The Fallen: Temptation Chronicle Continued

By E. Bacon

After a world wind of sinister seduction, dark temptation, and shame, Alina Baca has gone missing amongst a backdrop of similar disappearances in Castlegrove, a diminutive divot within Abilene Texas not often minded. Possibly of her own free will.

Alternately, it’s possible Alina has succumb to a depravity brewing in the underbelly of the shrouded community for ages, previously feared by the young theology graduate student to be evil itself beckoning her from the shadows. Drawing her beneath the veil of reason.

Now with her whereabouts unknown Alina’s loved ones are left to decipher whether she’s inevitably lost her struggle with sanity, bringing harm to herself. Could some haunting, malevolent force have captured the town’s newest resident for its own, or was she simply a deeply disturbed young lady? There are those who think not. And then there are those who know better!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491723821

E. Bacon

E. Bacon grew up in Chicago Illinois. After a brief career in the Air Force she began writing, a childhood passion, and is currently pursuing a graduate degree. Correspondence to the author can be directed to www.ebaconbooks.com

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Copyright © 2014 E. Bacon.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-2381-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-2847-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-2382-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014901890

iUniverse rev. date: 08/28/2021

Contents

Part One   Goodbye

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Part Two   Goodnight

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Epilogue

I

dedicate this novel to

Strength: I knew your soul before I ever saw your face.

You are my Reflection On Earth.

To all who facilitated, supported and

believed in this accomplishment.

As well as all who enjoy it.

"By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth:

I sought him, but I found him not."

Song of Solomon 3:1

PART ONE

Goodbye

Chapter One

I have a feeling Alina would’ve been equally catatonic had we not taken the bikes to her psychiatrist’s appointment. When we’d stopped in front of her house, she hadn’t even hugged me goodbye. And here I thought there was no place she felt safer than in my arms. A somber smile, the promise of a phone call and she’d been on her way. As I’d watched her walk up the driveway to the door and enter the house, I’d known she wasn’t upset with me over what’d been revealed in the shrink’s office, but it’d take a miracle to get me back in that place unnecessarily.

I know now, viewing the house from the vantage point of my rearview mirror as I near my own, this is something she needs to be free to work out with her doctor. Although I haven’t made up my mind as to whether I care for the guy, the way he’d tried to twist her up by blowing past issues like Galen out of proportion. He’d only succeeded in upsetting her more when she’d made herself perfectly clear on the subject. I’ll provide the emotional stability she needs, but after what I’ve seen this evening, I’m less certain of my ability to do even that. She’s sick, but the shrink seems to think she’ll be better soon, with my support apparently. According to our private little pep talk.

Watching her close the door without so much as a wave, I’d reassured myself of how rough a day this had to’ve turned into for her. Coming off the excitement of our after hours riding lessons Monday and Tuesday for the bike I gifted her this past weekend probably only made a grave situation appear darker. But compared to the cancer survivor and her husband Alina introduced me to at church Sunday our problems remain in perspective. I’ll take a little sleepwalking over an aggressive, malignant tumor any day. The woman’s husband being rendered disable from work with two small kids at home had only added insult to injury. And still they appeared to be prevailing in an otherwise happy marriage. Alina just needs time in a good relationship to get over the ones that ended badly in her past.

She won’t be ill forever. Everyone hits a sour patch at some point in their lives. I can’t help but wonder if rough patches are supposed to come along this early in relationships though, if they’re doing so means anything. I question whether our moving so fast is complicating her problem like the good doc seemed to fear. Like a father’s advise, he’d cautioned me to pace the relationship, but only if I intended to be in it for the long hall. Unprofessional as it was it’s obvious he cares for the well-being of his patient. A fiancé burning to death in a fire you escape’s bound to mess anybody up, but on top of that getting jerked around by the family friend couldn’t have helped. I can understand the guy’s concern. Even without it I’ve made my decision.

It’s only been just over a month now I realize since we’d taken our first steps together on the dance floor, yet everything’s changed more drastically in that short time than in the last years of my life. That, I think, does mean something. She’d told the shrink I need her just before she’d gone into her catatonic-like silence. I guess it’s true.

