When Night Falls

by Kayla Krantz

  My princess was in there.

  Her back was turned to me as she stared solemnly out the window—her usual response to my visits. She looked off into the distance, studying the freedom she no longer had. It was the same emotion she had used to study me during our first encounter at the dance. She tensed at the sound of the door, but didn’t turn to look at me as I entered the room.

  Ever since I had brought her here on the night of Roderick’s death, she kept her eyes on the window as if she couldn’t live without it. I could guess her thoughts—none of them kind, I was sure.

  “How’re you feeling today, Princess?” I greeted her.

  She said nothing, as she continued to stare out the window. Blocking me out was her easiest defense, and the most effective. The allure I had felt toward her dulled when her cold shoulder presented itself. I frowned, studying her for a moment. Her hair had begun to fall out of the long braid, and it hung against her bare back. Even though it had been days since the dance, she refused to change out of her dress. That probably had something to do with Roderick as well. A surge of jealousy rose up in my throat, but I managed to coax my anger back into its hiding place—at least, for the moment. Since the moment of her capture, I had vowed to be patient in dealing with her, and I didn’t plan on breaking that anytime soon.

  “Are you going to eat today?” I asked, glancing toward the corner of the room. A plate of food from the day before sat unmoved and untouched.

  She remained silent, though I noticed her ball up her hands into fists at her side. I couldn’t imagine her attacking me in her weakened state. Which emotion was more prominent in her mind at that moment—fear, sorrow, or anger?

  I bit my lip and moved closer—desperate for any attention she could show me, good or bad. I wanted to see a spark of her brilliant personality, but she did a good job of keeping it penned behind a wall of cautious unemotion. I didn’t want to scare her with any sudden movements, but her silence was maddening. I could think of no other way to make it end, so I stepped up beside her and gently set my hand on her shoulder. I jumped a little, noticing the unnatural chill that her once warm, glowing skin held.

  “Did you hear me?” I asked.

  Finally, she turned away from the window to look at me. Her face was hollow from days without eating. Dark bags hung under her eyes from her lack of sleep, and red marks scored her cheeks—probably from the hours she spent sobbing over Roderick’s demise. For that moment, she ignored all her demons and she caught my gaze. It was the first time I had seen her eyes since the dance. The light that had warmed my heart was gone. Only a haunting darkness remained. My Princess’s beauty was no longer illuminated by happiness. Instead, a deep sorrow threatened to swallow every ounce of the beauty she held. Her dark eyes seemed stormy and glum as she suddenly looked away.

  I stepped backwards—without the light, she was no longer beautiful. The look she gave me was as heartbreaking as that thought.

  I realized then that I wasn’t her knight. I was the danger she needed to be rescued from.

  You know what’s scary?

  A woman with strength—one who sees past her vulnerability. When a woman learns to depend on no one she is a scary being indeed.

  Happy Birthday

  ANGEL TURNED OVER in bed and stared at the clock. Two minutes until her birthday. A sigh escaped her lips as she thought of the birthday wishes she was sure littered her social media accounts. Ignoring the urge to get up and check them, she cuddled deeper into her pillows, leaving the phone on the nightstand. It lit up with a message. Angel frowned, squinting in the darkness as she reached for it. It was an email from her college.

  “Happy birthday, Angel!” it read.

  She smiled and clicked the phone off, settling back into her sheets. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, and then the smell of smoke made them pop wide open—just before the shrill ring of the fire alarm hit her eardrums. Throwing the blanket off, she ran down the hallway, following the gray haze in the air.

  She rounded the corner into the kitchen, only to see flames devouring her stovetop. With a gasp, she rushed to the stove and flipped the knob. Without fuel, the flames sparked, licking at the curtains framing the window above the sink. Angel hurried to fill a pan with water and dashed it on the stove, extinguishing the blaze before it could get out of control. Her heart pounded and she let out a long sigh. With adrenaline still coursing through her veins, she ran her fingers through her long blonde hair. The pan clanged against the counter and she stared at the remains of her charred curtain.

