Broken Seed Read online

  Taking his time to adjust each sock and slip his feet one by one back into the old worn out shoes, Dwayne finally sat down and pulled the form to him. He purposely took his time filling it out with a look of disinterest. They weren’t going to get one more ounce of satisfaction at his expense. They could wait for him for a change. They didn’t have much of a choice, and he smiled at the thought of the tables already slowly turning back to his favor.

  He glanced up at the windows that lined the room with a challenging smile, knowing other correctional officers were outside them attending to other tasks but watching him too. The room wasn’t much bigger than an average office space. Maybe twelve-by-ten feet. And there was only one door. The one he’d come into. There was another table up against a panel of windows that had a computer and sealed up equipment of some sort.

  Dwayne finished his surveillance of the room before filling out the last few questions and signing the form with a hard, sharp-edged signature. He made a point to look into the two cameras that sat perched in opposite corners of the room, their red lights blinking, a reminder that they were operating. The clock on the wall said it was a quarter to eleven. Just over an hour from now and he’d be free, if not sooner.

  “Done,” Dwayne said finally, sliding the clipboard back over to the old officer who was now rubbing a smudge off his badge with a handkerchief.

  McCormick put his handkerchief away with equally exaggerated slowness, being sure to fold it back into a crisp little square before slipping it into his pocket. He sidled over to the table to pick up the clipboard and glanced over it. He was agitated at how long Dwayne had taken. He had tried to be nice and respectful, but like most of the animals in here, they didn’t respond to the normal way of dealing. You had to be as much of a jerk to them as they were to you, or they’d walk all over you or worse.

  “You didn’t fill in next of kin or alternate contact.” McCormick held out the clipboard.

  “Ain’t got no one no more,” Dwayne said elusively.

  “Everyone’s got someone.”

  “I don’t need a someone. I do just fine by myself, Mick,” Dwayne said, hitting the k with an extra click of his tongue.

  “It’s Officer McCormick to you. And I guess it’s lucky for whoever you wrote off. Best day of their life I reckon.” McCormick took the clipboard and put it back in the rack by the door after writing a note on the questions that Dwayne had missed. “Who was sending you all those letters if you don’t got nobody?” he asked with a told-you-so mimicking tone to his voice.

  “What do you know about my letters?” Dwayne said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

  McCormick smiled at him with a big teasing grin of teeth. “You don’t think the warden is the only one who gets to read those, do you? Sometimes, we all pass them around for a good laugh at our barbecues. Great entertainment, those letters. Real…sweet,” McCormick said antagonistically.

  Dwayne immediately simmered down. They hadn’t read any of his letters. And this buffoon wouldn’t have admitted it if he had. Not with cameras on and a potential lawsuit to boot. They might be inmates, but they had rights. And this inmate was getting out today. Besides, only the warden and the two officers assigned to filter and check the mail for porn, drugs, cigs, or escape plans would even want to read these criminal’s mail.

  “Sweet is hardly the word I would have chosen for my letters, Mick. More like nasty, saggy, pale little haggy. Your wife couldn’t stop sending me pictures of herself all daintyed up in her teddy. Looked like a dried prune with a sash, but hey, I wasn’t complaining. A whore is a whore,” Dwayne said, leaning back in his chair to look relaxed and cool. Licking his lips he said, “Yum.”

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” McCormick lunged at Dwayne, his hands going for his throat. Dwayne dodged the man and fell to the floor. Tucking himself into a tight ball, he knew the club would be the next thing to come out. Sure enough, McCormick grabbed his side baton and started beating Dwayne.

  Dwayne was still laughing at the old officer by the time three more correctional officers spilled into the room.

  “Stop! McCormick! Stop!” one of them yelled. All three were dragging McCormick off Dwayne who rolled onto his back laughing, his hands up in a protective pose.

  “Get up!” an officer ordered him.

  “I didn’t fight him back. I didn’t hit him. I didn’t even spit at him,” Dwayne said as he was manhandled and thrown back in the chair that someone had picked back up off its side on the floor.

