Finding Alice (Alice Clark Series)

by Andrea DiGiglio

  “So basically, they went against God and their fall was their banishment from Heaven. Isn’t that what the Bible says?” one of the students said.

  “The Bible says Lucifer and a third of the angels fell from Heaven to wed mortal women,” a pretty but plain church-loving girl stated. I tried to take notes on the discussion, coming to the realization that my so-called psychic connection with Cole really was a figment of my imagination.

  “Yes, but what do you think about the fall? How does that make you feel? What are your opinions on this? Come on, class. This is the whole point here,” Mr. Riley bellowed. Obviously frustrated, he scratched at his comb over.

  I wonder what Cole thinks. Why is everyone staring at me? Crap.

  “Miss…?” Mr. Riley asked.

  “Alice.”

  “Any opinion on the subject?” I twirled my pen at my desk and let a sigh escape my lips.

  “I don’t want to offend anyone.”

  “This is the wrong class for those who can’t take others’ opinions on such matters.”

  “Well, to be honest, I think that in our reading…” I tried to stall. Just be honest. “I think God is being sort of childish. He created these perfect beings and then created us. Mortals are allowed to do what they want. They have the will to choose and the right, all with the knowledge God will forgive his children for their sins. However, His perfect beings’ sole purpose is to serve him. I don’t really see anything wrong with them wanting to basically have free will, get married, and have a family. I know it’s not quite that simple, but the truth is, nothing is that simple. God seems to jump to banishing those who don’t do exactly as He wants, which to me is similar to a woman during that time of the month. Everyone breaks the rules. What is the point of existence if not for yourself? Eternal life as a servant? It doesn’t seem noble. It sounds like a prison for the soul or Battered Wife Syndrome.”

  I barely took a breath in between sentences. I looked around the class and could feel the burn of their judgment all over me, except for a few. Cole glanced at me with a reassuring smile and just as quickly looked away. Camille looked absolutely stunned and the church girl was most likely considering the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” was overrated. As I said, she could always repent later.

  “That is a very interesting point of view, Alice. Thank you,” Mr. Riley said with a satisfied smile. “Everyone, try not to be too hard on Alice. You should thank her. Her ability to talk about her opinions on such a tip-toe subject with that boldness just bought you all a free pass on the quiz.”

  I felt the weight of the room lift a little and I was overwhelmingly grateful. The class continued to discuss the issue but no part of my brain could entertain their bickering any longer. I let my so-called opinions rustle in my mind while I gazed out the window. For some reason, I just felt for the angels. Thankfully I didn’t bring up all the things angels taught mortals—the things mankind uses today to save lives and prove things like evolution. I let a silent sigh out and focused back in on the class just in time to see Mr. Riley writing on the board what section we would be reading next and excusing us from class.

  “Do you need a ride today?” I said, testing to see if what I said in class bothered her.

  “Yes, ma’am. Thanks,” Camille answered. It hadn’t, thankfully.

  When we got out to the parking lot, it was raining. I started to laugh, pointing at my car in the last parking spot at the furthest point in the lot. She laughed too and we both ran through the rain, jumping in random puddles, trying to splash each other as we made our way to my car. Moments like that I treasured. In the car, we shivered, soaking wet. I turned the heat up and she looked at me with a “So worth it” smile. I returned the smile and peeled out of the parking lot.

  It had been a few weeks since school started and I was really starting to get into my niche. Every Thursday after class, Camille hitched a ride with me to the bar and an hour or so after we arrived, Cole would show up. He started coming a few other nights a week, chatting with Old Gray about who knows what. I wasn’t complaining, though. It was weird to me that I used to work just to have something to do and now enjoyed being social, which I was sure I could blame on Camille. Cole talked to me a little more than he used to. Usually it started with banter between him and Old Gray, and I would throw in a “woman’s opinion on the matter,” which is what he called it. Sometimes when we would talk, it felt like electricity surging through me. I took what I could get.