  Four, a voice whispered.

  She froze, feeling the hot breath in her ear. She wheeled around—worried someone had broken in and set the fire—but she was alone.

  It can’t be, she thought, licking her dry lips.

  Angel cast another wary glance to her stove before becoming aware of the ugly noise of the fire alarm again. Stepping back into the hall, she noticed the low battery indicator flashing. It went out with an eerie, clipped squeal.

  That must be what I heard earlier, she reasoned, pushing away all thought of the voice. Slinking back to her room, she sat down with an uneasy weight on her shoulders.

  ***

  SLEEP WAS HARD to come by that night. For the few winks she managed to get, Angel awoke in cold sweats, her heart beating so hard, she thought it would give out at any moment. She took a shower to clear her mind, dressing quickly when she got out. Her rugged appearance in the mirror made her cringe. Leaving the apartment, she locked the door behind her and lugged the heavy handbag on her shoulder down to the lobby.

  The doorman looked up at her.

  “Good morning, Angel.”

  She nodded weakly, leaning against his desk as she propped herself up with her elbows.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t sleep well, I take it?”

  She shook her head, pursing her lips. “I-uh—I may have had a brief firefighting episode last night, Gerard,” she said finally, thinking it to be the easiest way to explain what happened with her stove.

  “Not too bad, I hope,” Gerard replied, tilting his head to the side, eyeing her in concern.

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Angel mumbled with a shrug. She glanced at her watch. “Hey, I’m running kind of late. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Standing up straight, she pulled her handbag back over her shoulder.

  “Good, well, happy birthday!” he called after her as she walked out the door.

  She pretended not to hear—the words made her very soul uncomfortable. She wouldn’t let the thought bother her—she wouldn’t let anything bother her—as she resumed her journey to the bus stop. She couldn’t afford to be late to work again, which meant focusing her energy on the task at hand. Determined to put away the night’s incident as nothing more than a coincidence, Angel crossed the street and headed into a less reputable part of town. Then she heard it—a snarl.

  It’s my imagination, she muttered, her pace picking up. She slipped her in into the pocket where she kept a can of pepper spray. A rough bark sounded behind her. It was uncomfortably close. Swallowing hard, she stole a glance over her shoulder, but didn’t see anything at first—only the darkness of the shadows cast by the nearby trees.

  See? It’s nothing, she convinced herself again, scanning the empty space. When she looked over her shoulder this time, though, she noticed a thicker patch of black shadows in the middle of the rest. It shifted, moving closer to her. Angel’s breath caught in her throat. She took a step backward and it materialized into a dog the size of a small horse, eyes as red as rubies. It pulled its lips back into a snarl, showing its sharp, dagger-like teeth. She knew it wasn’t friendly. A small scream escaped her throat and turned to run, the only thing her body could think to do in the moment.

  She didn’t get far down the nearest alley before the beast appeared in front of her again—an angry, dark shadow of burning hatred. It charged at her, and although the beast had come from thin air, it weighed a ton tackling her
to the ground. She shoved it, but was unable to push the massive hound off her chest before it ripped a chunk of flesh from her arm. Her own blood splattered across her face and chest, but she was powerless to fight back against the Hellhound. She hadn’t even had time to think of her pepper spray.

  Her punches seemed to go right through the beast. She screeched, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping the sound would draw attention and someone to help. The weight disappeared, and the voice whispered in her ear again.

  Three.

  Her eyes opened, darting everywhere—searching the alley for the one who had helped her. But again, she was alone. Her heart pounded hard once again as she stared at the chewed remains of her arm. She yelped at the sight of her own bone through the mauled muscle. Her lips parted, a wave of nausea climbing up her chest. She forced it back, holding her arm close to her as she whimpered and struggled to her feet.

  Angel felt dizzy going down the alley. Her hand pressed against the brick wall, keeping her up as she made her way to the opening. She gulped and leaned against the building, clutching her arm as blood poured to the ground. A woman coming down the street stopped short at the sight of her. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  “Oh, my God,” she gasped, staring her down. “What happened?”

