Stolen Prophet: A Horror Supernatural Thriller (The Prophet's Mother Book 1)

by Julian M. Coleman

  No?

  Evelyn trembled as she tried to bring herself back to the hideout. But the scene abruptly changed and she found herself watching her mom as she climbed into her Mercedes. Grace Adamson turned the key, gazed into the rear view mirror, and said, “You will do as you’re told, young lady. I’ve had enough of your foolishness! You’re selfish. I’ve had to do it and now you will too!” Grace’s eyes flashed blood red. She opened her mouth and released a scream that sounded too much like a shrill roar.

  Evelyn squeaked herself awake. In her heart, she knew that it had all been too real. Her mom had been here earlier somehow…knife to butter, that’s how she did it.

  What?

  She sweated in exasperation. Nothing made sense, but everything was perfectly logical if she believed every morsel of those horrific stories. What if her mom knew where she was and she was coming to get her?

  Now what?

  Evelyn wept and heaved as she considered her only option. She stood on legs so weak they threatened to buckle and made her way to the grimy window. She picked through the boxes and grabbed a heavy old plaster bust and smashed a wide but jagged opening in the window.

  A breeze that swept into the room. It was filled with the springtime scents of freshly cut grass and wildflowers. The wind lightly tossed her dark hair while at the same time it lifted her spirits. She was done crying. She convinced herself that this really was a brave thing she was going to do.

  The opening was ragged enough to tear into tender flesh, but she climbed through it anyway. She stood on the sliver of a ledge. Her fingertips dug into the grooves in the mortar between the bricks.

  Her heart raced. Her mouth dried out. Yes, she was scared. Maybe it was going to hurt, but after that – well, what did the living really know about any existence after death?

  Evelyn looked up at the sky, and shouted out her own curse. “Screw you, Obatala!”

  And then she jumped.

  Chapter 2 – A Normal Life

  December 2003

  The harsh bleat from the alarm was a welcome disruption to a nightmare that dissolved too quickly to be remembered. The darkness was so liquid that Evie wondered if she was awake even as the alarm insisted reality. Finally her fingers crawled over the nightstand and slapped the damned buzzer quiet.

  She felt paralyzed by the shadowy remnants of the nightmare. Evie was sure that she had dreamt of Obatala. The realization was terrifying because he belonged in her before life.

  She swung her legs from under the warm blankets and sat on the edge of the bed. Her teeth chattered. It was cold in the room, but colder in her soul. Rascal, her seven-year old Dalmatian, entered her bedroom, navigated the darkness and sat by her knees.

  Although Evie didn’t relish the predawn stroll, she was grateful for his intrusion. She asked, “Really? Can I pee first?” Rascal thumped his tail happily as she slipped into her robe. “Victor, time to get up!”

  The world had righted itself as she operated in mommy-mode. She flicked on the apartment lights as she wove to the kitchenette to make the elixir of life which she knew would boost her with enough caffeine to nudge her into full wakefulness. She scooped in coffee grounds and filled the machine with tap water. As she waited for the brew, she listened for movement in his bedroom.

  She responded to the silence. “Victor, don’t make me come in there!”

  At last she heard the patter of feet followed by the slamming of the bathroom door. Shortly thereafter, Rascal galloped into the kitchenette. His spotted tail smacked happily against the cabinet doors. He buried his nose into her crotch and sniffed, without provocation, she hoped.

  She pushed him off. “What? She did a bad Elvis impression by twitching her upper lip and saying, “Thank you, thank you very much!”

  Clad only in a thermal nightgown, bathrobe, socks and slippers, she slipped on her overcoat. Rascal danced around her as she filled a travel mug with the life-giving coffee. She sipped, gave the dog a smirk, and retrieved his lead.

  She called out to the quiet occupant in the bathroom. “We’ll be right back in a few. I want you dressed and ready. Ok, mister?” More silence. With keys in hand, they left the upstairs apartment.

