Eternal Soul

by Amy Henwood

  “You stupid little bitch!” he kept screaming at the gate.

  He turned, pointing a shaking finger.

  “And because of you, I’m dead and she’s dead. She was on her way back to me and you had to go screw that up too. It’s your fault. You kept her away from me.”

  Maybe his relationship with her wasn't all for show. Did he deeply love her?

  He lunged at me and pushed. I lost my balance and landed on the rocky road. I had nothing to break my fall except my bound hands. My wrist cracked loudly on impact and horrific pain followed. Serious damage had already happened to me, and I figured that was only the beginning. I struggled in trying to stand and was taken by my collar and moved to face the road.

  “See that bend down there?” he raged, and I nodded. “See it!” he shouted.

  “Yes, I see it.”

  “That is where our accident happened. You came out ahead of the game, Scarlett. I, on the other hand, suffer every day knowing the past. I know who my parents are, but I have to avoid them. My closest friends are grown with families. You get to lead a normal, human life, and I am forever a fucking pansy-ass angel.”

  Internally, I was shaking with pain and fear, but my physical form was frozen in a cocoon.

  “This is where your life ended the first time and where it will end for a second and final time.”

  I screamed from pure survival instincts and as loudly as my rasped voice would allow, “Accident! Applegate! Jackson—” Chase’s large hands covered my mouth and nostrils, cutting off my ability to breathe.

  “Yelling will do you no good. By the time your knight gets here, it will be too late.”

  The fear had been the factor in forgetting I didn't need a voice for Jackson to hear me. I shut my eyelids and my fogged mind was able to focus one final time on communicating with him.

  Please hear me, Jackson. I’m at the location of our car accident, in front of the Applegate Estate. Come quick.

  That was all I could process before passing out from oxygen deprival.

  17

  My eyes fluttered several times before I was fully awake. I was lying flat on the dense forest floor. Trees rustled from the steady breeze and small glimmers of sun seeped between the branches and awning of leaves. Birds sang while others screeched during prime mating season.

  My breathing was hard, heavy and uneven. I did, however, still contain a much-required pulse. I took care in sitting upright, preventing a headrush that would put me out again. Setting my hands down, I realized they were no longer restricted by rope, though I was sure one wrist was broken.

  “Ah, you're awake.” Chase’s voice impacted me like a gunshot. “I was getting worried.”

  “Worried that you killed me?”

  “I was.”

  “It is not your intention to end my life?”

  “No, I was worried that I suffocated you before I had any real fun.”

  Fear of what lay ahead increased—the horror story had turned into reality. My final breaths of oxygen were rapidly approaching. The last visions of my life would be the surrounding forest, and my final feeling would be the pain of my death—alone.

  He took my freed wrists and lifted me off the ground so my entire body was mid-air from the force. He brought me in tight and kissed me. I turned my head away and he grabbed my hair and tugged my skull backwards.

  “Resisting will only make it worse for you, darling,” he said.

  “I am not your darling.”

  He raised a hand and slapped me across the face, bringing flushed red instantly to my skin. I protected the slapped area, feeling every beat of my heart pounding in my throbbing face.

  “I didn't tell you to speak.” He pulled my hand away and delivered another powerful blow to the same location.

  My self-defence skills lacked tremendously, and any swing from me was weak and mis-aimed.

  “You think that you can take me on? Trying to get a blow in? Well, it's not going to happen, sweetcakes.”

  He wound up a third time, using a fist instead of a palm, and connected directly below the eye. My flushed skin broke on contact and crimson blood trickled down my face. A light touch to the area and inspection of my trembling hand confirmed the assumption.

  I raised my uninjured leg as fast and hard as possible and kicked him square in the crotch. He dropped to his knees and cradled the target. I bolted away from him, running for the road in hopes someone would drive down the road and stop for me. I turned my head both ways, checking for any sign of oncoming traffic, my head rushing with blood from the quick motions. No vehicles were in sight. I darted across the road and into the opposite forest, hoping he would think I headed down the road and not directly across it.