  My Art Medium class was going amazingly well. My teacher gave us so much freedom and with that, I had been creating the most bizarre works. I was glad Cole wasn’t in that class. I saw his face in all my work even if nobody else did. Only a few weeks into the semester, my teacher already wanted to showcase my work. I didn’t know if that was such a good idea. Some part of me was telling me that this story was better left untold. Not to mention, it would kind of kill my under-the-radar persona I had been pursuing since I ran away.

  CHAPTER 4

  I love this shower. It was just a degree under too hot, which felt amazing. I threw on some clean clothes, scooted back to the kitchen, and tried to find something to veg on. I looked in the fridge and just as I had expected, there was really nothing there; nothing edible, anyway. I grabbed my stuff and ran out the door, slamming it behind me with a good ninja kick. I stopped and breathed in the fresh air with eyes closed under my thick, black sunglasses. Thursday had become my new favorite day.

  It had been a whole week since I hadn’t had any crazy dreams about Cole. I wasn’t complaining. He was beautiful. But the more we talked, the more it made me feel like a stalker when dreaming about him; only sometimes, though. Dreaming about Cole meant I was also dreaming about the darkness and the barrage of voices, too. Whatever the other thing was in the dreams, it haunted me when I was awake. It chased me while asleep and only got stronger every time. Sometimes, in the darkness, I felt like it was actually right there with me, breathing on my neck, sniffing at my hair. I shook off the eerie feeling the memory of my dreams gave me and headed over to Camille’s. I had promised to give her a ride today.

  I pulled up into the beautiful rounded driveway to Camille’s house. The entire home looked imported from somewhere beautiful overseas. “Wow, she’s been slumming it with me,” I said. Camille came darting out of the house scratching her head, I assumed trying to shake off that rich girl look. She got in the car and looked at me guiltily.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said. I nodded and didn’t say a word. She let a slight smile slip in relief. That’s the kind of friends we were. We knew when to shut up. “Is Cole coming to the bar tonight?” Then there were those times when she didn’t know to shut it.

  “No idea,” I said, trying to play it cool and failing.

  Class was particularly boring that day. We were partnered up to debate previous concepts to help us choose our topics for our final papers. Of course, we didn’t get to choose our partners and of course, Mr. Riley partnered me with the church girl. We spent the majority of the time starting a debate and ending it with her glaring at me.

  “Okay, class. For next week, I want to at least see a start on your final paper. Actually pick a topic and start writing. You know, that thing you do when an idea forms and pen hits paper? That is all. Get out,” Mr. Riley said.

  Camille grabbed me, placing her arm in mine, and we headed out to the bar, as usual.

  I made another drink for Camille and she fluttered off to Jake by the pool tables.

  I felt his smile on the back of my neck. “Can I get another drink?” Cole asked. I grabbed his empty glass and he caught my hand in his. “Can I get something different?”

  “Like what?” I was sure I stuttered. We had only brushed against each other a few times and every time, it was intoxicating and mesmerizing.

  “Surprise me,” he said with a wolf-like grin. I barely took my eyes off of him while I mixed his drink. They were piercing and he had to know the effect they had on me. I would say it should hav
e been considered abuse, but I liked it. I handed him his new drink with my own wolfy smirk. “What is it?” he asked, taking a sip.

  “Sex on the beach.” He started to choke on it. “Oh my God. Are you okay?” I panicked.

  “I’m good, thank you.” He regained his composure, raising the glass to me. We both shared an under-the-breath chuckle.

  The weekend flew by like a freight train. In class, I had to tell Tina I was not comfortable with putting my work in the showcase. She asked me to take another week to think about it. What’s the big deal, anyhow? It’s not like anyone would realize it was Cole I was drawing or understand the darkness. It’s not like he would come to the showcase, I think. I loaded my supplies into my car and headed to the bar. One of Max’s kids were in town, so I told him I would cover his shift in exchange for getting off early Thursday night so I could hang out and drink with my friends. I have friends. I hid the smirk as if someone was watching.

