Night

By Elaine Waldron

Adam Snow is a mechanic, works on vehicles for a living, also added to his talents is bookkeeping, when his boss, Ned Thompson, needs his expertise. And though Adam looks perfectly normal, he isn’t. He was born with a gift – or a curse – depending on one’s perspective. Since birth, he’s been able to see what others can’t; something that has plagued him since he was a small child. He just wants to live a normal life; wants to meet a nice girl, settle down and raise a family.
Only he can’t.
His “gift” just keeps getting in the way and changing his plans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elaine Waldron
• Release date: Feb 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458022806

Elaine Waldron

Elaine Waldron began her career as a novelist with Publish America, publishing her first two books with them. Aside from her novels, she has had numerous short stories published in various magazines and anthologies, such as Amazing Journeys and Trail of Indiscretion, winning best story based on cover art for issue #4. She was a newspaper journalist earlier on in her career, but shortly after leaving the newspaper, she began selling her short stories.Her favorite authors are: L.J. Smith, Stephen King, Stephanie Meyer, Jack Engelhard, and John W. Cassell. She enjoys Shakespeare and her favorite poet is Rainer Maria Rilke, and she mostly reads and listens to his works in German.She is an advocate for preserving our planet, believes in God, and recycles. Loves animals and has two cats.

Book preview

Night

Elaine Waldron

Copyright 2009 Sandra Elaine Waldron

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Prologue:

Jack Simmons, a handsome auburn-haired man of thirty-five, and a reasonably successful car salesman, sat on the end edge of the bed watching his wife’s slow but steady breathing, not really noticing the dark shadows moving ever so slowly around the room. Lois was beautiful with her tall, picturesque stature (strongly resembled Nicole Kidman), long golden locks and blue eyes that could melt any man’s heart. Still, she was intelligent and always kind and considerate, and she never complained (which bugged him more than he wanted to admit) when he came in late, which was often as he worked overtime almost every night, trying to keep their middle-class home with its two-car garage and healthy checking and savings accounts in the local Bank of America. Plus, she had given him a beautiful daughter by the name of Betsy Jane, named after his mother. Betsy Jane had received his hair color and green eyes. She was now five and starting kindergarten.

In spite of what many would consider his good fortune, as of late, Jack could not help but harbor a haunting sense of hopelessness and helplessness and believed himself a total failure.

His wife wasn’t happy.

He just knew it. His eyes were constantly on her when they were together in public and around friends; he watched her every gesture and move, every word spoken around the opposite sex, even around Joe Daniel his best friend since third grade. Though she vehemently denied the fact that she was unhappy, said she had everything she could ever hope or ask for, something inside his head told him she was lying. There was that constant nagging voice in his head that told him she was cheating, that she was being unfaithful, that all was too good to be true, and that was something his father had always preached. If something seems too good to be true, Jack. Then it isn’t true!

He’d taken to drinking the last few months, heavily; something he’d promised himself all his life that he’d never do, as his father had been a bona fide alcoholic. Now, with this torment, this voice in his head, stirring up powerful emotions that were mercilessly tearing away at his guts, edging and nagging him on, he couldn’t bear to listen to it anymore.

He’d taken to picking up a Fifth of whisky on his way home from work on Saturday nights. (Not something Lois liked much. She had complained about that, said he should see a doctor if he was depressed, that she didn’t want him turning out to be like his father.) This had been going on for much too long now. And earlier this particular evening they’d had a fight, a really bad fight. He’d accused her of eye-balling Joe. She’d slapped him and told him he was drunk. He’d slapped her back. She’d grabbed Betsy Jane’s hand, and they’d run out of the house crying, but he’d felt bad then and went after them and begged them to come back in, promising it wouldn’t happen again. And with Betsy Jane pleading his case (she’d always been a daddy’s girl) Lois had given in and said she’d give him one more chance, but also had let him know in no uncertain terms that this was the last one.

Now they were asleep, and he’d had time to think about it. Really think about it! As much as it hurt him, he knew – just knew – she was sleeping with Joe. It hadn’t registered in his thick brain right away, but now he could see it clearly as he took another gulp down of the whisky. She lied to you, the voice in his head said. It was written all over her face!

Bitch! he growled under his breath. Fuckin’...lying’ bitch! He sat the now empty whisky bottle down on the dresser and slowly opened up his underwear drawer and from underneath his shorts he took out a .38 he’d purchased years ago for protecting their home. He’d never had reason to use it. He’d never even been to the police firing range that was open to the public, but he did change the bullets ever so often; afraid they’d draw moisture and not fire if and when he did need them to work. He warbled slightly, feeling the strong effects of too much whisky, but managed to aim the gun at Lois’ head from behind. Then he stopped cold and started crying. Hearing his sniveling, Lois woke up then and rolled over and her eyes widened in horror as she realized that she was staring into the barrel of a gun – And her husband was the person behind it!

