The Innocent

by Michelle K. Pickett

  “Shut up.” I flicked my fingers at him like I was flicking an irritating fly off my shoulder. Ben was killing me in bowling. Well, maybe not killing me, but he was beating me. And since I was eighteen and he was seven, I considered him beating me on any level killing me.

  Chay chuckled and kissed the curve of my neck, sending tingles to some very unusual places. It was like little bubbles popping throughout my body. I smiled and leaned away. His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me closer to him.

  “Aw, come on, guys. Stop doing that, Chay. It’s gross and it’s her turn,” Ben said, wrinkling his nose.

  Chay let me go with a laugh. “Benjamin, buddy, one of these days, you’re gonna realize how not gross kissing a pretty girl really is.”

  Ben held his throat and made gagging noises, falling backward on the seat behind him. “Doubtful,” he finally said. “Besides, Milayna’s not pretty. She’s my sister.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I mumbled, walking to the lane to toss the stupid bowling ball. I just rolled it, turned around, and walked away. I didn’t even try to aim. It never went where I wanted it to anyway.

  “You should bowl like that all the time.” Ben giggled.

  “Ha-ha.”

  “No, really, you should. You got a strike.”

  “Really!” I turned around and squealed. “Oh, yay.” I looked at Ben and grinned.

  “Shimmy, shimmy, coco pop….”

  “Shimmy, shimmy bop!” I finished with a laugh, bumping hips with Ben.

  “What was that?” Chay said, lounging in his chair, looking at us like we’d each just grown a second head.

  “That, my friend, was the family handshake,” I said, laughing.

  “Booty shake.” Ben giggled.

  Chay shook his head and walked to the lane to take his turn. I filled in the little square before he even rolled the ball. It was going to be one of two things. A strike or a spare.

  A strike. Again.

  “What? I don’t get the family booty shake?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “‘Cause you’re just showing off,” I said.

  He laughed.

  I watched Benjamin walk up to the lane and aim. He rolled the ball and stood watching it make its way down.

  Yellow bowling ball… Benjamin…

  “Chay, get Ben!”

  Chay didn’t ask questions. He bolted for Ben, grabbing him and carrying him to our seating area just as the yellow bowling ball flew into our area, landing with a deafening thud right where Ben had been standing.

  “Are you okay?” I ran over and hugged Ben, making sure he wasn’t hurt.

  Ben brushed my hands away. “Geez, Milayna, get a grip. I’m fine. Chay grabbed me in time.” He walked over to the ball return.

  “I should’ve seen that sooner.” I bit my lower lip, tapping my finger on a plastic chair.

  “You couldn’t use your telekinesis power?” Chay asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m still learning how to harness it, and I need to see the object. I didn’t see the ball until it was already too late.”

  “You saw it in time in your vision. That’s what counts,” Chay said, laying his hand over mine and threading our fingers together. “C’mon, let’s finish our game.”

  “Ben, don’t stick your arm down the ball return,” I called.

  “But my ball hasn’t come back yet.”

  “Sticking your hand down there isn’t going to make it come back any faster.”

  Chay brushed my hair to the side and kissed me softly on the back of my neck. He moved to the hollow behind my ear and murmured, “You are so beautiful,” before kissing me.

  “Milayna…”

  I turned and looped my arms around Chay’s neck. He leaned in and kissed me slowly, tenderly. His smell, the feel of his mouth on mine, the effects of the lighting, made my head swim and my insides twist. I felt a little dizzy and I tightened my hold on Chay, a small moan slipping from my lips.

  “Milayna?”

  Chay was still kissing me. A mind-reeling, toe-curling, stomach-clenching kiss.

  “Milayna!”

  “Ben! What?” I snapped.

  “The ball return is eating my shirt,” Ben said, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt.

  “I told you not to stick your arm down there.”

  “We need to get his hand out of there before any balls come through,” Chay said. “The force of the impact could break his fingers.” He reached down and pulled on the sleeve of Ben’s shirt. “It’s not budging.”

