Relic (The Brethren Series)

by Deena Remiel

  “I said shut up, you worthless piece of scum, and listen. I don’t give a rat’s ass why you targeted me, or if you grew up abused by your parents, or even left on the streets to rot. I don’t care if you never felt loved or if you have some depraved, repressed sexual issues. You had no right to hunt me down like an animal. But I’m no longer your prey, you hear? You’re in my territory now, and you’re my prey. By the looks of it, you’ve been caught, and now I get to play with you. How’s that for tables being turned? And oh, so sorry, but no one’s here to help you. So where should I begin, hmm?”

  She traced the point of the letter opener up and down his thighs and back to center. She tapped resolutely, once there. He sucked in a breath and she watched him get hard.

  “I know, I think I’ll tell you a story. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. It’s a short story, so listen carefully. There will be a question after. Once upon a time, there lived a girl who dreamed of running her own business, getting married, and having a large family. But one day, an evil man—that would be you—and his evil friends decided it would be fun to play soccer with the girl’s body. They kicked her and punched her like a piece garbage on the ground. The cowards left her in the desert to die, but the funny thing about it, she didn’t.”

  Serena began walking around him, trailing the letter opener up one arm and around his neck. She stopped right at his jugular. “She survived, barely, thanks to the kindness of a stranger. But it was too late to save everything about her. In fact, one of her dreams had been killed that day in the desert. The end. Now for the question, and there is only one, so I hope you were listening or the penalty will be severe. What did you kill, Bull? What did you kill? Tick tock on the clock, you get three seconds to figure it out. One, two, three. Ooh sorry, times up, you lose. Would you like to know the answer, Bull? Nod your head or we’ll have dick on a stick for lunch today.” He nodded slowly with a wry smile on his face.

  “Well, you see, I do own my own business and that’s still alive, so that can’t be the answer. I’m single so I can still marry when I find the right guy, so that can’t be it either. Hmm, that leaves my dreams of having a large family, doesn’t it? Nod Bull.” He nodded.

  She moved beside him, letter opener lightly resting against his privates again, and leaned in so close she could feel the heat pouring off him in waves and smell the rancid odor of blood and sweat. “Good boy.”

  ***

  Raphael walked over to Kemuel, bringing a sandwich for him. He opened his mouth to ask why he stood outside when they both heard a crash from within the garage. Raphael suddenly sensed Serena’s deep anguish and fury explode along their tethered threads.

  “Tell me she’s not in there, Kemuel!” Raphael shouted, dropping the sandwich and grabbing at his collar. He released his friend, and they both dashed in.

  “Your kicks,” Raphael heard her shout, and saw her shove Bull so hard that the chair fell over and he clocked his head against the floor. “And your punches,” she tossed out, landing blow upon blow on his defenseless body, seemingly oblivious to everything else, “killed any chance of my having children! You son of a bitch! You Devil’s spawn! I hate you! I hate you! You should be sent back to Hell where you came from!”

  It took both men to overtake the shrieking woman, given her maddened state. She exhibited the strength like that of two people, not one. She had actually rendered Bull unconscious.

  “Let me go! Let me go! He needs to die! He needs to be sent back to Hell!” Serena screamed, struggling to be free. Her eyes were dilated, and her gaze darted about frantically.

  “We know, Serena. He will. Kemuel will see to it, won’t you?” Raphael placated. Serena’s temporary insanity soared down their threaded connection and threatened to disable him as well, and he fought like hell to not get caught up in her mania. But he could feel himself going under, right beside her.

  “Yes, Serena. That’s the plan,” Kemuel added. “Send him straight back to Hell.”

  “I want to see you do it,” she wailed at the still figure on the floor. “I have to see you do it. He killed my future! He killed me!”

  “Do it, now. She can’t take any more of this, and neither can I. Swift and permanent, my brother. Send him back.”

  Without so much as a word or uncertain expression on his face, Kemuel righted Bull’s chair. He took his warrior’s sword out of its sheath and closed his eyes as he spoke the prayer inscribed on its blade causing it to glow. With his aim sure, strength unmatched, and sword true to its mark, in less than a second, Bull had been slashed in two and sent to Hell.

