Destined to Fall (An Angel Falls Book 5)

by Jody A. Kessler

  Dominic tries once more. “Never. You spoiled, weak shit!”

  Steven doesn’t turn back.

  Following Steven is tedious. Because it’s my job and because I have some sense of responsibility, I stay with him instead of finding my girlfriend. Another direct call from Juliana doesn’t happen, but I’d rather be with her than this guy. It would be great to join her at the venue tonight. A concert with my girlfriend would be exponentially better than wandering through rough country following a cigarette smoking, bow shooting, delinquent pyromaniac.

  Trudging along behind him, I say, “You’re missing work.”

  Startled, he rounds on me and pulls the knife from his belt. Once he recognizes me, he’s fast to recover and shoots a dirty look at me. “No shit.”

  “Think you’re fired?” I ask.

  “Probably.” He keeps walking.

  His nose stopped bleeding some time ago, but the dried smears are dark and dirty. It adds to his lack of appeal.

  “Does it matter to you?” I ask.

  “How many times do I have to ask: what do you want?”

  The broken nose makes him sound congested. I should probably have more sympathy, but I don’t. Thievery is a choice, and one I have little or no tolerance for. Choices aside, Steven is about to leave this life. I’m obligated to do something for him, but that something is an endless interpretation yet to be discovered.

  “What do you want?” I ask in return.

  Steven ignores me and continues to stomp over the uneven ground. I can’t tell if he has a direction in mind, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. If he has any will to live and would like to turn his life around, I’d like to help him. If that means I have to hound him to the base of Mount Baldy, I’ll do it. If he doesn’t and continues his path of recklessness, I’ll take him to the other side.

  “I want a smoke,” he says. The click of his metal lighter opening and closing precedes the scent of burning tobacco.

  “Smoking will kill you,” I say to his back.

  I hear him sniffle before he flicks the cigarette to the ground. He doesn’t bother to step on it, so I do. He reaches up to his face and carefully explores his swollen nose.

  “Hurts to smoke?” I venture.

  He drops his hand and tries to snarl. A grimace follows, confirming his agony. His face falls flat and he turns again and starts walking in another direction. After a long silence where Steven only turns around once to see if I’m still behind him, he finally stops trekking through the brush and turns to stare at me.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Ready to take some responsibility for your actions? For your life?”

  “No. I’m ready to die.”

  “You’ve figured out why I’m following you,” I say.

  “I don’t care what you are or what you’re doing here, but I’m done.”

  He walks away again. Steven trips over the twisted roots of some dessert shrub and flails, the weight of his pack increases his momentum and he lands on his hands and knees.

  Gritting his teeth, he climbs to his feet and continues mindlessly slogging over the high desert plateau.

  “Why?”

  He ignores me, so I catch up to walk by his side.

  “Why are you giving up?” I ask.

  “Life gave up on me the moment I was born.”

  “How do you know?” I ask calmly.

  “Because my real mother didn’t want me. Because my family has hated me since I was born. Because I can’t get along with anyone. How many fucking reasons do you want? I don’t fit in this world.”

  He started explaining himself to me plain, but by the time he’s finished, he’s yelling.

  “That’s understandable,” I say.

  I don’t think this is what he was expecting me to say. Steven narrows his eyes as if he doesn’t believe me.

  “Your feelings are real. And justified. I can’t tell you they’re not valid.”

  “Everyone else does. I’m a good for nothing, alcohol drinking, smoking sinner. I’m going straight to hell, so go ahead and take me.”

  “Strong words, Steven.”

  He shakes his head and starts hiking to his right.

  “Are you lost?”

  “What difference does it make? I’m not going back. Ever.”

  “You’re going to let the elements take you?” I ask as the images of cold nights under silver stars, no water, no people to rescue him, and plenty of coyotes and buzzards sinks in.

  “Yeah. No. I don’t know!”

  “You’re not going to hell, Steven. That much I can tell you.”

