Earth Angel (The Kamlyn Paige Novels) (3 page)

“Sometimes I
wish I lived in an Airstream, homemade curtains, live just like a gypsy.”

– Miranda
Lambert

It was just
another typical day in Northwest Indiana as far as I was concerned. The sun
shone brightly and the air was crisp with the smell of fall. My son and I were
at the park down the street from our home, playing on the swing set.

“Higher, Mom,
higher!” Danny shouted in between giggles.

His curly blonde
hair flowed back and forth with each push and his cheeks turned rosy red from
the cool breeze. Without warning, Danny planted his feel firmly down, dragging
his new shoes through the dirt covering the ground beneath the swings. It’s too
hard to try to get kids to keep their shoes clean so I don’t even bother. I’d
just have to buy new ones when he grew out of these next month anyway, I
thought. I stopped and turned, listening to the sound of the dry leaves crunching
beneath my feet as I waited to see what Danny would play on next. Instead of
running over to the slide like any other kid would have done, he ran straight
over to me and hugged me tightly around the waist.

“I love you, Mommy,”
Danny said in his sweet, angelic voice.

I smiled down at
him as happiness and content spread through me.

“I love you too,
sweetie.”

*

My cell phone blasted out the latest Carrie
Underwood song and I reluctantly opened my eyes. The cracked brown ceiling of
the motel brought me back to reality and I picked up my phone from the bedside
table. I stared at the bright screen through squinted eyes and saw the familiar
picture of my best friend glaring back at me.

“Hi, Kamlyn,” Cara said in a voice too cheerful for
how early it was. “Your lead is over on the old Kettle Road. When you go around
the big bend heading toward Roosevelt Lake there should be a two story house
with a wraparound porch.”

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, trying
to wake myself up enough to remember everything she was telling me. The window
next to the bed had the blinds open and I saw that the sun was hiding behind a
blanket of gray clouds again. It was just another day in the state of
Washington. I yawned quietly while she continued to throw information at me at
top speed.

“Mrs. Baker lives there and her husband died
yesterday. The police say he drowned but he was in the living room when it
happened…no water in sight.”

I thanked Cara for her help and got ready to hang
up when I heard her soft voice break the silence again.

“Hey, are you okay? You sound…” Her voice trailed
off.

She didn’t have to finish her sentence. I knew
exactly what she meant.

“I’m okay, really,” I assured her, trying to muster
up some joy in my exhausted voice. “I just had a dream is all.”

I knew Cara well enough to know she was thinking
carefully before she spoke again. I could picture her twirling her hair around
her finger in between sips of coffee at the old wooden table in our kitchen, as
she so often did. She never really knew what to say when the subject of Danny
came up, which was perfect for me because I never really wanted to talk about
what had happened. Cara had been my best friend since the first grade. She was
always there for me when I needed her. When I found out I was pregnant after
graduation, she helped me make the difficult, wonderful decision to be a mom.
And when Rob made me choose between him and my baby, she was there with a tub
of chocolate ice cream and a good cry. She was with me every step of the way
after my parents died. I don’t know how I would have gotten through any of that
if it weren’t for her and her unfailingly positive attitude.

“I think you’d be more upset if you didn’t get to
spend time with him in your dreams,” she said after a while in her most
comforting voice.

Even though it pained me, the more I thought about
it the more I knew she was right. Sometimes all I wanted to do was stay in bed
the entire day just to spend more time with him. I thanked Cara once more for
her help and said I would call her when I got back from Mrs. Baker’s house, but
instead of starting my day I stayed in bed and closed my eyes again. I wasn‘t
planning on falling asleep, just to clear my head, but my exhausted body had
other plans. Before I knew what happened I drifted into a deep sleep and was
back in Indiana, one year ago.

