Chapter One

 

This was the time of night when the panic started to set in.

Even though the temperature had to be near thirty degrees tonight I paced back and forth on the deck. I counted under my breath as each step was taken. This was not something I consciously did but I always did it. Seven…eight…nine…ten. It was strange how I never lost count even though I didn’t really choose to do the actual deed. 

            The white puffs of air that came from my nose and mouth were coming quicker as my breathing sped up. My palms started sweating and because it was so cold outside it made my fingers all the more frozen. My heart started racing in the all too familiar way as it threatened to pound out of my chest. But despite all these reactions of panic my eyelids were growing heavier by the second. My eyes hurt and I knew if I were to look in a mirror they would be streaked with red. When you go 108 hours, four and a half days, without sleep your body starts to do strange things.

            Taking in short, shallow breaths I wandered from the deck down to the dock. It was a full moon tonight. The water was perfectly calm on the lake so there was an exact duplicate of it formed on the surface. Winter and early spring were my favorite times on Lake Samish. Things got too busy when everyone returned to their vacation homes in the summer.

            Seventeen…eighteen…nineteen. I stood on the edge of the dock and raised my arms high above my head and stretched, willing every muscle to wake up. When this did not seem to do the trick I started a set of jumping-jacks. This wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do when your footing starts to rock back and forth but it did the trick of waking me up –slightly.

            Just a few more hours. That’s all I needed. In a few hours I would be ready to face the hell that came with sleep. I could face the judgments of angels and the ones who mimicked their beautiful features. I had made it 108 hours already; I could make it just two or three more. 

            But I knew I was kidding myself. All the jumping around on the dock bought me a few more minutes but there was no way I was going to make it even a half hour longer. I could feel the fatigue setting in and I knew I couldn’t fight it any longer. I was going to have to sleep and it was going to have to be now. I had learned better than to fight it for this long.

            My breathing increased rapidly as I started the walk back up to the large, mostly empty house that looked toward the east side of the lake. I could feel my head spinning and knew that if I did not control my breath soon I was going to pass right here and now on the deck. I closed my eyes and stood still for a few moments, knotting my fingers into my unruly, curly, now nearly waist-length hair. Five…four…three…two…one. Once under control I continued up the steps to the house.

            The house was empty as always. I’d been the caretaker here for just over a year and a half now and not once had the elderly owners come. This was for the best. There would be problems if we were to stay in the house at the same time. Not because of personality clashes, no the owners were very nice people, but once they spent the night here they would be afraid of me and I would be forced to leave.

            My heart racing but my eyelids winning, I entered through the basement entrance that lead to my apartment. I barely made it to my bed before collapsing.

 

            I suppose the reason I have always counted was because for some reason I felt it kept me safe. I could block out the hell that was around me by concentrating only on counting. Numbers made sense, they fell into their right order and no matter how you rearranged them you could still easily identify them as numbers. 

            I counted to two hundred six before he came to get me. It was the same man every night. He was glorious and perfect, just like the rest of them. His chin was strong and square, his nose perfectly straight. His lips were exactly the right fullness and housed perfectly straight, white teeth. His hair was a beautiful color of charcoal and the reflection of the flames danced across his perfectly muscular body in strange and beautiful ways. His wings, just like the rest of them were graceful yet powerful. They always captivated me despite the chaos that surrounded. The feathers were beautiful, gently changing from the softest, purest white to shimmering, metallic silver.  His eyes were unique however, compared to the rest of them.  Grey. This indicated he was on neither side, neither the exalted nor the condemned. He was simply the one who transferred me from my cell to the judgment pedestal. He did not pass judgments and he was judged to be placed on neither side.

            I did not know his name or if he even had one but in my mind I always called him Adam. In the Bible, Adam was unique in that he was the first. I had never seen another angel with eyes like this Adam. He was the first as far as I knew.

            Adam tied my hands in front of me with the same gold cord as he always did. I shuffled behind him as we exited my cell. I was long past trying to fight him; I learned long ago that was useless. 

            I was led down a long stone tunnel. Torches lined the walls but there was nothing to lighten. At the very end of the tunnel was my cell that was nothing but a five by five area with steel bars and a locked gate. The tunnel ran on for sixty-two steps and nothing hindered the path. There was nothing visible at the other end of the tunnel, just an opening that appeared to lead into a lighter place than this.

