In Between

Prologue

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All contents in this book are fictional. The historical stories and locations are completely made up. So please do not correct me because they are not factual. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy.
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The woman held the oak basket in her arms, attempting to shield it's contents from the rain, as she ran down the deserted street. The golden waves of her hair grew and subsided like an ocean behind her. Lights over head beamed down and focused on the puddles that had collected on the sidewalk and the cool of the air pinched at the skin. Her heart was steady, unmoving even in her considerable state of fear. She stopped at a building, a dark brick statue with a rotting iron fence holding in little yard space covered in weeds. Its walls were stained, slanted at an angle that gave way to an uneven foundation.

She turned towards the basket, cradled in her left arm, and she lifted the blanket that lay over it. A sleepy babe opened its eyes ever so slowly, its long eye lashes batting as the child focused onto the woman's face.

The baby smiled. Its brilliant blue eyes shimmered in the bleak evening and even in the dark, her raven hair shimmered like the black of an oil spill. Giggling and grabbing at a stray piece of the woman's hair, the child began gnawing on it calmly. The woman wished she could smile, looking at the toothless grin of her child. But it was wrong to do so. Not when she knew she never could again. No attachments, nothing to recollect; that was the purpose.

The cold, concrete steps to the door felt harder than the rest of the Earth, fighting against each of her moves.

It had to be done.

She set the basket down, hesitating, and pulled the hair out of the grip of the baby. It did not wail or cry out in fury, but instead looked into the woman's eyes intently, waiting for her next move.

The mother reached into the basket, and touched the child's forehead with two fingers. She had done this many times to help calm the nightmares, to help the baby sleep. With little concentration, she drew the lines and whispered a prayer. Within moments, the child was fast asleep.

She covered the basket and the doorbell was rang.

From the confides of a parked car's shadow, the women stood watch as the door was opened. A woman, farther in her years, took gaze upon the basket in seconds. Her frail fingers lifted up the blanket and saw its contents. She took it up gently, holding it tightly in her arms, and with one last survey, she took the basket and it's contents inside.

The door was shut. The child was gone. The rain still fell.

But not all was alright. Not yet.

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She had found her place on a bench, shocked by the cold, that looked into the open spaces beyond. Although it stung against her skin, it was almost comfortable as the pain of it numbed itself away over time.

"Jeremiah, a surprise to see you in such an area this time of night."

A man stepped out of the dark, embodied in its own shadow. She half expected to see his evil smile, the same one he flashed that summer night they met. Instead she was met with twisted brows, a snark grin, and his enlarged pupils focusing on her face in the night.

"It's not kind to speak to an old friend in such a cold way."

"Considering I am speaking to you at all is the kindest thing I can procure."

"There is no obligation to be cordial, I was simply stating a fact." He followed her gaze to the moonlit landscape and graciously clasped his hands behind his back. Jeremiah was a strict follower of the ideology of politeness.

His gaze stayed for a moment, almost hypnotized by the way the moon came into swirls of nothingness on the water beyond

The fists behind his back clenched and unclenched, his nails digging into his palms. A silver drop fell from his palm to the ground. "Where is she?" His voice was softer now, packed with its usual poison.

"Where is who?" She asked, pretending to be completely clueless in attempt to stall. Jeremiah sprung towards her suddenly and slashed at her face with his hand. His long nails tore a gash above her right brow; it instantly began to bleed.

"Don't antagonize me! Where is the child?"

She staggered a little. Of course he knew. But she had done so much to hide it.

"A place you shall never find her." Jeremiah's face was in front of hers, no breathe grazing the cheeks dripping in her blood. Eyes locked, he took his dagger and slammed it deep within her thigh, the pain unbearable. She did not move, however, because weakness meant her death.

"That child must die. I'm sure you are aware of the prophecy," he looked to her with more calm than before, lifting the knife out of her skin. His presence, cold, began to set deep in her bones and she shook. Jeremiah continued, inches away from her nose, "it states that a child will be born of both worlds and rule over all. And I cannot have that. As you may also know," he took a single step back, "I am in the middle of building my own army for the war."

He watched her as she attempted to hold still through the agonizing pain in her leg, the cut on her face now covering her gown. Jeremiah was close to conquering another Nephilium.

"The night I met you, I should have known you weren't human. No human could withstand me. I presume it was somewhat my fault," Jeremiah tilted his head like a curious child, watching as her legs became soaked in red. "My kind is very fertile and I should have guessed you would have conceived a child."

"You're a monster," was all she could say without gasping in pain, falling from her seat on the bench to her knees, hands collapsed around her wound.

"I am going to give you one more chance....where is the child?!?!?"

The woman glared up at him as she bled, "I will NEVER tell you! I will die before a single whisper of her location escapes my lips." The woman began to let go. The mud around her sunk deep into her clothes and her hair was already matted with sweat. In exhaustion, she landed on her side, the focus of the night becoming blurry. He had severed a major artery; she was dying.

The stalk of a man above snorted and held his dagger in hand. "Then so be it." He stated, slamming the dagger, already drenched in blood, down underneath the left side of her collar bone. A deep crack sent a seizure through the woman's body. A direct hit to the heart. Jeremiah laughed at this. "You were of no use to me anyway."

The woman's head had turned to the side and her deep eyes were empty and hard. He could smell the heavenly scent of her blood as it flooded into her white gown, even though her heart was no longer beating. It was a shame to waste.

Jeremiah disappeared into the shadows, leaving the corpse of the women, now in red, on the ground. A promise, unspoken, was made that day, one that could not be forgone. 

Jeremiah was going to kill his daughter. Just as he had done to her mother.