Lash Broken Angel

13





Lash stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and searched for a clean pair of clothes. As much as he hated leaving his watch of Naomi, it felt good to finally clean up. Since the shooting, he kept her in sight at all times, choosing to nap an hour or two behind the overgrown shrubs in Welita’s backyard whenever Naomi went to sleep. As he watched, he tried to think of what he could possibly say to convince her not to go back to Dantan’s office. He still hadn’t figured it out so he decided to wing it and planned to “run” into her outside of the office building where she worked. When she finally fell asleep, he ran to his apartment to change.

“You may want to try washing your clothes more often.”

He spun around to see Raphael holding a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.

His relief to see Raphael was replaced with frustration. “You need to tell me what's going on. Naomi was almost killed a few days ago.” He snatched the clothes from him.

“You know I am not allowed to tell you that.” Raphael sat on the sole tattered chair in the one-room apartment. When it wobbled, threatening to break, he changed his mind and stood back up again.

Lash growled with frustration as he tugged the shirt over his head and pulled on his jeans. He knew it wasn't Raphael’s fault that any of this was happening and that he was taking great risk in being there.

“What can you tell me.” He was about to grab a bottle of whiskey from the mini-fridge when he changed his mind and took a soda instead.

“It's time for you to leave.”

No! The can fell to the ground and soda sprayed over the floor. He couldn’t leave. It was too soon. “Is my assignment complete?”

“Not yet. Naomi is in great danger, and you need to take her away from here. There is a safe house in New Mexico.” Raphael handed him a small GPS device. “Here are the coordinates of the location. You need to take her as soon as you can.”

Lash breathed with relief. He didn't have to leave her—not yet. However, asking her to leave her family and go to some unknown location hundreds of miles away was not going to be easy. “Any suggestions on how I convince her to do that? I don't even know what we're running from. Although, I have an idea.”

“What do you know?”

“I know that Naomi was steered to meet with this Dr. Dantan and that he’s connected with the billionaire Prescott.”

Raphael paled. “Luke Prescott?”

“Yes.” Lash was puzzled by his reaction. He'd never seen him like this before. Most of the time, Raphael had a clam demeanor, except, of course, when it came to putting up with Lash's antics.

“Are you sure?”

“I'm pretty sure. I saw one of his bodyguards, Sal, bribe a hospital worker to get Naomi to meet with Dantan. Then I overheard Dantan talking with Sal on the phone. And then, a few days ago”—he swallowed, remembering the blood on her temple—”someone tried to shoot her down. Innocent people were hurt.”

“Dantan. The name sounds familiar.” Raphael bent down, picked up the can, and placed it in the sink.

“I’m pretty sure Dantan is like me, a fallen angel, except he has his powers. He has a way of pulling you in and forcing your trust. He almost had me reveal myself.” Lash tore off some paper towels and bent down to wipe the floor.

“Do you get headaches when he questions you?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.”

“Raphael!” Lash popped his head up astonished at his language.

“I apologize for my use of profanity. You are correct. Dantan is one of the fallen, but you are nothing like him. His real name is Dantanian. He works on Lucifer's behalf, which is why he has his powers. He's a highly skilled, able to put on many faces to deceive the humans he controls.”

“Controls?”

“Yes, controls. That is why he works as a psychologist. It's a well-respected profession and is a perfect cover to complement his talents. He can use his inherent gifts of mind manipulations and hide them behind the skills humans refer to as psychodynamic therapy.”

“Why would he want to manipulate a group of college kids?” Lash thought about Andrew, who had no idea of the world beyond the zombies in Call of Duty, or Tori, who was as antisocial as they come, and Ellen, who could barely step out of the house without her mother's permission.

“What do you know about their families?”

Lash plopped himself on the edge of the bed and reflected on the previous group session. “Andrew's father works for Prescott Oil as a software engineer. That alone is suspicious. His mother is fundraiser organizer. Tori's mom works as secretary in the local American Federation office, and Ellen's father is—” Lash's eyes widened. “They’re all tied in. Ellen's father works in Jane Sutherland's office.”

Raphael nodded. “For some reason, there was a need to keep them under control, and Dantan was given the task to do so.”

It suddenly all made sense to him and he now saw how Dantan manipulated the group members, one by one: encouraging Tori's infatuation with him; suggesting gaming strategies to Andrew, and even quashing Ellen’s surging independence. All of it was to keep them dependent on him. But why?

“And Sal, he’s one of the fallen, too. What do you know about him?” Lash asked.

“His name is Saleos. He's Lucifer's foot soldier.”

“That means Lucifer is working behind the scenes in all of this.” He wondered if Luke was somehow affiliated with Lucifer. Maybe that was how he got all his billions. “What about Luke?”

Raphael blinked then cocked his head to the side as if hearing something in a distance. “Michael calls for me. I must take leave.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here?”

Raphael raised an eyebrow.