  He gives me the hard distrustful stare again, like I’m only saying things he wants to hear.

  “I have no reason to lie to you. Hell is a story made up to keep humans afraid and subservient to ideals set by society. Let go of that nonsense and think about what you would want with the kind of life you get to choose.”

  “Every time I do something for myself, it turns into a huge shit pile. I wanted to go to classes, but I couldn’t show up and I failed. I fail at everything. I set fire to the band members, remember? You can’t know what it’s like to try your hardest and still suck at everything.”

  “You’re an excellent archer. And The Shy Lights thought you were doing a great job for them. You’re not failing at those two things,” I point out.

  “I am! I’m supposed to be working right now and I couldn’t make it again. Archery isn’t going to pay my rent or buy me food.”

  “Money isn’t why we live. It doesn’t bring happiness. If you can separate monetary gain from your self-worth, you’ll start to see who you really are. And if you can see yourself, your true self, you can start to see that life is worth the struggle.”

  “You don’t know anything. Leave me the fuck alone.”

  A large bird sweeps across the horizon. It’s too far away to see anything but an expanse of wings and muted colors of cream and rust. A lingering dust cloud rises into the air far to the west. Maybe we’re not the only ones out here after all. The stream of dust on the horizon is so distant I can’t see the vehicle causing the disturbance, but it’s over there. Steven doesn’t appear to notice.

  “I can’t,” I say.

  “Disappear and stop yakking at me. You’re starting to sound like my step-monster.”

  “I’m nothing like her and you know it.”

  “You’re worse,” he says.

  “Could be. But I’m still not leaving.”

  The dust cloud fades into the dulling colors of the evening sunset. Soon, it will only be shades of gray and then the dark of night.

  We follow a game trail over a gentle slope and I ask, “Where’s your car?”

  “Didn’t know spirits needed wheels,” he mutters.

  “I don’t. You do.”

  “I’m not going back. I already told you.”

  “What if you could start over? What if you could move away and start living a brand new life? Would you do it?”

  “I can’t start over. My past is a part of me. Unless you’re some magic genie or some shit and can give me a new brain, it will still be me. I’m the problem. You got it yet?” he asks with a flourish of one hand. “I’m the problem.”

  “I’m not accepting that. I think you may have your head screwed on too tight, but that can be adjusted. No one in the world has everything figured out. Give yourself a break.”

  “You know what? You seem to have all the answers, so tell me this. What’s so damn wonderful about life? Because on my end, there isn’t anything worth staying around for.”

  “My answers will be different from yours. We all get to decide for ourselves.”

  Obviously, Juliana is at the forefront of my mind, but there are endless answers to what drives a person to go on.

  “If you can start focusing on one good thing at a time instead of all the bad, it could change everything for you,” I say.

  “There is no good. The world is a fucked up hell hole.”

  “Yo
ur friends care about you. And to me, it looks like you care about them.”

  “Don’t bring them into this.”

  “Why not? Didn’t you risk your life to save them last night?” I ask.

  “Shut up.” He turns out of the little ditch we’d wandered into and starts heading up a steep hillside.

  “Why don’t you go back to your car and rest? Tomorrow we’ll start a new day after sleep and some real food.”

  “Shut your mouth already,” he says, and I can see his blood pressure rising.

  Bringing up his friends sparked something inside him. I can’t completely understand where his viewpoint is coming from, but feeling something, anything, is better than the total shutdown of emotion and the rising swells of depression. As negative as he is, at least he’s talking and expressing anger.

  “I’m offering to stay by your side and help you start over. You can’t change your past, but people start again all the time. You can use your past experiences to help you make better decisions in the future.”

  “Why can’t you just stop talking?! You’re pissing me off.”

  “Like Arrio did? Want to take a swing at me? I won’t feel a thing.” I’m trying to get a rise out of him on purpose. Maybe what this kid needs is to get it all out of him. Release every pent-up emotion, every surge of frustration.

