Angel Dreams (An Angel Falls Book 2) Page 22

  Chapter Seventeen: Fantasy and Reality

  Juliana

  Waking up from a long night’s sleep can be an event in and of itself. Most mornings, my consciousness takes its lazy time to come to the surface. What keeps me lying around for longer than necessary is recalling fragments of my dreams. They’re explicit in detail, and most often baffling to try and make sense of, but I will lie in bed and try to piece together the scraps even if I can’t understand their hidden meanings. Then after the warm fuzzy feeling of being cocooned in my bed wears away, I make myself get up and embrace the day.

  Last night, I think I was in a coma for most of the passing stars, but at some point I began to dream about the airport. I’ve been to only a few airports in my life and the one in my dream, I didn’t recognize. None the less, I was in the airport, and I was rushing, of course. I was in an absolute panic to catch my plane. The anxiety over missing my flight was enough to make my heart pound and my eyeballs bulge. There were too many people in this airport and my suitcase was too heavy. Every step I took, there was someone who needed something from me, or someone else keeping me from my gate. Directions to the restroom, what time is it, please have your luggage checked at customs, can you hold this for me? Finally, I ascend an escalator that is too long, and too high, with too many passengers blocking my way, but it eventually leads me to the door of the plane. I board and as I’m about to take my seat, I see Jared sitting between Nathaniel and a man I think I know, but I’m so distracted by Nathaniel that I ignore my brother and the other man, as Nathaniel’s gray eyes lock with mine. The gloomy sea of misery on his face makes me catch my breath. His face is still gorgeous, but the new lines of stress stand out like fresh blood of a recent roadkill on the highway. All I can think of is how am I going to help him. Nathaniel doesn’t deserve this pressure. None of this is his fault. He breaks our connection first as he turns his head to stare out the window.

  I look to my brother who doesn’t see me. He’s animatedly bobbing his head and smiling as he talks to the man next to him. With shock I realize the other man is my father.

  “Dad!” I say, but he doesn’t look up.

  As I try to make my way down the aisle, I’m stopped again, this time by a flight attendant.

  “Please take your seat, miss. You’re holding up our departure,” she says in a tone that is partly authoritative but mostly bitchy.

  She’s full body blocking me. I try to ease around her anyway, but she points to a seat on my left and says, “Right there. Sit down and fasten your seatbelt. It’s going to be a very turbulent flight.”

  “Umm, I just need a second,” I say.

  “Nooo,” she draws out the word, giving it an extra syllable.

  I don’t sit down in the offered seat. “My seat is back there,” I argue.

  She huffs at me as I push past her. Jared and my father still haven’t seen me standing only feet away. The aisle stretches on as I try to get to them and can’t.

  “Jared, Dad,” I call. And when they don’t look up, I say, “Nathaniel?”

  The plane begins to take off, even though I’m still shuffling down the aisle toward the three men I care about more than anything else in the world. No one seems to notice. “Hey, wait,” I say and turn to look toward the cockpit but we’re in the sky already. The dropping sensation in my stomach tells me we’re climbing in altitude and climbing fast. I stare at the cockpit door, which is open, but I don’t see anyone. As I wonder who’s flying this thing, I’m aware that the entire plane is missing all of its passengers. Everyone has disappeared. I spin around to check on my brother and dad, but they’re gone as well. Only Nathaniel is on the plane with me, and he’s now standing right in front of me.

  “Come on,” he says and holds out a hand to me. His face is still serious, but the fact that he’s speaking to me at all is encouraging. Without question, I take his hand. It’s strong and warm as it wraps securely around mine.

  “We don’t need the plane, Juliana.”

  As he tells me this, the plane disappears, and we begin to fly through the night sky. First there is weightlessness, followed by a rush of confidence. I let go of his hand and begin to spin, flip, soar, and dive, anything I can imagine to enhance this freedom from the confines of my body. Nathaniel flies next to me, but he’s more subdued, foregoing the aerial tricks. He laughs at my enthusiasm and his smile sends jolts of bliss through me.

