Page 66 of Claimed by the Fallen
Zeke dips his head. Mr. C—Joseph walks over to the pizza and claims his own slices. He joins us at the table, claiming the seat on myleft.
The three of us eat in silence for a bit. I chew slowly, making sure I don’t sound like a slob as I devour the delicious pizza. The angels converse politely, belying the hatred I learned their kind has for one another. I don’t doubt their neutrality is for my benefit. The angels even try to draw me into conversation—hoping to get my mind off my missingparents.
Little do they know, my mind is occupied with what I must do tonight. While I wish I could alleviate my guilt and confide in them, I won’t. I sit back, eating in silence, and allow Mr. Cohen and Zeke to attempt to distract me. I smile and nod from time to time, giving them the false sense their efforts are not in vain. When, in reality, that couldn’t be farther from thetruth.
Twenty-Three
All of thelights in the house were turned off hours ago. I’m lying in bed, still in my athletic clothes from the day, and counting each breath as I stare at the alarm clock by my head. It’s almost midnight, and I’m expected to meet my parent’s kidnappers in thirty minutes. I open the most recent message from my mom’s phone, confirming I remember the timecorrectly.
I exhale and try to get control of my nerves. After dinner, the angels and I stayed up watching reruns of a sitcom from the nineties. The guys laughed at the cheesy jokes, and I faked my way through the silly shows; some of the jokes went over my head. Mr. Cohen… I mean, Joseph noticed and teased me about my millennial upbringing, robbing me of knowledge about landlines and dial-upinternet.
In any other situation, I might have enjoyed acting like a normal, non-angelic, teenager with Zeke and Joseph. Both have played roles in my life, and I can’t deny spending time with them feels right—like we are meant to be friends or something. As it is, I won’t be able to enjoy anything until I know my parents are rescued from the demons determined to get tome.
I watch the digital clock change to 12:01 and know it’s time. I can’t delay any longer. As quiet as I can manage, I slide out of my bed. I’d failed to convince the angels to leave me alone at home, so I’m forced to relying on stealth for myescape.
I stand in front of my bedroom window, staring at the dim reflection in the glass. I’ve already lifted the blinds, but I hold my breath and pray the window doesn’t stick as I slide it upward. The sealant makes a sound as it breaks free. I freeze, waiting for one of the angels to burst into myroom.
Nothinghappens.
Not wishing to press my luck, I crawl out onto the roof of the back patio which extends from beneath my window. Careful not to look down, I reach out and grab ahold of the tall oak which is less than two feet from the roof. Once I trust my grip on the branch is firm, I swing the rest of my body toward the tree. My legs wrap around the branch. Now, I’m hanging like asloth.
My heart pounds against my chest. I don’t move as I let the swaying leaves and branches settle after my leap. Again, I wait for either Zeke or Joseph to arrive and investigate the noise. But it seems God is showing me mercy when, once again, no one reacts to myescape.
Emboldened by my success so far, I quickly shimmy towards the tree trunk. I set my foot on a lower branch, then proceed to climb down the tree like I did so many times as a child. I hop down from the last branch, falling three feet, and land in acrouch.
That’s when I hear it: a dogbarking.
I don’t hesitate; I take off running toward the street. I’ve already unlocked the back gate on one of Peri’s potty breaks this evening, so I’m not slowed down. I move, careful to stay in the shadows, until I am four streets away from myhouse.
I duck behind a boat in a stranger’s driveway. I pull out my phone and open a popular ride service app. My fingers fly across the screen as I set my pickup location and request a ride. I chew my lip, watching the screen struggle to load. It’s Friday night, and I suspect there are a lot of people trying to request a ride. I don’t doubt one will load eventually, I just hope that happens before the angels realize I’m gone and come looking for me. I have no idea if the dog I heard barking was Periwinkle—I’d been too scared of being caught to stop and figure out where the noise came from—but the longer the seconds pass where the angels don’t arrive, the more I doubt it washer.
One minute later, after nearly biting my lip off, my ride is confirmed. I wait five more minutes, my adrenaline spiking every time I hear a leaf brush against concrete or a car drive by, before my ridearrives.
I quickly get into the car and confirm with the driver where I want to go. The middle-aged woman doesn’t question the unusual location or the fact I keep looking over my shoulder every two seconds. I wonder how many weirdos she has driven for my sketchy behavior to not bother her. Maybe she thinks I’m drunk. Or maybe she just doesn’tcare.
The ride is silent aside from the upbeat pop music coming through the radio. The driver hums along with the popular tune while my imagination runs wild, wondering what will happen when I walk into the abandoned warehouse. Will my parents be hidden, or will they be there to greet me? Will they be tied up? Will I berestrained?
I rub my clammy hands against my athletic pants. There is no point in worrying about such things. I’ve made my decision, and I am going into the warehouse no matter what. My parents are depending onme.
The next ten minutes fly by, and now I’m standing outside the gates of the abandoned quarry at almost half-past midnight. I made it ontime.
Rocks and sand crunch beneath my feet as I approach the rusted gate. It’s tall, and I’m contemplating how to get inside when I notice a broken padlock and limp chains. Pushing open the gate, I cringe when the metal squeaks. I hadn’t expected to keep my arrival a secret, but I didn’t want to broadcast my presence,either.
Knowing there is no turning back, I straighten my spine and lift my head. I take out my phone and turn on the flashlight. Holding the light out in front of me, I walk forward. I pass buildings of varying sizes and abandoned equipment, but I don’t see anyone. I begin to worry about what will happen if I don’t find the warehouse before the scheduled meeting time when a light flipson.
I jump back and clutch my hand to my chest, startled by the sudden summons. I breathe slowly, trying to settle myself, then I walk towards the beckoning warehouse. As I draw closer, I am able to see faint illumination inside that the grime on the windows had managed toconceal.
The large, metal door swings open. I don’t stop walking. I can’t afford to give myself the chance to second guess myself. I step across the threshold and am proud of myself for not screaming when the door closes behind me. I spin around, but I don’t see anyone. I don’t know who, or what, shut thedoor.
“Hello,Veronica.”
Careful to not make any sudden moves, I slowly turn and look for the source of the scragglyvoice.
There, standing beside what looks like a studio light stand, is a tall, slender man. I blink multiple times, stunned to see the voice of the caller doesn’t belong to a yancor demon like I had believed. The stranger’s brown hair looks oily—like it’s been days since it was washed. But he is wearing a form-fitting black suit. If it wasn’t for the fact we are meeting in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the night, I might have mistaken him for an everyday businessman.
My body tenses as the stranger grins. It isn’t a welcoming expression. If anything, I feel like prey being taunted by a dangerous predator. The man makes a show of glancing at an expensive watch on his wrist. “And right on time, too.” The man’s gritty voice certainly doesn’t match his sleekappearance.
“Where are my parents?” I’m surprised by the strength in my words. They don’t match the cyclone of fear and anxiety circulating throughout mybody.
