by Keary Taylor
Branded F A L L O F A N G E L S
By
Keary Taylor
Copyright © 2010 Keary Taylor
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Second Paperback Edition: October 2010
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Taylor, Keary, 1987-
Branded (Fall of Angels) : a novel / by Keary Taylor. – 2nd ed.
Summary: Jessica, haunted by nightmares of angels, lives a life of seclusion until Alex suddenly takes over the house she lives in. When she starts to develop feelings for him, the mysterious Cole moves in next door, wanting nothing but Jessica.
ISBN 978-1450572378
Printed in the United States of America
CHAPTER ONE
When you go 108 hours, four and a half days without sleep, your body starts to do strange things.
Mine was panicking and shutting down at the same time.
My heart pounded despite the fatigue that consumed me. The ringing in my ears was so loud I couldn’t even hear the breeze as it blew through the towering trees that surrounded me. My eyes ached so horribly I wanted to throw up. If I looked in a mirror I knew they would be bloodshot and swollen. I felt delusional and jumped at every shadow that danced on the black lake surface, sure it was a demon come to carry me away.
I was so tired.
Don’t fall asleep.
I paced on the dock, the moon shining brightly above me. I couldn’t fall asleep; I wouldn’t let myself fall asleep.
To sleep brought terror no one could understand.
I counted my steps as I paced. Fourteen… fifteen…
sixteen… I never lost count despite the fact that I didn’t consciously do it. I couldn’t help it, the numbers just came.
Just a few more hours. That was all I needed. In a few more hours I would be ready to face the terror that came with sleep. I could face the judgments of the angels and those that had no right to be called such. I had made it 108
hours already; I could make it just two or three more.
I couldn’t fight this any longer though. I was going to have to sleep and it was going to have to be now. I had learned better than to fight it this long.
My breathing increased rapidly as I forced myself to walk back toward the deserted house that looked toward the east side of the lake. My head spun and I feared I might pass out right then and there on the cold wooden planks.
Silent walls greeted me as I entered the house. I had been the caretaker for just over a year and a half and not once had the elderly owners come to stay. That was for the best. They would know I was crazy after only a few days.
Panic saturated my system as I stumbled through the door that led to my basement apartment. My eyelids were winning though. My legs protested in fatigue as I staggered into my bedroom. I barely made it to my bed before collapsing.
I’ve always counted. In a strange way it felt like they kept me safe. I could block out the hell that surrounded me, that was my life, by concentrating only on counting.
Numbers made sense. They fell into their right order and no matter how you rearranged them, you could still easily identify them as numbers.
I counted to two hundred and six before he came to get me from the cell I was locked in. It was the same man every night. He was glorious and perfect, just like the rest of them. His chin was strong and square, his nose flawlessly straight. His lips were exactly the right fullness and housed straight, white teeth. His hair was a beautiful color of charcoal and the reflection of the flames danced across his intimidating muscular body in strange and beautiful ways.
His wings, just like the rest of them, were graceful yet powerful. They always captivated me despite the chaos that surrounded. The feathers were beautiful, gently changing from the softest, purest white to shimmering, metallic silver.
His eyes were unique however, compared to the rest of them. Grey. An indication he was on neither side, neither the exalted nor the condemned. He was simply the one who transferred me from my cell to the judgment stand. He did not pass judgments and he had been placed on neither side.
I did not know his name or if he even had one, but I always thought of him as Adam. In the Bible, Adam was unique in that he was the first. I had never seen another angel with eyes like this Adam. He was the first and only as far as I knew.
Adam tied my hands in front of me with the same gold cord he always did. I shuffled behind him as we exited my cell. I was long past trying to fight him; I learned long ago that was useless.
I was led down a long stone tunnel. Torches lined the walls, their flames dancing and licking out in mocking ways.
They provided no warmth and no comfort. At the very end of the passageway was my cell that was nothing but a five by five area with steel bars and a locked gate. It ran on for sixty-two steps, nothing but an empty passageway. There was nothing visible at the other end of the tunnel, just an opening that appeared to lead into a lighter place than this.
Thirty…thirty-one…thirty-two… I counted and looked at my feet through the slits in the white hood that covered my head. The rest of me was sheathed in white as well, a simple shell that covered my body.
Adam said nothing as we walked, his gaze fixed to our destination. I always wished he would say something comforting. Anything to reassure me against what I knew was going to come. But he was always as silent as the stones that encased us.
Fifty-seven…fifty-eight…fifty-nine… The panic was rising rapidly in my blood like an acidic poison, eating away at my nerves. My breathing picked up, coming in sharp, painful spurts. I automatically slowed and Adam pulled on the remainder of the golden cord that hung between my two tightly fisted hands. I wanted to stop, to turn around and run back to my cell. Being locked in the cell for eternity was better than what I was about to face.
My count to sixty-two ran out and Adam pulled me from the safety of the tunnel. We entered into the middle of a tall cylinder. A narrow catwalk sprouted from the tunnel and extended to the other side of the cylinder and ran into a solid wall. A slender staircase wound up and down its sides.
