Broken Angel (Book 1 in the Chronicles of a Supernatural Huntsman series)

by Shannon Lee Martin

  Alone in the darkness of my room, I turned over in my bed endlessly. I couldn’t get the words of that crazy man out of my head. I suspected Danny’s murderer wasn’t entirely human, but never said it aloud. Was I mistaken? In the gruesome horror of that night, could I have possibly altered my memory of a completely normal person who killed my son?

  Questions without answers and thoughts without direction poured through my mind. I picked up the cellphone on my nightstand and looked at the time. It was one seventeen in the morning. Sleep was further from me than when I first laid my head down at four thirty in the afternoon.

  I had skipped dinner, not wanting to discuss with Cara how the walk went. There was no way I could tell her what that man had said. She would probably call the police and have him arrested or sent to an asylum. Maybe that was where I belonged too.

  I turned my head to the right and sighed as the coolness of the pillow sank into my warm cheek. My stomach gave a low growl. It was probably safe to go downstairs unseen. Cara was always in bed by eleven at the latest, even on nights when she didn’t have to work the next day. She’d never been the party girl, or even the girl to go out to a late movie. A fun night with her consisted of home-cooked meals, catching up on shows she missed, or getting lost in a new Fantasy novel. She always loved a good story.

  My stomach gave another grumble. It felt like the noisy organ inside me had teeth and was using them to eat its way through my body. I pulled my knees to my chest and curled up into a ball. The hunger pains would have to continue because there was no way I could force myself to get out of bed and make something to eat. In fact, the pain was good. It was better than feeling numb, which was the only thing I had felt since I came home from my walk.

  I rolled over onto my back and threw an arm across my face, covering my eyes with the crook. It forced them to stay closed and me to make an honest attempt at sleeping. My thoughts drifted and tangled up inside my head the longer I stayed still. The day I found out I was pregnant flowed in and played like a movie I had seen a hundred times before.

  ———

  I graduated high school with a class of over seven hundred kids, but that didn’t guarantee me the best social skills. Aside from Cara, I kept to myself. Schoolwork never interested me. Instead of doing biology homework, I shut myself in my room all night and read anything I could get my hands on from my dad’s personal library.

  Teachers wanted us to take endless notes on things that happened hundreds of years ago, but instead, I wrote Cara notes about every thought that flittered through my mind. When my teachers, talked I stared at them, trying my hardest to concentrate on what they said only to realize by the end of class that everything had already vacated my memory.

  The only class I ever took seriously wasn’t a class at all—­it was the last period of the day when I got to work on the school’s newspaper. It was there that I realized what I wanted to do with my life.

  I wasn’t on the fast track to a prestigious Ivy League school by far, but I had good enough grades to study down state and follow my late-blooming passion for writing. Eventually, I wanted to travel the world as a journalist—see things no one else got to see, go places most people only dreamed about. The world was waiting for me, I just needed that golden ticket out of Valparaiso…a college degree.

  I couldn’t wait to start that new chapter in my life. Though I’d wanted to leave Indiana originally, getting out of my small hometown was good enough for me in the end. I knew I would miss Cara terribly. She had decided at the last minute, against her parents’ wishes, to take a year off and figure out what it was she wanted to do with her life. The promises of many visits comforted me.

  A few weeks after graduation, I fell ill. At first, I thought I had the flu, but after two weeks of feeling nauseous and spending hours in the bathroom I knew it was something else entirely. I was too tired to stay awake, frequently falling asleep in the den while reading. My eyelids did a tired dance of fluttering open the minute they closed only to slowly shut again. I had an idea what could be wrong, but there was only one way to be sure.

  As I waited in the grocery store bathroom for the test to show either one line or two, I thought of everything I would lose if it turned out I was pregnant. I wanted to travel the world and experience different cultures. I wanted to write about everything I saw. Hell, I wanted to be on my own for the first time in my life. I wanted to live in a dorm room and go on dates with boys. I wanted to find the right guy and get married. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe Rob, the first boyfriend I ever had, would be the one for me. We were only kids.

