Haunting Me (An Angel Falls Book 3) Page 2

  “I wondered how you found me up here,” she confesses as if she’d been contemplating my otherworldly existence.

  “Do you want to know what’s on the other side of this life?” I ask, venturing into entirely new territory. I’ve never had the opportunity to tell someone about what death brings before they pass. It’s sort of like drying off before jumping into the pool. It doesn’t make sense to do it and would be a waste of time. But neither have I shown myself to a client so openly before they were dead or very close to it.

  “What good will that do? I’m about to find out anyway.”

  “Just an offer. My name is Nathaniel, and I’m here to help you in any way I can.” I see her back stiffen, so I keep talking before she can rebuke me again. “We may as well introduce ourselves because we’re stuck with one another for a while.”

  Her shoulders tremble beneath a jade green knitted shawl. At first I think she has started silently sobbing, but then she pivots on her heels, facing me. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is pressed into a tight line, but the corners of her lips are turned up and are twitching with mirth. She shakes her head as if she can’t believe what is standing before her. She walks over to me.

  When she looks up and meets my gaze, I’m the one who wants to take another step back. She has the same remarkable green eyes as Juliana. Only the whites of her eyes are not as bright and the placements of the gold and red specks are in a slightly different arrangement. Looking at her eye color makes me ache to steal away and be with my girlfriend.

  “Thank you,” she says still smiling. “Your honesty is refreshing to say the least. Now tell me why you’re really up here harassing an old dying witch.”

  I swallow my need to be with Jules and answer. “As I said, I’m here for you. To help you along the way.”

  “And what would you say if I told you I’ve never needed help from anyone and don’t want it either.”

  “I’d say you must be a very strong woman, and probably very stubborn.”

  “You got it. Now go away,” she orders but doesn’t return to the cliff edge.

  “Are you planning to jump? Because if you are, you’re my first to do so.”

  “I’m a big recycler,” she tells me.

  I raise questioning brows at her.

  “Let the fishes and the worms have me. I won’t be put in a box in the ground. Not particularly fond of fire either. So, this is my choice. Don’t you stop me, Nathaniel,” she says in a wonderfully scolding granny voice.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

  She frowns and narrows one green eye at me.

  “Well, what’s the matter with you? What kind of person lets someone jump to their death right in front of them?”

  I feel my brows rise even higher. “You just ordered me not to stop you.”

  “You’ve missed my point entirely.” Her scowl deepens and she half turns, looking over her shoulder at the drop-off or maybe the astonishing view.

  Past the gorge, distant white-capped mountains line the horizon with miles of tree and rock covered wilderness between. An endless cloud-streaked sapphire sky lies over the land. To the west, the sun is low, highlighting the edge of the clouds with gold and silver.

  “You’ve picked the ideal spot,” I admit.

  “You think so. Hmmph,” she snorts.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “No doubt about it.”

  “Is there anything that will change your mind?”

  She takes a deep breath. I hear a faint rattle as she exhales. Her green eyes look up to mine and I see something move through her, or possibly many things.

  “You’re determined to stall me, aren’t you?”

  “Any life deserves examination before something this drastic.”

  She seems to take my words and chew on them for a minute before coming up with a well thought out response. “Well, mine’s not all that complicated.” She stands up taller, squaring her shoulders, and shows me the pride with which she has made her decision. “I’m sick, and old, and alone. And more than that, I can’t live with myself any longer.”

  “Now I am the one who appreciates your honesty, Miss…?” I pause, letting her fill in the blank.

  “Vivian Costa. Call me Vivi if you would. There isn’t much room for formality in this so-called life of mine.”

  “All right, Vivi,” I say, watching her face harden with a slight setting of her jaw.

  “I’m not here to stop you,” I say, and those green eyes of hers narrow a touch more as if she isn’t buying my story. “Not exactly,” I amend. “You’re free to make your own choices.” Stepping aside, I give her some more room as if we were crowding one another, instead of standing on top of a wide bluff.