My God! What are you doing?

No! Don’t, Lois! Don’t!

She frantically untangled her feet that were wrapped up in the covers and quickly jumped out of bed, gathering the sheet up around her (as she slept in the nude) all the while screaming at him to put the damn thing away. Just then, little Betsy Jane ran into the room and saw that her father had a gun. She, too, cut loose with ear-piercing screams.

Stop screaming! Dammit!

She continued screaming anyway.

"I said stop screaming!" He stepped towards her for a moment, stopping short of knocking her across the room.

This action startled the child and she obeyed, but begged, Don’t hurt Mommy!

Just put it away, Jack! Please! Lois begged. She had let the sheet drop and was struggling into her jeans and red sweat shirt, not bothering to put on her underwear.

To his horror, Betsy Jane ran to her mother’s side. Please don’t hurt Mommy, Daddy!

This really got to him. Betsy Jane had always favored him. Now, she was betraying that bond. She was siding with her mother! He couldn’t believe it. Betsy Jane...Come here! he yelled, still holding the gun on his wife.

No! she shrieked back.

Her defiance ripped at his heart. Please! Just come here!

She shook her head. No!

And then that nagging little voice told him that Betsy Jane had turned against him, too. She could no longer be trusted.

Put the gun away, Jack. Please! Lois pleaded again.

Please, Daddy! Please put the gun away!

Sorry, munchkin...can’t do that. And then he staggered and he would have fallen, but the dresser caught him.

Lois and Betsy Jane saw their chance and scrambled out into the hall. He called out for them to come back, but knew they wouldn’t. He pursued them. Just as they reached the front door, he knew it was now or never, he fired. First hitting Lois in the back of the chest and she dropped. Betsy Jane swung around screaming at him that he’d killed Mommy. He couldn’t bear the accusing look in his daughter’s eyes. Hands shaking almost uncontrollably, he pulled the trigger again and she dropped at her mother’s feet and all went terribly silent.

He stood there for several seconds, shaking violently, looking on in disbelief at the two bodies of the people that he loved the most in this world, lying so still in pools of blood on their living room floor. Taking in what he had done, he gasped for air as he listened to his heart beating ninety miles an hour, pounding mercilessly in his ears, and then the sobering realization of what had actually transpired and what he had done hit him fully. No! he mumbled faintly, at first. Then he said it louder. And the next thing he knew he was screaming, No! No! No! But then he suddenly got really quiet, motionless for several minutes, what seemed an eternity to him. After a few minutes, a strange expression, almost one of resolve, came over his face, and not seeing the dark cloud hanging over his head, he slowly raised the barrel of the gun to his temple and fired one last time.

There’s a fragile, thin line between man’s reality and those of the hierarchy; most of the human race completely oblivious to their existence. While mere mortals rush about trying to make sense of chaos – feeding futile anxieties, worrying over next month’s mortgage payment, or if Johnny’s going to make the grades to stay in football next year, or if there’s enough time to pick up that suit from the dry cleaners before diner with the boss – they fight the endless battle – the battle between good and evil: the war that has raged on for countless centuries, for eons, since the dawn of creation.

While scientists, philosophers, clergy, and even government officials debate, argue, the very existence of God, the human race teeters on the brink of destruction. Heroic angelic warriors fight the continuous battle to keep man safe in his bed at night, and in his car (on his way to and from work) and diligently watch over the school bus loaded down with children on their way to and from school.

They, ever so elusively, slip out of man’s dimension unseen, unheard, unsuspected; a man and wife making love in the privacy of their bedroom – hardly alone. Lovers whisper endearments to one another while steadfast guardians watch silently, inconspicuously – nothing unseen – nothing unheard.

This is the universe of the principalities, the hierarchy – God’s army. No one sees them. No one!

Well … almost no one.

It was three a.m. and all the lights in the Snow residence were out. The only one awake was little Adam Snow. He should have been asleep, but he wasn’t. And he wasn’t just wide awake. It was more like frightened out of his friggin’ mind, as he watched black shadows slip eerily around his dark room. Then, ever so often, he’d stare in absolute horror as bright red orbs about the size of a pinhead zipped around his room, some coming up to him and blinking directly in his face. The lights, as he soon came to call them, scared the hell of him. On more than one occasion he had tried to tell Mommy and Daddy about them, but they thought he was making them up because he didn’t want to stay by himself in his own room. (He was five years old now and starting kindergarten, his folks reminded him, and definitely old enough to sleep by himself.)