  “P-please…call nine-one-one…I-I’m very hurt,” Angel rasped, struggling to stay conscious as she looked up at her.

  The woman didn’t argue as she reached into her pocket. Angel felt her vision wavering as the woman made the call. She slumped to the ground, praying she would not pass out—fearful of what might await her in the dark. The woman sat beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Her grip was tight, but Angel hardly noticed. The woman stayed until the ambulance arrived, whispering comforting words. At least, Angel assumed they were comforting. She didn’t hear most of them because her mind was elsewhere—on the eyes of the beast so similar in color to the blood leaking from her arm.

  Caught up in her delusion, she didn’t notice the emergency workers surrounding her. When she blinked, the woman was gone, replaced by a man named Tom, sitting beside her in the back of the emergency vehicle. She was strapped to a table but had no memory of being placed on it. Her wallet was in his hand, and he glanced at her driver’s license.

  “Your name is Angel?” he asked. From his tone, she guessed he had asked a handful of times, with no response.

  Angel managed a small nod.

  “Well, not a very happy birthday for you, huh?” he said, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he tucked the card back in place.

  No, she whispered. Closing her eyes, she finally succumbed to the loss of blood.

  ***

  WHEN SHE REGAINED consciousness, Angel couldn’t move a muscle. She might have thought she were dead had it not been for the blinding pain in her arm. She tried to swallow, but her throat was so dry, she nearly choked. Tears bubbled up in her eyes from the hitch in her breathing. When it cleared, a beeping sound filled her ears. Only, she couldn’t move her head to figure out what it was.

  What’s happening? she wondered.

  “Hand me the scalpel.”

  The voice cut through the rhythmic beeping and the odor of sterilized cleaners filled Angel’s nose. She felt a twinge of pain in her heart as she realized she was in the hospital. They were about to perform surgery on her arm. She tried to open her eyes, but they wouldn’t budge. She tried to open her mouth, but she couldn’t speak, either. A silent scream rang out in her mind, and then she felt it—the scalpel cutting away pieces of muscle out of her devastated flesh, ruined beyond repair. Wave after wave of pain rushed through her, like a kind of medieval torture. She tried to wiggle her fingers, to twitch any muscle to gain their attention, but for all her efforts, nothing happened.

  THE PAIN CONTINUED and she wished—nearly prayed for— death as she lay on the operating table in her own personalized Hell.

  Two, the voice floated through her mind. She was relieved to slip away from the pain and back into the blackness she awakened from thirty minutes before.

  ***

  ANGEL WOKE UP in a white room, so bright it blinded her with the color. Like before, the pain brought her back to life, so she knew she was still alive. This time, she could move—much to her relief. Glancing around, she saw she was in a cubicle in the emergency room. Her damaged arm was covered with soft white cloths. What exactly had the surgery done for her? She traced the IV line beside her to the bag of saline solution above her bed. Smacking her dry lips, she suddenly wished she had a cup of water.

  The thought of human interaction made her shiver, preventing her from pressing the button to call a nurse. She closed her eyes, trying to keep the memories at bay as her grasp on reality slackened.

  Mia.

  Angel’s faithful companion for a decade. The calico cat had seen Angel through the highest times of her life, so when she was up in her years, it was Angel’s turn to take care of her. Angel didn’t know how the feisty feline had slipped from the apartment, but when she saw she was gone, she went to search for her. Standing on the street, looking around, she spotted Mia on the other side of the road. She hurried to cross, desperate to catch her friend before something bad happened to her.

  One moment, she was on her feet. The next? She lay on the ground. She never saw the car, but she felt the point of impact in her hip where it shattered. Pain filled every inch of her body, and she didn’t hear the woman crouched beside her, waving her hands above Angel’s broken body as if she thought it might heal the girl. Her gaze focused on the sky as pressure tightened in her chest. Her peripheral vision blackened as a crowd gathered. Someone called out for nine-one-one, but she knew it didn’t matter—it was too late. Death was coming to claim her, but she was powerless to fight.