  “I wasn’t expecting an audience,” she says and her voice crackles, sounding like a worn recording.

  “I wasn’t expecting three suicides back to back, but here we are,” I say, sounding more than a little put out by my present circumstances.

  “Hmmph,” she huffs again and walks back to her ledge.

  I think she’s going to do this. Regret wells up inside me and I have to force myself to not follow and pull her away. So much loss, and why? Don’t these people know they’re wasting the most precious gift they’ll ever receive? If I could have my life back I would snatch it up so fast you’d miss it if you blinked. I’d run straight toward love and laughter and any experience put before me. Life is challenging. I’m not in denial about it or fantasizing about some romantic screenplay where every day is all sunshine, daisies, and ice cream trucks. But there’s nothing and nowhere else in the universe where every second you get the opportunity to experience free will at the exact moment everyone else around you is doing the same thing. To take that and throw it away is almost unthinkable, and yet people do it all the time. Three in a row. Have I ever mentioned that my afterlife isn’t exactly what I pictured for myself?

  Mumbling sounds from Vivi are lost to the wind. It makes me shake off my idle contemplation and open my eyes. I didn’t realize I had closed them. Unable to face the harsher side of reality, I stare at the tufts of hardy plant life growing out of the decomposing granite and think of Juliana. She would know the name of the little white flowers growing around my feet and what that woody shrub over there is called. She knows how to prepare it into medicine and use it to heal people. Juliana, I’m coming as soon as I can.

  “Today is not my day,” Vivi proclaims. “I’ve always been the contrary type. If other people are killing themselves today, then by the Earth’s magic, I won’t be one of them.” She picks a careful path over the rocky ground while holding her shawl closed over her chest.

  Somewhere over my shoulder I hear her say, “Now, quit looking like someone pissed in your Cheerios and help an old woman back to her cabin.”

  Chapter Three: Regrets

  Juliana

  With Mom off running errands before her nightshift at the hospital, Jared was left alone. After a quick survey inside the house and no sign of him, a tingle of panic threatens to rear up, ugly and unwanted. Please let him be okay. It’s been my mantra since I realized Marcus, the Angel of Death, was hanging around for my brother and not me. Jared promised he would stay home to recover from his last near death experience, so he should be here. I call out and wait for an answer. When he doesn’t respond, I grab the phone in the kitchen and start to call my mom, thinking Jared may be with her. Before I finish dialing I see him through the window. He’s backing out of the garden shed, holding onto something large and black. Jared wrinkles up his nose and sneezes into a cloud of dust and cobwebs.

  Squinting into the afternoon light, I watch him cross the yard and place a scrolling iron clock on the deck stairs. What is he doing? The dead clock sits like an unwanted metaphor, an awful reminder of what he will soon be facing. Caught up in the irony of the moment, I don’t notice what Jared’s doing next until I slide open the door and step outside. I should be drenched with the smell of warm deck wood a
nd sun-baked pines, but instead another recognizable odor hits me. Sweet but pungent, and unmistakable.

  I shudder and close my eyes for a long second.

  Marcus is the first to speak. “Evenin’, Jules.”

  I press my lips tightly shut. Angel or not, I’m making a huge effort not to speak to spirits when there are other people present who can’t see them. Which is pretty much everyone, including my brother.

  “It does you a world of good to get out and get your mind on other matters. I can assure you Jared will be fine,” Marcus says.

  “Hmm-hmm,” I clear my throat, hoping Marcus will get a clue.

  Jared gives me a lopsided grin. There’s a joint hanging from his lips as he slides a lighter into his pocket.

  He takes a hit, holds it, then exhales a stream of smoke saying, “Are cats the only ones with nine lives?”

  “It’s not literal J,” I say as fury begins to boil my blood. “It’s just a figure of speech.”