  “No, no, you didn’t. But you sure as hell started it. Now shut up and sit still while I look you over.”

  “I’m fine. My face isn’t even busted. He hits like a little girl,” Dwayne said with a terse smile.

  McCormick roared and tried to throw himself past the two other officers who were still wrestling with him to drag him out of the room. His hands were outstretched, and he looked wild.

  “Calm down! McCormick! John! Calm down! You’ve had worse things said to you, man. Get ahold of yourself!”

  “Did you hear? Did you hear what that slime said about my Elisa? He said…He…He said…” McCormick had become incoherent, his wild yelling and struggles still being heard as he was dragged out of the room, the door closing behind him with a muffling thud.

  Dwayne smiled in satisfaction. One of his favorite pastimes was provoking a strong reaction from people. He didn’t care if it was anger, fear, or simply anxiety. He loved it all.

  “You don’t seem too badly banged up. Can you walk? We need to get you out of here,” the officer said, pulling Dwayne by his upper arm out of the chair once more.

  “Want to dispose of the evidence, eh, Officer?” Dwayne said coolly.

  “Just grab your bag. I’ll escort you out.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Dwayne said and let the officer lead him out past the final release gate to the outside exit. Out into the open air for his freedom.

  Peace and Turmoil

  Chapter One

  The early morning sun broke through the clouds and pressed upon my bedroom window. The light seeped through, the warmth of it caressing my face like the faintest of angel kisses upon my cheeks. I turned my face toward the warmth, but the light cast a crimson glow through my eyelids, and I recoiled, blocking out the light by flopping my forearm over my eyes and moaning.

  “Just another day in the neighborly-hood, another day in the neighborly-hood,” I sang groggily and giggled at my own little joke.

  Why did it have to be so darn bright in the morning? A nice, mellow glow would have been a preferable condition to wake up to. Especially after how deeply I had slept. Boy, I’d needed it.

  I stretched and let out a loud, whining yawn. Wow, I had slept so well. I felt complete contentment here in my cozy little bed. The images from my nightmares and the experiences of the past two days flashed through my mind and I scrunched up my eyes again trying to push them out.

  No, not going there! Too early. Slept too good. Nope.

  Dexter, who had starting purring as soon as my singing had begun, meowed his grievance at my change in mood. He stretched lazily then skittered off the bed, tail high in the air as he jetted straight for the bedroom door in a white blur. Clearly he thought I’d be right behind him to feed him.

  Oh, yes. That’s right. Melanie is here to serve you, good little kitty, sir. Not!

  “Another day in the…” I began to sing to myself again with a cheeky little grin of sleepy satisfaction. Dexter always put me in a better mood. “Another day in the neighborly-hood—”

  Another day! Crap. What time is it?

  I flopped over and rubbed my eyes hastily so I could see the blurry red digits gleaming off my alarm clock.

  7:15 a.m.

  “Oh, thank you, God!” I said out loud. I still had fifteen minutes before the alarm would go off. “Hallelujah,” I muttered.

  I yawned again, exposing my wide, gaping hole of a mouth, stretched once more for good measure, rotated my ankles and bent all my toes. Not getti
ng the desired response from my digits, I wiggled them more aggressively. A satisfying crackle of all my toes resulted, which made me smile, all the more pleased with my restful sleep.

  I reached out and sluggishly switched off the alarm so it wouldn’t blast out a buzz like a freaking fire alarm and irritate the good mood out of me. Usually in the mornings before class it would wake me up with such a blaring sound that my wits would be startled right out of me, and I would succumb to cursing and flying out a fist in fury. It was my fourth alarm clock this year. I usually busted up one per quarter. My bad.

  Deciding to get up and start my day, I rolled gracelessly out of bed, reminding myself of a flopping fish on the side of a boat about to go overboard. I giggled at my own internal imagery. I stood up in a heave and stretched my hands above my head as far as they could go with my head thrown back and my mouth gaping open once more in a scrumptious yawn. Reaching toward the ceiling, I bent backward in an arch and felt my ribs expand and air flood into my lungs.

