Hunter's Edge

Chapter Thirteen

Lost in the silence

Although it had been a late night, Angel found herself wide awake before it was even three a.m. She came awake on a harsh breath, a tearing pain across her chest, tears stinging her eyes...and the faintest sense of self-disgust rolling through her.

Groaning, she rolled to the side of the bed and covered her face with her hands. She had a nasty, cloying taste in the back of her mouth—the bitter tang of guilt.

Over what, she had no clue.

She felt like she'd...done something.

Hurt somebody.

Damn it, it felt sometimes like she was living some alternate life she was totally unaware of. A life that some part of her subconscious remembered...a life her subconscious wanted to punish her for.

Scrambling out of the bed, she stumbled over to the window and shoved it up. The cool, scented air of a spring night came drifting through. She could hear the call of birds and insects and beyond that, it was quiet.

After she'd finally graduated from college, a year late thanks to her walk on the less-than-sane side of life, she'd bought this tract of land and the farmhouse just because it was secluded, and because it was relatively close to town and she could get to Jake's place in under twenty minutes.

That last reason didn't matter so much anymore.

Jake was dead.

Quietly, one evening, just a month earlier, he'd passed away from a massive heart attack. One of his former parishioners had been visiting—had gotten up to use the restroom and when she came out, Jake was gone. Suddenly. Too suddenly.

Angel's last solid connection to the world was gone.

Now, without anything to get her out of bed in the morning, she spent far too much time sleeping, not enough time trying to live.

All she wanted was to stay here in her isolated, run-down house and forget. Lose herself in the silence and forget.

But she couldn't lose herself in the silence right now.

There was an echo of music pulsating through the air. The sound of a deep, angry voice. Then another voice, just as deep, but lacking the anger.

No words, though. She couldn't make out any words.

"Since when do dreams make any sense?" she mumbled, dragging a hand through her hair. It felt startlingly short. Three days ago, she'd been in town for a meeting the lawyers had insisted on, and after that little fiasco, she'd ended up wandering the streets until she came to a halt in front of the barber where Jake had used to get his hair cut.

Where Kel had come for his irregular appointments. Out of the blue, she'd decided she wanted her hair cut. The man hadn't been too thrilled—he'd looked at her like she was asking for something in Greek. Finally, he had rubbed his jaw and replied, "This ain't the beauty parlor, Miz Angel. If you want a new hairstyle, maybe you should go see..."

It had taken her five minutes to get him to stop worrying and just cut. Her hair, once down to her waist, was short, short enough to barely brush her shoulders. It felt weird and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn't quite recognize herself.

But she barely recognized herself anyway any more. What did a physical change matter?

Pushing the shortened strands out of her face, she leaned forward. With her brow resting against the window pane, she sighed. Cool air drifted in through the opened lower half of the window, dancing along flesh left bare by the tank top and panties she wore in lieu of pajamas.

She shivered but didn't close the window. She needed the cool, early-spring air to clear the fog in her brain, a fog brought on by far too many nights like this.

You look exhausted, Angel. Maybe you should see about getting something to help you sleep.

Jake had been telling her that for years. But until recently, she hadn't bothered. She hadn't cared enough if she slept or not. The past year, things had leveled out a little. Those violent, gory dreams that faded even before she woke enough to fully remember them weren't as vivid as they had once been.

The edgy mood that so often plagued her, the anger at nothing, it had gotten better, as well.

But as those got better, the depression riding her got worse. Jake's sudden, unexpected death made everything worse and she'd finally given in and gone to the doctor. She'd left with two prescriptions and a gentle reminder to consider getting help.

Help. Like that would do any good.

She missed Kel more now than ever. How that was possible she didn't know. But every morning, it seemed a bit harder to get up and every night took a little longer to fall asleep. It was like her body's need for sleep was decreasing regularly.

Sometimes she wondered if she'd sleep at all in another five or ten years.

Her body might not need the sleep, but Angel sure as hell did. Her brain might not want to shut down to rest, but she needed it.

So she'd given in and talked to her doctor, gotten some sleeping pills.

Supposedly, the pills were less likely to cause dependence. Definitely a good thing, because the last damn thing Angel needed in her fucked-up head was an addiction to sleeping pills. But so far, she hadn't taken one.

The bottle was sitting on her dresser, along with samples of the antidepressant she knew she wouldn't take. Dr. C. Jane Miller had listened politely while Angel explained she didn't need medicine for depression—then she'd handed Angel a pamphlet and a bag of sample medications, along with the prescription for the sleeping pills.

Angel had no desire to take the antidepressant. Not because she didn't think she was depressed. She was. She knew it. But the cause of her depression was a loss she'd never recover from—taking something that increased this chemical or decreased that one, wasn't going to do a damn thing to help her get over Kel.

But she was going to take the sleeping pills. It was Saturday morning, she had no sweet old man waiting for her to come and keep the loneliness at bay, no sexy young man who'd be waiting for her when she woke up.

Nothing. And nobody.

Maybe, just maybe, she could pop a pill, collapse on her bed and get some sleep.

Preferably a deep, dreamless sleep.