Chapter Three
Falon
“There’s no sign of him. It’s as if his body was picked up and carried off.” I look at Emery, my Beta, with disdain. For him to give up and act so weak is a disgrace to the hounds. Why I appointed him Beta when I killed Ludis is beyond me right now.
“You will find him. He couldn’t have just vanished in thin air. If he had been re-blessed with wings, we would know it.” I look over at the faded sign of Sterling Hollow. This quaint little town that smells of jealousy and passion is in for a surprise. If they only knew of the hell that is about to be inflicted upon their town, they would be heading to the nearest church to pray. A smile spreads across my face as I think about the fun we could have here.
Emery bows his head, shifting as he heads toward the tree line to hunt for the angels scent. I was surprised to hear the hell call, as was my Beta, who was eagerly engaged in luring a young girl to stray from her lover. We had been bored in Seattle once we lost the hunt we had going on a werewolf. Their kind was rapidly becoming extinct thanks to my fine leadership skills. Emery was upset that he had to let his new toy go.
I was thrilled at the chance to chase the fallen angel. The call was only used when an angel was found, so this was the time to be in on the hunt. I knew things were going to get intense when I felt Darpan fall. A hound hardly ever met his death. Someone strong and cunning had to be very resourceful to elude our kind. Proof of that is from the thousands we’ve killed, versus the mere handful of us who have fallen.
My body goes on alert as the trees rustle, but once I catch Emery’s scent, I relax.
“What have you found?” I growl, a little louder than necessary.
“It’s Evren; he’s found some clothing in a cave. He said it’s the same scent we found near the angel’s blood.” My chest puffs up when I see the fear in Emery’s eyes. His fear of me boosts my ego, but it also makes me respect him a little less.
“Tell him to bring it to me.” Emery nods and goes back into the forest. I can hear the limbs breaking as his shifts back to hound-form. It’s an uncomfortable experience, but in this case, necessary. Hounds can only communicate with one another when in hound-form. If we are in our human disguises, we have to use modern technology. I’m not about to go through the trouble of shifting just to talk to some low-on-the-chain hound. That’s what Emery is for.
Emery comes back out of the woods a short time later, retrieving his shirt from the ground to pull over his head.
“He’s coming.”
A smile breaks out across my face at this news. Who is this mystery person helping the angel? I couldn’t get anything from the scent. It was diluted with animal blood and the stench of the forest.
“Sir, what about the other fallen angels? Won’t they be coming?”
The angels were no threat to me. They may be able to hear our calls, but with no power, they stand little chance of defeating us. “I’m not worried about them. Their numbers are small and they are vastly spread out across the lands. Before they can ever get here, we will have this problem solved, and moving on to our next target.”
Evren walks out of the forest, nearly naked. “This is what I found.” He holds out two shirts that are dingy and covered with dirt. “It’s a match for the scent we found by the angel’s blood. What should we do?”
A low growl escapes from my chest, an irritated tone that is intended to remind everyone of Ludis’ fate. “Find them.”
Chapter Four
Sabrina
I pop the window in the back of the small pharmacy and enter the building. I’m surprised when a box by the window starts screeching a warning. I smash the box and the loud buzzing noise stops. The ringing in my ears goes away after a few moments. I focus back in on my mission and start looking for supplies.
I know I need bandages, alcohol, and water to clean the wounds but finding those objects is going to be a task. The store is filled with objects other than medical supplies. Stuffed teddy bears, bags, knick-knacks, and other gift items are arranged along the outer walls. The place also supplies other common uses like soaps, things for baby’s, and even food. This was not a pharmacy I was accustomed to. In my day, a pharmacy was a small store filled only with medical supplies. There may have been a bowl of candy by the clerk but that was it. This resembled what a general store would have in the 1800s.
