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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21. Chapter 19

I never thought I'd be able to sleep with Charles in the house, but I'd drifted off pretty easily. I couldn't be asked to relocate Belial to Dad's bed, where he'd been sleeping, so he was lying next to me, still in his long, leather coat.

I sat up slowly, pulling a pair of sweats and a tank top on. I crept downstairs, watching as the grey light danced on the walls. Charles was sitting in Dad's camping chair, with his head bowed and a pistol still in his hand as he slept. An old film showed on TV, as black and white scenes from Schindler's List burst through the static.

Static, but we have cable. It shouldn't be doing that. The thought reached me after swimming through black treacle, sticky and sluggish, as I reached for the door. The lilac warding swirled under my touch, like motor oil on a wet road, before I wrenched the door open.

The snow had fallen, coating everything in white. It looked pristine, and sparkling. It should normally be freezing, but it felt, well, weird. Like temperature didn't exist any more.

The thin cord that was attatched to my back, seemed to relocate to my stomach, and began pulling me forward gently. I was being pulled along the snow, but not forcibly. I was even walking normally, leaving footsteps in the snow. That was another weird thing. I was walking barefoot on the snow, leaving footprints, but without crushing the snow too much. It was like I only weighed an ounce.

Every girl's dream, losing weight that quickly.

The cord tautened, pulling me faster. I was jogging across the snow, as the cord pulled me down streets, around corners, and once it even pulled me over the snow-covered mound that was someone's car.

I'd love to see the owner's face in the morning when they see footsteps running over their car.

The cord stopped, then pulled me again, so I was gliding over the snow. I sank back on my heels, like I was waterskiing over snow. It was quite relaxing, but the thoughts were getting more and more crazy.

Reckon this could be an Olympic sport, snowskiing? Canada would always win.

That was pretty crazy, and funny. I'd win gold, as I invented it.

If the cord was still attatched to your back when you were walking through the streets, what would it look like you were doing?

Ok, my conscience has been taking crack. It was very funny though, and it got me laughing. I was laughing so hard that no sound was coming out, so I was hanging there clapping and looking like a retarded seal. A retarded seal that was waterskiing over snow. That was even more goddamn hilarious.

The cord dragged me round a corner, and I found myself facing a house. An abandoned one at that. The picket fence was still there, as I pushed the gate open. The hinge squeaked a loud "Heee-haaw" noise, like an amused donkey. The lawn was overgrown under the snow, as little clumps of grass poked through, like mange.

There was honeysuckle around the door, flexing on the walls. Old crime-scene tape fluttered over the open door, calming down as I got closer. The honeysuckle was shaking now, like a rattlesnake's rattle, right when it's thinking "I'm wasting my fucking time." and launches itself in to bite.

I knew this house. Don't ask me how, but I did. I'd know what the stairs would sound like when I stood on them, and which room would have a rose-painted crib in it. I'd been here before, ages and ages ago.

There was something in the hall, and blood upon the stair. The thing was dark, and unmoving, and I knew the blood belonged to it.

We lived here? Why didn't Dad tell me we lived here?

I looked down at myself, and saw the rope attatched, clear as crystal. As I looked along it, I saw it disappear into the house. Something nasty was on the other end, and it was slowly pulling me towards it.

 

The light snapped open, as I wrestled with something. The window was open, and the room smelled of mouldy feathers and dead animals. Belial was lying on top of me, as Charles dragged something off me. It frantically flapped its wings, screeching fit to bust. He had it by its feet, then threw it out the window, shutting the window behind it. Belial finally got off me, and I instantly went into spasms.

"Fuck her. Fuck her and all her companions. I didn't think she had...I never thought that angel bitch would send that!" Charles cursed, hauling me onto my bed. I choked at his touch, unable to breath.

"What was...someone sent that?" Belial gasped. "Hey Rio, you were french-kissing an owl. Fucking freaky!"

"That wasn't an owl. That was a dreamstealer. And it was sucking out her breath, imbecile! Go and get a glass of water."

Belial left and came back with it, as Charles tried to regulate my breathing. It wasn't working, until Belial threw it in my face. I gasped, spluttered, then let out a stream of cursing that would make a trooper blush.

"Yep, she's fine." He said.

"No thanks to you. Now go and get something to dry her off with." Charles snapped.

"Don't order me around, fuckbag. I was here first."

"You may have been here first, but I got that thing off her."

Oh the testosterone. I was nearly choking in the stuff. "Goddamn it, fuck you both! Get the fuck out and do something useful. Unload the dishwasher and make me some cocoa, instead of having a testosterone match in my bedroom!"

They fell silent at once, still eager to battle later. At least they shut up for now. "Tell me what that thing was later, but right now, get out!" I snapped, grabbing something next to me and throwing it at them. It turned out to be my pillow, which I only managed to throw a short distance.

They filed out in silence, but the arguing started again on the stairs, Something about it being all someone's fault, and numerous references to putting a bullet in someones head. If the air smelled of anything besides mouldy feathers, it would be the slightly burnt dryness of pure macho.

Jesus, boys! At least they'd gotten it off me, whatever it was.

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