The Paradise Prophecy

38

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

Jenna wasn’t at the shelter.

Michael had gone there to watch their morning ritual-the opening of the blinds, clearing away of cots, sweeping and mopping and setting up tables before heading into the kitchen to help prep food. And with the blood moon approaching, he had planned to make contact in a more meaningful way today, in hopes of getting Jenna to trust him.

Instead, what he saw was a fresh new face among the handful of regulars, and he knew this wasn’t good. Space was limited here and this new girl could very well have taken Jenna’s slot.

So where was she?

Had she even spent the night? Or had Zack tried again?

Something nasty fluttered in Michael’s stomach.

A feeling of dread.

Even though it couldn’t be helped, he cursed himself for leaving Jenna alone. His need for a new skin had not only compromised his ability to function in this broken world, but had also impaired his judgment-and Jenna (and the world) could well be paying the price.

She was an innocent. An unsullied soul. A simple girl who had run away-not to rebel, but to escape an intolerable situation-and she hadn’t yet had time to adjust to her new surroundings. To understand the dangers she faced.

To know the power she held inside her.

And because of Michael’s weakness, his carelessness, she was gone before he could tell her who and what she was.

He found the woman who ran the shelter on a smoke break in the alley out back. As he approached her, she took one look at him, saw a fit but aging man with gray hair, beard and fresh, new thrift-store clothes-including a well-seasoned army jacket-and immediately showed him her cell phone.

“I’ve got the police on speed dial,” she said.

“I just want to ask you some questions.”

“I don’t have any money. And if you’re looking for food, you can come back tonight. We open at six.”

“Thanks, but I’m not interested in that.”

She stiffened slightly. “Then what?”

“I saw you in the coffeehouse up the street a few nights ago. You were there with a young girl.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “And?”

“I know the girl’s been staying here at the shelter, but I haven’t seen her this morning. Did she spend the night last night?”

“Why are you so interested?”

“I think she may be the daughter of a friend of mine,” Michael lied. “A woman in Arizona.” He was making all kinds of compromises lately.

“I would’ve approached her before now, but I had to be sure she was the right girl. Her mother’s dying.”

The woman’s eyes widened slightly, but remained suspicious. She was used to being very protective of her girls.

“That’s funny,” she told him. “We had a nice long talk that night and she didn’t mention anything about her mother being sick. All she talked about was her perv of a stepfather. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”

“I told you, I’m a friend of her mother. And Jenna doesn’t know she’s sick. I don’t think she would’ve run away if she had.”

The woman stared at him, assessing his story-assessing him-then slowly shook her head. “Sorry. I wish I could believe you, but I don’t.”

“Then what can you tell me about the guy who was with her? The one who called himself Zack?”

The eyes narrowed again. “How do you know all this? I don’t remember seeing you that night.”

“I was there. Sitting in back.”

“So…what? You’re some kind of stalker?”

“I told you, I just want to do what’s right. Get Jenna back home. Now tell me about Zack.”

“I think you need to get lost.”

“I don’t want any trouble. Just tell me and I’m gone.”

She sighed. “What’s to tell? He’s a creep. Uses those looks of his like a weapon. He was there, then he was gone. I haven’t seen him around since then and I don’t expect to, if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Do you have any idea where he hangs out?”

“Not a clue,” she said. Then she held up the phone again. “Now, do I have to make that call or what?”

Michael spent the day wandering around Hollywood, hoping to pick up even the smallest of vibrations, but the world around him was chaotic and he couldn’t hear a thing.

He’d gone back to the coffeehouse, and the Greyhound station, walked along Hollywood Boulevard, the Sunset Strip and several streets in between, but Jenna was nowhere to be found.

He wondered if this new skin of his was making it difficult to hear her song. But that seemed unlikely, and its sudden absence made him doubt himself.

Had he been wrong about her all along?

Had he let his desire overtake his reason? His senses?

He was, after all, directly related to Belial, and she was the queen of such behavior.

But no. He didn’t think he was wrong.

In fact, he knew he wasn’t. Sooner or later he’d hear that song again, as bright and clear as ever.

At least he hoped he would.

Because time was running out.

It was late in the day when he finally got his wish.

The moment the sound wafted through him, he felt a relief so intense it made his legs tremble. An odd reaction, certainly, but he wrote it off to the continuing struggle to get mind and body to work in harmony. Breaking in a new host was akin to a transplant patient adapting to a donated kidney.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Whatever the case, Michael knew it would take time to fully adapt, and unexpected physical sensations were part of the territory.

But none of that really mattered.

He could hear Jenna’s song-as clear as can be-and all he cared about right now was that she was safe.

Following the sound, he moved up Hollywood Boulevard and found himself standing across the street from the Rocket Bar amp; Grill, a modern take on an old fifties diner. She was right there in the front window, sitting at a booth with another young girl-one he recognized from the shelter-and they were laughing together like old friends.

As Jenna sucked down the last of her Coke, the other girl dug through her purse for a few dollar bills and lay them on the table. Michael had no idea how the girl had managed to get the money, but the hardness of her face suggested the worst, and he hoped he was wrong.

Before he could give it much thought, however, a battered blue Chevy Malibu pulled to a stop out front and honked its horn. Jenna’s new friend looked out the window and smiled, waving to the car as they both got to their feet and went to the door.

Michael’s gaze shifted to the driver, a young punk of about twenty. He was trying to decide whether the guy was a drudge, when the punk moved his head and the person sitting next to him came into view:

Zack.

The sight of him sent a chill through Michael. He wasn’t sure how Zack had approached Jenna, but had a feeling he was using the other girl as a proxy. Someone to convince Jenna that, despite what the woman at the shelter had told her, Zack was actually a pretty good guy.

Michael didn’t know if the friend herself was a drudge, but at this point it didn’t make much difference. Contact had been made and from the look on Jenna’s face as she stepped out of the diner’s front door, the ploy had worked. She was smiling as if she and Zack had known each other for decades.

Zack climbed out of the car then, throwing the rear door open as the girlfriend got in front and Zack gestured for Jenna to hop in back.

Michael knew he had to stop her.

Couldn’t let her get into that car.

And at this point, there was only one way to do it.

“Jenna!” he called, waving a hand, his voice nearly drowned out by the traffic streaking by.

She didn’t hear him.

“Jenna!” he called out again, and this time Zack looked up sharply, staring at him with quizzical eyes.

Michael needed to get over there. Now. But when he tried a jump, his body resisted. It wasn’t yet ready for lateral travel.

He’d have to do this the old-fashioned way.

Reaching under his jacket, he jerked his Glock free and headed across the street. Zack saw him coming and despite the change in appearance seemed to know exactly who he was.

Grabbing hold of Jenna’s hand, he hurried her into the car and climbed in after her, closing them inside.

“Jenna!” Michael shouted, as loud as he could.

And as she settled into her seat, she heard him and turned, looking out her window at him, her face churning up in confusion.

Who was this guy, and why had he just called her name?

Now Zack was pounding on the back of the driver’s seat, shouting for his buddy to “Go! Go!”-

– as Michael picked up speed and raised the Glock, ready to blow out one of the tires.

Then, without warning, a horn blasted, long and loud, off to his right. Michael jerked his head around just in time to see a city bus bearing down on him, the driver frantically flashing his headlights.

Michael dove to the blacktop and rolled as the bus came to a groaning halt, just inches from where he’d stood. Then tires screeched, horns honking wildly, as another car smashed into the back of the bus, several more piling up behind it.

As Michael pulled himself upright and got to his feet, he saw the Malibu roaring down the boulevard.

And there was Jenna, craning her neck, staring out the back window at him with wide, frightened eyes.