by Janean Worth
She laughed again. “They don’t all have wings. Most of them look quite normal, just like you and I.”
Connor thought about arguing with her. She was anything but normal!
She chuckled again, and he thought that perhaps it wasn’t such a novelty to have someone be able to discern his every thought.
“You can block me, you know. I can’t read your thoughts if you don’t want me to. In fact, if you simply ask for protection from the Lord, your thoughts are blocked to most of the spiritual realm.”
Connor tried not to roll his eyes. The Lord? Did she mean Jesus? She may be the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen, and she may be able to read his mind, but if she was smart, she’d steer clear of talking about religion to him. He’d decided just last year that he’d had enough of that. Jesus, or the Lord, hadn’t seemed to miss him since he’d been out of touch, either. You couldn’t have your whole family—wife, son, and daughter—die in a car accident in the same day, and not doubt the presence of an all-powerful, all-loving Savior. It had been over three years since the accident, and yet it still left him feeling raw and angry to think about it.
The woman looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry for your loss. But the Lord, and yes, I’m talking about Jesus, is still with you if you want Him to be. You only have to ask for His protection. Did you ever think that they are better off with Him than here with you?”
Connor shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine, if that is your wish, but going around in this world without His protection is just plain dangerous.”
Connor forgot who she was for a moment as his anger surfaced. He forgot that she was a beautiful, fascinating stranger he’d just met on the subway.
“Dangerous?” he snarled. “Dangerous without His protection? It seems like it must be pretty dangerous even with His protection, considering what happened to my family!”
The man across the aisle nervously got up and moved to the end of the subway car. The other passengers shifted away, too, looking out the windows at nothing instead of staring at him as he knew they wanted to. Connor tried to tamp down his anger.
How could she say that? If she could read his mind, how could she say that it was dangerous without His protection, when his family should have darn well had His protection when they’d been in the car accident?
Hadn’t they been good Christians then? Church every Sunday, Sunday school for the kids? Christian giving, trying to do what was right, always willing to go the extra mile in His name? Connor’s family should have had His protection, but instead, they’d all died.
“I’m sorry if I upset you. I just wanted you to know the truth. Something has happened to you today. Something unusual that doesn’t happen to many people. You wouldn’t be able to see me otherwise. Frankly, I’m worried about you. You can obviously see into the spiritual realm, but without the Lord’s protection, you are very vulnerable there. You should take care.”
“Take care, huh? I’m sorry, but I’ve already lost pretty much everything I’ve ever loved, so what more is there to lose?”
“Your soul?” She reached over to touch his hand, and Connor suddenly felt all the anger drain right out of him. A kind of surreal peace flowed over him, and for a moment it was as if the secrets of the universe had opened to him. Everything made perfect sense for just a fraction of a second, and then she removed her hand.
Connor blinked, trying to wrap his brain around what had just happened. He tried desperately to hold on to the sensation that all was as it should be, and he had nothing to worry about, but it faded quickly.
“You see? You need protection. The dark forces have infiltrated your thoughts, and you cannot separate the truth from lies without the Lord’s help.”
“But that was you. You touched me . . .”
“No, I hold no claim to that power. It is not mine but His to give. All you have to do is ask.”
A Bible verse, one he’d memorized long ago, flitted into his memory. “Ask and it shall be given to you.”
“That’s right.” The woman smiled at him.
“Who are you?”
“I’m one of the Invisibles.”
“The Invisibles?” Connor asked.
“Yes, and it seems that you are too. You just don’t know it yet.”
“And Invisibles are what, exactly?” Connor knew he sounded sarcastic. He just couldn’t help himself.
“That is what we call ourselves. We are alive, yet we have an ability to see the spiritual world, and to fade into it if we wish. We are neither angel nor demon. We call ourselves the Invisibles because it seemed appropriate.”
“There are more of you?”
The woman nodded. “Oh, yes. And more are discovered almost daily.”
“I’m not one of you. I’m perfectly normal.”
The woman laughed. She pointed to the other passengers on the subway car, and Connor noticed that, though the car was relatively full, there was a large empty space around him. Everyone had moved as far away as possible.
“That’s not what they think,” she said with a little smirk.
Connor smiled. “I don’t care what they think.”
“Your stop is approaching.” The woman dug into her pocket and produced a small silver case. She took out a card and handed it to him. “You didn’t ask for my number, but here it is anyway. Give me a call, Connor. I can help you.”
Connor looked at the card. It had only her name, Bella Thompson, and her phone number. There was no address. He thought it ironic. Didn’t Bella mean beautiful in Italian?
She chuckled. “Yes, it does. But it means ‘God is my oath’ in Latin. I like that one better. Still, beautiful is nice too.”
She reached over and put her hand over his again, and again he immediately felt a wonderful encompassing peace. The pain he carried in his heart from the loss of his family faded into nothingness, and all he felt was well-being.
“Please call me if you need to, Connor. You are starting a journey, and you should not attempt to go it alone. There are evil forces in the world that you are not even aware of. You need His help, and mine if you want it.”
