Stuart opened the door of his office. “Well done, Sandra,” he said and avoided my eyes.
My angel showed me a vision that night. And I wished to God she hadn’t.
I had been watching TV. More accurately, TV had been playing in the background while inside my head, thoughts whirled and I seethed. My anger against Stuart welled up, and now I wanted to hurt him.
As that thought struck me, my angel moved out of the shadows and stood in the center of the room. Her cloak still covered her slim form and the hood shielded much of her face. But, tonight, my angel appeared different. A half smile played around her dark lips and she lifted her arms. The cloak fell away and, for the first time, revealed the bloodless ivory of her skin.
I gasped as her hood fell back and a mass of pure-white hair tumbled to her shoulders. Now I saw her face as I had never seen it before. Bone-white, unnaturally high, chiseled cheekbones. Her lips, blacker than any lipstick. And her eyes. How could I have missed the clustering darkness that swirled within them in ever-darker shades of black? Power surged from those eyes. Power that penetrated my skin, and smelled of long-dead bodies.
I recoiled, my hand over my nose. Fear surged through my body. She was revealing herself to me, as she really was, for the first time.
A memory. Christine and the other girls running away terrified. This must have been what they saw.
I shrank back in my chair. I didn’t know her anymore. Maybe I had never known her. The thought chilled me.
“Who are you?” My voice was no more than a nervous whisper.
She lowered her arms and the cloak fell back over them. But her hair still cascaded over her shoulders, a waterfall of pure, gleaming white.
I will show you.
In one deft move, she threw off her cloak and stood before me, almost translucent. Her rail-thin body was draped in a black, diaphanous silk shroud of a gown that stretched below her ankles and concealed her feet. As her gown shimmered it pulsed with a rainbow of light.
Figures emerged as if etched on her body. Bodies that writhed and squirmed, their faces contorted in fear and pain. Horrified, I realized these had once been human but were no more. I stared as the skin on their entangled arms and legs melted away to leave blanched bones that rattled as their screams grew louder, more intense. Ear splitting.
I curled myself into a ball, my head between my knees. I clasped them tightly. I tried in vain to block out the awful sound. Surely my neighbors would hear and come banging on the door.
But no one came.
The noise stopped. I hesitated, hardly daring to move. I uncurled myself and gazed around the empty room.
Had I imagined it? I had long since accepted the supernatural being that was my dark angel. But now I had to accept there was far more to her than I could have guessed in my wildest dreams—or nightmares, come to that. And what I learned sent tentacles of fear clutching at my spine.
I needed a drink, and a bottle of wine stood open, ready for me in the kitchen. I crossed the floor exactly where my angel had stood. Beneath my bare feet the carpet felt damp, as if someone had tipped a glass of water over it. I bent down and touched the floor, then brought my fingers to my nose. They smelled of nothing. The rest of the carpet felt dry. Just that one patch where she had stood.
God knows how hard I tried to make sense of what happened in that room. I couldn’t get the screaming of those tormented souls out of my mind. The memory of the rattling of their bones set my teeth on edge. I had no name to call this entity that had been part of my life for so long.
And until tonight, I had never seen a glimpse of her arms. Her hands, yes, when she held the ledger, but, then, with the sleeves of the cloak so long and voluminous, I saw little more than her fingers. To discover the whole unearthly whiteness of her shocked me. But more than that, the images she had shown me…
So anyone I consigned to her ledger would suffer the fate of those tortured souls. That had to be it. My father was already listed in her book of vengeance. One day he too would suffer the fate of so many before him. Did Stuart Campbell deserve this?
I knew I would be the one to decide. She had already made that clear. Such knowledge did, of course, give me immense power. Power over Stuart’s life and death, while all he controlled was my job.
That put things into perspective.
But, deep inside me, my conscience stirred. Other people didn’t have this power, did they? Why me? For some reason, I had been singled out. Was someone, or something, testing me to see if I made the right decisions? Why was I to choose three for my angel’s ledger? What would happen if I wanted more—or fewer?
I went to bed that night with jumbled thoughts tumbling over each other to make their voices heard.
When I eventually fell asleep, I had the dream again. This time, the man with the dark eyes and flashing smile fed me tasteless black grapes and succulent-looking strawberries dipped in chocolate. He leaned close to me and his breath caressed my ear.
“You can have anything you want. Everything.”
Chapter Eight
“I gave you plenty of notice, Carly. I expected you would have prepared for it. This is your six months’ probationary review, after all.”
I stared at him. Yet again, my inexperience had left me exposed. “I had no idea what you wanted me to prepare. I did ask you if there was a format I should follow and you told me there wasn’t.”
“And I was right. There isn’t. But I expected you to reflect on all areas of your job, on what you’d felt you’d achieved—if anything—your weaknesses, where you had learned lessons, what those lessons were and how you saw your future.”
“I didn’t know that’s what you wanted. We didn’t do things that way at the Chronicle.”
“No, you obviously didn’t.”
