Knight Angels: Book of Love (Book One)

  Knight Angels

  Book of Love

  . . .

  By Abra Ebner

  . . .

  Published by Abra Ebner at Smashwords

  Copyright © 2010 Abra Ebner

  . . .

  Life is the only drug we need.

  It is better to feel the intensity of emotion,

  than nothing at all...

  It’s the only life we’ve got.

  . . .

  Killing Truth

  By Tessa Rei

  Your face blinds me from the truth that fallows

  That retched, annoying, nagging truth that swallows

  Swallows me whole in its dark mouth as I fighting for air

  Searching everywhere for the way out but finding it nowhere,

  Blind in this colorless monster of guilt I see your face

  Pulling myself closer to you as I pick up this shameful pace

  I’m in this lonely pit with or without you, and there is no sound

  Only this shit in my blasted head spinning all around

  I call out to you; oh please can you hear me?

  Echoes in this darkness are all I hear, nothing is what I see…

  Placing my hands in front of me to brace my fall

  Calling out to you again but hearing nothing at all

  I scream as long as these lungs will hold this breath

  Feeling something beneath me break, I’m falling closer to death

  I will remain here dying until I find you

  This truth is killing me, why? What will I—or can I do?

  As my last breath escapes me there is a comforting voice

  Hello… its you… now you have left me with no choice

  I cry out quietly for you once more

  Opening my eyes I can see you more colorful than before…

  . . .

  : Diary of Jane Taylor :

  When I think of death, I don’t see what everyone else does. There’s a soft whisper when you find it, and a voice telling us that it’ll be okay.

  We never die alone, because they are always there watching over us, protecting us, and guiding us. They are silent, like a simple gust of wind; but it is in this wind that our world can change.

  Mine did.

  When the accident happened, and my father died, I was there. I saw them. I can’t remember their faces, but I knew they weren’t human.

  There were two—one was the murderer and one was my knight; I was spared. Ever since, the nightmares of death haunt me.

  Somewhere deep inside, I know that I should be dead.

  Max:

  “Brother!” Erik’s laugh was boisterous—a refreshing, admittedly lively, sound.

  I laughed in return, leaning down to give him a hug.

  “It’s been ten years, Max. What brings you back?” Erik looked into my eyes, his face sallow, aged, and lined with concern.

  “Ten years went by fast,” I remarked.

  He laughed. “Fast for you, perhaps.” He lifted one brow, now dappled with grey. “So tell me, why come back now?” He had a knowing look on his face.

  It was hard to see him like this, and soon he would be gone. Soon, I would have to take him. “Erik, I had to come back.” I avoided his gaze, knowing he saw right through my attempts to evade my reasons.

  Erik was my younger brother whom had survived the slaughter of my family. He survived because I’d given my life to do so. It was that day that changed my fate forever. It was the day I became what I am.

  Erik laughed. “I always knew you would come back. You always do. No matter how hard you try, you cannot forget that little girl, can you?”

  I sighed, thinking of her. “It’s not that, Erik.” I lied, hiding a smile. “And she’s not a little girl anymore,” I added.

  He pointed at me, his hands wrinkled with age. “You cannot fool an old man, Max.” He grunted as he pushed his wheelchair away from the large mahogany desk in the study. “You failed to hide that smile, though you think you did.”

  I let the smirk show. “I’m an old man too, Erik.”

  “Ha!” he hooted, followed by a cough. “But look at you! You’re still seventeen and as handsome as ever. I always hated you for that.”

  “No matter how I look, Erik, I will always be your older brother.” I plucked the picture of my sister-in-law from his desk and looked at it. “Besides, it was I that was jealous of you. You lived a normal life. You got to love, live, and soon…” My voice trailed off, jealous of his eventual death.

  Erik, on the other hand, hated the idea of death. He changed the subject. “You know I hate it when we talk of such things. It makes me feel old.” He rolled his eyes.

  When I died, Erik had a hard time adjusting to the fact that he was aging, while I did not. The day he surpassed me was his worst, but it was one of my worst as well. I knew that one day he would be gone, and I would be alone, at least emotionally. He rolled over to me and took the picture from my hand.

  “Meredith, my love,” he whispered.

  I watched him stare at her image, his eyes filled with an emotion I finally understood. “She was wonderful, Erik. Like a sister and a mother to me.” Her laughter resonated in my head, warming my silent heart.

  Erik laughed. “First a sister, and then a mother as she grew old, right?”

  I smirked. “Something like that.”

  I felt the presence of our real mother enter the room then, like a breath of life. I smiled. I could always feel her, but I was never allowed to see or hear her. It was the cruel torture I was put through being as I was, stuck somewhere between the two worlds, shut out from the thrill of feeling their reach.

  Erik’s face sank. “Have you seen him at all?”

  I frowned, losing the feeling of my mother as she slipped away at the mention of him. “No. Not for a very long time.”

  Erik smiled. “Do you ever think he’ll come back?”