  “Okay, Ben, take your shirt off.” I helped him out of his shirt, pulling it over his head and slipping his arm out of the sleeve just as a ball shot up the ball return and barreled across the metal feeds where Ben’s shirt was stuck.

  “I think it’s time to go home,” I said. Surprisingly, no one argued.

  On the drive home, I remembered something the hobgoblin told me: For three it shall be.

  “It was the game,” I whispered so Ben couldn’t hear me in the backseat.

  “What was?”

  “The goblin said there was another game coming and that it was for three. I think the bowling alley was the game. Ben was almost hit in the head by a flying bowling ball and then eaten alive by a stupid ball return.”

  “Maybe,” Chay said.

  “You don’t think so?”

  He glanced at me and shook his head. “No.”

  “Why?” I angled my body so I could look at him.

  “If the game was meant for three, then something would have happened to all three of us, not just Ben.” Chay turned into our subdivision, the clicking of the turn signal the only sound in the car.

  “Maybe,” I finally agreed, biting my fingernail. I wasn’t as sure as Chay. Or maybe I just didn’t want to admit it.

  Car… squealing tires… tree… screaming….

  “Milayna? Did you hear what I said?”

  “No, sorry, what?” I shook my head and looked at Chay.

  “I said maybe tomorrow we can do the boring date thing—get some dinner and see a movie.”

  “That’d be great.” I smiled at him. He looked at me, his brows furrowed over his eyes.

  “Everything okay?” Chay asked.

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Just making sure.”

  Screaming… gas fumes… smoke….

  The vision was so vivid. I could feel the noxious gas fumes burn the back of my throat and eyes. The smoke made me cough and the screaming—the screaming was so real it sounded as if the person was in the car with me, screeching in my ear.

  Give me something I can use. A place, time, something.

  As usual, the vision was silent when I wanted it to give me information. They never cooperated. They gave just enough information to make me aware of the problem and no more.

  I waited for another glimpse, but none came. Minutes went by. We got home, had a snack, told my parents all about bowling—well, Ben told them—but still no vision. An hour passed and still nothing. Whatever it was, it must have worked out on its own because the vision was gone.

  It was nine o’clock that night. Chay was getting ready to go home. Ben was ready for bed. Dad was reading the newspaper in his favorite chair, and Mom was reading a novel so thick it could be used as a doorstop. It was a typical, boring night at the Jackson’s.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  Chay and I were standing right next to the door so I answered it. Two uniformed police officers stood on our doorstep.

  “Is this the Jackson residence?” one officer asked.

  “Yes.”

  “May I speak to Mr. John Jackson, please?”

  “I’m John Jackson,” my dad said over my shoulder, making me jump.

  “Sir, you’re listed as the next of kin to a Mr. Rory Jackson.”

  Muriel

  “He’s my brother.” My dad grabbed the doorjamb. “What’s going on?”

  I heard a soft
cry and looked over my shoulder. My mother stood behind me, her hands over her mouth like she was trying to hold back her cries.

  “I’m sorry, but your brother, his wife, and daughter were in a car accident…”

  I didn’t hear any more of what the officer said. All I could hear were the words of the hobgoblin.

  “If you come to Azazel willingly, he’ll spare your friends and family. If not, he’ll start picking them off one by one, making you watch. Then, after you’ve watched everyone you care about die, he’ll kill you.”

  For three it shall be.

  We were at the hospital in less than an hour. The police officers hadn’t been able to tell us much, other than there were no fatalities. But how badly they were injured, they didn’t know, or wouldn’t say.

  My dad slipped through the sliding glass doors leading into the emergency room before they were fully opened. He rushed to the desk. “Rory Jackson?” he asked a portly nurse with a beehive hairdo and lipstick-stained teeth.

  “Are you next of kin?” she asked slower than I thought humanly possible.

  “Yes.”

