Destined to Fall (An Angel Falls Book 5)

by Jody A. Kessler

  Regrets. I didn’t want them. I didn’t need them and hearing this older, strong, intelligent woman tell me she has regrets, serves to strengthen my desire to live without them.

  “Would you tell me, do you see anyone of the spirit realm outside the window?”

  She gestures toward the plate glass window she was staring out of a few minutes before.

  “They won’t enter my house. The creek’s magic is too strong, but the dreams pull at me. And I have to know if my imagination is playing with my mind or if it is not.”

  I hesitate for only a second. It wouldn’t hurt to look, would it?

  Rising out of the chair, I move to the window. There’s a two-story barn on the other side of the creek. The sky above the treetops is muted with gray-blue storm clouds. The sun has refused to break through all day, but the clouds are being stingy and have yet to share the needed rain.

  My gaze returns to the front of the barn.

  I swallow my hesitancy. “He’s standing by the barn door.”

  The clink of ice rattles in her glass before Vivi speaks. “Tall, blonde, and handsome as the devil. A broad chest and a bum women lust over.”

  “I can’t see his back side, but pretty much,” I agree. If one likes the vintage look on a man. “Who is he?” I ask, hoping I don’t regret the question.

  “My past come to slap me in the face,” she says with a sigh.

  The man notices me watching him, but otherwise doesn’t move or beckon me. Thank merciful Mary. I don’t want a conversation with a dead guy today. At least, any dead guys I don’t know.

  I return to the kitchen table. Vivi’s complexion has paled.

  “Do you need me to talk with him?” Why do I say things out loud? I make the offer even as I picture slapping tape over my own mouth.

  “You’re a sweetheart to offer, but no. I know why he’s here.”

  “When Nathaniel gets back, he may be able to persuade him to leave,” I say.

  “There’s no need. Mr. Scanell means me no harm. He wants what I promised him.”

  “You made a promise to a dead guy?” I ask.

  “He wasn’t dead back in the forties,” she says as if I should already know it. “He was charming and full of himself and he liked me. And I was too much a basket case to see that love doesn’t come around like that but once in a lifetime.”

  Her lost love. Oh my God.

  “He’s waiting for you?” I whisper.

  “Not exactly. I owe him a dance and I think he wants to cash in.”

  She swallows the last of her drink and sets the glass on the table. Vivi clears her throat and I hear the rattle of phlegm from somewhere deep in her chest.

  “It’s so… romantic and sad,” I say.

  “Enough of that.” Vivi swats the air in a dismissive gesture before scooting her chair back and rising. “I need some time in the greenhouse. Would you like to come see it? You’ve earned anything you like.”

  “Oh, Vivi, thank you. I don’t need to trade with you. I would have told you he was out there anyway.”

  “A bargain’s a bargain and I won’t use someone with gifts such as yours without payment.”

  “I did come out here to ask you something,” I admit.

  Vivi holds the back of the chair as she waits for me to continue.

  “It’s…” I stall finding it even harder to ask than I imagined.

  “Start at the beginning and say it one word at a time,” she suggests.

  “Nathaniel drives your work truck sometimes. He’s out of commission right now and I don’t own a truck.”

  “You want to borrow the beast?” Vivi asks with surprise. “Take it. I don’t drive it anymore. The keys are in it.”

  “Really? Thank you! You don’t know what a relief this is. There are some horses that have to be moved and I didn’t know how I was going to do it. I saw your truck in this ridiculous vision I keep having…”

  “Vision? Well now then, you have to take it. The trailer is behind the barn if you need it as well.”

  “Trailer?” I ask. I had been so concerned on how I was going to get the truck I forgot about needing a horse trailer.

  “You’re going to haul horses, right? Not herd them?”

  In a mild state of shock, I nod enthusiastically.

  “It’s an antique like myself, but the tires are good,” she says as if it’s already settled. “Now, let’s go find those youngins and get you on the road.”

  Chapter Thirteen: Desert Directions

  Juliana

  “You know how totally whacked this is, don’t you?” Jared asks.

