Angel Dreams (An Angel Falls Book 2) Read online

  He must know I’m not going to stay here because he forces me onto my back and then pins me down with his good hand and the weight of his body.

  “Stop fighting, Jules. You have to get this thing out of you and Chris is the only one who knows how.”

  “I’ll never forgive you for this, traitor. You don’t know a thing about Chris. He’s wants to hurt me. He’s a psycho, Jared. Let me out of here.”

  “It will try everything to get you to do what it wants,” Chris says.

  He’s across the room, grabbing what looks like a dog leash and some kind of strap from a shelf by the door.

  “I know. Hurry up, man. She’s kicking my ass over here.”

  Chris ties me down to the cot. It’s crude and unbearable. When Jared takes a step back to inspect the makeshift restraints he looks straight into my eyes and shakes his head as if he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

  “I don’t know what you are, but you’re not my sister.”

  I narrow my eyes into slits and stay silent. If I could rip his throat out with my bare hands, it would not be satisfying enough.

  Wiggling under my restraints, I realize the straps aren’t very tight. With a little effort, I could probably free myself. I just have to wait until they’re not hovering.

  “Jared, will you stay to help, or should I call someone?”

  “Err… I would, but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Right now I need you to make sure she doesn’t go anywhere. I have to prepare many things for tonight and I will not be able to do that if she keeps trying to get away. Think you can manage?”

  “Yeah, no problem. I can totally do that.” Jared looks down at his big hands and then runs them over his scalp of thick hair.

  “How could you?” I hiss at him, trying once more to inflict guilt.

  Instead of answering, he moves toward the foot of the cot and sits down on a wooden chair. “Man, how did this happen to her?”

  Chris rummages through a wood box and then sets a couple leather pouches on a nearby table. He moves across the room and opens a tall cabinet, peering inside. “That’s what I’d like to know. I spoke with her at Earth’s Heart Spring in the morning and she was fine. Then last night at The Edge, she was already infected. So maybe you can tell me. What happened yesterday?”

  “She was making tea, or something, when I got home. She had a friend with her. Corrine. I’d never met her before. I wasn’t really paying attention to Jules. Corrine was, well, she’s kind of cute. Hey, Jules needed me to go pick up the car yesterday. I can’t remember if she told me a reason why, but it was strange. She left it parked on some random street.”

  “Was she herself, when you saw her making the tea?”

  “I thought so. She did say one thing that was strange. She said I had a friend waiting for me upstairs, but there wasn’t anyone. Could that have been this thing inside of her? Would she have seen it in our house?”

  As they talk about me my anger calms somewhat. It settles somewhere inside of my limbs, like a fire just under the skin. In its place, the despair I had been experiencing earlier rears its hideous face and begins to eat at me. The emptiness of a terrible loss — which I can’t fully explain — seizes me. My eyes fill with tears again. The lump in my throat is nearly suffocating and I swallow hard against it. I close my eyes to help me shut out the inevitable flood, but it doesn’t stop the tears from leaking out. They flow over my temples and into my hair. Is this insanity? Does a crazy person know that they’re insane? Or is it illusive, like trying to capture the wind? I need this uncontrollable behavior to stop.

  The distinct smell of sage smoke burns a path up my nostrils. The fiery feeling under my skin, where the rage had planted itself, alights and makes me scream.

  “Jared, this may get very difficult. I will need you through the entire night. If you cannot follow my directions exactly, then I will call someone else to help. Your Grandmother Charlotte may be more appropriate for this.”

  “Grandma? No. I don’t want her to find out about this. Jules won’t want her to know either. It’s…I’ve never heard her scream like that. It’s freaking me out, but I can handle it.”

  “It’s not her. Keep reminding yourself and it will make what I do to her easier.”

  “Right,” Jared says, but sounds unsure.

  “You said Jules told you she saw a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah, but then there wasn’t anyone,” Jared repeats his earlier answer.