  Nothing like a good, thorough stretch first thing in the morning.

  “Auhh.”

  I straightened my body back up, my hands swinging downward. As I did so, it felt like my fingertips brushed through something soft and warm. I glanced up but didn’t see anything. I smiled to myself, thinking of angels hiding out invisible in my room, keeping watch.

  “Hey, Mikie. Oh, I mean, Archangel Michael. You still here?” I whispered to the room. Last night the Archangel Michael had come to comfort me after I’d woken from a cascade of horrible nightmares and memories. He’d said he would stay and keep watch while I slept, so maybe he was still here?

  The last time I woke up feeling this heavy with sleep was almost two days ago. But that time, I had nearly thrown up from disorientation.

  Gosh, was it only Saturday night when I woke up in Italy?

  Of course, I hadn’t known I was in Italy at the time. I hadn’t even known how I’d gotten there! The nameless streets and alley- ways seemed endless and everything was closed down, absent of any signs of life! Whether that was by deliberate design or just another supernatural phenomenon to tack onto the unexplainable events that night, I couldn’t say.

  The only person I had run into that night other than, Angelica and Obadiah, the owners of the multidimensional antique shop I finally found open, was a mysterious, alluring man who I could hardly pull myself away from. I was nearly frantic with desire for him which filled me with a healthy dose of fear for my mental faculties. It was enough to pull me back to my senses and recognize him for the danger he was—lust personified.

  The yearning in my gut that I had felt all evening had intensified and become clearer as soon as I managed to escape his spellbinding influence. It led me onward, compelling me toward an unknown destination, calling to me. I knew there was something out there I was meant to find. It turned out, I wasn’t the only one sent to find it, however. I had been thrust into the midst of an otherworldly battle, both sides seeking the same thing. I had encountered terrifying demonic interference, including tormenting spirits and that deliciously sexy man.

  After hours of searching, I was lead to Angelica’s Antiquities. It was there that I’d uncovered the true nature of events surrounding my supernatural abduction to Italy. I had been sent there to find and protect an ancient book of incredible power. For the first time in my life, I had a purpose, a destiny. I had fulfilled the beginning of my calling but I knew it wasn’t over. There was more to come and more would be asked of me before I was through.

  The book I’d found was tucked safely away, hidden in my room to look at later. Right now, I had other matters to attend to. And I didn’t think I was supposed to try to open the book again just yet. I couldn’t even tell my best friend and roommate, Elisabeth Becker, about it or my experiences yet either. She wasn’t stupid and had already asked what had caused the change in me which she had identified immediately upon seeing me the morning of my return. She had recognized both the change in my confidence and demeanor, as well as my physical restoration. She even noticed that my old scars were gone and how refreshed and revived I’d looked.

  But I couldn’t tell her what had happened. I could feel it in my gut; I needed to wait. I didn’t know why. I only knew it wasn’t time yet. And I didn’t want to disregard the leading in my heart after being given such a precious gift and enormous responsibility.

  I hadn’t expected to be bombarded with continued attacks when I got home. It seemed like Satan had proclaimed war against me. He had been after me my whole life, but he had stepped up his efforts. He even sent a tormentor from my past who still wished to do me harm. I had run into Jill Zeller yesterday while out shopping with Elisabeth. We had a nice demented little chat outside the store while Elisabeth finished up her purchase inside. Liz hadn’t known it was Jill I was talking to.

  You see, when I was fifteen, Jill had pretended to be my friend and tricked me into sneaking out with her for a girl’s night out. It turned out I was actually the planned entertainment. She and five other people were already inside the van when they arrived to pick me up. Sarah, our coworker from the retirement home, was driving. Leslie and Pablo, who also went to my high school, were in the back with two other boys named Jake and Damian.

  I had tried to back out of going, seeing that they were already drunk and belligerent, but Jill forced me inside the van. Damian and Pablo dragged me to the backseat and started to rape me at the cheers and encouragement of the others when the Redding Police showed up right in the nick of time. They’d been called out by a concerned citizen, Elisabeth Becker, granddaughter of the chief of police.

