Acquainted With the Night
Prologue
The Making of a Merry Murderess
Summary: She suddenly knows how Eve must have felt in the Garden, torn between love of God and love of Man, and she rejoices, she weeps, because an angel has never had a choice before.
The bitter chill of winter nipped at the exposed bits of skin on the tips of Aubrietta O'Donnell's fingers, a harsh breeze running freezing whispers through the long, dark curls cascading down her back. Soft wool encompassed her neck, hand-knit scarf luxuriously warm in comparison to the icy flesh of her face, two rosy smudges rising like the dawn on her high cheekbones. Layer upon layer of clothing (three shirts, one pair of jeans, two pairs of socks, and fingerless velvet gloves) did little to forbear the arctic atmosphere, all attempts at self-preservation futile in the face of the belated cold front currently raging like the frigid hand of God in the quiet, inconspicuous town of Salem, Massachusetts.
Stiffly, she pushed her thick square-framed glasses back up the bridge of her nose, willing her frozen digits to respond impatiently. Time seemed to slow along with her very bones in this weather, each minute ticking by in agonizing leisure. The transit bus taking her back to her dingy apartment in the southern part of the capital was scheduled to arrive on the hour, but paranoia had her glancing behind her shoulder every few moments. She never would have believed it had she not seen it for herself. That was why she was here—for proof, and she had found it.
The sound of air displacement and squealing brakes alerted her to the arrival of her transportation, relief swelling in her chest. Night had since fallen, a black blanket descended over the sky, the moon a cruel grin among the stars. As the bus pulled to a stop in front of her, Brie quickly shouldered her worn backpack, climbing the steps without hesitation. The driver gave her a nod, tipping his Red Sox ball cap with joviality and a peculiar glint in his wise eyes. She sent him a distracted smile of acknowledgement before heading down the aisle.
There was only one other passenger on the bus, a man several years older than her sitting in the far back. Goosebumps erupted across her arms at the look in his eyes—dark, dark black eyes lewdly glinting with bad intent. She felt dirty under his gaze, defiled and tainted; this was a horrible man, no doubt about it. Suddenly, her back ached, burned, was ripped apart and the pieces slammed together again. Her tattoos were blazing beneath her skin, shooting strikes of pain directly to her brain as it was assaulted with images, terrible, cruel visions.
Aubrietta fell into the closest seat unceremoniously, chest heaving, breaths coming in great bludgeoning gasps. Her bag she clutched tightly to her front, a shield against the terror dawning upon her.
…a late night in early December, the screams of an innocent girl…a switchblade sliding into view, crimson pooling along the ground…
…a family sitting at the dining room table, happy, smiling, faces full of naïve contentment…bullets shelling like a deadly rain of fire and death, copper overtaking the smell of pot roast in the air…
…"Don't make a sound."…
…blood…
… "If you tell a soul, I'll kill you."…
…blood…
…This is not a matter of destiny or fate…
…truth…
…It is resurrection…
…justice…
…If you'd only believe it...
…If you'd only believe it...
…If you'd only believe it...
Her body vibrated with awareness, all-knowing consuming her completely. She understood. She knew the reason. She knew. It was undeniable, irrevocable. Her eyes fell shut at the certainty of the realization, malachite orbs hidden from the outside world. Brie's stomach clenched and turned over as the knowledge repeated like a broken camera reel in her mind. The horror of everything that man had done, the lives he had ruined, the people he had killed; she was sick, disgusted, furious. Scum like him didn't deserve to breathe, didn't deserve to walk the earth God had created.
This is why: the reason.
"Not so for the wicked they are like chaff that the wind blows away…therefore the wicked will not stand in judgment nor the sinners in the assembly…" she whispered, lips barely vocalizing the words in reverence, the meaning never more clear to her, "…for the Lord watches over the way of the righteous but the way of the wicked will perish…"
I have to stop this.
Before she could even begin to comprehend what exactly she had just discovered and swore herself to, Aubrietta felt the bus pull to a stop, vertigo pushing her to the edge of her seat. Had she really spent the last 45 minutes in reverie, blind to the current, encumbered in a past not even hers, and both dreading and anticipating the future?
Quickly making for the door, footsteps echoing hollowly on the linoleum lighted path, she swiftly descended the steps into darkness, the shadows of night swallowing her slim frame. Her hands clamped around the edges of her backpack in a vice-like grip and though she dutifully tried not to, her mind instantly went to its content, what lay veiled in its sinister depths.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, a shiver ripping violently down her spine. Someone was following her; Brie gritted her teeth, and she knew who it was. Gregory Mathews. She probably knew more about him than he did himself, but only the bad—only why he had been condemned.
Turning down a secluded alley, she anticipated the grubby hand grabbing her shoulder, but the jolt as she harshly impacted with the brick wall still caused her to wince in pain. Those dark, dark black eyes flashed like animal eyes; this part of the street was not illuminated by the eerie false light of street lamps. She could smell the acrid stench of his breath, the nauseating odor of cheap cologne. He smiled with rancid yellow teeth, breathing loudly, "Don't make a sound."
An anger unlike anything she had ever felt before overtook her, a raging inferno desperately clawing at her skin. Narrowing her eyes, she slammed her foot into his groin with all her strength, taking great satisfaction in the howl of pain specifically gotten from blunt force applied to a full erection. Revolting. The world will be a better place without you, Gregory Matthews.
Aubrietta reached into the largest pocket of her bag, withdrawing the main item she had found in the package addressed to her at the church. She hadn't known who the sender was before, but now…
Now, the rosary hanging between her breasts felt like the weight of the world, pulsing in tune to the rapid beating of her heart. A tainted promise, pumping like the blood running through her veins, she fully intended to keep.
She cocked the Mark 23 without faltering, pressing the barrel to the center of his forehead. "I know who you are, Gregory Mathews, and I know what you've done, but more importantly, so does God, whichever one you pray to. I'm just the messenger." His eyes were wide and she smelled the urine before she heard it dripping to the rough asphalt below. "Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return."
A shot rang out into the night.
Pulling another item from the same pocket, Aubrietta gently placed a white lily on the man's eternally still chest, crossing herself silently. After a moment, she turned on heel and walked away; she would soon be told her destination.
.
.
Thusly, The Angel was born.
A/N: A little bit to start off with. Tell me what you think, please? Feel free to ask any questions you may have and I shall answer. More on Aubrietta in the next chapter and I will be introducing the McManus brothers, muahahaha…I'm going to have so much fun with them.
—A Whisper None Can Hear