  I placed the picture of Meredith on the desk. “I want to assume that he won’t, but I don’t think we’re that lucky. We’re never that lucky.” Him was Greg. He was my fraternal twin brother, and in our state, we were bound together in thought and soul, both stuck in the in-between.

  Erik said nothing as he rolled over to a window that looked out from the second story and onto the gardens below. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. I just don’t…” his voice cracked.

  I shut my eyes, feeling his pain and hearing his thoughts. He was afraid of Greg—afraid that he would come for him in the end. “Erik, you know I would never let that happen. You belong with me. I will not let him take your soul. Not there.” Greg’s world was different than mine—darker.

  Erik was again silent, but I could hear the whispers in his mind. “Is that why you came back? To take me?”

  I exhaled slowly. “No, Erik. It’s not your time.” I lied, knowing it was within the coming months. No man should know when that time would come. I wanted him to enjoy what life he had left.

  Erik turned then, a renewed sense of life in his eyes. “I do wish to be with Meredith again, but not yet.” He smiled. “What will you do with your time here? For how long can I expect you’ll stay?”

  His questions were ones I was barely able to ask myself. I did not know how long it would take before I could no longer stand being here, but I needed to try—for her. “I’ll go back to school, I suppose. See how that pans out.”

  Erik let one boisterous laugh leave his lips. “School? My dear brother, just the mention of that word brings chills to my heart. Didn’t get enough before, did you?”

  I laughed. “I realize that your academic experience was anything but enjoyable with all the deaths you endured. You were uprooted and s
cared—I understand. But trust me, Brother, I will be fine. I still have that senior year to finish, even if it is eighty years too late.”

  Erik lifted one brow. “I just hope you’re right. Senior year can be horrid.” His eyes were wide. “Especially these days. Things aren’t like they were eighty years ago.”

  I laughed. “What do you know of high school these days?”

  Erik shrugged. “Enough. Trust me.”

  I looked at my watch. “Speaking of… I’m going to be late.”

  Erik laughed with a cheery smile. “So soon! My, you don’t wallow in the mud do you? I haven’t seen you in decades, and here you are, back as though nothing has changed!”

  I shrugged. “I have a long life ahead of me, Brother, and I don’t want to waste it.”

  Sarah:

  “Jane. Emily!” I slammed the cup of orange juice down on the counter. “Jane! Emily! Hurry up!” I looked at my watch. It was already 7:53 and I was late for my shift at the hotel. Being a single mother had never been easy, especially now with two teenage girls.

  I walked across the kitchen and grabbed a dry piece of toast from the toaster and shoved it in my mouth. I never regretted having the girls, but I did regret having them at such a young age. If I’d waited, my husband’s accident would have happened before they were as much as a glimmer in our eye, leaving me with more options. But that wasn’t something to think of—not anymore. My girls were my whole world now, and I loved them no matter what the burden.

  Jane was seventeen, but that’s what made it hard on me. I’d been seventeen when I had her. I saw myself in her eyes. I understood that I was far too young to handle a child. I wished I’d known better.

  “Jane! Get your sister. Let’s get going!” I yelled, crumbs flying from my mouth and onto the tile floor. Since it was their first day, it was important for me to drive them to school. I know it was embarrassing for them, but I needed my few moments to be a mother, and this was one of them.

  Their father, John, had loved them regardless of the age at which we’d had them. The world was fleeting and unpredictable when we were young, and things changed fast. After all, it was the seventies.

  Jane was a surprise, and I remembered the look on John’s face. He was so frightened to have her, but as she grew, she and John forged a bond so strong, it was seemingly unbreakable. Emily, on the other hand—John had distanced himself from her, and I never understood why. There was always guilt in his eyes over the fact, as though the distance was painful to him.

  I was jolted out of my daydreaming as the pounding of footsteps descended the stairs. My pain was replaced by relief. It was their first day, and I was excited to finally have them back at school. At least now I’d know where they were—

  Especially Emily.

  Jane:

  I hated first days. I hated everything. I was tired of the same struggle to make friends, fit in, and make grades.

  I didn’t understand why I felt so lost, or why I felt as though I didn’t belong here anymore. And when I say belong, I mean the fact that I couldn’t shake the dreams of death I had every night, and the foreseen deaths of everyone around me. The nightmares followed me, and I knew it was because I should have died with my father.

  “Jane, make sure your sister gets to all her classes, will you? I don’t have time to worry about her today,” my mother nagged, her hair falling from her lose ponytail. I knew how busy she was, and how hard she tried for us, but we were her choice.

  I looked at my sister as she gave me a glare that reminded me to leave her alone. Today was Emily’s first day in high school. She didn’t need her big sister hanging over her like the overprotective freak that I was.

  “Okay, everyone! Into the car!” My mother ushered us both out the door, handing us each a five dollar bill for lunch.

