Another “almost” novel, read chapter 1 here!

This is a work in progress – let me know what you think!

The stench of sorrow and sweat filled the summer air as a slow cool mist moved in from the Mississippi river. Sara pulled her long black hair back in a tie and sucked in the cool air through the opened window. It had been sweltering for weeks; a break from the Midwest summer heat was welcomed. Keeping her face towards the breeze, she slid on her black shorts that hugged her tight, leaving little to the imagination. The white crop tank top wasn’t any looser. She pulled it on and sighed. She hated the work “uniform” that said “Biggies’s Bar” across her chest. Actually she hated the crop tank top, the daisy duke shorts, and the bar equally. Not that she had much of a choice. Now eighteen, she was out of the foster system, left without a home or money. She had to work somewhere, and in the city of Sauget or better know at East St. Louis, that somewhere was a bar or strip club, Sara settled for the bar in a strip club. She didn’t dance for dollars but the devil’s in the details.

Sara reflected on her new life while watching the sun was set over the St. Louis skyline. The town of Sauget was a nocturnal city and was just waking up for what would end up being an unforgettable night. During the daylight the city was still as death, much like an urban concrete cemetery. Like bloodsuckers they were, the crack heads and dealers slept when the sun shone bright in the sky. The darkness crept into her like oil across a pristine ocean, engulfing and destroying in its path. It wasn’t that she feared the dark; it was just the powerlessness she hated. She liked to be in control, of her life, her destiny and her emotions. She couldn’t have expected what was coming for her.

The main drag was lined with strip clubs, massage parlors and liquor stores, a sea of filth and despair. Soon the women of the evening would step out on center stage staring in what Sara called the “Sauget ballet”, the dance of the depressed. She’d be there, hating every minute, but still there.   

She knew many of the dancers. They weren’t bad people, just made bad decisions, lots and lots of bad decisions. Most had a retched story of abuse and neglect, each one worse than the other. She tried not to get involved, tried not to care. Sometimes it worked, sometimes she failed miserably. But, she never let it show. She knew having an open heart only meant it was an easier target for pain. She wouldn’t let anyone hurt her again. As the memories of the past pricked at her subconscious, she fought them and went back to getting dressed.

As she put on her eye shadow she thought, the worst part of being a waitress at the bar wasn’t the sleazy uniform, the discussing patrons, and the shame of it all, but was the Fallen. They didn’t know she was watching, they thought all humans were oblivious to their existence. They in fact were invisible to most people, just not her. Lucky her, she thought. Sara’s skin crawled at the thought of them. A shiver ran through her and she felt a familiar twinge in her belly. She turned and knew instinctively where it was coming from.

Going to the window, she rested her forearms on the old frame. The screen was long gone and she leaned out the hole in the wall. She looked south down the main drag, a man in low riding black shorts and long white tank top was bent over, leaning into a car parked along the curb. A drug deal, she thought. It was an all too familiar scene. Just off in the shadow, her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the all black clad figure, it’s what she felt. It was close enough to the dealer to know he was its mark. Her stomach tightened as it always did when they were near. She watched it move in the shadows, rocking back and forth on its heels. Its arms folded around its chest. It looked so complacent, almost bored. It had no remorse, no feelings, and no concern for the lives it tampered with. It was soulless and evil and she hated it. Sara looked skyward, her face drawn in confusion and anger. “Why?” she demanded, anger boiling to the surface. She didn’t expect and answer, she’d never gotten on before.

She watched the rest, like a train wreak you can’t turn away from. When transaction finished and the dealer turned and walked south. The Fallen stopped, dropped its head and arms for a moment before it disintegrated. She closed her eyes, balled her fists until her knuckles hurt and the metal cross she held in her right palm cut into her skin. She had prayed everyday, many times a day, for all her years. And still she could see. Why could she see it? Was she cursed? Punished for something she didn’t know and couldn’t fix. Eighteen years of frustration boiled in her, she yelled at no one and the only one “Fine, if you want it like this, then fine!” She turned and stomped into her bathroom, washed off the tiny dots of red blood from her hand where the cross cut through her skin. The steal cross necklace was a gift. She wore the chain wrapped around her wrist three times, the cross dangled in her right palm. She squeezed it anytime she needed a reminder of good and living there it was pretty often. 

She’d notice there were more Fallen and those soul suckers were getting bolder. The failing economy was leaving more and more people without jobs. They were destitute, searching for easy money and escape from the misery. Depression brings drinking and drinking brings depression. The Fallen knew where to go, they new when people were at their weakest and just what to say.

            She didn’t know why she saw them and no one else did. They did there business and she didn’t interfere. It wasn’t her fight, she wasn’t getting involved, and it wasn’t worth it. People were giving the greatest gift, choice. She couldn’t choose for them and they wouldn’t listen to her anyway.  A sigh slid out from her tight lips, she learned long ago, no matter how much she hated it, it was her life.