Knowing how wonderful watching her love for me pour from her beautiful lips made me feel since experiencing it only days ago, I’ve felt the sting of guilt since observing her standing there in the shrink’s office, seemingly so far away within herself, wondering if a simple reciprocation was all the remedy required to bring her back.

She’d appeared so fragile. Am I further complicating matters for her by denying her the simple gratification of the words? I know the sting of that ambiguity. I’ve said them twice before. So, the first time hadn’t gone according to plan. I’m not even sure I’d meant them looking back. The last time I’d told a woman I loved her had been in response to her having said them first. Though I’d known I hadn’t mean them at the time I’d come to in the end. The timing just hasn’t exactly been there yet with Alina, I think. There’s no rush.

Outside of the comment to the doctor she hasn’t displayed a care on the subject. I don’t know what that translates to specifically but I question the man’s decision to allow her to leave in her catatonic condition. It’s obvious he trusts I’ll take adequate care of her but Alina’s declined my invitation to come back to the house with me even for a couple hours.

How could I object when I know school’s her motivation for having done so? It’s coming to be that the weeknights without her are substantially longer than those loving nights of the weekend. I don’t have to glance in the rearview mirror to know the beastly roar of the diesel engine to my rear is the monstrous, red Dodge. Dirk Tattersall, oversized boy tool and his lovely better half, Nova Norené, cinnamon-sprinkled little sprite that she is, pull up beside me with Dirk’s signature Bunyan grin. Nova radiantly gleaming from the passenger seat. He raises a six-pack to his perpetually pink profile. Your day as long as ours Jarhead?

Longer! I’m not exaggerating. Restless through the early hours, I’d ended up reviewing the footage Dirk left with me the previous day for the controversial film project he’s bankrolling with his inherited family riches about my father, a suspected serial killer currently residing on death row. It’s good, and I should be content with the editing field trip our technical man Ira’s connections were able to accomplish utilizing the equipment at Texas State Technical College alone, especially since finding a way to work in Alina’s brother Shane’s digital reenactment contribution, but that isn’t the case. Not much makes me as nervous as this documentary. I’m concerned that it’ll be perceived as my attempt to justify homicidal behavior now that it’s taking shape.

Which hasn’t been my intention, however what use is a documentary that fails to present all the information available in a positive light? I’m becoming less interested in maintaining a particular position and increasingly restricted to broadcasting any new facts I can unearth. Learning that it’s not always what others perceive as evidence that has the power to reveal a story otherwise buried in the past. I’ve tasked Bunyan with locating patrons of the bar my dad frequented with his young mistress prior to her murder. So far none have agreed to speak on camera but I’m optimistic that what they have to say off it could eventually be of some use. People outside of Castlegrove like to talk.

I’m digging as deeply as I can, but I know the best way to do that is to go back to where it all began. Before the half ass representation of attorney, Pelowich alone practically threw the book at Dad. Before the ever quick to close a case detective Riles made evidence of his circumstantial theory on the stand. Though my mom’s declined to participate every step of the way nothing so far could’ve been accomplished without her. If not for her silent efforts all the years I was away in the Marines, her diligent documentation would never have sparked my interest months ago in the living room of her condo, placing this ball in motion. Her involvement alone would be of great interest to many in the media, as she’s vehemently avoided all public efforts outside of her persistently loyal presence at each appeal thus far.

I don’t believe it’s the media that provoked her silence, but the desire to maintain some semblance of normalcy for my younger sister, Jenna as well as herself that propels it. For all the faith and dedication they possess they still have lives to live. It has to be easier not to encourage your neighbors to take an interest in your dirty laundry. To attempt to fade into the background. For them not to know your last name.

A simple phone call would never suffice to bring her in. I’ll call our new attorney, Douglas in the morning. Rally the troops. There’s power and influence in numbers. With the speech I’m already working in my head I have at least a fighting chance of not being sent away with a plate of cookies to console my disappointment.

I follow Dirk and Nova down the road to my place, the cedar ranch from my childhood I’ve taken over. Normally they wouldn’t wait for me to walk up to the house to exit the vehicle but this time they use the time it takes me to conclude whatever private discussion they’re presently engrossed in. I unlock the front door, leaving them to it as I enter, curious as to the nature of their discussion. They’ve never fought openly before, which inclines me to assume their disagreements behind closed doors must be fairly manageable. With my parents separated by judicial court ruling, theirs is the default standard by which I weigh relationships in general, nullifying their right to domestic plight.

