The Innocent

by Michelle K. Pickett

  Trying not to make any sudden moves and piss off whatever was banging around inside my head, I went downstairs and made my way to the kitchen. Grabbing a pint of chocolate, cookie dough ice cream, I plucked a spoon from the dishwasher, and sat in the living room on the couch. As soon as I looked out the picture window overlooking the front yard, I saw him.

  At first, I thought it was Jake, a sadistic Irin, a demi-angel who flipped sides and decided to work for Azazel. He liked to watch the house at night. He knew it gave me the creeps. But even in the dark, I could tell it wasn’t Jake. Jake was a football player—tall and muscular. The person standing outside looked small, almost frail. A long trench coat or some kind of cloak whipping around them in the breeze, the person stood just outside of the circle of light the streetlamp created.

  I sat on the couch staring at the person, ice cream forgotten, when another person walked through the light and approached the man. They talked briefly, gesturing with their hands, and the frail man turned and walked away. The second person glanced at my house, and I sucked in a breath.

  “I know you. I know I know you. Who are you?” I bit my nails watching the two men. I stared at the second person. I knew I knew him. I could tell by his gestures, his body movements. His build and the way he leaned on one leg, hooking his finger in his jean’s pocket. They were all familiar.

  “Who are you?”

  ***

  I doubted myself over and over again during the next twenty-four hours.

  Maybe I don’t know the second person. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me. It was probably Jake.

  The bottom line was I knew it wasn’t Jake. But it was definitely someone I knew. Someone close to me. What I didn’t know was why my mind was closed off, keeping the person’s identity a mystery.

  The strange man stood outside my house the next night. I watched him from behind the drapes at the same window, peeking between a crack next to the wall, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. I waited there most of the night. I stood in one spot so long that my legs started to cramp and I had to sit down. Sitting on floor next to the window, I watched over the sill. I stayed there until four o’clock that morning. The man in the strange cloak left before sunrise. The second man didn’t show.

  ***

  Rain. Wind. Cold.

  I could feel them against my skin, and I woke up with a start. It was twelve in the afternoon. I’d slept late after watching the man outside all night. I swung my legs over the side of my bed. One hand pushed the knots of hair out of my face. The other clamped over my mouth. I staggered to the toilet and vomited.

  I slid down onto the cold tile floor between the toilet and the tub. My knees bent and pulled to my chest, my arms wrapped around them, and I waited. I didn’t usually go around puking for nothing. And according to my Sex Ed class (and my mother’s embarrassing “talk”), there was no way it was morning sickness since Chay and I never had sex before he tried to kill me. Big bummer. So that meant there was a vision coming. I just had to wait it out. I usually didn’t have to wait too long. This time wasn’t any exception. The sensations from my dream carried over into my vision.

  Wind whipping through the trees. Tree branches bend until they almost touch the ground. The wind roars and the force of it slams into me. The rain sounds like machine gun blasts when it hits the… Wait, where are we? We aren’t home… we’re cold. Ben is crying. He’s scared.

  I closed my eyes against the bile that roiled in my stomach. I had to focus on the images. There was something in them I needed to know. Something that would help Ben.

  The space is small, confined. There are windows all around us, and water snakes down the glass in sheets.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed them with the heels of my palms as if I could rub the vision into my consciousness. As if I could rub the answers in like someone rubbing the silver coating off a scratch-off lottery ticket to see their prize. Except, I was sure I wasn’t going to like my prize.

  A large log floats down a frothy, debris-filled river.

  “We’re coming for him, Milayna.”

  I scrambled from the bathroom floor and looked around the room. It was empty. Just my invisible demons and me.

  I washed my face, putting on a little mascara and lip gloss. Looking at the mess of curls surrounding my head, I gave up the fight before it even began and just clipped my hair up before running downstairs for something to eat. I thought I’d have the house to myself. My parents should’ve both been at work and Ben at school.

  I smelled the coffee first. Then I rounded the corner and saw my mom sitting at the table in the sunroom.

  “Oh crap,” I muttered to myself.