  Jill and her posse were arrested and sent to prison for assault, unlawful imprisonment, and attempted rape. It was a horrible sequence of events. The only good thing to come out of it was my friendship with Elisabeth Becker and the genuine concern of her grandfather, Chief William Becker.

  When I ran into Jill yesterday, she had threatened to tell the others where I was and assured me they would want to finish what they started. She confessed in graphic detail what their true plans for me had been. Rape hadn’t been the worst of it. I had the presence of mind to record the conversation on my cell phone and let Liz listen to it afterward. She’d insisted on calling her grandfather as soon as we got home to ask for his help.

  Chief Becker was retired now, but still had some weight and influence he could throw around. Unfortunately, he tried throwing it at the chief of the Sacramento Police Department. It didn’t go over well. Chief Christopher Wales turned it around on me and claimed I was still out for revenge. He accused me of being the attention-seeking daughter of a convicted child molester and rapist and that if I tried to file charges, he’d throw me in jail. How screwed up was that?

  “Stupid jerk,” I mumbled to myself.

  Now that I had a direct encounter with the demonic, it was obvious to me that much of the opposition in my life was being demonically driven. I was still under attack. Being back home in Sacramento, California, and no longer in Italy, hadn’t changed that.

  Oh, yes, that’s another thing. I was transported home from Italy not by way of plane or ship. Oh no. Not this fiery little redhead. I’d been personally escorted by way of angel. It had been the same Archangel Michael who had come to comfort me last night. He had arrived at the antique shop to escort me home. If escort is the right word for it. To quote Angelica, “I was sent home by flight and then by trans-dimensional modification.”

  But to put it plainly, he scooped me up in his huge arms, nearly frightening the toots out of me. Hey, you try being picked up like a three-year-old in the arms of a twelve-foot-tall giant angel and see how you react. Talk about feeling small and insignificant. Then he gently kissed my forehead, and out I went. Poof. Out like a firefly getting stepped on. I have absolutely no idea how I got home other than that. Sort of like when I got dumped off in Italy to begin with.

  I sighed in irritation. It was more than a bit disconcerting to know I could be plucked up and transported any
where at any time without remembering a bit of it. But how many people do you know who get to meet an angel face-to-face and take a zippy ride around the world? Yep, that’s what I thought. Not too many. Looking at it that way, I guess it isn’t so bad then.

  An intrusive image of the nightmare that woke me in the middle of the night flashed bold and bright within my mind’s eye, refusing to be ignored any longer. I shivered and turned around, busying myself with meticulously making my bed, hoping it would go away, but it refused.

  The image was so clear, burned onto my retinas like looking into the sun. My mother was lying unconscious on the bed, her face bloody from being beaten by my father’s senseless rage. She wasn’t moving. My father was standing over her, zipping up his pants and laughing. He hadn’t seen me hiding in the closet playing dress-up in her clothes. I had been four years old and small enough to hide behind her dresses when they had come into the bedroom, screaming at each other.

  When I was twelve, I dreamt about how he had murdered her that day. I’d been too traumatized to recall anything about it up to that point. So, I had done what any young girl my age would do: I told my big sister, Vivian. She was the only person I trusted and all I had. She’d been so incensed after hearing my account she attacked our father. Being the hateful drunk and sadistic abuser that he was, he won the fight easily and made her pay the ultimate price for her impudence: death. Her life had been full of violence and pain, and at eighteen years of age, it ended at his hands with more of the same.

  It nearly broke me to lose her as I had lost my mother eight years before. With her death went my hope for life, my ability to truly trust anyone, especially men, and I clung to my faith in God by a thread.

  Last night I had finally remembered how they both had died with a vivid living nightmare. I had screamed out to God, accusing him of abandoning them, of not loving them enough to save them. I accused him of leaving them helpless and unprotected. I was so angry with him and despised the destiny he had placed upon me and the price it came with.