  “I’ll call for the clean-up crew.” He replaced his sword back in its sheath, Bull’s blood having soaked into the inscription and disappeared.

  Raphael’s hands wrapped around Serena’s arms like shackles. She looked down at her own hands. They were bloodied, and she tried wiping them off on her shirt. Her hair, a frenzy of tangled curls, had made a web about her face while she had been punishing Bull, and now there were tinges of red on some of the strands.

  “Thank you, Kemuel,” she said stoically. “Raphael, I’m dirty. I need to clean up. I’ll just go inside and clean up.”

  “Okay, I’ll help you, sweetheart.” Raphael coughed as his words kept sticking in his throat and the shared madness slowly seeped out and away.

  “You’ll help me. I’m dirty, Raphael. I’m so dirty. When I’m clean, he’ll be gone forever.”

  “Yes, dearest, he’ll be gone forever.”

  Raphael waited for Serena to move, but she stood there, glued to her place. He wound up escorting her to the bathroom, directing her along the way. He got the shower running, undressed her, and stepped into the shower with her. He started with her hair, massaging the fragrant shampoo into her scalp. She stared blankly at him and past him. He tilted her head back to rinse, and she didn’t even close her eyes. He worked his way down her body, using the calming herbal body wash Emma had left for her to use. He took his time making sure all remnants of Bull’s blood had been washed clear away.

  He spent the most time on Serena’s hands, massaging and scrubbing, and while he did this, he spoke of anything and everything that would get her to respond. And when he ran out of things to say, he sang to her songs from centuries ago. Songs he had sung to Sirona, all in an attempt to keep Serena from slipping further away.

  While doing so, Raphael cursed himself and his ineptitude. She could be free of this trauma if it weren’t for his failure as a Savior! Emma so much as told him so before she left. She had sensed a duality within Serena that integrally entwined with him. Serena’s well-being rested in his hands. But how on earth could he heal her without his powers? He turned off the water and toweled her dry. He carried her to the bed where he laid her upon the mountains of blankets. When he finished dressing her in her nightgown, he caressed her cheek. She remained unresponsive but for a single tear that made a slow, determined trail down her cheek.

  Dear Lord. She’s kept this dreadful prognosis of not being able to have children all to herself. This is why she ran from me after making love. This is why she thought she had no future to give. She simply hadn’t realized that Emma’s healing would have healed everything that had ever been wrong with her, not just her ribs, kidneys and spleen. She most definitely couldhave children, and quite possibly, they’d already created a child together!

  Chapter Eighteen

  I could be a father. Raphael stood dumbfounded at the notion. I could be a father, and there lies the woman who could be the mother of my child, despondent, broken, and an empty shell. He couldn’t let this go on a moment longer.

  “Serena.” He sat gently on the bed beside her. “Serena, you must know something very important. You must listen, Serena. You can still have children. Did you hear me? You were healed of everything wrong with you. Emma saw to that. So you can have the children you’ve been dreaming of, Serena.”

  She lay motionless, her stare devoid of all acknowledgment of Raphael’s presence. “Serena!” Raphael graspe
d her shoulders and shook her. “Serena! You’ve got to listen to me. You’ve got to snap out of this, sweetheart.” He grabbed her in a furious embrace that brought back tragic memories of holding Sirona in the same desperate way. Fear gripped him and frustration churned. He didn’t know what else to say or do. Someone knocked on the bedroom door. He gently laid her back down, and he rose to answer it.

  “Hey, Raf, some lady’s here. She says she’s Serena’s spiritual healer. Her name’s Monica something, uh, Rainbow….” Kemuel scratched his head.

  “Rainchild, Monica Rainchild,” offered Raphael impatiently. “Thank goodness.”

  “Yeah, that’s it! Should I send her in here or do you want to meet with her first?”

  “I’ll meet with her first, tell her what’s happened. We’ll proceed from there. In the meantime, Kem, get together with Gabriel to locate the other assholes working for Chappo. If we can find them, they can lead us to him.”

