ANGEL

A NOVEL

Book #1 in The Keeper Trilogy

Micaela Mead

ANGEL BY

MICAELA MEAD

~For Arielle~

Table Of Contents

Prologue — pg.7

Part One- Taren: (pg.12)

ONE pg. 14

TWO pg. 26

THREE pg. 36

FOUR pg. 43

FIVE pg. 52

SIX pg. 58

SEVEN pg. 72

EIGHT pg. 81

NINE pg. 88

Part Two- Mark: (pg.98) ONE pg. 100

TWO pg. 109

THREE pg. 119

FOUR pg. 130

FIVE pg. 141

SIX pg. 151

SEVEN pg. 158

EIGHT pg. 168

NINE pg. 174

Part Three- The Dark Triangle: (pg.181) ONE pg. 182 TWO pg. 192

THREE pg. 203

FOUR pg. 215

FIVE pg. 228

SIX pg. 238

SEVEN pg. 247

Part Four- The Final Chapter: (pg.258)

“THE END” pg. 259

“So

We

Pray.

But Lo’

The shadow

Of death

Drifts

Oh

So

Softly; so slowly…

Whispering overhead.

Make no mistake:

It is out for the kill

But this silent calling

Surely will keep me

Safe here in your

Arms. At least for

A brief moment;

Until the dawn,

Swiftly coming

On Velvet wings,

Brings light and

News of eternal

Foes vanquished.

Rise up, O’ Light

Out of the dark!

This world has

Been torn apart.

Broken at its Heart,

The Pains of Evil show.

You and I Must both now Go.”

December,

2008

PROLOGUE

“Alright, I’m going.” Taren leans down and kisses me lightly on the nose. A warm sensation fills my body and my heart expands with my feelings for him.

“Mmm… Call me when you get back. Just to let me know you’ve arrived safely of course…” He smiles. “Will do. Ma’am?” He tips an imaginary hat in my direction and then turns, stumbling lightly out the door. I follow after him for a moment and wave as he gets into his truck and slowly drives away. As I turn and go back into my house, I notice that the dark grey walls somehow seem warm and inviting, as if Taren’s presence simply made the space more accommodating. As I pass through the kitchen, I take a swift glance at the calendar stuck to the fridge by a strangely shaped magnet. Christmas is in three days. I have already purchased Taren’s gifts: a Quiksilver t-shirt and a pair of Jack’s Mannequin concert tickets. I will have to wrap them later… I pull a mug from one of the cupboards and fix myself a cup of hot chocolate, topped of course with a large swirl of whipped cream. As it steams tongues of swirling vapor, I walk slowly into the living room to watch some TV. I sit down on the worn out couch with a faded, golden cover, and lazily flip through the channels with the remote. I catch glimpses of random ads for different hair and skin products as well as many assorted Christmas commercials. Finally, I turn it off for lack of anything good being on. Taren had not said for what reason exactly he would be going, or where; only that he would be in Seattle. I sigh and dreamily lean back, thinking about what reasons he could have for going there. As I make a list in my mind, a soft mewling sound startles me out of my thinking. With an elegant leap, my fluffy kitten Emily scrambles onto the couch beside me. “Hey there, baby girl.” I croon, scratching softly at the backs of her ears. She purrs loudly, a low, rumbling noise coming from deep in her chest. Eventually she curls into a ball and eyes me contentedly as my fingers run across her silky fur. When I stop for a moment to brush my hair behind my ears, Emily sniffs at me grouchily, and turns her head the other way. I pet her softly again, and she scowls at me disapprovingly. “What?” She stares at me dubiously as I scratch at the base of her tail. Finally she blinks and gives up, and a soft purr echoes around the room. I chuckle quietly and slip into a dreamlike state, reviewing memories of times that have long passed. The sound of my mother’s laughter fills my ears and I turn expectantly to see her coming toward me smiling. She holds out her arms and I climb into them gratefully. I lean my small head against her shoulder and she buries her face in my dark, shiny locks. “What shall we do today?” She asks me. “Daddy has to work, so it will be my turn to spend the day with you however you want.” Her smiling eyes find mine and she looks at me expectantly. I smile a wide grin, exposing two missing teeth and a broad gap in my mouth where they should have been. “Beach?” I ask hopefully and my mother chuckles delightedly.

