Page 43 of Dark Angel

"Pathetic," one of them sneers. "You're such a pussy."

As abruptly as it began, the scene shifts again. Jaden stumbles into a kitchen, injured and bleeding, his face a mask of raw anguish. A woman appears, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she takes in his disheveled state.

"Look at you," she says coldly. "What happened this time?"

"Mom. . . I. . ." Jaden hesitates, tears streaming down his battered face. "I was raped. . . .”

My heart positively ruptures at the agony consuming this broken boy. She hands him a towel, her voice dripping with cold disdain. “Don’t get blood on the floor. You mean you were beat up in the locker room.” Her dismissive words slash through the air, echoing with cruel indifference. Her arms fold across her chest, a barrier of unyielding indifference to her son's pain. I want to scream at her, shake her for her callousness. What kind of mother does this to her child?

“Mom, please. . .” Jaden's voice breaks, quivering with the unbearable weight of pain and betrayal. Tears streak his battered face, pleading for compassion that won't come.

'Enough!' Her voice is a whip, snapping with finality. “Maybe now you’ll start acting like a man. You will never speak of this again, do you understand me?” The harshness in her tone is like a death knell to any hope of empathy.

Jaden nods, a silent, defeated acceptance as his mother coldly orders him around. The heavy burden of shame and despair that settles on his shoulders seeps into my own being, the seed of doubt burrowing deeper.

I watch, my heart pounding, as he struggles to regain composure, his hands shaking as he showers away the blood and tears. His reflection in the mirror transforms, the broken boy morphing into a hardened shell. “Never again,” he whispers, a vow of self-preservation, a fortress built against the world.

In this dream space, I drift towards him, wrapping ethereal arms around his pain-wracked form. “I’ve got you, Jaden,” I chant, though I know it’s just a dream. But it feels profoundly right to offer solace, to share his burden. Agony laces through me, his rage and shame becoming my own as they course through my veins.

“I’ve got you, Jaden.” Pain laces through me as the vision dissolves, sliding me into a dark, encompassing void. I shudder, the icy fingers of this newfound darkness clutching at my heart. I’m in an abyss and sinking deeper into its shadows, compelled by a force beyond my understanding."

25

JADEN

I savor that fleeting moment of perfection each morning, the brief reprieve in the hypnagogic state where reality hasn’t yet infiltrated my mind. It’s a blissful ignorance, a sanctuary from the suffocating anxiety that lurks just beneath the surface. But then reality hits with the soft scent of Rayne, a reminder of last night. She saved me, pulled me back from the edge. That realization freezes me. She's infiltrating my thoughts, my defenses. It has to stop.

I watch her sleep, her vulnerability laid bare, stripped of the protective armor she usually wears. The remnants of our encounter linger, and a part of me yearns to claim her again, to lose myself in that insatiable need she ignites within me.

But then, a chilling stillness in her form jolts me from my daze. The physician in me takes over as panic and fear claw at my heart. She's pale, unnaturally so, her skin a ghostly shadow of its vibrant self. Coma. The word echoes in my mind as terror grips me, but I push it aside. Rayne needs me.

I methodically check her vitals, my hands moving with practiced precision even as my mind races. She has no response to pain, and a vacant stare when I check her pupillary reflex. The grim results of the Glasgow Coma Scale confirm my fears. Guilt and terror surge, threatening to overwhelm me. Did I cause this? I lay my hands on her, willing my power to heal her. Nothing happens except my shroud looms, its presence more menacing than ever, but I can’t succumb to it. Not now. Rayne needs me.

I dress mechanically, my actions automatic as I clamp down on the chaos within. There’s no time for my own breakdown. Not when Rayne lies comatose, her fate uncertain. I have to be strong for her, even as doubts and fears assail me. This is not the time for weakness.

Frantically, I dash to my room, grabbing my phone with trembling hands. Next to it lies Aleah's wooden “ticket,” its engraved words almost taunting me with their ominous promise:

. . . Included is your Ticket to Temptation. Keep this on you at all times. There will come a time very soon when Rayne will need what appears to be medical attention. Do not take her to a hospital. There’s a Druid temple in a forest in New Jersey. This ticket and your power will guide you there. Ignore the call at your and Rayne’s peril.

“Fuck!” My mind races as I fire off a text to Elijah, our standby driver.

Have the medivac copter on the helipad in ten minutes.

I'm about to alert the PE team, but my finger hovers over the send button, the desire for privacy wrestling with the need to inform.

Rayne and I are offline dealing with some personal business.

I debate dressing Rayne, but every second counts. Wrapping her in a blanket, I carry her to the helipad. The harsh morning sunlight stabs at my already pounding head. Gently, I place her on the medivac litter, securing her with Elijah's help.

As the helicopter lifts off, bound for a mysterious forest in New Jersey, I'm left to confront the echoing void inside me. The universe is screaming a message loud and clear: attachments bring nothing but pain and loss. And now, I'm teetering on the brink of losing the two people who matter most.

In desperation, I strike a silent bargain with the shroud. "Bring her back to me and I'll surrender. You can have me, just save her.”

The helicopter descends onto a grassy knoll, surrounded by an expansive circular driveway. Before us stands a majestic mansion, its grandeur hinted at by the large wooden door adorned with intricate scrollwork. Engraved above the knocker, the words "Please knock" catch my eye just as the door silently swings open. I barely have time to register the odd shape of the solid brass plate with a hinged ring overlay with a life-sized phallus, curving down to meet the pouting lips of inviting labia.

Greeting us is an elderly gentleman, his attire a throwback to a bygone era. His gray suit, reminiscent of the early 1930s, speaks of a timeless elegance. His age is a mystery, a paradox of graying hair and youthful posture, strength radiating from his stance. His warm, welcoming smile feels like a reunion with a long-lost friend. "Welcome to our home, Jaden," he says, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Then, as if from another world, a spectral figure materializes. She bears a striking resemblance to the woman carved on the wooden Ticket to Temptation. "Welcome to Blackstone Manor.” Even her voice is ethereal. "I am Anais Blackstone but you can call me Nye or Lady B. You are now protected by the Druid gods within our sacred grounds. As the high priestess, I will guide you in harnessing your power." She motions towards the suited man. "Raphael, the manor’s magic keeper, will attend to your earthly needs while I care for our young witch. Give us a few hours, then decide your next steps." With a flourish of her ornate stick, she and Rayne vanish into thin air, leaving me alone with my dilemma and this strange old man.

---