Holy shit! Raphael has actually gone rogue.

“Who's covering for you?”

“Gabrielle.”

Lash snorted. “Why would she want to do that?”

Raphael’s lips curved into a thin smile. “Don't underestimate Gabrielle's goodness. She has done a lot for me, as well as you, over the years. She cares deeply.”

“For you maybe,” Lash muttered.

Raphael squirmed, and Lash wondered just how close to home he hit with that statement. “I must take leave, and so should you. Take Naomi to the safe house as soon as you can.”

***

“That'll be $150.38,” the cashier droned.

Naomi glanced down in her wallet and back up at the cashier. “One fifty as in one hundred and fifty?”

The cashier nodded. “Do you want this in paper or plastic?”

“I brought my own bags.” Naomi placed her bags on the counter. She went down her grocery list again, trying to figure out what she bought that could have cost so much. Damn, Chuy and Lalo. She was going to have to start charging per meal, especially for Lalo. He was at the house for breakfast and dinner. At least Chuy helped to pay the grocery bill. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't really complain, she hadn't been bringing in much money and the money her parents left her was starting to run out.

She had volunteered to go to the supermarket and buy the items Welita needed to prepare her Saturday morning tradition of caldo. Welita was famous around the block for her Mexican style soup. After throwing on a white t-shirt and an old pair of jeans, she walked out of the house to find Lalo waiting outside on the porch with a spoon and bowl in hand. He offered to help Welita so she let him in the house.

She pushed the cart through the automatic doors and headed toward her car. It was still dark in the early morning, and the parking lot was almost empty. She hadn't been able to sleep very well since the shooting. For some reason, she couldn't stop thinking about Lash and that's what upset her the most. Why would she be thinking about him when she should’ve been grieving for Deborah and Nathan? They were good people. But there was a part of her that was relieved, thinking that if Nathan had to die, maybe Deborah was better off being with him. She’d seen firsthand what losing the love of one’s life could do when she watched her father lose her mother. He was a shell of the man he’d been before her death. Even when he sobered up, and got his life on track, he still wasn't the same. She doubted Deborah would have been either.

Naomi placed the cart to the side of the car. As she looked into her purse for the car keys, the cart rolled back and she reached out to catch it.

“I got it.”

Naomi turned to see Lash smiling at her. “Lash.”

“Miss me?” His cocky attitude was back. It was as if what happened between them a few nights ago hadn’t happened. Maybe it was better that way. She didn't want to fall for him, and she knew it would be so easy to do. She'd already lost too many people, and somewhere deep inside she feared she’d lose him too. He would more than likely leave her life as quickly as he came into it.

“It's only been a few days.” She threw the trunk open and turned to look at him. Her eyes took in the dark circles under his eyes. It was obvious he wasn't getting enough sleep. “You look tired. Don't you sleep?”

“Don't you?”

“As you can see here”—she made a sweeping gesture across the bags filled with food—“I'm grocery shopping for Welita. What's your excuse?” She picked up a bag from the cart.

“With all the action the last few days, I forgot there was nothing left to eat in my sorry excuse for a kitchen.” Lash picked up a couple of bags and placed them in the trunk. “Contrary to popular belief, Pop Tarts does not a breakfast make.”

Against her better judgment, Naomi considered inviting him over for breakfast, when she heard a familiar roaring sound. Her face paled.

“Naomi, what is it?” Lash diverted his attention to sounds in the vicinity, and he heard the familiar sound too.

A screech of tires ran through the parking lot. Gunfire popped several times and, before Naomi could register what was happening, Lash snatched the car keys from her hand and pushed her into the trunk. From the corner of her eye, she saw him slump back and groan before he slammed it shut.

“Lash!”

The car engine sprang to life, and she rolled around the tiny compartment, banging her knees and elbows as the car swerved. She prayed it was Lash driving and not the shooter. If it wasn't Lash, then that meant he was dead, and the thought was unbearable.

She banged on the hood. “Lash. Lash! Is that you?”

She heard more gunshots and, as their speed suddenly increased, she was tossed against the back of the trunk. He’s alive.

Frantically, she pulled a cell phone from her jean pocket. The car jolted and she dropped it as she banged her head against the closed hood. Then there was silence and the car drove smoothly. A few minutes later the car finally rolled to a stop, and the trunk lid flew open.

“Are you alright?” Lash peered into the car.

Naomi rubbed her head. It felt tender. “Yeah, I think so.” She took Lash's hand and climbed out of the trunk. “Thank God, Chuy fixed up the car last week.”

They were in the outskirts of the city at an empty rest stop. Insects swarmed around the only light source in the parking area. The grounds were littered with empty beer bottles and soda cans. “Where are we?”

“I'm not sure. I wasn't exactly paying attention.”

“Well, don't get snippy with me. I was—”

She paled as she watched Lash clutch his side and drop slowly to the ground—a red stain blossomed on his shirt.