Page 53 of Hell Breaks Loose

“Who the fuck am I?” I ask, feigning wide-eyed surprise, then dropping straight into the final touch of my persona. Xavier Clive.

“I’m the woman who will have your balls in a jar on my desk if you ever speak to me that way again. And I’ll make you do it yourself.”

9

ANGEL

“Angel, my gift, my godsend. Wake up.”

My eyes snap open.

I’m cold.

But then again, I’ve been cold ever since I can remember.

Not that I can remember much.

The first thing I remember is the cold. Then light. Blinding light.

Then pain. Lancing through my arm, my side.

Darkness came again.

Then more pain, duller this time, masked in a haze of echoing noise. A voice.

When I awoke again, I felt thirsty. I drank the water in the jug beside me. It never occurred to me at the time that someone had to have put it there.

That I should think about those things.

Worry about those things.

After that, I rise. Slowly, so slowly.

Stiffness keeps me from moving much. Until I make it to my feet.

The old shack is nothing much more than a lean to. I leave it behind.

And I start walking.

The mountain road I found in the first hour must lead somewhere. And despite my exhaustion, I feel the need to be somewhere.

To go. Move forward.

To find something.

No idea what that might be…

It’s tied to anger. Rage. An ache in my chest.

So I channel that feeling, those emotions that I have no clue what to do with, into fuel. To take another step on my throbbing feet, wearing the clothes I found by my bed when I woke up.

The next rise seems miles ahead, but I plod on, the fresh mountain air drying my sweat, cooling my skin.

That breeze sings to me through the trees.

Almost reminding me of a voice.

Every time I try to find it, it scampers away into the recesses of my mind. Because something is terribly wrong with my brain.

---