by C. L. Coffey
Wrinkles creased my forehead as I examined the contents. I had forgotten that I also needed to stop at the grocery store on my way home. Inside the fridge was a milk carton, a nearly empty jar of mayonnaise, and last night’s leftover pasta.
The doctors told me the best thing for my mom was a balanced diet as it would help keep her mood more stable and lessen the side effects of her medication.
I shut the fridge and opened the small freezer, pulling out the only thing in there—a tub of ice cream. The pasta may have been a better option, but if Mom hadn’t eaten breakfast, then she wasn’t going to eat the pasta. My best bet was to tempt her with sugar.
First grabbing a spoon from the drawer, I then made my way down the short hallway to my mom’s room at the end. As I drew closer, I heard her voice.
“… Bee, make her hurry up,” she was saying, a whine to her tone. “We have been waiting too long for this.”
I bit my lip as I frowned. Who the hell was Bee? And what had my mom been waiting for? As the room fell quiet, like my mom was waiting for a response, a knot twisted in my stomach. Mom didn’t have a cell phone. We couldn’t afford one, and I didn’t trust her not to make calls she shouldn’t be making.
I tried to push the door open, but it was locked. With a sigh, I leaned against it and tapped gently on the wood. “Mom? It’s me, Kennedy,” I called to let her know who I was so I didn’t alarm her. “… Dora.”
I hated my first name. It was bad enough always being the new kid, but the new kid called Dora? Whenever I introduced myself, I went by my surname. The only person who called me Dora was my mom.
There was a moment’s pause and some hushed whispers I didn’t catch.
“Mom?”
“Go away, demon,” she yelled.
I slid down the door, setting the ice cream on the floor. She was having an episode. “Momma, it’s me. I have ice cream.”
“I don’t want anything from you.” She continued shouting at me. “I know your kind. You’re just like your father. Tempting me with gifts laced with poison.”
“It’s not poison,” I assured her, trying to keep my voice even. “It’s pistachio. Your favorite.”
There was a moment of silence before the door vibrated behind me as something collided with it with a loud bang. I winced and turned around, getting onto my knees. “Mom, please let me in.” I leaned my head against the door frame and pressed my palm against the door.
There was another pause before something else shattered in the room.
“Go away, demon.”
CHAPTER TWO
As another item was hurled against the door, I picked up the ice cream and made my way back to the kitchen.
The banging continued for a few more minutes before my mom got quiet. Wordlessly, I returned the frozen dessert to the freezer and sat down at the table, staring at the soggy Wheaties floating at the top of the bowl.
I knew it wasn’t my mother’s fault.
She was sick.
I knew that.
But the words still sliced through me like a knife. Her behavior was getting progressively worse, too. The medication was helping before, but now it seemed to be doing nothing. I just needed a good day to tempt her out of her room, so we could go to a doctor. For now, it was up to me to look after her.
I disposed of the old cereal and washed out the breakfast dishes. I was about to set the last bowl down on the drainer when another crash echoed from Mom’s room. When the clattering didn’t let up, I ran to her bedroom and hammered on the door. “Mom!” I called. “Mom!”
The only response I got was the sound of more items being thrown around and banging onto the floor.
The furniture had come with the apartment. We had no belongings of real value for me to be concerned about, but I was worried about her. Using my shoulder, I slammed into the door.
My weight popped the lock. The door opened but stopped before there was a gap large enough to squeeze through. The dresser blocked the doorway.
Items of clothing, books, and keepsakes flew past my view.
I shoved against the door again, struggling to comprehend how my petite mother managed to move it in the first place—when she let out a cry of pain.
Taking a step back first, I rammed the door with my shoulder again, expecting it to give a fraction. Instead, I was left staring, open mouthed in the doorway, at the dresser which now lay on its side a few feet away. The door lay on top of it.
“Dora?” The sheer terror in Mom’s voice had me switching my attention from the destruction I had caused.
“I don’t know how I did...” I finally looked at my mom. Whenever I think of her, I think about how she was eight years ago, around my thirteenth birthday. Up until then, we were around the same height until puberty hit, and I overshot her by a foot.
According to my mom, I got my height from my dad, along with my chestnut hair and dark brown eyes. My mom was the polar opposite: red hair, green eyes, and petite. Sometimes I struggled to see the resemblance between us, but the closest I had ever come to my father was a single photograph I’d seen when I was ten. My mom had caught me looking at it, and I never saw it again.
Mom had been strong and beautiful once. Now as I gazed down at her trembling body, it pained me to admit that she was a shadow of her former self. Her hair was styled in a short pixie cut and her bangs stuck limply to her head. Her pale skin looked grey in the dim light.
I kneeled down in front of her, holding my hands out in the universal ‘I’m unarmed’ gesture. “Mom, it’s me. Dora.”
She blinked at me, and I saw the recognition spark in her eyes, replacing the fear. “Dora?” she repeated, still sounding uncertain.
“That’s right.” I nodded. “It’s only me.”