  The nurse didn’t answer. She shuffled through some papers on the workstation, stapled a few of them together, and shoved them into a box marked ‘out’ before looking back at us. “I’m sorry, who?”

  My dad jammed his fingers through his hair. “Rory Jackson,” he repeated through clenched teeth.

  “I’ll go back and check.” She started to stand.

  “Stop. You’ll call. That way, you won’t get sidetracked and we might get some information,” I said.

  “I can’t just call back there—”

  “Yes, you can. There’s the phone.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

  Fine. Have it your way, lady.

  When she walked through the double doors leading out of the waiting room and into the patient care rooms, I slipped in behind her. I followed her down the hall toward the nurses’ station. Like I thought, she stopped several times to chat with coworkers on her way.

  Absolutely no regard for the families who are waiting to hear about their loved one. Nice.

  I decided to get the information I needed a different way. I hung around the hall until I saw a young nurse that seemed nice. At least she seemed nice to the patients; I was about to find out how nice she’d be to me.

  “Excuse me, nurse?”

  “Yes?” She turned and looked at me. “Are you supposed to be back here?”

  “Yes, the nurse at the front desk let me through.” That wasn’t a total lie. I did go through with her—she just didn’t know it.

  “Oh, okay. What can I help you with?”

  “The nurse told me the room number, but with everything going on…” I gestured with my hands around me before wiping a tear away. “I forgot.”

  “Of course. Come on, I’ll help you find who you’re looking for.”

  Gotcha. Insert evil laugh here—if I knew how to make an evil laugh.

  We walked to the nurses’ desk. Our shoes squeaked on the gleaming tile floor. When we reached the nurses’ station, I just stood there for a few beats and watched. People swarmed the small space like bees to honey, each one buzzing about something. The voices collided into each other. It was impossible to tell where one left off and another began. I could hear the squawk of the broadband radio signaling the arrival of another ambulance and the overhead speaker system blared its garbled announcement, which was impossible to hear over the din of noise.

  Ambulance drivers, police officers, nurses, doctors, technicians, you name it, they were there. They all talked. Some called out orders. Some shouted for help. Whatever they were saying, the conversations ran together, bouncing off each other like rubber balls reverberating throughout the room. I tried to listen, to get any piece of information of my aunt, uncle, and Muriel’s condition or what happened, but there was too much happening, too many people talking at once. It was a wonder anyone was able to keep up with any conversation.

  The nurse helping me walked behind the counter, grabbed three clipboards, and said, “Why don’t we go somewhere quiet so we can talk?”

  “The waiting room? I have family out there. We’ve been waiting hours to hear something, anything.”

  The nurse bit the side of her lower lip. I held my breath, waiting for an answer. “Okay,” she finally said.

  We walked through the double doors to the waiting room. I saw my parents stand when they saw us. Chay tried to distract Ben in the waiting room play area.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, I’m Nurse Daniels. I’m so sorry we have to meet this way. I have news on your family. Let’s sit.” She opened one file and scanned the contents quickly before speaking. “I have to inform you that I am not a doctor and in no way am I advising you on patient care. Okay?”

  “Yes, yes, just tell me how they are,” my dad said.

  “Well, the youngest, the daughter—”

  “Muriel,” I said.

  “Yes, sorry, Muriel. She’ll be transferred to critical care. It looks like she suffered a mild concussion, was banged around a bit, but is otherwise in good shape. She’ll go to critical care for observation because of the concussion.

  “Cindy Jackson was thrown through the windshield and suffered multiple cuts to her face and arms. She also suffered a concussion and hasn’t regained consciousness since the accident. She has three broken ribs and a punctured lung.

  “Rory Jackson suffered breaks to both legs. The airbag didn’t dispatch, and it appears he hit his head hard on the steering wheel. He also suffered a concussion in addition to a broken nose and the broken legs I mentioned. Both he and his wife will be in ICU for a day or so until we are sure they are stable, and then they’ll be moved to regular rooms.