Before me were ten magnificently carved stone seats, mounted directly onto the vertical wall. Adam walked me to the center of the catwalk then turned and walked back into the tunnel alone.
I tried not to look up as I stared intently at my bare feet. The sudden rustle of wings and the low murmur of gloriously beautiful voice was enough to wash fear over me in a crushing wave. I knew exactly what my surroundings were. Above me were perfectly beautiful skies that were never ending beyond the rim of the cylinder. Below me, the cylinder plunged into never ending depths of fire and torture. Before me sat the council that would judge. Five which were exalted, five that were condemned.
Each of them was breathtakingly beautiful, the men and women alike. Once they opened their mouths one could tell which side they were on though. The condemned said hateful things. If you looked close enough, one could see the physical difference as well. Those who were exalted had beautiful blue eyes, the condemned had eyes blacker than ink.
My hands twisted around one another in fearful anticipation. The gold cord that bound them was beautiful to the eyes but it was strong and would not give in the slightest. If I pulled against it too hard I knew it would cut into my skin till it drew blood.
“Jasper Wood,” one of the council started. It was a man I stood trial for tonight. My name is not Jasper, my name is Jessica, I chanted to myself internally.
I had to remind myself who I really was often. It would be all too easy to lose my grasp on reality and fall to pieces.
The familiar sensation that I was about to pass out began and I wished more than anything in my life that I could.
“The deeds of your life have been accounted for and judgment will be passed. Your actions must be made known.”
I fought back the urge to scream as I heard the rustle of wings again, heard the hysterical, deranged laughter come from below, and the whispers that sounded more like singing coming from above. I could feel the hundreds of eyes settle on me as they took their places on the staircase that wound around me. My breathing was becoming so shallow and quick almost no oxygen was coming in or out.
“Jasper Wood, your deeds will now be revealed,” the beautiful man before me continued. I finally looked up as two scrolls were produced. They were unraveled and terror sunk further into my heart. One was very long, the other all too short.
The items on the list were read aloud. One list was of all the good deeds Jasper Wood had done in his life, the other all the bad. The latter was the longer list.
Next came the part that exemplified how unjust my presence there was. Sentencing. The council would cast their vote as to where I would be sent. Up meant exaltation and never ending bliss. Down meant a branding and never ending torment. Based upon acts I did not commit.
The five condemned council members squirmed excitedly in their seats. They knew what the outcome of this trial was going to be. Their eyes grew wide with anticipation and they leaned forward and waited anxiously for their turn to pass judgment.
“Down,” the first of the exalted began.
“Down,” the second sentenced.
“Down,” the third.
As the judgments continued to be passed, I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could and rattled the numbers off in my head. Twenty-one…twenty-two…twenty-three… I counted as fast as I could even though I knew it could not save me from what was going to come.
“Down,” said the tenth.
The scream finally erupted from my lips as the deranged laughter erupted from the walls, from the angels with the black eyes. They heckled and called Jaspers name, pointing and laughing at me, knowing I was about to join their eternal damnation. I clasped my restrained hands to one ear, knowing it would do no good but would only make them laugh all the more.
My eyes were drawn back to the council, to the one who led the condemned. A wicked grin spread on his beautiful face, his black eyes nearly unfocused with glee.
His great wings coiled before bursting and propelling him towards me. Another scream ripped from my chest and I shrank to the catwalk as he landed beside me. Another of the angels from below joined us and handed the first a rod, glowing red on one end. My eyes took in every detail of the beautiful and terrifying mark it held.
I wanted to run back into the safety of the tunnel, to find Adam and beg him to save me. I wished I could leap into the depths of the cylinder, find the bottom, and hide in the darkness forever. But there was no use in fighting what I knew was coming.
My entire body trembling violently, I made it to my hands and knees. I dropped my head before the dark angel and with one hand, swept my hair from my neck.
It seemed it should not have been possible but the laughter picked up all the more from the branded ones I was about to join. I could sense the grin on the face of their leader as he took another step towards me.
I took one short, shallow breath and squeezed my eyes shut again. A flash of white hot pain shot through my body as the red end of the rod was pushed into the back of my neck. I could hear the skin shrivel and melt as it gave way to the pattern I knew all too well. After what seemed an eternity, the rod was removed and barely coherent from the pain, I was pulled to my feet.
“Jasper Wood,” the first of the angels spoke again, the leader of the blue eyed council members. “Judgment has been placed.”
At his words a new sensation began. The feeling that giant sized insects were crawling just under the skin in my back overwhelmed me. Just when I thought I could bear it no longer, I heard my flesh tear and my own set of beautiful wings burst forth. Even the damned were given wings and made beautiful.
With this, hell finally broke loose. Those with the black eyes leapt from their seats and flew straight towards me. Their cold hands clasped around my arms and legs, pushing and pulling from every direction. There were too many of us on the narrow strip we stood upon. We were going to fall. And the only way to fall was down into the fiery depths. As the chaos continued to envelop me, an earsplitting scream erupted once more from my lips. As we slowly tipped sideways, I slipped into darkness.