  If I had a baby at nineteen, nothing I wanted would be possible. I would have to stay home, get a job, and try not to screw up raising another human being. Going out with new friends would be replaced by late night feedings and spit-up on my shirt. Romantic date nights would consist of me changing dirty diapers and rocking this tiny thing to sleep.

  Thinking about the responsibilities I might face made my stomach clench and twist into knots. It churned the contents of my lunch until I couldn’t take it anymore. I raced into one of the stalls to throw up. Luckily, there was no one else in the bathroom to hear me.

  When I finished retching, I sat on the edge of the sink to consider my options. It was a different time than when my parents grew up. Maybe getting rid of it wouldn’t be such a bad idea? Having the life I had always dreamed of was still an option. I was young and smart. My life might not be glamorous, but there was some kind of future for me to look forward to besides being a parent. Why should I have to give up everything I had worked somewhat hard for because of one mistake?

  And what about Rob? What would he think? How was he going to handle it? I couldn’t decide what to do until I discussed it with him. It wouldn’t be right. After all, he was the father. There was no doubt about that.

  My mind wandered to the day Rob and I first met in our junior year in photography class. We were in the dark room. The red lights made him look mysterious and dangerous with his tousled hair, toned muscles, and tight jeans. He hooked me immediately and reeled me in.

  My watch beeped, letting me know the wait was over. I reached for the test on the counter. My hands shook as I gripped the plastic stick. I picked up the box to make sure I had read it correctly.

  Everything I thought about before washed away when I saw the results. I threw the test away and looked at myself in the water-speckled mirror. My long, wavy hair was frizzy from the summer heat. There were bags under my eyes from constant exhaustion and a lack of makeup, and there were several red spots on my chin that signaled the oncoming of pimples.

  I was going to be a mother.

  I left the store and got into my dad’s old pickup truck. The door squeaked as I closed it. He had let me borrow it for the first time, which was a big deal for the both of us. He loved that ’65 forest green Chevy like it was a member of our family. Years went into rebuilding it, and he had finally trusted me to drive it without his supervision. Knowing I would never have his trust again made my eyes sting, but it wasn’t time for tears yet. I sniffed them back and let the engine roar to life.

  When I got to Rob’s house I touched my finger to the doorbell, but paused before ringing it. There was no telling how he would react. Maybe we would be on the same page and maybe we wouldn’t. I had to be prepared for anything.

  I pushed in the lighted button, causing the whole house to fill with the melody of antique chimes.

  “Hey, babe. Come on in,” Rob said when he opened the door.

  He took no note of the crack in my voice as I responded. His fingers intertwined with mine as he led me to the couch. The smile on his face was cool and collected. He had no idea what was coming.

  I decided it was best not to prolong and dove right in. If I didn’t, he might notice that my hands were starting to sweat. I pulled them away and wiped them on my jeans.

  “Rob…” I said timidly before gaining the confidence to push forward. “Rob, I’m pregnant. I just found
out and I came right over to tell you and I don’t really know what else to say other than I’m pregnant.”

  His lips parted and hung open. All at once, like a switch went off, he shot up to his feet and ran his hands through his hair, causing it to fall back into his brown eyes. He frantically paced the living room.

  “Okay…either you can keep me and give up the baby, or you can keep the baby and give me up,” he said with panic overtaking his usually calm demeanor.

  I saw his mind racing, but there wasn’t a hint of regret on his face for what he had said. It wasn’t the same Rob I had known for the last year. He wasn’t the handsome guy I had seen glide down the school hallways. He was scared out of his mind and willing to say anything to make the problem go away.

  In that moment, I made my decision. Rob was my first boyfriend and he meant the world to me. He was my first French kiss, my first time. Hell, we even went skinny dipping together in Lake Michigan. Rob was irreplaceable.

  I stood on my tip-toes and leaned in to kiss him on his soft lips. As he held me against his body, I looked up into his dark eyes, which relaxed back into their almond shape. He really was too handsome for some small town. He would do great things someday.