The urge to hit this man almost overwhelmed me. Worse than that, I felt stupid. I should have prepared, irrespective of what we did at the Chronicle.
I caught him looking at me in that odd way I’d seen once before. As if he saw something—or someone—I wasn’t aware of. After a few seconds, he rubbed his eyes and laid his hands flat on the desk. When he spoke, his voice seemed quieter, almost sympathetic.
My hairs tickled as they rose on the back of my neck. I felt as if my angel was standing behind me, but I couldn’t turn around and look.
“Carly, it isn’t good news,” he said.
I stared at him. I sensed what was coming and white-hot rage boiled inside me. I kept my mouth shut and waited for it.
“I’ve decided I really don’t need a deputy advertisement manager. There isn’t enough work to justify it. I am going to increase the responsibilities of the telesales supervisor and introduce a field-sales supervisor. Either Rick or Steve. I haven’t decided which one yet. Between them they should easily cover the duties and tasks required. This means I have to let you go.”
He expected me to react. I didn’t. Why should I give him the satisfaction?
I sat there. Sat and stared at him. Concentrated hard on keeping my face as expressionless as possible.
It worked. He coughed, and from the movement I could see above the desk, he was probably crossing and uncrossing his ankles. He tidied the neat stack of papers in front of him.
Still I would not speak.
I wanted to. Oh yes, I wanted to shout at him, berate him for the lies he had made me support, for the lack of promised training, for contributing so greatly to my now-imminent departure. For constantly comparing me to some woman he clearly lusted after but couldn’t have. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Seconds ticked by. I didn’t move.
His fidgeting grew more pronounced. He fingered his neck under his collar, which seemed to have suddenly grown too tight.
Then, he could clearly stand it no longer. “Well, say something, Carly. Call me a bastard if it makes you feel any bette
r.”
I had achieved my immediate aim. He had been forced to speak first. That gave me the higher ground and, right now, I welcomed any victory, however small and petty.
“Calling you a bastard wouldn’t achieve anything.” I stood, my head held high, my hands at my sides. The effort was crippling. “Is there anything else?”
“Er—no. Go home early if you like.”
Oh, the temptation to accept. But, no, that would be like accepting his charity and he mustn’t be allowed any prizes today.
“I’ll go home at the usual time. I have work to finish.”
“As you wish. You will, of course, get this in writing and you’ll have the full three months’ notice. As you know, this isn’t obligatory at the end of a probationary period, but I’ve discussed it with Maurice and he felt it was only fair, in the circumstances.”
I nodded. If he thought I was going to thank him, he’d have a long wait.
I opened his office door, left, closed it and went back to my desk. All the while, I could feel his eyes watching my every move. Maybe he expected me to dive into the ladies and dissolve into tears.
Not this time. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. And he had no idea what decision I had just made, or why I smiled.
Our eyes met briefly before he looked away, but not quickly enough for me to miss his astonishment. I must have looked triumphant. He wouldn’t expect that. But from now on, Stuart Campbell would have to learn to expect the unexpected.
She was waiting for me. As soon as I closed my front door, I sensed her presence. All my earlier satisfaction at having discomfited Stuart had evaporated at the realization that for the first time in my life, I was about to become unemployed.
Her cloak concealed most of her body, as usual, and without touching me, she enfolded me in a blanket of calm that belied the terrifying images she had shown me on our last meeting.
In the bedroom, I curled up on the bed and closed my eyes. I let her soothing touch restore my peace of mind. Sleep came and when it did, my dream returned.
This time, I started off just outside the entrance to the hotel. The tall man opened the door for me, flashed me that stunning smile and took my hand.
“They’re all here,” he said. “They’ve been waiting for you.”
Before I could ask who they were, he opened another door and thirty sophisticated, well-groomed heads turned. As before, their party was in full swing. To my astonishment, they raised champagne flutes to me. Some applauded or nodded at me. Others just smiled.
I smiled back and acknowledged the gestures and applause.
Presently, they carried on with their conversations. A band struck up some background music I didn’t recognize and the man led me to a small table where a bottle of champagne lay chilling in a silver bucket, accompanied by two glasses. He pulled a small gilt chair out for me and I sat, carefully arranging the smooth folds of the familiar floor-length, white gown I was now wearing.
“I still don’t know your name,” I said.
He laughed. “Shall we dance?”
He took my hand and whirled me around the floor where my steps were—as always in this dream—spot on. We matched each other. The perfect couple.
Then we sat again and I sipped tasteless champagne. “Why did they applaud when I came in?”
He kissed my fingers and the softness of his caress unnerved me. “Today has been momentous for you. They are happy.”
“Today has been a total nightmare. I lost my job.”
“You won a victory.”
“A victory? It didn’t feel much like one.”
“You beat him.”
“Who? Stuart?”
“Certo. Of course.”
“Bit of a hollow victory, though. He gets to keep his job, while I have no idea how I’m going to find another one. And there’s the problem of how to tell my parents. My father will have another stick to beat me with.”
“But not for much longer.”
What did he mean by that? Was he linked somehow to my angel?