  It was barely enough to buy a bagel and milk—not that Emily would buy anything anyway. Emily was your typical dark, troubled teen, and a handful at that. Since she was thirteen, I’d relentlessly watched her like a hawk, dragging her from one high school party after the next. She was smart, though, but because we had held her back in elementary school, her advanced sixteen years of age over her fellow fifteen year old peers had added to her unfortunate arrogance.

  I couldn’t help but worry about her. I’d seen the nightmares with her in them. The image of her lying dead like that haunted me—her eyes blank, her body cold. I watched her walk in front of me with the weight of anxiety in my heart. The scary thing was that now, she was in high school, making the task to protect her more of a challenge. The parties would be more accessible, the drugs like candy sold at a corner store, and the boys—

  “Want to give me your five?” She had halted, leaning close to me as we lagged behind Mother. Her dark eyeliner smudged into her eyes, leaving them inked with grey.

  I gave her a disgusted glare, knowing all she wanted to do with it was buy prescription drugs. I rolled my eyes away from her, disgusted that she’d even dare to ask.

  Emily was gorgeous—at least she was under all the makeup. She was tall and thin with long, auburn tresses. She naturally walked like a model, attracting all sorts of attention, but mostly the negative kind.

  “No. You can’t,” I hissed.

  Emily glared, grabbing the handle of the car door and snapping it open.

  I walked around to the other side, taking a deep breath before opening my own door and ruefully climbing in. I’d given up my life to play mother to Emily. My own mother was too overwhelmed with work to notice what really went on. I knew my mother meant well, but it was a burden that had destroyed my life.

  I was tired of it.

  Emily:

  I slammed the car door for dramatic effect, showing Jane that I was pissed at her for refusing to lend me her five. She had plenty of money stashed up somewhere; I knew it. Jane was a goody two shoes, and it was starting to cramp my style. I pouted and looked out the window, hooking my palm under my chin. I saw the cute neighbor boy next door climb into his car, a mischievous thought entering my head.

  I rolled the window down. “Hey, We—es.” I said his name as seductively as I could, and then batted my eyes in my effort to irritate Jane.

  “Emily,” Jane hissed, as she always did.

  She elbowed me, and I let out a low scream, glaring at her.

  “Hi, Wes.” She waved, leaning over my lap, hoping to cover up the embarrassment of what I’d just done.

  Mother glanced at me in the rear view mirror with a look of concern on her face. She was sizing me up, probably wondering what troubled-teen-symptom I was displaying today. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms against my chest. Jane was still lying across my lap, pressing the button on the window to bring it back up. I hated that she treated me like a child. I shut my eyes, trying to forget the headache that had now set in from the exasperated thoughts in Jane’s head.

  Mother spoke then, but not to me—she knew better than to do that. It was a known fact that I never listened, or at least I pretended not to. What she didn’t know was that it didn’t matter if she spoke to me or not, I still knew what she was thinking. “Jane, why didn’t you ever date Wes? He’s a nice boy.”

  I laughed to myself, finding hilarity in the fact that Jane would date anyone at all—her one exception being the fact that she had lost her virginity to Wes this summer, which I knew despite the fact she’d told no one.

  I also knew that she did it out of pity, and now regretted it. She knew Wes loved her, and for what ever reason she’d given in, even if it hadn’t exactly been what she wanted. That was her one and only romantic encounter to date—pathetic.

  Jane was a history geek, and though she had good looks, she never put them to good use. She’d been this way ever since our father died—large grandma sweaters and baggy jeans, frazzled hair with a whole mess of split ends. Her skin was pale because she refused to go outside unless it was to snowboard, which she’s unsure if she’ll get the chance to do this year with me cramping her style. She thinks
I’m too young to know what life is all about, but she doesn’t know what I can hear. Besides, I’m only a year behind her in age, just not in school. There were two things I knew for certain:

  Something about me is different, and freshman year is going to suck.

  Jane:

  I hated when Mother said that to me, as if I hadn’t already told her why I hadn’t dated Wes. I liked Wes, sure; as a friend. We had been friends since we were babies. He was practically a brother to me. Wes was the only person that seemed to understand all I’d gone through and the responsibilities of my burdens. Sure, we had tried to be together, but it was awkward. I’d lost my virginity to him after all, but it didn’t feel right for me. There was no emotion, no great ta da. Besides, I didn’t have the time for a boyfriend.

  “She’s afraid that if she dates him, he’ll end up dead like father,” Emily teased in a childish voice.

  I felt the car rattle as she said it, my mother tapping the breaks in both shock and sadness. Emily often referenced my father’s death that way, as though it wasn’t her father at all. She was too young to remember, but not me. I remembered everything. He had been my best friend—my only friend.

  “Emily, please.” My mother’s voice cracked as she said it, suggesting the comment had hurt.

  Emily let an annoyed breath escape her dark crimson lips. “Whatever.”

  I tried to press back the images of my father as they welled up inside me like a nightmare. I wasn’t sure exactly what had happened that night, but I remember what I saw—I saw the fire and the car. I even saw him take his last breath.