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.


6. Chapter 4

I snapped awake, banging my head on the wall. I'd clearly been asleep for some time, as my alarm clock read that it was 4am. The two halves of the broken pencil rattled in my hand, and a page or two of my notepad, were crumpled, with a harsh line rasping down it.

Dad would be back by now. Go check his room. He'll be there. I forced myself to believe it, when something told me that it wouldn't be true.

I went dream-like into his room, before I noticed that it was empty. The army-grade sheets looked unslept in, and the room was pristine. Mind you, you could always bounce a quarter off his bed, minutes after he got up. It must have been the military background.

He must be downstairs, bandaging himself up. Or he's fallen asleep over the kitchen table again. Go and look, you'll see.

I crept downstairs, moving with difficulty in my crumpled clothes. The place was empty, except me. The heating was on though, which was a plus. At least I wasn't freezing.

He's outside then, fixing the truck. You know he is.

I closed my hand over the chain, sliding it back and pulling the door open. There was a good foot more snow on the ground, pristine and white. At least, the snow over our drive was pristine. Thick tyre prints were scratched into everyone elses, as the last few night-shift workers crawled back home.

Things have gone pear-shaped then. After all, what does he normally do when things go wrong?

He comes to collect me, and we skip town for somewhere new.

Oh, right. Well...maybe he's stuck out in the snow.

There are snow chains in a box under the seat. He'd fix them on, and be home a bit late.

Well that's it then. He's just late.

Four hours late?

Well there's only one explanation. Something's happened to him.

When your conscience agrees with you on the worst possible outcome, you know you're screwed. I slammed the door and ran upstairs, tripping on the top few steps and tangling myself again, before I got to the bathroom.

The retching was slow, and painful; ripping out my insides and tieing them in a knot. Hot, salty tears forced themselves from my eyes, before it finally subsided. I shook all over, feeling foul and greased both inside ond out. Just like that abandoned rubber factory in Baton Rouge, where the angel infestation tipped the vats of melted rubber over the floor.

That was when I sawed one of those motherfuckers in half, as revenge for the rubber incident.

What'cha gonna do now? If he ain't coming back, what happens if something else does?

I don't know, do I? I'll have to find someone else, since Mom's dead and Dad's probably the same way.

And in the meantime?

I'll...I'll restock the first-aid kit, in case he is late. I'll have a shower first, then do the dishes and restock the ammo boxes. Yeah, that'll make it all ok. Just fine and dandy.

So I did.

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