Connor nodded, almost entranced by the peace that surrounded her. That must be what drew him to her so strongly.
She released his hand and sat back. Connor got up to leave. The doors were just opening, and he had to hurry.
At the door, he looked at the card in his hand and turned back to tell her thank you, but to his surprise, she was no longer there. He thought he heard her chuckle one last time before the doors whooshed shut, but he couldn’t be sure.
Connor wandered across the dirty cement floor and up the stairs, still staring at the card, confusion dulling his brain. At the top of the steps, he took a left and rounded the corner of the street that led to his apartment. It was then that he saw his first demon.
It was a sight he’d never forget.
Chapter Two
Justin wasn’t sure why it mattered to him, but it did. He couldn’t help but dwell on it as he walked through the filthy alley. He was actually surprised to realize that anything could still matter to him. For such a long time, nothing had. But it did matter and that’s why it hurt.
He was homeless, but that didn’t make him a bad person. And she was homeless too, so she should have understood. He wasn’t homeless on purpose; he’d just had a run of bad luck. So had her parents. There was no real reason for the chain of events that had made them both homeless. Nor was there a reason—at least one that he could think of—for what she’d done to him. He’d thought trivial things couldn’t hurt him anymore, and yet he had been hurt by her actions.
When the girl had ratted him out to the food kitchen management, revealing the fact that he was only sixteen and a minor, not eighteen as he’d claimed, Justin had felt betrayed. He’d thought she was his friend. He didn’t have many friends, so finding out he’d lost one bothered him. Even though, apparently, she’d never been his friend to begin with. Friends di
dn’t tell on friends, especially when telling what they knew would ensure that their friend didn’t eat again for a while.
Justin didn’t know why she’d done it, but it meant that he would not be able to have any more meals at that particular food kitchen. At least, not without risking being nabbed and labeled as an unescorted minor, then taken to a facility.
Not being able to go to the food kitchen would make his life even more difficult. It was hard to find a safe place to sleep in the city, but he’d stuck around this spot in the heart of Denver because it was harder yet to find anything to eat in the burbs. He’d been lucky that the food kitchen had just accepted what he’d said about not being a minor, and had allowed him to eat there. Now, it seemed he’d have to change locations again, and just when he’d found out that he could reach the fire escape of a nearby building and climb up to the roof, where there was an excellent little covered alcove that provided safety and a bit of privacy. With winter only months away, he’d need that little alcove. Otherwise, how would he survive the harsh Colorado winter?
He’d almost started to feel attached to his “place” in the little alcove. He’d slept there every night for the last two weeks. But now, since he’d lost his food source, he’d have to find another location. And all because he’d trusted that girl and confided in her that he wasn’t really eighteen.
She’d been curious about him, and had struck up a conversation with him almost every day for the last two weeks. She was so easy to talk to, a good listener, and so he’d found himself telling her more than he ought to as soon as he’d let his guard down. And it hadn’t taken long for him to let his guard down with her. It had only been two days since he’d told her the last of it. He’d told her that his parents were dead, and that he’d found life in foster homes intolerable when compared to the family life he used to have with them. His last foster father had been abusive, and he’d run away. He only had two more years before he was eighteen, and he’d hoped to stay under the radar until then. He’d told her all of this. And he’d thought she’d cared.
But, for some unknown reason, she’d squealed on him, and now his life would be harder. Again.
Not for the first time, he started to wonder what the point was. Why should he go on living, trying, scraping by each day? What for? Would life ever get any better? He had no family to make his life bearable. His mom and dad were dead, and his baby sister with them. His grandparents were dead, too. And he had no aunts or uncles. No cousins. No nothing. He was utterly and truly alone. There was no reason to live. No one to share his joys and sorrows with.
Not for the first time, he began to think of the least painful way to end it. If he’d had his choice, he would have chosen to OD on some sleeping pills. That sounded like a marvelous way to go. He’d had trouble sleeping for the last year, so swallowing a wad of pills and drifting off into a deep sleep never to wake up again really appealed to him. But he didn’t have access to those kinds of drugs. He might be able to sneak into a drugstore and lift some without being caught, but he had sworn to himself he wouldn’t ever stoop to stealing. Not even food. He knew it was crazy. Most people in his situation wouldn’t hesitate to steal, especially food, but not him. He had a fond memory of promising his mother that he’d never, ever steal anything. He’d been eight at the time he’d promised, and they’d been having their nightly discussion before bed. Somehow the subject had come up, and he’d made his earnest vow to her. He could still remember the way she’d smiled at him. He’d known his promise had meant something to her. And so, because of the memory of her smile, he had kept his vow, even after she was gone. Even when he was starving.
Because of the promise, he wouldn’t be able to steal the pills to end his life, and he doubted anyone would be kind enough to give a homeless kid a bottle of sleeping pills. So taking an overdose was out of the question.
He’d toyed with the idea of jumping off the building where he slept, and though he was pretty sure that the fall would kill him, he couldn’t bear the thought of making it through the fall only to be paralyzed. Paralyzed and helpless in some hospital facility somewhere would definitely be worse than alone and homeless.