*

Trying to fall asleep, I counted in my head. Cara
had left for the night to stay at her boyfriend’s house. She’d met Tom at the
diner she worked at and they were inseparable ever since. I was glad Cara had
found someone who treated her right. She deserved nothing less. He was quite a
bit older than her, but he had his head on straight. I knew if they worked out
in the end, he would be able to take care of her.

Even though she loved spending every extra minute
with Tom, whether she was at his house or he was over at ours, she never felt
comfortable spending the night away from me and Danny. Ever since my parents
died she’d been with me every night, but I finally convinced her we would be
fine. Alone in my dark room, I began to think otherwise. When I was little my
parents allowed me to watch all the horror movies I wanted thinking it would
help me learn to process fear. At the time I wasn’t scared of anything, but
years later I began to feel anxious as I tried to fall asleep. I pictured
frightening things moving around in the dark…watching me.

I counted to a hundred five times before I heard
someone coming up the stairs. The house was fairly old and whenever someone
took a step some floorboard somewhere gave a loud creak. It was an effective
alarm system for me since the tiniest noise woke me up from a dead sleep. Cara
must have changed her mind about staying over at Tom’s house, I thought as I
turned to look at my bedroom door. I hoped they hadn’t had a fight, but I knew
if they had she would want to talk about it with me.

I resumed counting, waiting for the moment Cara
would knock on my door, but I didn’t reach ten before I heard Danny’s piercing
scream. I jumped out of bed and ran as fast as I could into his room. I threw
the door wide open, but was stopped in my tracks. Cowering over my son’s bed
was a dark figure in a long black robe. Its face covered Danny’s while it
emitted a low rattling growl from deep within its throat. Even from the doorway
I could smell its putrid scent of decaying, rotting flesh. The figure raised
its head slowly and stared, freezing me where I stood. Its gray, leathery skin
seemed to glow slightly in the darkness. Black, empty eyes bore straight
through me. Where its pupils should have been, there were tiny yellow
snake-like slits, never moving…continually glaring. Fear spread through every
bone in my body, but everyone knows there is nothing fiercer than a mother
protecting her child.

Without considering the consequences, I picked up a
heavy snow globe on the dresser by the door and ran at the cloaked, haggard
figure screaming as loud as I could. I had never fought someone before, but I
was prepared to do anything for the safety of my son. Before I reached the bed,
it opened its mouth to let out a shrill shriek. An enormous gust of wind circulated
around the room as it screamed louder. I fell to my knees and covered my ears,
trying to block out the horrible, ear splitting sound. The snow globe lay next
to me in pieces on the floor, the glittery water from inside dripping out onto
the carpet. I felt a warm liquid trickle from my ear and run down the side of
my neck as I continued to jam my fingers deep inside them.

As the wind rushed around the room, the figure’s
hood blew off its head. Long, matted black hair flew around in every direction
as it pierced my eardrums. Its teeth were brown and rotting out of its head,
jagged enough to tear through human flesh. It never took its dark, hollow eyes
off of me, until it spun around and jumped through the window next to Danny’s
bed.

I rushed over, but there was nothing except
darkness outside. A sharp pinch on the bottom of my big toe grabbed my
attention from scanning the outdoors below. I lifted my leg up and saw a small
piece of broken glass had sliced through my skin. Pulling the shard out slowly,
I looked over at Danny and saw the covers tangled around his motionless body.

“Danny? Danny, can you hear me?”

Tears filled my eyes as I knelt beside his bed. He
didn’t move or speak. I put my hands on his shoulders to shake him, thinking he
may be in shock, but as I grabbed him I felt a thick warmness cover my fingers.
I hesitated before pulling my hand out from underneath his fragile body, not
wanting to see what covered it. When all I saw was red, a heavy weight set in
on my chest.

*

I sat up quickly, trying to catch my breath. I
looked around the small motel room and decided it was time to get out of bed.
I’d had that dream frequently and I’ve learned that the best way to get past
the feelings it brought up was to start my day. It was almost lunch time and
with my head still spinning with sleepiness, I trudged my way to the bathroom.