  “I know it probably doesn’t seem like it now, but your brother and his family are extremely fortunate. I’ve seen people come in after an accident like theirs who don’t make full recoveries or don’t survive long enough to try. Your brother and his family are expected to make full recoveries. Do you have any questions?”

  “When can we see them?” my dad asked. He jammed his hand through his hair.

  “Usually, you could see them now, but we are extremely busy back there and, unfortunately, we have to limit visitors. You can see them when they move them to their rooms, which should be shortly. We need to free up the emergency room beds.” The nurse flipped the clipboards closed and stood. “Please feel free to ask for me at the front desk if you have any questions.”

  “Thank you,” my mom said. Nurse Daniels smiled. She, and her squeaky tennis shoes, walked back into the patient care area of the emergency room.

  “Chay and I will stay. Why don’t you and dad take Ben home and I’ll call as soon as they tell us they are moving them?”

  My mom sighed, rubbing her hands up and down her face. “I don’t think your dad will leave, Milayna.”

  “Dad, go home. Chay and I will stay and call as soon as we hear anything. Benjamin shouldn’t be here,” I called to my dad, who sat a few chairs away, staring at the floor. He nodded and stood, walking slowly to my mom.

  “Come on, Rachael, let’s go. Milayna’s right. There’s nothing we can do right now. We should take Ben home.”

  “How do you do that?” my mom whispered. “I can never get him to do what I ask.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t ask him.”

  “Ahh,” she said with a smile. “That’s what I’ve been doing wrong all these years. I’ve been asking.”

  “I don’t know, Mom. It seems to work better on Dad if you give him as few choices as possible.”

  She cupped my face with her hand. “Call the second you know something, okay?”

  “I promise.”

  She kissed my forehead and held her hand out for Benjamin. “Thanks for entertaining him, Chay.”

  “It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Jackson. Benjamin and I are buddies.” Chay held out his fist, and Benjamin bumped it with his small one. “Aren�
��t we, Ben?”

  “Yup.” Ben stared up at Chay like he was looking at a rock star. I was waiting for him to whip out a marker and ask him to autograph his T-shirt.

  “He likes you,” I said as my mom and Ben walked away.

  “He’s a good kid.”

  “Yeah,” I whispered, hoping Azazel and his demon friends weren’t able to taint Ben’s inherent goodness, his innocence, with their foul, soul-stealing evil.

  “Hey…” Chay put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to look at him, “We’re gonna finish this. Benjamin is gonna be fine. Himmel and Jord are toast—we know how to deal with them.”

  “And Azazel?”

  “We’ll figure it out. There’s no reason to think that Azazel can’t be killed the same way Abaddon was.”

  “With his own dagger?”

  Chay shrugged a shoulder. “He’s arrogant enough to carry around something that could kill him.”

  I snorted a laugh. Azazel arrogant? That was an understatement. He had an unbelievably inflated sense of self-worth.

  “Let’s sit,” Chay said, putting his hand on the small of my back and guiding me to a pair of ugly, blue plastic chairs. I loved it when he did that. The feel of his hand sent shivers up and down my spine. He let the tips of his fingers dip just below the waistband of my jeans. I sucked in a breath, holding it so I didn’t sigh out loud as his fingertips grazed gently against my bare skin.

  My gaze darted toward him. I looked at him through my lashes. He was watching me, a crooked smile playing on his lips. I felt the heat of a blush crawl across my face.

  He tipped his head to the side so his lips were almost touching my ear. “Why are you blushing?”

  “You know why and you’re a tease.”

  He laughed.

  We sat in the ugly, blue chairs—the same chairs we sat in when we were there with Grams—talking in hushed voices. He asked me about everything, every second that happened while he was gone.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Chay,” I said, looking away from him.

  He reached out and laid his hand against my cheek, pulling my face to face his. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  “I know.” I felt the tears pressing against the back of my eyes. I tried to blink them away. They snuck out anyway. I smiled through my tears. Chay’s face was somber. He wiped the tears away with the tips of his fingers before kissing me gently.