  “No way, really?” he says, his mocking tone crawling under my skin. “I thought they actually bite it and come back nine times.”

  His sarcasm makes me realize that in my hasty anger over the smell in the air, I’m the one being unintelligent, but I’m still fuming about the pot. He continues his train of thought. He probably has to before his hazy brain forgets.

  “I almost fell out a window.” Standing below the deck in the backyard, he rocks back on his heels, raises a hand, and counts off his near death experiences. “Then there was the elk in the road. And that damned strawberry.” He holds up three sun-tanned fingers.

  “I don’t think you should say it out loud,” I say feeling my superstitious nature kick in. “It can’t be wise to talk about cheating death when your chauffeur is sitting ten measly feet away.”

  He continues as if he doesn’t hear me. “And my near miss with those pills. It’s feline vibes. I can feel it. Which means five more lives. Ask Marcus if people have nine lives.”

  “Ask him yourself,” I say.

  “It’s less common than roast beef at a vegan supper,” Marcus says from his seat at the deck table.

  Increasingly more difficult to ignore Marcus, I shoot him a scorching look and turn to see Jared pocket the roach end of the joint, pick up the clock, and hop up the stairs.

  “Having a personal moment?” he says, finally starting to catch on to my bad mood.

  “No,” I say coldly. “I’m having the kind of moment when someone realizes they’ve been lied to. The kind of moment when you recognize everything you’ve said or done was for nothing.”

  I grind my teeth together and stare into his slightly out-of-focus stoned eyes.

  “What are you worked up about?” He stops halfway up the steps and tips his head to the side looking at me on an angle. “Your cat is majorly slacking off on the job. There’s a rodent population explosion happening right in our back yard. The shed is full of mouse turds.”

  My blood pressure is about to reach its bursting point. “Cats and mice?” I say in disbelief. I step back and cross my arms over my chest. “You’re getting high right in front of me. God, Jared, you promised me you weren’t going to do any more drugs. Not after…well after the last time it almost killed you.”

  “You’re worse than Mom,” he says and starts for the back door, walking past me like I no longer exist.

  “You want to die, don’t you?” Emotion rises into my throat. He doesn’t seem to care at all about going back on his promise, or that the drugs are a big reason he’s in this situation to begin with.

  Jared halts his retreat. He’s covered with dust and spider webs but doesn’t seem to notice or care. “Pot isn’t going to kill me, so back off.”

  “It’s a mind-altering drug, Jared. You said you’d stop using.”

  “It helps me chill out.” He pauses, blinks slowly at me, and adds, “You harassing me, isn’t helping. Maybe you should try smoking it sometime.” He walks into the house muttering, “Buzzkill.”

  I take a long shaky breath and try to stuff my hurt and frustration where it’s not so noticeable. It only partially helps. Urrrg! How could he!

  I watch him set the clock down on the dining room table and inspect the back. He fiddles with the dials for a minute, moves the clock to the corner cabinet, and leaves the kitchen.

  On my way upstairs, I stare at his decorative addition to the dining area and see the hands stop moving as soon as I look at the stupid thing. I close my eyes, groan and curse myself for having a bizarre life.

  Slamming the bedroom door produces minimal satisfaction, but turning on my stereo definitely helps ease the tension. Across the hall, Jared’s small amp blares out every song he has ever played. I turn my stereo up like it’s a competition. I grab my new borrowed book and my notebook and flop down onto my bed. Jared smokes and plays his guitar to relieve stress, and I write the anxiety out of me.

  On a blank sheet of paper, I scratch out a long continuous string of obscenities.

  Jared smoking pot may not be a problem. I know this. But I also know my brother, and he won’t stop with just a joint. He likes to get high too much. It may be a joint today, but if someone were to offer him a joint and a beer, he’d take it. Then it’ll be a joint and a beer and whatever else he can get high on. Jared is extreme in every way. He never holds back. It killed him the last time he mixed pills with other drugs. If Nathaniel hadn’t been there, Jared would already be in the ground. That’s why he has to stop all drugs. Completely cold turkey is the only thing that is going to work for him. Why can’t he see it?