  Adrenalin drove me, and I ran as quickly as my muscles would allow. Only my toes touched the ground to minimize the rustling of the compacted leaves, leading to my location.

  I can and I will do this, I thought to myself. I swerved left and right throughout the course, steering myself off a straight line. I hoped that an intercepting road or house would appear. I dodged shrubs and logs, stumps and holes. Loose branches brushed against me, snagging my shirt, drawing additional blood. I couldn't let an ounce of ache distract me from my objective of getting away from Chase, as far and fast as possible. Every yard I put between us was covered in slow motion, but I had no choice but to move, building the distance with each stride. Shortness in breath only assisted me in pushing harder, faster, using my newly found skill of blocking out pain and all emotions.

  In the distance, a break in the trees and warm rays of sunlight showed through gaps, casting a glow onto the ground.

  “Almost there,” I murmured to myself as I stumbled in a forward motion. “Please let there be a vehicle when I get there.”

  My feet lost their steady traction and fumbled over each other as I struggled to stay upright. My centre of gravity was thrown off and I fell facedown onto the hard ground, with my head narrowly missing a large rock. Getting to my hands and knees, I tried to get up and keep moving, but something pushed me back down, preventing me from rising. Two grasps on my waist flipped me onto my back like a stranded turtle. The not-so-conveniently placed rock grazed the side of my skull.

  Chase stood above, straddling me.

  “You thought you could get away from me by leaving me on the ground and running? I do commend your efforts,” he said, drawing in a breath of air. “It did take me a while to recover from that blow.”

  I tried to squirm beneath him, trying to break free, but his legs were powerful, holding me still.

  “No matter how far you get away from me, I will always know where to find you, unlike lover-boy Jackson.”

  His legs squeezed tighter, cutting their way into the sides of my stomach.

  “That is why we are meant for each other. I am able to locate you whenever I want, no matter where you are,” he said.

  He was direct with his words, not wanting me to forget the fact that there is no way I could ever hide from him.

  “He will come for me, I know he will.” I teared up, needing him now with my dwindling confidence.

  “You can keep telling yourself that, but I’m telling you that your lover boy is never coming.”

  “He will.” They were the only words I could mutter out of my mouth. “He will.”

  “Even if he does, it will be too late,” he said.

  The expression on his face turned to pleasure. It was a look that was more frightening than a looming apocalypse. The enjoyment he would receive in my cruel beating was disgusting.

  He lifted one foot mid-air and stomped it directly onto my ribcage, breaking at least two of them. He dismounted me and pushed me onto my side. I grabbed my stomach to comfort and protect my ribs, though it did little. He continued to stomp on me, his blows ranging from my chest to my legs.

  “Suicide,” I spat out with accompanying blood.

  “This isn't suicide, this is cold-blooded murder, and I want everyone to know it.”

&
nbsp; “No. Marianne—suicide.” I connected it all. “You told her to kill herself. That’s why you were cast as a dark angel. You never cared about her. All you wanted was to come back to earth in order to kill me. It's your fault she is dead, not mine.”

  The statement of accuracy granted me additional punishment.

  Kick after kick. Punches delivered by his fists. Pain increased with each strike, creating impossible conditions to keep my barrier intact. Every hit made me weaker and less aware of my surroundings.

  No one would ever have been able to prepare me for this stage of my life. The pain had surpassed excruciating, and I was sure my first death was exceptionally less painful than this.

  “Grandma,” I softly sobbed. “Take me, please. Release me from this suffering. I am ready to be with you. Please, Grandma.”

  My eyes closed, my mind blanked and I no longer felt the pain or hurt. I was left in a black hole with no thoughts of the past, the present or the future as my lifeless body lay on the forest ground, alone and departed from my soul.