  “I do,” I say, and stuff another French fry in my mouth.

  “And you know our set starts at eight tonight?”

  “I’m planning to be there if it freaking kills me.”

  By the time we hooked up the horse trailer — something I’ve never done before and it took three tries to align the trailer with the truck correctly — and pulled away from Vivi’s, it was past lunch time. Jared flashed the lights on the van and motioned me to pull over in front of a fast food restaurant.

  “You have the phone with you?” Jared asks as he finishes his chicken sandwich.

  “Yeah. I don’t think cell service is too dependable in the desert, but I’ll take it with me.”

  I stare off in the distance toward the rez land and New Mexico beyond. My journey may get tricky as the boundary lines between reservation land, national forest, BLM, and private land aren’t always clearly marked — and outsiders aren’t always welcome, but I know where the Bull’s Horn is. I’m going to have to trust my visions won’t lead me in the wrong direction.

  “I don’t know, Jules.” Jared frowns at me. “Do you think you should call the Department of Wildlife or make a report to the rez cops?”

  “I already thought about that. It’s hard to report something with no evidence. I can’t say I dreamed about this.”

  “Anonymous tip,” Jared adds.

  “If I don’t find Chris and his dad today, I’ll call.”

  “Saint Juliana. It has a good ring to it,” he teases.

  “I’m not a saint. I want to be sane again.”

  I wrap my arms around Jared in a fierce hug goodbye. It’s something I’ve started doing every time I have to leave him. Star and Marcus sit inside the van, letting us have a minute to ourselves. I’m still peeved at Marcus and don’t know if I’ll ever be on good terms with him again.

  “Let go, sis,” Jared says, as he tries to squirm out of my hold. “I’d come with you if we weren’t playing tonight.”

  “I know you would. I’m sorry I’m stalling you and keeping Caleb waiting for the van. My timing stinks today. You need to get out of here.”

  “Yeah, I do,” he agrees.

  His feet stay rooted in place. Maybe Jared is feeling the need to stay together, too. I push my hair away from my face. Do I have to rescue horses today? What if this is Jared’s last day? Will I regret leaving? Will I regret it worse if I don’t find Chris and save a herd of horses from a fire?

  “Have you seen the news lately?” I ask.

  He gives me a queer look.

  “Just wondering if you’ve heard about any forest fires.”

  “Don’t freak me out, Jules. I’m already gutted for leaving you here with that ridiculous truck.”

  “So, you haven’t heard anything?”

  “Fire danger is high. The clouds today should help a lot. Any humidity in the air is better than none.”

  “It’s not raining, though,” I say with a frown at the sky. “It looks like it’s clearing up to the west.”

  “Yep. We’re chit-chatting over the weather,” he points out.

  “Right,” I say, and stare into his endlessly charming brown eyes. “Playing for more time.”

  He looks empathetic at my reluctance to leave.

  I punch his arm lightly. “Have fun today,” I say with a grin and turn for the truck.

  After a long and drawn out fiasco at th
e gas station where I one: spent an entire week’s paycheck to fill the tank, and two: was blocked in and could neither turn the enormous truck and trailer around, nor back it up without hitting something, I was left groveling my thanks at the feet of a total stranger for driving the pickup truck back onto the roadside. And three: discovered my favorite Officer Suarez had been observing my ineptitude the entire time.

  As I buckle the seatbelt, Officer Suarez taps on my window and nearly makes me pee my pants from sheer surprise.

  “Good day, Ms. Crowson,” he says.

  My throat is suddenly dry as desert dust. I attempt a smile, but only feel my lips crack painfully.

  “Did you know your tags are expired on your trailer?”

  “No, Sir,” I say as my insides shrivel into a neat little dried prune.

  “You have any idea how to haul livestock?”

  “No, Sir,” I say again.

  “What are you doing out here, Ms. Crowson?”

  “Moving a trailer for a friend.” It isn’t a lie. I can’t lie, or at least not very convincingly. I’m sure my racing heartbeat and glass face will give me away in a second.

  “You or your friend isn’t associated with a Trent Diaz or a Dominic Reeves, are you?”