  The second floor landing was narrow and dark. Coldness snaked inside her coat as she trudged down the stairs. She unlocked the exterior door and braced herself. As was his habit, once the outside door was opened, Rascal began tugging on his lead. She had to struggle to keep from spilling the coffee.

  Rascal immediately trotted to his favorite spot, lifted a hind leg and unleashed Niagara Falls. When he was done, they began their leisurely walk. When Rascal appeared calm enough, she slid open the lid and took a sweet sip of coffee.

  Dawn glinted on the icy sheen that glossed the landscape. The mornings were starting to feel Christmassy, and the holiday season was good for her business with most orders requesting the showy poinsettias.

  Evie couldn’t help it, her thoughts returned to the elusive nightmare. And Obatala. She tried to sweep those thoughts aside as she took another sip of coffee.

  Their home in eastern Richmond was only a few blocks from St. John’s Church where Patrick Henry had delivered his speech to the Virginia House of Burgesses. Evie had fallen in love with the brownstone before the area drew in the trendy professionals who graduated from the local universities.

  Before the yuppie invasion, Church Hill was still suffering from blight. It was during that time, that Evie had found the duplex and fell in love. She’d sunk a sizable portion of her trust fund to restore it.

  The second floor was the residence, a quaint loft with exposed brick walls and fireplaces in the living room and each of the bedrooms. The other feature that sold Evie on the brownstone was the charming French window that opened up to a small balcony.

  The first floor at one time been some type of store. Evie had imagined how she would easily convert the large open floorplan into retail space. She would finally be able to realize her dream. In less than three months, she opened The Evelyn Adamson Flower Shoppe.

  Evie couldn’t think about those early entrepreneur days without conjuring up memories of Victor’s dad. He had been her proudest supporter. She missed him. Even now, she couldn’t listen to that Noah Eagle song, their song, without disintegrating into tears. It was tragic that he died the same day she had told him about her pregnancy.

  Evie found that another sip of coffee did help to disrupt her thoughts about him.

  Rascal, who was flimsy with his obedience, yielded to his feral nature and snarled at another poorly trained dog, a German shepherd. She smiled apologetically at the bundled up human who chose to look away. That was the thing she noticed about the influx of up and coming professionals. Most weren’t neighborly. After thirty minutes of righteous tugging, her walk with Rascal finally ended.

  Evie fumed as she came upon her shop and looked beyond the gilded lettering on the window to see only displays of seasonal flowers and darkness. Sissy was supposed to open in the mornings because Evie needed time to drop Victor off at school. She swore under her breath. Even as kids Sissy was allergic to promptness. With a new purpose snapping at her heels, Evie hurried up the stairs and into the apartment.

  Victor was sliding a black leather belt through the loops of his dark green slacks when she blew into the living room. “Mornin’ Mom.”

  “Mornin’ baby. It’s really cold outside. You’ll need more than a sweater.” Evie shifted into autopilot by shedding her coat and preparing his breakfast of toasted waffles with orange slices.

  Victor was excited. “Is it cold enough to snow? We might get snow for Christmas?”

  She shrugged. “Never know. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a white Christmas. If I could, I would make it snow just for you.” As soon as those words were uttered, she was stabbed by an inexplicable dread. When she poured herself another cup of coffee, she saw that her hands were trembling.

  Victor parked himself at the kitchen table. He grabbed the decanter and drenched hi
s toasted waffles with syrup and wolfed his food so quickly that she wondered if he had actually tasted anything. Evie noticed that he was eating too quietly. Even Rascal who watched Victor shovel morsels in his mouth with greedy anticipation, was unusually silent.

  She left him to shower and dress. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Evie had to admit that the fortyish woman in the mirror was pretty. She had an oval face, dark brown eyes with long black eyelashes and full lips and perfect white teeth.

  Victor’s dad used to remark on her alleged beauty. She wasn’t really, but it was a nice lie she loved to absorb. Her nostrils were wide and slightly flared. Evie remembered how he used to kiss the tip of her nose.

  She traced her lips with her index finger as she remembered how he used to deliver the most delicious toe-curling kisses. He would dig his fingers into her thick mane, yank her head back and plant his lips on hers in a manner so hungry that she had no choice but to moisten.