  The bar started off more packed than normal; then again, I didn’t usually work Tuesdays. I just assumed it would be dead, per usual stigma. I was pretty sure the flock of girls from town could smell Cole’s scent too. I was so busy, I barely got to hang out with him at all. He bought me a few shots just so he could talk to me for a minute. His eyes said one thing, but of course he only talked about plausible ideas for our final papers and laughed at me for being partnered with the church girl. For some reason, I relished talking to him about anything. Last week, we laughed about the gum stuck to my shoe for at least five minutes. I loved the sound of his laugh echoing inside of my head. The night wound down and the new and younger crowd headed home while the regulars held on for last call. “See you later, Alice,” Cole said.

  Bye. I smiled; he returned the same and left. Last call came and went and everyone else did as well. I went through the usual routine, which I honestly could do in my sleep. When I was done cleaning up after the animals, I loaded the garbage by the back door. I threw on my thin, black hoodie, pulled up the hood, and hauled the three giant bags out the doors. I spun the key in the lock, listening for the click. I threw the keys in my apron and lugged the bags to the dumpster, dropping them one by one while attempting to hold my breath from the stench leaking out of them. “Oh my God. That is disgusting!”

  “Yes it is,” a dark voice whispered next to me.

  Startled and nearly jumping out of my skin, I turned to the voice to find nothing there. “Stop acting like a lunatic,” I ordered myself, trying to calm down. I started walking to my car, pulling my keys out for a quick getaway. From what, I had no idea.

  Halfway between my car and the dumpster, I felt a warm breath on the back of my neck. I told myself to run but felt as if my feet were in cement. I turned around just in time to see a fist and feel its impact as it hit me square in the nose. I hit the ground and skidded a few feet across the pavement. I yelped in pain, wiping blood from my nose, and tried to adjust my vision, now filled with tears. An oddly tall, slender man dressed in rugged, dark clothes stood in front of me with a hood hiding his face. I turned to pull myself up and run, but to no avail. He already had a hold of my arm and pulled me to my feet to deliver another hit to my face. I choked on my blood, spitting it onto the concrete. He continued holding onto me for a third blow, this time to the stomach. I uncontrollably started coughing, spitting up more blood and gasping for clean air. He hit me again and released his grasp, only to follow it with a kick. I felt as if my insides were going to crawl out of my body and spill out onto the ground. Then I felt it, I could feel his enjoyment in every hit I took. I breathed in and stood to my feet.

  “Little girl wants to play, huh?” he asked.

  I could taste his excitement in knowing I was going to try to fight back. I was hoping to do more than just try. He came at me with another punch to the face. This time, I was standing behind him when he followed through. When he turned to look at me, I spat my blood onto his shadowed face. He laughed, grabbing a hold of my throat. The pain of it closing shut on itself was overwhelming me. In a last effort, I threw my legs around his waist and with all the force inside of me, pulled my head backward toward the ground, causing him to fly face first into the concrete.

  “Is that the best you got?” I said coldly after I darted up. He slowly stood and I knew he was smiling. He swung and I dodged, now relying on my other senses. Every time he made contact with my skin, I could feel his thrill and came back with a hit ten times harder than his. I heard him shriek in pain, which only pushed me to hit harder, repetitively.

  “I can do this all night, darling. You will be mine,” he sneered. It echoed in my head, which was already aching.

  “Fuck you.” With that, I turned and put all of my energy into a kick to his gut, throwing him across the parking lot like a bullet and into the side of my car. He lay there limp for several minutes. I stood in the center of our battleground, covered in our blood, attempting to center myself and search for my keys. I found them under the bumper of my car in a pile of bloody feathers. I walked over cautiously and picked them up. He’s probably dead. Good.

