True Intentions (10 page)

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The rest of my week flies by.

Sara reminds me several times a day she's disappointed I won't be here for spring break. She was looking forward to hanging out more outside of school and our volunteer work. I'll miss Sara next week, but I'm not about to let that stop me from fulfilling my dreams of returning home, even if it will only be for seven short days.

I am definitely elated.

I remind myself almost hourly I'll be sitting in Chicago in a few days. I know one thing I have to do: stop by the cemetery and put flowers on my father's and Aiden's graves.

There's so much to do in such a short amount of time. The best part will be hanging out with some of my old friends I haven't talked to since coming out here.

What could be better than going home? Maybe if the Cubbies had opening day the week I'm in Chicago. I don't believe that's the case, but it doesn't matter. I'm going home!

How everything can change in one moment . . . .

On my way home from school, everything changes. My feelings of euphoria are swiftly stomped out, and in its place, a new emotion shines through—
sheer terror.

Chapter Eleven - Torn

Since Sam's encounter with her in the outdoor, teachers' lounge, Ava has made staying away extremely easy. She wants nothing to do with him, and he is free from her attempts at prodding for answers he cannot—
or should not—
provide.

Unable to keep her out of his thoughts for very long, he still watches her from a distance. He's been lucky. She refuses to make eye contact, which helps keep his torn emotions in check. Part of him regrets the way he acted, maybe even feels guilty of the pain he has inflicted with his rudeness. But deep down, he
knows
his actions are only for her benefit.

He doesn't want to feel what he fears he will feel if he lets his guard down. This girl has such a strange power over him. It's ludicrous.

How can a simple, human girl cause so much loss of control?

And why can't he stop thinking of her?

It doesn't make sense. Never, in either of his lives, has he experienced anything that has the slightest resemblance to how he feels about this girl he barely knows. There is something about her that is so breathtaking, and it isn't because of her unique gift.

Maybe it is her beauty, both internal and external, that captivates him beyond his wildest dreams.

Is it the way her pale-green eyes light up when she speaks, or how the softness of her skin felt against his when she kissed him? Either way, this attraction is way too lethal to ignore.

The harder he tries, the more he wants her.

Even his sister, Kate can tell something has been bothering him. She asks every time they see each other.

How can he explain to his sister what he feels for a human girl?

How can he elucidate that he has thrown all their training out the window and didn't destroy a
Mahatma
when he had
such
an easy opportunity?

The worst part would be explaining to Kate the selfishly brutal reasons why their existences may now be compromised—because he lusted over a human. If Lucifer doesn't kill Sam over that, Kate may.

He practices the art of avoidance not only with Ava, but also with Kate's repetitive questions about what's bothering him.

Not realizing the danger he is putting Ava in, he can't stop thinking about her.

He enjoys smelling her hair in English class—knowing she won't dare turn around. He even followed her home one day after school and watched her sitting outside in her grandparents' hot tub. Sam occasionally catches himself fanaticizing about kissing her again, but then quickly dismisses the thought.

To him, she is like the forbidden fruit in his Garden of Eden. If he gave in to his emotions and desire to connect with her in a way that is forbidden, other dark angels will come looking for her, or for both of them for that matter. Sam would be useless in his efforts to protect her from Lucifer. The only way to keep her safe—and alive—is self-sacrifice.

If she is, as the prophecy says, a powerful
Mahatma
who can influence for good instead of evil, she isn't doing a good job. Her influence over him has been anything but good. All she stirs up are emotions he can't control. He has to stay away from her no matter what desires she awakens from their eternal, resting place.

It hasn't been easy, but necessary. He considers other options, such as relocating to make sure he doesn't slip up. If he moves away from her, he can't make sure she stays unnoticed. The thought of her safety being compromised bothers him beyond reason. Sam has unleashed countless numbers of predator types in the two hundred-plus years he has been working for Lucifer. It will be only a matter of time until one of them, another angel of darkness or another angels' predator, find Ava. That possibility— the constant threat of another angel discovering her and aiding in her destruction—makes him stay close enough to watch,
but not touch
.

