Thomas Sniegoski - In the House of the Wicked

“No,” the big cat said, standing up and moving in a circle as it prepared to again curl up on the blanket. “Scratched and stroked…then gone.”

“That was it?”

The cat didn’t answer as it snuggled back down and closed its eyes, finished with Remy. Well, he had said he would leave the cat alone if it answered his questions.

He was turning to leave when the cat’s voice stopped him.

“Strange man,” it said.

“Excuse me?” Remy turned back and peered down into the hamper.

The cat was looking up at him.

“Strange man in store,” the cat said. “Followed nice girl.”

“A strange man followed her out of the store?”

The cat made a face, as if something disturbed it.

“What do you mean by strange man?” Remy wanted to know. “What was strange?”

“Smell,” the cat explained.

And the cat’s ample fur puffed out on its body as if the threat was still there.

“Smell wrong.”

Remy grabbed a coffee from a pizza shop on the corner and stood at the window counter, gazing out at the people walking by on their daily grind. He imagined Ashley doing the same, moving from one store on her list to the next.

A strange man following.

He sipped the hot black coffee, letting it burn the inside of his mouth. He wanted to feel something other than the growing sense of dread in his belly.

The cat had said that the man smelled wrong-strange. Animals were extremely sensitive to the unusual, the bizarre, and Remy was forced to wonder if Ashley’s disappearance could have had something to do with him.

And what he actually was.

He’d tried as hard as he could to keep the more unusual aspects of his existence separate from his human life, but, as of late, it was becoming increasingly difficult. And what if someone- something — with a grudge against the angel Remiel had decided to get even by striking against those about whom he cared the most?

Remy drank from his cup again, scalding the inside of his mouth. He didn’t care for that thought, not one little bit. Briefly he imagined what he would do to anything or anyone that tried to hurt him through his friends. All he could see was fire; all he could hear was the screams of whoever or whatever might be stupid enough to dare.

The imaginary screams were suddenly drowned out by the sound of his phone ringing. He reached into his pocket and checked to see who it was.

Carol Berg.

“Carol?” Remy answered, feeling his body immediately tense.

“Remy,” she said. “They just called…the police…They found her car.”

His heart began to race faster and faster, and he thought it might explode.

“They found Ashley’s car.”

The police had found Ashley’s car not five miles from her new apartment.

It was in the parking lot of a small strip mall, where they’d gone for a quick cup of coffee when Remy had helped her move.

He wished himself invisible and approached the car, watching as the local police swarmed about the Honda, searching for clues.

Remy could feel his anxiety growing, and then he heard the words he dreaded most.

“I’ve got blood in here.”

He quickly stepped up behind an officer who was leaning into the vehicle, shining a flashlight on the passenger’s seat. He forced himself to remain calm as he waited for the officer to withdraw. It seemed to take forever, but finally the policeman stepped back and Remy was able to take a look, relieved to find only a few spatters of blood on the passenger’s seat.

Images of Ashley fighting an attacker flashed before his mind’s eye. He saw her scratching the assailant and drawing blood; he saw her being struck, the blood upon the cloth seat from her nose.

He shook his head and moved away from the car as more detectives approached to gather their evidence. The scent of Ashley’s blood lingered in his nostrils, and he cursed senses that had become stronger since embracing his true nature.

He had hoped that this was all some sort of enormous mistake, that he would arrive in Brattleboro to find Ashley at her apartment, wondering why everyone was so upset when she had simply gone to visit a friend at another campus, lost track of time, and her phone had gone dead.

But that wasn’t her… Ashley wasn’t wired that way.

Remy looked to the car again…the empty car where spatters of blood had been found. He watched the policemen doing their job. He wanted to do something, too. But what?

Frustration roiled within him. An angel of the Heavenly host Seraphim was not accustomed to standing idle. He was a creature of action, of battle, of war…but there was nothing to lash out at with his sword of fire.

He was helpless, the only clue he had coming from a cat that happened to notice a strange-smelling man follow Ashley from a store.

He was considering going back to the store to question the Maine Coon some more when his cell phone began to ring. The officers around him immediately reacted, checking their own phones as Remy walked away from the scene, taking the phone from his pocket. He expected it to be Carol, but instead saw a number that he immediately recognized.

“Ashley?” he cried into the phone, desperate to hear her voice, desperate to know that she was all right.

There was an odd silence from the other end, reminding him of the roaring sound he and Madeline had heard when they’d pressed seashells to their ears at the beach on the Cape.

“Hello?” Remy prodded. “Ashley, is that you?”

“Remy Chandler,” said a voice as dry as the grave. “Is that what you call yourself, angel?”

“Excuse me?” Remy asked, stunned. “Who is this?”

“Never mind that,” the voice croaked. “I have the girl… I have Ashley.”

Remy was silent, waiting for what was to follow.

“Go someplace quiet and wait for me to contact you again.”

“If you’ve hurt her…,” Remy began.

“Now, why would I want to hurt the darling who has given me you?” interrupted the voice, sounding jubilant. “Go and wait for my call.”

The line went dead, and Remy stood there, too stunned to move. It was exactly as he feared. Not only had Ashley been forcibly taken.

It did have something to do with him.

Remy took a room at the Simons Motor Lodge.

He sat in the semidarkness, cell phone on the circular tabletop beside him, waiting for it to ring.

He’d put the television on, hoping for a distraction, but it did little more than annoy him.

Lucky him, there was another story about the little girl who’d awakened from a coma with a message from Heaven. He saw pretty much the same footage he’d seen the other night at Linda’s, but this time he learned the young child’s name.

Angelina Hayward.

She’d suffered massive head trauma after falling off the back deck of her home, putting her into a coma from which no one ever expected her to awaken. But little Angelina had surprised everybody, saying that the angels had brought her back and that the Almighty had a message.

Remy could not help but feel contempt for the media and how they played up the story. He knew that angels had nothing to do with the girl’s awakening. As far as he knew, they were far too busy dealing with the return of Lucifer Morningstar. And as far as getting a message from God? Well, suffice it to say that Remy doubted the validity of that claim.

Angelina was just a very lucky little girl who had managed to beat the odds and come out on the other side reasonably unscathed.

The screen showed a close-up of the child in her bed, clutching a stuffed bear, the reporter asking her if she had anything to say to all the people watching her.

“Talk to you soon,” she squeaked, then smiled, hugging the bear.