy. Then puberty and football happened. Now he’s the one kicking people down and doing all the bullying. I don’t know why all the girls like him.

  Oh, yeah. He’s captain of the varsity football team.

  I don’t like social events—the illusion of friendship and eternal youth did not faze me. The only reason I went was to see her.

  The way she drew me in felt almost instinctual. Like breathing. From her halo of blonde hair to the lilt of her voice. Even the way she walked was musical in essence, each step in perfect harmony with the other, whose causality was that of the surrounding world to follow her beat.

  I stayed hidden in the shadows of the corner bleachers, just close enough to the exit. Shhh. Principal Watkins is about to speak.

  “What an amazing year, wouldn’t you say, class?”

  The crowd cheered and roared.

  “This has truly been a year for the books. I have had the pleasure of seeing all of you young kiddos grow into such mature and intelligent young adults over these years. And to you seniors, I believe you are ready for the next step into adulthood,” he said into the microphone as paper airplanes crowded the gymnasium skies. Having no air traffic control meant there were midair collisions and improper landings into a few of the teachers’ hair. Balloons popped and fart noises echoed like explosions. This was no pep rally—this was World War High School.

  “Don’t even think about it, Charles,” Principal Watkins said without even having to look up to see Charles Ratowski in the rafters holding a watermelon-sized water balloon ready to drop on the principal’s freshly ironed suit and tie.

  Charles, obviously disappointed he no longer had the element of surprise and deprived of the sense of victory, tucked away his prized claim to the high school prank fame.

  “As I was saying, it’s been an honor educating you all, and I can’t wait to see you all at graduation. Go Hawks!”

  The music rose once again as the band entered into their final hoorah. Principal Watkins waved and exited stage left. Great act.

  “Abby,” Cherry whispered in between fake smiles, arm waving, and leg kicks. The girl might as well have been yelling, I could hear her a mile off. Though I had always been able to hear more than most, probably because my sense of feeling was nearly non-existent. One learns to numb their senses after enough has occurred to justify the off switch.

  The cheer squad seemed to be a herd of stuck-up cookie-cutter girls who thought they were better than everyone else. But not Abigail. She was different.

  “Abby, what are you always thinking about?” Cherry poked.

  Abigail turned to answer, her eyes instantly locking with mine. Shit. She saw me again. I quickly hid behind the bleachers. She would think I was stalking her for sure. I wasn’t.

  “Nothing, what’s up?” Abigail bobbed her head around Cherry’s.

  “Please tell me you are going to Chase Andrews’s party after this.” Cherry was so excited she was bubbling with zeal, awaiting Abigail’s answer.

  “Oh. Yeah. I didn’t know he was having a party.” Abigail fabricated a smile.

  “Okay great, I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock, okay?”

  “Yeah, sounds good. Hey, Cherry, do you know who that guy is?”

  Shit. She was pointing at me now.

  “Who?” Cherry turned to see what was on the end of Abigail’s finger. “That creepy guy hiding in the corner? Does he really think no one can see him? Yeah, that’s Dean.” Cherry frowned, her disgust obvious.

  “Dean? Dean what?” Abigail asked.

  Cherry smacked her gum obnoxiously. “He doesn’t have a last name. I think he is like some kind of orphan or something. I think he used to go here but got kicked out for fighting a lot. I don’t know, why?”

  “No reason. Just wondering.” Abigail’s eyes darted back to Cherry.

  “Okay, weirdo. Well, yeah, so tonight. Nine o’clock. Don’t forget…Abby!”

  Abigail was burning a hole in the back of my head—I could feel it.

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, nine o’clock. Perfect.” Abigail smiled as Cherry ran off.

  Abigail turned back to see if I was still there. Just the blackness of the shadows cast from the bleachers. “Hmmm.” She muttered as she turned to leave. Something lingered in her mind with a seemingly relentless annoyance plastered on her face. As if she could not shake the feeling that we had met before, that I was important. Or maybe that was my self-inflated ego projecting my own lingering thoughts onto another.

  So elegant and beautiful, it’s as if all the decorations were there just for her. Do I know her? What had she been drawing in her notebook? That was my last thought before I turned to leave. It would be getting dark soon and I needed to get home. I’ve always hated what comes with the dark.

