Box Set
Kim Petersen
Copyright © Kim Petersen 2018
The moral right of the author has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 (for example, fair dealing for the purposes of study, research, criticism or review) no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia: http://catalogue.nla.gov.au/
Title:Ascended Angels Box Set: A Stroke of Faith, Millie’s Angel, Angels & Vixens
Author:Petersen, Kim (1973 - )
Published by Whispering Ink Press
Edited by Paul Vander Loos paulvanderloos.wixsite.com/editor
Cover layout by Paradox Book Designs
This story is entirely a work of fiction. No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional. The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.
“Faith is the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not seen.”
Heb. 1:1
Chapter One
G len nodded vaguely towards his boss as he droned on about wiring, alternating currents and conductors. They had just finished their last call-out for the day and were on their way back to Rockton.
‘Glen, are you listening to me? It’s important that you know about the flow of electrons in a conductor,’ Jim shouted over the noise of the radio.
Glen suppressed an irritated sigh. He glanced at his boss and forced a grin. ‘Got it,’ he said.
Jim returned a smile. ‘Okay, I don’t mean to be a nag. I just want you to do well with your final exam next week.’
‘I know, and I will – promise. I’ve been taught by the best.’ Glen flashed him a cheesy grin.
Jim grunted.
Glen glanced sideways towards him. ‘I think you’re more worried than me,’ he smirked.
He felt confident. Electrical matters had always intrigued him and he loved the work involved.
Jim responded with another grunt and reached for the cigarette pack in the console between them. ‘I’m more worried that you’ll leave me when you’re fully qualified,’ he mumbled as he lit the cigarette.
Glen was silent for a moment. He had thought about leaving his teacher and branching out on his own; he just wasn’t sure that he was good enough to actually run his own business. His father had always told him he wasn’t the type to be much of anything in life. Who was he to argue with that?
‘You don’t need to worry,’ he muttered.
He suppressed a cough and rolled the car window down to lean his face into the passing wind. He tuned out to the croon of Elvis Presley as he strummed Suspicious Minds over the radio. A private smile caressed his lips.
It would be Saturday tomorrow; his favourite day of the week. He relished each Saturday, as it was the day he walked to Rockton Park to find her seated on a tiny stool before a flimsy collapsible easel. Sometimes her long unruly hair would be pulled back from her face, and at other times the dark strands would dance with the breeze over her shoulders and against her back. He longed to feel the softness of her hair. He imagined it was like the gentlest of silks touched with the slightest scent of blossoms.
Usually he would stroll casually by her, then sit for a while on one of the nearby park benches. He had recently started feeding the ducks in the pond with the leftover stale bread his mother would save for him. In that way, he reasoned that it wouldn’t appear as if he were there for her.
Glen would steal glances at her while the ducks squabbled over the bread crumbs he threw to them. She was always so absorbed with her paint and canvas that he was certain she never noticed his growing infatuation. He would sit for the longest of time muddling over how to approach the silent dark beauty until she eventually scooped up her belongings and dashed from the park without even a sideways glance his way. He envisioned she would return to a neatly quaint house with a family to match. It was a house where everyone was happy and pleasant to one another. Not like his house, and certainly not like his family.
Visions of her graceful beauty filled his mind while his eyes found nothing specific to focus on as the panel van turned onto Rockton’s main road.
‘Going out with the fellas tonight?’ Jim said over the music of the radio.
His dark eyes focused on the road under the cap that sat smug on his peppering grey head.
Glen reluctantly dragged himself from his fanciful reverie and cast his green eyes towards his lap with a sigh. ‘Going to the pub,’ he mumbled. ‘Better than staying home.’
Jim shot him a sharp glance and frowned. ‘You know, you’re 23 years old – old enough to move out, start a life of your own; a family even.’
Glen scowled. ‘I can’t leave her alone with him! He’s a drunken beast and she needs me,’ he said.
Jim eased the van to a halt as they neared Glen’s house, then turned towards Glen for a few moments. He began to slowly shake his head.
‘I know you want to protect your mother, but you are a young man with your whole life ahead of you. Are you going to protect her forever?’ he said.
Glen studied him thoughtfully and reached for the door handle.
‘I have no choice,’ he said quietly before climbing out and shutting the door.