“Beach it is.” She sets me gently on the floor, and my fingers lace through the long and silky carpet. I look up at her. She is beautiful, with long, sweeping hair and delicately graceful movements. Most of all, my mother loves me. I pull myself out of the memory, my good mood slightly clouded. If I didn’t have the memory to prove it, it would be hard to imagine my mother as anything but reserved and unemotional, least of all loving. My fingers automatically stop stroking Emily’s fur and she blinks in complaint. “Sorry.” I mutter as I begin again. I recall another time, this one the polar opposite of my previous memory, and soon enough I am absorbed in reverie. Rain pounds against the window. I look out at the grey and soggy world, and find myself grateful that I am inside next to a warm and efficient heater. I snuggle against it, tucking my small body against its side and letting its sweet warmth spread across my stomach. Somewhere in the house a door slams. I

can hear it reopen and then slam again and I sit up in anticipation. Soon I can hear raised voices and wisps of the conversation float to me. “No, Tom…” and “It’s your fault!” I stand up quietly and walk softly through the house. I stumble once as I run into the edge of the elegant, leather sofa in the parlor, and let out a small squeak of surprise. I instantly pick myself up and tiptoe out into the hallway. Tom is my father’s name, although to me he is always referred to as ‘daddy’, or ‘papa’. I have heard my parents fighting before, and I don’t like it. As I walk out into the hall, I pass by my lovely bedroom. I pause in the doorway and survey the fuchsia walls and rosy pink curtains. My stuffed animals are piled neatly in one corner, and my bed is home to a few more. Upon my floor is scattered a small selection of toys, as the rest of them are safely horded away in my fairy treasure chest. I pause, but only for a moment, knowing that I have somewhere else to be. Standing just outside our family’s large kitchen, I can hear the argument well. “This can’t go on any longer.” My father’s says tiredly, and I can imagine him rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.” My mother’s voice, cold as steel floats out to me, and I step back, startled. I have never in my life heard her address anyone in that manor, least of all my father. “Someone has to change.” I can hear his jaw grind from where I stand, and I detect an edge of annoyance in my father’s voice. “There is nothing to change.” My mother growls fiercely. “It’s always been you, and it always will be!” I stumble away in shock. What is going on here? Why is mother talking that way? As I creep back to the doorway, I can hear some movement from inside. “I’m sorry, Cynthia. Had I known you felt this way, I wouldn’t have allowed this to go on for so long.” My father’s voice is oddly tart, and I frown in confusion. Fairly soon however, my brow un-creases and I relax knowingly. This is the part where they will admit their wrongs, make up, and then invite me to join them in some fun family activity. My ear pressed against the closed door, I wait and wait for the sound of approaching footsteps signaling all is well. They don’t come, and I listen anxiously as my mother consults my father from within. “Do you want to leave, or should I?” Leave? Who’s leaving? Why does anyone have to leave? There is a silence from within, and I am fairly certain that if I were to stand up on my toes and look in through the window, I would see the gears in my father’s head working. “I can leave.” “Are you sure?” There is no concern in my mother’s voice, and I realize it’s almost as if she were making a business deal with my father concerning the house.

“Yes, I will go.” “Three months?” Three months what? “That should be about right.” “We’ll leave after that.” My mother says drily. “I guess I will take that opening in Spokane after all.” “Whatever you want.” “Oh bullsh—

My eyes widen and I immediately jam my fingers into my ears. Is my mother a potty-mouth? I hesitantly pull my fingers from my ears, and instantly my mother’s angry tirade overwhelms my senses. “This has never been about me and what I want! It’s never even been about what’s best for the family! It’s always been about you! You, Tom. You!” The house grows awfully quiet, and my fingers tremble with unease. Finally my father speaks. His voice is sad and hopelessly burdened, and I long to leap into his arms and comfort him. “You are wrong, Cynthia.” I can tell my mother is fuming by the way her rapid and loud breathing echoes enough to reach my ears. I expect another appalling retort, but she surprises me by saying; “What should we tell Bridget?” My heart thrums like a hummingbird on tiny wings, and I can bear the suspense and confusion no longer. Gripping the doorknob with all my might, I give it a vicious turn and tumble into the room. “Tell me what?”

The scene that greets my eyes is like nothing I could have imagined or even tried to prepare for. My father is sitting, his back against the kitchen sink, and his whole body sagging as if too weak to hold itself together. He looks years older and his face withers when he sees me. I step away in shock. My mother looks at me solemnly, and then tears begin to stream down her face. “Oh, baby.” She murmurs helplessly and I forget all that she had said against my dad and pat her back in comfort. “Please don’t cry, mama.” I plead and she looks up at me with watery eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” I want to tell her that she should say those words to dad, and make it all better, but something deep inside me tells me that the wounds that have been caused cannot be so simply healed. This fact realized, the words dissolve on my tongue and I stare solemnly back at her.