            Thirty…thirty-one…thirty-two… I counted and looked at my feet through the slits in the white bag that always covered my head. The rest of me was sheathed in white as well, a simple shell that covered my body.

            Adam said nothing, as usual. I always wished he would say something comforting. Anything to reassure me against what I knew was going to come. But he was always as silent as the stones that encased us.

            Fifty-seven…fifty-eight…fifty-nine… The panic was rising rapidly in my blood like an acidic poison. My breathing picked up, coming in sharp, painful spurts. I automatically slowed and Adam pulled on the remainder of the golden cord that hung between my two tightly fisted hands. I wanted to stop, to simply turn around and run back to my cell. Being locked in the cell for eternity was better than what I was about to face.

            My count to sixty-two ran out and Adam pulled me from the safety of the tunnel. We entered into the middle of a tall cylinder. A narrow catwalk sprouted from the tunnel and extended to the other side of the cylinder and ran into a solid wall. A narrow staircase wound up and down its sides. Before me were ten magnificently carved stone seats, mounted directly onto the vertical wall. Adam walked me to the center of the catwalk then turned and walked back into the tunnel. 

I tried not to look up as I stared intently at my bare feet. I didn’t need to look as I heard the sudden rustle of wings and the low murmur of perfectly beautiful voices. I knew exactly what my surroundings were. Above me were perfectly beautiful skies that were never ending beyond the rim of the cylinder. Below me the cylinder plunged into never ending depths of fire and torture. Before me sat the council that would judge. Five which were exalted, five that were condemned. Each of them were perfectly beautiful, the men and women alike. It was only once they opened their mouths that one could tell which side they were on.

            I couldn’t help it as I twisted my hands around each other. The gold cord that bound them was beautiful to the eyes but it was strong and would not give in the slightest. If I pulled against it too hard I knew it would cut into my skin till it drew blood.

            “Jasper Wood,” one of the council started. It was a male I stood trial for tonight. My name is not Jasper, my name is Jessica, I chanted to myself internally. I had to remind myself of this often or I would completely lose touch with reality and I would crumble.

The familiar sensation that I was about to pass out began and I wished more than anything in my life that I could. “The deeds of your life have been accounted for and judgment will be passed. Your actions must be made known.”

            I fought back the urge to scream as I heard the rustle of wings again, heard the hysterical, deranged laughter come from below, and the whispers that sounded more like singing coming from above. I could feel the hundreds of eyes settle on me as they took their placed on the staircase all around me. My breathing was becoming so shallow and quick almost no oxygen was coming in or out. 

            “Jasper Wood, your deeds will now be revealed,” the beautiful man before me continued. I finally looked up as two scrolls were produced. They were unraveled and terror sunk further into my heart. One was very long, the other all too short.

            The items on the list were read aloud. One list was of all the good deeds Jasper Wood had done in his life, the other all the bad. The latter was the longer list.

            Next came the part that I feared more than anything in the world. Sentencing. The council would cast their vote as to where I would be sent. Up meant exaltation and never ending bliss. Down meant a branding and never ending torment.

            The five condemned council members squirmed excitedly in their seats. They knew what the outcome of this trial was going to be. Their eyes grew wide with anticipation and they leaned forward and waited anxiously for their turn to pass judgment.

            “Down,” the first began. 

            “Down,” the second.

            “Down,” the third.

            As the judgments continued to be spoken I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could and rattled the numbers off in my head. Twenty-one…twenty-two…twenty-three… I counted as fast as I could even though I knew it could not save me from what was going to come.

            “Down,” said the tenth.

            The scream finally erupted from my lips as the deranged laughter erupted from the walls, from the angels with the black eyes. They heckled and called Jaspers name, pointing and laughing at me, knowing I was about to join their eternal damnation. I clasped my restrained hands to one ear, knowing it would do no good but would only make them laugh all the more.

            My eyes were drawn back to the council, to the one who lead the condemned. A wicked grin spread on his beautiful face, his black eyes nearly unfocused with glee. His great wings coiled before bursting and propelling him towards me. Another scream burst from my chest and I shrank to the catwalk as he landed beside me. Another of the angels from below joined us and handed the first the rod, glowing red on one end. My eyes took in every surface of the beautiful mark it held.

I wanted to run back into the safety of the tunnel, to find Adam and beg him to save me. I wished I could leap into the depths of the cylinder, find the bottom, and hide in the darkness forever. But there was no use in fighting what I knew was coming.

