Personal Demons

by Rachel A. Collett

  Personal Demons

  Personal Demons ∙ Book One

  Rachel A. Collett

  Copyright © 2016 by Rachel A Collett

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by © Jennifer Zemanek/Seedlings Design Studio. www.seedlingsonline.com

  Published by Rachel Collett. www.rachelcollett.com

  To Dan, Kyle and Micah:

  You are my life and my inspiration

  for everything.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. In The Beginning

  2. Special Invitation

  3. On Call

  4. Dreams And Nightmares

  5. Building A Bridge

  6. Jonathan

  7. Parking Lot Assailant

  8. Waking Up

  9. Interpretations

  10. A Painful Remembrance

  11. The Proper Perspective

  12. Formally Discharged

  13. Ineffective Interviews

  14. Date Night

  15. Possession

  16. Dazed And Confused

  17. Unexpected Visitors

  18. Distractions

  19. Noises In The Dark

  20. Unusual Confessions

  21. Cast Out

  22. Pulled In All Directions

  23. Flight

  24. Games In The Dark

  25. Final Stand

  26. Eyes Open

  Acknowledgments

  Sneak Peek

  1

  About the Author

  Also by Rachel A. Collett

  Prologue

  The man crashed through the entrance of the house, smashing both door and frame into splinters. He stumbled from the porch and fell to the ground.

  Inside the home, flames licked the curtains and lit up the walls in a dazzling blaze. The light from the fire silhouetted Alexander as he stood beneath the ruined frame.

  “Have you had enough, Samuel?”

  Samuel heaved himself from the dirt and spat, his long, greasy hair matted to his face. Blood ran from both nostrils and one side of his mouth. A slash across his right cheek oozed. His black eyes glared at Alexander as he sauntered from what used to be a home.

  “Call him,” Alexander said.

  Samuel pulled a knife and fisted it in his grip, his knuckles cut and purpled. Hands shaking, he swiped at his enemy, but the attack was clumsy and weak. Alexander knocked the blade away with a swift frontal kick and then rushed him, striking him down with an elbow to the face.

  He wrapped his fingers into Samuel’s tangled hair, dragging him to his feet. “Call him.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Alexander sneered. With a quick jerk, he head-butted him in the nose. A sickening crunch, then a gargled cry sounded through the darkened night. Samuel crumpled in a heap.

  Alexander retrieved Samuel’s fallen weapon and examined its blade and handle. He folded and slipped the knife into his pocket. “I have all night, scumbag,” he said, smashing his fist against Samuel’s jaw.

  Samuel cried out, his face down as he heaved great breaths of air. “Just kill me, already.”

  Alexander lips twitched in the corners. He tsked. “No, no, no. You misunderstand my intentions.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then dried it on his jeans. “That’s not what this evening is about. I lured you here for a reason. I need your boss, and you—” he kicked dirt at Samuel with the tip of his boot, “—are going to get him for me.”

  Samuel coughed, the sound of liquid in his lungs. “He’ll kill us both.”

  “I don’t think so.” Alexander crouched. “Tell him… Tell him the Guardian is waiting for him.”

  Samuel’s eyes grew wide as he examined his opponent in a new light. “You don’t know what you ask for.”

  Alexander grabbed the man by the neck, bringing his face an inch away. “Call him now, or—”

  A terrible snarl ripped from Samuel’s throat. His body convulsed, caving in on itself. Alexander shoved the man away, but too late. Before he could escape, he was flung into the air with a powerful blast.

  Alexander landed on his back with an audible huff.

  “How dare you.” Samuel raised himself from the ground. Blood no longer marred his face, healed by a power beyond the true Samuel’s ability. “You summon me in such a manner, Guardian? I’ve killed for far less, and enjoyed doing so. Why should I not kill you now?”

  Power rippled through the air, making it thick, affecting breath and movement. Taking his knife, Alexander snapped it open, shifting to his knees. His bones creaked against the new energy.

  “Please.” Eyes lowered, he growled, jamming his blade into the earth. “I’ve—I’ve come to bargain.”

  “Intriguing.” The newcomer’s voice was deep, lethal. He cocked his head to the side, his black eyes rolling over Alexander’s prone form. “I will hear you.”

  “Help me,” Alexander breathed as an angry tear fell from his eyes.

  1

  In The Beginning

  The cold air brushed against my face as I entered the small chapel, soothing the impulse to retch. The smell of countless flowers, dripping in lush fragrance, brought the sensation back.

  “I’m right behind you, Sarah,” Laith said. Slowly, I made my way down the aisle, claiming the attention of the room. Heat flushed my face, and despite the frigid temperature, sweat trickled down the line of my neck.

  I don’t want to do this! I’m too young… nineteen is too young! I shouted from a dark place, fighting the urge to rip off the confines of my new dress.