  “Hi, Milayna.” She smiled. “Sit.” Although she was still smiling, the last word was more an order than an offer.

  I grabbed a Coke out of the refrigerator and pulled out a chair, sitting across from her. The autumn sun streamed through the large window next to the table. My mother had strategically maneuvered the wooden blinds so the rays shone on the ceiling and not in our faces, but I still felt like a criminal in one of those old gangster movies where the police shine a huge spotlight in the bad guy’s face while they interrogate him.

  “So, why are you here?” my mom asked.

  And the interrogation begins.

  “I need a reason to come home?” I asked with a nervous laugh.

  “Yes. When you’re missing your college courses, you do.” She blew on her coffee and looked at me over the rim of her mug.

  “Ah. College just isn’t a good fit for me right now. I–”

  She held up her hand and gave a small shake of her head. “Let me stop you right there. Don’t try to B.S. me, Milayna. I’m a mother. I have a built in bullshit detector. Tell me the real reason you’re here… or maybe I should ask your dad?”

  I sighed. “You already know everything, Mom.” I tried really hard not to roll my eyes. I had to concentrate to keep them still. They had minds of their own and they just loved to roll—something my mother detested. I had a feeling now would not be a good time for them to start.

  “I know something is going on. What’d you think? I’m some kind of idiot who needs a helmet and drools in a cup? I can figure out something is wrong. So why don’t you just tell me what it is and save us all the trouble of me getting angry.”

  That sounds reasonable. She’s like the Incredible Hulk. No one likes to see her mad. She may not turn green, but anger isn’t a good look on her…and it doesn’t turn out so great for the rest of us either.

  “Okay. I’ve been having visions about Ben. But I’ve already told you and Dad that.”

  “Hmm, yes, I know.” She sat her mug down on the table, staring at it for an innumerable amount of time, picking at the yellow placemat lying atop the purple and yellow flowered tablecloth. My gaze followed a drip of condensation down the side of my red Coke can, waiting for her to say something. Finally, she looked up at me. “It was bad enough when it was you. Now I have both of you to worry about.”

  I gave her a small smile. “We’ll be okay.” I wasn’t sure I believed that, but I told her anyway.

  She nodded. “Okay, get to the part you’re keeping from me ‘for my own good.’” She made little air quotes with her fingers.

  “I’ve told you everything! So far, there isn’t anything concrete, Mom. Just bad feelings. Azazel…” she sucked in a breath when I said his name, “has been in a few visions and sometimes he’s with others.”

  “Others?”

  “Yeah. The Four Brothers.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “I don’t think Dad has either. Grams knows them, and Xavier just thought they were some kind of superstition. Who knew angels were superstitious, huh?” I laughed.

  My mom didn’t smile. “Yeah. Who knew? What did Grams say?”

  I dropped my gaze from hers. “Just that they weren’t very nice.”

  “I have to go to work. Would you mind picking Ben up from
school and letting him hang out with you? I’d feel better if I knew he wasn’t alone.”

  I started to point out that he’d probably be safer at school than just with me. But the look in my mom’s eyes stopped me.

  “Sure, maybe we’ll go get some ice cream.”

  She smiled. “I wouldn’t know which ice cream shop, would I?”

  “Well,” I pulled out the word, “only the best for my little brother.”

  Her eyes sobered. “Be careful, Milayna. If he wanted you to know where he was, he would have contacted you by now. I don’t want to see you pining away for a boy who—”

  “Pining away? Mom, geez, it’s just ice cream at his uncle’s ice cream shop. I get milkshakes there for free. I’d be a fool not to go there.”

  She looked at me for a few seconds, tapping her keys against her palm before smiling. “He does make a mean milkshake.”

  ***

  “You really picked me up just so we can go have an ice cream?” Ben asked with a huge smile that seemed to swallow his head.

  “Yup.”

  “Oh, just wait until I tell Gavin about this!” Ben giggled.

  “Yeah, well, you can tell Gavin-the-show-off that we didn’t just get any ice cream—we got the best ice cream.”

