As if a ghost had floated through her, Seeley’s flesh pimpled. “So I wasn’t imagining things. I saw his red-ringed pupils, and then they turned brown.” She kept her voice to a whisper. “This is a terrible situation we’re up against.”
A couple meandering along the boardwalk glimpsed in their direction. Seeley’s gaze went straight for their eyes, normal. I’m definitely paranoid.
In an automatic gesture, her palms smoothed her belly. Half-breed. She despaired of asking Zeke for a clear-cut answer, not relishing his reply. The unknown was eating her alive, and as of late, Declan’s demeanor had been reserved pertaining to the baby. They consistently veered from discussing the impending birth. Father James’s counsel to be happy and rejoice in God’s gift assuaged her fears only so far.
Returning her interest to the angel, with his arms spread over the top rail of the bench. His black T-shirt molded to his muscular chest, and in an easy and relaxed pose, he stretched his long legs, which were encased in black denim. Angelically sublime, and likewise in his human body, Zeke’s flawless face was a chiseled masterpiece and he derived pure dominance.
No wonder people turn to ogle.
The weight of her pregnancy was too much to bear. “Tell me,” she stated in a withering tone. “Is this child . . . is it a half-breed? I need to know.”
As if he’d been anticipating her question, he replied without looking at her. “The baby has a soul. That’s the important factor.”
“Zeke, please, you know what I’m asking,” she appealed.
He gradually shifted his broad shoulders, and faultless black eyes fastened on hers. “Half-breeds and demons are fairly incongruent creatures,” he clarified in his deep voice. “You already know that demons do not have souls. They claw their way out of hell. Whereas, similar to humans, half-breeds have free will. They choose good or evil. The only difference is that the potential to be swayed to the dark side is a fierce and constant battle. Once a half-breed evolves to the dark side, they do become more demonized. Then it’s hard for them to come into the light.”
“Do half-breeds—” She knew the answer, but needed to hear it. “—have souls?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
His reply jilted her heart. Covering her hands to her face, she couldn’t conquer the splash of tears. Strong arms circled her shoulders and drew her to his chest.
“Seeley, you fret needlessly. Only God knows the infant’s spirit.”
“But something’s not right,” she cried. “Demons are guarding me. From what?”
“Other demons,” he said without reserve.
She jolted, wiping her tearstained cheeks. “Huh?”
“The netherworld is divided. They consistently clash amongst themselves.” Ezekiel’s mouth set in a hard line. “A perplexing premonition is emerging. You and the infant are at the core.”
She felt the urge to relate the vision she had of walking to the satanic church, where it all had begun eighteen years before. While she spoke, the pokerfaced angel gave the impression of listening while viewing the lakeshore.
Then with a decisive twist to his neck, as if something she’d said had shocked him, Ezekiel interrupted her spiel, “Are you sure it was all a dream?”
She regarded him in silence. And before she had a chance to say another word, Zeke dispersed into a million glittering fragments.
GIVE US AID AGAINST THE FOE
THE CREATURE LOOKED vicious, he out-skilled Jordan in every way. Since Markus had refused to make an appearance, her only chance was to outrun the savage. She hurtled into the scrap yard of mangled buildings.
Finding herself in a barren section of the city, she kept sprinting. Her sneakered foot punted a glass bottle, shattering it against a brick wall. She cringed, the noise a definitive clue to her whereabouts. The majority of streetlights had been smashed, yet one spilled a dim light into the mouth of an alley. She sped around the corner and smothered her back on the cool brick. Drinking oxygen, her chest heaved, a painful reminder that she’d neglected her calisthenics. She plastered a sweaty hand over her mouth, hoping to curb her choppy breathing, and listened for heavy footfalls. Only scurrying rats.
In the distance, she spotted a conspicuous burst of a sun shower. Markus. Jordan ran toward the light, her feet trampling discarded garbage. “Markus,” she croaked. “Where’s my mother?”
Not Markus, Ezekiel. His flinty eyes locked on her. “She went freely,” he said, his tone woeful. “I can’t help her any longer.”