  “That wasn’t the she-demon. Succubus is probably the term you are more familiar with. In our tribe, we call them she-demons. They need a body at all times or they will starve to death. It would not be waiting around for an opportunity to attach itself. It moves from one person to the next.”

  “A succubus? That’s what it is? Yeah, I’ve heard of those. Damn, Jules is screwed.”

  “Yes, something along those lines. How long has she been upset like she is now?”

  “She’s either been screaming, or crying, for maybe an hour.”

  “I believe it’s Juliana crying, not the demon. It is a good sign. She is fighting its hold on her from the inside.”

  The words I hear have two effects on me, overpowering anger, and relief. Understanding and comprehension provide the relief. The rage and the desire, the need to be with men, is not coming from me. It’s the will of the succubus.

  “I need to look in your car,” Chris says.

  I can hear the questioning tone in Jared’s, “Sure, man.”

  “Don’t touch her, or talk to her, while I’m outside unless she tries to get up. And keep this burning for me. The she-demon hates the smell and the feel of the cleansing smoke.”

  Chris is back within a couple of minutes. Although the pain and misery is still acute, I think my eyes can no longer produce anything wet. I blink hard a few times and then let my swollen eyes focus on Chris and the room that has become my prison.

  He’s holding the bottle of spring water that I saved for him from Earth’s Heart Spring. In his other hand he carries a bunch of wilted green leaves still attached to their stems and gnarled roots. I watch him put everything down on the workbench.

  In front of him is a west facing window. The last remnants of the evening sun give his red-brown skin a luminous quality. I take it as a sign, although I have no idea if it’s a good one or bad. By the time the sun sets and rises again, he’s either going to save me, kill me, or both.

  “Jared, do you know if Juliana has been injured in any way since I last saw her. What kind of tea was she making yesterday? Did it smell medicinal?”

  “The tea? Yeah. All her concoctions smell like medicine, but that wasn’t it. Hey, I forgot to tell you something. Probably because I’d been smokin’, but I think I know when this happened to her. It was last night. I heard some strange sounds and I felt this weird vibe in the house. So I went to check it out. Jules was in the bathroom. She wouldn’t answer me when I asked her if she was all right. I busted the door down and found her on the floor. Her shirt was off, and that’s when I saw it. Come over here. I’ll show you.”

  Jared stands next to the cot and points at the top of my shoulder. He reaches down and brushes my hair to the side. I know the bite mark is easy to see with my spaghetti strap tank-top on. The fierce heat of anger ripples over my skin as they stare at me. I’m completely helpless, strapped down and laid out like the frog I once dissected in science class. I want to scratch their eyes out with my fingernails. God, what’s happening to me? I don’t want to hurt my brother, and yet I do. This is madness. My nails dig into the canvas at my sides and I turn my head to stare at the rough boards of the wall on my left.

  “It is a clean wound, but I can see blood was drawn. It would be enough, I think,” Chris says.

  “What do you mean?” Jared says.

  “The demon would enter through the blood and take over her body.”

  “Is Jules…I mean, will she…be okay because, I need her to be all right. You know?”


  The stress in Jared’s voice makes me feel stronger. The thing inside me likes his suffering. I shudder at the realization.

  Chris doesn’t answer. “I have preparations to make. Why was there devil’s club roots in your car?”

  “Devil’s what?” Jared asks.

  “The roots? I found them in the back of the car while I was looking for my water. You didn’t put them there?”

  “No, no idea.”

  “Hmmph,” Chris huffs. “Keep the smudge pot burning for us while I prepare.”

  “Yeah, sure. Hey Chris, can I ask you another question?”

  There’s a silent pause between them, and then I hear my brother continue.

  “Did this happen to her because she sees things?”

  “I see them and I have never been possessed, so I say no. But because it is your sister, then maybe I’ll say maybe. She needs training.”

  I hear Chris move to the other side of the room and Jared returns to his chair. The light in the room is fading to gray, the corners deepening. It will be night soon.

