“Saying goodbye. Ignore me.”
“Umm, not possible,” she says as I bury my face against her neck, seeking the spot that makes her melt.
We end up sideways on the plush couch. Juliana’s on her back beneath me.
I give all I can in the ways a boyfriend should properly say goodbye to his girl, and she gives me as much and more. I breathe in her scent and mumble, “Okay. Now I really have to get to work.”
“You’re such a tease,” she says. Jules pushes herself up and begins running fingers through her waist length hair and straightening her shirt. Her shirt looks fine to me, but she seems to think it’s crooked and keeps yanking at the hem.
“If I’m not back, let me know when you’re headed home.”
“I promise I will.”
“I love you, sweet vixen.” I place one last quick kiss below her earlobe. “I won’t say, don’t forget me. Not after what happened the last time I used those words.”
“We can X those words out of the dictionary for good.”
I rise to my feet but can’t tear my gaze away from Juliana. She gives me a tentative look that makes her appear vulnerable. I feel another tug to be near Steven.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say.
“Love you, too,” she whispers.
Her words are enough reassurance to let me know I can leave for a little while and she’ll be all right.
∞
Steven leans against a wall in the alley behind the recording studio. The old west style red brick building of Castle Hill Studios matches the town only on the exterior. Inside is all modern wealth.
I don’t show myself. If I’m needed as an Angel of Death, I want the perspective of one. He’s talking on his phone and I listen in without an ounce of shame or embarrassment for intruding on a private conversation. If I’m going to help him, I have to know what he’s up to.
Steven asks, “How many are we talking about?”
“Half a dozen if we get them all,” the man on the other end says.
“I don’t know. I have a paying gig now. I’ll be out of town for a few weeks.”
“I called because you said you wanted in on this,” the guy says. The accusation and guilt are heavy in his tone.
“I’ll do it if I can still work my other job. Otherwise, count me out.”
“After what we lost today, we need you.”
“You think you do. It’ll be better with less bros,” Steven says.
“How do you figure?” the other guy asks.
“Your way is more dangerous,” Steven says as he glances at the back door to the studio.
“Gotta go. Someone’s coming. If you see me, then I’m there,” he says and ends the call.
Jared and Caleb exit the building and step into the alley.
My client places his back to the wall and says, “Hey.” He’s casual and unconcerned about being intruded on.
“What’s up?” Jared says.
“I thought you guys were still jammin’ over on your side of the world.”
“We’re airing out our heads. Everyone needed a break,” Caleb says.
Jared’s arrival guarantees Marcus’s presence. The roof may have a nicer view of the stars while I keep an eye on Steven. Marcus and I may have to deal with our mutual discomforts over the next few weeks if we’re going to be traveling together on the concert tour. Assuming our clients have a few weeks left, that is.
“You smoke?” Caleb asks.
“Not while I’m working,” Steven says.
“Then you’ve got your shit together better than we do,” he says.
Caleb lights a joint, takes a hit, and passes it over to Jared. Juliana’s brother refuses with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Your sister getting to you or what?” Caleb asks.
“You heard her,” Jared says.
I need to speak with Jared alone. Juliana asked me to intervene and I want to follow through. I haven’t used my angelic energy to help someone with addiction before and I don’t know if it will make much difference. Jared’s free will is his free will. He has to make the decision to stop using and follow through on his promises. I grew up dealing with my parents’ addiction to alcohol. I’ve seen what it can do to the human psyche. I’ll bend Jared’s ear for Jules’s sake, but it’s going to have to wait until we’re back at their house. Marcus isn’t allowed inside but I am. Chris Abeyta surrounded their house with some sort of shamanic protection. No spirits can enter the property unless they’re invited. It’s an opportune situation that’s worked in my favor.
“Check this out,” Steven says. My client pulls something out of his backpack. I’m up too high on the roof to see exactly what he’s doing. I hear the unmistakable clink of Steven’s lighter. Small flames shift in his hands as he begins to juggle three little balls of fire.
“No shit,” Jared says, impressed.
In the glow of a streetlight, I see Steven actually smile.
“How many can you juggle at once?” Caleb says.
“I’m up to four, but it’ll be five pretty soon.”
The door to the alley opens, spilling light from inside the building. Star Quillin walks outside with a member of her band.
Where’s Juliana? I think, but don’t leave quite yet to check on her. I only hope she doesn’t come searching for Jared while Star is here.
“Wow! That’d be fantastic to add to our live show,” Star says to Steven.
Steven catches the flames and smothers them in his hand. “I’m more of a behind the scenes type of guy,” he says.
“Oh yeah?” Star asks. “Too bad.”
“You might like this.” Steven reaches for the bottle of the flammable fluid he keeps tucked away inside his backpack.
He steps over to the center of the alley and sprays the liquid on the asphalt in a deliberate pattern. Everyone waits and watches. Anticipation hums through the group, but only serves to deepen my apprehension. I wouldn’t be here unless Steven was close to something harmful. Playing with fire isn’t helping my nerves.
With my intuition and angel sense, I suddenly hear Juliana call me, like she’s beckoning to my soul. There’s no urgency to the tugging sensation, so I assume she’s ready to drive home.