  She bit down on her loss. Now the fortyish creature staring back at her had tears leaking from her eyes. Evie rewashed her face, and then combed her hair into a soccer mom ponytail. She had just finished up slipping into her clothes when her phone rang.

  “Who is it?” she called out, but she already knew. Her best friend was probably testing a barely plausible excuse on her godchild.

  “It’s Aunt Sissy. She said…”

  Evie didn’t care. “Tell her she’s late.”

  She could hear Victor parroting her remarks, and after a moment, he responded, “She said so are you.”

  When she emerged from the bathroom, Evie made a spinning motion with her index finger so that he could wind up the call. Something he seemed to do reluctantly. After he hung up, she said, “Get your things and wait for me in the shop.”

  Victor opened his mouth as if to protest, seemed to consider the consequences, and instead he pushed his wire-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  Evie raised an elegantly arched eyebrow. She knew what he wanted. She wasn’t in the mood. Yes, he was old enough to walk to school, but he was her only child. He was too precious to risk his safety on an unchaperoned walk, and besides he was her only reason for not committing suicide.

  She locked up the apartment and followed Victor and Rascal down the stairs. As soon as the trio entered the shop, Victor raced through an aisle of floral arrangements with Rascal at his heels. The pair plunged through the café doors to the backroom where Victor could be heard laughing with Sissy.

  Daughter?

  Obatala?

  Was she actually hearing his voice? She spun around the shop as she sought a rational source for her misery.

  Evie’s limbs turned to lead. She listened with every inch of her soul. Was she awake or did she dream still? She sampled a dread that clung to the back of her tongue and dripped down her throat.

  Nothing was amiss. The wood-paneled walls and the green-tiled floors were just as ordinary as usual. There was only the hum of the display coolers that held the more traditional floral arrangements in odd-shaped vases. There were tiers of houseplants displayed near the walls, and in the center of the shop were the poinsettias. Music from Sissy’s radio, and chatter from Sissy and Victor, were the only sounds she heard. Everything looked normal.

  She laughed nervously at her lunacy. It was only the power of suggestion brought on by a bad dream she couldn’t remember. Besides, she told herself, she was a Catholic now. That other life was over.

  She flipped on the neon OPEN sign just as Armando, her overtly masculine delivery guy, wandered inside sporting an aw-shucks smile. It was easy for Evie to see how his hunky charisma worked on Sissy. She said, “You’re late, too.”

  Armando’s confidence in his sex appeal was well placed. He held up his hands as if to surrender. “I know, I know. But y’know how Sissy is, and man-oh-man my bebé is makin’ her worse.”

  He leaned in and whispered, “She had me up all night fixing her this and fixing her that. How can she eat that much food? What can I do? When I feed her, I feed my baby. But I’m tellin’ you the truth. I know why men cheat when their women get knocked up.”

  Sissy shouted, “I heard that. You cheat on me and I’m cutting it off! Don’t call me Delilah cuz I ain’t talking about `cha damn hair either!”

  Evie tried to resist the urge to smile, but she caved in and laughed. Only then did her nervousness subside. She had some time before she had to drop Victor off, so she and Armando reviewed the early morning deliveries list. Evie stressed to him that he had to be timely with the bank, because it was a new customer. Their representative had ordered over one hundred poinsettias for their lobbies.

  Armando again complained about their wholesale supplier, Swanson Brothers. She hoped that her face was as blank as his stare was inquisitive. She needed to be careful.

  She’d found Swanson nearly a decade earlier. He was a crusty old gent with a kind heart and absolutely no business sense. His stock was generally worthless. Although he sold his merchandise cheaply, none of it had any shelf-life. She had felt sorry for him and bought from him exclusively.

  Evie wondered if she was the only reason why Swanson was still in business. His Grade D stock, was usually dried and crumbling when they arrived. But Evie felt like it was her duty to lovingly care for each petal or stem. She would hum or sing as she moved from flower to plant. They flourished under her nurturing. She also found that releasing just a bit of her power stimulated her in a way that tasted like bliss.