            My entire body trembling violently I made it to my hands and knees. I dropped my head before the dark angel and with one hand swept my hair from my neck. 

            It seemed it should not have been possible but the laughter picked up all the more from the branded ones I was about to join. I could sense the grin on his face as he took another step towards me.

            I took one deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut again. A flash of white hot pain shot through my body as the red end of the rod was pushed into the back of my neck. I could hear the skin shrivel and melt as it gave way to the pattern I knew all too well. After what seemed an eternity the rod was removed and barely coherent from the pain I was pulled to my feet.

            “Jasper Wood,” the first one spoke again, the leader of the blue eyed council members. “Judgment has been placed.”

            With this began a new sensation.  The feeling that giant sized ants were crawling just under the skin in my back filled my senses. Just when it seemed everything was too unbearable I could hear my flesh tear and my own set of beautiful wings burst forth. Even the damned were given wings and made beautiful.

            With this all hell broke loose. Those with the black eyes leapt from their seats and flew straight towards me. Their cold hands clasped around my arms and legs, pushing and pulling from every direction. There were too many of us on the narrow strip we stood upon. We were going to fall. And the only way to fall was down into the fiery depths. As the chaos continued to envelop me an earsplitting scream erupted once more from my lips and as we slowly tipped sideways I slipped into darkness. 

 

            I woke up the same way I always did. Screaming. I was sitting straight up, clutching one hand on the back of my neck, the other arm was extended across my body, under my other arm, my fingers stretching toward my shoulder blade. 

            I looked at the clock and noted I had slept for two and a half hours. The trial had gone fairly quickly. It was still only four in the morning.

            Trying very hard to slow my breathing I rolled out of the bed and shuffled to the bathroom. I flipped on the switch and squinted through the blinding light. The bathroom was generic. White walls, white baseboards. A sink, toilet, and shower/tub. 

            I stripped down and turned the water in the shower on. With slightly shaking hands I stood before the mirror and turned my back to it, peaking over my shoulder back at my reflection.

            My parents had always insisted that nightmares weren’t real. They couldn’t be real. The scars that were on my neck and covered my back suggested otherwise. A beautiful and detailed X was branded into the back of my neck and an intricate, rather realistic pattern of wings spread itself from the lower portion of my back, up to the middle of my shoulder blades. Both were a fresh, scarlet red. I knew the color wouldn’t last long. After a day or so both would fade to a flesh color, no longer swollen but just a raised scar. I compared the wings to the African tribes I had seen that would cut their flesh to make the beautiful patterns that covered their bodies. Mine looked just like this but in the right light you could see a strange metallic silver in the wings, just like the angels and the ones who looked like them from my dreams. The X was a very detailed and patterned scar, as if a red hot iron had indeed been pressed into my neck.

            I stepped into the shower and relished in how hot the water was. If only it could burn the marks from my skin. Many would say my scars were beautiful but I hated them. They were sore reminders of just exactly how twisted my life had become. I could never have a normal existence because of all this. 

            I hurried through the shower. Being in enclosed spaces for too long made me anxious. In the back of my mind I began to hear the voices and demented laughter calling out to me as if I were in the cylinder again.

            Shivering, I dressed quickly, pulling on a thick knitted sweater, a pair of thermals and my most comfortable jeans. Once the shaking stopped I returned to the bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. All growing up I had been told I was a beautiful child. I had never considered myself to particularly be so. I had always thought I was fairly plain looking. My eyes were slightly larger than they should have been, a dark hazel color. The dark bags under them never faded. I wished my nose were just a little narrower, it wasn’t big by any means, it just wasn’t perfect in my eyes. My lips were absolutely average, not luscious, and not thin. I suppose I did have good skin though. I had been lucky, now twenty-years-old, acne had never seemed to catch up with me.

            Grabbing the brush I tried to drag it through my hair. It fell around my face in a thick mane of curls that refused to be completely tamed. It seemed to have a mind of its own most of the time. It was time to get it cut; it hung nearly to my waist now. After a few minutes I threw the brush back to its drawer in frustration. It was useless.

            I went to the tiny kitchen that occupied one corner of my apartment and poured a bowl of cereal. I sat at the card table I used for a kitchen table and flipped my laptop open. It took only a second for the screen to start to glow. I pulled up the internet browser.

