Angel Series Books 1-3 Boxed Set

Varakiana-1

Varakiana

I never knew you could cry your tears dry — a bit like dry heaving after your stomach is well and truly empty — but eventually they stopped flowing, even though I was still sobbing. The pulling sensation in my chest, caused by the sobs, slowly subsided and I was left with a terrible ache in my stomach and chest.

I climbed out of bed, changing into my old clothes as I did so, and headed to the living area. I turned on the television and flicked through the channels — one hundred channels of nothing, unless I thought commercial after commercial telling me to call someone for a good time, or the countless shopping channels, were worth watching.

I threw the remote on the couch and dragged an armchair to the window, so I could sit and watch the lights, and when dawn broke, the sun rise. I let my mind wander and it took me back to the first time I met Danny, in a derelict house. It was after I’d been attacked by some sicko — a vampire as it turned out — and was in excruciating pain. My first reaction was that, being surrounded by a blinding white light, he was an angel. As my vision had improved I thought he was just a man, but my first assessment had been correct. Danny was an angel, and he’d been sent to help me. Only he wasn’t there to help me initially. He’d come to investigate what was going on, as he’d sensed a wrongness in my attacker — he never did tell me what that wrongness was — and found him dead and me alive.

I thought about the daisy chains I’d made from flowers in the garden, and how Danny had turned them into crystal with his breath. I want them back, both of them, on the table, now! I thought to myself. I twisted in the chair to look at the coffee table and they sat side by side in the middle of the table. I smiled. I could bring back everything … could I, would it be possible? I closed my eyes and concentrated really hard, rubbing my temples gently.

“I want him back. Come back to me, Danny,” I said.

There was a shocking pain behind my eyes and I gasped. I heard thunder in the distance. Was that a good sign or a bad sign? It was a few minutes before I could open my eyes because of the blinding pain, and thunder in my ears — the noise made me squeeze my eyes shut even tighter, as though I could somehow block it out. When the pain and thunder suddenly stopped I opened my eyes and looked around. Nothing appeared to have changed. I checked every room — under the bed, in the wardrobe, behind the curtains — and Danny was nowhere to be found.

You can’t bring back the dead, I scolded myself. If it was that easy all the angels would do it. The pain and thunder must have been some sort of backlash for attempting it.

I would have given up everything else, including immortality, to have him back. Freedom wasn’t worth having if you didn’t have a reason to be free.

“They just keep taking and taking until I have nothing left to give!” I yelled.

Who are they? The voice in my head asked.

“God, people, the universe, everything and everyone!” I ranted.

I paced back and forth in front of the window, throwing my hands up in the air every now and again or hitting my thighs.

“It’s not fair.”

Life isn’t fair, the voice replied.

“Shut up!” I yelled. “I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

The sun had come up and I’d missed watching it rise between the buildings and reflecting off them. I checked the time. It was nearly seven. Had my eyes been squeezed shut for nearly two hours? I could have sworn only ten minutes had passed. Would I never be able to judge the passage of time accurately again?

It was all too much for me. I stormed out of the room towards the elevator, forgetting my swipe card.

“Ah, s**t!”

There was no one but me around, no one to see what I was to do. I quickly transported into the room, grabbed the swipe card, credit card and some cash — there were still stores that didn’t accept credit cards — and left the room via the door. It would be hard to explain if I suddenly popped into the hall and one of the housekeeping staff, vacuuming the carpets or dusting, was there.

Peter was not at the front desk. Perhaps it was too early for him or maybe it was his day off. I handed my card to a young woman who could hardly keep her eyes open, smiled and left.

It was surprisingly crisp and fresh outside. The worst of the traffic was yet to come and the air was still relatively clean. I headed towards the small park Danny and I had walked through not that long ago — my heels had sunk into the soft earth — and found the even smaller children’s playground. I sat on a swing and kicked my legs back and forth to get the swing moving. Higher and higher I went, until, at its peak, the swing was almost horizontal.

“Wow, Mum, look at that lady. She can swing really high,” a little boy said in awe. “I wish I could swing that high.”

His mum nodded and steered him towards the roundabout. She seemed a bit concerned about a grown woman swinging so early in the morning, and rightly so. I could’ve been a psycho for all she knew, or high on drugs. Parents have a duty of care to their children! These days you just couldn’t tell, but I kept swinging regardless. If she wanted to stare me down she could. It was nothing compared to what I’d been through — laughable in fact.

When more parents arrived with their children I decided it was time to leave. It hurt too much to see so many happy children and their parents, something I’d never had or would have.

As I was leaving I noticed nearly all of the children were identically clothed, and realised it must be a school day, for they wore school uniforms. Stopping at the park on the way to school must be something of a ritual for them. I felt a pang of jealousy, for this was the childhood I should have had — normal and carefree.