  The names aren’t familiar. I say, “No, Sir. The trailer is Vivian Costa’s. I didn’t know about the tags, Officer. I’m really sorry.”

  He appraises me with a long cold look and says, “Don’t make me ticket you for obstructing traffic, Ms. Crowson. And please, get this trailer off the road as soon as possible. Next time I see you I may not be so generous.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  He scowls and almost, but not quite, rolls his eyes — scorn and derision ooze out of him — then he tips his hat and walks back to his SUV.

  I shudder and take a very brief second to be grateful he didn’t write me a ticket. I crank the window closed and decide I should have left it open as I crane my neck to look for oncoming traffic. As I slowly pull out, the blaring of a horn lets me know I missed an oncoming vehicle. Sirens and flashing lights don’t follow the horn honking, so I have to assume dear old officer Suarez is going to let the near collision slide.

  Get off the road as soon as possible. Right.

  Three hours later, I’m lost in the high mountain desert. As a footnote: I’m also teaching myself how to back up and turn a truck towing a twenty-foot long trailer. Oh joy.

  I’m actually not lost. I just don’t have any idea where these four-wheel drive trails go. I was headed straight toward the Bull’s Horn and ended up circling back toward the highway. I chose another dirt road and ended up heading west when I wanted to go east. So, I know the mountain I want is behind me, and I also know there hasn’t been a decent place to turn this monstrosity around in at least three miles. At last, I see a flattish section of ground. No gully, no sharp rocks, no ditch to bottom out in or cliff to drop off of, and only a few plants to smash, but no trees. Turning around takes entirely too long as I have to climb out of the truck and look at the trailer a few times to make sure I haven’t missed anything. As I’m about to climb back inside the cab, hopefully for the last time, I feel the brush of a cool hand on the back of my neck.

  I immediately place my hand over the spot and spin around. No one is behind me, alive or dead. The sensation was all too real, and by now, I know not to ignore the things I really want to ignore.

  “Nathaniel Evans? Now would be a great time to hang out,” I say to the vast sky and the rugged hills.

  I slam the door closed, feeling a tiny bit comforted by the surrounding cab. I lean over to grab my water bottle, which had rolled clear across the bench seat. I sit back up and guzzle the tepid water. I must have had my eyes closed because when I open them again, the deep brown eye of a large bird streaks across the front of the glass. I scream and jump as the sight of the huge wing flashes by the windshield. The bottle of water empties into my lap, which makes me jump again. I right the bottle and stare after the raptor.

  The hawk swoops low to the ground then flaps away, heading east. I’m seriously beginning to believe the entire universe is conspiring against me right now. The water soaks in and spreads nicely to encompass most of my groin and the seat. I dig my hoodie out of my duffle bag and spread it out beneath my butt. Not letting the pessimism take over, I continue toward the elusive Bull’s Horn Mountain. The early evening sun begins taunting me with a song. It sings, Neener-neener wiener. You’re gonna miss Jared’s show. There isn’t a clock on the dash, but I remember the cell phone in my pocket. I wiggle around on the seat, trying to dig out my phone and relish the feeling of the damp creases in my skin and my soggy bottom. My phone must be unhappy about receiving a water bath because it refuses to turn on.

  “What have I gotten myself into?” I ask the wilderness as I continue to creep along over ruts and bumps in the non-serviceable road.

  The truck and trailer rattle through a dry gulch and up a small hill and I see the hawk perched on the top of a cone-shaped cedar tree. My first instinct causes me to stare at the ground below the hawk. Thank goodness, I don’t see any trampled body there. Especially not my own. I groan at the reminder of my vision. Guts intact — yes, I actually do a quick self-check — I drive on until the hawk is close enough to see its unique eye color. Same hawk as the one who collided with my windshield. Same red-tailed hawk that was in my vision. As if it were watching and waiting for me, it lifts off the tree and flies in the direction I was already headed.

  Let the adventure begin.