The timing couldn’t be worse. My responsibility is to stay with the client. When someone’s life is at stake, I can’t take off to say goodnight to Jules. She understands, but I still feel guilty.
Another whisper; a light tickle in my ear. Nathaniel Evans? Juliana wants me… I groan and suppress the need to answer her.
Steven says, “Stay back.”
Everyone huddles near the wall of the building. Steven relights his flaming juggling balls and begins to juggle in the middle of the alley.
After tossing them high into the air and catching them with upside down fists so the flames disappear into his hands and then suddenly reappear as they circle through the air in curved arches, he catches one on the side of his shoe and flicks it ten feet away from himself. The fireball lands with a plop and ignites the trail of fluid he sprayed on the pavement. With the other two fireballs, he catches one then the other on his shoe and launches them in different directions. The design in the fire spreads around him until the back alley is glowing like a bonfire party.
“Yes!” Star cheers and claps her hands in delight at the spontaneous show.
“That’s chill. How is it burning for so long?” Jared asks.
“How are you not on fire?” Caleb asks.
Steven jumps over the low flame and away from his design. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” he says in that unreadable way of his. He could be dead serious or joking. I can’t read his intent and it unnerves me further. I’m used to picking up my clients’ vibes much faster.
“Harsh, dude, but I get ya’,” Jared says.
Steven half shrugs and says, “Never give up all your secrets at once.”
“Good advice,” the other member from The Shy Lights adds.
Star s
tares at the fire while dancing around the flames. She rises onto her toes, stretching her neck to look at the entire pattern. From the roof, I see it clearly. She moves over to the building and steps on the side of the dumpster with one foot and hefts herself up with the other foot on a drainpipe.
“I want to see what it says,” she says with a laugh and begins scaling the drain spout.
Jared watches Star climb the side of Castle Hill studios. He’s only a few feet in front of her.
“It says—” he starts.
“Don’t ruin it for me. Not all of us are giants.”
Jared raises his hands in surrender. “You’re going to like it.”
She twists halfway around to read the word, “Firelight,” in cursive script.
“The name of our album! That’s perfect,” she says. “Steven, you have to do this for us at the outdoor festival at the end of the tour. Our fans will love it!”
Hanging onto the pipe with her feet jammed onto a bracket, Star leans out into the alley smiling at the guys.
It doesn’t take a genius to know she shouldn’t be climbing and hanging from a drainage gutter. Moving on instinct, I leave the roof, but I’m too late. The crack of breaking hardware is followed by a groan and creak of bending metal. Star yelps with surprise. By the time I’m close enough to help, Jared and Steven are already in place beneath a falling Star — no pun intended.
Steven beats Jared by a fraction of a second, but the three of them collide in a tangle of limbs. Steven supports most of Star’s weight because Jared gets bumped to the side and stumbles out of the way. He struggles to regain stability and goes down on top of the flames.
“No!” Star screams. Her distress is not the yelp of falling four feet from the side of the building but genuine terror.
She lunges after Jared. “This can’t be happening again. No, no, no!”
Jared is quick to roll and return to his feet. Star pulls him away from the low burning fire. The studio door opens and Juliana is backlit by the glow of lights from the hallway. I immediately move to her, but she steps back and the door slams shut.
I spin around to check on Star, Steven, and Jared.
Star’s yelling, “Jared, your pants are on fire!”
Steven is desperately tugging something out of his backpack. He rushes passed me yelling at Jared, “Get on the ground right now!”
Jared drops to the pavement, he’s beating at the flames around his ankle. Steven tackles him with a large cloth or towel and smothers the fire. I have a fleeting moment of relief, but then the door crashes open behind me and Juliana comes tearing out wielding a fire extinguisher.
Spray foam bursts out of the nozzle, but not onto Jared. Juliana aims straight at Star’s backside where her long gauzy skirt was aflame and no one had noticed, not even Star.
After Star is drenched in white foam, she sprays Jared’s legs, and then extinguishes the last of the burning letters on the ground.
“You definitely know how to make an entrance,” I say. I’m still in my spirit form so only Jules and Marcus see me.
Juliana slumps against the dumpster and drops the fire extinguisher. She closes her eyes, her lids quivering. She doesn’t reply to my comment, but instead takes a deep breath and then another.
“Are you burned, Star?” her band member asks as he whisks her inside where he can see the damage better.
Juliana shrinks further away. She doesn’t want anything to do with Star after the knife incident. Her and Jared discussed canceling the tour because of Star. But because of Jules’s unending well of kindness and understanding, she forgave Star for not taking her medication and only wants all mistakes to lie in the bed of the past.
The group moves inside to get a better look at any injuries. Steven hangs back and stays silent. He’s massaging his elbow but otherwise appears unhurt. Jared is singed but nothing worse. Thankfully, the fire didn’t burn through the thick denim of his jeans. Star disappears into the restroom to have her backside examined by her friends in private.
Clustered in the hallway, Caleb retells the tale to everyone who missed it. A few minutes later, someone from Star’s band announces, “She’s fine. The burn is minor.”
