Saved and SAINTified (75 page)

Saint
opened the book, breathing heavily. His attention then shot to his half-opened window. He opened it the rest of the way, concentrating on the dense clouds—the damn clouds, so beautiful as light blue surrounded them, just like in the book. Clouds, with angels,
big
angels—the warrior angels, fighting for good and murdering evil—slaughtering all in their way. He thought of the spent blood, the discussions with Beset, and everything that had transpired. The change was happening; the air had shifted, the energy amplified.

The worry had lifted
... and his home was now in shrouded in golden serenity.

He thought about his sons
; he could feel Dakarai now. He saw through his eyes the workings of a genius—a quiet genius, peeling back a world no one else could see or hinder. Hassani was also coming in clearer, doing strange, wonderful things.

The
y’re working. My little soldiers are working, using their gifts. Protect your mama, boys. Don’t leave her side. Nizsm’s sons have no idea what is in store for them.

Instead of anxiety,
Saint now felt complete relief.

Thank you
. I’ll be there soon, thank you for the extra time. I’ll take care of this ... just a little more time. Xenia, don’t worry. Daddy is almost home, Goddess, and when I get there, shit’s gonna get ugly...

He looked down at his watch
. “Almost there, baby.” he whispered.

****

Xenia felt suddenly naked. She tugged at the fabric of her gown, while simultaneously ushering her sons behind her. The doorbell had rung and everyone stood frozen.

“Dakarai, do the men have the bag and knife you drew?”
Lawrence whispered.

The little boy nodded slowly, his botto
m lip pouty and trembling, and a sullen expression on his small face. Jagger was already outside, standing post. Everyone quieted when the muffled voices of men talking came through. Suddenly, the voices grew louder, followed by a thud. Beset, Saint’s father, Xenia and her sons rushed to the back of the kitchen while Lawrence made his way to the living room, a butcher knife in hand. Another thud came, this one much louder.

“Everyone down in the basement, now! Lock yourself in!”
Lawrence yelled at the top of his lungs.

“I’ll stay with you!”
Saint’s father yelled.

“No, Mr. Aknaten. Help protect them from below, in case anything happens to me!
They need one of
us
with them!”

The small crowd raced
toward the basement door and did as instructed.

****

Suddenly, the front door was kicked in and the alarm sounded, blaring harshly. But just as quickly as it triggered, it diminished and ceased—the intruder had psychically hushed it.

One man stood
above the broken door, dressed all in black, his knuckles bloody and a heinous grimace across his dark tanned face. Slick, dark brown curls coated in sweat peeked from underneath his black skull cap. He stepped over another man that Lawrence believed was his accomplice, and made his way in an angry rush toward him. Lawrence jabbed at the air with precision, the sharp blade slicing the air.

“Don’t come any closer!”

In a thick, Arabic accent, the man pointed behind him and growled, “That man killed my brother! Now he is dead, too. Give me the baby! Now!”

Where the hell is
Jagger?!

“I will cut your throat!”
Lawrence said, meaning every damn word as he peered around, tryng to find any sign at all of his childhood pal.

The man in black laughed. “No one is here to help you
. Saint is dead.”

Pain surged through
Lawrence. He shook his head, reluctant to believe it was so. He’d tried in vain to get a read on Saint, knowing it would be in vain. He could only do it face to face as his powers couldn’t go that far. Jagger had picked him up a time or two earlier in the day, but it was like a bad phone connection with frequently dropped calls.

I would have felt something
. I would know. He can’t be...

The man drew closer, reading
Lawrence’s thoughts. “But it is so. Now give me the baby, or you will be dead, too!”

“I don’t know where the baby is!” And he honestly didn’t. “And even if I did, I would never tell you!”
Lawrence groaned and lunged, carving through the black fabric of the man’s shirt, drawing a sharp line of bright blood. The man looked down in shock, then ambushed Lawrence, tackling him to the ground. The blade fell clumsily out of his hand. Lawrence struggled beneath him, dodging the blows and violent assault...

****

“Something isn’t right; I need to go up there.” Osaze looked up at the ceiling, hearing the ruckus in stereo. Xenia clutched her children tighter as he spoke. Beset stood beside him. The old woman lowered her gaze to the ground, seemingly in prayer.

Osaze refused to stand there any longer and let the young guys be killed. He’d wrestled a time or two with the likes of this sort, and he was done standing idly by.

“I’ll be back.You all stay put, don’t come out of this area.” He straightened his back and marched up the steps...

****

Suddenly, Saint’s father appeared. Lawrence knew they’d heard the commotion but God, he wished that madman would’ve stayed put. Osaze’s eyes widened at the scene. He picked up a large white vase and raced toward the intruder, smashing it on the man’s head. A loud yell rang through the house as the man fell to the side, blood trickling down his face. Osaze helped Lawrence to quickly get to his feet.

“I gotta
... I gotta find Jagger!” Lawrence breathed heavily, wheezing and holding the back of his head from when he was slammed to the floor. He was in a state of panic, wound up from head to toe, worried to death about his dear friend, his brother in spirit.

“Jagger!”
Lawrence screamed out. “I’m coming.”

“Where is he?!”
Osaze barked. “You’re in bad shape too, Lawrence. We need Beset to take a look at you.”  He glanced back at the vile creature’s still body. “Thank God he is out cold. Let’s get you some help.”

“No, we need to find Jagger, first!” He looked around frantically, still holding the back of his head. “Jagger!” Then he became quiet when Osaze
pointed to the open front door...