  ∞

  Nathaniel

  It’s always her. I’m a hopeless case of lustful infatuation. Stick a label on me and tag it, “Property of Juliana Crowson.” How could I not be hers? She makes me smile and laugh. And makes me crazy in every way; good and bad. But most of all, she makes me feel whole. All the pieces of life and death make perfect sense when I’m with her.

  I must be stronger now. Yes, I had to recharge after Marcus’s tantrum, but the rest period was quick and now it’s over. Her pull on me is the first thing that enters my consciousness from the physical dimension of Earth. As soon as I’m able to organize my thoughts, it’s Steven who needs me more. The little twerp. His pull is stronger and so Steven is who I return to instead of Juliana.

  He’s huddled on the ground next to Arrio when I arrive. They’re eating jerky from a bag. Candy bar wrappers lie on the ground near Steven’s backpack. They’re in an arroyo, hidden by the sandy walls of the ditch. Dominic scurries around a bend, keeping low to the ground, and squats next to them.

  “Soon,” he says with a nod.

  Dominic’s arm is in a makeshift sling. They’re smudged with dirt and grime, bleary-eyed and rumpled. The paint on their faces is smeared or mostly gone and only adds to the pathetic state of their appearance. Steven wears the same clothes as the last time I saw him. How much time has passed? Could they still be on the same raid?

  Beyond the upper lip of the gully, the sagebrush is thick, the cholla cactus scraggly, and the cedar trees are all too familiar. The evening light is far from the breaking dawn when I left Steven behind, but this area has to be the same basic location.

  The peaks rising from the arid valleys are brush covered and steep. There’s a flat-topped butte to the northeast. Rolling sage covered hills rise to a peak of rugged dark stone to the southwest.

  “Let’s go now. I’m sick of waiting this shit out,” Steven says.

  “Not a chance. Moving in the dark is the only way this is going to work.”

  “They already know what you ugly suckers look like,” Steven adds.

  I rejoin them in the bottom of the arroyo. Looking to the sky, I wonder if it will yield any rain. A good downpour would ease Juliana’s newfound fear of fire and may even shower some sense on these three.

  “We always move at night. The one time we raided during the day was a disaster. It’s the reason we’re here, like this, right now. Don’t screw this up, Steven,” Dominic says.

  “Who bl
ew it last night? Not me. We should have been back to town yesterday,” Steven accuses. “This is crap. We don’t even know if Trent is alive.” His eyes are sharp pinpricks as he stares at the lit end of his cigarette instead of looking directly at his friends as he accuses them.

  “We need the horses. I’m with Dominic. We wait till night and we take’em back from those assholes,” Arrio says.

  “Of course, you’re on his side,” Steven mumbles.

  “Shut the hell up, dude,” Arrio says and shoves Steven’s arm.

  Steven reacts by lashing out with his fist. It lands squarely against Arrio’s chest. He falls back, but catches himself on an outstretched arm. Arrio is compact and quick. He launches a counter attack. Boots digging into the sandy ground, he’s like a spring as he propels his lithe body into Steven’s middle. They roll, fists flying. Dominic gives them space by edging out of the way.

  The tussle ends almost as abruptly as it starts and Steven is beneath a fire-spitting Arrio. He finishes with a sharp right jab to Steven’s nose. The echoing crack of knuckles against face is cringe-worthy.

  “You want more of this?” Arrio gloats.

  Steven turns his face and grabs his bleeding nose with a moan.

  “Get off, bro. Steven has PMS,” Dominic says. “Psychotic Mood Swings.”

  Blood-boiling rage is a mask easy to recognize, but to Arrio’s credit, he settles his tense shoulders and backs off an inch. As he begins to slide to the side, Steven uses his free arm and knee to ram Arrio in the ribcage. He face-plants in the dirt with a grunt. Steven is faster this time as he rolls out of the way before Arrio can retaliate.

  “Screw you both,” Steven says through his muffled and nasal voice.

  Dominic grabs Arrio’s arm, holding him back as Steven retrieves his backpack and bow.

  “You’re in this with us, Steven,” Dominic says. “Leave now and you don’t ever come around again.”

  Head down and growling, Steven mutters something incomprehensible as he heads south out of the arroyo.