Juliana digs into her purple shoulder bag — her bottomless pit, I call it — and hands The Shy Lights band member a small silver tin. “Make sure she cleans and disinfects the skin. Then she should rub this salve on it. Tell her it will help.”
He takes the container from Jules without question and disappears back into the bathroom.
Juliana turns to Jared. “Can we get out of here?”
For the first time ever, Jared appears humbled. He isn’t smiling or bouncing on the balls of his feet. His expression is somber and he’s standing in the hall holding onto his arm.
“Yeah. I want to ride with you, sis. If that’s okay.”
Juliana nods and they leave the building without Caleb or the other band members.
With Marcus and Jared waiting inside Juliana’s old Saab, I say a quick goodbye in the parking lot, ask her to promise to call me if anything happens on their way home, and return to my charge.
Chapter Five: Keeping Secrets
Nathaniel
Steven checks in with the members of The Shy Lights to see when they want him to return. I.e., he’s making sure he still has a job. No one places any blame on him for starting the fire. They’re more focused on congratulating him for reacting so quickly to Jared’s incident than anything else. They assure him he’s still needed on tour.
My client trudges quietly out the back door, hood up over his head, and backpack slung over his shoulder. He stops for a second to stare at the oil slick on the ground where the fuel had been burning and at the leftover foam retardant. I try to see his face beneath his hood but all I see is part of his chin and the angle of his jaw. I wasn’t expecting to see remorse but I wanted to see something on his impassive face. A kernel of humanity to let me know he cares that his actions could have killed someone. He returns to his parked car and climbs inside.
I ride shotgun, this time not letting him know I’m tagging along. The music drowns out the engine and road noise as he drives out of town. He doesn’t return to his parents’ house.
We rattle along a rutted dirt road in the middle of the high desert. The city is an hour behind us and the peaks of the San Juan Mountains even farther. Steven turns the car onto a narrow driveway and parks in front of a shabby mobile home. Sections of the foundation skirting are missing and resemble a gap-toothed vagrant. Window screens are optional, or torn, as are the curtains inside. Cinder blocks, a pile of old cardboard boxes, a trash can with the lid hanging open, a rusted-out barbeque grill, and a car missing a rear wheel serve as yard décor. A metal loafing shed with a huge dent in the side appears ready to collapse with the next high wind day. Beyond the shed, I think I see corral fencing, but I’m uncertain as the car’s headlights switch off before getting a clear view.
My client knocks on the front door with one loud rap. He twists the doorknob without waiting for an answer. It doesn’t open. Undeterred, Steven makes short order of rounding up two cinder blocks, stacking them in front of a window, sliding it open, and heaving himself inside.
I meet him in the living room where the inside of the house matches the outside, in regards to lack of cleanliness and style. I’ve seen worse, but I’ve also seen better. A sagging couch and chair sit behind a dinged and scratched coffee table. Both pieces of furniture are angled at the television. Which is by far the nicest and most expensive item in the room. The kitchen is open to the rest of the living space and there’s a heap of dirty dishes clustered around the sink and food wrappers on the counters. Steven inspects the contents of the fridge, finds a can of beer, and helps himself. He grabs a bag of chips and alternates between crunching and chugging his late-night snack. After scrolling through the menu of a couple hundred channels on the T.V., he settles on ESPN, mutes the volume, and stretches out on the sagging couch.
I’m about to take
my leave of Steven to be with Juliana. If I’m going to watch someone sleep, I’d much rather it be my foxy girlfriend. But, alas, life (or the afterlife) never just delivers the lemonade. That would be too easy. Lemons always come first, don’t they?
A vehicle pulls into the driveway. The full-sized pickup truck parks next to the broken-down car. A man steps out of the truck and moves like a shadow. I can’t see his features except to say he resembles a tall unshapely blob. He enters the living room through the front door, not the window, and I find out why I couldn’t see him in detail. He’s dressed in all black. Black cargo pants and a black hooded jacket. Even his face is covered with dark paint. His face paint is a stylized design with slashes, zigzags, and dots. He used a little white and red, but most of his face is black. The look of him reminds me of an ancient time when people still believed wrath and fury were delivered from higher beings.
Steven sits up immediately when the door opens, his hand reaching for his pack.
“We could have used you tonight.” The guy closes the door and enters as if he owns the place.
“Is it true about Pipoo?”
“Don’t say his name in here. He’s an ah-roo pitch now. Some crazy shit went down at the Wolf’s house yesterday.”
“You think his spirit will show up here?”
“He’s pissed. I don’t know what he’s going to do.”
“I told you to skip that place. You seriously screwed up. Going there during the day was a mistake.”
The man walks over to the sink and begins washing off the face paint. He takes a grimy towel from the counter and wipes at his face. “You know we were upping the stakes. Maybe if you had some decent sized cojones and had shown up, the accident wouldn’t have happened. Now, we’ve lost our best handler.”
“He must not have been that good.”
The dark haired and dark-skinned man shakes his head at Steven and throws the towel into a corner. He looks older than Steven but still young and more Hispanic than Native. “Disrespectful man child,” he says. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who only shows up when he wants to.”
Destined to Fall (An Angel Falls Book 5) Page 6
