The Conception (The Descendant Series Book 2)

by L. J. Amodeo

  False words are not only evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil.

  ~ Socrates

  SPOKANE

  Pools of tears swelled in my eyes as I ran toward the pickup truck. The keys still dangled inside. I jumped in the cab and put the truck in drive, leaving the man behind, either bleeding to death or perhaps already dead. I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to inhale air, crying at what I’d done, but I had no time to worry myself over the Tracker. I had to find Freddie.

  I drove for miles, begging Freddie to take me to him. “Please, Freddie! Tell me where to go? Show me the way!” I screamed at nothing more than the windshield and the empty road of wheat fields ahead. But no voices heard my pleas or returned a response. I pressed on the accelerator, pushing the truck’s speed to its limit. Farm houses and horse ranches slipped by me at accelerated speeds every couple of miles as I drove on the empty road.

  I swerved onto a dirt road that forked off the main road. The truck bounced and tossed me around as I continued my search along its dark path for Freddie. Along the sides of the unpaved road, a field of golden wheat swayed like apparitions under the moonlight, as if pointing me in the direction of an old farmhouse littered with tall fountain grass, which bore the same fuzzy white flowers I’d seen in my visions days ago. The fountain grass towered above the cab’s filthy windshield, obstructing the view of the farmhouse.

  I skidded to a stop and sprung the truck’s door open, climbing out onto the truck’s hood. A small wooden cross painted with the numbers 20:25–26 stood between the fountain grass and the truck. The numbers didn’t represent anything meaningful for me, but feared it held some important message. I’d remember the numbers for no other reason than location purposes. I stood on my toes, noticing the red turret of the farmhouse jutting past the grass. I knew he was in there. This was my vision.

  I slid off the truck and pushed my way through the tall grasses. Cicadas clicked and drummed in my ears as I pushed my way through. Insects buzzed across my face as I interrupted their slumber. I swatted away at the bugs as I crushed the wild grasses down beneath my feet, making sure I made a pathway back to the truck for a quick escape. My feet and hands took a beating, yet I felt no pain as my flesh ripped with each crush and push of the fountain grass. I quickened my pace to a run as the insects attacked more violently. I swatted and pushed, running through the field toward the farmhouse. Rushing past one last stretch of tall weeds, my sweatpants caught something as my foot tangled in a mess of vines sending me tumbling face-down onto the soil. My belly hit first, extracting an excruciating pain thrusting back into my spine. I crimped my knees into my chest as an ache penetrated my skin like stabs from a spiked fence. Pressing on my chest, it felt wet and warm through the white dress shirt. The pain burned, causing me to lose focus for an instant.

  I held up my fingers and realized they were tainted red. Cut and bleeding, I noticed a spiked wire ran across the length of the ground at the edge of the field. . A trap had snagged my pants and sent me tumbling to the ground onto its barbed wires. I knew something was protecting me and possibly keeping me from finding Freddie, but I wouldn’t let it stop me. Not now, not ever. It was me they wanted and now I carried what they were all after. It was time they played by my rules.

  I ripped out patches of green, thick grass and pressed it to my chest to stop the bleeding. Within seconds, the bleeding, scrapes and bruises slowly began to heal themselves. I had no time to wonder how my wounds mysteriously healed so quickly, so I continued to search for my friend. Carefully, I crossed over the spiked fence, scouring the farmhouse for signs of Trackers. It was as abandoned as it appeared in my vision. I had no time to waste. The longer I fretted, the thicker the wall grew between me and Freddie. After a moment of panic, I headed directly for the barn doors, already knowing according to my premonition that I’d come to meet Dr. Seth Bates in there.

  The barn door creaked open as I stepped inside. A faint light cast from the moon streamed through. The ladder, exactly where I’d seen it, rested against the giant beams. I crept up the wooden ladder, holding my grass-strewn gauze against my chest with one hand and the ladder with the other. The first bay, as expected was empty, as was the second. I braced myself for what I was about to see in the last bay. I broke out in a cold sweat. “Freddie?” My voice held the threat of a meltdown. An eerie silence had me running into the bay with hopes of saving my friend, but to my shock and horror, it wasn’t Freddie’s face I stared into.