Surprise! Nova exclaims as she and Dirk walk through the open front door. Dirk holds in his arms a very large, feisty Great Dane pup. How they’d managed to conceal such a bundle of energy in the truck alludes me.

Not my fixin,’ man, Dirk concedes. The animal kicks and squirms vehemently for its freedom but he holds the small beast securely.

What the hell, man? To Nova I shake my head disagreeably, mouthing my opposition.

She neither pouts nor acknowledges my profane reaction as she beams and nods defiantly. This one’s Trouble. Healthy as an ox but no one’ll buy him on account of his spirit. Figured you don’t have much in the way of things to break. What do you say, Jordan? Could you use a little company around here with all this open space?

I don’t want a dog. Don’t want to have to feed and care for the little bastard, but as Nova’s big brown eyes lock on mine with all the pleading of a girl half her age, I can’t help but feel selfish denying them both. He’s not gonna’ eat the place is he? Before I can finish my thought Nova’s hugging me gratefully. Kissing both cheeks.

You’re a real prince, Jarhead. Dirk hands over the pup, who instantly begins barking and drooling over my face.

The little bastard’s cute as all hell. So, they call you Trouble, huh? They should call you bricks. When the dog begins to squirm as he had with Dirk, I set him down. A heavy son of a bitch to be carrying around.

Trouble’s sixteen weeks. He’s got his shots and deworming and all. Just needs a little patient training. Dirk’s been working with him some. Tell him, Baby.

Been workin’ with em.’ Much as I can. He calls the pup over from his exuberant exploration of the premises. Sit. The pup sits. Lay. The pup lays out on his belly with a stretch, while his tail continues to wag incessantly. Shake. The dog takes off for the front door they’ve neglected to close behind themselves. Dirk and Nova aren’t fast enough and he slips away outside.

Nova and all of her five feet and change shoot through the door after him. She’s better at this than me, Dirk admits.

Yeah?

Due cause for retirin’ from the business. I’m gonna’ go use the little boys room. You two can have at it.

I journey outside to give Nova a hand with my newly bestowed responsibility. The wind picks up as I step into the chill caused by the evening’s overcast of clouds. I bustle down and bare into it. It’ll be completely dark in less than twenty minutes or so, interjecting some urgency into the matter of finding the troublemaker with so many places for the thing to conceal himself. To great relief I don’t have to call it a single time. Nova struggles to pull the dog that will likely nearly equal her in height soon enough along, away from the ponds edge. Trouble’s adamantly resisting, barking to no end. It’s becoming one continuous yelp.

I follow the dog’s fixation over to Alina’s house. To my surprise she’s standing out on her veranda. The wind cuts in my face. She’s not facing our way but as I struggle to focus on her better I’m able to make out that her head’s turned in our direction. I think she has to be watching us until I wave across at her and she doesn’t respond. Oddly enough she appears to be miles away.

What’s she doing just standing there in this wind? Nova shouts over to me.

I debate whether or not to make the mile and a half hike over to Alina. Hearing the dog start up again I decide to assist Nova first. The dog stubbornly continues to resist initially and then all of a sudden takes off like a greyhound at the pop of the blank for the front door with Nova after him once again. That would’ve left me free to my agenda accept that when I turn back from the house, shielding my face against a torrent of air, I observe Alina descending the stairs.

As I call to her the wind snatches away my voice.

She doesn’t so much as glance in my direction, but instead climbs into the passenger seat of the little, red automobile awaiting her, which immediately speeds off down the road.

Gravel sputters in the dust and glow of the taillights, and she’s gone.

Chapter Two

S weat drips past the folds of my upper lids onto the protective sclera of my orbit. The sodium content is momentarily bothersome as I squint to accommodate it. No longer inclined to acknowledge the solemn ticks of the ominously obscured solar timekeeper climbing the eastern sky, as I should, I resign myself to whatever fate awaits me.

I haven’t the will to oppose it, having come to terms with this in the past few hours before daybreak broke the predawn chill of exposure. I all but welcome death now. The heat has already drained away any semblance of my remaining strength.