“Daddy’s going away now, isn’t he?” My mother looks at me tearfully. “Yes, he is.”

“Is he coming back?” “No, probably not.” My heart sinks.

“No more walks on the beach?” This makes her sob even harder and she buries her face in her hands. I look at her, puzzled and slightly ashamed. “I didn’t mean— “We’ll find a way, pumpkin.” My father says from behind me, a sad smile on his face, and my attention shifts to him. “Well, I could always sneak you away like one of those princesses in your stories… but don’t worry. It will all work out somehow. There will still be beach walks as long as you want them.” “Forever!” I squeal in delight, all memory of previous squalor erased, and my attention recaptured by a different topic. How easy I had been to please. I reflect. The signature trait of any young child…to live in the moment and quickly forget. I smile wryly. Seven years old to be exact…

My father had never followed through on his vow, and there had been no more trips to the shore for beachcombing after my parent’s divorce. I had always waited for him to come and sweep me away as he had said, but that day never came. Finally I grew to accept that he never was coming back, and my father gradually faded into the distance as a figure I would most likely never see again. Life after that was very difficult, considering that my mother abandoned me in a sense after she divorced my father. I learned to live on my own and basically take care of myself, and I have done so ever since. Many years passed, and my salvation finally came in the form of an amazing creature: Taren Aldridge. His perfection never ceases to amaze me, and I always wonder what I did to deserve such a wonderful boyfriend. Needless to say, my best friend Carys Sulivan was the one who helped me through the toughest times, but even she cannot compare to what Taren has done for me. Taren makes me happy just by being around him and he always seems to know how I am feeling. I get a fuzzy feeling in my heart as I think of Taren, and his face fills my mind. All previous thoughts that had me feeling down and disheartened, evaporate like dew touched by the morning sun. I get up from the couch and decide to do something constructive with my time. I shuffle around in my closet for a moment and retrieve two items from its depths. Once I have satisfactorily wrapped Taren’s Christmas presents, I place them beneath the small tree I decorated a week or so earlier with Taren’s help. As I set the package beneath the branches, I breathe in a deep lungful of the glorious scent. Pine… Mmmm. I walk around the house, tidying up random places that need a little care, and then proceed to watch a movie chosen at random. Once Elizabethtown has played to its end, I turn off the TV and sit thoughtfully on the couch. It is just about dark and I have nothing to do. I reach under the couch and pull my battered copy of Pride and Prejudice from the place I set it this morning and begin to read. Time passes quickly as I turn the pages. I sit long into the night, and my stomach remains strangely silent. I will wait for Taren’s call tonight. The phone rings at three in the morning and I look at it with bleary eyes. I don’t remember dozing off, and so I sit up quickly. My book had fallen from my fingers some time during the night and it now lies

bent on its weak spine, slumped miserably on the floor. I stand up swiftly, and leap for the phone. It might be Taren. “Hello?” I can sense Carys’s rapid breathing before she speaks. “It’s Carys.” Her tone spikes adrenaline through my veins. “What’s up?” I ask, nervously praying that her tone is simply stressed. “I— She pauses. “Carys, what is it?” She breathes out a heavy sigh that sets all my senses on acute alarm. “Is Taren there?” She finally asks. “What? No. He… he hasn’t called me yet. Why? Has he called you?” I can’t help but feel a stab of jealousy and betrayal at the thought that he may have called Carys first rather than me, but this unexpected question catches me off guard and I stutter in uncertainty. “Carys, what is this about?” Another long pause. “Carys.” “Bridget, turn on your TV.” She says in a small voice. Though my brow knits together in perplexed anxiety, I move across the room and turn on the TV, the phone clutched tightly in my hand. For a moment it is just static, and then the Headline News blurs to life. “Late last night,” the reporter’s voice floats out to me. “A fatal car accident occurred, here on the Seattle interstate. The accident, occurring when a semi-driver—speculated to have been under the influence—lost control of his vehicle and careened into an oncoming car; was fatal on both counts.” I stare at the screen, confused.

“Why did you…?” I wonder aloud to Carys. Suddenly my head clears. It’s him. The crushed driver was him. I sink to my knees on the carpet, staring numbly at the television screen. My stomach hurts. I think I’m going to be sick.

“Both drivers’ names are currently being withheld until the next of kin can be notified, but I regret to inform the audience of this broadcast that the victim of this accident was no more than seventeen years old.” My breath catches. It could be anybody. I tell myself. It could be anybody.

“I— I saw the car…” she whispers. I look at the screen and my stomach rolls. Anyone could have that model of Ford… I think weakly. “It’s his.” She murmurs softly, confirming my fears. “I know it is.”