“What are you saying, Zeke? You’re her only hope,” Jordan sobbed, perturbed at the angel’s unwillingness to intervene. “You have to help her, you’re her guardian.”
The stolid angel gazed over her head and vanished before explaining any further.
Someone called her name and she spun on the spot. Noticing Markus up ahead, she cantered toward him as if her life hung in the balance. He was staring at a decrepit church.
“It’s pure hell,” he said hollowly.
“My mom’s in there, Markus. I have to help her.”
“You must not enter,” he ordered. “If you decide to go in, you’re on your own. Do you understand?”
Astounded by his lack of assistance, she peered up at him. The waxing moon was like a halo behind his head, shading his features. His arm lifted and his fingers gently skimmed her cheek. He bent toward her. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn he was going to kiss her. Disappointment bloomed in her heart when his cheek brushed hers.
He breathed into her ear, “Jordan, it’s too late.”
“No!” she yelled. “It’s never too late!” She left him in the dust, running toward the church. Guided by moonbeams, she cleaved a pathway in the tangled overgrowth while extracting her cell from her pocket and illuminating the time. Three o’clock. The ritual had started.
Jordan snuck into the vestibule. A hypnotic hum vibrated the aged timber. The place reeked of demons. She choked on the suffocating stench of sulfur. A host of black robes packed the room. Differentiating between demons and humans would be impossible.
Tall candelabras were positioned around the perimeter of the satanic church of worship, providing the only source of light. Her eyes were drawn to the inverted crucifix on the towering back wall.
Her mother stood below the crucifix, which was embellished with a sculptured image of a suffering Christ. A satiny garb encased her body and her pupils shone like two glossy marbles, giving the impression she was in a trance-like hypnosis.
“Hello, Jordan,” said an unforgettable voice. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
A hand rolled the cloak’s hood to the woman’s shoulders. One side of her face looked spackled with a painter’s trowel, scaly and waxy. Half of her left eyelid was melted shut, and the corner of her mouth deviated into an untoward grimace.
“Ronan?”
“Grab her!” Ronan barked.
Abruptly, a blizzard of demonic fiends piled on top of Jordan. Attempting to demolish one after another, she fought. It was futile to try to ward them off. Deprived of Markus’s power, she succumbed to the demons’ clutches.
As Jordan was carried, thrashing to the altar, she gaped at her mom’s distended belly. Beneath the satiny garb, she detected stirring protrusions as if something was trying to claw its way out of her stomach.
“Disciples of Lucifer!” A woman’s shrill voice quieted the masses. “Lucifer has given us this planet as our playground.”
Her sentence elicited outcries of jubilation.
“He indulges our whims. Provides his disciples with eternal pleasures.”
The din of pounding feet shook the building.
“As zealous disciples, we ply Lucifer with righteous souls for his quest of domination.”
There was a tactical break in the proceedings, as they tethered Jordan to the altar.
“Soon, a leader will emerge. Stronger and more powerful than ever before.”
Jordan turned her head toward the black shrouds swaying in synchronizat
ion. An undertone of chanting grated her skin like a hellhound nibbling on her bones.
“We’ve procured an eminent mystic who will execute the sacrifice. Mother of the warrior and Mother of our imminent leader. The warrior’s spirit shall be bound to Lucifer!”
Those in attendance cheered enthusiastically as Jordan struggled for release. She then craned her neck to the opposite side of the altar toward her mother. Seeley had to be under a spell. She noted the tiniest twitch of her mom’s lip, as if she was inwardly frightened, yet her body seemed frozen, inflexible.
The demons continued with their resounding evil mantra, plunging Jordan into a nightmare of pure hell. A man’s baritone voice, conjoining with a woman’s, chanted a curse. The rhythmic utterance defeated Jordan’s psyche, and all struggle ceased.
Seeley two-handedly manipulated a curved dagger over Jordan’s chest and raised it above her head. The dagger quivered in her fingers, and the muscles in her arms looked taut and shaky, as if she was holding back the inevitable.