  “I’m on it, brother.”

  Raphael walked back over to Serena, who hadn’t moved a muscle. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Monica Rainchild is here to help you. But you’ve got to want it. You’ve got to want to come back to the living. Please, come back.”

  To me, he thought privately. Come back to me. He kissed her forehead and walked quietly out.

  Raphael went blustering down the hallway like a storm, raking his hands through his hair and muttering to himself. Monica Rainchild stood calmly, waiting for him to join her.

  She extended a hand. “Hello, you must be Raphael. I’m Monica Rainchild, Serena’s spiritual healer.”

  “Hi, thank you so much for coming here. She really needs you. We both do. Let’s sit down and I’ll fill you in.”

  They sat together on the couch, and he told her about the attack on Serena and the damage it had done to her physically and emotionally. He told her about Emma, insofar as her extraordinary healing abilities went, and what she could accomplish for Serena. That bit of information didn’t even command a raised eyebrow from Monica, for which Raphael breathed easier. He explained how Serena had been told she couldn’t have children due to the severity of her injuries, and that she’d been under the impression Emma’s healing hadn’t changed that. He couldn’t share about her going off on Bull, however. No one other than Kemuel and he could ever know.

  “She never let on the extent of her upset over the injuries. And now, she’s degenerated into a nonresponsive condition, which I’m afraid she’ll never come out of. You’ve got to help her, Monica. You’re my only hope.” He succumbed to feelings of helplessness; a desperate man at the end of his rope.

  “Take me to her.” As she picked up her bag and stood, Raphael could see the attraction she commanded. A beautiful, older woman, Monica had bronzed skin and long, straight black hair tinged with white every now and again, almond-shaped eyes colored a stormy gray, and a quiet disposition that spoke of age and wisdom.

  Raphael led her down the hall, and when he opened the door to Serena’s bedroom, she entered, going immediately to her. Raphael made to leave but Monica stopped him. “You may stay. In fact maybe you should. Already I sense a deep connection here between you two and I may not be able to do this alone.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll be able to do.” He looked at her, filled with shame. “I’m a healer, Monica, but I’m broken.”

  “You’re not as broken as you think, Raphael. Now sit over there, on the chair in the corner, and be quiet until I need you.” She turned her attention to Serena, who lay like a corpse on the bed. “Serena.” She gently, rubbed her two hands together quickly. “Serena, I am here, child. Let me in so I can help you.”

  Monica placed both of her hands on Serena’s forehead and closed her own eyes. She stayed that way for a good five minutes, her body becoming rigid, tears streaming down her face. Suddenly, she lifted her hands off of Serena and yelped as though she had been burned. Raphael jumped to his feet and raced to her side.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she answered with a weak but reassuring smile. “But she is most definitely not. There’s a veritable war going on inside her. There’s something besides her despair at play here. I’m sensing another personality inside her, a very old, or rather ancient soul. When she comes out of this, we will need to do a past life regression to get to the bottom of things.” She wiped her face with trembling hands and shook them out as though to shake off the bad energy.

  Raphael acknowledged nothing, yet inside, his guts were twisting. Is Sirona’s soul doing this to Serena? Has she led her to Bull and caused her to seek revenge? It’s hard for me to believe that. Sirona hadn’t been that kind of woman; at least he didn’t think so.

  Monica reached down into her bag and brought out a bottle of small pellets, and he gave her a puzzled look.

  “Pulsatilla Nigricans. It’s for healing women deep in despair. I’ll put three pellets under her tongue, and as they dissolve, they’ll do their magic. We’ll give it to her twice more over the next few hours. By the third dosage, I expect her to be responsive and communicative. Then, we’ll talk. As for you, my friend, come out to the living room with me. Let me see what I can do for you.”

  They walked out of Serena’s room together, quietly closing her door. Monica bade him to sit beside her on the couch by the fireplace. He sat down tentatively, unsure of what to think. She placed her hands on the base of his neck and his forehead and closed her eyes. A smile crept across her face immediately.