  “Oh my god, this is so incredible,” I say.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t flown before,” he says.

  “I think I have, but every time is amazing.”

  “You’re amazing,” he says.

  “I’m not. I’m just having fun,” I say as I soar straight ahead and then tuck and roll into two perfect summersaults, finishing on my back and begin to backstroke like I’m in an endless pool with only the heavens to guide me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks me from somewhere over my right shoulder.

  “Swimming, and flying. You should try it. This must be how a penguin feels in the water,” I say, feeling buoyant and amazing.

  “Are you a penguin tonight? It fits. They’re the supposed experts of slipping in and out of their body.”

  “What are you talking about?” I say, and laugh. “Like, out of body experiences?”

  “Penguins soar underwater like a bird through the air, but they can also jump straight out of the ocean and onto the land. They leave one realm and enter another with perfect ease. Like what you’re doing right now.”

  “Is that what I’m doing?” I ask, feeling a little heavier suddenly.

  “You tell me, water bird.”

  I ignore his implications about me being out of my body. I don’t want to lose this perfect moment of freedom. It’s the best feeling in existence and I’m not willing to let go of it yet. I do a quick loop around him, enjoying the movement and the wind in my hair as it flows behind me. Then I float over next to him, and stare down at a disturbance.

  “Hey, look over there,” I say, distracted by the view.

  A circling mass, almost like how I would imagine the beginning of a tornado would look like, is far below us. Nathaniel tenses.

  “What is it?” I ask. Wanting to know both what I’m seeing and why Nathaniel is suddenly so grim.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why?”

  Nathaniel shakes his head as an answer. I find that completely unsatisfactory so I decide to move closer and take a look for myself. Diving through the cool night air is exhilarating. The stars become an audience of light, watching my back as the ground rushes up to me.

  “Juliana, stop. Just wait.”

  I pull up at his plea, hovering in the midnight air. My eyes, however, never leave the scene below. I recognize where I am. I’ve traveled on that highway through the town below since I was born. It’s unmistakable. I’m flying over my own town. The high school roof is almost directly beneath me. The swirling eddy of dark clouds, which is neither water nor wind, is close by. I try to pinpoint exactly where it is and it doesn’t take me very long. The streets look different from a bird’s eye view, but I recognize the way. I can clearly see Cemetery Road and the turn off to the gates, and then nothing. The eerie mass of gray and black is over Hilltop Cemetery.

  Falling down usually happens so quickly that you don’t have time to think about it. More often than not, by the time your brain has a chance to consider the fall, you’re more worried about what just took you out and how bad it’s going to hurt, than the actual fall itself. When you’re dreaming, a fall can go on for a lifetime, complete, breathtaking, endless fear, as you contemplate hitting bottom. This is what I experienced before a hand snatched me up, like gripping a small child’s arm as they stumble over a crack in the sidewalk, and protecting them from the inevitable pain.

  I grab onto Nathaniel, clinging as if my life were in serious danger, and bury my face against his shoulder. “My dad’s buried there,” I choke out. “What is it?”

&
nbsp; His hand strokes the back of my hair, his touch more calming than any touch should logically be. My heart stops pounding and returns to normal. Then I’m aware of the ground under my feet. No crash, no splat, no shattered limbs, nothing actually. The earth is solid and yet I don’t really feel it. I can feel Nathaniel though, and I can see everything around us. We’re surrounded by pine trees. They’re tall and their branches look sharp against the night sky.

  “Your dad’s fine, Juliana. I promise.”

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “I know,” he says with a finality that leaves no question to his sincerity.

  “How?” I ask again. I can see the edge of the abyss overhead not far from where we stand. It’s so ominous it should be a cliché, but no less scary for the fact.

  “I was over there with them. He’s the worst kind of man, Jules. Don‘t make me tell you what he’s doing. Please believe me, it’s not a Crowson grave he’s disturbing.”

  “Disturbing? He, who?” I whisper into Nathaniel’s shirt.

  “Travis. Travis and Corrine,” Nathaniel whispers back.