  Had I known that I could actually be more uncomfortable I would have kept up my attempts to escape this awful smelling room. By the time I realize I am thirsty, have to pee, and I’m starving, I’m already so miserable that these minor inconveniences are only icing on the cake. I guess the feeling of my soul being broken and the burning rage under my skin is holding most of my attention.

  In Chris’s darkened workroom, Jared looks as if he’s asleep in the chair. He rouses himself every so often to keep the smudge pot burning. Shifting and rustling sounds from outside the screen door grab my attention. Starlight and the distant glow of a neighbor’s window provide the only light coming into the room. Chris’s eclectic mix of tools, boxes, leather bags, and various animal and bird parts have lost their definition to the dark. I stare at the back door trying to see beyond the mesh screen, but there are only shadows shifting around like restless ghosts. The sounds continue and then I see the unmistakable flicker of orange flames. The smell of burning pine dilutes the weedy smell of the sage and gives me some minor relief.

  One of the larger shadows move around the fire, making the light fade and brighten alternately. Then something, or someone, moves in front of the door blocking the flicker of firelight. It seems impossibly huge, too wide and too tall. Instinctively I want to move far away from it. Then a voice fills the night.

  “Come outside,” it says.

  Jared stands up as if he’s been waiting to leave and slips outside. If I have any opportunity to take my leave, this is it. I struggle against the leashes. One is across my lower ribs and arms and the other is strapped down just above my knees. I dig my heels into the canvas, pushing my body upward. Then I bend my upper body as far to the left as I can while inching my right arm out from under the strap. All I have to do is get my elbow to slip under the restraint and I will be as good as free.

  The sound of rattlesnakes makes me jerk back to the middle of the cot. I bury my hands under my legs trying to make myself as compact as possible. The rattling enters my ears and makes my nerve endings scream. I’m stuck here and there are snakes coming for me. Gooseflesh breaks out over my entire body and cold sweat seeps from my pores. The thumping of my heart roars through my blood as I think I hear snakes slithering across the floor. The rattling grows louder and blossoms into layers of bone chilling sound. Suddenly, it’s as if the room is full of the venomous snakes. My lungs begin to ache for air. The fear had paralyzed me and I hadn’t been breathing. I close my eyes willing the incessant noise to stop and make myself take in oxygen. It’s a slow and painful process. Most of the air feels trapped in the back of my throat. My nails dig into my palms as I focus on each breath. Breathe in, force the air out, and repeat. They must be underneath me. If I don’t move at all, they won’t know I’m here.

  My heart continues its erratic pounding rhythm. It seems to only be circulating blood to the upper half of my body. My feet are tingling and the numbing sensation is growing toward my legs while my head feels like it has become a pressure cooker.

  But pressure can only build for so long and then something has to give. In this unfortunate circumstance I’m deathly afraid my sanity will be the first thing to go. That, or my heart may give out. As I’m about to take the plunge from the precipice of reality into the depths of the unknown, my heart begins to slow. Lucidity is still far, far away, but the release valve has opened. My pulse becomes near to regular, but then as I realize it, the beating moves into every cell of my body, all the way from my hair follicles to the tips of my toenails. I feel like I’m standing next to a massive drum, THUMP-thump, THUMP-thump, THUMP-thump. In my mind I can see my blood pulsing to the beat. At least the rattlesnakes sound as if they’ve moved to the far side of the room.

  Snakes and I have an uncomfortable history. And although I don’t care for them much, I think the best way to deal with snakes is to leave them alone, and they will give you the same courtesy. This irrational paralyzing fear is not me. It’s not me! Holy Mother! The thing inside me is afraid of snakes, not me. My eyes fly open at the realization. I need to be separate from this thing. Please make this stop, I plead and beg, but no sound escapes my lips. It, has control of my body. It has control and I can’t stop it. Tears well up once again and I close my eyes against my helplessness and fall into the unseen pounding rhythms, letting the sound carry me into darkness.

