Arianna's Awakening (Arianna Rose Part 1 & The Awakening Part 2)

by Jennifer Martucci

  “Then we’ll be late ‘cause I’m going to load her bike into the back of my truck.”

  “What? No! I’m on academic probation as it is! If I’m late,” she let her voice trail off. Stephanie eyed Arianna, allowed her gazed to examine her tattered clothes. “Jesus, there’s not a scratch on you, but your clothes are shredded to shit.”

  “I know,” Arianna added solemnly.

  “I have a bag in the back of Luke’s truck, clothes and stuff. We’re about the same size,” Stephanie said in a much gentler tone. “You can change on the way, if you’re not too modest,” she added with more bite.

  “Modest? My whole ass is hanging out right now. The only thing between it and everyone right now is your brother’s jacket.”

  “And what a lucky jacket it is,” Luke called from the distance.

  “How the hell did he hear that?” Arianna asked.

  “Who the hell knows? He’s a pervert like every other guy.”

  “I heard that! And thanks, sis!”

  “Huh,” Stephanie said and ignored Luke’s comment. “Looks like he got a few guys to help him load your bike. I guess looking like that,” she said and gestured to Arianna. “Well, I’m sure it helped.”

  Arianna wasn’t sure how to respond. Stephanie’s comment sounded more like an accusation than a compliment, so she let it slide.

  Once the bike had been loaded into the back of Luke’s pickup and the other men had left, Luke chatted with the police officer who had stopped. They spoke briefly and Arianna watched as Luke pointed to her then, with the officer, approached.

  “Arianna, this is Ricky, I mean Officer Arnold,” he said then added. “Sorry man. Still hard to think of you as a cop, you know?”

  Officer Arnold rolled his eyes and nodded. He looked about twenty. Pudgy and baby-faced, he seemed genuinely uncomfortable in his uniform. “Uh, ma’am, I mean miss,” he stumbled. “Are you all right? The bike was in pretty bad shape. Are you in need of medical treatment?”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Arianna answered honestly. “I don’t know how, but I’m okay.”

  “Um, I’m not even sure what to do here,” he said. “I guess you can give me a statement, you know, tell me what happened and I’ll write a report.”

  “Okay, sure,” she said and proceeded to tell him the same story she had told Luke, that she’d thought she’d seen an animal and had swerved to avoid it.

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” Officer Arnold said when she’d concluded then added, “Later Luke”

  “Later Ricky!”

  “You girls ready to roll or what?” Luke asked.

  Stephanie rolled her eyes and sighed loudly as she climbed in the passenger side.

  “Here Arianna,” Luke said and opened the driver’s side door. He moved his seat forward and she saw that the cab had a second row. She climbed in and sat uncomfortably next to a duffle bag.

  “Sorry. There’s not a lot of room back there. Just put your legs up on the seat,” Luke said.

  “Thanks,” Arianna replied. Then to Stephanie she said, “Are the clothes you said you’d lend me in this bag?”

  “Oh yeah,” Stephanie said, annoyance lacing her words. “There should be a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt.”

  “Thanks,” Arianna said. “You’ll get them back tomorrow, washed, of course.”

  Arianna opened Stephanie’s bag and took from it the two pieces she’d been offered. She untied her boots and slid them off before tugging her tattered leggings off. The cotton and spandex material was in shreds and she was left with just her thong underwear, which did not offer much in the way of coverage. She had placed Luke’s jacket over her pelvis and began sliding the yoga pants up her legs.

  “I am so jealous of that jacket,” Luke said. She glanced up and saw that he’d been stealing glimpses of her.

  “Hey! Eyes on the road!” she ordered. “No more accidents today.”

  “It’d be worth it,” he said and smiled mischievously.

  “Oh God, kill me,” Stephanie groaned loudly. “You’re such a douche, Luke!”

  Though she had feigned annoyance at his peeking, Arianna was secretly thrilled that Luke had tried to see her as she’d dressed. She pulled off her shirt confidently and didn’t bother trying to hide behind his jacket. The front of the truck jerked as she tugged the tight T-shirt over her head.