  “Is this a dream, Nathaniel?”

  “I wish it was,” he says.

  “You’re supposed to keep your mouth closed when you pass by a cemetery,” I say.

  His hand stops on the small of my back, holding me close. “Why?”

  “Spirits can steal your soul through your mouth if you don’t.”

  “We didn’t pass it yet,” he says.

  And then I wake up.

  A little moan escapes from my lips as I roll over and hide my face under my arm. Dreams like that should be illegal, forbidden, eighty-sixed, exiled, whatever. To have pure elation followed by life-threatening fear, wrapped together with a ghost telling you it’s not a dream — no thank you. I lean over so my head is hanging off the side of the bed and look for shoes. Shoes under the bed could explain this dream, but of course there aren’t any. I wouldn’t set myself up like that. Would I?

  I flop back over and stare at my sparkly popcorn ceiling trying in vain to distract myself from all the mixed emotions and images from the dream and then I’m aware of movement by my right foot. Before I have a chance to see what it is, it bites my big toe.

  “Aaaaye!” I yank my foot away as my head pops up to see Ariel, my cat, jump off the bed. She slinks over to the door. The end of her tail twitches with contempt as she rubs herself back and forth against the doorjamb.

  She watches me watch her. Her impatient body language is telling me very clearly she wants food, and now isn’t soon enough. I’ve had Ariel long enough to know that if she doesn’t get fed promptly, she will exact her revenge in one of a thousand different annoying ways. I reach under my head and toss my pillow at her. I’m rewarded with the sound of cat’s claws scratching the floor as she bolts, but I know this is a temporary retreat before she makes another attack.

  At least she’s not trying to shred me to pieces, like she was before, when I was possessed. A second later I realize that I — well not I, but the succubus — had locked Ariel in the bathroom and had left her there. Oh my God. My poor cat. I hope she was okay. I wonder who let her out of the bathroom? Making amends, I slip out of my bed and leave my bedroom to go give her some kitty-crunchies. I also leave the dream and all the feelings that go with it tucked away under the covers. Illegal, definitely should be against the law. If I could, I would turn that dream into the authorities for disturbing the peace.

  Ariel attempts to trip me when I reach the bottom of the stairs. It confirms my suspicions about her empty food bowl. Running in front of my feet, when I’m not looking, is her favorite form of getting my attention when she’s hungry. Instead of booting her lightly in the backside for trying to break my neck, I bend down and scoop her up. She doesn’t protest as I cradle her against me. We round the corner to the kitchen and I spy her dish on the floor. To my relief she does have water.

  Suddenly, and without any forewarning, a multitude of fragrances bombards my senses. My nose lifts slightly in the air, trying to distinguish the difference between the spiciness of whatever is steaming out of the Crockpot on the counter and the sweet cinnamon smell coming from a rectangular pan on top of the stove.

  Absently, I put Ariel down on a nearby chair and let my hand glide over her silky back and down her tail as I watch Jared stuff some sort of pastry into his mouth.

  While he chews, he half smiles at me. After swallowing, he says, “Mom went shopping, and she cooked too.” He puts the last enormous bite into his wide mouth and then reaches over and takes another cinnamon roll out of the pan.

  “She made your favorite? Did you ask her to?”

  “Nope. I just got up and all this was here. She’s in bed asleep. I haven’t even talked to her and there’s a lot more,” Jared says, nodding toward the refrigerator.

  I reach into the lower cabinet where the cat’s food is and pull out the bag of dry crunchies. Ariel gives me her sickly sounding meow that sounds more like “merrrrp,” and then reaches out a paw to make a scratch on the bag. When I stand back up, I see Jared scooping out whatever it is in the slow cooker.

  “Want some?” he asks.

  “What is it?” I ask, but my stomach definitely does. A grumbling and clenching of my gut leaves no doubt that I’m hungry, probably famished.

  “Breakfast casserole.”

  “Yes, please,” I say, and then swallow as my mouth waters.

