I Refuse To Fall, When They Still Exist

Rio has been hunting for angels since she can remember; travelling from state to state since she was born. When a shadowey succubus nearly takes away her breath, she has to fight to survive. And fight off her desires for the mysterious emo kid that helped her out.

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15. Chapter 13

"Holy Shit! Was your Dad a fricking one-man army?" Belial was digging in the ammo crate in Dad's room, whilst I went through the fireproof box.

"No, he was a hunter, like me. And get the hell out of there; that's live ammo!" I ordered, going through the paperwork. Mine and Dad's birth certificates, his and Mom's marriage certificate, my immunization records, and a fat file of records from every school I've been to. The book of contacts was right at the bottom.

"This isn't a real grenade, is it?" Belial asked, holding it up.

"Of course it is. You don't take out a pack of chupacabras with a fake one. And get the fuck out of there, you're not trained to handle it."

"I'm not even gonna bother asking what a chupacabra is. Did your Dad teach you how to use any of this?" He asked, putting it back.

"Most of it. He told me to leave the AK-47 alone though."

"You have an AK-47!"

"Only for emergencies, just like the RPG launcher and the flamethrower. Both of which he told me to leave alone." I flipped through the book, noting some of the contacts. Some of which I recognised, like the landlord of that bar in Seattle, who bred gremlins in his basement. That Californian guy who surfed everyday unless he was too beaten up from dealing with the angels. Mark Agne, in New York City. Raul-Pedro el Santos-Dinero, who kept the chupacabra population down in Chihuahua province. The owner of that nightclub in Jacksonville, Florida, where the strobe lights look like screaming faces when they hit the floor. And the old woman who ran the small occult store 10 miles outside Birmingham, Alabama, who always has exactly what you need in a brown paper bag next to her rocking chair, where the dust always sparkles like Edward Cullen as it drifts in the air, even at night.

"What the fuck is an RPG launcher?" Belial asked.

Have you never played a videogame? "Rocket-propelled grenade launcher. Fucking heavy to lug around, but it can take out 6 angels at once."

"Holy shit." He gasped.

My thoughts exactly. I turned back to the contact book, noticing a small scrap of paper hanging out. I pulled it out, and took a look.

It was in the area, and on the back of a receipt from an occult shop in Penascola, where Dad got a nice chunk of obsidian good for taking down chupacabras. He'd FedExed it out to Raul-Pedro, and gotten a six-pack of ojos de Dios in return. They were still here somewhere, and good for distracting most things. It didn't have Dad's indication system next to it though. A pentagram-style star meant it was safe, and a cross meant it was unsafe except in emergencies. Nothing could mean anything.

I copied it down on a blank bit of paper, then stowed the receipt away. I put Dad's contact book back, alongside the bag of his ashes. I'd set his clothes to soaking in the washing machine, changed the bag of the ancient vacuum cleaner, and gathered all his ashes. It wasn't much, but I wanted him to be buried beside Mom.

"Rio, you've gone all spaced-out again." Belial said, snapping me out of it. I'd been drifting off recently, without Belial to snap me out of it. Mainly because he insisted on going to school, wheeras I couldn't be fucking asked. I'd made a promise to go before the week was out, and so far, it wasn't looking good for me. I could pray for a big snowstorm, but that was all.

"Sorry, just been thinking a lot. You ok with staying back here for a few hours? I gotta go and make a phone call."

"Who you gonna call?" He paused for a second, grinning like a little kid waiting for a prank to go right. "Ghostbusters?" He added.

It was only a matter of time before you made that joke. "I don't know, but expect me back late. After sunset at least."

"What should I do whilst you're gone?"

Why're you asking me? Youre not my fucking servant. "I don't know. Restock the kitchen cupboards, or something useful like that. Make something for when I get back. I'll leave a gun for if something comes knocking, and try not to shoot yourself in the foot."

"I'll do my best." He loaded the words with sarcasm, as I headed downstairs. Did I want to bring a gun, or didn't I? Going armed in public was a bad move, especially when I didn't have any I.D. or a good reason why I had it on me.

I dug in the downstairs ammo crate, picking out the switchblade. With a soft snick, the suicide spring released the blade. A wide stripe of silver loaded along the flat of the stilletto blade, was a good thing to have. It'll stop most things cold, without disturbing the balance. I could explain it better than a firearm aswell, and maybe talk myself out of getting detained. I snapped the blade back, then stowed it in my pocket. The nearest payphone wasn't too far from here.

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