He leaped up the porch steps, taking two at a time, eager to get showered and meet with a few of his mates at the local pub. They usually met for a few beers and a friendly game of pool on Friday evenings, and he enjoyed his time bantering with the local crowd. If he was lucky, and he often was, he might win more than a game of pool that evening. His rugged, sandy-haired looks had proven quite useful to him over the years when it came to the ladies, yet none of them had caught his attention long enough to want anything more than a casual fling. Not till he saw her.
It puzzled him that a woman could evoke such self-conscious feelings within him. He had never been short of mustering the confidence to approach a girl beforehand. That’s how he knew she was the one.
His father had always told him to practise on the easy girls.
‘You pick the girls that are insecure,’ he would say between swigs of beer. ‘They are the ones you practise on until you meet a good girl.’
Glen often thought about his father’s advice. He had wondered many times where his mother had fallen into this equation. If she was one of the good girls, then why did she stay with a man who belittled her and beat her like a ragdoll? Wouldn’t that make her insecure? He could never figure it out, and he could never find enough courage to ask his father.
He strode down the polished timber floorboards of the hallway to the kitchen where he intended to grab a quick bite to eat. He stopped short and his hollow stomach lurched when he saw her sitting at the round dining table. He leaned against the door frame as his feet stiffened. He felt frozen to the floor as a feeling of dread rose through him.
‘You’re wearing sunglasses,’ he gulped.
She didn’t move her eyes from the hot cup of tea she nursed in front of her. The slight nod of her head revealed her answer. His chest heaved as he felt a wave of anger bubble over him. Each breath he took tore through his lungs as his eyes lingered on her.
Helen stiffened under his stare, yet still she did not look at him. Glen could see the swell of her blackened eyes beneath the dark shades that concealed them, and when he stepped closer, he noticed the bruises on her arms.
Helen turned her head to look up to him. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.
She hung her head low. She appeared fragile as her flicked-back hair fell over the narrow features of her face, reminding him of a broken porcelain doll.
He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. ‘Mum? What set him off this time?’ he asked.
He encircled her with an arm and she sagged against him. He could feel her body quivering as she tried to hold back her tears. His bulky frame dwarfed her, and he secured her within his embrace.
‘It was my fault … I didn’t buy the right ham for his sandwiches to take to work.’ Her voice filled with panic. ‘I tried to explain to him that they didn’t have it pre-sliced, and I was in a hurry so I chose the ham ready to go; I should have waited. I know I should have waited.’
Her tears broke and her body trembled violently with her sobs.
‘I always make the wrong decisions; I’m sorry,’ she said, gulping for air.
Glen felt his heart shattering just as it had a thousand times before. Guilt crept in like a burning infection. He swallowed the lump that wedged in his throat. I must stop this man! he churned. Why haven’t I stopped him from hurting her? He closed his eyes. Because you’re chicken shit, that’s why.
‘No, I’m sorry, mum,’ he said.
Helen sat upright and turned to him while wiping the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Her chest swelled with a sudden burst of dignity as her bloated lips pursed together. ‘Now, don’t you feel sorry, young man. Do you hear me? This is not your fault,’ she said sternly.
Glen nodded slowly. If I can’t protect my own mother, what good am I? he thought.
The truth was that his father had always terrified him. He dared never stand up to him despite often entertaining the notion.
Helen cupped her hands beneath his chin and lifted his face. ‘You are the only right decision I ever made. Just promise me you’ll never treat your wife this way. Promise me!’ she urged.
He nodded again. ‘I promise.’ He forced a smile.
His mother rose to her feet, leaned in and planted a light kiss on his forehead. A tight smile stretched across her lips. ‘Your father has always done the best he can for us. He just has trouble controlling his anger, that’s all; but he’s a good man,’ she stammered.
He sighed and nodded again. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard this speech. ‘He has trouble controlling how much he drinks, and it gives him no right to treat you like this,’ he muttered.
She froze and peered towards him. Even through the lens of her sunglasses, he could feel the intensity of her stare.
He shrugged. ‘Yes, ma,’ he said with a defeated sigh.
‘That’s my boy,’ she said lightly. ‘You must be hungry. Would you like me to fix you a sandwich before you go and meet your friends?’