Better that it end now than continue on this path. I have to believe I’ve prepared for this. God willing, I, Alina Bacca, will be forgiven this trespass and accepted into the Kingdom of Glory. For the first time in nearly a decade I’m left to hope, because shame bars me from prayer. That upon my death the involuntarily sins of this past night, as well as those voluntarily committed within the time I’ve resided in Castlegrove, the diminutive, century old sub community just off interstate twenty, west of the Buck Creek area of Texas, will be outweighed by my years of pious devotion back home in Chicago.

That by design, this punishment is no less than what I deserve to be reduced to for the time being. Hope and chance, my only possibilities of deliverance for having forgotten the Lord in these horrific hours of need. Something I hadn’t known was possible

Inducing darkness should catalyze my body’s inevitable expiration, due to the trauma it’s endured. As the torches of burnt orange orbs behind my lids rage in spite of my effort, I don’t relent to curiosity by opening them. I haven’t done so for… I couldn’t say how long. It would’ve been counterproductive to even attempt to measure, had I the resolve to silence the incessant Tick … Tick … Ticking above. I wish it would rain. Better yet that it would storm and drown me in a flood where I lie.

Because I know I have good reason to be alarmed, the half whine, half screeching sound of the gate in the distance rocks my resolve. My eyelids spring wide involuntarily. Apparently, for the time being I still possess the metabolic capacity necessary for reflexive action.

Someone has entered the space I dare not call mine. Nothing short of the atrocities of last night could be more grave than this notion. Friend or Foe? They seem to be one and the same here.

Galen?

No immediate answer.

Is my punishment over?

Who had I been last night that I could end up in such a situation as this? Who is he that he could command such a show as he had effortlessly, without force of any kind? This manipulation had felt more natural than the word itself could ever accurately portray. Galen had been correct in all he’s admonished. I had been freed last night by my confrontation of what stalks me from the shadows nightly. At far too dear a cost. Astoundingly, I’ve learned from this past night that a portion of me is not mine to wield. Some unconscious part of my self is somehow susceptible to involuntary control.

Though this is gravely different, that initial acquisition of power had happened so long ago. Forged in an attic a decade in the past, it had once terrified me. What had only led to shame and heartache then has managed to survived through the years of neglect to once again lead to yet another disastrous recurrence stemming from whatever was solidified under that full moon so recently.

Yet, I denied him last night.

Unprecedented. As it all plays back in my mind like a recording, I call out.

Galen!

I repeat the name through abrasive, dehydrated vocal cords. The sound is atrocious. He may have refused me an immediate response under normal circumstances for dramatic effect, but under the present, his objective would be to reassure me of my safety, were he in attendance. Before the voice confirms it, I know the presence here with me is not him. That I’ve been abandoned yet again.

No such luck, sweetheart. The voice is female and familiar. In my state, unable to recognize the sound of my own words, I recognize hers. I can only imagine what this visual must portray. I need to remain alarmed for my own protection, but with the realization that Galen’s nowhere to be found, my resolve once again plummets to basal depths. He’s wrong in his assertion that I’m in no immediate danger. He’s wrong in so many things. He’s underestimated her. He knows that now. But is it too late? Has she done something to him already?

There is evil in this world that should never be allowed to flourish.

Ruby polished nails extend to me an open water bottle, half empty. I’m too weak to accept it, though my body sorely requires the nourishment. Had I eaten lunch yesterday or not declined Jordan’s invitation to order in at his place yesterday evening I wouldn’t be this weak. My vision is doubling again. Green orbs of light congregate at the borders of my peripherals and dance through my field of vision. Good. The floating blobs conceal the warm bottle as it’s stealthily placed to my lips. I sputter out the liquid forced upon me, allowing my head to roll to one side limply. Shutting my eyes tighter to beat back the orbs. The heat threatens to overwhelm me. I’m gently pulled up into a sitting position. More gently than I’d have anticipated. My head is cradled back against her bosom as she guides, what I only hope is water into my mouth.

Despite the conscious lack of will for survival I gulp the liquid down my parched throat at once, absorbing it like tissue paper. I can feel the points of her fingertips wiping the sweat from my cheek across my lips. Stroking my hair gently. Closing my eyes had allowed me some momentary control over consciousness but that too had been somewhat of an illusion as I become aware of my nudity. My lips are moving desperately, yet only scarcely audible mumbles escape. Indecipherable to even myself.

