To Fall (The To Fall Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

It didn’t take long for the nuns to find a childless family, the Millers, to foster her. They took her in, named her Abigail, and cared for a baby with a weak heart. Incredible sadness gripped me. I had to let her go. As her soft skin left mine, my heart felt hollow and somehow beat differently. I shut my feelings away and never spoke of this night, refusing what I knew to be true.

Calista followed the Millers to the hospital when they brought Abigail to the emergency room. We already had Dr. Fredrickson alerted to her heart condition. Within two days of fostering baby Abigail, she received surgery to repair a hole in her heart. For now, her heart was strong enough, but it would weaken over time. Overwhelmed, the Millers needed a nanny to help care for the baby, and we helped Margaret secure the position. She was a wise choice, a human guardian who would also love Abigail.

To stay with the Millers, Margaret had to keep her secret; she could never speak of the angels who saved her and her friend’s child. We warned Margaret that Cresil might come back one day. We couldn’t be sure if he knew the child survived. The chances of him finding Abigail were slim, but we watched them from afar to be sure.

And today, Margaret returned to her side and held Abigail’s hand. Something dark replaced the peace she had earlier. A nightmare. Calista told me she suffered from them. Her face drew up in pain with small hands twitching by her sides. I wondered what she saw behind her eyelids, what tormented her. If I touched Abigail now, would I feel the same connection or was that bond lost years ago? Were my feelings for her an act of chance or would she mean so much more to me than even I could fathom?

A scream erupted from her. One like Margaret’s that my prayers never relieved me of. Abigail’s cut me to the core and shredded me. She was too innocent to know this kind of fear. I didn’t tell my body to move, but I was closer, desperate to hold her, take her from the cruel shackles of her mind. Holding Abigail down took Margaret’s focus off me gripping the bed rail.

Margaret glanced over her shoulder and snapped, “Make yourself useful and get her parents.”

Abigail focused beyond Margaret to me, scanning up my body. I knew I had stayed too long; I had made my presence known. After twenty years of painful avoidance, I screwed it up the first time I had to protect her. Locked in place, her eyes mesmerized me. Long, thick lashes beat against her cheeks. Two warm chocolate pools that were big and round gave her a child-like quality. Eyes that I could look into for eternity. Beautiful.

Her gaze collided with mine and it was as though she saw through me, my secrets, what I was. The pull between us was tangible, like gravity on Earth, and I knew this wasn’t chance. Abigail belonged to me and I to her. It was a knowledge in my soul that had been there and I foolishly had denied myself.

Nothing could come of this. She was human and I wasn’t. Spinning, I left, wanting to do anything but leave.

“Wa…wait.” Deep, phlegmy coughs came from her. “Ple…ase!” She struggled to speak. “Na…me.” Her voice cut off from more coughing.

It was an act of Heaven tearing me from that room. Tearing me away from Abigail.

3

Cresil

Legs pumped under me, driving me faster and farther away from that little house. The only sounds were the foreign breaths of the human I possessed and tattered laces as they struck the worn leather of his boots. The lamps above cast a lone shadow onto the ground and I waited for more to join it. I waited for the pain that was to come without warning.

A laugh bubbled up my throat thinking about the look on Astaroth’s face. My prince was clueless as to why I had returned, believing I was merely on Earth to rip the innocence away from those that held it as precious as air. He would be forced to acknowledge me as an equal, sitting next to me, instead of looking down upon his lowly subject. Finally, I would have my day by the Dark King’s side. I would prove to the High Court that a lord was capable of feats that brought Heaven to its knees.

Licking my lips, a metallic tang lingered on my tongue. Margaret’s blood. It had splattered over this borrowed flesh, stained the knuckles as I drove my hand into her face. Threadbare clothes were ripped from where she clawed me. Margaret was a fighter, like my Dark Wavy Curls.

She had begged for mercy. She had pleaded for her child’s life.