CHAPTER TWO
I woke the same way I always did. Screaming in terror. I was sitting straight up, clutching a hand to the back of my neck. the other arm was extended across my body, under my other arm, my fingers stretching toward my shoulder blade, searching for wings.
I looked at the clock and noted I had slept for two and a half hours. It had been a short trial. It was still only five in the morning.
Working hard to slow my breathing, I rolled out of the bed and staggered to the bathroom. I flipped on the switch and squinted through the blinding light. The bathroom was generic. White walls, white baseboards. A sink, toilet, and shower/tub.
I stripped down and turned the water in the shower on.
Knowing what I was about to see, I stood before the mirror and turned my back to it, peaking over my shoulder back at my reflection.
My parents had always insisted that nightmares weren’t real. They couldn’t be real. The scars that covered my neck and back suggested otherwise. A beautiful and detailed X was branded into the back of my neck and an intricate, rather realistic pattern of wings spread itself from the lower portion of my back, up to the top of my shoulders.
Both were a fresh, scarlet red. The color wouldn’t last long.
After a day or so both would fade to a flesh color, no longer swollen but just a raised scar. I compared the wings to the African tribes I had seen that would cut their flesh to make the beautiful patterns that covered their bodies. I believed it was called scarification. Mine looked just like this but in the right light you could see a strange metallic silver in the wings, just like the angels from my nightmares. The X was a beautiful and terrifying scar, as if a red hot iron had indeed been pressed into my neck.
I stepped into the shower and relished in the hot water.
If only it could burn the marks from my skin. Some would say my scars were beautiful but I hated them. They were sore reminders of just exactly how abnormal my life was. I could never have a normal existence because of all this. I was a freak.
Shivering, I dressed quickly, pulling on a thick knitted sweater, a pair of thermals and my most comfortable jeans.
As the shaking stopped I returned to the bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Growing up I had been told I was a beautiful child but I didn’t see it. I had always thought I was fairly plain looking, ordinary in every way.
My eyes were slightly larger than they should have been, a dark hazel color. The dark bags under them never faded. I wished my nose were just a little narrower, it wasn’t big, it just wasn’t perfect in my eyes. My lips were absolutely average, not luscious, and not thin. I suppose I did have good skin though. I had been lucky, now twenty-years-old, acne had never seemed to catch up with me.
Grabbing a brush, I tried to drag it through my hair. It fell around my face in a thick mane of curls that refused to be completely tamed. It seemed to have a mind of its own most of the time. It was time to get it cut; it hung nearly to my waist now. After a few minutes I threw the brush back to its drawer in frustration. It was useless.
I went to the tiny kitchen that occupied one corner of my apartment and eyed a box of cereal warily. Further proof of how much of a freak I was. I didn’t need to eat often and never felt the need to do so. I never really got hungry and only ate maybe once a day, if that. The
same went for sleep.
I knew it was impossible for normal people to survive on as little sleep as I did. There was something wrong with me that made it so I required less sleep than the average person.
For that I supposed I should have been grateful.
Reluctantly, I poured a bowl of cereal, drowning it with milk that expired the next day. I sat at the card table I used for a kitchen table and flipped my laptop open. It took only a second for the screen to start to glow. I pulled up the internet browser.
“Jasper Wood.” I typed the words into the search engine deliberately. It was likely too soon for anything to be showing up.
I hit search and quickly scanned through the hits.
There was a musician by this name but nothing that looked promising. The obituary probably wouldn’t be out for a few days. That was the way it usually worked anyway.
I was thirteen when I first realized the names I stood trial for weren’t just random names my subconscious was making up. I stood trial for an Eliza Booth one night. She was a good woman; she had not been branded and was granted blue irises. A few days later I had glanced at my father’s newspaper and saw Eliza Booth’s obituary. She was eighty-five and had died in her sleep. I checked every name after that.
The most horrible experience had been when I stood trial for a boy at my high school. I had never liked the kid.
He wasn’t the kind of person your parents would want you hanging around with. He had committed suicide when he got into some drug problems and been branded. Luckily that was a singular incidence, standing trial for someone I had actually known. I didn’t want to relive that occurrence again.
Nearly every name I stood trial for popped up in an obituary somewhere. Those I couldn’t find I just figured never had one published in the papers.
I finished eating quickly. After I had brushed my teeth, I pulled my shoes on, grabbed my purse and keys and opened the door that led to the rest of the house. The rest of the basement contained a large family room, each of the corners and closets containing a wide variety of toys, games, a pool table, a slightly outdated big screen TV, and every other form of entertainment. There was also another bedroom and from its contents I guessed it must have belonged to a teenage boy who was long gone. There was also a bathroom, similar to my own, completely generic. I made my rounds down here, checking everything was in its order and headed upstairs.