  “We’re going to Uncle’s!”

  I ruffled his hair. “Sure are, frog freckle.”

  We made the short trip to Uncle’s Ice Cream Shop. Ben talked non-stop the entire drive. It was exhausting. He went from one subject to the next within nanoseconds of each other. I gave up trying to keep up with him. I just said uh-huh and wow when I thought I was supposed to. I must have done something right because he seemed happy to keep talking.

  Finally, we made it to the ice cream shop and for about two seconds, the time it took me to get out of the car, there was blessed silence. Then Benjamin went into mind-numbing detail about all the different ice cream flavors there were and the pros and cons of each. He debated which ones to try, which ones to mix, and decided which ones he didn’t want. I think my ears started to bleed at one point.

  I pushed through the heavy glass door, and the bells chimed above our heads. A man that could have been Santa Claus’ twin walked out of the back.

  “Milayna!”

  “Hi, Uncle Stewart.” I smiled.

  Uncle Stewart owned Uncle’s Ice Cream Shop, which served the best ice cream in South Bay—or the whole state of Michigan if you asked Uncle Stewart. I didn’t argue. He gave me free milkshakes.

  Uncle Stewart was an angel, literally and figuratively. He’d saved my life once. He played tug-o-war with a demon. I was the rope. Had he let go of me, the demon would have dragged me straight to Hell. Uncle never let go. He risked his own life to save mine and the next night, he nearly lost his because of it. A mysterious fire started in the ice cream shop. Uncle was knocked unconscious on the floor. Thankfully, I’d had a vision and paramedics and the fire department got to him in time… otherwise, well, we’d be having ice cream somewhere else.

  “And, Mr. Ben, what brings you in today? Lemme guess, you want some… lima beans?”

  “No!” Ben giggled.

  “Asparagus?”

  “No!”

  “Um, let me think.” Uncle tapped his finger on his lips. “Hmm, it wouldn’t be ice cream, now would it?”

  “Yeah!” Ben yelled.

  Uncle took a step back and put his hand over his chest. “Geez, kid, give an old man a heart attack yelling like that,” he said with a smile. “Then who’d get yer ice cream for ya?”

  “Chay.”

  I froze. A dark shadow crossed Uncle Stewart’s face. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  He waved off my words with his hand, ice cream dripping from the scoop he held. “Don’tcha worry about it. It’s gonna happen now and then.” Uncle Stewart was Chay’s uncle. “The little boy just doesn’t know, that’s all,” Uncle said, scooping up a ball of ice cream and stuffing it into a chocolate-lined waffle cone. Ben was a few steps away, his nose mushed against the glass case, looking at all the different flavors.

  “Still no news?” I asked, knowing the answer but hoping he’d surprise me with a new one.

  Uncle stopped what he was doing and looked up at me. His eyes flicked toward the backroom. I forced mine to stay on him—my stare didn’t waver. “Um, no. No word. Sorry, Milayna. I wish I could give you different news.”

  I bowed my head and picked at the hem of my sweatshirt. Actually, it was one of Chay’s sweatshirts. He’d left it behind.

  “Hey, there’ll be none of that,” Uncle said and handed me a wad of tissues.

  I wiped my eyes with the tissues and cleared my throat around the thick ball of tears lodged in it before noticing Ben was watching me. I smiled down at him.

  “Milayna? Are you okay?” Ben asked.

  “I’m just so excited we’re having ice cream, I started to leak,” I said and tickled his sides.

  “Did not.”

  “Did so. Look, Uncle has your ice cream all ready, and it’s about four times the legal size for a seven-year-old.”

  “Nah, he’s a growing boy. Hang on, Milayna. I’ll get your milkshake.”

  Chocolate milkshakes, extra whipped cream, and three cherries—that was what Chay and I always ordered. I hadn’t been able to have one since he left.

  “That’s okay, Uncle. You know I can’t drink the hard stuff anymore,” I said with a grin.

  “You have to move on, girlie,” he said softly.