  “They’re just boobs, idiot,” Luke’s sister admonished. “And they’re in a bra!”

  He looked at Arianna in the rearview mirror again. “And I missed them!” he complained.

  Stephanie laughed. Her laughter was a surprisingly pleasant sound, sweet and mellifluous. Arianna didn’t know why, but she had half-expected Stephanie’s laugh to be a maniacal cackle instead of the honeyed sound it was. She found herself laughing as well.

  When the laughter died down and just the radio broadcast crackled from the ancient speakers and filled the truck, Arianna began to think about the accident. She closed her eyes and the entire scene replayed in her mind. She saw the man on the side of the road, saw his face. Though she did not know him, she was convinced she had seen him before. She did not know where or when, just that he was familiar to her. It was hard to imagine that a man that looked as he did would not be more memorable. Men who looked like models didn’t exactly constitute the vast majority of the male population. She racked her brain, struggling to place where it was she knew him from, yet came up empty. She decided to focus on the other question that plagued her: Why hadn’t she been hurt? She had felt pain as she’d scraped along the road. She had ached at every bump as she’d tumbled down the embankment. Yet there was not a mark on her, not that she could see at least. No blood, no bumps or bruises, not a scratch. It did not make sense. Her brain reasoned that it wasn’t possible for her to walk away from the accident unharmed, but she had.

  She opened her eyes and Herald Falls High School came into view.

  “You okay?” Luke asked her.

  “I’m fine, why?”

  “I saw you with your eyes closed, that’s all. Don’t die or anything, okay? We don’t want Officer Jumbo to lose his job.”

  “You mean Officer Arnold,” Stephanie corrected.

  “Ooh, so protective,” he teased. “You must love him!”

  “Shut up, asshole,” Stephanie hissed.

  “Don’t worry. I think I’ll live,” Arianna interrupted their bickering. “I was just resting my eyes. The adrenaline rush wore off I guess.”

  And it had. The trembling charge she’d felt earlier had left her. What remained were questions, too many questions. Each weighed upon her with leaden heaviness. Chief among them was her escape from the accident unscathed. That point nagged at her, demanding attention like a willful child. It had also birthed yet another issue: she could not remember ever being hurt. As far back into her childhood as she could recall, she had never been injured. No broken bones, no stitches, no trips to the emergency room. It wasn’t as if her mother had been watching her every moment of the day either. To the contrary, her mother had let her roam freely. And she had been a daring child, climbing trees, skate boarding, inline skating, ice-skating. None had produced a scratch worthy of so much as a plastic bandage.

  Her recollections were interrupted by Luke’s truck rumbling to a stop in the rear parking lot.

  “We’re here. Welcome to paradise,” he said sarcastically.

  “Or where happiness comes to die,” Stephanie added. “I’m off. See you later.”

  “Yep,” Luke replied.

  “Bye. And thanks again,” Arianna said.

  “Whatever,” Stephanie added uncomfortably before walking away.

  “My sister, the wordsmith,” Luke said. “We’re really working on her social skills.”

  He smiled, and Arianna smiled, too. Luke had an easy way about him. She felt comfortable around him.

  “Thanks,” Arianna said to him. “You really saved my ass today.”

  “Literally,” he said and leaned as if looking at her b
ackside.

  Her pulse quickened a bit and butterflies filled her stomach.

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “If you hadn’t passed by when you did, I’d still be back there with Officer Arnold and God-only-knows-who else. So thanks for stopping, and for helping.”

  “No need to thank me. Thank whatever force let you live today. Man that was a nasty wipeout.”

  “You don’t need to tell me,” she said in agreement. “I got lucky, very lucky.”

  “Speaking of getting lucky, meet me here after last period,” he said and flashed a playful smile again. Amusement danced in his eyes.

  “Excuse me?” she asked sharply.

  “I’m just joking around. I’m assuming you’ll need a ride, right?” he said.

  “Yeah, but no one’s getting lucky, got it?”

  He laughed. “All right, point taken. Can’t blame a guy for trying, right? But kidding aside, I’ll meet you back here after school, and take you wherever you need to go, okay?”

