Confronting the Fallen
Read Confronting the Fallen Online
Authors: J. J. Thompson
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #Epic, #Teen & Young Adult, #Coming of Age, #Paranormal & Urban
The
Angelic Wars: Book 1
Confronting
The Fallen
by
J.
J. Thompson
Text
Copyright
©
2014 J. J. Thompson
All
Rights Reserved
For
Kara, Brianna and Alyssa
Our
Future
Table of Contents
1
Chris sat in the corner booth of the restaurant,
sipping his coffee and trying to ignore the conversations he could
hear in the adjacent booths. It had been a long night and he just
wanted to eat his breakfast in peace. But peace was hard to come by
when you are surrounded by early morning commuters eating a hasty
breakfast on the way to work.
He sighed as he speared a piece of bacon and gave
up trying to block out the hum of talk around him. A couple in the
booth to his right were chatting about a police chase the night
before and he suddenly became very attentive.
“Did you hear what they said on the news?”
It was a woman's voice. She sounded excited. “At least three
police cars chased someone through the downtown core.”
It was four cars, Chris said silently.
“And then a foot chase through one of the
big malls. In and out of shops, people screaming, the police waving
guns.”
No one waved a gun, he thought. The cops in this
town are pros. She must think this is the wild west or something.
“They finally cornered the guy in a sports
store,” the woman continued breathlessly.
“So what happened?” asked her male
companion.
Nothing, Chris thought.
“Nothing,” she said. “Somehow
the guy got away. But the police don't know how. They searched the
mall from top to bottom but they didn't find a thing.”
“Great. Another fine job from our boys in
blue.” The man had a sneer in his voice.
Idiot, Chris thought.
“So who was the guy anyway? What did they
want him for?”
“I dunno,” the woman answered. She
sounded frustrated. “The police aren't releasing any details.
Maybe a murderer or a rapist. Could be an escaped prisoner, maybe!
Guess we'll just have to listen to the news until we hear something.
How far can he get in Toronto anyway? We have cops all over the
place.”
The man yawned loudly. “Yeah? You listen to
the news. If it isn't in the paper, it isn't news as far as I'm
concerned.” There was a moment of silence then the man said
“Look at the time! Let's get going. We'll miss the bus.”
Chris listened as the couple stood up and walked
away. He shook his head. No one had respect for the police anymore.
When my parents were growing up, he thought, no one would have spoken
about the men in uniform like that. He sighed again and looked up as
the waitress approached.
“All done, son?” the young woman
asked.
“Almost, ma'am,” Chris answered. “The
eggs were great.”
“Well, aren't you sweet,” she said
with a smile. “It's not often we get teens in here with such
good manners.” She added some coffee to his cup. “You can
pay at the front on your way out.” She smiled again and walked
toward the back of the restaurant.
Chris stretched and dug into his pocket for his
money. He pulled out a few crumpled bills and found a twenty. I'll
leave the waitress the change, he thought. She gave good service.
Besides, I have some food at home. I think.
As he slipped his money back into his pocket,
Chris heard the front door of the restaurant open. He glanced over
and froze. Two men, one wearing a denim jacket, the other wearing a
long leather coat, walked into the room. Both had short, blond hair.
And both had a tattoo on their cheek. Chris couldn't make out what it
was from across the room, but then he didn't have to. He knew it was
a claw.
The two men stood in the doorway and scanned the
room. Chris just sighed and shook his head. “Damn it,” he
muttered and took a sip of his coffee.
He knew they were walking across the room toward
him but he didn't look up. Instead, he finished his bacon and wiped
up the last of his eggs with his final piece of toast. There was a
small pile of baked beans on his plate. He had never cared for beans.
Then he drained his coffee mug, sat back and looked at the men
standing beside the booth.
“What?” he asked harshly.
The two glanced at each other and then the man
wearing denim looked at Chris.
“You're not easy to track down, sonny,”
he said softly.
“Then that should tell you something, yes?”
“Yeah, it tells us you don't want to talk.”
The other man sat down across from Chris. “But you really don't
have any choice.” He put his elbows on the table, folded his
hands and rested his chin on them. “You know what we want. And
you know you only have two options.”
Chris sighed and sat back. He looked up at the man
still standing and then back at the other one. “Why do you want
me so badly? I won't help you; you know that.” He narrowed his
eyes. “And if I have to defend myself, I will. So why risk it?”
The sitting man chuckled. “We know you,
Chris. We know how you think. You wouldn't hurt someone unless you
had to. And we're not giving you an excuse.”
“You can walk out that door, lad,” the
man in denim said. “We won't stop you. But this is our final
offer. Next time, you won't be given an option.”
Chris glared at them. The claw tattoo on their
cheeks sickened him. He had seen it too many times. And he knew what
those who wore it could do. He stared down at his clenched fists. His
hands were shaking with rage. The man sitting across from him lowered
his voice.