  The priest, who waited at the head of the room, became my new focus, and with a final push I forced my legs to increase their pace. Stopping a yard from where he stood, I reverently bowed my head, the wavy cascade of my brown hair, curtained my face.

  The priest softly cleared his throat. I took a shaky breath, then peered into the paled face of my fiancé.

  My heart twisted, the blood draining from my head. Eyes stinging with moisture, I clasped my sweaty hands and looked down at my dress.

  Black lace blurred in my vision and a stabbing pain shot through my forehead as I grabbed the fabric-lined coffin. Laith’s strong hand gripped my arm, then guided me to my seat where a blue-eyed angel sat waiting.

  Golden hair extended down her black dress. I welcomed Elisa’s warmth as she wrapped her arm around me. Laith took his place beside his girlfriend. Even under his white dress shirt, the black lines of his tattoos were evident as they stretched from just under his collarbone, down both arms, and across his chest and back. His green eyes were incredible against creamy skin and jet-black hair. I couldn’t help but think that my two best friends were such extreme opposites. Summer was sitting next to winter; the sun was having a conversation with the moon.

  Movement caught my attention as my dad slipped into the building, claiming a seat at the back of the long room. He bowed his head and clasped his hands as if in prayer; but I knew he wasn’t praying. My dad never prayed, at least not that I had ever seen. I felt sorry for him. Even in this unimposing chapel, he was suffering severe anxiety being among strangers. As his focus caught mine, worry wore upon his face and I had to look away. His expression was too familiar. He would want to leave again, and soon. />
  But we had made a deal.

  “Ian was a remarkable young man,” the priest began, smiling sadly to his audience. “I had the privilege of knowing him for many years. Ian was kind, generous, quick to serve, and—”

  I nearly growled. While Ian was all the priest said, he was so much more.

  Absentmindedly, I grabbed the chain from around my neck, palming the pendant that, for the longest time, nestled closest to my heart. But it was no longer alone. Shocked, I glanced down to see a nearly-forgotten object—Ian’s engagement ring. For a full day I had allowed myself to think of what it would be like to wear the ring on my finger.

  “For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.”

  I contemplated chucking the ring at the man, if only it would get him to shut up.

  “If you’re going to throw something at the priest, at least wait until he’s alone in the parking lot,” Elisa whispered in my ear.

  I let the necklace slip back beneath the neckline of my dress and pressed a hand against the redness of my cheeks.

  The day had gone by in a blur. A bothersome buzzing sounded inside my head almost the moment Ian died. I wasn’t sure if the humming had to do with his death or the golf ball-size knot on the side of my skull from the plunge I had taken onto the hospital floor, but in all reality, I didn’t care. At least the physical pain distracted from the true agony vying for its place.

  An ornately-framed picture of Ian sat on an easel next to his coffin. The setting sun filtered through the canopy of green leaves, casting him in perfect light. It was all I looked at during the ceremony, and as the tearful eulogy ended and people began to leave, I feared I may someday forget what Ian looked like. I gritted my teeth and stared until my eyes strained, embedding his face into memory.

  “Sarah?” Elisa’s soft accent brought me out of my trance. Her eyes were wary as she studied me. “Can I get you anything?” she asked, but I could only shake my head, catching a glimpse of my dad as he slipped out the church door. To his credit, he’d lasted far longer than I’d expected.

  I met Laith and Elisa at the beginning of the current semester, and my heart almost couldn’t contain the joy of making additional friends. They didn’t know Ian but had heard enough about him to know how important he was. Even without a formal invitation, they were there to support me. It was the only time our friendship had ventured outside of the college campus.

  I glanced over at Ian’s mother, surrounded by family and friends. I left my friends, maneuvering through the small crowd and placed a hand on Cheryl’s shoulder. Ignoring the others, she looked up reaching to tuck a rogue strand of hair behind my ear, careful not to touch the knot on the side of my head.

  “Are you going to the graveside service?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I would like you to come visit with me tomorrow.”

  I nodded, pressing her hand, then moved away from the crowd. Looking for a private place to disappear, I located one in the far right corner of the reception room. Sitting alone, I wondered again if all of this could have been avoided. Was having friends worth this pain?

  I wished I had never met him.

  I inhaled sharply, surprised by my own dark thought. A small group of people stopped their conversation to glance over. My heart thudded, causing a rush of blood to pulsate through my face and knot, sending spikes of pain into my eyes. I pushed against the pressure, fighting the urge to run out of the suffocating building. Instead I went searching for Laith and Elisa.

  After thanking them, I said goodbye to my friends, then located the vehicle that would transport me to the graveside service. We trailed several police escorts with a long procession of cars that snaked behind. The flashing lights of the squad car drew my attention. My head pounded with each passing wave of light.

  It was Sunday, only two days after Ian’s collision. From the way the cars were damaged, the police couldn’t determine who was at fault. When the ambulance arrived at the scene, both Ian and a new co-worker named Benjamin were in critical condition and were rushed to the nearest hospital. The driver of the second car appeared uninjured, but was taken as a precaution.