  I limped to the bar, feeling through my keys for the one that opened the door, my eyes barely capable of opening. I relied on my sense of memory of the way the key felt in my fingers to find it. I stumbled in, hanging on to the wall, and walked into Max’s office. I stared at the phone through tiny slits I could barely see through, knowing I should call the police and knowing I couldn’t stay there if I did. I looked around and after some debating, grabbed the first aid kid. I shut his office, went to the back, and took a few bottles of vodka. When I cautiously returned outside, locking the door behind me, I saw the man I had fought was gone. I willed myself to the car and climbed in.

  I knew I was home when I walked up my driveway without a memory of the drive itself. I walked in, locking the door and shoving the table in front of it. I stumbled up the stairs, first aid kit under my arm, while juggling three bottles of vodka in my bashed up hands.

  I turned the shower on and climbed in with the vodka. I slowly started peeling off my blood-soaked clothes, flinching, wishing I was numb. I poured a little vodka on my body wounds and down my face in between chugging some to deaden the pain. I opened the second bottle, doing more drinking than cleaning. I looked down at myself and found bruises starting to form on almost every inch of my body. Head to toe, my skin was covered with blacks and purples, reminding me of my box of feathers. Tears filled my eyes and for the first time in my entire life, they were my own. I sat curled up on the floor of my shower, wishing the salt I was tasting was from the scent of ocean that radiated from Cole. I drowned it out with more vodka.

  I spent the next day in bed, coddling my last bottle of vodka. Camille called several times to see if I was working. Her last text message read, Are you okay? Max called me and said some anonymous caller called the cops and said they saw two guys break into the bar and then kick the crap out of each other in the parking lot. Max is freaking out. Call me. I’m worried. I ignored them all. Max called a few times as well. I texted him back with, See you Thursday. He replied with an Okay and left it at that.

  Around four am, I dragged myself out of bed. I walked to my front door to find it still covered with furniture, as if an intruder couldn’t get past it. I clutched the most recent bottle of vodka I had become so attached to and finally set it down. I struggled to push the furniture to the side and opened the door. I love the smell of four am. I walked cautiously to my car to pull out my art supplies. I attempted to ignore the giant dent while painfully dragging my supplies in the house. Just to be safe, I returned the furniture to its spot in front of the door, snatching the vodka before taking off for the spare room.

  I dumped everything onto the floor and dug through it for my iPod. I plugged it into my stereo system and cranked it up, loud enough to feel the vibrations rush through me. I reached down, almost collapsing in agony, to grab my charcoal. There were no canvases left in the house so I shoved my extra couch away from the wall and started rubbing the
charcoal onto the wall. Music, vodka, and art were not a cure, but they soothed the soul.

  Thursday morning used to be my favorite. I stood in front of my mirror assessing the damages, and I had definitely seen better days. I had two black eyes, one worse than the other. Luckily, the swelling went down amazingly in one day. My nose, which was broken, had set nicely after I had forced it back into place. Really wish I owned cover-up. My right cheek held most of the trauma. I tousled my hair and pulled it forward to cover as much of my face as possible. I should have stayed home but this wasn’t a class you could just skip; and regardless, I had to show up to work. I dug through my clothes and found a long-sleeved thermal. I threw it on over my beater and slid carefully into my jeans. I found a thin, dark scarf Camille had given me and wrapped it around my neck, pretending I cared about fashion. I took one more look in the mirror, sliding my giant, black sunglasses on. “Covers most of it,” I sighed and headed out the door.

  I pulled into the parking lot early but still parked in the furthest spot, using the long walk to class as my own personal form of physical therapy. I walked through the halls in between all the other students and so far, no one had noticed my injuries, thankfully. I walked into class and luckily, Mr. Riley was already there. I was planning on staying but the more I thought about it, the more I knew Camille would flip and I couldn’t deal with it. This was not something she would just let slide.

  “Mr. Riley, can I have this week’s assignment? I can’t stay for the entire class.”