Fledgling: Book 1 (Afterlife) (11 page)

I enter through an open door on the balcony on the first floor. I can hear his maid downstairs in the kitchen. The smell of food cooking wafts up the stairs and into the living area on the first floor. It smells divine. Following my instincts, I walk quietly toward his bedroom, and I enter. Lying on the bed is a sorrowful sight. I see a body of someone like a man; at least, I think he is a man. Scratches cover his face and hair is in disarray. He is nothing like the man that was driving a luxury car not so long ago. I look around. It is a lovely place, modern and full of luxuries. Standing near the window, I hear digging in the garden. I look outside and below is a man with coloured skin. He is digging out some weeds and redefining the garden edge.
 

I sigh. It is a place of luxury and filled with almost everything that a person would want, yet not so long ago, he was travelling the countryside, hunting down innocent victims. Turning back around, I approach the bed. The figure moves. It is muttering softly to itself. I walk right up to the side and gaze at the man. His face torn, and his fingernails filled with skin. He is a mess. I touch a finger to his forehead and watch it light up as I probe into his brain. His eyes open. They are absent of thought. After a few moments, they focus on my face and open wider. I can see the pure terror in his bulging eyes. He has recognised me and is completely distraught.
 

I concentrate on the probing for a moment and see that the conscience is tearing him apart. He has not killed himself, but he is not living either. His frantic hand grabs mine, and I release the probing. I place my other hand on his and pull it away gently. I place it back by his side and pat it affectionately trying to reassure him.
 

Gently I say, “I am not here to hurt you.”
 

I don’t know if this registers because he doesn’t respond. He is so lost and traumatised I feel sorry for him. He was evil once, yes, but I am baffled as to how he had become so evil when in his earlier life he was an asset to society. I stand by my belief — we have to find another way.

I rise and walk to the door and fly out the way that I came. I have confirmed my suspicions. This is what I wanted before undergoing my next mission. I now have a long flight over the Indian Ocean back to Australia. My next mission was already interesting without the information I had just collected. My destination — my former life’s stomping grounds, and I have a suspicion that I may know the perpetrator.

- Chapter Ten -

There it is. There below me is the place that I spent many of the days during my past life. It is night time. While I land between the gardens at the front, away from the street view, I am confronted with memories. Many happy moments resurface making it hard to concentrate. I miss so many people from my past.
 

As usual the outside light was not working. The darkness helps me remain unseen as I cross the plain concrete driveway. Making myself invisible, I walk around to the back of the little brick house on Monroe Court, Oxenford. I make sure I keep an eye out for many pot plants lined up against the walls. Looking around I see that it has not changed since I was here last. Although the place is neat, it is an older and cheaper styled house for the area.
 

With my hand on the rough bricks of the house, I make my way to the covered patio. Stepping silently in my heeled boots on the terracotta coloured tiles, I dodge the mess of a recently smashed pot plant on the ground. Pieces of crockery, dirt and mangled plant lay on the usually spotless tiles. It has fallen off a tall pot plant stand that lines the back of the pergola.
 

Glancing at the house, I notice the outdoor table and chairs lay sprawled across the patio, and the back sliding glass door is open. It appears there has been a struggle.
 

I peak around the dark grassy backyard. I cannot see any movement between the vegetable garden boxes or around the Colourbond shed. Remaining invisible, I step inside. The memories engulf my mind. It is the home of Ethan’s mother — Ethan my true love. I had visited here many times even though Ethan did not live here anymore. He moved out at a young age when his mother remarried.
 

Tonight I am looking for his kid brother, and I do not like what I see. Looking around at the signs of a struggle, I am starting to worry that my detour may have been too long. Maybe I am too late. I hope not. I liked Ryan he was a good kid. After a quick calculation, I work out that he would be about fourteen by now. Not a boy, yet not quite a man.
 

I hear a scuffle somewhere deeper in the house. Picking up the pace, I progress toward the noise. I walk as quietly as I can on the wooden floating floor with my heels still making a slight noise. Somehow, I don’t think they will sound above the noise I hear in the distance.
 

I walk down the hall following the sound. While passing the main bedroom, I glance through the open door. Lying on the floor is Ethan’s mum. Her face is pale. Thankfully, I can make out a small rise and fall of her chest. The pull to check on her is strong, but I know I must first follow the noise.
 

It pains me, but I continue. My mission is to protect Ryan, and this is important to me in more than one way. After a few more steps, I hear more banging.
 

“Stop.” I hear, followed by a sobbing sound. It sounds young like it would be Ryan. I hear more thumping and an almost half-scream, half-sob.
 

My feet are running the last few steps to the noise.
 

“You're so stupid,” I hear a man's shout. I think it is Dean, Ethan’s stepdad, but it is hard to tell when the words are forced through teeth.
 

I reach the door. They are in the office. Dean is leaning over Ryan, who is crumpled against the wall. He has him in a solid grip by his shirt with his left hand and is shoving him repeatedly against the wall. He raises his right fist to strike. Dashing forward, I grab his fist with my hands before it can find its mark.
 

“I wouldn’t do that Dean,” I say.

Dean turns and looks at his fist then at the person holding it. “What the —?” He repeatedly blinks like he is trying to clear his vision, and then I remember that I am still invisible, that means he can’t hear either. I fold my wings away and make myself visible. With his eyes angry they stroll over my face.
 

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he grunts. “You always were a meddling tramp.”
 

I take a deep breath. I was not a tramp. It is not important, I tell myself. It is not the time to argue. “And you were never the charmer or adoring father. I see you have not changed.”