I’m lying once more. Jagged is the hot stone abrasive at my back. Though the surface is relatively smooth each minuscule deviation against the flat plane is agony after so many hours lying weak upon it. Standing at a distance, many oak trees loom high, stretching clear into the azure veil above, offering wide-spectrum protection from the brutal force of a gaseous nemesis, however, some thin, golden streams persevere, burning like lasers randomly through the orifices of the leaves. With only a heavy coating of perspiration with which to cloak my depravity, I’m as defenseless against this circumstance as I’d been hours ago in the chill of night. There’s no turning back the hands of my pacifistic timekeeper. Everything has changed irreversibly in these past hours. Even if I manage to survive somehow, I’ve already given up everything. Though blind-sided, I’ve allowed this. Damned now, I welcome an end to the pain of that knowledge.

Family. Love. Jordan. They are one and the same and equally fated. I want to dwell over this as my last conscious thought, but haven’t the cognitive strength. By fading from existence they will be left to associate me with the positive aspects for which they are familiar, erasing the tracks of my sins from this life, allowing myself a swift release from it altogether.

I can feel the ruby-polished fingers sliding over my sweaty flesh as her words fade into the barrier of humidity on the air.

Sticky.

I can see only murky red obscurity now as the cones associated with my retina struggle to dispense the proper quantities of red, green and blue pigments. Visual acuity itself is disrupted by photoreceptor damage lessening the effectiveness of the transduction of light energy into nerve impulses in my optic cortex. My thoughts grow more random. Determined to let go, my body grows numb with renewed resolve. I wallow in the suppressive fear that may be the last grace bestowed upon me as my body goes into shock.

Murky, red hands move delicately over murky flesh. A tacky quality— a stickiness—absorbs the energy I release. Spurred by her words in a tongue more native than she knows, until the murk is no longer an obscurity. Sticky yet, no longer camouflaged amongst the pale, delicate hand it scales, the haze takes on a tangible quality and spreads across the perspiration coating my flesh. Blood. It’s everywhere.

My heart courses the remainder of it through my veins with the waning determination of a sand locked snail now. The calm of numbness is heavy upon me. As the remainder of my will drips away, a final revelation lingers briefly.

We aren’t alone in this space.

The revelation passes with consciousness.

Chapter Three

T he gentle knock at the front door wouldn’t have sufficed to snap a half-hung-over man such as myself out of a sound sleep as it has, without the aid of Trouble, who claws at the exit wildly without reproach. His continual bark’s all but monotonous as it abruptly varies sharply in pitch. Who is it? I grumble from the couch. I must’ve dozed off sometime after midnight, after my close and only comrades left to drive back to Nova’s neat little apartment a couple blocks from the nursing home where she works. The sun is just beginning to show its face as I haul myself from the warm, chocolate, leather cushions onto the cool tile, intended to break up the overwhelming abundance of the old Texas timber encasement. The night had dipped to particularly cool temperatures for the first time this season.

I can’t make out the soft reply that’s fed back under the dog’s howl. I cease him by the collar to prevent yet another break for freedom before crossing the cold floor spread throughout the living room and foyer, pulling open the door impatiently. My girlfriend’s frail comrade stares up at me. His isn’t the lesser, feminine physique I anticipate. I’d tried calling Alina a couple times last night, but the phone had gone directly to voicemail both times.

Now here her friend, Christopher Talkouski stands asking if she’s with me.

My instant alarm almost appears to frighten him. I release Trouble to do his business in the four acres of yard surrounding the single-story property as I step into the chilled air to see if I can make out her bike in the drive of the neighboring property up ahead. It appears to be as she’d left it the previous evening. She hasn’t left for school early on her own. The Great Dane pup darts for the woodland to the rear beyond my property, having already relieved himself in the living room during the pre-dawn hours. I’m less concerned by this than by my girlfriend’s apparent, unknown whereabouts.

When was the last time you heard from her? I ask Peewee. He’s dressed in a purple, pastel Abercrombie and Fitch tee that could easily fit Jenna, and all of her thirteen young years. His face appears remorseful, as if the last thing he wants to do is disturb me again. I soften my demeanor in sympathy.

