Page 1 of Night Blind

Chapter 1 - Train

Crisp air, fresh, swept past dry cheeks, kissed by the dampness of the early morning. The same dampness married the chill in the air, creating infantile ice chips that floated by, touching gently all they came in contact with during the waking of the day. At her feet, leaves, dry from the night before, crunched as she walked. The early morning hours, just before the sun broke over the horizon, had become her favorite thing to take part in to get the day going. The world as she knew it was no more, and this was a new life, a life which didn’t agree with her because the surrounding calmness didn’t match the anger clamoring for release inside her soul.

Behind her, she heard heavy footfalls, intentionally alerting her to the approach of a person who more than likely, she didn’t feel like being troubled by, who also more than likely would expect cordiality, which she also didn’t feel like being troubled doing. Instead of being angry about that as well, she stared at her feet. Boots, leather, slightly discolored at the toes from the early morning dew, were surrounded by leaves that may have fallen yesterday. These were no longer the crunchy leaves, the ones cast down from the tree yesterday, like unwanted tears. The leaves on the top, damp from the morning’s perspiration at trying to come awake, didn’t understand the awareness of being cast aside to make room for the newer, greener foliage. Trees, tall, elegant, and regal, no longer had a use for their protectiveness and tossed them to the ground to protect their roots as branches, round and dense, continued to grow and flourish. Leaves, composted like piles of manure, would feed the grand oaks, being of no further use, and in the Spring, new leaves would grow—green, vibrant, and lovely—while the brown ones withered. It was how she felt, now living on the outside of her cousin Cherry’s life.

She was the leaves, no longer attached to the tree but pushed into the yard to wither and die. Babysitting was the one thing that kept Cherry and her attached, as she’d been an integral part of Naomi’s life in helping to raise the child. Now, Cherry was married to a man who was hands-on in raising his daughter, and she would get invited into the home to share the table or a meal, but she lived outside in the yard. True, her yard had a three-bedroom home that her cousin’s husband had graciously given for her to live and for which she was grateful, but there needed to be more. No matter how hard she tried to be appreciative, each night, as she was alone, the night enclosing the room made her feel like the leaves, lying in waste, rotting away. It created an unspoken anger inside of her soul; an unspoken anger that craved to be heard.

The anger needed to get fed. She needed to work off the anger. The anger needed a home. The anger needed to be targeted. The anger was becoming a silent rage.

“I can hear you walking up,” she mumbled as the footsteps grew nearer.

“I intentionally made a great deal of noise so you would hear me,” the voice said, startling her. It wasn’t Cherry’s husband, Mr. Slow. This was an entirely different animal, and she didn’t like it.

“And what do I owe the honor of a personal visit from…what was your thing…ah yeah, the Archangel?” She said with tight lips. She’d overheard Cherry and Mustang speak of the man after her rescue. This was another man, showing up in her life, planning to give her rules of what she could and could not do. She had no need of him or his handsome face.

“Coffee, conversation, and a thought or two shared between friends,” Gabriel Neary said, watching her eyes.

“We aren’t friends,” Shenita said, facing him. “You gave me a new name Helen McDaniel and an envelope with a few bucks.My life, as I knew, ended abruptly, and I have to start over. Therefore, I find nothing friendly in any of that, kind Sir.”

Gabriel stood his ground, understanding better than most the intricacies of life. He knew death like the back of his hand. He also understood anger and the need to train the emotion to be useful. The Archangel was his handle with the Conclave of Angels, which handled the Southeast Crew of Directions. The Directions all had the operating handles of street signs, whereas the Great Lakes Technicians held the handles of bitter fruits, the Northeast were The Trees, the Midwest had handles of The Storms, and the Western crew was The Horses. Technically, Cherry didn’t belong to him. Cherry was a Fruit, who now belonged to his cousin Michael, who belonged to Cherry as her husband. The woman standing before him was a byproduct of a misfortunate circumstance that needed to be handled before it turned into a force of nature no one could control.

He gave a slight smile and said, “What if I disagree with how wrong you are?”

Shenita, now newly named Helen, felt her anger rising; she wanted to unleash it on him and beat his handsome face until his outer appearance matched the ugliness clamoring inside of her soul. This man had no idea how she felt. This man had no clue what she’d been through, and he had the audacity to stand in front of her and call himself her friend.

“If I weren’t a lady, I probably would say ‘Fuck you and fuck off,’ but now I’m curious about how you feel you and me are friends?” she asked.

“Because Helen, I’m the reason you were found,” he said. “I’m the reason your cousin could get to you as quickly as she did; granted, I wish it could have been faster, but she got there. Second, the life you led before wasn’t much of a life, so don’t look at me as if I took you or The Collector stole you away from yourluxurious home, overflowing social calendar, and the man who was about to ask for your hand in marriage.”

“Oh, nice. That's really nice, Mr. Handsome Life Fixer! How gentlemanly of you to strike a bitch when she’s down,” Shenita said, tightening her lips.

“You’re angry, and you have every right to be, but anger needs a home. Your anger is homeless and on the verge of becoming violent. I’m here to offer an opportunity to train that anger and give it purpose,” Gabriel said. “Also, easy on the foul language. You’re too lovely of a woman to spew such words.”

“Yeah, whatever. What do you mean by purpose?”

“Yes, Helen, you need purpose,” he said. “You also made a promise to those other women that you were coming back for them. You promised to rescue them from that perverted fool who held you all captive. You can’t do that, standing here angry at the world. You need skills. You need to be taught how to maneuver through the anger and put it to use.”

“Train me as what?”

“Train the anger, Helen,” he said, staring into her eyes.

The intensity of the stare sent an icy shiver down her back. The handsome face was a ruse. The man himself, while wrapped in shiny paper under the holiday tree, appeared to be a gift, when in fact he was something else entirely. His eyes were observant and present, yet distant. His gaze was focused, yet dark and warm in the same blinking of an eye. He was a great deal like Mr. Slow, his cousin. They were both closeted sociopaths.

“I’m intrigued,” she said, watching him. “Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

“Coffee works,” he replied, waiting for her next move.

She turned, walking up the stairs to the modular home where she lived alone. The wide decking for the front porch held two chairs with a small table between the Adirondack seats. Occasionally, her cousin Cherry would come to sit a spell,and they would chat here about nothing. The last conversation between them was about making applesauce from the apples on the tree in the yard. Neither of them liked applesauce, but it was easier than trying to speak about what had happened to Shenita in those few days with The Collector. Her hand waved to Gabriel Neary to join her on the porch and to take the extra seat.

Over her shoulder, she asked, “Cream and sugar?”

“Both please,” he said, as she disappeared into the home, returned a moment later with a tray laden with two mugs of steaming hot coffee and two sweet buns. “Thank you.”

“No, I need to thank you, Archangel, for saving my life,” she said. “I need to thank you for giving me an opportunity to live differently, I guess, but I’m lost. I have a part-time job to keep my lights on and to have a bit of food for my table, but the truck I drive is your Uncle Mark’s, which he loaned me, and I’m on the outside, alone.”

“Again, I disagree,” Gabriel replied, “because we are never truly alone. Before, you didn’t work outside of the home; your role was simply to take care of Naomi and Cherry and look after your family. You currently have a job as the bookkeeper for not only Detour’s beauty salon but also Naomi’s dance school. In a couple of days, new classes will begin at the Junior College should you want to get a degree in accounting and maybe a few certifications to make it a permanent career path.”

“True, or I could be trained to kill the bastard who kidnapped me,” she said, looking him in the eye.

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