  While Jared grabs another plate, I move to the fridge, looking for some juice to go with breakfast. A large plate of fruit greets me when I open the door. Strawberries, cantaloupe, sections of mangos, kiwi slices, raspberries, and blueberries, all call out to me with their vivid colors and delectable sweetness. I grab a new container of OJ with one hand and the fresh fruit platter with the other and go set them on the table.

  “Mom must have felt really bad about not having any food in the house. I can’t believe she did all this,” I say as I reach for two glasses from the cabinet.

  “I don’t know what’s up, but I’m not gonna jinx it by questioning her,” Jared says as he brings two plates of casserole over.

  “Should we go wake her and see if she wants to eat with us?” I ask. The gratitude for all this food is nearly overwhelming as I stare at the colorful feast in front of me.

  “Nah. She already ate. Look at the dishes by the sink,” he says.

  “Wow, this is so…exactly what we need,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Jared agrees. “It’s been a crazy last few days.”

  As we chow down on Mom’s Monterey jack, green chili, and egg casserole, I begin to think about all that has happened and what still has to be done. I reach over for a cinnamon roll, thinking that the food is fueling my overworking brain. The icing oozes over my fingers. I step over to the counter to grab a napkin and I see Marcus sitting on our back deck. His presence only adds to my burning brain cells.

  “J, do you know Patrick and Corrine’s mother’s name?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Just everything that happened with Corrine. It’s kind of important. Do you think you can find it out for me?” I ask. “And without Travis knowing,” I add.

  “Yeah, I’ll call Patrick. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Just a name, right? Are you gonna tell me why?”

  “No,” I say as I pop berries into my mouth. Ideas are filling my mind and I can tell there’s no going back from here.

  “You’re never allowed near that family again, Jules. I mean it. And if I’m on house arrest, so are you.”

  So Jared is taking our conversation from last night to heart. “I’m going to do a little research is all. And you’re staying close to home for obvious reasons.” I couldn’t help myself, my eyes immediately move to the huge angel chilling in one of our deck chairs.

  “He’s outside?” Jared asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Should we invite him in?” Jared asks.

  I can’t tell if my brother is serious, mocking, or being sarcastic. I answer wi
th all seriousness. “I think he’s comfortable outside.” I actually think Marcus is treating me and Jared with some thoughtful consideration by giving us some privacy. Most people are not aware when an Angel of Death comes calling, so it doesn’t matter if they’re in the room with their client. But Marcus knows I see him, and for now, I think he’s staying out of earshot.

  I take my plate over to the sink and as I rinse off the residue I hear a loud slap followed by a thump. It makes me turn my head toward the sound. Jared grips the dining room table and then his hand whacks his upper chest. He’s heaving slightly, but no air comes out of his mouth. My hands drop the plate with a clatter and I run over to him. He grabs at his throat and his face is starting to turn a deep reddish color.

  “No, Jared. You can’t!” I don’t know what he’s choking on, but he’s not going to choke to death in front of me.

  “Stand up,” I order. With my mind instantly made up about the order of things happening in my universe, he stands, as if he also knows I mean business and nothing is going to get in my way. Moving with a certainty I feel in my bones, I climb onto the chair behind him. Because he’s so much taller than me this is the only way I can wrap my arms around his chest. I can feel the panic surging inside him as he struggles for air. Locking my hands into position, I heave and thrust, trying to force the food out of his airway.

  Nothing happens. The edge of panic is like a knife at my throat, but I know this is going to work. Jared can’t leave me yet. There’s more he has to do before he’s allowed to die. Marcus steps into the room, walking straight through our glass sliding door. I shoot him a dirty look; a warning to stay back. My brother will not die in our kitchen.

  A gripping shudder passes through Jared and a tiny bit of fear stabs me in the gut. I release my hands from around Jared’s chest and I stare straight into Marcus’s deep brown eyes. I raise my right hand high over my brother’s back while leaning precariously in the chair and then whack my brother as hard as I can.

  A chunk of red flies out of Jared’s mouth and across the kitchen. It hits the refrigerator, sticks for a second, and then slides to the floor leaving a thin pink streak.