  Although warned of Ian’s medical situation, nothing could prepare me for the haunting scene we witnessed from the viewing window as Ian went into cardiac arrest and then just minutes later was gone. When Cheryl was finally allowed into the hospital room, I broke as she cradled her son in her arms, sobbing into his dead and bloody chest.

  And my world began to spin.

  My vision blurred, but every other sensation heightened as I forced myself away from the new experience of such overpowering agony. As I passed into the hall, a man called to me from behind, the sound of his voice assaulting my ears. My pendant went cold, pressing hard against my chest, limiting my ability to breathe. I stumbled. A wave of dizziness hit with unusual force.

  From within my mind, my father yelled in warning, but as I twisted in the direction of the attacker, the movement of my head and body became too much for me.

  “Who are you?” a man asked, but I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t fight. As I fell, I reached out to him, but this man with dark, cruel eyes stepped smoothly back, easily distancing himself from me and my unwanted touch. My fingers grasped nothing but the useless air, and for a moment I was scared—then everything went black.

  The car door opened. A gentleman waited outside to receive me. Awkwardly taking his hand, I allowed him to lift me from my seat and point me in the direction I needed to go, but I couldn’t bear to hear another service. Stopping several yards from the site, I moved to the side, allowing others to take their seats. I stayed close enough to see Cheryl sitting in the front row but far enough that I didn’t have to listen. I could protect Cheryl from here. No need to be so close.

  As the final ceremony began, a tall figure in a simple black suit walked through the cemetery grass and halted at my side. My gaze narrowed, and I instinctively scanned the man’s long-limbed appearance, searching for anything in his mien that would cause concern. But then I stopped. This was a funeral with family and close friends. No one would attack me here.

  Annoyed at my jumpy suspicions, I turned my attention back to the ceremony. The gentleman and I stood in companionable stillness for several minutes, and I began to wonder who he was. He looked to be around my age, with brown hair similar to my own hue, but without being able to see his face clearly, it was hard to tell.

  Today I had been reserved, knowing the day was to be about Ian and the family he left behind. I had been his girlfriend, but most didn’t know that—and no one knew about the proposal. This stranger, however, brought out an odd curiosity I was always taught to avoid.

  “I’m Sarah,” I whispered.

  A smile touched the corner of his lips. “I’m Aaron.” He angled his head toward me, his green eyes the color of spring. “Will you tell me about him?”

  This was something I had been avoiding all day, but now in the company of an outsider, I found myself wanting to talk about my best friend. For the next several minutes that’s what I did. Suppressing my guilt, I quietly rehearsed the fun things we did together, his ability to make me laugh, and how he made me feel so strong. Aaron just listened, and when I was finished, he looked away toward the horizon.

  “I hope people come to remember me in the way that you remember Ian,” he said softly. “I knew him for only a short while, but sometimes that’s all you need.”

  I took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Thank you,” I said. “I didn’t think I needed to talk to anyone today, but I guess I was wrong.”

  “The pleasure was mine,” he said.

  I reached to shake his hand. As he took mine in both of his, a shock surged through my arm at his touch, followed by warmth that spread rapidly across my chest. I pulled back my hand—almost rudely—and took a step away. Immediately, the warmth left.

  My dad’s voice entered my mind. S
imple things will tell you all you need know about someone you don’t know.

  Aaron’s gaze narrowed, his hands still outstretched toward me. “What is your name?”

  I looked down at his fingers, wondering if he had felt the same warm intensity. He lowered his hands to his sides, waiting. I could feel the muscles in my brows pull together.

  I hesitated, before answering. “Sarah Mathis.”

  “Sarah Mathis.” He tried the name, lengthening the final S. “That’s a good name.”

  His attention shifted, and as I followed his gaze, I saw Cheryl stand. I excused myself and slowly moved toward Ian’s gravesite, watching as his casket was lowered into the ground. My throat swelled when Cheryl took a small shovel, scooped from the pile of dirt next to his casket, and tossed it into the grave. The shovel was then passed from one person to the next. Each shovel-full of dirt was another nail in my heart, another layer of separation.

  The last person added to the deposit, then pushed the spade into the dirt and stepped back. As the priest started to thank everyone for coming, Cheryl silenced him with a wave of her hand. My heart dropped. She took the shovel and walked in my direction to offer me the offending tool. My hands shook as I grasped it, knowing what she expected of me.

  Every step was painful, and as I neared, all eyes turned to me for the second time that day. I scooped the soil onto the spade. Stepping to the grave, I looked down. My breath caught, and I could almost see his body through the thick oak box—almost hear a shrill voice screaming to be let out. I wanted to jump into the darkening hole and rip the coffin open, releasing him from his eternal slumber. But I knew it was only my imagination… knew Ian was truly dead. Before anyone could see my face turn pale, I cast the dirt into the ground and walked away.