  “Goodbye, Rob.”

  I backed out of his arms, turned for the door, and didn’t look back. It was time to let go.

  On the drive home, I rehearsed how I would tell my parents that their only daughter would not be the first in the family to graduate from college, at least not as they had planned. Maybe someday I could make time for it, but there was no way I would be able to with a baby and no help if they kicked me out. There was nothing I could say to make it any easier for them to hear.

  I turned the engine off and sat in the driveway while I collected my thoughts. The best thing to do was to be direct about what I wanted. I was an adult and the decision was mine to make. I heaved a sigh and got out of the truck to make my way to the front door.

  When I walked in, I noticed how quiet it was. I liked the quiet. I would never have peace and quiet again, not with a baby screaming its head off all the time. The weight of the situation sank onto my shoulders physically for the first time. I rubbed at the back of my neck. My life would never be the same.

  Every night after dinner, my mom liked to sit in her pajamas on the bed and read through stacks of magazines. I stood in the entryway picturing her brushing her beautiful, shoulder-length blonde hair as she wished for the smooth, vibrant skin of Charlize Theron.

  My dad was most likely in his office, reading on our old, brown leather couch. When I was younger, I used to read next to him every night in the book-filled room. Whenever he wasn’t paying attention, I looked up and tried to count the speckles of gray hidden in his dark, curly hair.

  “Mom, dad, can I talk to you in the living room?” I echoed through the house.

  Slowly but surely, my parents made their way to me with their brows knit together in confusion. I had never called a family meeting before, and I hoped I would never have to again. I sat them down in the living room and stood before them in silence.

  They looked small as I stood over them. My mom’s face was stone-cold and suspicious while my dad forced his lips to pull back into a straight-lined smile mixed with anticipation and fear.

  “Mom, dad…” I said in a meek voice, looking down at my feet. “I don’t really know how to tell you this…but I’m pregnant.”

  When the words finally escaped my lips, everything else I said became irrelevant. They stared ahead into a deep void in space. Once the information processed within them, tears streamed down my mother’s face. My dad took off his glasses and rubbed between his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

  Saying nothing, they both sighed and looked at each other with disappointment in their eyes. There were no questions of where Rob was in all of it and no demands I give up the baby. They accepted it in silence. I talked and they listened, just as I had wanted them to. But if it went as I hoped, then why did I feel so lousy? I turned and went up to my room, leaving them to sit by themselves and reflect on my mistake.

  Days went by and my parents didn’t talk to or look at me. I sat at the kitchen table across from my mom and ate her homemade chicken soup, trying to build the courage to break the silence. She had half her face covered by a tabloid magazine as she read at the table with a cup of coffee. Her gray-blue eyes didn’t look up at me once.

  “If you don’t want me to live with you and dad anymore, I understand,” I said, continuing to stare into my bowl. “I know you both must hate me for what I’ve done.”

  My mom finally looked up softly and smiled. She set the magazine down and rested her hand on top of mine.

  “Honey, no matter what you do, we’ll always love you. Your father and I will help you through this. Don’t worry.”

  Five months later, they died in a car accident.

  ———

  I tossed my arm aside and opened my eyes again. The clock on my cellphone read one thirty-nine. If time crawled any slower I would have no choice but to fling myself from the roof for sweet release. I sat up Indian-style, rested my elbows on my knees, and let my face slump into the palms of my hands.

  Every sleeping pill in the house was gone. I had taken most of them the first few days after Danny’s death. It was the only sedation I could find for the unrelenting ache in my heart. The damn doctor I was coerced into seeing was one of those naturalists who didn’t believe in prescribing pills on the first visit. Instead, she wanted me to come three times a week for the foreseeable future to talk about my feelings.

  I wasn’t trying to lay my pain out on her couch over and over again, making it impossible to move on. I was just trying to get through the day, something she couldn’t understand. She wasn’t a mother. I knew because there wasn’t a single picture of her with a smiling child anywhere in her office. She would never understand what I was feeling, even if I was willing to explain. There were no words for it. Safe to say I never went back to another doctor after that waste of an hour.