Routinely, I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and
stared at myself for a moment in the mirror. I took a deep breath as I forced
myself to focus on my reflection instead of letting my mind run wild with the
images that played in my head. My once bright blue eyes were now dull and gray.
My skin no longer had a warm glow to it. I put great precision into lining my
eyes as I pushed all other thoughts from my head. As hard as this particular
day already was, I knew I had a job to do. I turned away from the mirror and
headed outside. I had a limited amount of time left since I had slept in, so I
picked up a pre-assembled burger from the gas station and headed for Mrs.
Baker’s house.

My old pickup truck roared loudly down the windy
Kettle Road. As I shifted the stubborn gears, I went over in my head everything
I needed for the job and assured myself it was all with me. I took a bite of my
burger and looked out the window. I was in awe with my surroundings. Washington
was a beautiful state with its picturesque mountains and enormous pine trees.
The weather was dismal, giving the overly green wooded area passing by me an
eerie storybook quality. I’d never been somewhere where the sun barely shone,
and yet it was so vibrant in color. The brightly colored moss covered trees
seemed hauntingly unreal. This place might have actually been peaceful for me
if I wasn’t on a hunt.

Turning around the bend in the road, I spotted the
large white house Cara had described earlier. Even though it was clearly very
old and past its prime, it was perfect to me. It exactly the kind of home I had
always pictured myself living in someday. There was something appealing about
living in a house with history. I used to dream of being in the country,
isolated and alone. Not after the things I’ve encountered, though.

I rang the doorbell and after a few moments an
older woman answered. Her eyes were red and puffy, from crying over her
husband’s recent death I assumed.

“Hi, Mrs. Baker. I’m Kamlyn Page. I just moved in
down the road,” I lied with ease. “I wanted to come by and introduce myself and
also express my condolences,” I added as I held out an apple pie I had picked
up from the gas station as well.

“Nice to meet you, dear, and thank you,” she said
as she stepped aside and held her hand out to welcome me in.

As we made our way to the kitchen I stopped to
admire the old photographs that hung on the wall in the hallway. Family history
had become a fascination of mine since my parents passed. I spent many
sleepless nights looking through old photo albums of when my mom and dad were
younger. Mrs. Baker took note of my interest and began to narrate a few of them
to me. One was a faded black and white photo of a man standing by a flowing
river with a giant grin on his face. He was holding a large fish upside down
while tucking the thumb of his other hand underneath his suspenders.

“That was Michael’s father. He helped build the
Grand Coulee Dam in the 1940’s,” she said with pride, clearly enjoying the
chance to show off her knowledge of her and her husband’s genealogy.

“That’s very fascinating,” I said as I followed her
into the kitchen.

We sat down on the stools placed around the wooden
island in the center of the room. Cutting into the juicy pie, I asked Mrs.
Baker about her husband. She seemed relieved someone wanted to hear what her
husband was like when he was alive instead of only wanting to know about his
death. For two hours we laughed over old stories. I ate three pieces of pie and
when I was finished my plate was stained with the red apple filling. We both
stared down in silence, consumed for a moment in our own thoughts. Realizing
how much time had gone by already, I mustered up the nerve to ask about
Michael’s death.

“I don’t know what happened,” she admitted with
genuine confusion. “I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I heard him
gasping for air. By the time I got to the living room, he was on the floor.”
She lowered her head to stare back into her partially eaten slice of pie.

“I’m so sorry. Was it a heart attack?”

 I hoped the painful subject wouldn’t cause her to
have a break down. For weeks after Danny’s death, if anyone asked how it happened
I would cry hysterically. I’d known how uncomfortable it made people, but I
couldn’t help being overwhelmed by the pain of it all. But I knew that after
seeing me in tears they wouldn’t pursue an explanation anymore. What was I
supposed to say? Even
I
had no clue who’d taken my son from me at the
time. And if I had told them what I’d seen, they probably would have had me
locked up in an asylum.