II - Angels aren't Supposed to Die
I've been fading away...
I've been waiting on the call to reach my veins
-Ryan Clark, Demon Hunter
Michael fell down on his knees at the sight of his mother laying on the ground lifeless. Just an hour ago, she had kissed him goodnight and gone outside for one last round to ensure no one was following them. Now their stalker was closer than Michael feared they would ever get. Not only had he reached them, he was alone with them in the forest. He was far from done with Michael and his mother's corpse. Terror's playtime had just started.
“Barry? I'm going to bed.” The words of my wife, Savannah, startled me. Judging by the clock reading 11:30 p.m., I had spent the last two hours working on my novel. I would rather have spent it watching television with my spouse, or just chatting, but deadlines were deadlines, and I had many.
“I'm headed the same way soon. Love you,” I said to her, smiling. She exited my office, leaving my door wide open, and headed downstairs. I turned back to the book, but I couldn't manage to engage myself in it anymore. I was about to stay true to my word, when the memories of the drive home flooded back to me. I was no believer in God, or luck for that matter, but I couldn't help but wonder what had caused Salo and I to run into each other. I truly had never expected such a rarity, especially after I had moved to New York, a city so large I found myself struggling not to lose myself in.
Chance – that's what it all is. It was chance my mother died when I was five. It was chance I was given a father so unable to raise me, and it was chance I was placed in a situation of kill-or-starve so early on in life.
This thought alone couldn't console me. I did what I had always done – picked up and examined the photo of my daughter Kelsey. How beautiful she had been at the age of five... I seemed to remember the photo had been taken three days before her death, caused by a drunk driver hitting her while walking home from school one morning. It had been two years since, but the pain did not leave. Surely if there was a divine being, this would have been punishment enough to clear my past charges. Perhaps there was a sign; she had died at the age of my crime.
“Are you okay?” I hadn't noticed Savannah enter the room and approach me, but I was not startled by her words. I saw her light brown hair spill over my shoulder, much lighter than my dark, pin-straight hair.
“Yeah. Something at work made me think of her. Todd brought in his daughter to the office, that's all.” I didn't usually lie to my wife, and I hated myself for it when I did. I turned to face her.
“She's smiling down on you,” she whispered. Her beautiful face was the first thing that had partially consoled me. “You've come a long way. I'm sure she's very proud of the man you've become.”
I hope so, I thought. I couldn't formulate a response that would be just as uplifting to her.
She kissed me. “Goodnight Hun.” With these words, she left the room.
By the time I had gotten ready for bed and entered our bedroom, Savannah was fast asleep. Our age-old lamp beside my bed was still giving off enough light for me to make my way to the bed and get under the covers.
My troubles were to keep me awake for a while yet. The stillness of the house had accompanied me on too many nights for my liking. I listened to the cars whipping by, drivers of which were surely late-night workaholics too tired, or the opposite, to care about the speed at which they drove. These sounds were soon accompanied by the patter of rain drops against the window of our room.