  Crap, I hate my job. It’s like fumbling the ball only with a life on the line. I’m guessing my way through and hoping for the best. I haven’t fumbled yet, but I think it’s coming.

  He takes me up on my offer and before I realize it, my face is full of knuckles. I take it with a grunt, swallow, and then say, “Feel better?”

  “No!”

  He massages his hand and turns away from me again. I fade from my physical body, but keep close to my client. Steven seems to walk in a set direction now, but I still don’t know if he’s lost or actually going somewhere.

  After climbing a rounded hill and scrambling over some jagged rocks, we stare across the slope at the group of stolen horses. The night is settling over the high mesas and the moon remains hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. I can still see well enough to recognize the silver flash of the blue roan and the massive black gelding of White Wolf’s.

  The two shamans are resting by a small campfire. From our vantage point, they don’t appear to be overly cautious about hiding or protecting themselves. Steven ducks behind a large boulder, turns and sits, resting against his pack. I’m tempted to check in with Chris, but Steven interrupts my thoughts before I make plans.

  “What if I wanted to start my life over? Like in another state or something?”

  “I could help get you settled. Stay with you until you’re doing better,” I say without showing myself.

  “Why? You don’t even know me.”

  Why? Why do I do anything I do? My job? My acceptance to serve in the afterlife? The position was given to me and I blindly said, sure. Eternity helping others, why not?

  “Life matters, Steven. Yours does. Every life matters. If I can be the step you need to find your way again, I’ll do it. It’s what we do and I have all the time in eternity to do it.”

  “Did you write a fucking self-help book or something?”

  “Yeah, I did. It’s called, ‘The Idiot’s Guide to Not Screwing Up Your Life’,” I say.

  “Then it’s too late for me,” he says and runs his hands over his scalp.

  “It’s not.” I pull my physical body into my normal attire and sit on a rock not far from him, but out of sight of Chris and White Wolf. “You don’t have to decide right now if you’re ready to take your life back. You only have to walk back to your car.”

  Steven’s murky hazel eyes stare at his lap. His nose is swollen and red and he looks like he’s been beaten in ten rounds of a boxing match with a desert demon.

  He inhales through an open mouth and lets it out before climbing to his feet. He doesn’t look back at the horses or Chris and White Wolf, but at me. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Fourteen: Shifting

  Juliana

  The end of the road meets the base of a steep sagebrush, chamisa, and prickly pear cactus covered hillside. Somehow, the plants manage to survive in the harsh, dry conditions of the high desert. Their persistence is admirable. Mine, not so much. The trailer hitch, or some other unseen part of the rickety trailer, bottoms out for the umpteenth time and I park the truck. My chin drops to my chest in resignation. There’s no bloody way this rig is going to make it one more yard, and neither am I. I’m wilting and I haven’t found any horses.

  The hawk glides over the truck hood, sweeps skyward, and disappears over the crest of the hill. I grab my backpack and hop out. The sky is broken with clouds, but there’s still no rain. I grab my hoodie off the seat, but throw it back in when I realize it’s damp from the water I spilled.

  Heaving my bag over my shoulders, I swing the door closed and turn for the hill. The hawk is nowhere to be seen, but if I’m in for a step, I may as well leap.

  Expectations are like nagging parents. They keep riding your back until you can’t take any more. My expectations soar and dive alternately as I trek up the slope with nothing but dust and surprised moths for company. The evening is dragging. Gray light highlights uninspired clouds. I want the twilight pastels of a perfect summer evening sunset. I should have known that wasn’t going to happen on this abysmal errand. Night will soon arrive and I’ll lose any chance of seeing the horses. The thought makes me pick up my pace. I’m hopeful for a decent view from the top of the hill and the Bull’s Horn should be visible to the north. If Chris and his dad are on the other side, I’m going to kiss one strange-eyed little hawk. If I have to hike all the way to the Bull’s Horn tonight, I’m going to dig a hole, bury my expectations in it, and call it quits. I might even leave Vivi’s ridiculous trailer out here in the middle of nowhere from spite. And who knows? I may be able to meet up with Jared before the show is over.