  Seth lay there, dead on the floor, with the impostor girl beside him lifeless and beaten to a pulp. Their stiff bodies had been positioned inside the symbolic pentacle. Seth’s eyes remained opened wide as if he had died of shock, his skin gray and pale as if he’d been drained of all his blood. I cupped my mouth and held my stomach, holding back the bile that began rising in the back of my throat. Without hesitation, I stumbled, making my way back down the ladder, praying that Freddie got away safely.

  I ran back to the truck that still hummed on the dirt road, slamming the door at my side. I punched the gas, skidding clouds of rock and dust in my trail. Driving down a long stretch of road, I reached an intersection at Gum Road. A crimson light coming from the distant sky illuminated the surface of a road. The tree branches reached out over the road like deformed fingers, causing me to gun the engine harder. I had to put Devil’s Promenade behind me as quickly as possible.

  I skidded across the road, cutting the wheel to my far right as I entered Interstate 395. Cars whizzed past me on the expressway. Knowing that there were people on the road finally put me at ease with a feeling that I was in a safe zone. I didn’t put it past the Watchers to let me off so easily, though. I was almost sure that someone, somewhere was trailing down the highway after me. I weaved carelessly in and out of cars, passing them at top speed. I couldn’t worry about the police pulling me over. Then again, how would I explain that a dark angel was hunting me down, that my best friend was being tortured by Trackers, or that I was pregnant with an archangel’s baby? The police would only find probable cause to lock me up, believing that I was driving under the influence, and most likely throw my ass in jail.

  I kept driving without a direct destination. Having no clue where I was headed. After sometime on the road, my breathing finally settled as I was no longer in pain. Looking down at my wounds, they had miraculously healed. Faded. It was something I’d never seen before, something unreal, magical. I knew that something was happening, and I wasn’t sure if it was Armisael or maybe my child who healed me. For now, I needed to put aside my own questions, and instead, focus on finding Freddie.

  Michael told me I could communicate telepathically: maybe with this gift, I’d be able to communicate with my missing friend. I wasn’t quite sure how to use it, so I gave it a try. “Freddie, I beg you, tell me where to find you? Please!” I whispered to myself.

  I drove for several more miles, crossing state lines when a particular sign flashing in green lights caught my attention. Welcome to Oregon, The Beaver State. Let us show you . . . was all I was able to read as my car whizzed by the sign. “Show?” I said out loud. “Show me what?” I shouted at the road sign that disappeared behind me. “Show me! Show me where Freddie is, then!” I screamed again.

  The trucked suddenly sputtered and choked, making sounds that resembled the clanking of pots. The familiar sound forced me to think of my mom—bringing me back to the mornings she’d cook us breakfast or the comfort foods of a special holiday meal. I found myself, fighting back emotions that surfaced with the thought of her memory. “I miss you, Mom.” I whispered as I approached a sign that read Four Legion County Exit AA West.

  “No freaking way! Show me and you did!” I cried erratically. “Four Legion! It’s a sign and I can feel his energy! Freddie must be here! But where?” I giggled nervously, but my positivity was way off, knowing that finding Freddie would only mean crossing paths with more Trackers. I reeled off the exit driving toward Four Legion County.

  Trees cast shifting
shadows along the empty streets. Scattered street lamps cast cones of light over parked cars. The truck jerked forward unwilling to go further, but I pumped the pedal. It wouldn’t respond to my urgency to keep moving as the gas dial lagged on the letter E. The pickup eventually choked until it died on a road with several old ranch houses. Dark windows and pulled shades suggested that everyone inside the homes were sound asleep.

  I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel, banging my head against it till my skull ached. “No! No! No!” I groaned sitting back helplessly against the torn fabric of the pickup. Sitting here would do me no good and time was precious. I had no cell phone, no shoes, and nothing more than a torn bloodied dress shirt and ripped sweatpants, along with the pickup truck of a possible homicide victim.