We haven’t seen each other outside school at all this week like we usually do. His blue eyes are dimmed with dismay.

She didn’t mention having any plans last night? I recall the taillights speeding off almost as if late for an engagement.

She was anxious about you going with her to therapy. I tried texting to see how it went later but she didn’t respond. I didn’t stress it. She doesn’t always get back to my texts right away, but now she’s not answering the door for school again.

Not anxious to carry out a third unlawful entrance into the home, I turn without a word to grab my phone from inside the house, as if I’m unaware of the probability of Chris already having gone that route. This time will more than likely be akin to the first in which he’s overreacting and Alina’s simply overslept. With her sleepwalking I can’t be certain, so, like Peewee, I’m unwilling to rule out cause for concern. Everything about Alina’s behavior in the hours since I’ve seen her last prevents me from doing so. The phone doesn’t ring, but is going directly to voicemail as it had last night. Dead, more than likely.

I hear Chris enter behind me without need for a direct invitation. Maybe we should call her brother this time.

You have his number? I’m guessing calling the house didn’t do you much good.

No but I can get his number off his website. He’s already using the Internet on his phone to pull up Shane Bacca’s contact information from the online arts and film business he funnels his Stock market earnings through. Retrieving the information efficiently, Peewee dials the number as I, having proved myself correct with the house phone theory, try Alina’s cellular once more in vain.

Her brother doesn’t appear to be overly concerned from my end, but reluctantly agrees to come check out the house at the prospect of another break-in.

I’ll meet you over there, I assure Chris. Leaving him to let himself out I take off down the hall to find a clean shirt, as the one I’m wearing reeks of light beer. It’ll be at least twenty minutes or so before Alina’s brother arrives so I allow for a minute to clean up and gather myself. Anticipation begins to bubble at the brim despite my efforts.

Assuming positively, I dress in my usual work attire for the gym. A black company tee and unimpressive black, athletic pants. There aren’t any police cars sitting outside the house like last time to alert me to any immediate crisis. I suppose if that situation hadn’t occurred so recently, I wouldn’t be on edge as I am now. Lots of people oversleep. Just as lots of friends have a tendency to be overly reactive. When I come out of the room Peewee’s nowhere to be found as I suspected he wouldn’t be.

Assuming Chris headed back up the gravel road to Alina’s as I suggested, I pull the front door closed behind me and prepare to do the same when I startle, hearing him calling after me. From the tree line at the edge of the property Chris emerges with an animated Trouble, whom I’ve all but forgotten about. Not having locked the door I open it again and wait for them to make their way back over. Thanks. I’m new to this.

Least I could do. I still owe you one from before. He shrugs, and this time I watch him disappear up the relatively short, mile and a half stretch of path.

I nod as I struggle to coax the stubborn animal back into the house for a brief meal. Trouble’s tail whips from side to side. The animal jumps up at my legs. He’s behaving as if I’d intentionally sent him away and in our short time apart had undergone a change of heart, allowing him to return. Feeling guilty I rush in to toss some of the half bag of food Nova’s left for him into one of the gigantic stainless steel dishes she’s also provided. The size of the bowls alone concern my wallet. The dog is grateful, and immediately begins to make short work of the meal while I fill the second dish with water from the sink. That is until I go to exit the house. The Great Dane immediately pulls his nose from his dish and begins to whimper, licking his chops. Eyes drooping. Scarcely still a pup I haven’t anticipated this level of immediate attachment.

I allow the dog to complete his meal under my watchful eye, then retrieve a worn blanket from the bed of my truck, tossing both canine and hooked wool in the passenger seat along with the remainder of the items Nova purchased for him in order to facilitate her mission to pawn him off on me yesterday evening. An oversized bone occupies Trouble as he sits atop the throw I’ve been meaning to discard for some time now, serving as a barrier between my leather and utter disaster. If not for the hard top over the bed of the truck the pup would be reduced to downgraded accommodations. For the time being Trouble is more than content where he is, riding typically with half his body extended from the open window. I’m not concerned about the dog jumping the distance to the ground as I drive hurriedly down the road to Alina’s to meet her brother. Not very familiar with canines in general, I do know larger breeds often have difficulty with their joints. He should naturally be cautious of them, shouldn’t he? No sooner than I pull the truck along the side of road in front of the cottage style, stone architecture of the two-story house than I watch Shane’s green mustang appear in the distance. The thing makes at least as much noise as the modified chrome exhaust pipes gleaming from the rear of my pick-up.