  But not so much lately. Her touches used to give her charges vitality, but recently the flora dried out and withered. This didn’t happen every day, but often enough to be heartbreaking. She didn’t know why they died when she touched them, but after that she left all loving touches to Sissy. She just couldn’t risk hurting them anymore.

  She said, “I know you hate going there. It is a bit of a dump, but pick them up anyway. I don’t want any other supplier. I will talk to Mr. Swanson. Maybe he just needs some capital to move to a new place.”

  Armando said, “You’re too nice.”

  She consulted her watch. It was getting late. She slipped outside to warm up the Volvo. As the wind nipped her face with stinging kisses, she lifted her gaze. Despite the beautiful morning, she braced against a fear that was as heavy and rigid as a corpse. It fell on her with the full weight of rigor mortis. She was swathed in layers of horror so tight that she was momentarily robbed of thought.

  What am I sensing?

  She came very close to begging Obatala for understanding, but she couldn’t. The bloodline was cursed, and that truth often gnawed on the edge of her existence. She was afraid that after one true bite of power, she might someday turn on Victor. She couldn’t do that to him, especially since he was almost ten. Did it matter that he was male? Should she warn him? He had a right to know about the curse.

  She said, as if her words were a shield, “We’re Catholics now. We’ve moved on.” She climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  Victor ran out of the shop. His light brown skin was flushed. “You weren’t going to leave me, were you?”

  “You wish.”

  Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes shone like onyx floating in white pools. There were times when they gleamed like polished gold. Evie remembered a slip of a detail without wanting to, of how her mom had been able to change the color of her eyes when she worked her power…or when she was angry.

  Victor caught her staring. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  “Nothing.” She drove five blocks to the Catholic school and arrived just as the late bell sounded.

  Victor leaned over to kiss her, but then he hesitated. “I had a dream last night.”

  “Really?” Evie caught the tightness in her voice.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I kinda want to tell you about it. It was sort of a good dream, I think, but you get kinda weird when I talk about my dreams.”

  She teased. “Not I. What did you dream about?”

  “Well,�
�� he eyed her suspiciously, but it was clear that he wanted to share. He said, “I dreamt about my daddy. I think I was lost. He kept trying to get to me. I think he found me because he lifted me out of this dark place. You were there too, Mom. It was weird because I think he was scared of you. I mean, you looked…” he shrugged his shoulders, and looked up at her warily.

  “What? I looked what?” She tried to make her tone sound light and whimsical, but failed at both.

  “You looked different.” His voice drifted off as he added, “But I wasn’t scared of you. Honest.”

  Evie stared straight ahead as she tried to swallow down a knot that yo-yoed in her throat.

  The power couldn’t be shared. Obatala wasn’t fooled.

  She wanted to make Victor understand that she could never hurt him, but the knot lodged in her throat wouldn’t let the words come out.

  Maybe they hadn’t escaped. Maybe the curse would force her to eat him up like a praying mantis. She briefly observed him from the corner of her eyes and saw that he was watching her, and waiting. She needed to speak, to be consoling especially when her heart was breaking.

  Just then a sweet memory washed over her turmoil. It was the day they had met. She had held the newly born person and marveled at how tiny but perfectly formed he was, and how he hadn’t cried. His delivery had been brief and painless.

  Evie remembered grasping the simple but significant notion that he had been aware. While she’d thanked Obatala for this quiet gift, she had also been stunned that she had given birth to a male. Evie used this anomaly to get out of their punitive religion. Because in her lineage, no other mortal orisha had been able to give birth to a son. Instead of Victor crying on his birth day, it had been Evie who had happily wept.

  Now she sensed their normal lives were disintegrating and that perhaps turning her back on all that power had left them vulnerable. After all, she was so clueless that she couldn’t decipher the signs of an impending kismet. She barely remembered how her mom used to summon her spiritual father for advice. Something bad was coming, she knew this, but she didn’t know what the bad was or how to stop it.