            “Jasper Wood.” I typed the words into the search engine deliberately. It was likely too soon for anything to be showing up. 

            I hit search and quickly scanned through the hits.  There was a musician by this name but nothing that looked promising. The obituary probably wouldn’t be out for a few days. That was the way it usually worked anyway. 

            I was thirteen when I first realized the names I stood trial for weren’t just random names my subconscious was making up. I stood trial for an Eliza Booth one night. She was a good woman, she had not been branded and was granted blue irises. A few days later I had glanced at my father’s newspaper and saw Eliza Booth’s obituary. She was eighty-five and had died in her sleep. I checked every name after that. Nearly every name I stood trial for popped up in an obituary somewhere. Those I couldn’t find I just figured never had one published in the papers.

            I finished eating quickly. After I had brushed my teeth I pulled my shoes on, grabbed my purse and keys and opened the door that lead to the rest of the house. The rest of the basement contained a large family room, each of the corners and closets containing a wide variety of toys, games, a pool table, a slightly outdated big screen TV, and every other form of entertainment. There was also another bedroom and from its contents I guessed it must have belonged to a teenage boy who was long gone. There was also a bathroom, similar to my own, completely generic. I made my rounds down here, checking everything was in its order and headed upstairs.

            The upstairs consisted of a large open area, containing the kitchen, dining area and a living area. The only slight separation was the stone fireplace that stretched from the floor into the vaulted ceiling. Huge beam rafters spider-webbed across the ceiling giving it the slight feel of a lodge. On the south side was a very large master bedroom and attached to it was a bathroom which was bigger than the bedroom. Once I was sure that everything was as it should be I walked out the door that lead to the road.

            It only took me a few minutes to walk to the next door neighbor’s home, only ninety-one steps. I did not knock, she would still be asleep, just simply removed the list that had been taped to the door. There was not a whole lot listed there, just things for Sal’s basic needs.

            I quickly returned home and looked at my watch as I slid into my car. Seven. The stores should be opening soon.

            I put the key in the ignition and smiled as the engine roared to life. I threw it into reverse and backed carefully out of the garage. It only took a few minutes before I found my way to I-5. My father had bought me a slightly used Toyota when I turned sixteen but last year it had been crumpled like a soda can when I feel asleep after trying to stretch myself to the 120 hour mark and crashed it into a ravine. I had broken my left arm but luckily that was the only damage. I was faced with a new dilemma however now. I made enough house-sitting to take care of my basic needs but there was not a lot of extra funding to find a new car. My meager savings of $1500 was not going to go far. Once I had returned back to my apartment I found that one of the neighbors on the lake had died and his wife was selling his small collection of semi-classic cars. She had no idea what they were worth and it didn’t matter to her. I told her what I had and she sold me my 1967 Pontiac GTO. On the outside it wasn’t exactly pretty, it had once been a brilliant red but now it was more of a rusty orange.  The previous owner died before he got the exterior of the car, but he had restored the inside to perfection and it ran like a charm, albeit loudly.

            It always seemed like it took longer than it should to reach the heart of Bellingham considering I technically lived in Bellingham. Lake Samish was about as far south as you could go and still be within the city boundaries.

            As I pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store I closed my eyes and counted backward from ten. I could do this. In four days it would all be over and I could go out without being bothered. That is until December.

            I had tried to avoid having to venture into town at all costs but my food supply was getting dangerously low and I knew Sal was going to be needing things as well. If I didn’t take care of her who was going to?

            Right as soon as I walked through the door I was confronted with what I had been trying so hard to avoid. All the valentines’ candy and gifts were set up right as you entered, red and pink streaked throughout the building. I had nothing against Valentine’s Day itself. It was the chubby cheeked, pink little cherubs that smiled up at me from the heart shaped cardboard boxes of chocolates I hated. Each of them stared up at me like some cruel joke someone was trying to play on me and I certainly did not think it funny. Again I heard the voices of mocking and demented laughter building up from inside of me, a reminder that I could never escape the angels of judgment.

            Without even making sure no one was looking I grabbed all the boxes that were placed standing up and stacked them one on top of another, face down. 

Christmas was worse. Angels were everywhere in December, on top of trees, ornaments, costumes in nativity skits, even in songs. If only they knew what angels were really like they wouldn’t be so quick to place them everywhere in their homes.