            Sara gathered her bag and grabbed a Coke from the small refrigerator. Her apartment was once a cheap motel room, converted last year to apartments. The one room wasn’t bigger than twelve foot by twelve foot. She had a small TV that didn’t have cable and only the local news. A pile of books tossed haphazardly by the bed, all genres mixed together, from romance to mystery, to good ole feel good Christian. She loved to read. Her favorite book was tucked under her pillow. It was the most treasured item she had.

            Sara stepped out into the cool moist air, closing her eyes imagining for a moment she was somewhere, anywhere but there. Maybe on a beach, she could almost feel the cool breeze off the ocean, the scent of salt and sun, and the sounds of gulls in the distance. She felt a slow smile cross her face. For a moment it was different, she was different, it was beautiful.

            “Hey baby, you’ze need a date?” A gruff slurred voice hollered from a parked car, jolting her out of the beach dream.

            “Not from you honey.” Sara responded without looking, waving her hand and walking away from the car. She was used to the cat calls and whistles; they were background noise to her daily routine. She had only lived in Sauget for two months but it had already left its grimy mark on her. You couldn’t tell by looking at her. She was tall, thin but fit. Her skin was young, soft, and naturally tan. Her dark brown eyes set in a perfectly heart shaped face. She was lovely, but the hardness of her jaw and lips took the sweetness from her face. Her long black sicken hair swung across her back. She could have hustled her looks at the bar and gotten ten times the amount of tips. She just wasn’t that girl, at least not yet.

            “Hey, hey..ze you!” She turned to see the man crawl from the parked car. “Wheres you goin? I’s needs some lovin.” His smile was cocked, teeth missing; long scraggly hair covered his eyes. His jeans were filthy and shirt ripped. He looked like he’d crawled out of a dumpster behind Biggie’s Bar. Sara turned rolling her eyes, he was harmless, just a drunk. She kept walking, her heels clicking loudly over the uneven sidewalk.

            Her stomach clinched before she heard the low whisper, not slurred and to confident, it froze her midstep. “She likes you, go after her, she wants it.” She turned back to the drunk to see him, a Fallen. He hovered near the man prodding him to keep going. The drunk smiled wide with sick delight in his eyes. “Look, she’s staring at you, she needs it, and you have to give her what she needs.” Its voice was soft as velvet as it whispered. She felt the pull to its will. She looked at the drunk and knew he felt it to. She had seen that look before; she needed to get out of there, and quick. She tried not to look directly at the Fallen, she knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t stop. It wasn’t looking at her; it was concentrating on the drunk. It was at least six foot tall and wide. Muscular and beautiful, its black hair was long enough to touch his ears in a messy magazine model way. Its jaw was square with plump lips that had a slight curl. Its eyes glistened with excitement and anticipation. Strange how she could still see its beauty even though she instinctively knew it was evil. It wore all black as they always did, like shadows seeping in and out of her world. Sara was sickened by its lovely evil and choked on the bile in her throat. She knew she needed to get of its way. When a Fallen had a mark, they didn’t give up easily. They were ruthless and she wanted no part in its game.

            “Stop, youze pretty, wait!” The drunk was yelling and stumbling towards Sara. She knew he wouldn’t be tough to overpower, he was after all stinking drunk, wobbly and scrawny. She pondered the option of a fight. This wouldn’t be her first scuffle with a man. She had fought many while in the foster system. It seemed any pervert could get a license to foster kids. She stole a glace at the Fallen; it smirked like it had won. The fury grew in Sara like a run away train; she would never run from a Fallen. They had no power over her. She turned and planted her heals, ready to take on anything they had.

            A few feet behind the drunk, two more men crawled out of the car. One was at least three hundred pounds and the other a Mexican version of the first, thin but leaner. A wave of doubt crashed over her. One drunk was no problem but three and a Fallen, those odds were worse, a lot worse. She studied the Fallen, seeing his dark hazel eyes flash with delight, its soft pale skin glisten in the twilight night. She memorized its height, stance, demeanor, the way it felt to her and how it smelled of burning stone and ash. They would meet again.

            She turned sharp on her black three inch heals and ran straight into the street, dodging a rusted out blue Ford truck by mere inches. The only weakness of the Fallen was they were only as fast and strong as the human mark they controlled. In this case the drunks weren’t going to catch her. Sara sprinted across the street and turned right. Grateful she lived only a few blocks away from the bar. Praying each step that her high heals wouldn’t break and she didn’t fall. She took a quick glance back at the three drunks. They hadn’t advanced, the Fallen was starring at her. She could see the anger in its eyes and the evil pulsed from it moving through the night tickling her skin. She ran faster, damn those high heals.

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