“Look, lad, Talon wants you. We could use
your talents. You know what we offer. Wealth, something to belong to,
a home, friends. Everything you haven't had in so long. And all we
ask in return is that you let us study you. Try to duplicate what you
can do.”
Chris looked at the man in surprise. “That's
all?” he asked incredulously.
The man shrugged. “That's all. If we can't
use your talents, that's our loss. But we won't try to force you into
doing anything you don't want to do.” He laid his hands palm up
on the table. “You have my word on it.”
Chris looked at the denim man. One hand was on the
back of the bench that Chris was sitting on. The other was hidden
behind his back. Then he looked at the man across from him. His hands
were still resting palm up on the table. But a small drop of sweat
had appeared at his hairline and was slowly trickling down between
his eyes. He smiled at Chris. “What do you say?” he
asked.
“I say...you're full of crap,” Chris
said quietly and he reached out and touched the man's hand and at the
same time tilted his head back and bumped the arm of the one standing
beside him. The man in leather sat back, his eyes widening, while the
man who was standing started to pull his hand from behind his back.
Then both men collapsed. The head of the sitting man slammed on to
the table. His partner fell into a heap beside Chris's seat. Chris
looked at them both for a moment, threw the twenty on the table then
got up.
He stepped over the body on the floor and pushed
the gun that had dropped from the man's hand under the body as the
people around him reacted. The waitress ran over from another table.
“What happened?” she asked in a panicked voice.
“I don't know!” Chris replied, trying
to sound scared. “They started asking me these weird questions
and then bang! They fell down. You think they're on drugs or what?”
She looked at him and saw what Chris wanted her to
see; a young, frightened boy. Then she reached out and patted his
shoulder. “I don't know, buddy. Someone call 911,” she
shouted as other diners came over to see what had happened.
“I...I don't know C.P.R. Do you?”
Chris asked, looking around at the people standing there. The
waitress knelt down beside the man in denim and touched his throat.
“I do, “ she said. Then she gasped.
“There's no pulse!”
She began pumping on the man's chest and Chris
took advantage of the confusion to slip through the people around him
and quietly left the diner. Outside, he looked around. He didn't spot
anyone but just to be sure, he ducked into the nearest alley and ran
a zigzag route for several blocks in case he was being followed.
After about thirty minutes, he decided that he had gotten away and
headed straight north out of the downtown core.
Well, no more talk, he thought. The door is
finally closed on that route. Now they will try to grab me. He
shrugged. They had their work cut out for them, he thought. He smiled
grimly to himself and kept walking.
He knew that he'd have to find some place private
and soon, before the reaction set in. Several minutes passed and he
found a spot in an alley between two large dumpsters. He squeezed
into the tight space, ignoring the stench of rotting garbage, sat on
the ground with his head between his knees and waited.
Like clockwork, a few minutes later he felt the
nausea well up inside him. He clenched his fists and gritted his
teeth, forcing himself not to vomit. He waited for it to pass. His
head began to pound and his body convulsed violently several times as
great shudders raced through him.
Breathe slowly, he thought. Be calm, clear your
mind.
It did no good. Whenever he used his trick, Chris
reacted like this. He held on with all of his strength and waited it
out.
Finally, he was able to stand up and walk
normally. He knew that home wasn't safe now. Talon had probably been
watching him, waiting to catch him in the open. Now, they'd want him,
badly. So he had to get his stuff and move on. He began to walk
faster, almost running.
Home was a small house, a furnished bungalow, in
the suburbs. Chris had rented it several months back through his
lawyers. None of them had met him. He did all of his business over
the Net. Not a lot of people his age could afford to rent a house, so
he used lawyers as his agents. As long as they were paid on time,
they were happy to work for a faceless recluse.
Chris had read the biography of Howard Hughes a
few years back, which his dad had found a bit amusing, and it had led
him to create an alter-ego named Donald Tyler White. He was a wealthy
eccentric who never met anyone face to face for fear of germs. When
you have the funds, it isn't hard to have a birth certificate and
social insurance number created and just like that, Donald was born.
Old Donny had been very useful, Chris thought. It
was doubtful that even Talon had connected the two of them, so Chris
would do what he had done several times now. He'd grab his things,
use Donald's bank card to get some cash and move to a different part
of town to start over once again. He knew that the money was getting
low. All of it went on the rent for the house, which meant that Chris
usually ate at the local soup kitchen and, once a week, had breakfast
in a diner like he had done that morning.
Chris slowed down and looked around. He was sure
he wasn't being followed, so he hopped on a bus heading north. Faster
than walking, he thought. Taking a cab was too risky. Taxi drivers
remembered things like kids flagging them down and he couldn't risk
it. Besides, money was tight.