He thought that perhaps asphyxiation wouldn’t be that bad. He could probably tie a plastic bag over his head and end it that way, but he didn’t think he could stand the sensation of dying slowly like that. He knew he’d rip off the bag before he even got close.
So what was left to him? Living? He smirked to himself as he thought about how ironic it was that he was thinking of suicide, when for the past few months, all he’d thought about was how to stay alive. Where to sleep so he didn’t get beaten and murdered. Where to get something to eat so he didn’t starve. How to avoid the gangs and thugs and dangerously territorial panhandlers.
A sound interrupted his thoughts, and immediately his brain went on high alert. His self-preservation instincts took over, wiping any thoughts of death wishes and suicide from his mind.
He suddenly realized that he’d been wandering down the alley with no clear destination in mind, and belatedly noticed that the filthy alley that he was standing in was not an alley he should be in at all. This particular alley was in gang territory, and he usually avoided it like the plague. Today, he’d let his thoughts distract him.
Gooseflesh crawled over his arms as he took in his surroundings. The dirty bricks of the older inner-city buildings pressed in on him from both sides, looming above him and blocking out the weak sunlight overhead. Grime coated the lower portion of the buildings, where trash had been haphazardly deposited by the wind over time, and the upper portions were covered with gang graffiti.
Old newspapers skittered along the concrete alley, getting stuck here and there along the walls in piles. Justin’s lip curled in distaste as he stepped around a soiled diaper and a rusty can brimming with maggots and a scum of moldy food of some sort.
He passed a stinking Dumpster and then froze. He’d found the source of the sound.
At the end of the alley, he could see a group of gang members starting toward him. He’d been avoiding them for two weeks, and they’d finally found him, because of his own stupidity. He had no doubt that he was their target. He’d been sneaking around their stomping grounds for two whole weeks now. And it was finally time to pay.
He turned around to run, only to realize that more members of the gang blocked the other end of the alley. There was no way out. No fire escapes. No low windows he could crawl into. No way out except the exit in front or behind; either way he’d have to go through a group of gang members bent on teaching him a lesson.
Frantically, he looked around the filthy alley for anything he could use as a weapon. There was nothing, unless he could somehow defend himself with wads of damp, musty newspaper or the pile of feces near the wall by his foot.
The situation was looking grim. He might not have to think about suicide anymore. They might just murder him today. The possibility was good that they would. He hoped it wouldn’t hurt much.
Justin held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, palms facing out. “Hey now, guys. Can’t we all just get along?”
The closest of the gang, a hard-looking, tattooed teen with several rings in his nose, sneered at him. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“Yeah, for what?” Justin didn’t want to provoke them, but at the same time, he did wonder just how much trouble he was in. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to make them so mad, other than invading their space.
“You know what. You’ve been hanging around where you aren’t allowed. We don’t want you here.”
“No problem, then. I’ll leave! Right now, if you want.” Justin could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. He could tell that they were going to hurt him bad, and they were going to enjoy doing it too. The evil look of anticipation gleaming in the tattooed teen’s eyes gave Justin the creeps.
“Nah, too late for that, kid. Now you’ve gotta take what’s coming to you,” another one jeered.
Several of
the others laughed at this.
An oily black shadow, one vaguely shaped like a monster straight out of a horror flick, formed for just a moment over their heads, wavering in the air like smoke in a breeze.
Justin blinked hard, several times, thinking that stress must be making him imagine things. He looked away from the strange floating image and back into the face of the tattooed teen.
“Uh . . .” He struggled to find something to delay the inevitable. Maybe if he kept them talking, he could figure out a way to get out of the situation without too much harm. “Do you guys see that?”
He pointed to the odd shadow above their heads, which still hadn’t gone away completely when he’d blinked. It didn’t dissipate in the faint breeze that passed through the alley, rustling the trash near his feet.
Several of them laughed again. None of them looked to where he’d pointed.
At the sound of their vicious amusement the shadow seemed to grow, but Justin decided that he had more immediate things to worry about than his faulty eyesight or his skewed imagination. The gang had finally reached him in the center of the alley. They surrounded him.
Justin cringed inwardly. This was not going to be a good way to die. He actually hoped for a moment that one of them might have a gun to shoot him with, because he wasn’t looking forward to feeling only fists and knives in his last few moments alive.
“Fine! Do what you need to do to me, then. I’ve got nothing to live for anyway. My parents are dead. So is my sister. I don’t have any friends. I’m homeless. Do me a favor: just make it quick.”
Some of the anticipation seemed to leave the face of the tattooed teen. It was as if the absence of Justin’s pleading made the act of bullying him a little less enjoyable.
The shadow above them grew larger and more distinct. Claws formed from shadow, and a pair of red eyes glowed in a massive shadowy head. Justin shook his head hard, trying to clear his vision.
He was definitely hallucinating.
The tattooed teen grabbed Justin, fisting Justin’s thin shirt in his hand and pulling him closer. Justin’s shabby shirt tore under the pressure.
