Fledgling: Book 1 (Afterlife) (4 page)

“Joya! Joya!” It is young Sadia calling. She sounds lost.
 

Maybe Sadia has been separated from the small group. I know that she is not the one I am sent to protect, but I am not about to let Joya’s friend come under danger. I turn, stepping closer to where I had seen them not long before. My eyes are searching the crowd for the group. Finally my sight falls on Sadia, beside her are the two mothers. She is safe. I see Joya’s mother turn to see why Sadia is calling. After spotting Sadia, her eyes start to search for her daughter. Panic crosses her face.
 

She calls, “Joya! Joya!"

Trepidation begins to rise. She must be here somewhere. My eyes search the crowd. They scan faces upon faces, with each additional one becoming a blur, but still no Joya.
 

I begin to move around to search, and the large crowd hinders me. It is too thick. I can hear the mothers and Sadia still calling out as I press further away, searching. No response. I am starting to panic. Where has she gone? I cannot lose her. She is only a little girl and my first mission.
 

I call out, “Joya! Joya!” My concerns over being noticed vanish as I call louder. “Joya!”

All that I receive for my effort is stares from strangers. My eyes continue to search frantically. I find an alley and stop on the corner. Searching this way is not working. With my back leaning against the cold brick wall, I breathe deeply, trying to think. I still feel panic, but it resides a little, so I continue to breathe. My eyes start to clear from the reduced anxiety and as my body calms. Something twinges from my core. A warm glowing sensation starts to build. Curious, I continue to breathe deeply, feeling the warmth grow. When it consumes my entire midsection, I feel the urge to walk further down the alley. I follow the sensation. By this stage, I do not know where I am, but I don’t care. I just follow the pull. I pass a couple walking hand in hand lost in their personal world.
 

I stop them. “Excuse me.”

They look at me alarmed that a stranger would approach them. Ignoring this, I continue, “Have you seen a little girl pass this way?”

The male looks to be in his twenties. He is freshly shaven and wearing strong cologne that makes my eyes start to water from my sensitive nose. Clearly he is trying to impress his lady. Doing my best to hide my reaction, I look up the alley further, then back at the couple.
 

The young lady is shaking her head and the male answers in a strong English accent. “We haven’t been here very long and haven’t seen anyone else but you.”
 

Not wanting to waste any time, I mutter, “Thanks.” But the warmth is still pulling me down the alley. I continue. I don’t know where the warmth comes from — perhaps it is from the glowing bean that Archangel Michael gave us before our mission. Perhaps, just perhaps, it is Joya’s life essence — a connection to her that helps us find our Innocent if we become separated. I am going to go with this hunch; it makes sense.
 

My feet rush further down the alley. I can no longer hear the desperate cries of Sadia and the mothers, yet I am certain, if my hunch for this alley is correct, they will still be calling. A chilly breeze whips past me. I look at the small amount of sky I can see through the gap between the buildings. The day has turned overcast. How fitting, it is just like the mood.

As I am scurrying further, I feel a sudden urge to stop. When I do, I find myself looking at a rundown door. The paint is peeling off in most places from weather damage, with the external layer lifting. I reach forward and turn the knob. It surprises me when it turns, I don’t know why, but it does. I push it open, and a small squeak escapes the hinges. I grit my teeth and hope that the sound did not alert anyone. Afraid, I remind myself I am no longer human, and I press forward.
 

I close the door behind me. Surprisingly, it does not squeak on the way back into position. My eyes search the entrance. The walls have strips of wallpaper folding toward the floor. Underneath are exposed patches of the original plasterboard. Mould is growing on the fallen wallpaper strips and the wall. To the left is a tight corridor leading to a dingy kitchen in the back. A stale stench hits my nose. Unwashed dishes are piled on the bench. Before the kitchen, doors veer off to the side. They don’t look to be in any better condition than the one at the entrance.
 

To the right of the entrance is a staircase. Torn carpet, with pulls hanging over the stair lips, attempt to cover the wooden steps. Up the top, the protective railing is coming loose and falling to the floor, leaving the edge of the next level exposed to the danger of the ledge.
 

I hear a creaking sound from the level above. I work my way across the entrance, glad that it had remnants of carpet buffing any sound from my heels. I progress up the stairs, trying to step where the nails are secured to stop any creaking from the neglected steps.
 

When I am near the top, a light cough and sniffle sounds from the room on the far left. The door is slightly ajar, so I creep my way to peek through the gap.
 

I hold my breath. Within the crack, I see Joya sitting on the dirty, carpeted floor. Her beautiful, dark-olive face streaked with tears, and puffy red walls surround her chocolate eyes. She looks confused and scared, but for a six-year-old, she is handling it well for the moment, although I think the full reality has not set in.
 

Next to her, I see a movement. I push the door open the slightest bit, praying for no creaks. I breathe out. There wasn’t any, but then I hold my breath again. Sitting beside Joya is another little girl about the same age. This little girl is very pale skinned. Her pale pink dress is dirty, and her curly blonde hair falls matted to her shoulders. Smudges of dirt cover her cheeks, with lines running directly from her eyes, along the inside of her cheeks to her jaw. The two girls are holding hands. They know they are in this together whether they like it or not.
 

Inside of me, the anger is welling. I am supposed to have control over my emotions now I am an angel, but this is not something I have mastered. Objectivity and follow the rules to protect the innocent, is how I am supposed to react now. My anger begins to boil after seeing the girls. I shrug. I guess I have a lot to learn. As I barge into the room, I am no longer worried about being quiet. The two girls glance up in shock.
 