  I blew out a breath and nodded. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

  “Good advice.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t want to take it. Not yet. I’m not giving up on him.” I shrugged a shoulder and took Ben’s hand. “C’mon, frog freckle. Let’s go home.”

  “Thanks for the ice cream, Uncle Stewart!” Ben already had it dripping from his chin when he smiled back at Uncle and waved.

  Shouldering the door open, I waved to Uncle before I slipped outside. I saw a look of sadness creep over his face, but that didn’t bother me. It was the shadow I saw move in the back of the store that did.

  The rain started while Ben and I were in the ice cream shop. A cold, slanted rain. The kind that kept most people inside.

  “It’s yucky outside, huh?” I asked Ben, who was busy shoving his gigantic ice cream cone in his mouth.

  “Yeah,” he said around a mouthful of ice cream.

  I leaned forward in the driver’s seat and turned the radio down.

  Yeah, like that’s gonna help me see through the rain better.

  I couldn’t see past my front bumper, and I could barely see that far. I was almost right up the butt of the car in front of me before I saw its red brake lights. I slammed on the brakes, skidding on the wet pavement. The car jerked to a stop. I really wished I’d taken my own car instead of my mom’s. I knew the feel of my car. Hers was all weird and too fancy with its talking GPS and back-up monitor. It freaked me out wondering who was watching me through all those gadgets.

  “Whoops.” I heard from the backseat.

  “Whoops? Whoops what?”

  “Some of my ice cream dripped on the seat when you stopped.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll wash it when we get home.” I had bigger problems than ice cream drips.

  “Are you sure? Because I can pick it up.”

  I turned and looked over the seat. “Ben! Pick it up!” A whole scoop of strawberry ice cream was melting on the seat next to him.

  “Okay.” He grabbed the ball of melting goo and sat there, pink liquid dripping through his fingers. “Now what?”

  “Ugh, throw it out the window.” I pushed the button to let the window down, and Ben tossed the ball of ice cream outside. The smell of wet cement and sewer filled the car.

  Ben wrinkled his freckled-covered nose. “What’s that smell?”

  “Smells like the sewer is backed up from the rain.”

  “What do I do now, Milayna?”

  “About what?”

&nbs
p; “My hand,” he answered.

  I turned, looked over my seat, and rolled my eyes. I’d already forgotten about the ice-cream fiasco. His hand was covered with sticky, pink ice cream. “Ben…” I sighed. He started to wipe his hand down his shirt. “No, no, don’t do that. Here, stick your hand outside the window and let the rain wash it off.”

  Ben shrugged and stuck his hand out the window, eating what was left of his ice cream with his other one.

  Someone beat on the window, and I jumped. “Get your hand back, Ben.” I rolled up Ben’s window and rolled mine down just enough to hear what the person was saying. “The bridge is closed up ahead. You’ll have to turn around,” the man yelled to be heard over the rain and wind.

  Great.

  I slowly backed up and made a U-turn. Driving through the downpour to the next street, I turned onto it. If that bridge was closed, Ben and I were stuck. There wasn’t another way to get to our house from where we were without driving miles out of our way.

  I drove slowly down the road. No one stopped me as I inched closer and closer to the bridge. I just had to make it over and Ben and I would be almost home. We could get out of the miserable weather.

  I should have known better.

  As soon as I heard the crack, I knew I’d made a huge mistake. I’d driven us downriver. If the bridge were washed out upriver, then of course the debris and water would be headed right toward us. When I heard it slam into the upriver bridge, I flinched. I tried to back up, but a line of cars was behind me. There were no cars in front of me. I quickly looked to my right. The debris hadn’t made it beyond the bridge yet. I decided to floor it and get across the small bridge before it did. We were already on the bridge anyway and the only way off was forward—so I pushed the gas pedal to the floor and the car jerked forward. For a second, the tires skipped against the wet pavement, but then grabbed and the car jolted forward. I concentrated too hard on keeping all four tires on the bridge that I didn’t notice my second mistake until we’d made it a little more than halfway across.

  Water travels much faster than one would think. And it was coming straight for us.