Jordan sought her mom’s eyes, liquid black, vacant and cold. “Mom,” she mouthed. “I love you. No matter what.”
Her mom blinked. Liquid pupils dilated, fixing on Jordan’s face.
In a disastrous stroke, Seeley wielded the dagger and sliced it into her own squirming belly, killing herself and the unborn infant.
VAULTING FROM HER bed, Jordan nicked the end table, upsetting the lamp. She collapsed to her hands and knees and retched over the floor. The bloody image of her mom’s divided belly was more than she could handle. She staggered to the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water.
The crash of the lamp had Henry lumbering up the staircase. “Jordan, are you all right?”
She peeked around the bathroom door. “Yes, I’m fine, Henry, just a bad dream. I hit the lamp by mistake. Go back to bed. I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Henry labored back down the stairs, mumbling incoherently.
Jordan walked to her mom’s old bedroom, switched on the lamp and sat on the edge of the mattress. The closet door was ajar, showing plenty of empty hangars, adding to her melancholy mood. The bureau was stripped bare. The familiar picture of Jordan at five years of age, nestled between her parents, was gone, and a film of dust had coated the maple wood. Extending her arm, she smoothed the pillow where her mother had laid her head each night, prior to marrying Declan.
She nuzzled the pillow to her chest, bunching it into a ball, and whispered, “Ezekiel, watch over Mom.” And fell asleep.
JORDAN GENUFLECTED AND slid into the last pew. She wished Cayden would make an appearance, although, she was amazed as Paisley sauntered up the aisle. She was the one person Jordan had never expected to show. Paisley stopped and raised her hands in the air as if confused. Quite visibly out of her element, she bobbed her head left to right.
Singing “The Lord is My Shepherd”, the priest processed from the sacristy and the few congregants chimed in.
“Psst. . . psst . . . Paisley.” Jordan tried to get her attention. People turned, showering her with scowls of disapproval.
Paisley spun toward the sound of her name. Looking relieved, a broken smile crossed her face. She gave a high-handed wave as if meeting a friend at a restaurant, and barreled down the aisle. “Hey, Jor, I made it. Now what do we do.”
“Just listen,” Jordan whispered.
The celebration of the commemorative mass began, and Father James proceeded with the opening prayers. When he mentioned the mass’s intention, he looked straight at Jordan and Paisley. “Today’s mass is offered for the soul of Ronan Beckman. Ronan died in Christ. May she also be raised up on the last day.”
“He said Ronan’s name. What’s that all about?” said Paisley, and none too modestly.
Peering at her sometimes friend, Jordan put a finger to her lips, and after they were seated whispered in Paisley’s ear. “Watch, and feel the peace wash over you.”
Paisley shrugged, falling silent.
Soon people lined the aisle for communion. Jordan said to Paisley, “Wait here.”
“Why? Can’t I get one of those crackers?”
“Not unless you convert to Catholicism, but you can go up for a blessing.”
“Sure, why not?”
Paisley stood ramrod stiff in front of Father James, who didn’t restrain his quirky grin. She clasped her eyelids as if anticipating a knock on the head.
“May God bless you,” Father prayed. “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”
Paisley reopened her eyes. “That’s it?”
Jordan lightly shoved her on the shoulder and shushed, “Go sit down.”
At the conclusion, the priest greeted people in the back foyer, and as they walked by him, Paisley inquired, “So does Ronan get extra bonus points and jump the rung in heaven?”
His features aglow in merriment, Father James uttered a hearty chuckle. “We can only pray and hope. Paisley would be most enjoyable at our bible study. Questions are always good.” He veered to Jordan his expression staid. “May I have a few words with you? Alone.”
“I gotta go anyway,” Paisley said. “I have a job interview at Taste. See you later.”
After Paisley pushed through the glass doors, Father James turned to Jordan. “Your mother hasn’t returned my phone calls, and I’m somewhat concerned,” he stated. “I’d given her the name of a colleague of mine, Father Andre Chesterton, a priest she could confide in while living in the city. I talked to him a few days ago, and he hasn’t heard from Seeley since she moved in with Declan. It’s unlike her not to seek spiritual advice. I drove to the city last week especially for an appointed visit with her. When I arrived, she wasn’t home. I think she’s avoiding me.”