They just didn’t get it.

Daddy was even less tolerant than Mommy of his fantasies. Only, they weren’t fantasies at all. They were all too alarmingly real to Adam. So there Adam sat in the middle of his bed, clutching his covers to his waist and staring wild-eyed into the terrifying darkness. He even thought he could make out faces in the – he called them – clouds.

Some of the clouds were a grayish white; some were dark, some even pitch-black – and once in a while he would be visited by a beautiful purple one. Was it the same one every time? He was never sure if it was, indeed, the same one that kept returning, or if there was more than one. The purple cloud-like mist seemed somehow different from the others, but he could never quite decide just how different, other than the color, the vibrant, pulsating hues of purple and violet, and it seemed that this purple apparition rarely stayed very long. Strangely enough, he almost felt like the purple cloud or clouds just came in to check in on him, that it or they weren’t there to harm him or frighten him in any way. And he wondered why he thought that, as well.

Were thoughts or sensations from the mysterious cloud getting in his head somehow? He really didn’t want to think about it. Fact was he didn’t know for sure what it was. And maybe he didn’t want to know. However, he did notice that the other clouds seemed to move away and keep a distance when the purple one paid a visit. He wondered about that, too. He just wished there was someone he could ask...Anyone. But there wasn’t.

No one believed Adam, though, not his family, not his friends, not even Betsy Jane Simmons, his next door neighbor and very best friend since they were toddlers. She patiently tolerated his stories when no one else would. She seemed to believe that he did see something. She never vocally questioned the truthfulness of what he confessed to her.

As she explained to him, she just simply could not see them.

Suddenly, he was rudely startled to the present by three loud gunshots from next door – Betsy Jane’s house. Just as he heard the shots, a very large, translucent, chartreuse being with tall wings flew into Adam’s room through the closed window. Was it an angel? He didn’t know they were green. The entity hovered briefly, as though checking to make sure he was all right, and then sped out the window again.

Shortly, sirens and red and blue flashing lights killed the rest of the serenity of what had been a sleeping neighborhood. Adam heard his mother and dad downstairs. Excitement in their voices.

Adam jumped out of bed and tore downstairs. What’s wrong, Mommy? He didn’t like the look on his mother’s pale face. His normally light-hearted father had a solemnness about him Adam never had seen before.

Mattie Snow put her hand to her mouth and sighed heavily. Adam, sweetheart…come here. She grabbed his head and snuggled him up to her warm, flannel-covered legs. Honey … I …

Mattie, you don’t have to tell him right now, do you? Eric said.

Is there a good time?

No. I suppose not.

Honey, something very bad happened tonight.

Adam knew he didn’t want to hear what his mommy was about to say. He started to whimper before she got the words out.

Something awful has happened to Betsy Jane and her mommy and daddy.

Betsy?

Honey, they’re all … all gone.

They’re all dead, Son, his father said.

Adam cried and cried that night, not falling asleep until daylight. It was a night he would remember for the rest of his life. The night Betsy Jane’s father took his revolver and shot Betsy, her mother and then his self. No one had known about John Simmons’ depression until it was too late, and the police discovered his suicide note.

That night was the night Adam learned to connect the red orbs with bad things. Over the years, he had come to dread those lights. He never was sure if they were actually the cause of the bad things … or if they were just there to warn of the bad things…. He chose to believe that they were warnings … had to believe it for his own sanity.

One:

Adam sprang forward to a sitting position in his bed. He had dreamed of Betsy Jane again! She always came to him, soaked in blood, brown doe eyes pleading for help. What can I do? he would scream at her right before waking up. What can I do? He never received an answer.

Shit! It’s never going to end, he mumbled and groggily found his way to the bathroom to throw up. When he had vomited up what he thought was the entire past weeks nourishment, he wiped his flushed face with a warm wet cloth and stared at the image in the mirror. He was thirty years old. Thirty! No girlfriend. The few women he’d tried to date were not open to who he really was, especially if he was foolish enough to tell them about his gift. He only made that mistake twice, once when he was eighteen, and once just a few months prior. Their immediate response was, You’re nuts! He couldn’t get them to answer the phone after that.

He stumbled back to his bedroom and really wanted to lie back down, but he saw it was eight-thirty and he was a half hour late for work. Shit! He quickly shaved, nicking himself in three places, two on his cheek and one on his neck; scrambled into his clothes while tripping out the door, and headed to his canary-yellow 2006 Outback.

Ned would kill him!

Ned Thompson, Adam’s redneck boss, owned the garage where Adam was second mechanic only to Ned. He depended on Adam to open up on Saturday mornings, as he often spent the day fishing with his wife on their seventeen-footer out in the bay. In return, Adam had Wednesdays off.

