Nephilim: Children of Angels

1: We're All Angelic Here

The building is strangely mundane, not matching the terror it instills in me. A large brick structure surrounded by buildings of a similar description in a downtown area. I would guess dental office or maybe paper company, if I didn't know better. But I do know better. I've had many experiences with places like these, none of them pleasant.

...

Dad kissed my head and left me in the capable hands of my mother's mental health technician while he went in to see how she was. I kicked my legs in my seat, watching the bustle of staff around the mental health center.

"Barbara Paige, 31 schizophrenia symptoms first onset at age 21. Doctors speculate onset triggered by the stress of labor and delivery. History of postpartum depression." I overheard the tech, who was supposed to be looking after me, give report to the oncoming crew. Irrefutable proof that I am the cause of both my mother's and my father's suffering.

"Lane?" My dad panicked, using my middle name affectionately as he wiped my tears with his hand. "What happened?" he looked so concerned and tired. I didn't want to explain to him I was crying because I'm the demon my cousin claimed I was, many years ago. Or remind him that I'm the one responsible for all his pain.

"I hit my arm." I lied, cradling it to me. I didn't know if he believed me, but he looked relieved.

"Want me to pinch your leg? It will make your arm feel better." He joked before tickling me mercilessly. I laughed uncontrollably. "Or maybe we should just cut it off?"

"No!" I yelled in protest of his question and tickling.

"Let's go kid." Dad laughed, ending his tickle torment. Taking my hand, he walked me out of that horrible place.

...

Dad holds the door open for me and my heart seizes in my chest. I want to run. This is my greatest fear, after all. Being locked up in one of these places like my mother, but at least here I won't be able to hurt anyone anymore than I already have. Especially dad. How could I possibly hurt him anymore than I have? I look at his tired scruffy face smiling patiently at me and fight back the tears as I shuffle through the door.

"Hello, I'm Janine." A short full-figured woman in black scrubs greets as we walk into the eggshell white lobby featuring only a desk and a few chairs.

"Hello, Janine. I'm James Paige. This is my daughter Sara." Dad greets, offering his hand.

"We have been expecting you, Sara." Janine replies with an overly sweet smile that seems to strain her round face.

I wave, giving her an equally strained half smile. I could still run. The door is right there. I'd rather die than be here, I'd already proven that, yet here I stand.

I jump as dad wraps me in a hug, his beard scratching the side of my face, a comforting annoyance. One I was never supposed to feel again. "I love you." He murmurs gruffly, squeezing me tighter. I stumble as he releases me abruptly and heads for the door.

"Love you." I finally answer as the door closes. I guess there is no right way to act in this situation. I'm supposed to be dead. I'm not supposed to act any way.

"Come along, Sara. I'll need to take your bag." Janine locks my bag in a closet. The closet has a few other bags, so at least it won't be lonely.

"Did you bring your phone?" She asks.

"No." I answer simply. The nurse at the hospital told dad they would take it here so he should send me with a list of phone numbers. Dad said he would hang onto it, for when I got home. I'm not going home, but I don't need the phone anyway. Corpses don't need phones.