One of Sam's duties is to report to a correspondent once a month. This correspondent contacts him and arranges a meeting. Sam will then give updates on his recent accomplishments. All the angelic soldiers have to do this for hundreds of years.

Once he proves himself, Sam will most likely end up becoming a correspondent himself.

The correspondents report these updates to Lucifer, and the angels of darkness are occasionally rewarded with extra, materialistic things like new cars or nicer homes.

Typically, they're just given the "keep up the good work" speech. It is not on option to miss a meeting with your correspondent. Even if you've had a slow month, you still need to report such. Although not producing mayhem is pretty hard. Humans are selfish beings by nature. Many lack the right values or virtues and are easy persuaded to follow their selfish motives. How can self-destruction of the human race not be inevitable?

It's Lucifer's wish that his angels also try to convert the others—the "true followers" of God. These are the people who typically follow the rules. The angels are encouraged to tantalize these true followers with temptations so sought after, desire forces them to be emotionally torn between sin and deliverance from moral captivity.

These are the ultimate humans Lucifer desires to control.

Sam struggles with this concept, for that's how he lived as a human before he owed his soul to Lucifer.

To spend eternity in this demonic role and not be tormented by guilt, Sam focuses on transforming those already on their way to damnation. He refuses to pursue anyone who doesn't possess a majority of self-centered values. Since he can sense their underlying self, Sam uses this to his benefit. If he sees their "moral side" outshines their

"sinful side," he leaves them alone. If it is reversed, and the bad has the most control, they're fair game. In his two hundred years of playing this wicked game of cat and mouse, he has only once met a soul who faced his strict rules and didn't give in to temptation. Over the last hundred years, it has become too easy. It would be much more challenging to test the "true followers of God," or at least the people on the edge, but that notion seems unfair. When under stress, mankind is more easily persuaded to follow temptation, and they don't understand the significance of their decisions, especially at a young age like seventeen.

Today, Sam is meeting his correspondent at a local restaurant, The Saddleback Inn. The correspondent is Matthew, a tall, muscular, older angel who is one of the original angels that followed Lucifer away from God. Sam has met with Matthew several times in the past. Usually, they keep their conversation focused on the main topic only and minimize the small talk, but this Friday afternoon is different.

"So, Samuel, long time no see," Matthew says as he sits down at the table Sam has been waiting at for over ten minutes.

"It never bothers me, Matthew. The longer the better as far as I'm concerned."

Sam would rather not have to endure these monthly meetings. The numbers of traitors to God should speak for itself. He shouldn't need supervision to carry out his missions.

Matthew laughs out loud. "You think I wouldn't rather be tantalizing some beautiful broad? Believe me, Samuel, I comply with these meetings to fill our requirements, it's nothing personal."

Matthew pauses then takes a big swig from Sam's water glass before continuing.

"So, fill me in. What have you been up to recently?" he asks.

"I just finished roping in a sexual predator. He attacked one girl thus far and has been working diligently to find an appropriate second victim," Sam admits with a hint of arrogance. His eyes meet Matthew's as he takes another sip of the hot tea he ordered before Matthew's arrival.

Matthew smirks.

"Yeah, I actually met your guy earlier today. Walter is it?" Matthew confesses. He watches Sam closely for his reaction.

Sam removes the hot cup from his lips. "You met him today, huh?" He's baffled why Matthew would go to the trouble of watching or approaching his latest conquest.

It doesn't make much sense.

"Samuel, Samuel . . . ." Matthew mutters. He shakes his head in repugnance. "Did you
honestly
think we wouldn't be unable to detect your emotions toward the young girl? Do you underestimate us that much?"

Young girl?

Is he talking about Ava?

Pure panic fills Sam's veins. It all makes sense now, the pieces of puzzle coming together quickly in his mind. Matthew hadn't approached the predator to check up on him. Matthew sent Walter on a specific mission. He was luring him to intercept Ava and destroy her before she became a more powerful
Mahatma
.