And his heart fell ten floors...

*
***

Saint saw flashes, glimpses of the distress in his home. He was going insane, bursting at the seams. No one seemed to notice the house warming. Perhaps, everyone was too busy trying to simply survive the traumatic events. Smoke rose from the floors, starting from the blood droplets left in each room and the surrounding perimeter of the house. Very faintly, a trumpet could be heard, but again, no one noticed

Yet Saint knew. He watched on, his heart heavy but his mind convinced.
I’m almost there, just a little more time...

W
ispy trails of violet smoke escaped his lips, this time forming into distinct shapes. Saint looked around the plane. It was too late. He’d made eye contact with a passenger—an alarmed passenger who’d removed their glasses, seemingly in disbelief at was before them. Saint turned away. He knew that in situations like this, it was best to play the fool, pretend as if it wasn’t happening, make the person think they were crazy. He looked back at the now dissipating smoke. Scribed words in front of him made their message clear. It hung for a few seconds before vanishing into thin air:

I’M HERE. INVITATION ACCEPTED.

****

During the commotion, the man in black slowly opened his gleaming eyes. He gingerly touched his head, feeling the blood
.

Angel Children. Saint
has friends that are Angel Children, too.
Not a surprise...
ana ta’ban!

He grimaced
. Yes, I feel sick. That parasite killed my brother right in front of me...

His eyebrows narrowed as he continued to play dead. He watched the
duo move toward the front door and make their way outside, then gingerly got to his feet and opened the small velvet bag in his pocket. A fog emerged from it, coating the air particles as if a dusty rug had been shaken. He wished for a wind to carry it faster, but, it would be in due time.He smiled, happily basking in his naiveté and lay back down, closing his eyes, pretending to be incapacitated ...  slyly waiting for his snare to clench the inhabitants in one choking grip...

****

Several minutes later...

“Don’t touch it, yes, I’m fine!”
Jagger barked gruffly as the group re-entered the room, using their bodies as crutches to help him maneuver.

“Let’s get you some help. You’re bleeding,
Jagger,” Osaze announced as he shook his head and looked at the battered crew. “You both need help, I’m calling Beset.”

He sighed as he made his way swiftly across the room and opened the basement doorway. He descended half way down the steps and looked at the two women and children as he clutched the banister, sitting close together, their eyes shining in the dimness.

“Xenia, we have the situation contained.” The women sighed in relief. “Beset, Jagger and Lawrence have endured some injuries, please come up and have a look.”

“Of course.” The woman promptly got to her feet and made her way towards him.

“Xenia, so that the children aren’t upset, give us a chance to get the area tidied up a bit.” He winked at her. She frowned and nodded, shaking her head. He knew he was understood—that wink was their ‘child proof’ communication, an understanding that tidying up meant there was a damn body lying around so she needed to stay put.

****

Beset studied the wounds on Jagger’s shoulder and upper thigh.  A bullet had grazed him and he’d been stabbed before he eradicated half of the situation and killed one of the bad men that dared to appear at the doorstep.

She ran her hands over it, assessing what she’d need to take care of the nasty situation, she winced, turned away and gripped the side of her head, feeling woozy.

“My ... head...” she slurred.

“I’m not ... feeling so good.”
Lawrence fell to his knees, his eyes rolling. Beset’s eyes widened as both slumped to the floor, unable to keep focus. She looked behind her, catching Osaze as he obliviously approached them with three glasses of water on a tray.

“We need to hurry and...” He stopped in his tracks and looked around, but she could see from his expression, it was too late. The glasses fell to the floor, breaking to pieces. Beset screamed out as she watched a blank expression cross his face as the man fell to his knees, seemingly rendered speechless.

“Allah!” she called out in panic as she too, had weakened. She could no longer support her own weight, as she went crashing down.

She
gasped.

“No! Stop! Cover your noses...” Her voice trailed as she
fell foward. She now knew what had happened, and before her lids fully closed, she glared at the man across the way, his little bag gripped in his hand, and a smile across his twisted face. She could hear the sounds, the groaning...

Jagger, Lawrence
and Saint’s father struggled, all three moaning loudly in discomfort before surrendering to sleep...

****

Xenia covered Dakarai’s mouth in the dark. She feared his whimpers may alert the wrong person. In her heart, she could feel something wasn’t right. The house had become suddenly quiet. The cold basement wrapped its arms around her and the children, and wouldn’t let go. She hated how cold it would get down there and it seemed that no matter what heating and cooling company came to assist, things stayed the same. She had been happy to leave the place to Saint, for him to do whatever it was that men like him enjoyed doing all by their lonesome.

She focused on the here and now. Something was terribly wrong upstairs. She couldn’t hear a thing, and it troubled her to her core.

Something now was moving ... something caught her attention.

Across the room, on the wall, a small red dot grew and grew until it was the size of a small platter. It didn’t move and drew more curiosity than fear from her.

I can feel my husband with me, but he isn’t really here... Oh God, Saint! Please hurry!

She didn’t dare call out to her Father-In-Law,
Lawrence, Beset or Jagger. She didn’t dare let whatever it was, know without a shadow of a doubt that she and her children were breathing, praying for their lives.

Hassani whispered, his soft hands
squeezing her calf muscle as if his life depended on it ... and just maybe it did. “I’m scared, Mommy...” Xenia looked down at his eyes that gleamed in the darkness.