Unlike Chris, who anxiously waits by the arched, timber door framed in climbing ivy, I remain in my truck until Shane parks and steps out of his vehicle. He’s at the entrance by the time I set foot on the flagstone path to the small veranda, leaving Trouble, no longer enthralled in the enthusiasm of a moving vehicle, where he wrestles his giant bone, dedicated to his oversized joy. I don’t break stride as I shake hands lightly with Pretty Boy Shane in brief greeting upon entering the house behind them.

Alina’s brother’s cropped, chocolate waves appear slightly damp from his recent shower, glistening in the changing light above his retro sideburns. Inside, the magnitude of his golden skin and eyes are subdued. Chris is already making his way up the stairs in the direction of Alina’s bedroom as Shane closes the door behind me. I don’t know why it irritates me that Chris is being so blatantly anxious, almost as if he wants there to be cause for alarm. Shane and I climb the stairs behind him with significantly less enthusiasm. Where I’d never have imagined I’d have anything in common with the guy, I find us on the same page now, hoping for the best.

I’m last to enter the room, but first to speak. Against who I’ve been since leaving the service, I speak clearly and definitively. Get away from there, I order Peewee. He’s retrieved Alina’s shattered cell phone from the floor beside her mattresses and is peeking through her closet. In the same moment he and Shane both obviously question my assertiveness with their expressions, but I hardly notice. My attention is on the lamp that obviously should be upright beside her bed, but is lying on its side in the middle of the floor beside her strewn purse. The lamp itself may not be broken, but glass from the shattered energy efficient bulb is displaced in such a way that I instantly feel wasn’t incidental.

You don’t know she didn’t step out even this morning, Shane insists. His voice reveals every ounce of his doubt.

I do know Alina hadn’t just stepped out this morning. I knew it before I’d even set foot into the house, just as he does now. However, Chris and his sticky fingers are also a concern. Call the cops! I order.

I left my phone in the car. He looks hopeless revealing the shattered screen of her cell and it has little to do with the tiny, purple tee shirt hugging his mediocre trunk.

"Go use the

Reviews for The Fallen

[shelleyraec · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Enjoyed the unusual talent of the detective..a bit slow in parts but a good satisfying read

[yargles · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Robbie Brownlaw suffers from synesthesia which means that when people talk to him he sees their words in colors and can determine the truthfulness of what they say based on those hues. Since Robbie is a police detective, this "gift" has its advantages during investigations and interviews with witnesses as well as suspects. Robbie got this condition after falling from a 6 story building. His fall was broken by a cloth awning; however, that didn't prevent some injuries and the permanent synesthesia condition.
From all indications, The Fallen refers to Robbie and his accident, but as the novel progresses, it's clear that there's more than one "fallen" in the book. I've found T Jefferson Parker to be very reliable in writing interesting stories with intriguing characters, and The Fallen lives up to that standard. However, it is not one of Parker's best. I thought it was somewhat predictable as well as unrealistic particularly where Robbie's private life was concerned. In spite of that, though, Parker's second best work is still better than some authors' best, so I'd still recommend this one to mystery lovers.

[jojomac_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

An acceptable airport or beach read when presented with very few alternatives

[wyvernfriend · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

When Robbie Brownlaw was thrown out of a building and falls on his head he develops Synesthesia. He sees what people say to him as colours and it helps him in his job as a detective. Garrett Asphlundth was hired to look into rumours about a certain reputed madam and local prominent politicians. He's killed in a way that looks like suicide but the clues don't add up. In order to find out what's wrong Brownlaw has to solve Asplundth's investigation.I found it a very interesting read. I enjoyed the story and the personal stories.

[fieldsli · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This was a disappointing read. The idea of a person having synesthesia in a form that allows them to know if others are being truthful was interesting, but the sappy personal relationships were disappointing.

[jrtanworth · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Another excellent offering by T.J. Parker, tightly written, appealing characters, engaging plot.