Read Online Angels of Destruction by Keith Donohue - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Keith Donohue
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Fiction - General, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Girls, supernatural, Widows, Visionary & Metaphysical, American Contemporary Fiction - Individual Authors +
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catching up on his patients’ paperwork. “Goodnight, Erica.”
Allowing her the mistake, the girl held out her hands to help Margaret rise from the couch, and kissed her gently on her papery cheek. Slowly, the woman took the steps to her bed and to her dreams. Norah switched off the lamp and courted in the dark the fear that she had arrived too late to save anyone.
Upstairs, hours after Margaret had gone to bed, Norah cracked the door to the woman's room to spy her sleeping, the covers drawn to her chin, and an extra blanket draped over her body like a shroud. Darkness obscured her features, but the body remained still, save for the slight lift of her shoulders with each breath. Illuminated by the hallway lamp, her left hand rested flat on the sheets against her chin. A lattice of veins snaked beneath the skin, her long, elegant fingers, and the wedding ring she still wore. Assured of the woman's peace, Norah snuck back down the stairs, unhooked her parka by the door, and stepped out into the night.
Frigid air attacked every exposed opening, stinging eyes and ears, burrowing into her brain through the sinuses and deeper into her lungs with every breath. She threw back her head to take in the stars, bright and sharp. Each exhalation formed a small cloud which dissipated into blackness. Norah fell to her knees and bowed forward till her forehead touched the ground, and her hood rose and fell over her head as she prayed. The one who had been following her moved from his hiding spot and drew closer, secreting himself amid the horns of the bare rosebushes that ran in a thicket along the Delarosas’ property. Danger hummed in her ears, the menace made the short hairs on her arms stand on end, yet she remained steadfast in concentration and prayer.
Not far away from where she had prostrated herself, Sean Fallon awoke from a bad dream. He had been walking across a dry and open savanna, the African sun hammering at his vision, so he had to strain to see through the wavy heat the wonder of wonders: zebras and wildebeests as far as the horizon, with cattle egrets hitching rides on dusty backs, and small clouds of dirt as the animals wandered under a painful blue sky. At the edge of the plain, an ancient baobab grew, a twisted and gnarled sentry in the tall, dry grass; beneath its branches monkeybread had fallen at his feet. The low thunder of the cat rumbled from above, and he turned in time to catch the mad yellow eyes out of the shadow of spots, the teeth white and sharp against the liquid black mouth, claws flexed as it leapt at him, and he woke up, astonished to be in his bed in his room, the starlight seeping through the edges of the window blinds.
He unfurled the covers and got out of bed. His E.T. alarm, with a clock in the center of its belly, read 1:30 a.m. A voice compelled him to come out into the cold night, and he crept past his mother's room, down the stairs, and to the front door for his boots and overcoat. A shadow moved between the moon and the earth and raced past him at threatening speed. He hurried down the hill toward the Quinns’ house, yet he almost missed her, bent to the ground, motionless as a dove on a rock, and he feared disturbing her. Curiosity trumped anxiety, and he crouched down close to her, so that he might speak softly yet be assured she would hear.
“What are you doing, Norah? You'll freeze to death.”
She did not look up at him, and her words hit the ground beneath her face. “I am praying for guidance.”
Sean looked to the silent house. All of the windows were dark, but the porch light glowed like a yellow eye. “Guidance for what? It's freezing.”
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “For what can be done for Mrs. Quinn, what can be done for you. And what to do about the one who is following me.”
He looked out into the darkness but saw nothing. “Someone's following you?”
“Someone's trying to stop me and take me away from here.”
“But why would anyone
Allowing her the mistake, the girl held out her hands to help Margaret rise from the couch, and kissed her gently on her papery cheek. Slowly, the woman took the steps to her bed and to her dreams. Norah switched off the lamp and courted in the dark the fear that she had arrived too late to save anyone.
Upstairs, hours after Margaret had gone to bed, Norah cracked the door to the woman's room to spy her sleeping, the covers drawn to her chin, and an extra blanket draped over her body like a shroud. Darkness obscured her features, but the body remained still, save for the slight lift of her shoulders with each breath. Illuminated by the hallway lamp, her left hand rested flat on the sheets against her chin. A lattice of veins snaked beneath the skin, her long, elegant fingers, and the wedding ring she still wore. Assured of the woman's peace, Norah snuck back down the stairs, unhooked her parka by the door, and stepped out into the night.
Frigid air attacked every exposed opening, stinging eyes and ears, burrowing into her brain through the sinuses and deeper into her lungs with every breath. She threw back her head to take in the stars, bright and sharp. Each exhalation formed a small cloud which dissipated into blackness. Norah fell to her knees and bowed forward till her forehead touched the ground, and her hood rose and fell over her head as she prayed. The one who had been following her moved from his hiding spot and drew closer, secreting himself amid the horns of the bare rosebushes that ran in a thicket along the Delarosas’ property. Danger hummed in her ears, the menace made the short hairs on her arms stand on end, yet she remained steadfast in concentration and prayer.
Not far away from where she had prostrated herself, Sean Fallon awoke from a bad dream. He had been walking across a dry and open savanna, the African sun hammering at his vision, so he had to strain to see through the wavy heat the wonder of wonders: zebras and wildebeests as far as the horizon, with cattle egrets hitching rides on dusty backs, and small clouds of dirt as the animals wandered under a painful blue sky. At the edge of the plain, an ancient baobab grew, a twisted and gnarled sentry in the tall, dry grass; beneath its branches monkeybread had fallen at his feet. The low thunder of the cat rumbled from above, and he turned in time to catch the mad yellow eyes out of the shadow of spots, the teeth white and sharp against the liquid black mouth, claws flexed as it leapt at him, and he woke up, astonished to be in his bed in his room, the starlight seeping through the edges of the window blinds.
He unfurled the covers and got out of bed. His E.T. alarm, with a clock in the center of its belly, read 1:30 a.m. A voice compelled him to come out into the cold night, and he crept past his mother's room, down the stairs, and to the front door for his boots and overcoat. A shadow moved between the moon and the earth and raced past him at threatening speed. He hurried down the hill toward the Quinns’ house, yet he almost missed her, bent to the ground, motionless as a dove on a rock, and he feared disturbing her. Curiosity trumped anxiety, and he crouched down close to her, so that he might speak softly yet be assured she would hear.
“What are you doing, Norah? You'll freeze to death.”
She did not look up at him, and her words hit the ground beneath her face. “I am praying for guidance.”
Sean looked to the silent house. All of the windows were dark, but the porch light glowed like a yellow eye. “Guidance for what? It's freezing.”
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “For what can be done for Mrs. Quinn, what can be done for you. And what to do about the one who is following me.”
He looked out into the darkness but saw nothing. “Someone's following you?”
“Someone's trying to stop me and take me away from here.”
“But why would anyone
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