  “Yeah, that would be great. Wow, that’s really nice of you, but,” she began.

  “And don’t freak out about the mechanic thing,” he interrupted as if reading her thoughts. “I know a guy who fixes bikes, and he’ll take care of it for you, no problem.”

  “Really?” she brightened. “Are you serious?”

  “Yep, I’ll introduce you to him at my place after school today if you want.”

  “Yes! Please! That would be great. I was supposed to go job hunting, but that can wait ‘til tomorrow. I’ll need that job to pay your guy!”

  “He’s cheap. Don’t worry,” he smiled broadly, a warm smile that she swore made his gray eyes shimmer. “Be here at the end of the day.”

  “You got it!”

  He hesitated for a moment and searched her eyes. A strange expression touched his features, flickered there for a fraction of a second, as if he wanted to say something else to her. But instead he turned and walked away. Alone, she slung her backpack, now frayed and ragged-looking, over her shoulder, and began her second day at Herald Falls High School.

  Chapter 7

  God had made plain His disdain for witchcraft. Exodus, Deuteronomy, Galatians and Revelation all spoke of forbidding a witch to live, and prohibited the use of divination, sorcery and witchcraft. Howard Kane knew of each verse in the Bible that condemned heretics. He could quote them all by heart. He had also heard the Lord’s voice speak them through him.

  Though God had not communicated with him in some time, signs had abounded. He lived his life, ever vigilant and sensitive to more subtle messages from his Maker. Vigilance and sensitivity combined with technology had enabled his latest endeavor.

  He drove along a narrow, winding road. Wind-driven rain pelted his windshield and his wipers struggled to clear it. Gusts whipped and lashed at the treetops on both sides of the street, sending fiery red and orange leaves in every direction like burning embers and rocking his SUV. But he never doubted the capability of his Chevy Suburban, or the envoy that tailed him.

  He glanced up into the rearview mirror and glimpsed his fleet of three identical vehicles behind him. Together, they were on a mission, a divine mission.

  Weeks of poring over information received from his network of followers had resulted in his current outing. A report had come to him, from a very loyal and dedicated source, that a small group was planning an initiation ceremony. They had intercepted several cryptic e-mail exchanges and learned where and when the ritual was to take place. Gatherings of witches for the purpose of ritualistic behavior, introductory or otherwise, implied the formation of a coven, and covens of witches were a dire threat to humankind. Perhaps their gathering had been instigated by the Sola in an attempt to unite forces with others of far lesser strength, others who possessed meager powers by comparison, but powers, nevertheless. She would rank highest among them, and have the authority to preside over their disgraceful service. He, and the others who followed in their trucks behind him, were en route to end the ritual by any means necessary. They were headed to destroy the demons. If she were there, he would destroy her as well.

  A turnoff ahead signaled the entrance to a long driveway. He did not bother signaling, but veered off the main road and on to the gravel lane. Muddy impressions made in the pebbles meant that the witches had already arrived, and had likely begun their pagan rite. Howard’s insides pulsed, infused with righteous power, the power he thrived on to conquer wickedness.

  He parked his truck at the end of the driveway, before a crumbling house. Built in the early 1900s, the building had been a rumored spot for every kind of imagined depravity. Some said it was haunted. Others claimed it was a house used for satanic ceremonials. But none of the rumors mattered now. After all, everything he’d heard, every rumor, was just that. The proceedings that were likely under way were supported by facts, evidence, and not mere speculation. Howard looked up to his rearview mirror again and saw that his followers had already exited their vehicles. He stepped out as well. As his feet hit the stony pathway, the rain slowed to a fine mist then ended abruptly. He raised his eyes heavenward and saw that clouds, unhurried minutes ago, now raced across the sky. Patches of blue could be seen in some spots. Undoubtedly a sign from God, the weather was predictive of his upcoming victory. The earth around him had been doused in heavenly water, purged of its sin and left clean. The parallels were remarkable, how the Lord made clear his plan, miraculous.

  Two men approached him, a father and son. Mark Andrews and his son MJ had been loyal servants for more than a decade.