I walked towards the part of the city — the more affordable end of town — that parents frequented when buying things for the family, from clothes and games to books and toiletries. There was bound to be a*****e that opened a little bit earlier to cater for people wanting to make purchases on their way to work. After walking the streets for an hour I found a rather large department store that opened at eight, though it was now almost nine.

What the hell am I doing? I can just make things appear and poof, they’ll be there. Why am I wasting my time? I thought. Because you need to keep busy. If you stop you’ll think about Danny and if you do that you’ll cry again!

I wandered through every floor that might hold something of interest for me, from basic clothing to toiletries and makeup, music and books. I bought for the sake of buying. When I had six bags on each arm I decided enough was enough. I couldn’t possibly carry another thing. I followed the escalators to the ground floor, got my bearings — the hotel was east — and set off.

Every set of traffic lights seemed to be against me. I had to continually stop and wait my turn. At the seventh set of lights a man ran across just as they changed to red and ran smack bang into me, knocking me to the ground, flat on my arse.

I stood up, grumbling about people watching where they were going and started picking up the things that had scattered from my bags. The man stopped to help, apologising profusely about what an i***t he was. Got that straight!

When we both looked up and our eyes met I thought I recognised him, and saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes as well.

“Hel, is that you?”

I felt the blood drain from my face. No one had called me that in years. Not since I’d run away. I studied the face again — a little bit older — weren’t we all — but the features were still the same.

“David?”

“It really is you, Helena, after all these years?”

He didn’t know whether to kiss my cheek, hug me or shake my hand. I was glad my hands were full and held the bags out in front of me to make it awkward for him to hug me or lean in to kiss me. Why the hell would he try to do that anyway?

“I tried to find you for a couple of years,” he said.

“Why would you do that?” I asked dryly.

People were pushing past us, complaining that we should stand to the side to talk and not in the middle of the footpath.

“There’s a coffee shop a couple of doors down. Please, I have a lot of things I need to tell you.”

I tried to look indifferent. “David, what could you possibly say that might interest me?”

“I know what they did to you …”

My mouth dropped open and I quickly shut it again. Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.

“So now you’re looking for absolution?” I asked curtly.

“No. I just want to explain,” he said.

“Fine. I’ll give you ten minutes.”

We walked back up the street to the coffee shop. David ordered a short black for himself and a skinny cap for me, not that I was going to drink it. When the coffees were ready we sat in a booth at the back of the coffee shop, me and my bags on one side, David on the other. Ding, ding, round one.

He sighed and fidgeted with his fingers, not looking at me.

“When you ran away, my parents were devastated. I thought it was because they loved you more than me, and I was glad you were gone at last. I thought things would go back to the way they were before you came, but no, they fostered another girl — a nine year old.”

A cold shiver ran up and down my spine and I tensed, a grimace on my face. That poor kid, I hope she fared better than me.

“They fostered another girl?” I asked through clenched teeth.

David took a sip of his coffee. I drummed my fingers on the table top impatiently.

He set the cup back on the saucer slowly and deliberately, keeping hold of it between his hands, to still them.

“Yeah, only she wasn’t scared of confined spaces like you. She preferred an institution to what my parents put her through.”

I decided to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“It’s okay, Helena, I know everything now. I know why they loved you so much. I know why I was banished to the bungalow.” He was whispering now, staring into this coffee. “I know why you traded the only commodity you had, that you knew you could bargain with, to get me to dance with you.”

“Oh,” I said.

He looked up at me, sadness and regret in this eyes.

“Oh! After what you’ve been through and the way I treated you on top of it, all you can say is oh?”

“What do you want me to say, David?” My voice was hard and cruel, my eyes cold and flat. “How horrible it was, how trapped I felt, how I wished I was dead? The only thing that kept me going was the dancing and if that meant having to trade s*x with you to be able to dance, so be it.”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” he cautioned me.

I looked around. If anyone was listening they weren’t making it obvious. It was he who was feeling guilty. I had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of.

“So what happened to the other girl?”

“Within a month she called the police and then everything came out, including their abuse of you. My parents are in prison now. They’re due to be released in four years’ time. They keep applying for parole and get knocked back every time. She — the girl, she’s in her late teens now — attends every parole hearing and gives a statement on how it affected her life, and continues to do so. She’s a drug addict now, so the panel is very sympathetic to her plight, and I’m glad of that. I don’t want them to release my parents, ever. I don’t know how she has the courage to go there every year and do what she does.” He shook his head. “She’s a strong person, better than me.”

What did he want me to say, that it was okay because he didn’t know what was going on? I couldn’t and I wouldn’t.

“Had it already started when you came to me to dance?” he asked.

“Long before.”