Seared into me was the last gulp of air that passed through my Dark Wavy Curls’ throat and under my fingers as the life left her eyes. The ultimate sin of taking from Him. The rats had come as the infant’s life faded within her mother’s dead womb. Another second would have been nice to see the horror on their faces at what I had done.

A hand clamped around my neck, sealing me inside the human as though molten steel had been poured over me and hardened too tight to my body, crushing me. I realized what it was. No soul that I could sense, too pure for something as foul as me. Air rushed by my ears as the hand cinched tighter. My back hit something hard and bricks crumbled to my feet.

“You filth. You foul beast!” The blond rat held me in his tight grip.

His blonde sister growled, “You killed them!”

Their joint light blinded me, burned me with its purity, and drained me of what little energy I had left. “I will be crowned for this. I will be celebrated for her death!”

The female’s blue eyes flashed with all the hatred the Heavens held for me. “I want to be there when the Archangels destroy you!”

“Why aren’t they here?” I hissed.

A low growl emitted from the male.

I laughed. “I can’t wait to tell my Dark King that I alone ruined His precious Design! Generations will pass before He can fix it. And I will return and destroy it again!”

“Calista! Cast him before I kill him!” he implored her.

Calista spat, “Demon Cresil! With the Light of God, I cast you back to Hell!”

The anguish built within me until it erupted from my mouth in a scream. Their light flayed me like acid flowing through my veins, eating away at the delicate tissues until it spilled out through my skin. My soul disjoined from the human, ripping us apart like flesh from my physical body. A force, not of this Earth, propelled me far away.

Landing in a crumpled heap, my entire body shivered with the sins of my soul weighing upon me. My energy had been stripped away. I had to lay here, broken, with a sliver of hope I would please my Dark King. He would make me a prince. I alone would have the glory. I alone would reap the reward of power and dominion.

“Cresil!” I blinked up to Count Zlageth and he grabbed me by the shoulders. “Prince Astaroth summons you.”

My eyes widened in horror and I lost all control of my voice. “Why?”

“He would not say. Is it ever good?” His cackle reverberated against the rocks surrounding us and pinged against my brain like a cymbal. He hauled me up on my useless clawed feet and dragged me to our prince.

Each step closer, each cave we entered, I knew would be my last.

Once we arrived at his throne room, Zlageth dumped me on the ground. “It was nice knowing you, Cresil.” Another cackle echoed within the catacombs, sounding more distant and my heart beat faster. Zlageth had salivated over my province for millennia and he would have it with my destruction. Zlageth would get his wish today.

I pulled myself to a kneeling position. My gaze followed an oozing river of thick black that mixed with sand from an unmoved form in the corner of the chasm. The broken remnants of a drone.

“Do you know why I have summoned you, Cresil?” It wasn’t until Astaroth rose from his throne, did I distinguish his dark demon form from the color and texture of the rocks surrounding us. His dead eyes glared, flashing my reflection back to me.

“No, my Prince.”

His feet clicked along the rocky ground toward me. “Deception will not help you, Cresil! I am the single thing standing between you and Oblivion! The soul. You are fortunate we are the only two aware of its existence.”

My gaze went back to the dead drone.
His spy
.

Astaroth’s chest heaved; the rank breath behind his fangs was cold against my thick hide. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you believe a prince would be stupid enough to trust his subjects? You have a great deal to learn about the High Court, Cresil.”

A foot thrust into my side and I tumbled along the ground. I scrambled back to my knees. “I was coming to tell you, my Prince.”

“LIES! You should have told me long ago of the soul’s existence. How did you know it was on Earth?”

I swallowed past the rows of teeth in my mouth. The truth would spill from my lips either by will or by force. “It is I that conceived it, my Prince.”

His body turned rigid. “Did you destroy it?”

“I believe I have, my Prince.”

His head whipped around and eyes flashed. “You are not certain?”

I hesitated to recount the events. “There were Guardians there.”

“Did you or did you not sense the soul?” he demanded.

“I did, but I killed the mother,” I explained. “The child could not have lived.”