  18

  The pathway to death is not a painless one, but now that I’m here, I’m glad I can’t return. My disfigured, lifeless body is torn and battered. A rising spirit cannot bring with them any precious jewellery or money, or the newest phone or tablet. Only the memories of a spirit’s life is retained. As I look down on my lifeless body, I see the pair of shoes that cost a week’s pay still attached to my cold feet. The expensive hair colouring and cut lie still and decaying. My body is sinking into the earth's floor. Covered with blood and bruises, I somehow look peaceful from above.

  “Over here,” a voice calls.

  Footsteps shuffle through the leaves, moving closer to my uninhabited body.

  “Is she still breathing?” another voice further away says.

  “No.”

  Warmth touches my face. I can feel the heat radiate and connect with my floating spirit.

  “She’s cold,” Jackson says, perched over my body. “It is too late?”

  “I don’t know,” says the other man.

  “Do something, Brandon. I can’t lose her.” Jackson cries, his salted tears dampening his stone-white cheeks while he rocks my empty body in his arms.

  “I will try, but it won't be pleasant.”

  “I don’t care. It’s either that or the morgue.”

  Brandon’s right hand rests over my still heart and the other on the top of my head.

  “You have to let go of her,” he instructs Jackson.

  “Okay, but hurry.” He separates himself from my body. “You are going to be okay, Scarlett.”

  I’m not okay. I’m dead. My body is limp, cold and dead.

  Experiencing death is nothing like I expected. I had talked to my grandma for three-quarters of my life and never once asked her what death was like, possibly for the pure fact that I never considered her truly gone since I could speak with her anytime I wanted.

  My death was not a painless one. The broken and shattered body was painfully gasping for air, holding onto survival. But in the end, the damage was done, and my soul left the host. The host, that’s really all that my bodies have been: hosts. Hosting my soul temporarily in my eternal life. The word life is now a subjective term to me. I have never been dead, as death only brought on a new life, either in the heavens or the earth. My soul was never dying. My soul is me. Not the body that it lives in, or the family I’m born into. My soul will always be alive and will always be me.

  “It’s not your time, sweetheart,” Grandma says, her spirit floating with me.

  “I don’t want to go back. I want to be with you in the heavens,” I say.

  “Your life is not ready to end. You are needed down there, more than here with me.”

  “You tell me I’m needed and that I have a purpose, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do, and you never tell me.”

  Without a sense of warning, a surge of energy channels throughout me, shocking me with the power of a lightning bolt. It is horrible in a good way, a pain of healing and relief.

  “Protect your family,” says Grandma.

  My soul was set back into my body and my chest rose, taking in my first breath of air in minutes.

  “She’s breathing,” said Jackson. “You did it, Brandon. It’s alright, Scarlett. I’m here and never leaving you again. I love you.”

  My body screamed and my mouth remained still. He found me, just like they promised. I love you too, I thought before blacking out from the pain.

  When I came to, the surface beneath me was soft, and I was covered and no longer exposed to the outdoors. My head lay propped up on a feathered object. The aroma surrounding me had a familiar scent. Soft chatters invaded my ears and my eyes fluttered open like a butterfly expanding their new wings for the first time.

  “She’s awake,” Jackson announced.

  It took time for my foggy brain to process and fully comprehend the environment. The wall at my feet was identical to my bedroom. The surface I lay across was a carbon copy texture of my bed, and the sheets covering me had the same warming comfort as mine. The dreaded sun rays beat through the window, emitting light across the bedding. Figures moved around in my peripheral vision, one jumping onto the bed and pulling me into their arms, my entire body aching from the quick action.

  “Scarlett, I was so worried about you,” said the female.

  I had zero strength to push the intruder away, but I didn't want to anyway. I was happy to be in Mia’s arms.

  “What happened?” I murmured.