Another problem I face is reading the labels. Reading is a privilege that most take for granted. I was never given the opportunity to learn how to read. I worked on my family’s farm in my youth. My mother barely knew how to read, though she still tried to teach me basic words, but I forgot all that once I was turned. My life was driven by hunger and a need to please my master. I had to prove to him that I was worthy of having been created. I had no idea at the time there were other options.
I scan the aisles looking for bandages. Those should be easy to spot. They are common enough. I find the bandages on the bottom shelf thanks to the pictures on the box. I grab a few different sizes, and then I start looking for alcohol. I find the bottle I need a few slots over from the bandages. I’m not sure how much I will need, considering Kayson has many lacerations. Deciding to be safe, I take two of the bigger bottles.
As I make my way around the corner of the aisle, I spot a rack of shirts. The shirts are in an array of colors all with different designs. Many of them have sayings on them that I can’t read. One catches my eye; it’s pink, with an image of an angel holding a teddy bear on the front. It seems childish but I’m still drawn to the gentle sentiment of the picture. My hand reaches out for the shirt but I stop myself. I promised Kayson I wouldn’t take anything unless necessary. As much as I want to take the shirt with me, I resist the temptation.
I locate jugs of water lined up below a counter displaying souvenirs. Along with those souvenirs is a knapsack with a picture of a mountain and what appears to be the city’s name. Thanks to Kayson, I know that it says Sterling Hollow. I often didn’t know the name of the cities I passed, unless someone mentioned the name out loud, which rarely happened.
I grab the knapsack from the shelf and place my items inside. I consider this necessary. He honestly can’t expect me to get away unseen carrying all these things in my hands.
As I’m exiting through the back window, the sound of sirens returns to the quiet night air. They had stopped earlier when I made my way to the pharmacy but now they are in full pursuit again. And getting closer.
I jump out the window and make my way down the back alley. Once I emerge, cop cars go flying around the corner, coming to a stop in front of the pharmacy. I make a beeline in the opposite direction and head back to the hideout. I stay hidden from the street lamps, although I doubt anyone could notice even a whisper of my presence as I pass by.
Landmarks that I saw earlier come back into view. There’s the odd blue colored house that’s surrounded by a large garden. Most of the houses are enclosed by the same type of white picket fences. The house with our hideaway is the only house surrounded by a high fence that no one can see past. Making my way back, I jump over a white picket fence, where I’m met by an angry dog. The sense of hunger no longer washes over me like it normally does when met by a small animal. I’ve killed many dogs in my day to sustain my own life but thanks to Kayson, this animal is saved. I simply whisper past him.
Soon I’m back to the familiar yard. Before entering the shed, I turn to look at the quaint quiet home. It’s a beautiful home that any person would be lucky to grow up in. It is nothing like my childhood home.
The place I grew up was small and dingy with dirt floors, and wood siding that had holes, allowing the winter chill entrance. My sister and I slept in hay cots in the corner of the house next to the gathering room. My mother and father’s room was the only room in the house that was separate. My father added it one spring after he sold one of his best horses. It had been a loss and gain for our family. While we needed the horse to pull the plow in the gardens, my family had been in desperate need of essentia
ls such as food, fabric, seeds for the garden. After we sold the horse, my father had traded a large number of our chickens−not all, as we still needed eggs ourselves−in exchange for a donkey. He learned real fast that tilling the garden without the aid of a horse to pull his plow was tough, and took too much time. He needed the extra strength to meet the deadline of planting in the right season.
The people who own the house before me live in comfort. The beautiful two story home is aligned with shrubs and flowers along the porch that wrap around the house like a blanket. The yellow siding is set off with white trimming, making the house appear clean and crisp. The people who live here probably don’t know how many people dream of owning a home like this.
I turn away from the house, dismissing the memories. Dredging up memories of my family and the life I once had is painful. It was a reminder of the life I lost and the solitude I live in now as I fight to stay alive.