He flung his head back and growled into the acrid air. I cowered farther. “Foolish demon! You underestimate too much! You assume too much! It will be your downfall, Cresil! If our Dark King finds out you failed, it is not only you that will suffer.”

“Yes, my Prince.”

The blade of his staff poked my side, ready to drive it inside me. “I should destroy you for this!”

“Your will is my bidding, my Prince.” I closed my eyes, wondering if he would be merciful and snap my neck or would he make me suffer the slow, torturous death he was known for imparting to his subjects.

Grunts and feet shifted around me. “Foolish as you are, you are of use to me.”

The rod in my back eased and I drew in a breath. “Yes, my Prince.”

“Once your energy has replenished, you will return and search for it quietly. We will not tell our Dark King until certainty has been reached. Until we are without doubt the soul is no longer on Earth. Then, we shall announce our victory. We shall reap our reward.”

Ah… Demons were all alike, thirsting for power like rabid beasts. He wanted Azazel’s place next to Lucifer’s throne.

Cold, dead blood seeped around my knees, finally reaching me from the corner of the room. I knew I would suffer the drone’s fate. There would be no “we” or “our.” There would be no reward for me, only Astaroth. This was a stay of execution. If Astaroth was correct and the soul remained on Earth, he would destroy me after I killed the child and reap the reward for himself, leaving just me to dispose of. Clever demon.

“Yes, my Prince.”

4

Abby

My eyes were still locked on the door when Margaret pushed me back down. “When you can talk without losing a lung, I’ll let you go chase after hotties in your backless hospital gown. I’m sure the entire third floor would love to see yours and Victoria’s secrets. Until then, lay down.”

The monitor finally chillaxed and the beeping slowed down. Margaret grumbled something about “horny teenagers” and poured me water from a plastic container by the bed. The icy water slid down my sore throat and it tickled with another cough. My eyes shot back to the door, hoping Hazel Eyes would appear. There was no way he could exist…
right
?

That nightmare had haunted me almost every night since I could remember dreaming. It felt so real, as if I existed there in some alternate universe with the evil and my savior. Just as easily, this reality could be the dream. While the versions had changed over the years, there was always the evil presence, the running, my attack, and him. The beautiful boy. The make out dream session started a few years ago and that was when I fell in love with him—the figment of my imagination, or so I thought until today.

Another coughing fit pulled my eyes off the door and Margaret thought slapping the pneumonia out of me was what I needed. Holding my hand up in a cease-fire, I choked out, “I’m all right, Margaret.”

Five days ago, I woke up with a sniffle. This morning, an uncontrollable cough sent me into an attack and the paramedics came. Nothing new. The neighbors didn’t even bother coming out of their houses anymore.

Born with a congenital heart defect, I had surgery to repair a hole in my heart when I was a couple of days old. My heart was getting weaker, and after five failed attempts at implanting a pacemaker, there was a heart transplant somewhere in my future. With only one blood type to match mine, the odds of getting one when mine finally gave out weren’t good.

Around Margaret’s toffee colored finger, a silver ring spun—her nervous tick. The ring had two opposing hearts connected toward their tail ends sprinkled in diamonds. I didn’t know where the ring came from; Margaret wasn’t forthcoming about her past.

My parents hired Margaret after my heart surgery. Not knowing how to care for a young baby in such poor health, the stress was too much for them to take on themselves. Initially hired as my nanny, Margaret now cared for my twin sisters, my parents, the dog, the household, and me. Margaret was indispensable. Margaret was part of the family, like my second mom. She was one of the Millers.

My parents rushed into the room with their eyes wide and mouths open. I could tell they had fallen asleep in the waiting room. Dad’s cropped blond hair was bent to one side and his shirt had imprinted on Mom’s temple. Margaret probably sent them out after their pacing had driven her to the brink of insanity. Margaret was the voice of reason and calm, but the woman had her limits. I appreciated how she handled my parents; they took my heart condition worse than I did.