  The truck door creaked open as I stepped outside and closed it quietly without waking the neighborhood. I walked the stretch of street looking for anything familiar, anything at all that might relate to the legion. There were only small Cape-styled homes nestled in darkness under dim moonlight.

  Coming up to the last house on Rich Hill Road, a dog’s bark broke the silence in the thick, humid air. A light from inside flickered to life. A cast of a shadow moved across the thin curtain. The dog must have startled its keeper from a dead sleep. I slipped behind a tree hoping that whoever was peering out the window didn’t see me. I didn’t want to bring any attention to myself.

  My heart beat hard against my chest. I waited for the light to go out and after several minutes the home fell dark again. Light, the word beat in my head. Light, light, light, it pressed my skull like a clamp. I spun around looking at the lampposts. Searching their light for clues. I stretched my neck to look down the road for any sign of light. All was dark except for the light of the moon.

  I tilted my head up to the satellite. “What?” I muttered desperately, and irritated that I was supposed to figure out what light meant. “That’s not much to go by!” I gritted my teeth, inhaling the thick air and pressing my fingers to my temple as if this was going to help me figure out the clue. Nothing. Blank.

  I stood against the tree for several more seconds, silently repeating the word light in my head when it occurred to me. “Light,” I whispered. The only house that turned on its light at the sound of the dog barking was the last house on the right. The only person curious enough to get out of bed and peek out the window. Why? Was he nervous about something? Could he be hiding something inside? No one else seemed to have a protective dog in their home. So what was it that was hidden behind the walls of R 66—Rich Hill Road?

  I ran across the street to another giant tree, hiding behind it in case the dog sensed my presence outside. I carefully tiptoed toward the house and pressed my back against its old siding, slipping around to the back part of it. Piled junk was strewn across the dead lawn in the back. A two-story cinderblock garage was several feet back, away from the house. The garage had a broken door perched up to stay open by a six foot wood beam. Inside was littered with more junk and rusty cars.

  As I came around the side of the structure, what appeared to be dried red paint or smeared blood stained the cinderblock wall. Dithering for a moment, I thought about the possibilities of why there would be blood against the wall of this old mess of a garage. Perhaps the person who lived got cut on a sharp tool that was carelessly strewn on the ground. Maybe it belonged to a hunter or a taxidermist. Or scarier yet, a murderer. I stroked the red smudge with my finger when Freddie’s bloodied face flickered instantly before my eyes. I jerked my hand away, feeling suddenly nauseous and stricken with fear. Out of view, a red turret inconspicuously hid from sight. Perhaps, Freddie was never at the farm house where I found Seth and the girl. Something told me Freddie had to be here. All the signs led me here, to Four Legion County. This had to be where Freddie was being held against his will.

  I gave one last glance at the house before darting across the property into the blackness of the trees. Vines choked the outer layers of the crippled farmhouse, making the red shingles look like the structure was slowly bleeding out. I pushed at the barn doors, but they only rattled from the inside. Whoever locked the barn had done it from the inside.

  I ran around the perimeter of the building, looking for a way in. Only one window high above the barn door was opened a crack. There was no other way in that was visible to the eyes. I tried to pull on some of the loose slats against the building, only to rip my skin with shards of splinters. I pressed my ear against the planks, listening for Freddie, hoping it wasn’t too late. “Freddie,” I whispered directing my voice toward the window above my head. “Freddie.” My voice trembled.

  “Psst,” a voice hissed back. I snapped my head left with hopes that it was Freddie, but a sudden panic flooded my body like frost on glass. I pressed my back against the building, breathing deeply to steady my heartbeat. My tongue suddenly turned dry, like sandpaper. “Psst.” The sound came from above my head this time. I raised my eyes in the direction of the voice and stared at Abigail’s face, who silently instructed me to stay quiet. She pressed her finger to her lips and pointed toward the main house. I nodded letting her know that I understood to stay quiet. Slowly, I tiptoed to the back of the farmhouse, hoping to stay clear from sight.

  The sound of feet pressing down on broken vines and twigs cricked toward the barn, but veered off toward the back woods to a dilapidated shack. I held my breath, cupping my mouth so that I wouldn’t be heard. I could make out two voices mumbling words to each other. One voice a bit higher in pitch than the other—a teenage boy, it seemed, and the other—a man.