  From the top, I see the horses standing near the bottom of the hill in a shallow valley. The area is sheltered to the north by a cluster of stunted trees and open to the south. The horses stand around like a group of castoffs. Some appear tired with lowered heads while others are antsy. I’m too far away to call out and announce my arrival. White Wolf is too far away to see the expression on his face and I don’t see Chris. I pick my path carefully as I descend and make good time. The distance seems to lengthen with the awareness of how late it’s getting. At last, a horse alerts to my presence. The animal raises its head, ears rotating toward me like satellite dishes. I’m about to yell, “Hello” when I see the white hair and oval face of Sherman White Wolf Abeyta. His black eyes pierce my soul and it takes most of my willpower not to cower and run.

  A look can do that?

  He shuffles around the side of a bay colored horse and waves in greeting. A familiar looking dog at his side whines once, but stops immediately when White Wolf nudges it with his knee.

  “You made it,” he says with a curt nod. “Will you join our camp? Chris could use some company other than me and the animals.”

  Unable to explain how a person flips from scary all-knowing, all-seeing shaman to roguish crazy great uncle in mere seconds, I raise my energetic protection and make my way to the campfire with White Wolf and Fetch.

  “The horse trailer is over the hill,” I say.

  “Is that so?” he asks. “Who do you think got you here?”

  Confusion tumbles around in my head at White Wolf’s questions. I’m about to ask him what he means, but I see Chris and let it go.

  “What happened?” I hurry over to my friend.

  His left leg is stretched out in front of him. His pants are torn at the thigh and what’s left of the fabric is stained with blood. A lot of blood.

  “It was an arrow. I’m not bleeding. You can rid yourself of the face you’re making,” he says.

  I check myself, and sure enough, I’m grimacing like I’ve eaten a rotten apple with the worm inside.


  “What do you mean an arrow?”

  “He says you’re his best student. You sure this is the right girl, Chris?” White Wolf asks.

  Chris’s jaw hardens. I glance between them and find myself staring at the elder shaman as he cracks a grin, or perhaps his down-turned mouth isn’t quite so frowny now.

  “Did you send a hawk to guide me here?” I ask. My bearings can’t quite find direction with these two. If I could get a hold of one crumb of sense, it would be really helpful to the ruling percentage of sanity.

  “That is one way to put it,” Chris says.

  They exchange a look that doesn’t escape me. I’m out of the loop. Way out. Satisfaction and mirth emit out of the old man.

  “What’s going on here?” I try again. “Did you make me bring the horse trailer all the way out here?”

  “Force you?” Chris says with slightly raised brows. His look flattens and he gives me his characteristically normal serious look. “No. We needed assistance. I suggested you would be able to handle the job.”

  “To help you move horses out of the desert?” I ask.

  He stares at the hobbled animals standing around the makeshift camp. “Juliana, you are proving yourself and the level of your abilities.”

  “What are you talking about? Why are you just sitting there? And, why don’t we get out of here? Like right now?”

  “There’s the girl I recognize,” White Wolf says. “Show your spit and let him have it.”

  “Recognize me? What?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

  I should not speak to an elder with that tone of voice and the three of us know it. I clam up and wait for retribution. He doesn’t cast darts at me. Instead, he smiles and walks to a nearby horse. White Wolf reaches inside a saddlebag on his horse, Mika.

  “My leg is mended, but not fully. I cannot ride for long periods of time.”

  “How bad is it?” I ask as my mind begins to work on a treatment.

  Inside my backpack is every first aid item I could think to bring with me. I take a seat and unzip my bag. Being this close to Chris’s dried blood, I have to close my eyes and will my stomach to stay put.