  My hands ran through my hair and pulled at the tangled ends. I hadn’t showered in three days and it looked like I was building a bird’s nest on my head. Straightening up, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The Wal-Mart down the road was open twenty-four hours. I could sneak out of the house and pick up a bottle of Nyquil to get me through the rest of the night.

  Then, I remembered Cara was the world’s lightest sleeper, even more so than me, and the creaking of the stairs would wake her up. She would be all over me within seconds, wondering if I was okay and where I was going and if I needed her to make me anything, or if I wanted her to lie down with me until I fell asleep. I picked my legs back up and tucked them under the covers again.

  With the slow passing of time, my concise thoughts morphed into ones I would never consciously form. They flowed from one to the other like images moving in the water. If I were to end the horrible pain I was feeling, how would I go about doing so? First, I saw myself hanging by the neck from the banister. It seemed like the cleanest way to go. But what would Cara do when she walked in and found me like that?

  Black water overtook the image like spilled ink and formed into the next scene. I was laying down on my bed and holding a gun to my head. Seemed like the quickest and least painful way. But again I thought of Cara and what it would do to her to see me in such a way. It would scar her for life. Again, the inky water changed the image.

  My body relaxed into the softness of the mattress and my breathing was deep and heavy. I tried to wake up before the dream overtook me, but it was useless. I was already in it and counting in bed. I ran to Danny’s room, as always. But when I saw the monstrous thing’s face, with its unnatural, dried gray skin and dreaded black hair that defied gravity, my eyes popped open. My mind was clearer than ever.

  The crazy man was right.

  In a hurry, I scrambled out of bed and grabbed for my sweater in the dark. I didn’t bother trying to keep quiet as I took off
down the stairs and out the front door. I wasn’t even sure if I closed it behind me. Every ounce of muscle in my body propelled me forward and down the street to tell the man I believed him before he faded away into one of my nightmares.

  I banged my fist into his door over and over again. There were no lights on inside. I couldn’t hear any movement. The place looked run-down and abandoned in the silvery light of the half-moon. Shutters were missing or hung by their corners, ready to fall off into the patchy bushes below. Even the white paint on the swing looked more chipped than I remembered. Were the chains rusted and uneven before? Could I have imagined the only man who understood what I saw? Was I really that crazy? It didn’t look like anyone lived in the house I was knocking on furiously.

  When the door flew open, I jumped back and clutched my hand to my chest.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing banging on my door at this hour? Are you crazy?” the man’s raspy voice growled from the shadows within.

  All I could see was his muscular arm covered in faded tattoos, a white t-shirt, and gray sweatpants. For all I knew, he didn’t have a face. I really needed to get a grip.

  “I believe you,” I huffed out. “I believe you and I want to learn.”

  The man stepped into the moonlight. His thin lips parted into a rough smile surrounded by black and gray stubble. “I’m Don Vander,” he said as he stepped aside and held his arm out to welcome me in.

  I walked past him and disappeared into the darkness of his home. Without hesitation, he walked over to a small writing desk and reached for a piece of paper and a pencil. He scribbled something on it.

  I looked around as I waited. A dusty wooden frame placed right in the center of the wall opposite the couch caught my eye. It must have been a picture of his late wife and daughter. He obviously spent an enormous amount of time staring at it, aching over his loss. We had that in common.

  When he handed me the note, all it read was, “Union Station in Chicago. Noon. Three days from now.”

  I looked up at him with my brows furrowed, clutching the paper in both hands.

  “You’ll have to find your own ride. I need to meet with another Huntsman out in Aurora early in the morning to pick up something.”

  I didn’t question him, didn’t demand more details on where we were going or for how long. I simply nodded my head as I folded the paper up and shoved it into my pocket. With nothing more to say, I walked back out onto the porch and down the steps.

  “Pack light and don’t be late,” he grumbled after me before closing the door.

  The Goodbye