Destined to Fall (An Angel Falls Book 5) Page 10

  “He doesn’t know you yet. Has no idea you’re our horse whisperer.”

  “Shut up, dude. My parents forced me to take care of them my whole damned life. That’s the only reason I know anything about horses.”

  “Tell Arrio your back story. I already know it.”

  “Shit. Did you hear that?” Steven slips into a black hole of a shadow next to the decaying shack.

  “Stop being so jumpy. It’s only Arrio or one of the horses,” Dominic says.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Chill the fuck out. Maybe it’s Pip, returned from the dead. He swore he’d never leave his brothers.”

  “Not cool, Dominic. Something is seriously off the mark tonight.”

  “Didn’t realize how creeped out you are. Was Pipoo whispering in your ear tonight?” Dominic teases.

  Steven glances around again. I would swear if his face wasn’t blackened with paint, it would be pale as snow.

  “That’s not funny. And you know what else? We don’t even know if Trent is fucking alive or not. Now go find your stupid cousin’s friend so we can get out of here.”

  “I know it’s no joke, asswipe, but we accomplished what we set out to do and I’m going to celebrate. With my new scars or without them. Alive or dead. We’re warriors and if Trent didn’t make it, I’ll honor his sacrifice. And because I trust your instincts, I’ll go put a stop to Arrio’s fantasizing. The idiot wants to buy a four-wheeler with his share of the cash.” Dominic disappears around the other side of the broken timbers where the horses are being kept.

  Steven shakes his head in contempt or disgust. I don’t understand his motivations and I’m constantly guessing what propels his actions. Steven doesn’t wait for Dominic and Arrio and starts walking toward the mountain they call the Bull’s Horn.

  “I’m not your buddy, Pip,” I say to Steven after Dominic’s out of earshot.

  My client jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out a lighter. The lid of the steel case flips open with a clink. Steven waves the little blue and yellow flame in front of him.

  “Get away from me.”

  “Are you feeling like a man now after stealing someone else’s property?”

  “Stop hiding so I can rearrange your face with my fist.”

  “Not going to happen,” I say.

  Steven turns around and heads back to his friends.

  “They can hear me, too. You’re not crazy. I choose not to talk when they’re around.”

  “Shut up,” Steven says.

  “I’m trying to guide you away from the dark side,” I say, and wonder if he appreciates my sense of humor.

  “You are Pip, aren’t you?”

  “Do I sound like old dead Pipoo?”

  Steven hurries toward the temporary corral and then stops short when we hear an unrecognizable yip-yipping of some unknown animal. Horse hooves pound the earth at high speed and echo off the canyon walls. I take leave of Steven to check out the unseen, the unknown, the mystery of what’s happening.

  Dominic and Arrio are on their knees in the dirt behind the fallen shack. A torch suddenly flares to life, exposing their blindfolded faces. Their hands are tied behind their backs. A man wearing a fur cape over his shoulders crouches down to tie their ankles together with lengths of rope. Both abductors, the man holding the torch and the other one wear pale sacks over their heads. Their masks are almost comical with the childlike drawings of faces on burlap.

  Taking in the scene, I almost laugh out loud at the wiles of instant karma. Then I remember Steven hasn’t been caught, and he apparently still needs my services, otherwise, I would be assigned a new case.

  “How many others are out there?” The man in furs asks.

  Arrio and Dominic remain silent. I move with the speed of my thoughts and return to Steven. He’s loading his bow with an arrow.

  “Still think you owe your brothers something? Loyalty? Allegiance? Kinship? What is it, Steven? Why risk your life for this?”

  He ignores me and moves around some rocks to position himself behind a tree. He has a clear shot at the intruders. I’ve seen him hit targets from a roof and I know his aim is deadly. I step more or less out of thin air and let him see me at last.

  He almost drops the bow.

  “Get out of here,” I whisper. “Why don’t you care if you’re killed or are going to kill?”

  “What are you?”

  “I already told you. Your conscience.”

  “I don’t have one of those.” He aims his bow at the hooded figure holding the torch.