I quickly purchased everything I was in need of and made extra sure I had everything on Sal’s list. There were always a few items on her list I wanted to ask her about but with Sal it usually seemed better to not ask too many questions.

The next stop was the Barnes & Noble down the street. Without a doubt it was my favorite store. It felt like a safe place where everything should be able to be rationally explained. There was so much wisdom and knowledge in one place, thousands of volumes of thousands of people’s life’s work. I often daydreamed that one day I would stumble across the answer for forever curing my nightmare in these walls. Surely the answer had to be out there somewhere.

I immediately went to the table containing the bestseller books and picked out three new ones for Sal. The woman read more than anyone I knew. I sometimes doubted how much she actually got out of the books but I was glad she had a passion in her disturbed life. 

Next I automatically headed toward the science section of the store. If I was going to find an answer here surely it would be in this section. The last few months I had been going through the psychology section, skimming for anything to do with dreams or even hallucinations.

As I neared the end of the alphabet according to the author’s last names I froze. I had never personally known any authors but I defiantly recognized the name that stared me in the face. With shaking hands I picked it up and stared intently at the cover, trying to make my brain comprehend what I was seeing.

The book was titled “From Dreams to Reality” and it was written by one Jason Walker. Surely this could not be a coincidence. I flipped the book over and quickly scanned through the bio on the author. Graduate of Stanford University and a professor of Psychology there as well. And I could never forget the face that stared back up at me. He was young, especially for his accomplishments. He’d become a professor just after we went our separate ways, at the ripe old age of twenty-five. My eyes skimmed over the synopsis that was on the inside jacket flap and I had to place a hand over my mouth to keep the vomit contained that threatened to come.

The gist of the book was a study he had done on several people who had experienced such vivid dreams that they completely confused reality with their nightmares.  The main highlight seemed to be about a young woman he had been close to for six months. She was so affected by her dreams that she could hardly function and be a part of human society.

I wanted to run from the building and never set foot in a bookstore again. I wanted to find the deepest, darkest hole I could and crawl up and die in it. There were no words for this kind of humiliation and betrayal. 

I put the book back on the shelf with violently shaking hands and practically ran to the check-out. I could tell hot tears were boiling just under the surface and I wanted to have some privacy before they burst free. I had a difficult time keeping the rapid numbers that were racing through my head inside as the woman at the counter rang me up.

I was enormously grateful I had parked toward the back, out of the range of any eyes passing by. Just as I slid into the driver’s seat the tears spilled over. There could not be much higher betrayal than this.

I had run away from home when I was sixteen and found myself in central California. Soon after I turned eighteen, my senior year, I met Jason. He was handsome and charming. He was older than I was, 24 and already almost finished with his masters. But neither of us seemed to care about the age difference. He looked younger than he really was; I looked slightly older so people never really asked questions.

Jason was attentive and did not seem to mind my strange little idioms. He was a great listener and I told him everything about myself. He told me he loved me often and I did the same. I had even allowed myself to think of the possibility we might end up being married at the end of the year.

After six months of the happiest days of my life the world exploded. It was three weeks after graduation and that afternoon, at our special place on campus, Jason said it was time for it to end. He couldn’t take how my nightmares affected his life anymore. He told me he never wanted to see or hear from me ever again.  

Without even really realizing what I was doing I had driven aimlessly north and ended up in Washington, almost to Canada. I spotted the lake to the west of the freeway and thought it was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. After driving to the west side of it I saw the sign in front of the house advertising the need for a house sitter. I secured the job the next day and had been there ever since.

I was shocked when I looked at the time and realized I had sat there crying for nearly an hour. Only the people who made the biggest impact on you can make you cry this much. I had gotten over Jason long ago but he had been a part of my life in a very critical time. Apparently he was well over me. 

When I had set out that morning I had planned to go to the Bells Far Mall and find a few new cloths but after taking a quick glance in the mirror that plan was shot down. Crying did horrible things to my face. My cheeks and nose would turn a very unattractive shade of red, my eyes nearly the same color. The rest of my face turned pale white, even more so than I normally was in the winter. No, I was ready to go home now.

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I wrote a piece of my own (a short story) that deals with a coma patients experience with angels. This is a very interesting angle to work from, good writing.

I love reading writings that introduce a completely new kind of story. Vampires have been done over and over and over and over and over... (well you get my gist). But angels...that's really different.
Very descriptive. I especially like the description of Adam. On to the next chapter. ;)