  A scraping sound, like that of a boot grating against dried mud or dirt, followed by a loud creaky hinge, echoed in the still night. Seconds later, an explosion of a steel door boomed from a distance as it fell back down in place. I ran around the other side of the barn, beneath the turret. From this angle, I had an advantage to spot a metal door that had been unearthed behind the shack. Why hadn’t I thought to look there? I reprimanded myself. Abigail and I could have been on our way to safety by now taking Freddie with us. Now Freddie was locked inside with Luca’s missionaries. Or possibly Luca.

  Against Abigail’s objections, I ran toward the shack, trying to pry open the door that was bolted to the ground. It weighed a ton. There had to be a secret latch or lever to open this thing. No human strength could lift the barrier without some sort of mechanism, unless the men were supernatural or Watchers. But I didn’t give up; I kept tugging and pulling until my back ached and my hands throbbed. Without warning, a hand gripped my shoulder, spinning me around and pinning me against the broken shed. I didn’t have time to scream for a hand covered my mouth and stifled my voice.

  No evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death.

  ~ Plato

  “Don’t scream!” Abigail whispered, still cupping my mouth and holding me firm against the broken planks of wood. Despite the terror running down my spine, my legs found their renewed strength, feeling grateful that Abigail hung around. Having an angel at my side reassured me that I was safe. I felt a force within me, telling me that together, she and I could take on the Trackers.

  “Abby!” I hugged her tightly never wanting to let go. “Did you find Freddie?” I whispered as she sucked in a gulp of the unexpected. Her eyes slipped shut, hanging her head low in despair. Something punched at my gut. By the look on her face, I knew that it was too late for Freddie.

  I shook my head in a rage and panic, “No, no . . . he can’t be—” I couldn’t find the words to express my anguish. “Abby, what’s with the look on your face? What are you telling me?” Abby carefully caressed my hair and hushed my whimpering. “I’m sorry, Beth. By the time we got to him, he’d already been marked. We were too late.”

  “No! Don’t you dare tell me it’s too late! This can’t be happening!” I cried out.

  “He’s transitioning and we must keep him confined and far away from you until he is cleansed, but we have no idea how long that might take,” she urged me to
keep my voice down.

  Wiping my tears, I nodded in disbelief, “You mean there’s still hope? He can be cleansed of his mark? Freddie still has a chance to turn good again?” My lips trembled and my eyes blinked fiercely, fighting to keep my emotions in control.

  Brushing away her own tears, Abigail swallowed deeply and squared her shoulders. She released me and walked away, silently.

  “Abby,” I called to her in a hushed tone so I wouldn’t alert whoever ducked inside the shack. “Abby,” I whispered with greater urgency.

  Abby slowly turned to look at me, her eyes rimmed in red. “We are trying everything we can to help him. There is a slight chance that cleansing may not work, so don’t get your hopes up,” she muttered helplessly. “Come on, Beth, let’s get you inside and out of the elements.”

  “Inside? Abby, isn’t this place for the Watchers? What if Luca is in there?”

  “This is Safe Haven, a secret location undetectable on maps. We nestled it here inside that shed where it cannot be tracked. Movement among the angels only occurs at night not to disturb the neighbors. Since this is an adult community, many of the homeowners are elderly. They turn in quite early, so keep your voice down.” Abigail instructed.

  “What about the barking dog, aren’t you worried it’ll wake up its owner?” I asked baffled.

  “The dog is part of our legion. Dexter informs the angels of any outside movement, other than the angels themselves.

  “ Is Dexter the dog’s name?” I asked.

  “Yep, since we’re keeping Freddie here until we are able to move him to another location, Dex serves as his guard dog. His bark alerted me that there was a newcomer in the area, who fortunately for me, turned out to be just the girl I was looking for. By the way, how did you find this place?” Abigail smirked, cocking her head to one side.

  “Long story,” I replied pointing at the metal door in the ground. “That trap door—is that where those two men entered from?”