  I look over the cuss words and punch the notebook. I take a deep breath and lean back against the pillows. As I readjust to get more comfortable, my hand brushes something and I stare down at the cover of Navigating Life, Death, and the Afterlife. I flip the book open to the table of contents. There are only three chapters: “Life.” “Death.” “The Afterlife”. Wow, that’s helpful. I close it again and really look at it. It’s thick, black and has what looks like an expensive leather binding. It reeks of Nag Champa incense — like everything at the new age store. I open it to the first page and read the introduction.

  Within these pages, you will find the keys to life and living beyond breath and time. Caution and respect will bring full realization to your desires.

  Carelessness may result in damages that cannot be remedied.

  This collection is the private works of the Treador line and all credit should be fully recognized and given.

  Flipping through the pages at random, I stop every now and again to look at a chart, diagram, or list of ingredients. This may not be what I thought it was. When I read the directions under a heading titled, “Summoning”, I find myself repelled but also a little intrigued. Halfway down the page and a little more confused, I flip to the back of the book. The part about the afterlife. Jared is heading there and Nathaniel has been a resident for some time. Even if this book is a grimoire, as I suspect, there may be some useful information here. It couldn’t hurt to look.

  When I see a black and white drawing of a winged man standing over someone lying on the ground, I freeze, my eyes glued to the page. The winged man’s face is shadowed. The man on the ground is dead or dying. Blood spills from a chest wound. Uncertainty causes my spine to stiffen. Am I willing to continue looking for answers that maybe I shouldn’t know? What if I could help Jared live longer? On a page in my notebook, I jot down a few lines from the book that stand out to me.

  Find the guardian. His back must be turned. Ensure that the shade is closed and the guardian’s sight is veiled. A switch is put in place. Choose wisely the replacement, strong of mind and of soul. One will pass, the other will live on. Beware the guardian. He will fight for his charge and intercept what is being fought for. Vengeance can devastate all.

  I continue browsing and see a note in the margin. Tight pointed handwriting says, “Open with caution. The undoing requires more precision. A master is required”. This is written next to three short lines of text. I
mumble the odd sentences to myself, barely hearing my own voice over the loud music from the stereo. “Pass the folds. Travel light. Venit huc.”

  Feeling suddenly as if my eyes were very dry and cloudy I blink a few times. Something feels strange. I can’t say exactly what it is, but I close the book and toss it away. It lands on the edge of the bed and falls to the floor with a heavy thump. It’s not even my book. What am I doing with it anyway? I can’t change fate. Can I? Why did I let myself think I could save Jared, or bring Nathaniel back to life? Gah! My head must be on crooked today.

  The popping sound of pressure releasing in the roof or in the walls makes me jump. I wait for a second crack or creak of a joist, but nothing else happens. The phone rings, fully interrupting my weird headspace. I glance at the caller I.D. before answering and Jared picks it up before I can press the on button. My eyes skip to the clock on the screen.

  “Bloody effing brilliant!” It’s getting late and I haven’t even started getting ready for my date.

  Chapter Four: Awaiting a Shadow

  Juliana

  “What’s up, Jules? You going out?”

  “Were you looking for something?” I ask, letting the lid of my trunk drop closed.

  He’s standing at my door and his gaze lowers to the steamer trunk at my back and returns quickly to my face.

  We have an unspoken agreement about the private contents of the trunk I use as my nightstand. He stays out of it and I pretend there isn’t anything of interest inside. In fact, I think if anyone were to go snooping inside the black and brass chest they wouldn’t find anything particularly interesting or worth stealing. Maybe a couple of things, but mostly the objects inside are mementos I’m not willing to part with.

  “Believe me, I know better.”