  “If you don’t care, then why are you saving your friends?”

  “I’ll shoot you then, you son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Go right ahead,” I challenge. “Your pals are tied up so it’ll be three against one. You want to take on those odds?”

  Steven whirls on me and I disappear.

  “Never leave your friends behind at any cost,” he hisses in the dark.

  The short delay gives the masked raiders time to start a campfire. Dominic and Arrio lie on their sides in the wash of firelight. Dominic struggles against his ropes and the captor nearest him leans over and says something in his ear. He stops squirming. The man draped with animal furs walks farther up the canyon in the direction of the horses. A gray and black dog trails at his heels. Steven repositions for another shot. I won’t let him become a cold killer. His moral compass may be askew but mine isn’t.

  Something curious happens that stops Steven and the abductor. Something large swoops out of the sky, aiming directly for the fur-covered man. He’s knocked off balance and stumbles. The dog barks. The man regains his footing and dives toward the campfire.

  He begins yelling words I can’t understand. He rises, holding a torch he grabbed from the fire. He waves the flames in the air, sparks showering the ground, himself, and his prisoners.

  The shadow returns and flies close over Dominic and Arrio. It has the shape of a man’s form. Stretched and distorted but still a man. His face looks a lot like Steven’s: the black and white paint. The spirit reeks with anger and malice. The other masked man hurries to open a bag on the ground near some other supplies. The one wearing animal furs continues ranting in what I think is a Native language. The ghost doesn’t appear to appreciate the flames of the torch. He dives and darts around the man, but stays clear of the fire. With fierce determination, the ghost switches focus to the other man. The masked figure drops the bag, spins to face the vengeful ghost, and shakes a rattle in its unearthly face. Long straight hairs hang from the end of the painted rattle. The sound vibrates through the air and shakes me to my core. Something I have never experienced before as an angel. The spirit pulls back, switches direction, and heads skyward, quickly becoming an ink blur diffusing the starlight.

  “Horse thief and coward! Great Spirit calls you to the void,” the man yells.

  “Pip,” Steven mutters and lowers his bow. He begins to back away.

  “If you are a true warrior, follow your destiny and join your ancestors!” the masked man bellows.

  Pip, if that is who it is, returns from the sky. His face is even more distorted. Eyes and mouth wide open as if he’s silently yelling. A sharp wind arrives with the ghost, blasting everything in its path. The two men stand their ground. Their masks and clothes whip around in the gusts. The wind hits Steven and he cowers close to the ground.

  “You are a prideful fool. You dishonor yourself and your family. Be humble and be away from here. Find your good ancestors.”

  Steven scrambles away, but I continue to watch the supernatural spectacle. The malformed spirit of Pipoo shrinks. His elongated face begins to look slightly more natural. As natural as a ghost’s face can look.

  “Take the Red Road now, ghost!” the man yells.

  Something about the man or his words triggers a lightbulb moment inside my cluttered memory. I grasp for clarity and then it hits me like a blow to the noggin. Chris. The hooded masked man is Chris Abeyta. The other man must be his father.
<
br />   I’m so transfixed by my sudden enlightenment that I don’t notice Steven has rearmed his bow. The zing of the flying arrow slaps me back to the reality facing my client. The arrow pierces Chris’s thigh. He drops to his knees. Chris’s father holds the torch and bends down to retrieve the rattle from Chris’s hand. The older man wields a weapon in each hand. He growls at the spirit like an angered bear and calls out his demands in the Native language. Pip’s spirit backs off, does one last flyby over Dominic and Arrio then disappears.

  Steven loads another arrow. I pull my body to myself and yank the bow from Steven’s hands. The shock of my action causes a brief blip on his radar, but he recovers and grabs his knife. My nostrils flare as I grind my back teeth together. The warning look I give my client says everything without the use of words. I remain in my physical body but move as fast as possible to Chris’s side. I’m sure I appear as a passing blur to my misguided client.