  What had she been drawing?

  —§—

  The alley around the corner was a cesspool. The brick walls dripped with wet spray paint from the local gangs taking claim of their territory. The ground was covered in blood and sweat leaked from junkies duking it out for one last hit. Exposed needles littered the ground like weeds fertilized by human feces. No one ever bothered me. I kept to myself, as did they. The poor, lost souls.

  So why were they looking at me today?

  They never looked at me. And they were staring, not just looking. What is going on?

  Keeping my head down, I tried not to make eye contact with them. Lying there half alive like zombies who couldn’t decide if they wanted to live or die. Fifty more feet, I was almost out. Twenty more feet. The rattling of glass bottles rang throughout the narrow alley as I accidentally kicked one after the other, speeding up my step, no longer attempting to be guile and slow. Why were they looking at me? Their gaze pierced my soul, as if begging for help, begging to end their miserable lives. Ten feet…

  That’s when I saw it.

  Eyes. One pair. Ripping into me. Eyes a red so deep they resembled the planet Mars floating as twins side by side in the dark void of alley space. I froze, a numbness overtook my body like a tidal wave taking the shore. I couldn’t move. These eyes drew me in closer and closer to a shadow blacker than black. Even space wasn’t this black.

  What is that? The eyes floated, staring, menacingly. Eight feet…Seven feet…

  Fight it. Leave. Get out of here. GO!

  I wriggled my mind free of the fear, and my eyes away from the locked gaze. Run. Breathing in deeply to fuel my quick motion, I ran, the smell of human bile and waste burned my nostrils as my senses returned.

  I ran as fast as I could. One leg in front of the other. Repeat. Fighting the overwhelming urge to turn around, I kept my eyes focused on the road ahead. Trying to shake the sight from my brain, the thought of her entered my mind. Calming me just as I approached home.

  The gentle glow of remaining photons slowly left the sky. From purple, to dark blue, to gray and black. It was almost dark—what time was it? Covered in a cold sweat, I looked down to check my watch. 8:47 p.m. How could that be? How long had I been in that alley? Two extra hours is not
normal. The streetlamp flickered on as I rounded the last corner, releasing all my worries.

  The sight of home warranted a large sigh of relief. “Ahh. Home, sweet home.”

  To many, it would look simply like a beat-up, abandoned church. Boarded up from head to toe, this old girl had seen better days. It was abandoned back in ’97 when the Asian financial crisis gripped the world with fear of a worldwide economic meltdown due to financial contagion. Long story short, people got scared, stopped giving as much, and the church just couldn’t survive.

  Good thing for me though. I found this place just after turning thirteen, after being kicked out of my latest foster home. For some odd reason I had always had a peculiar sense of safety in this place. More so than our flawed foster system. I would have been a good kid if the “parents” were good “parents.” From rules so strict I couldn’t breathe at a certain volume unless I wanted to “run a mile!” to getting that weekly beating to keep me “strong.” Things just didn’t work out.

  This was the only place I ever truly felt at peace, like I was supposed to be here.

  Surrounded by a yard of yellowing grass, dead weeds, and an old willow tree hanging on to its last branch of life, it was beautiful. The tall, oversized double doors creaked as the wood splintered a little each time I would open them, almost as if to greet me home. My grand entrance was a disheveled, dark red carpet that once was glorious and bright. The pews to my left and right were covered in dust, like a blanket of their own. I sifted through the air populated by dancing particles made visible by rays of light passing through the mosaic glass windows that lined the walls. The mixed smells of dirt, wood, and old carpet were things of beauty.

  “How’s your day been, J.C.?” I asked the giant statue of Jesus that was sitting front and center. My roommate. “Anything exciting happen today?”

  He never answered me.

  “No? Well, guess what—I saw that girl again today. Except something felt different. I felt like I had something to say to her, but I don’t know what.”

  The thought of her invaded my mind once again. Only to be overtaken by the image of those eyes. Those piercing red eyes among the infinite black. Snap out of it. I shook my head in an effort to reset the rogue thoughts, like the white flakes in a snow globe landing to the bottom at rest.