  “Brother Howard, the e-mail said they were meeting in the basement,” Mark said.

  “Ah yes, very fitting that they’d conduct their wretched business on the lowest level of the house,” Howard commented.

  “I guess they like to be that much closer to Lucifer,” MJ spat.

  Mark put a hand on his son’s broad shoulder and squeezed. “That’s why we’re here, son. To cast them from their shadowy depths and shine the light of God on them.”

  Howard beamed at Mark and MJ. They were such bright and benevolent servants. The others joined Mark and his son and gathered around him. After he’d given his instructions, they entered the derelict house.

  He led them through the front door. There was no need to worry about surprising the witches. They’d likely known of Howard and his men’s arrival; had sensed it. Innumerable dust particles scattered as thin rays of light sliced through the darkened entrance. He immediately noticed several sets of footprints in the thick layer of dust on the wood floors. He followed them to what used to be a kitchen where they disappeared abruptly.

  “They’re here. I can feel it,” he whispered. And with his words, God sent him another sign. The smell of incense assaulted his nasal passages, its woodsy musk thick and heavy. He closed his eyes and forced himself to inhale deeply, to breathe the filthy scent. “Yes, they are near, very near.”

  He took several steps toward a door that looked no larger than a pantry closet and the scent intensified. He pointed to a wooden door and nodded. Mark stepped forward and slowly turned the handle. The door opened inward, and he expected its hinges to creak in protest. To his surprise, it opened silently. Before them was a narrow, stone staircase. Howard began descending the staircase, into the darkened bowels of the house. Up ahead, he saw a red glow that swelled and diminished intermittently. The smell grew stronger still and he fought the urge to hold his breath. And then he heard it. Voices chanted, murmuring forbidden words, summoning ancient evil. The sound of the incantation filled the air. He turned and looked to Mark who was just a step behind him and nodded solemnly.

  At the bottom of the steps, he and his men rounded a corner, and before them stood a hideous display of blasphemy. Five sinners in all chanted at the vertices of a pentagram drawn in chalk on the concrete floor. Candles and incense burned, suffocating the room with unholy light and fragrance. Around the pentagram, a circle had been traced. Just outside the perimeter of the circle, a blue book with
a silver pentagram inscribed at its center sat on the dirt-coated floor. He knew it well. Widely held as the most thorough and respected authority on witchcraft, it was a mark of defilement in his eyes, a blasphemous reminder of man’s frailties. In it pages was the despicable history and philosophy of witchcraft, as well as powerful spells and ritual instructions. To the novice, the book was a veritable how-to book for the induction into the ungodly practice. To the experienced sorceress, it was a reference guide that had long since been committed to memory. Beside it sat a notebook with the words “Book of Shadows” scrawled across it in loopy handwriting. The Book of Shadows was a common term for a witch’s journal. It was where she would record each of her rituals and their outcomes, along with her profane journey down the path of evil. He loathed to touch such offensive works, but needed to confiscate them as evidence for his congregates. But before he reached for the book, before he made his presence known, he searched his soul and tried to sense the Sola’s presence.

  He closed his eyes and held his hands out at his sides, palms facing upward. He felt her existence thrumming through his core like a constant current of electricity, coursing through his very being. She was near; of that he was certain. But he did not feel the charge of her growing power. The energy he sensed in the room was different from that of the dangerous seer. The energy of the room, concentrated in the encircled pentagram was latent, its force as yet untapped. He opened his eyes and noticed that one of the cloaked conjurers watched him.

  “Who dares to conjure evil in this house?” he boomed. No one answered, but five sets of eyes now stared at him. “Who is the high priestess of this ritual?” he demanded again.

  One of the hooded fiends lowered her cloak. “I’m not a priestess or anything,” she answered. “But I am hosting this ceremony.”

  Her face was smooth and round, childlike, yet had been tainted by dark makeup. He guessed she was perhaps eighteen years old.

  “Ceremony,” Howard said and stooped to pick up the blue book. “You call gathering together to summon darkness a ceremony? This is an abomination, an offense against God!”