Dad’s watery eyes blinked while he scanned the monitors to read the numbers. In his presence, I felt more fragile if that were possible. He was so gentle with me as if I would break in his large hands, and him crying was a big deal. More than likely, Mom’s nails were leaving imprints in his muscular arm, but he wouldn’t pull away from her. Dad would stand there until she was ready to let go. They were predictable and I loved them for it.

She managed to squeak out, “How are you, Abby?” Until my answer, she would cling to Dad.

“I’m okay, Mom, really. I need a minute and maybe juice and tissues, please?”

Margaret’s dark curls bounced behind her as she left to get a juice box, which she knew was down the hall, next to the nurses’ station. Mom relaxed, finally releasing Dad and they hauled two chairs over to the side of the bed. I blew my raw and red nose; unfortunately, the medicinal smell of the hospital wafted up through my now clear sinuses. Mom picked up my hand, stroking the back of it. Her blue eyes were puffy and I felt guilty that she had been crying all day.

She gave me a tired smile. “Dr. Joe will be in here soon.”

“Did you see anything cool? No light this time, right?” Dad’s pale brows pinched together, waiting for my response.

My nightmare made everyone uncomfortable, so I didn’t talk about it anymore. When I was younger, I used to tell them about the evil thing chasing me and the light. It seemed like the “light” comment freaked them out the most. Dad always asked me though, making sure I didn’t ever go near the light again.

“No, Dad, no light. But I did dream Gino’s was out of barbecue pizza.”

He cringed. “That would make me wake up screaming, too.” The cringe morphed into a smile as he brushed back my hair.

Margaret stepped in with my apple juice. “Here ya go, baby girl.”

I didn’t mind the nickname; Margaret didn’t have children of her own and it made me feel like I was hers. What I did know about Margaret—that I wished I didn’t—was she never missed an episode of
Young and the Restless
. She spoke of the characters as if they were a part of her life; I knew more about them than I did Margaret. She had subjected me to years of watching her recorded soaps, but she fast-forwarded over the intimate scenes to “keep my eyes pure.” Years ago, I learned to tune out the show and Margaret’s commentary over who was cheating on, sleeping with, or kidnapping whom.

Dr. Joe breezed in the already cramped room. “Abby, how are you feeling?”

“I feel okay, a little short of breath.” I craned my head to look at him.

Without glancing up from his laptop, he said, “You’re also short of patience and short in general.”

“Nice, good one, Doc. You know the other hospitals don’t treat me like this. Keep it up!”

His shoulders shook with laughter.

Unless he needed to deliver bad news, Dr. Joe wore a smile. A real smile, warm and comforting, not a fake one handed out with medical degrees. He was the rare kind of doctor who would sit on the bed with me and talk, or pick up a crayon and help me color a picture. He never let interns anywhere near me, and if he didn’t recognize the hospital staff, he’d kick them out of my room.

“Dr. Joe, there was a man in here earlier, wearing a cap and mask. What’s his name?” I pleaded.

His eyes shot down and chuckled. “It’s a big hospital, Abby.”

I shifted to face him. “I know, but it was five minutes ago. Could you ask?”

“We had some relief nurses come up from intensive care to help us with our patient load.” He preoccupied his hand with pulling out a pen stuck in his pocket. “I’ll make some inquiries if you like.”

“Abby,” Dad admonished. “Chasing after guys is the last thing you should be doing. You need to focus on getting better.”

Why was everyone treating me like a boy-crazy teen all of a sudden? I opened my mouth to argue, but the damn coughing seized me again. Dr. Joe frowned and slipped the oxygen mask back over my face.

“He’s right, Abby.” Dr. Joe turned toward my parents. “David, Kate. I’m still hopeful a new pacemaker technology will come about that can work for Abby, and why they’ve failed is something we haven’t been able to understand yet. Eventually, we’ll have to put her on the transplant list, but for now, she’s holding okay. We’ll keep her for a couple of days and get this bug in check.” Squeezing my cheek, he flashed a smile.