He makes a guttural sound. "These mongrels were never my kids." He indicates Ryan with his thumb. “Useless sacks of s—”

“You agreed to be a father to them when you married their mother,” I interrupt. I am a little surprised by his comment. I knew he had a temper, but I was not under the impression that he did not care for them at all.
 

“Yeah, well she turned out to be a good for nothing ho,” he spat. “What the hell happened to you? Where the hell did you spring from? And what the hell happened to your looks? You look like you’ve had a ton of plastic surgery.” He blinks. “This is not real. This is not real.” He shakes his head then turns to Ryan. “What the hell did you put in my beer?” He raises his fist to strike Ryan, and I grab it again. He flicks his fist backward to flick off my grasp. “You’re not real. You’re dead. Bugger off!” he yells.

I grab his arm again before it can cause any more damage. He turns. His teeth are gritted together as he swings out his left fist trying to land it on my face. I lean slightly backwards and feel the wind brush my face from his projectile fist. Stunned that I avoided the collision, he tries again. This time his right fist flies past my nose. I watch it pass as I twist to the side. As I do this, I flick out my right fist, which lands with the back of my fist on his nose. His head flings backward as I hear the crunch of cartilage. Blood flows from his nostrils and his nose lies crooked on his face.
 

I turn to look at Ryan. He stands stunned against the wall. His face is a ghostly white, and his long strands of light brown fringe are hanging untouched in his eyes.
 

“Go check on your mother,” I instruct. “She is still breathing.” He nods and pushes off the wall to leave. “Oh, and Ryan, don’t forget to call the emergency service for help.”

With Ryan gone, I turn my head back to look at Dean. With his head tilted back, he is trying to stop the blood flowing from his nose.
 

“You tramp!” he screams and spits some of the blood from his lips in my direction. It narrowly misses my face. After straightening his head, he digs in his toes and with his shoulders down; he rams forward trying to tackle me to the ground. I step aside and watch him stream past. I lift my left leg and pull the knee to my stomach. I tilt and push to the side with my flat foot landing a sidekick on his behind. He topples forward quicker than he anticipated and struggles to stay in the upright position. He manages to stop just before he hits the wall. Placing his hands on the wall, he pushes himself to standing position.
 

Dark brown hair falls in his face as he faces the wall with his head tilted. His body starts to shake. At first I don’t know why his torso is jerking up and down slightly. It is then that I hear it. He is chuckling into a malicious crescendo.
 

Shivers run down my spine.
 

He turns and shakes his pointer finger at me. “You’ve changed. You faked your death, and to think, I went to your funeral. You even stood up Ethan. You broke the stupid kids heart. I saw him sobbing to his mother for months.” A satisfied smirk spread on his face. “And you think I am heartless.”

I am on guard. I stand with my feet apart, balanced and ready, just like I was taught. With my fists raised in front of my body, I am ready to defend or strike if needed. I look in his deep brown eyes ignoring the condescending look and shake my head.
 

“You have it wrong,” I tell him. “I did die.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “You expect me to believe that?”

I nod. “I am serious. My father killed me, and now I am reborn as an angel and trained by Archangel Michael, the greatest of all angels, to defend the innocent against people like you.”

The evil laugh starts up again. “I know — you went to comedian school. Do you really expect me to believe such religious hogwash like that? You, an angel.” One side of his mouth lifts in a smirk.

I shrug. “It’s surprising to me too, but that’s the way it is. Now as a word of warning, you need to change your ways or else I have to change it for you.” I shake my head. “Trust me, you don’t want that.”

“Ooh, I’m scared. Are you going to send me to church?” He laughs.

“Actually, I have the power to give you a conscience. It doesn’t sound like much, but I have seen people kill themselves or go insane from the effect it has on them. I don’t like doing it, and I don’t want to harm you, so I if there is the slightest bit of good left in you, I’m giving you the chance to choose.”

Dean holds his stomach and bends forward in laughter. “I swear you have been hanging out in comedian school. Your jokes are priceless, unlike any I have heard before.”

I shake my head. “Then you leave me no choice.” I step forward.

He immediately holds his hands up to protect himself. “Whoa! What do you think you are doing?”

I sigh. “I have already told you. I would prefer if you decided to change to do good yourself.”

“Oh no, you don’t. You don’t lay a hand on me. If you come any closer, I’m going to take you down.”

It is clear that no matter how much reasoning I try with him, he is not going to change. It pains me, but I have to protect the innocent, and this Innocent is Ethan’s kid brother. So there is no way I am leaving him in harm's way. I step forward with my hands ready to insert the conscience. He swipes my hands away, and his fist comes flying at my cheek. I move just in time to feel it scrape down the side. It wasn’t strong enough to be a bruising hit. I raise my hand and grab his arm. He steps forward twisting out of it and throws his left fist at my face.
 

I block it outwards with my right arm and lean in and give him a direct hit to his already broken nose. I pull my fist back. Splattered blood covers it. He stops, stunned for a moment, and I step back and rapidly position myself ready to execute a sidekick to his abdomen. As I release it with full force, I feel his two hands grasp my ankle of the kicking foot. Damn. He has recovered enough to respond. Before I have time to react, he has raised my foot up to the ceiling causing my supporting leg to slip from underneath me. My upper body swings to the ground with force and my shoulder crashes to the ground. The force jolts me with pain. If I were human, it would have caused me excruciating pain and a sore head and neck. But I am an angel.

I roll onto my back as I see him charging me. Just in time too. His foot slams down next to my head in the exact spot it was a split second before. Grabbing my opportunity, I kick up into his groin from the floor. His eyes water as he screams out, clutching in between his legs. I try not to smile, knowing the force possibly would have inserted his testicles into his body. The look on his face is rewarding.