Adam let out a sigh of relief when he got to work and there weren’t any disgruntled customers waiting. Saturdays were normally pretty busy, but they were only half days and went by quickly.

Only Ed Brown was there, patiently puffing heavily on his Salem, leaning up against the first garage door. There were three in all, one right beside the other. Bought time you showed, he said with a cocked grin.

Adam new it wasn’t that Ed was in any hurry. Ed was never in a hurry, not even if his pants were on fire, which had actually happened once, after dropping a cigarette into them. He didn’t move any faster then, than he did when it was time to get off work. Sorry, Ed, Adam said to the older man, who was in his early sixties. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.

Never mind that. Just be glad there aren’t any customers waiting to complain.

Of that, I am glad.

I won’t tell, if you don’t, Ed promised.

Thanks, Ed.

Aw … ain’t nothin’. He followed Adam inside the office, which was to the right of the garage doors. Adam found the keys to the black 2003 Dodge Ram that had been dropped off late Friday evening for an oil change.

Here, Ed. You can take care of this Dodge. He tossed the keys to his friend.

Ed went out into the big garage through the side door, leaving the door flapping back and forth.

Adam sat down to the computer and went to working on the books, a little something extra he did for Ned. He’d always had a knack for math, a natural talent he was born with, but he wasn’t sure if it was a curse or a blessing. Every year come April, he was suddenly very popular with everyone, especially Ned.

At last, one p.m. rolled around and Adam bid Ed a good afternoon as the older man ambled casually out to his burnt-orange Chevy pickup.

Catch you later, Ed responded over his shoulder, and he climbed in the cab of his truck and lit up a cigarette, blew a cloud of smoke out the window and gave Adam a big wave before pulling out.

Adam waved back and nodded slightly, and then he quickly locked the outer door to the office and then the garage doors. He was hungry, but he didn’t want TV dinners right then, though he actually liked them, especially the fried chicken ones, usually cooked three at a time. But all morning he had had a yen for hot Buffalo wings at Red Robin, and one of their restaurants was right down the street. The building was new, having been there for only a few months. And Adam was already one of their best customers. His mouth watered just thinking about those Buffalo wings. After lunch, he would just go home and catch a little television for a while, possibly tinker around with his Outback (he knew it was past due on an oil change), but probably not, as he worked on cars all the time, and he usually wanted to do something else when he was off. Only, he couldn’t think of anything at the moment. Consequently, his car often went neglected until working on it was a have-to. Maybe he’d even go to bed early. But feeling the nagging pangs of hunger, eating was priority for now.

Finally home and sated, Adam turned on his television. He didn’t see the bright flash from behind as he relaxed on the sofa, legs crossed and propped up on the coffee table, while he scarfed down Act II microwave popcorn from a purple plastic bowl. A large dark cloud flitted up behind him and hovered about three feet above his head.

Pantha! a powerful voice suggested strongly, but unheard by Adam, Leave the man alone!

Ya say, Bruce? was the gravelly reply.

Be gone!

Think not, the grotesque spirit, mostly hidden by the cloud, replied defiantly to the statuesque blond angel who had thwarted his mission. He moved in closer to the oblivious human.

In an instant, Bruce placed himself between Pantha and Adam’s backside – which

was only a couple of inches from the wall – leaving himself halfway in and out of the wall, but with spirits it didn’t matter. He drew his long sword. "I said be gone! This one, especially, you are not to touch!"

Pantha’s red eyes glowed from the cloud and his demonic face emerged with an insolent grin. And … what makes this one different?

Not your concern.

You know … I will make it my concern, Bruce.

Not if I have anything to say about it. Be gone with you!

The demon snarled and his eyes took on fire. "All right, for now. But mind you, archangel, I will be back. You can’t stay with the human indefinitely." He was gone in a puff.

Bruce decided it might be best to remain for a while and keep an eye on this Adam Snow. He hadn’t been informed as to what it was about this particular human that was so special, only that he was. Bruce was new to the angelic force in this quadrant of space that held the Milky Way galaxy, which mothered the earth, recently transferred to this planet from far across the heavens, when he had guarded similar creatures for eons. (They were now a part of the heavenly realm: their savior had come at last.) Consequently, he had been sent here.

Bruce chose a spot on the sofa beside Adam and sat down. The man was stuffing popcorn in his mouth almost faster than he could chew and swallow it. Bruce shook his head and smiled amusedly. His eyes then went to the television to see what the man was watching. He found the old movie somewhat interesting. Apparently, it was supposed to be about the devil’s son. He soon