I knock aside the rock propping the door closed, and enter. Kayson is lying on the bed with his eyes closed. The softness of his breathing tells me he’s asleep. He would be none the wiser if a hound came in here and tore him apart. Doubt starts plaguing me about leaving him. He would be completely defenseless against any threat, hell hound or human. Then again, if I found him a safer place to stay where no one would find him and he was relatively healed, then it should be no problem. I guess I was going to have to wait and find out tomorrow.
I place my bag next to the bed and sit beside him. He stirs in his sleep but doesn’t wake up. Sweat is rolling off his forehead. Small whimpers escape him as I start to examine his leg.
“Kayson, I’m back. We need to dress these wounds.” He doesn’t respond. My worry over his illness intensifies. What if he’s in a coma? Could we be too late? “Kayson, wake up.” I gently shake him, which earns me a loud moan as he grabs my arm.
“Please stop.” The request is a whisper but the urgent desperation in his voice makes me pull my hands away.
I feel his forehead to check to see if he has a fever. Kayson jerks from my cold touch. “Kayson, we need to dress your wounds. Is it okay if I take your shirt off?” Kayson’s eyes remain closed, but he nods. Instead of making him sit up, I rip the front of his shirt and tear the arms so it simply folds off of him.
When his shirt is off, I pause. It’s been quite some time since I’ve interacted with another being, almost thirty years. I’ve watched the seasons come and go, keeping track of the time that passes. But it’s been even longer since I’ve seen the beauty of man. Too many seasons have passed for me to recollect the last time. A small flutter twists my stomach as I watch Kayson’s chest rise and fall. Golden blood trails from a cut on his chest to trickle down his hard, tight abdomen. I set there mesmerized by his beauty, forgetting the pressing matter of his wounds, until his hand softly touches my hand.
“Is everything okay?” I’m brought back to reality at him catching me staring.
Thankfully, my skin can’t heat so I don’t have to worry about him seeing me blush. “Yeah, I was just looking over your cuts.” Turning my head away from him, I bend over to retrieve the bandages and water. “Crap, I forgot to get some clean towels.”
“Just use the ones over there.” Kayson points to the chair in the corner where I had retrieved the towel I used to protect the quilt.
“What if they’re not clean? God knows how long they’ve been there collecting germs.”
Kayson chuckles at my reaction, “You’re a little worry wart, aren’t you?”
“Yeah well, when you’ve seen as many die as I have because of infections to minor cuts and wounds, you would be too.” I look over at the towels and sigh. We really have no other option. I can only hope the alcohol will kill any bacteria they may hold.
When I pick up the towels, a picture falls to the floor. It’s a photo of a boy and girl hugging. They look identical, the same light brown hair, blue eyes, and sharp cheekbones. I can only guess they are brother and sister. The girl has her arms tightly wound around the boy’s neck and they’re both giving big smiles to the camera. Why is this picture mixed in with a bunch of towels in a shed? An even better question is, why are there even towels in a shed, not to mention all the other stuff in the room?
Kayson notices me staring down at the thin portrait. “What is it?”
I walk back over to the bed and hand Kayson the photo. “I wonder why this was mixed in with the towels.”
Kayson looks at the photo, “I’m not sure, but they look happy.” Kayson stares at the photo for a moment with a smile, before laying it by his bed on the cold box. He lies back against the pillow, releasing a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.”
I retrieve the water jug off the floor. I’m ready to get it over with myself. I don’t give any warning; I just pour the cold liquid over his chest wound. Kayson gasps. Next, I inspect the wound for any debris such as dirt or rocks. After I make sure the wound is clean, I grab the alcohol and pour it in. Kayson groans against the pain as his body tenses but never once does he move. I let the alcohol dry before covering it with a bandage. Once I’m finished, I move on to the next laceration. I repeat the same steps with every cut on his arms, side, and legs. I have to cut his pants just a bit to get to those wounds.
Now that I’m done with his front side, it’s time to move to his back. “How do you want to do this? Do you want to roll over or sit up?”
Kayson winces at the thought, “Sit up, I guess.”
“Are you sure?” I ask him skeptically.