“But this is a dream,” I said out loud. “You can’t possibly know her.”
He set down his glass and laughed. And then, as if they had all been listening, everyone in the room started to laugh. Some wiped tears from their eyes.
I stared from one to the other. Why were they doing this? They were humiliating me. “Stop it!”
But they carried on. Their laughter grew wilder, hysterical rather than joyous. Fear clawed its way up from the pit of my stomach. I threw back my chair and it broke as it clattered to the floor. I raced out of the room and straight onto the arid, barren road.
I looked around. In the distance, a cloud of dust rolled toward me. Somehow I knew I didn’t want to see what drove it.
I woke. Sweat poured off me. The birds were singing their dawn chorus as the first golden rays of sun poked their way under the curtain in the airless room.
When I pulled the drapes aside, I blinked as the sun hurt my eyes. I slid the window up a few inches and the welcome breeze tickled my arms and smelled of fresh grass, dew and new leaves.
Five a.m. I had two hours before I needed to get ready for work. As if that mattered now. What if I arrived late? What could Stuart do? Sack me? I shook my head. I knew myself a little too well. I wouldn’t be late. I’d never been late for work.
I decided to stay up, and made myself a mug of strong coffee. I sat in my pajamas at the dining table, lost in thoughts that grew more resentful by the second. In a few hours I would have to walk into that office, where people would feel sorry for me. I hated that. It was kind of them, of course, but it represented humiliation.
Just like the crowd laughing at me in my dream. And what had they been laughing at, anyway? What was so damned funny about what I’d said?
It had just been a stupid dream, I told myself. But I knew if I met that guy to whom I was becoming increasingly drawn, I would recognize him. Not only did I want him to exist, I was increasingly convinced he did.
A faint rustling sounded behind me. Just like a breeze ruffling sheets of paper. I turned but saw nothing.
I drained my coffee and took a shower.
Stuart stopped by my desk. “I’ve got an appointment with a potential client over in Cambridge. I’ll be taking him out to lunch and discussing the deal. Don’t expect me back until tomorrow.”
“Fine,” I said, and he left.
I glanced outside. Sure enough, the sun still shone brightly in a perfect blue sky.
“Perfect gardening weather,” Rick said. “Fancy coming on some calls with me? I’m about to finalize an annual contract for one of the biggest car dealers in the county. I thought he might like to meet the boss.”
“Are you seriously going to take him round to Stuart’s house? If you’re right and he’s there, you’ll never get that promotion.”
Rick shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t want it anymore. I’m leaving. Keep it to yourself, but another client of mine has offered me a job and it’s five thousand a year more than I’m making here. Easy decision, really. You’re looking at the soon-to-be-appointed area sales manager for Amalgamated Steel Extrusions.”
“Wow. Do they have any other jobs going?”
He laughed. “I’ll ask. Anyway, are you coming with me? I need to get going.”
“I’ll get my bag.”
Clive Shakespeare was a big, gruff bear of a man who clearly enjoyed his wealth, indulged in good food, even better wine and, judging by the aroma in his office, expensive cigars. He greeted Rick like an old friend and smiled at me.
“Carly’s a colleague. Just getting to know the area.”
“Where are you from?” He shook my hand.
I concentrated on not wincing as his grip cut off the circulation to my fingers. “Most recently, Leeds.”
“Know it well. My son’s
at university there.” He let go of my hand and the feeling throbbed back into my fingers.
“Now then, Rick, are we signing that contract today?”
“Yes, I’ve brought all the paperwork. Stuart Campbell would like to meet you. He’s my boss and he always likes to get to know our best advertisers. Would you be free for a half hour now?”
Clive glanced at his watch. “Tell you what. Make it an hour, throw in lunch and you’ve got yourself a deal. Or should I say another deal.” He laughed—a bellow as big as he was. He turned to me. “And as for you, little lady, it looks like you haven’t had a decent meal in a long time. Need to get some flesh on those bones of yours.” He squeezed my arm.
I flinched and wished I hadn’t. He didn’t mean any harm, but I suppose when you’re as big as him, size is relative.
I sat in the back of Rick’s car, allowing Clive plenty of legroom in the front. We headed out on the main road before turning off down a country lane leading to the village of Waterbourne.
Stuart’s house turned out to be a modern detached, with a gravel drive and neatly tended lawn. The borders were all planted with bedding plants and roses. In a few years, this would be a picture-perfect place to live.
Rick rang the bell, and when the door opened, the look of shocked amazement on Stuart’s face made the whole excursion worth any potential risk.
There he stood, in old trousers, his hands covered in soil. So much for wining and dining a potential client in Cambridge.
Of course, he couldn’t say much. Not with one of our biggest advertisers standing there.
“This is Clive Shakespeare, Stuart. He’s just signed an annual contract with us. Guaranteed minimum, two full pages, in color, every week. I knew you’d want to meet him straightaway and…er…shake his hand.”
All eyes, including Stuart’s, focused on his grubby hands.
Dark Avenging Angel Page 7
