Page 83 of Eyes Like Angel
For weeks, work routine has been recurring, not that I’m whining my ass off—it leverages my advantage to purchase equipment and exchange cash to Saul. Saul was as greedy as I am, but his radar goes off and pretends to be normal. The store he worked at was extremely boring as the locals, his occupation as a cashier never flows through and surpassed his secrecy—twelve dollars per hour wasn’t a full coverage through his finances.
Either he’s going dirty and forgetting his morals, or going home as a loser without a change to spare.
His part and my part we’re widely dissimilar. But we shared a common ground on cold cash and sending souls in the afterlife by our disposable weapons.
Despite of beginning my journey on knowing Eva’s existence, I did what I do to get files on her, by paying Saul upfront, where her favorite spot, her favorite food, her birthday, favorite hobbies and what she does in Divine Miracles Church and what she does before sleeping, regardless I’ve come to known of her case in the after dark when I try to infiltrate the church building one evening after I killed Samantha and her what’s-his-face boy-toy.
Up until now, Saul couldn’t gather sources in regards to a specific subject, rising to quiet wrath, bringing his might not to smash his own laptop and a backed up old computer he bought at the antique store.
I gave him $400 upfront for him to search far and wide on one particular interest of mine.
Eva.
The basics and details on her was diabolically outrageous and…unsettling.
Her records of her previous years in life, from kindergarten to high school, almost seemed like it’s non-existent or printed in the first place, like someone must’ve really despised her and rearranged Eva’s fate to a unlucky one, where they come to terms of recognizing her by the gold“W”embroidered across her chest as she promenaded in Fort Heaven, like she was a ghost being cursed eternally, remaining unseen and neglected.
All I could gather and acknowledged in three facts. Her name is Eva, she’s born here in a quintessential town, and she’s a prestigious nun in an occultist setting where Father Divine preached and gifted hisusefultalents on with a powerof his cherished God, alongside of his loyalty on his supportive massive of God followers. But they weren’t really occult, but I knew how those dedicated disciples—Father Divine’s followers are manually operated.
Three things I knew about Eva? No, it’s not all I collected. I’m sure I was missing one.
A fourth fact I knew was whenever I saw she appeared in a nun outfit to a daily basis, she was often worn with a detailed ornate of a bright and huge golden letter“W”decoratively sown across her chest, unanswered question to what the letter on her chest meant, now knowing her name doesn’t begin with a“W”.
As much as I would like to investigate on the matter, erased in mysterious circumstances, I tend to trench my body and go under the barbed wire in the trenches of someone’s territory; I must operate and function at the spectacle event which demanded my effort as a perfect son.
As I have to do my role, my role to take and risk in a pit of snake and lions and false kings—false gods, I meant.
Eva’s eyes glazed at my back head as I marched in a greater distance, leaving nothing but cold air enveloping me and emptiness, haunting me in ways I hadn’t sensed since I was a teenaged boy.
***
Bjorn ambushed me as we strutted onto the narrowed, darkened hall; Eva’s milk-like shade in her emerald eyes glued on me, following me, even out of sight, like a ghost haunting and spying on me through thin-built barriers, except Eva’s no ghost, but her attentive gaze said it all.
Seeing Bjorn in unforeseen circumstances, I’d never thought he’d materialized. Bjorn standing behind us was nerve-wracking, not in my cards for today. To think Bjorn was born into slamming doors after seeing me entering the area. Now he’s doing a complete opposite.
I didn’t like it one bit.
“Mom’s been looking for you to unload cans and water bottles,” he prompted curtly. “Anyhow, what the hell were you doing with the nun?”
Naturally, I scoffed. “My personal life has nothing to do with yours. Don’t you have errands to do for the Boss?”
Boss is a default nickname I labeled for Dad. Boss at work, boss at home; it’s a ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir’. Not using ‘I, me, myself’, it’s ‘we,usandour’. My life was like a dystopian novel, and I’m trapped—born into it.
“Mom’s been looking for you to unload cans and water bottles,” he repeated, nostrils flared like some fucking bulldozer.
“Don’t you have something else to do?” I pressed on.
“Dad was looking for you and Mom was panicking,” Bjorn retorted. “Didn’t you remember what she said this morning? Mom told us not to fuck around.”
Scoffing, I found his attitude change to his sudden alpha mode hilarious and stagey. Ah, if he were like this to Romano, I’d better laugh at something the whole day. “What for, something to shit on? Look, whatever it is you’re trying to do; I don’t appreciate how you interrupted me. Why don’t you go kick rocks or something?”
“This job is important to us,” he reminded.
“If that helps you sleep at night,” I remarked, bemused, feigning my annoyance down in the hole. “Being a diligent professional you are, I’m surprised you haven’t got yourself a girlfriend or a loyal dog from all the stress you’ve projected.”
The wall banged. Bjorn’s hand slapped, summoning the screeching echoes and the statuettes on a gothic ornamented shelf inched its movement. “Fucking hell, Adrian,” he seethed. “I’m warning you. Just because you fled off elsewhere doesn’t mean you’re dismissed. Seriously, you’re giving everyone a headache. No one needs that right now. Dad’s trying to perfectthe event he’s establishing at this moment. The moment you’ll put your foot out, everything will set loose and they’re going to be mad at you again.”
Rolling my eyes, I supposed I couldn’t—didn’t tell anyone about Eva, nor I wasn’t planning to. My personal life was my own; none of them need to indulge themselves as if they own me—I’m not a dog on a tough leash, and if I were a dog, I’d be untamed on chewing their heads or gnaw their faces off, blood splashing everywhere like candied juice, and be loyal to one owner. She might be in huge trouble if I mention her name, dragging to her a bad light will make things worse. I doubted she wants a turmoil spilling over her head and shoulders, or carried the heavier burdens.