  Sensing movement nearby brings me back to the surface. My eyes flicker and I see a ghost leaning over me. My already straining breath catches in my throat, making me choke. I try to shrink into the cot underneath me. His face is ash gray with a black band painted across the center in an attempt to conceal his eyes. It almost works, but the firelight reflects off the surface of his eyeballs like tiny mirrors. Even with the eyes, I’m not entirely sure it’s alive, or if it’s something undead. But there are two sets of black eyes staring down at me. As I take in this ungodly beast, I see it’s part man and part animal. The animal’s face lies above the top of the man’s head and its long furry body hangs down his back. The second head has a long muzzle, erect ears, and, thin slits for eyes — as if it’s narrowing its gaze at me. Coyote, a distant part of my brain says.

  In his hands, he beats a drum. Its surface is covered with waving lines, chasing one another around and around. More snakes. The beat gives them life, as if they’re dancing to some terrible haunting song. My heart matches the beat. Its pulse is inside me, relentless and penetrating. But my eyes are glued on the snakes. The fear and paranoia of their scales and their venom convinces me that they are going to slither off the drumhead and come for my restrained body. The rattling starts again, this time from the corner of the room. An illogical fear convinces me the snakes are everywhere, on my left, and the right, above and below. The straps holding me to the cot are the only thing keeping me from exploding into hysterics.

  Then this man-beast begins to chant. Low tones at first, mixed with the yipping and barking of a coyote. The song ends with the distinct laughing sounds of the trickster canine. I think I can feel the panting of the dirty animal breathing on me, sickening me with its musky scent. Then a new song begins, full of loud, long, calling chants. I tear my eyes away from the drum and focus on the window, wishing I could escape into the night and away from this nightmare.

  The smoke from the sage continues to burn me from the inside out. The pungent scent is mixed with something else, which only intensifies the sensation of fire moving through me. With desperation I want to stop breathing, but this only works for a few seconds before I have to inhale another burning acid lungful. Soon, I will be dry and crumbling on the inside. On the other side of the window is cool clean air. I want it desperately. A shift in the glowing firelight from outside darkens the room to near black, then lighter, then darker, as if men move around the fire ring. For a second I wonder if Jared is out there. Then anger overtakes me. I’m furious he’s allowing this torture.

  When the glow from the fire returns, I loo
k hard to my right trying to find my disloyal brother in the room. I don’t see him. Instead, I stare at another tall figure. It’s wrapped in some kind of fur giving it an enormous presence in the room. I never see its face because it’s holding a snake about two feet from my face.

  Panic overwhelms me at last and I start to buck and thrash at my restraints. I have no doubt now that if I don’t get away from here, I’m going to die. The slow smoldering burn, running like a grass fire under my skin, or the snakes will be my end. My vision becomes unfocused and the room flashes in shadowed images. The coyote, the snake, the black eyes, and the windows glowing faintly orange swim in circles around me. Chanting assaults my ears and baffles my brain, making it impossible to protest or scream. The pandemonium seems to go on forever until I’m completely lost in agonizing vertigo.

  At some point I think I’m having visions of Native Americans dressed in fur robes and wearing headdresses of animals and feathers. They seem to be concentrating on helping the looming furry beast and the snake. I continue to battle against things I don’t understand. Somewhere inside, I know no one should ever have to endure this, and I also know I’m not going to win.

  My eyes close to the visual torture. The inner darkness behind my lids provides no comfort. It allows my other senses to heighten, and for me to focus on the searing heat which is taking over my insides. The burning smoke has penetrated the inside of my limbs and is moving slowly to my core. The agitation of listening to the unseen rattlesnakes in the room makes me feel like I’m being bitten by a million fire ants simultaneously. Strangely, only a small patch of my abdomen seems unaffected by the burning. With all my concentration I try to stop thrashing and focus on the one part of my body that’s not in anguish. Below my ribs and in the center of my belly is one spot where the painful sensations stop. Out of curiosity, my hand moves to it, but I can’t reach because of the straps. As I concentrate on my stomach, I feel streaks of something heavy, yet fluid, moving to my center and collecting like a pool of molten lead just underneath my navel.