Dark Angel: Book of Souls

I bolted upright in bed. I put my face in my hands and hunched over. My entire body was freezing from the sweat soaking me. I brought my knees up to my chest and rocked back and forth. My head stung and burned. I reached up to touch it and I felt hot liquid…blood. Salty tears glided down my face, blurring my vision; my body went ice cold and my breath cut short… My heart faltered.

            My dream hit me like someone stabbing my chest. This “dream” was neither dream, nor any nightmare either. He chased me; the masked man, he was always chasing after me. I would run, just run as fast I could, run until my legs went numb and turned into jelly. He was fast though; too fast and he would catch me. As he would grab onto my shoulders he would shove me forward and I would land on the dirt road. My head hit a rock and it was bleeding…a lot. He turned me over and stared at me with dark, evil eyes. I screamed, my mouth letting out the most awful, shrill shrieks. I just kept screaming until my voice failed and my throat was bleeding. He ripped open my clothes with gloved hands and his cold eyes savored my exposed flesh. He removed the glove from one hand and then the other, putting them into his pockets. His calloused hand stroked my cheek and I let out a whimper. He wiped away my hot tears and I felt my heartbeat quicken.

            The masked man straddled me, holding my arms by my wrists high above my head. He pressed his thick licks to mine and invaded my mouth with his tongue. The bitter disgust filled me and I wanted to vomit but my throat was closed. So I just cried. I felt a sharp pain in my left side; then it ended. The dream just ended. Now I was awake and hot tears and blood were streaking my face.

            I got up, out of my bed and ran into the bathroom across the hall. Every bruise he inflicted on me was replicated on my skin. His fingerprints lingered on my wrists. I grabbed a hand towel and dabbed my forehead. Then I opened the cabinet and dug through it for the alcohol; I poured some onto the towel and rubbed the gash on my head. It took me about an hour to stop the bleeding. Even after though, the burning of my skin wouldn’t cease.

            I sat up the rest of the night on my laptop going over thousands of search results to find the source of my…”dreams”. There was nothing and at some point I eventually dozed off.

            “BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” the alarm clock blared in my pounding head. I slowly pulled my head up off the desk. I emitted a groan as my head hid the lamp. Then I slammed my hand down on the clock, shutting it off. With that, I meandered over to my dresser and grabbed something to wear, what that was I did not at all care for.  I walked back into the bathroom changed and then looked in the mirror. I looked dead… no color, bruising everywhere. I grabbed some make up and applied it heavily as required until I could barely notice any change. Then I took off downstairs and out the door to my bus.

            School was normal; I listened to the teachers’ usual spiel and drew in my notebook all class. All my homework was done in study hall and then I was back to drawing and writing all day. Slowly I illustrated my dream accompanying it with a composition of description.

            Somewhere I lost myself and before I could comprehend the drawings in front of me, were not of my dreams, but of what would happen. I stared at them dully, not able to piece it together. I had not only done the previous dreams but I had written more to come. I stared at the illustrations, nothing but fear and unwavering hate filtered through my pores. I watched as the girl in front of me turned around and looked to my work. Her jaw hit the floor as her eyes grew as round as the moon. She looked at me before she grabbed her stuff and walked to a desk across the room.

            I don’t remember anything after that. My vision blurred and blacked out. I open my eyes and I’m handcuffed sitting in the back of a cop car.  I do what any person would do, I scream. I look down; my white tee is covered in blood and my blue jeans as well. My shoe is missing and my body throbs.

            I looked in front of me, the man in the front seat looked at me through the visor mirror. He saw into my eyes. That was when I noticed my reflection. I stopped screaming and started to whimper. There was blood smeared all over my face, my hands. I could taste it upon my tongue. It was bittersweet, both good and bad, I liked the taste but hated I too.

            “What happened to me?” I looked into his eyes; they were a golden honey brown. Something like pity lingered behind the blacks.

            “You honestly don’t remember what happened?” He looked at me with shock and worry, I just shook my head. “You killed a girl. I believe she said something about you being a deranged lunatic, something about your drawings, your writings. Then you went berserk. You threw a desk at her head. She dodged it, but you jumped on her, attacking her. Then you…well, I guess you bit her. You umm, drank her blood…. So I’m bringing you to a holding cell, in a church. We have to leave some of this to the church.” He paused, scanning my face for a reaction.

            “I…WHAT? Did you just say I drank some girl’s blood?! Are you mad? Are you bloody mad?” I listened to my own speech, since when did I speak like the English? “Why is the church getting involved?”

            “Only the church deals with…demonic possessions. Or rather the supernatural, the unknown. Then a certain task force from a particular government sector is going to come by and take over the case.” He murmured the last part, and then removed his eyes from mine.

            I didn’t know what exactly was going on, and honestly I didn’t want to, so I just sat out the rest of the ride in silence. I didn’t struggle, didn’t fight when they put me inside that damned church, whatever was wrong with me, I wanted it gone. So I let them do what they must.

            They let me bathe, eat and pick a room. It was a simple room, much like a bedroom, except it had a bathroom and the windows and doors were secured. By “secured” I mean barred windows and a door that had a key pad and a hand scan. Whatever I did had to be pretty intense for them to go through all this trouble over me…

            About two hours later a priest came into my room. He was young, and sort of attractive I guess, well, if you’re into priests.

            “Hello dear, I am Father Samuel Black. Pleas, call me Sam. Now, I believe we should start discussing you, so I am going to start with some basic questions. What is your name? Your age? What is your family like? What do you like? Has anything strange happened recently? Do you know about the Devil? Do you go to church? Do you know why you are here?”

            “For starters, my name is Windshift Evermore Grace, I am 16 years old. My family isn’t much of a family, we don’t talk anymore. I like to draw and write. I know about the Devil, and I know that he is evil. I don’t go to church. I know why I am here.” I looked at him; he seemed to be expecting more. “I go by Ever when you have to call me something, Ever or Win.”

            He just kept looking at me. He wanted to know if anything unusual has happened, but I didn’t want to tell him.

            “You have a rather unusual name, but has anything strange happened lately?”

            “Are you sure you want to know?” his nod was all I needed, then I did the thing I never thought I would; I discussed my entire life story with a priest, from being adopted to my scary dreams. He didn’t judge me, why? I’m not even the first…