  ∞

  Juliana

  Guns, bows and arrows, and blood. And of course, fire. What is happening to my dreams? Was it a dream? Or was it a vision? It felt like a dream, but it had the same loftiness, the disconnection from my body feeling as the visions. I bury my head under my pillow and groan. How can I go through life with images of gaping wounds and oozing rivulets of blood? The walls of flame and the haunted faces circling in the background when I close my eyes are unacceptable. I reach to my neck and wrap my fingers around the beaded talisman Chris gave me. Such a lovely gift to protect me from the recently dead, isn’t it? At least, this gives me some comfort that I’m not being harassed in my sleep by the freshly departed.

  From beneath the corner of the pillow, I peer out to check on the small herbal wreath hanging over the door. It appears undisturbed, leafy, fragrant, and yet another attempt to keep the baddies away. My mind continues to search in vain for a logical reason to explain my illogical paranormal paranoia. I hang my head over the side of the bed looking for shoes or fallen brooms or anything else to lay blame on for the nightmare. Cat hair and dirty pants don’t have some esoteric meaning, do they?

  “Crapazoids,” I mutter, and bury myself under the pillow and blankets once more. It’s dark and warm and I wish I could go back to sleep, but the vision won’t quit pestering me. Did I imagine the faces of Nathaniel and Chris? Was it really them? No one I care about should be a part of this nightmarish vision.

  Curiosity and a brain that won’t shut up makes me crack open the covers and check the clock. The hands aren’t moving. Super. My clock juju strikes again, and I’ve broken another darn clock. The hands are stuck on three thirty-two. It’s dark outside, so it isn’t morning yet. I shift beneath the covers and Mother Nature decides I need to visit the restroom.

  On my way back to my bedroom, I hesitate in front of Jared’s door.

  “Jared?” I whisper, and wait for an answer. My ears strain against the silence.

  After no reply, I crack open the door and peer inside. I find myself watching my brother a lot more than I used to. Knowing he won’t be around to look at much longer has changed my behavior. It’s like I’m trying to capture his image and keep it inside a special Jared vault for later examination. When he laughs or smiles and when he’s totally in the zone playing his guitar, these moments are the keepers. I’m memorizing the part in Jared’s thick black hair and the space between his narrow nose and wide mouth. The sparkle in his eyes causes more of a feeling inside me than a definable characteristic. I’ll never forget that unique aspect of my brother. I catch myself checking in on him regularly. How could I not?

  The glow from the stereo casts an eerie light throughout the room. Jared’s not asleep when I walk in. He sits up in bed and pushes his headphones off.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Couldn’t sleep. I’m listening to our album. Again. I did it, Jules. We did it. If I die right now, at least I accomplished this.” He tips his head at the CD player.

  “It’s really done?”

  “There’s one last approval for minor stuff. And we have to proof the artwork, credits, and lyric sheets, but yeah, this is it.”

  “Awesome. I always knew you could do it.” I walk farther into the room.

  “What’s up with you? Ghosts in the closet again?” he asks.

  “Sort of,” I admit.

  “Want me to kick’em to the curb for you?” he asks.

  “Wish you could, but they’re inside my head this time.”

  “Want me to kick you instead? Don’t say yes. I’m trying to be a better brother, remember?”

  “I thought you were the one who needs a butt kicking?”

  “Bloody hell,” Jared sighs with dramatic flair. “I have to teach you to cuss before I die.”

  “I doubt that’s going to go over very well with my morals and integrity department.”

  “Give a dying man his final wish and say the word ass already.”

  I shake my head at him. “Not happening.”

  “You’re not a fucking prude, so what’s the big deal?”

  I shrug. Other people say whatever they want and it doesn’t bother me at all. I think it’s because my parents never cussed, so I don’t either.

  “Speaking of not being prude, where’s Nathaniel? I know he’s here almost every night.”

  “He’s working. I think.”

  “I’ve got a few ghosts haunting my sleep, too,” Jared says, returning to the previous topic.

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Jared throws back the covers and steps out of bed. He turns his baby browns on me and his characteristic sparkle melts my heart. “Get dressed and meet me on the back deck in ten minutes.”