  She loosened her hold to let me have space. The opposite side of the bed sank, and I turned to see Jackson. I wanted to grab him and have him hold me, but the pain restricted my ability to do it. I moved a hand toward him and rested it on his arm. He shuffled in close and wrapped himself around me, kissing me tenderly.

  “Chase severely beat you and left you to—”

  I stopped him. “I don't want to remember that part. What I want to know is what happened after. Did I—die?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed.

  “Does that mean I’m an angel?” I asked, because if I was, I didn't feel any different except the agony I was in, and if that was a quality of an angel, I didn’t want to be one.

  “No, you’re not. You are as human as you were yesterday.”

  “How am I alive if I died?”

  “Brandon saved you.”

  “Brandon?” The statement was puzzling.

  Mia left the bed to step aside, revealing Brandon. His arms lay across his midriff and he was leaning against the wall, standing silent, staring aimlessly around the room.

  I drew my attention to Jackson for answers.

  “When Brandon told me you were with Chase and that he took you hostage, I knew he was going to hurt you. When you informed me that he took you to the Applegate Estate, I went and picked up Brandon. If I hadn’t turned around to get him, you would not have been healed in time and the consequences would have resulted in your death.”

  “What exactly do you mean by heal me?” I said.

  Both Jackson and Mia looked at Brandon.

  “You saved her,” Jackson said to him. “So, you can tell her.”

  He looked up from his feet. “Remember when I told you that I’m an archangel?”

  “Yes…” I trailed off.

  “And you know that archangels are different from other angels?”

  “Yes,” I said, recalling my late-night research. Archangels are the highest-ranking angels—like the manager of their employees—and hold the ultimate power: health.

  Jackson nodded, confirming my thought. Weird that I needed his approval since Brandon was his boss, in theory.

  “Did you send Jackson here to protect me?” I asked Brandon, knowing that archangels chose the descendants.

  “Chase had turned into the most powerful dark angel I have ever encountered in my three thousand years.”

  Three thousand years? Man, he sure looked good for kicking around for three millenniums. />
  “Jackson wasn't able to protect you alone. I stepped in to help and it still proved to be impossible. His power of attraction was too hard to break you away from him. The moment he touched you, you became unable to resist him. He perfected his power to more than just contact, and it expanded outwards. Being in the same room was enough for anyone to be a loyal follower.”

  “Mia,” I said.

  “Yes, hun,” she responded, coming back to sit next to me on the bed.

  “Why does it appear that you are handling this like it’s normal? Don’t you think this is all mythological and psych-ward-admitting?”

  “Hell, I did at first,” she said. “I was minding my own business, studying for finals, when I heard the commotion outside. The guys were fumbling through your pockets for a house key when I opened the door to a very tattered you. I demanded them to tell me what happened, and I was going to call the police on them for assault. They had no choice other than to tell me everything about themselves and you. Mind you, it took a hell of a lot of convincing at first, but then, when I witnessed you heal before me, I had no excuses in not believing them.”

  Her reasoning sounded technically detailed and rehearsed. Who would indulge in such specific points in justifying their reaction?

  “They told me you were in much worse condition when they first found you—dead, even.” She continued her seamless justification. “Your clothes and skin were soaked in blood from the beating, but when I took a cloth to wipe you down, all that remained was bruising. If it wasn't for the blood evidence, I would have never known you had multiple lacerations to your face and other body parts. Your right arm was contorted from the break. It was more than magic. Slowly it moved its way back into perfect alignment—which was also extremely gross.” She scrunched her nose and forehead at the image.

  I checked my arm, running the opposite hand over it. There were no bumps or hypersensitive spots that would indicate any such fracture. Mia came back with a small hand mirror from the bathroom. Reluctantly, I held it, displaying my reflection staring back at me, curious as to what damage was visible. Light shades of purple, green and black bruising surrounded one eye, with the opposite cheek showing the end stages of swelling. I could feel the affected areas, and nothing appeared that would leave any permanent scarring—they were only tender to the touch.