Sam jumps up from his chair and violently throws his cash down on the table to pay for his drink.

"You plan to have that sick, masochistic, psycho torture her, just so you can have her destroyed?"

"Samuel? Once again, it's not personal. It
must
be done, you know that," Matthew explains. He shrugs, and a wicked smile forms across his pallid face.

"No," Sam yells, not caring who may hear. He pushes another table out of his way and runs out the door before Matthew has the chance to respond. But as he gets to his car, he can hear Matthew's laughter echoing outside the restaurant and can easily read by the tone of his laugh that it's
already too late . . . .

Chapter Twelve - Terror

I pull out of the school parking lot with plans to do some shopping down in San Bernardino, mostly for some new clothes to take with me on my flight Saturday. Since I'll be taking off super early Saturday morning, which unbelievably is tomorrow, this afternoon will probably be my only chance to pick up a few new things.

I really don't feel like spending money on new clothes, but I've lost weight since we moved here in February—eight pounds to be exact. Those eight pounds made a huge difference on my 5 6" frame. My favorite jeans are barely staying on my hips. At this rate, I'll end up looking like I belong in a Generation Y, crack gang. I haven't tried to lose weight. But there isn't a large assortment of restaurants in Lake Arrowhead, that's for sure. My family always ate out in Chicago. Mom and I have eaten more home-cooked meals in the last two months in California than in an entire year in Chicago. If there is one thing about eating out in the Midwest, it's the dilemma to find something healthy for you. Of course, Sam trampling on my self-esteem for the last few weeks has been great at stunning my appetite.

My mom offered to go shopping with me after school today, but she has the house closing scheduled for three o'clock. Those things always take forever. I dread the boutiques closing while I'm waiting on her. Plus, I need to explore the area independently since she's buying a house. I'm going to be stuck here for quite a while, so I might as well get used to it.

The weather is gorgeous this afternoon, in the high seventies and not a cloud in the sky. I finally have the nerve to take the Jeep's soft top down and enjoy having a convertible. It's the first time I've been willing to give it a try, and luckily, I find it is a lot easier than I had anticipated. A few unzips, and I am ready to rock and roll. Though putting the top back on looks like it may be more challenging.

There isn't much breeze today, and the warm mountain air smells of lilacs, grass, and pine needles. Maybe California isn't so bad after all . . . . You would never smell all this in Chicago.

As I head down the mountain, driving around a blind corner, I hastily approach a parked 1980s Class C motor home stopped in the middle of the road. It's blocking most of my lane. I hit my brakes, afraid I'm about to smash into the back end. The RV's flashers are blinking, and a large stick awkwardly props up the rusty hood. There stands a tall, overweight man, looking to be somewhere in his late 20s or 30s, wearing worn jeans, a red and blue flannel, and a grimy, old baseball cap. His hair is unkempt.

Even his facial hair is scruffy. Layers of dirt cover his oily, rough skin. When he hears my brakes squeal, he moves from behind the engine and waves his hands to get my attention. Who knows how long he has been stranded here. The RV looks outdated and in extraordinarily poor condition, and I wonder why he would try to drive this thing very far to begin with.

"Excuse me . . . . M-Miss . . . ." He calls out in a Southern accent. He waves his hands in the air one last time and then walks toward the Jeep.

"Do you have a cell phone that I can use to call a tow truck?" he asks, his voice pleading. There's desperation in his eyes. He continues to walk and steadily lessens the distance between us. I can smell the mixture of beer and sweat radiating from his clothes the closer he gets to the Jeep.

"Ah, yeah, sure . . . you can use my cell," I offer reluctantly. I lean over toward my right side to pull out the cell from the front pocket of my green backpack. It's lying on the passenger seat.

As I reach for the backpack, there's an instant, yet agonizing, sharp pain at the back of my head. Before I have the chance to scream out, my world goes black . . . .

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