The Fallen Angel

Chapter IV

"Hello, Olivia." I stopped in my tracks. His voice sent chills down my spine, just like it had the first time.

"You're a smart girl; I knew you would figure it out eventually." My body turned around slowly, following the sound of his voice. He was submerged in the darkness of the room, the flame of his lighter casting a shadow upon his features as he approached it to his cigarette. He was tall and lean but he had broad shoulders that stood out in his shadow. His hair was curly and tousled and his eyes were a piercing dark brown, but appeared a fiery orange when reflecting the light of the flame. It was him, the man that haunted my every dream. He blew out a puff of smoke and tilted his head as he watched me.

"You remember me," he hummed with a grin. He stood up straight and stepped on the bud he had just tossed on the floor. He strode towards me like a predator, knowing the power he had over me as his lips curved into a devilish smile.

"Who are you?" It was barely a whisper.

"You're asking the wrong questions love," he repeated the words he had told me on the phone. He circled me but it felt as though my feet were fixed to the floor.

"What are you?" I followed him with my eyes as he walked around. He smiled at my question, making me regret asking.

He laughed to himself. "The dreams you've been having," he began. "Can you recall what they were?" I looked to the floor and began searching through my mind. Every time I attempted to remember, it turned out blank.

"Think darling. Think really hard," he whispered in my ear and I shuddered.

"All I can remember is you," I stared up at him and he bit his lip.

"When did they start again?"

There was a pause. "After my Mother died," I said, the realization hitting me.

"Your Mother spent her whole life protecting you. Lovely woman, not that I ever had the chance to meet her," he shrugged.

"How did you know my Mother?" I asked, squinting at him in disbelief.

"There are many things you do not know, Olivia. Many things people have kept from you."

"You're lying," tears began to well up in my eyes. 

"Am I?" he challenged, staring at me. It felt as though he could read my soul. "Tell me how your Mother died." I stared at him, my thoughts turning in my head like a storm I couldn't escape.

"She died in a car accident," I stated and he laughed.

"Is that what they told you?" he gripped my shoulders and I shoved him away.

"Why are you doing this?" I cowered away from him, realizing where I was and how fast my heart was beating. I let the knife hidden in my sleeve slide down into my hand.

"I know you believe me. I can see it in your eyes. I can see the questioning look, the curiosity that fires within them when I speak," he dodged my question. "Don't give in to their lies."

"Stop it!" I shouted at him, pulling at my hair in desperation. "You're not real," I muttered to myself. I began pacing around, shaking my head and whispering nonsense.

"If I am not real, how can I do this?" He was behind me now, the heat of his body making me shudder. He let his hand glide down the side of my arm, such a gentle touch you could barely feel it. But at the same time, it was all my body could sense. It set my every nerve on fire, my skin burning at his touch.

"Who are you?" I closed my eyes and he approached his mouth to my ear, so close that I could feel the heat of his breath fan along the delicate skin of my neck.

"Lucifer," he said confidently. "A name you will surely remember."

I opened my eyes once again, and he was gone.

___

It ate at me. It was this taunting feeling, like an itch you couldn't scratch. I walked in and dropped my stuff on the floor near the door. I had thrown out the picture on my way home, hoping that my Dad would believe he had lost it. For an inspector, he was forgetful and it worked to my advantage.

"Olivia," my Dad smiled and I jumped. He wasn't supposed to be back until nine. "I came home early," he added as I pressed my hand to my racing heart. He looked tired; I knew he had been working long hours.

"What are you doing home so late? I thought school finished at four."

"I went to a friend's house," I lied.

"That's nice," he shrugged, but I could feel his enthusiasm. He had hoped I would make friends; he had mentioned it the night before the first day. I wasn't the most popular person back home and he had hoped that it would be a fresh start for me, like any father I suppose.

"You know you don't have to miss work. I'm fine on my own," I added, grabbing an apple from the basket in the middle of the counter.

"I know. I needed a break," he popped the cap off his bottle of beer.

"Mind if I have one?" I joked.

"Are you really asking a Police Chief for a beer at 17?" he raised his eyebrow and I raised my hands in the air.

"I'm only joking," I shook my head and began walking away.

"Hey," he said and I turned around. He held up a bottle and tossed it towards me.

"Don't tell you're..." his sentence faded away and his smile disappeared. I knew what he was going to say. He had slipped a few times before, even if it had been over eight years.

"Thanks," I forced a smile and made it up to my room. It triggered something in me, words the man had stirred up barely an hour before. I stared at my computer lying on my bed, my foot tapping nervously on my carpeted floor before I reached for it. I had never thought to type it in. I knew what happened and it was always what I told people. I had closure with the matter, but now my Mother's death was resurfacing and it was raising questions I never thought I'd ask.

I didn't know what to start with, so I typed in her name. A few things turned up, but an article caught my attention. It was a recent one, written only a few months ago. I scrolled through, not paying attention to what was written until her picture came across the screen. It was the one my Dad had on his bedroom desk. She was smiling.

So I went back up and read the title: Mysterious Disappearance: Abigail Jenson still missing almost nine years later. My heart dropped and I felt a wave hit me so hard I was drowning in it. I began crying, all the emotions flowing through me, the pain I've been keeping trapped inside finally escaping. I covered my mouth, muffling my sobs so that my Dad didn't hear them.

He was right.

I shook my head and shut my computer, pushing it away with my foot. I hated beer and I never understood the appeal, but it seemed right in the moment, so I took a big swing and cringed in disgust before taking another. I knew one wouldn't make me drunk, but I hoped it would ease a little of the pain.

"I have to go in but I'll be back soon," my Dad shouted from the bottom of the steps, but I didn't bother to answer. I waited for the door to shut and I made my way downstairs. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I reached for it with a questioning look.

Do you believe me now? It read from a number I had never seen before. I looked it over and turned off my phone.