Standing in the middle of the room, I take in the surroundings. Near the two girls, there is a mattress against the wall. It is dirty and sagging in the middle. There are no clean sheets or blankets. In fact, there are no sheets or items of warmth. Above the mattress is an uncovered window. The glass is closed, yet absent of curtains or blinds to keep out the cold air from the outdoors.

I turn my head to the right in time to see a man standing. He is alarmed, but plasters a sneer on his face. He looks me up and down. Yergh!

“Hello gorgeous!” He smiles and shows his astonishingly clean straight teeth. He wears new blue jeans and a black leather jacket. He doesn’t look poor like this house. In truth, if I saw him on the street, he would look like a semi-decent person. It pains me to think this way, knowing what he has done. I am confused. He appears to be in his late twenties.
 

He steps toward me, still wearing that horrid smile. The girls scurry backward near the mattress under the closed window. The man continues my way. I can see on his face that he thinks he can dominate me.

Turning to face him with my feet firmly placed, I ask, “What are you doing with these girls?” Anger is still churning inside of me. The closer he steps in my direction, the more it rises.

He clicks his tongue away from the top of his mouth and scoffs. “Oh, darling. You don’t need to worry your pretty face over them. They are my nieces.”

I can’t believe he is trying to charm me.
 

Yeah, right! Like that’s going to work. I know he lies. This guy is getting on my nerves. I step slightly forward and say, “Of course they are — the family resemblance is so strong.” I shake my head and screw up my face. “Seeing we are telling the truth, let me tell you my truth.” I slowly take a closer step. “I have been sent by Archangel Michael to protect this little girl.” I point at Joya. “The angels foretold that she would become exposed to evil.”

He looks at me like I'm crazy. To be honest, I don’t blame him, but that was my tactic. I step forward. His eyes start to hold some uncertainty.

He laughs, and it sounds a little nervous. “So sweetheart, you’re telling me that you’re an angel?”

I nod.

He slaps his thigh and chokes out a laugh. “Well, would you look at that? You really fill in the cliché of looking like an angel. You may be a little nutty though. Don’t worry, I like them a little on the crazy side.” He winks at me.
 

Grr! He is giving me the creeps. I step closer again and smile sweetly. “Wow, so quick to believe me. I never thought it would be possible.” I make sure I wiggle my hips. “Tell you what, seeing you’re so happy to accept what I am, let me pass on the special message to you from the archangels.” I hold out my hands and step forward. I reach out to place them on his head around the temples.
 

An anxious registration passes across his hazel eyes. He steps back quickly and swipes my hands to the side. He shakes his index finger at me.
 

“Ha, ha, no touching the head, sweetheart. That is only a privilege for people I trust,” he reprimands me while stepping back. He strokes his dark brown hair into place while looking a little jumpy.
 

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Don’t you want your message from the archangels?” I feign innocence. “It is just a simple message.” I take another step forward.
 

He steps back and stands in a defensive mode. “I am starting to think you are a little crazier than my type, so it is time to leave.” He points to the door.
 

I sigh. “I wish it was that simple,” I say, with my expressions turning serious. “But I cannot leave until I have passed on this message.” I take another step forward, closing him into a corner.
 

Panicking, he starts to lash out, throwing a fist at my face. I twist slightly to the side, watching it pass without touching. His mouth drops. It is clear to me already that he is not trained to fight. He throws out a kick from his front. I catch his lower leg and scoop it up, breaking his knee with my other hand in a downward strike. The sound of bones cracking and tendons ripping reach my ears. He screams out in pain and clutches his knee falling to the floor.
 

Now is my opportunity. I am not here to kill, no matter how deviant the person is. I step toward him leaning over the top. My long dark brown hair falls forward, blocking the edges of my view, but I am no longer under threat and neither are the girls. I place my hands on either side of his temples. Ignoring his screaming of pain, I continue. With my fingers touching both sides of his temples, I release the ‘message’ as a white light penetrates from my fingertips and into his temples. He throws his head back to face the ceiling. His eyes are open, and I see them properly for the first time. As the white light passes into his head his eyes play me his life’s story, including what horrible plans he had for the two little girls and many girls following them. I want to be sick at the sight, but I continue passing on the message.
 

My message to this man and many others in the future is a conscience. It doesn’t sound like much. For the people who are honest and live by their conscience, try to imagine living without it for one night and then waking up with it the next day. Imagine the torment that would be faced remembering all the bad things executed for that night. Then once imagined, picture what it would be like for a person who has lived without their conscious for a very long time then suddenly given one. They can still remember all the horrible things they have done, when they didn't have one. If envisioned correctly, it would be understood why being given a conscious is such a burden.
 

After the white light fades and unforgivable parts of his life have passed before my eyes, I release my hands. I back away and look at his face. He is spooked. I rummage through his pockets quickly for his phone and dial the emergency hotline, calling him an ambulance. I place his phone back in his pocket and see he is not moving. Yes, his leg would be in excruciating pain, but the look on his face says he is not going anywhere soon. The torment is eating him internally. This look concerns me. It is making me feel queasy and unsettled. I saw all he did in his past along with his plans for the future. I would agree one hundred percent he used to desire evil, but I still saw some good. Perhaps, given the correct guidance, he may have changed.
 

I cast him one final glance and turn to the girls. I give them both a cuddle. I pull back with one on each side of me and look them in the eyes. “I am taking you back to your families girls.” I smile. Joya looks relieved, and the other young girl lets a few happy tears run down her face. She throws her arms around me again. When she releases me, I ask, “How long have you been here?”

“Three sleeps,” she croaks. Her blue eyes are hopeful.

A mixture of sadness and happiness floods through me. “Then let’s get you home. I’m sure your mummy and daddy will be missing you.” I stand and take both girls' hands as we walk down the stairs and out the door.
 

- Chapter Four -