  Her sight shrunk to the size of a pinhead, as if she were falling down a well, before disappearing completely—her pain along with it. When she opened her eyes again, she felt an odd sense of freedom. The burden of her emotions and conscious had been lifted. She looked around the tiny room she found herself in. It was mostly covered in shadows, except for one spotlight illuminating a figure dressed in black.

  He sat in a padded red chair, his chin pointed down as he stared at the ground. She gasped and he looked up at her through steely gray eyes.

  “Greetings and salutations,” he murmured.

  Angel licked her lips. “W-what’s going on?” she whispered.

  “I’m here to make you a deal,” he answered, clasping his hands together, his elbows resting on his knees.

  “A-a deal?” she stuttered. Her face paled at the seriousness of her situation. “Y-you’re the devil! What could you possibly have to offer me?”

  “I prefer to be called Lucifer,” he stated simply, the hint of a smirk on his thin lips.

  She blinked and waited for him to continue, feeling her heart sink in her chest.

  “You can have your life back, however, you must bring me a soul in exchange.”

  "You mean, kill someone?” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “That’ll never happen. You might as well just take my soul now.”

  “On your next birthday,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “you will be given five chances. For each time your birthday is acknowledged, you will lose a piece of your soul. If you give me a life before your soul is gone, I will return the pieces and you will be off the hook, scot-free. If the day passes and you still have pieces, but haven’t brought me a soul, I’ll let you slide until the year after that.”

  “What if I can’t do it?” she peeped, watching him stand to his feet. She bit so hard into her lip she drew a bead of blood. He smirked, stalking toward her in an almost sensual manner as he brought his face close. “Then you die,” he breathed, his lips brushing hers.

  Angel’s eyes flew open, and she shuddered. It was real—the voice—the warning. That meant three of her chances were already gone, and her birthday was only half-over. Who am I going to kill? she wondered. I can’t kill anyone.

  That thought br
ought a chuckle to the back of her mind. She knew it was his.

  Her hands felt clammy as she weighed her options. I need to get out of here, she decided. She needed to find a place to go, somewhere safe, until her nightmare was over. She glanced around a few times before stopping herself. The last thing she needed was to encounter someone else. Ripping the IV from her arm, she wrapped the bed sheet around the wound and hurried to get dressed.

  Once the IV puncture stopped bleeding, she dashed from the room, cradling her mauled arm to her chest. Everyone stared as she dashed through the halls, into the lobby, and out the front door. Shouts sounded behind her, but she didn’t stop—it was too risky. She ran back to her apartment, ignoring Gerard, and bolted up the stairs. In her apartment, she went straight to her bed, pulling her knees up to her chest, dropping her face to her lap. Tears welled up in her eyes. How had her life come to this?

  I’m glad I didn’t check Facebook today. Angel scoffed. She still had two pieces left—she had to make them count.

  The phone in her pocket rang. Plucking it free, she frowned. The caller was her mother. Voicemail, she thought. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail. Less than twenty seconds later, her phone lit up with a voicemail. Angel felt that sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach again. The decision should have been easy—ignore the voicemail until tomorrow. But what if it was an emergency?

  Her desire to know outweighed her fear, and she picked the phone up. Entering the passcode, she held the phone to her ear.

  “Hey, Angel. Since you never answer your phone, I wanted to tell you happy birth—”

  Angel rushed to hang up, but it wasn’t fast enough. She heard it.

  “No! No…no…” she whimpered, searching around for anything that could bring her harm. She didn’t hear the cracking of the chain that held up the shelf above her bed until it was too late. The heavy snow globe fell, striking her in the back of the skull before it shattered, embedding glass in the skin on her neck and shoulders. Angel screeched in pain, but managed to stay conscious as she crawled forward. She struggled to get off the bed and away from anything else that might fall on her.