“Can I call you back?” I choke out hoarsely to Carys. Without waiting for a reply, I hang up and stand weakly, moving to the garbage can. He can’t be dead. Glancing at the TV, I notice the image of the victim being rolled onto a stretcher and covered in white cloth. Though his face is obscured, I am absolutely sure. My stomach heaves violently and I vomit weakly into the wastebasket nearby. I imagine someone else calling me at three in the morning saying:

“Miss Godfrey, I am sorry to inform you that Taren Aldridge is dead.” The formal way they would say this almost makes me laugh. It hasn’t quite sunk in. Surely he’s not… he can’t possibly be… he’s dead. My mind assures me. I can feel it in my soul. I vomit once more into the trashcan. My hands shaking and clammy, I finally pick the phone up from off the floor and hang it back up on the hook. The reporter’s voice blares on in the background and my ears subconsciously tune them out. A thought forms in my head, and I choke back tears. Taren is dead.

I need to be held. I need to be comforted, I realize. I need my mother. But of course I know she is still in her office. Still working, at this late hour. Working to stay away and apart from me. It’s three in the morning. My mind tells me.

I know. I sigh as my body shakes with denial. He can’t be dead. He just can’t. Brushing tears away, I

streak out into the night. Maybe my mother won’t hold or console me, but I know one person who will have just as hard a time sleeping tonight as I…

I spend the night at Carys’s, crying and feeling my heart break over and over again as I imagine the

last look he shot me before he walked out my door only hours earlier. I remember his smile and then shudder as it’s ripped away and replaced by the pale chalkiness of the just-dead. Closing my eyes, I stare blankly at my lids for a moment before opening my front door once more. Time to get ready for school.

It is morning. Only twelve hours have passed since he got in his car and drove away, but it feels like a lifetime of pain has swept upon me in those few hours. I close the door tiredly. My heart aches as if someone deliberately took a knife to it and cut in the most jagged and painful lines as they could. My whole body feels stiff and numb, and I cling to the fierce hope that somehow this is all a dream. A scary and freakishly warped dream, but still… how can all this really be happening? Taren can’t be dead. As I stumble through the house, I suddenly notice how dark and sinister the house really looks. Nothing about it is pleasant or inviting. I shudder and sink down onto the floor. Spiny pine needles brush my forehead and I look up vaguely. The aromatic Christmas tree sparkles lightly as the tinsel sways in a breeze stirred from my actions. As I stare beneath its branches at the few tiny parcels hiding in its shadow, a single package stares back at me. Suddenly, I remember every important detail about it and I tear into the wrapping paper savagely. Throwing shreds of red and gold paper onto the carpet, I withdraw the set of tickets and the t-shirt. Growling in furious agony, I crumple the paper into a tight ball and hurl it with all my might against the plaster wall. I throw the shirt and tickets savagely into the trash along with the scooped up wad of paper. I can always dig them out and give them away later. They hold nothing but grief and unwanted memories for me now. I shove them deep into the depths of the bin with my toe, and turn away. Tears stream openly down my face, but I cannot stop them now. My whole life has been a mess of change, confusion, and heartbreak, and now even the one thing I thought could last forever; the one thing that made me feel completely whole… has been wrenched away from me as well. Life is all about change. I think bitterly. I sink down against the floor once more, angry tears of pain and loss slipping down onto the carpet. I rub my eyes angrily. None of this should have happened. If only I had gone with him… What would you have done? My mind asks. No. You would only have died too.

At least I’d be with him… Exhausted by overwhelming emotions, I close my eyes. Any day can be better than today. I

attempt to drift off to sleep, clinging desperately to the hope that by some miraculous power this is all some terrible dream. Somehow, when I wake up, Taren will be there. When I open my eyes, Taren will be holding me and will comfort me with his smile. This is nothing but a dream… Although I desperately wish it to be so, I know deep down that it is impossible. My heart knows that he is dead. My soul has accepted it, but that does not make things any less complicated. Pain ripples through me and I close my eyes. Eventually I sink into a fitful sleep, and when I wake up, everything is still the same; broken and irreparable. Gradually, I forget about the tickets and t-shirt in the trash and the garbage collector picks them up. I try to move on with my life, but there is one thing I cannot forget: Taren. People sympathize for me, but they cannot truly know what it’s like. Life goes on, but I don’t forget. Everything changes, but nothing does. Taren is dead, but my mother is the same. Throughout the months, I let it go, but it never fully leaves me. Finally, almost a year later, I catch my first glimpse of hope.