The Curse Mark: Chapter Four

WHY WE FALL: BLAYKE FERAY

 

He was a typical customer to Adrienne’s, and yet, he did not possess the air of a typical customer.    Blayke Feray was nervous.  If he was not so conscious of where he was currently sitting, then his knee might have been bouncing up and down mimicking the intense beating of his heart.  Apparently he was not good at deception, even though he was fallen and no longer sitting amongst the puffy clouds of heaven with Cassia and the rest of Leora’s charming crew.  Not that Blayke had wanted anything to do with Leora’s crowd to begin with, it was just well he somehow managed to find himself running into them more often than not.

Glancing left at the woman who appeared to hold the bar mistress’s attention, Blayke was mesmerised.  He had not realised how mesmerised he was until the bar mistress said, coldly, “So you found me.”

Blayke blinked and sculling the rest of his drink, he decided to clear out of the bar as soon as possible, it didn’t look like the place someone like he should be.  Throwing down the appropriate number of colourful bills, and a few coins, Blayke stepped down off his chair and in one swift move, with a brief glance at the intense air between the bar mistress and the new comer, he made his way out the door.

People like him who wanted nothing more than to lie low knew better than to stay in an environment where a major conflict was potentially going to break out.   Adrienne’s Bar, he’d frequented it every so often, but usually he stuck to the wall, drinking in quiet as he frustrated himself over the very fact that he had been in the same town for too long.

Riverton, a safe zone.   If there were beings such as Adrienne and her mysterious guest holding presence here, it was no surprise that it was a safe zone.  But Blayke knew that it wasn’t the only reason why it was so safe here.  Blayke wasn’t safe here.  He was just a tad bit more fortified, but safe.  The secret in his mind was hardly safe, as was the object locked in a box in his wardrobe.  The key, well that was safely around the neck of an angel who was safe in heaven who did not entirely know the truth about the last gift he gave her.

Walking down Riverton Main Street, Blayke felt the roiling unease in his chest for the very fact that he had potentially put his sister at risk.  No wonder he fell.  A man as selfish as him did not deserve to be up in heaven.  He could not even excuse his actions.  They had not been for the better good.  In the beginning, he had been acting selfishly.  One action at a time.  No wonder he was fallen.

Arriving at his brick apartment block, Blayke climbed up the stairs one step at a time.  Looking down at where he walked mainly to avoid the puddles of water that seemed to never go away.  Stepping over a step that had an extremely large puddle of water, he kept his black leather brogue boots clean.  Glancing up once as he passed by an open door, Blayke caught sight of a woman with a dark red bob looking agitated.  When she saw him, she scowled, causing Blayke to quickly drop his gaze and stride quickly past.

Passing over a few more obstacles (empty beer cans, a haphazardly trashed guitar – he felt sorry for it, so he took it to his apartment), Blayke eventually reached his door, and unlocking it, he slipped inside within the blink of an eye.   More like in a flash of light.  Inside, he leaned back against his front door and sighed heavily.  Thinking back over at the bar scene from earlier, Blayke silently reprimanded himself for getting curious about the conversation that had occurred between Mistress Adrienne and Cara (he did no catch her last name).  He couldn’t help but dwell on what he had overheard, and in truth, if he had to have answered the challenge, he would have chosen Mistress Adrienne for her maturity.  There was something undoubtedly alluring about Adrienne Cynzia.   He’d watched her sometimes, somewhat in a creepy stalkerish way even though he had not intended to be a stalker. It wasn’t as though he chased after her, stalking her wherever she went either.  He just sat in her bar and sometimes glanced over and watched as she handled her customers with a variety of moods.

Fisting his hand, the nails of his fingers bit into his skin, most likely drawing blood, waking him up from his sudden stupor.  He did not need to be thinking about an attractive bar mistress, nor did he need to think about the conversation between her and that demon girl.  Demon girl.  Blayke had sensed it almost immediately.   But yet, there was something wrong with her…scent?  No, light.  Her light or as others would recognise it as something akin to aura.  Blayke saw a person’s ‘light’ or ‘glory’.  It was holy, and good or evil, everyone had one.  Someone who was evil would have a dimmer light than someone who was good.  But good and bad was subjective and relative.  Someone supposedly born bad was not necessarily bad.  Someone born good was not necessarily good.   Furthermore, species should never be the indicator.  Angels were the handmaidens of god, and they followed the almighty’s words and beliefs, but that did not mean every angel did.  Angels strayed, hence why there were fallen.  But not all fallen sinned.  What was sin if every man and woman had their own moral compass to follow?

Pushing himself off the door, Blayke strode into his bedroom, one of three rooms within the apartment that was not the kitchen or bathroom.  It was neat, barren mostly, with nothing but a mattress covered in a thin sheet somehow fitting into the rickety metal bedframe, and a portable wardrobe made of some kind of heavy wood and of which did not match the décor of the bed.

Running his hands over the doors of the worn wardrobe, Blayke sensed a shift in the light he had imbued into the woodwork.  This sent his heart racing with panic, and with one shaking hand, his fingers gripped the door handle.  He paused.  No one knew it was here.  But not then it wasn’t as though no one knew who he was or that he was in town.  Knowing this, Blayke had placed safeguards everywhere in order to keep it safe.

And yet.

Blayke yanked the door opened, his fingers on both hands already stretched out reaching for the drawer within the wardrobe and pulling it out.  They ruffled through the underwear stored in the drawer and looked for a particular wooden four by six by six centimetre box.  Like the wardrobe, but by no means of the same creator, the box was made of heavy wood.   Blayke expected to touch the intricate deep carvings on top of the box; expected to feel the repeating triquetra pattern.  And for a long moment, Blayke thought he was hallucinating what he was not feeling.  He was a hundred per cent sure he could feel the box beneath his fingers.   Blayke wanted to feel it.  His desire was so intense, he had made it real, and the reason why he knew he was imagining it was because there was no way the box couldn’t be there.

But that was the thing you see, the box wasn’t here.  All Blayke could feel was flat smooth base of the drawer.  Pulling out all the underwear, all he could see was nothing but empty space.  Nothing.  And when he realised this, when he saw this emptiness, Blayke’s legs gave way first before he had no choice but to accept reality.   The box was gone.

 

Click Here:  Chapter One: The Devil’s Children/Cara de Vries

Click Here:  Chapter Two: A Moon At Stake/Adrienne Cynzia

Click Here: Chapter Three: Can Angels Lie?/Lennox Vanderwerken

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