  ∞

  “I haven’t seen the sun rise in a long time,” Jared says. “Maybe I’ve never really seen one. The sun comes up every day, but I never pay attention. It’s kind of like breathing. It just happens. I’ve taken too much for granted, Jules.”

  The predawn air is brisk against my cheeks. The dry grasses and pine debris crunch below our hiking boots. I breathe in and notice the lack of scent in the crisp morning chill. Jared surprises me when he leads us to our old fort in the forest behind the house. The younger kids in the neighborhood had claimed our fort as their own years ago. There are fresh boards holding the ramshackle little shack together and other evidence that kids have been here recently.

  Sitting on an old blanket in front of the fort, I lean far to my right to see the corner of our house peeking out of the treetops.

  My dad, Jared, and I started the fort when I was little. Dad loaded up his wheelbarrow with scraps of lumber one Saturday morning and said, “Come on. I’ve got a project for you two rascals.” And it had begun just like that. It was a steep climb up the hill into the forest behind our house and not easy going with two squirrelly kids and a bunch of wood, but Dad said a fort needed a view so you could see your attackers coming. Jared and I loved the fort. We had the freedom to escape our parents and make up our own rules and it was one of the best things my dad ever gave us.

  The sky begins to lighten in the east, but it will be a while before we see the sun. Marcus is somewhere nearby, but he’s kind enough, or polite enough, to stay out of sight.

  “Thanks for this,” I say as I pull the edge of the blanket over my lap.

  Jared brought the blanket, flashlight, and breakfast, too.

  “You want a cinnamon roll?” he asks as he pops open a container stuffed full of them.

  “Not yet,” I say and smile. Maybe my mom has a feeling she’s not sharing with us about Jared’s fate. She’s been keeping the kitchen stocked with all of Jared’s favorite foods. Or maybe she is just proud of him for his accomplishments with the band.

  “Of all the people I know, I thought you would be the best one to watch with,” he says.

  “Why?” I ask, surprised by his thoughtful remark.

  “You love this kind of stuff. You’re like the super nature girl. You’re al
ways excited about plants and rocks and stars and shit.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

  “I don’t mean it like that. It’s a good thing. It’s you. If I wanted to go get pizza or calzones, I’d find Derrick. He knows the best places for food. And with Star, just being around her helps me hear music in a new way. Playing with her taught me a ton about the structure of a song. She helped me understand the parts that make a song grab your ear. It’s strange, but I think we absorb information and influence from one another without really trying. Like osmosis or something.”

  “I didn’t know you were such a deep thinker, brother.”

  “I’m not,” he defends. “I couldn’t sleep last night, that’s all. But I know if I want to experience nature, you’ve got to be the person to see it with.”

  “Hmmm,” I hum. The sound is noncommittal as I think on it for a minute. Then I bump my shoulder against his and grin. Whether he knows it or not, Jared is making amends for his slip-up on using drugs. Just because he has a drug problem doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. He’s an amazing person and I love him no matter what.

  The sky lightens one degree at a time. The distinction between the trees, shrubs, and rocks is easier by the minute. A hint of gold touches the bottom of the clouds promising colors yet to come.

  Jared leans in next to my ear. “Over there.” He points to the trees on his left.

  My breath catches and my hearts skips to a new unnerving beat. I grab Jared’s arm and wonder if we should hightail it to the house or dive into the fort. A bear is about fifteen yards from us, shuffling through the forest. It’s headed west and doesn’t see my trembling body. Before either of us moves an inch, the bear disappears into the woods and is lost from sight.

  “If you want the outdoor experience, call Juliana Crowson,” Jared says as he stares at me wearing his wide, goofy grin.

  “I had absolutely nothing to do with that,” I say, still in mild shock we didn’t even attempt to run away from the potentially big bad bear. “I’m glad he didn’t want cinnamon rolls for breakfast,” I whisper.

  “Oh, man,” Jared says with regret. “We could’ve fed a bear. Why didn’t you say that a minute ago?”