  “I knew it! I knew your kind existed here on earth!” She shook involuntarily as her expression changed to one of anguish and pain. Tears flowed yet again down her cheeks. She slowly let go of him, took a cleansing breath, and opened her eyes.

  Concern flowed through his entire being. Nobody had ever seen through the human veneer to the angel inside without his disclosure first. There could be dire consequences if this information leaked out to the public.

  “Don’t be so worried, Raphael.” She chuckled and patted his hands. “I have no intention of sharing what I know with anyone. Who would believe me anyway? They’d sooner put me in the loony bin than believe the word of a crazy healer. You know, you and I are not all that different in what we do. We could be of great help to each other in the future. How could I reveal the true identity of such an important group of people such as the Brethren? Why, that would be downright evil.” She laughed and continued with her assessment. “Now, on to more important matters. The remedy for your problem is a rather simple one, but it’s all up to you how long it will take to work.”

  “What do you mean it’s simple?”

  “Well, you see, Raphael, in order to begin the healing, you must forgive yourself and let go of the old guilt you’ve carried around with you for centuries as well as the fresh guilt you’ve acquired recently. You are misguided and must get back on the right path.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” He laughed mockingly. “You’ve seen into my mind, my past. You know what happened. How can I ever forgive myself for not being there to save my wife from her brutal slaying?” He could sit no longer, as pent up anger made a frenzied path throughout his body. He paced the room like a soldier. “How do I get past being unable to save Seraphiel and Emma? I can’t! My wife and Seraphiel’s death, Emma’s resistance to heal are all marks on me, ones that I must bear for eternity!”

  “Oh, don’t be childish, Raphael!” she admonished. “You know as well as anyone how hard you tried to save them all. If you had stopped to think rationally for a moment, you would have remembered the golden rule. There’s always a plan whether we know it or not. You were not meant to save them! Not Seraphiel, Emma, or even your wife. If you let yourself understand and accept that fact, you can work your way to forgiveness and wash away the guilt. Until then, you’re right. You’re blocked and your boss should put you out to pasture. But I saw all that you’ve accomplished. If you ask me, I think it’d be a crying shame to let that happen.”

  She sat across from him with a smug look on her face, playing with
the handle of her bag. It took a few moments before Raphael spoke through gritted teeth. “I think it’s time for Serena’s next dose. Why don’t you stick to healing her?”

  I cannot believe she just scolded me like a child.

  She ignored his remark and stood up, looking imperious. “By the way, I won’t say a word to anyone about Bull either, the worthless piece of refuse. Have you told Serena you suspect your dead wife’s soul has come to live within her?”

  He glared at Monica and simply walked out of the room.

  I’m being childish? Damn it! Who the hell does she think she is, presuming to tell me what I am and what I should do? Raphael fumed as he stormed out of the house to beat up the poor cactus he’d whipped to death the other day. Okay, maybe now I’m being a little childish. But if I couldn’t even save my own wife, what kind of Savior am I? I’m no Savior at all!

  Raphael moved on from the pummeled saguaro to the mannequin planted in the ground for martial arts training purposes. How can I tell Serena about my wife and my suspicions? She’ll think I’ve only been interested in her because of the connection. She’ll think I’m some depraved guy looking to replace his long lost wife. And that is depraved! But that’s not who I am! That’s not why I feel the way I do about her! Well, not anymore anyway. By the time he finished, the mannequin had died ten times over. And he felt dead, too. He’d poured his emotions out with every kick and punch until all that remained was an empty, depressed shell of a man.

  He moved inside to the kitchen where he threw himself a party, a pity party, and toasted himself with a tall glass of water. Here’s to you loser! He looked at the now empty glass and thought, just like my life. He impulsively threw the glass against the kitchen wall and watched it shatter into a million pieces. Just like my life, some more, he mused ruefully. No! That glass can never be put back together, but my life certainly can! But can I do it? Do I have the courage to forgive and let go the guilt? I’m not sure. But I am sure I can sweep up the mess I’ve made. And that’s a start.