Jordan stowed her hands into her pockets and began to detail the afternoon she’d recently spent with her mom. Father James hooked his arms behind his back, listening. She finished with, “She’s picking me up tomorrow. I’m going to stay with her for a while.” Buffing the toe of her sneaker on the tile, her eyes met his.
His scrutiny seemed to shred into the recesses of her brain as if tagging her spirit. Endeavoring to yield and let him into her subconscious, she watched as his eyes glazed over. She’d seen that look before, and while in his mystical condition, a dauntless voice spoke through the priest’s lips. Markus’s voice. “Your extraordinary gifts granted by my Father do not make your soul perfect. These gifts are merely ornaments of the soul. They constitute neither its essence, nor its perfection. Sanctity consists in the close union to the will of God. It is up to you and Seeley whether you cooperate with it, or waste it.”
She frowned. “Markus?”
Father James blinked. Bringing his hands from behind his back, he repositioned them on her shoulders. “Tell me about the vision.”
She wondered if he was aware of the mystical bond with her angel, though, she remained mute.
“There is something you wish to tell me?” He obviously recognized her reserve and curved an arm over her shoulders, steering her to the privacy of the confessional. “I sense Seeley is in grave danger.” His voice was laced with caution. Once secluded in the lemon-waxed confessional, he slanted forward, laying his elbows over his thighs. “Our collusion is central as we aid your mother. You must not endanger yourself to the degree of losing your spirit.”
Bewildered, she said, “I don’t understand what you’re proposing.” Her hands balled into tight fists and rested in her lap. Then, as if she were looking through a magic mirror, a sequence of filmy events whisked through her brain: Ronan’s messed-up skin, a glint of a dagger, liquid black pupils, the alarming fulfillment on her mom’s face, and a dagger plunging into her stomach.
“Jordan, there is a darkness surrounding your mother.” His back straightened, and he scraped his fingers over the back of his neck. “I’m here to guide and assist you in your spiritual needs and will go to war with you if need be. You must not construct a barrier over your vis
ions. Otherwise, I’m of little help.”
Trepidations about rehashing the previous night’s vision had her palms pooling with sweat. It had been hard to bear and sleep had been elusive. She’d been awakened by Em, who’d found her on Seeley’s bed, and the silver of dawn had lightened the room.
Jordan told him about the terrible vision while monitoring Father James’s impenetrable features. His rapt attention spurred her on. Once, at the finale, his eyes twitched. Her lips started to quiver, and she dropped her chin, concealing her weakness.
“These visions are not set in stone.” He tenderly lifted her chin with his stocky fingers to gaze into her face. “You are aware of that, right?”
She nodded.
“Premature predictions form from above and below. We must be heedful in their interpretations. I’m drawn to Ezekiel’s indifference or unwillingness to help. His comprehension of Seeley’s free will, not to interfere by God’s command. Then, Markus adamantly expressed you shall not enter, and as in the past, your bullheadedness won over, and you disobeyed.”
Father tapped an index finger on his puckered mouth. “Ronan. Ronan.” He tilted his head backward, peering at the roof of the confessional, thinking. “Ronan is a quandary. She symbolizes lost friendship, and at the same time, traitor and evil.” He smoothed his chin, gray eyes staring into hers. “I shall pray to combat this premonition as you should also. Use your influence. Make Seeley meet with Father Chesterton. If I don’t hear from you in three days, I’ll be on Seeley’s doorstep.”
BITTERSWEET
HENRY LENT A hand by lugging boxes and suitcases to the car. “You’d think you were leaving forever with all this stuff,” he griped, disgruntled.
“Nah, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Jordan watched his face relax into an uneven grin. “I put a sticky note by your phone with my cell number. So call me anytime.”
Henry scrubbed the perspiration building on his forehead. “And you can call us too, kiddo.”
Wickedly They Dream Page 9