As quick as a flash, the fear was back in her eyes. “You need to go,” she told me. “You need to leave.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
She leaned forward and clasped at my hands. “They’ll come for you, baby. You need to run.”
I gave her hand a squeeze and flashed her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Mom, no one’s coming for us.”
She shook her head. “For you. They’ll come for you. You shouldn’t exist. You’re an abomination.”
My smile slipped. “Why would someone come for me?”
Mom’s grip tightened so much, her nails dug into my skin. “Because he was a bad man, Dora. An evil man. A fallen angel.”
This was the most I’d ever heard about my father in years. “What did he do to fall?” I asked. “Is he in Hell? Did he murder someone?”
“Worse.” I had no idea what was worse than murdering someone, but she wasn’t about to let me find out. “You need to go. Get out.” She pulled her hands free, then pushed me back with all her might. Frail as she looked, she still managed to shove me hard.
Fighting to keep the tears at bay, I got to my feet and gave her a weak smile. “I’m going to work. I’ll clean up when I get back.”
I left her room, paused long enough to grab my bag, then walked out of the door. The last remnants of daylight lit up the street. The temperature was probably still warm too, but I couldn’t feel it. My mom’s words had left a chill in me I couldn’t shake.
The nightclub was on the edge of an industrial park—an old converted factory itself. Perfect for keeping the noise away from the center of the city. The bus only ran part way there, and only until midnight. When the club closed, I had the option of waiting two hours for the bus or taking a ninety-minute walk.
I got off the bus and started the walk between the factories. If I stuck to the road, there was plenty of traffic. If I cut across the lots—some used, some deserted—it was quicker. The last of the sunlight finally disappeared as I pulled out a bottle of water from my bag. My hands trembled as I unscrewed the lid, but I managed.
I took a long sip and settled back against the cool wall behind me, exhaling. The relief was almost instantaneous. “She’s ill,” I muttered between mouthfuls. “She doesn’t mea
n it. She’s just ill.” I repeated the words, over and over. Long after I finished the drink, I’d nearly convinced myself it was true.
Maybe another move would be the best option? A change of scenery might help her. She’d always said she wanted to live by the sea. We could head west, to California and closer to the beach. I would be able to find a new job and maybe things would settle down.
I was feeling a little more positive. Yes, that was a good idea. Tomorrow when the bank was open I would withdraw as much money as I could and buy us a bus ticket to LA. I already had my mom’s prescription so that would keep us going for a couple of weeks while we settled in. All I would need to do was pack and collect my mom. We paid rent in cash, and given mom’s episodes, it wasn’t likely we would ever see the deposit anyway.
Now that I’d settled on a plan, I felt more optimistic. I would head to the club, work my last shift, collect my last paycheck, and then we could start over.
The bass from the dance music had my nose itching. I liked this job. Most nights, although it was busy, the crowd was usually well behaved.
Of course, my last night wasn’t going to be that easy.
“You really need to let me take care of the guys.” The guy I’d been partnered up with, Brad, grumbled. He was six and a half feet tall with shoulders like a linebacker. He made even me look small. Brad hated being partnered with me because I could easily take on any of the guys causing trouble, and he thought it made him look bad.
“Sure,” I said, with a dismissive wave of my hand. My gaze scanned the club. From the moment we stepped back inside, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end.
On the other side of the dance floor, a guy was staring at me. I’d clocked him earlier. No matter where in the club I was, he always seemed to be there, watching me, hidden in the shadows.
Maybe he was just a guy checking me out, but for some reason, it sent a shiver down my spine.
He was tall, and the lights were casting a blue and white haze around him, making his hair look like ink in the dim light of the club. I couldn’t see his features other than two eyes twinkling in the flashing lights. Judging from the way he had a crowd of women lingering around him, not that he seemed aware of them, he was good looking.
He stepped into the light, and I gasped. Calling him good looking felt like I was doing him a disservice. Dark hair, tall, a square jaw and a face which seemed almost symmetrical. He looked up at me and my heart skipped a beat. Despite that, the hairs on the back of my arms raised as a shiver ran down my back.
“You’re not going to, are you?”
I glanced back at Brad and arched an eyebrow. “Not going to what?”
“Whatever.” He stormed off toward the office.
No doubt, he was going to complain about me infringing on his masculinity and that women shouldn’t be allowed to work security. I glanced back towards the man who’d caught my attention across the dance floor, but he was gone. My uneasy feeling wasn’t.
Before I could find him, a bottle went soaring over my head and shattered as it hit the wall, sending beer and glass showering down over me. I whirled around just as two men started throwing punches at each other.
Wherever Brad was, I didn’t need him.
I dove at one of the guys, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. As he let out a yelp, the other guy grabbed another bottle from someone’s hand and swung it. The bottle smashed against my shoulder.
“Stay down.” I snarled at the man I was holding.
Pulling his arm just enough for him to yell again before I let go, I turned to face the second guy. Just in time, since he lunged at me with a broken bottle. I dodged it, moving just out of reach. “I have no idea what your fight is about, but how about we all go outside and talk it through?”
“Why is it women always gotta interfere in things that don’t concern them?” The man showed no sign of putting the bottle down.