“I’m sure. I’m tired of lying down anyway.”
“You’ve only been lying down for a few hours.” I say, walking over to get more towels.
“It feels like days. I’m starting to feel stiff.” Kayson starts to sit up on his own but I intervene and take the weight of his body in my arms. As gently as I can, I pull him up into a sitting position. “Thank you.” Kayson says.
I’m about to respond but am distracted by the claw marks on his back. Next to his leg these have to be the worst injuries. The lacerations are deep, almost to the bone. They run at a diagonal slant, cutting into both his wing scars. When I touch the rough edge where the hound’s claw ripped through the wing scars, Kayson jerks.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“Yeah, just a bit.” Kayson replies with a dip of sarcasm.
“I don’t mean the claw wounds. I mean your wing scars. Do they still hurt from being torn away?” The scars, where his wings once were, run down along his shoulder blades and end at the bottom of his rib cage. Small pieces of bones still protrude past his skin to indicate that once he had another extension to his body.
“No, they’re just tender. It only hurts where the hound slashed me.” Kayson props his elbows on his legs for support, while he waits for me to clean the wound.
I get to work and clean his damaged skin, then dress the wounds. To be honest, he needs stitches but I don’t have the proper tools to perform such a task. I should have thought of that while I was at the pharmacy. I’m sure they had a needle and thread amongst all the merchandise that littered the store.
“There, you’re all done.” I sit back on the bed and place my hands on his shoulder, ready to help guide him back against the pillows.
Kayson places his hands over mine to stop me. “No don’t, I want to sit up for a moment.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. Kayson nods and closes his eyes, breathing in deep gulps of air. I’m sure sitting up like that is painful to his leg, but relaxing to his stiff muscles.
We sit in silence for a while, not looking at each other. I inspect the room again, wondering not for the first time why all this stuff is in here. I don’t get why a shed would be set up like this when there’s a big house right there. There must be plenty of room in that house for someone to sleep. And they didn’t have a farm so I see no reason for there to be a live-in handy man.
“Sabrina.” Kayson says my name with caution as he looks up at me. “Can I ask you something?” I nod. “Why did you help me
?”
The question takes me back almost a hundred years to a memory I’m not too fond of.
“I don’t know. When I saw you lying there on the ground helpless, I knew I couldn’t leave you.” Looking down at the floor, I lower my voice. “I know what it’s like to be left behind.”
“Tell me.” Kayson’s voice is soft and earnest when he asks me to tell him.
I hesitate. I have never told anyone how I was turned. Those few who knew what I was, could care less as to why I turned. They were the same monsters. No one has asked me my story, because no one cares what my story is. Until now. My eyes stay fixed on the floor as I trudged up despised memories I’ve tried to forget.
“I was only eighteen when it happened. The year was 1891, and I was living in South Carolina. Famine had spread across the land and my family became sick. My father and mother were too sick to leave their bed and my little sister was only fourteen. I knew if I didn’t do something, I was going to lose them. So I left them behind in hopes of finding some medicine that would cure them. After walking for three days, I finally reached Charlestown. There I found a doctor who was willing to help me. He gave me antibiotics that were new to the market and some penicillin. The doctor instructed me on how to administer the medicine, apologizing that he couldn’t make the trip to see my family. There were too many sick patients in the city for him to be leaving behind.”
I pause for a moment as the memory turns dark and unwelcoming.
“I had thought things were going to be okay. I had hopes of returning home to my family with medicine that would cure them. My hope died when I met my fate that night. After leaving Charleston, I found shelter in a barn outside the city. The old couple that owned the barn said I could stay for the night but that I had to be gone the next day. I obliged and thanked them for their generosity. The only problem was they weren’t being so generous. I had no idea of the monster that lurked inside their home, who fed on victims in the night.” I swallow hard against the resurging of the fear I felt that night. It is as if I am back in Charleston again.
Broken Faith: Spiritual Discord, 1 Page 3