“I suggest you put that down before I knock you out.” I put a hand on my hip and tilted my head.
He slashed the bottle at my face, and I had to do a move from the Matrix to avoid it. To hell with this. As I righted myself, I swung my foot up and around, kicking the bottle out of his hand. Then, not giving him a chance to react, I continued to spin, using the momentum of the kick, letting him get the full blow of a punch to the side of his head.
He dropped to the ground, cradling his cheek.
I reached down, picking him up by the back of his collar, and, collecting the other guy at the same time, hauled their asses out of the club.
The two guys covering the front door barely managed to get them open before I shoved the two fighting men outside.
“Don’t come back.” I wiped my hands off on my pants.
“I’m going to sue your ass,” one of them yelled.
Raising my hand, I flipped them off and walked back inside.
“I told you she had anger issues,” one of the security guys muttered to the other.
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t even angry.
Brad was waiting for me when I got back, his small eyes even smaller with the glare he was sending me. “See, this is the crap I have to deal with,” he said to another member of security.
Ignoring them all, my gaze scanned the club, searching for the good-looking guy I’d locked eyes with earlier. There had been something about him which still left a chill in me.
With only an hour of my shift left, I was tired and wet. My shoulder hurt from where the bottle hit me, and my fist was still tingling. “If you had been here, you could have dealt with it, but you were hiding in the back.” I shrugged.
Brad spent the rest of the evening ignoring me. Thankfully, there was no more trouble. Aside from the lingering smell of beer, the fight was forgotten about. Just another shift at the nightclub.
My last shift.
Telling no one other than the boss that I wasn’t coming back, I collected my pay and left the club without looking back. I didn’t have any friends there and no one would miss me.
The quickest way home was through the grounds of the abandoned canning factory. I ducked through a hole in the wire fence and made my way across the parking lot. I was halfway across when I got the strangest feeling of someone watching me. I came to a stop, scanning the grounds around me. The area wasn’t well lit, and I couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone there. Then again, only hours earlier, I had heard my mother tell me someone was after me.
Hurrying on, I kept my eyes peeled as I quickened my pace. I was nearly at the far side, and my escape hole back onto the main street when something moved in the shadows to my right.
“Who’s there?”
When an empty beer bottle rolled out into the dim light, I nearly laughed in relief. I turned back around but screamed as the relief evaporated.
Trying to get my erratic heart under control, I focused my attention on the person in front of me.
It was the man who had been watching me in the club.
He was taller than me, probably about six and a half feet. He had the kind of looks that could have put him in the movies and have all the girls turning their heads as he walked by. There was a rugged superhero look about him; a slight scruff on his chin, but clean-cut enough to know he was the guy who would save the day.
Yet as I stared into his eyes, with the light still too dim to make out the color of them, I knew I would be safer with anyone other than with this guy. Every cell in my body was screaming for me to run.
“Can I help you?” I slowly edged backwards.
“It’s time to die, nephilim.”
He had an accent, probably from somewhere in Europe, but I couldn’t place it. He took a step towards me and something glinted in the light.
A knife.
“Nephilim?” I blurted out, though I didn’t stick around to wait for an explanation. I turned and ran.
Before I could get far, he was in front of me.
I skidded to a halt; my eyes were w
ide. There was no way on earth someone could move that fast. It wasn’t important.
Not important, Kennedy.
I turned, ready to run again, but his knife caught my attention. Somehow, the thing was growing.
“What the hell?” I blurted, unable to stop myself.
“Hell is where you’re going back to.” He lifted the weapon. Somehow, the knife was now a sword. That was impossible.
I started running again but before I could work out what was happening, I was flying.
He’d thrown me against the wall of the building, and I landed against it so heavily that it knocked the wind out of me. Before I could fall to the ground, he picked me up and flung me again.
My shoulder slammed into something metallic with a bang that was quickly drowned out by an explosion of sparks. For a few seconds, I couldn’t move as an excruciating pain shot through me. It was like nothing I had ever felt before.
I was sure I was having a heart attack, but my limbs were paralyzed, stopping me from reaching out to grab at my chest. I didn’t think there’d still be electricity feeding the factory, but I felt it pass through me, making my muscles spasm and my lungs struggling to inhale.
There was another bang and the area fell into darkness. I collapsed to the ground, lying there, trying to catch my breath. Everything hurt, like each muscle had cramped up simultaneously. I felt pain in muscles I didn’t even know I had. The worst pain was radiating from my shoulder. A burning sensation ran down my arm and stretched across my chest.
Gasping for air, though feeling grateful I still could, I struggled to get to my feet. That guy was still around, and I needed to get out of there. Then, he was there, his arm pinning me to the wall, crushing my throat.
My struggling was futile as he held the sword up, aiming for my heart.
My eyes locked onto his, finally able to see they were green.
His eyes unexpectedly widened in shock. “No,” he muttered. “That’s not possible.” His grip loosened slightly, enough for the dancing black dots to disappear.
Taking my last shot at escape, I stomped down on his foot.