She turned from him and set about fetching a few ingredients from the fridge. He rose from the table and walked over to her, and as he looked at her flitting about in the fridge, he wrestled with the uneasiness that hovered over him like a grey cloud. He reached for the tub of butter and a bottle of milk.
‘I should kill him,’ he sneered under his breath as he placed the items on the kitchen counter.
Helen stopped in her tracks. The light blue flared bell-bottoms she wore swung around with the swiftness of her movement as she faced him.
‘My darling baby boy, you are so good to your mamma … so good,’ she cooed.
She padded closer to him on bare feet and stood on the tips of her toes to reach up and encircle her narrow arms around the back of his neck. She pulled him close and he allowed her to nestle his head against her breasts. The sound of her thumping heart had always comforted him, and while he listened, he felt his trepidation begin to subside. She held him for a few minutes, taking deliberate breaths and smoothing the back of his hair.
Her lips pressed into his sandy blonde mane. ‘You will know when it’s time, my baby boy,’ she murmured.
He nuzzled deeper into her heaving chest and tightened his arms around her. He closed his eyes and wished with all his heart that he could return to his boyhood. Images of playing in the garden and skipping to his mother when he needed her comfort filled his mind. She had always been there for him and he had enjoyed her undivided attention. He thought of their relationship as an interwoven basket enmeshed and threaded together as one. And if either thread is pulled, the basket falls apart, he thought as he breathed in her musky mummy scent.
His mouth became dry as he remembered her beckoning him from his activities to suckle at her milk. Despite her slight figure, her maternal milk had remained in abundant supply long after he had left his nappies behind.
‘Mummy’s special love for my special big boy,’ she would chant as he suckled greedily.
Then one day, as she picked him up from school, she delivered the news that struck him to the core of his six-year-old body. Mummy’s special love had dried up. He was devastated and cried himself to sleep for weeks after that.
She drew away from him slowly. ‘Let’s make you a snack now, shall we,’ she said.
She began to hum and busied herself with buttering some bread while Glen poured himself a glass of milk. Her abrupt changes in behaviour had always baffled him, and try as he might, he could never quite figure out his mother.
He scooped up his sandwich and milk, thanked her and lumbered to the sanctuary of his bedroom. A sharp pain seared through the side of his forehead and settled behind his eye sockets with a dull ache. Solid fingers attempted to massage away the pain as he collapsed into his bed. The muscles in his head felt tight and he willed the tension to ease. Kill him. The words sliced through his mind with a razor edge. He flinched. Kill him. He grasped his head in his hands and moaned. The pain worsened as he became aware of an inner invasion. Kill him! It slithered and coiled through his mind like a relentless corkscrew – a black serpent injected its venom through him in a deadly introduction.
Glen’s eyes flew open and he gazed around his room with the wide stare of a frightened child. He was alone. Confusion created a fog that engulfed him with a feeling of conflict. All was quiet for a moment and he found respite in his mind as the pain began to slowly subside. He moved to the floor and kneeled before his bed with an air of indifference replacing the clutter that dwindled with the pain. He felt different. He cocked his head in contemplation and took a deliberate breath. As he slowly released the air from his lungs, he sensed a newfound detachment to his countenance.
He lifted the thick mattress to his bed and reached for the object he had hidden some time ago. He looked at the shiny dagger with admiration in his green eyes as he turned it in his hands. He rose to his feet and thrust the weapon through the air a few times in a jabbing motion.
He grinned.
He felt invincible.
Chapter Two
G len swung open the pub door to the sound of the band greeting his ears with a blast. He spotted a few of his friends at the pool table and circled his way to them through the smoke-filled crowded room.
‘Heya, Glenno!’ Steve called. ‘Gotta cold one here for ya,’ he grinned.
He beckoned him to an empty stool beside the bench top that served as a soggy drink stand and ran the length of the wall.
Steve was his oldest friend. The two of them had started kindergarten together and had been allies ever since. He knew of Glen’s unsavoury home life, and often leaned a sympathetic ear to the slurs of Glen’s drunken anguishes about his parents. Their hands slapped together in a salute to their friendship. He sat down and took a long sip of his beer as he surveyed the packed pub. He eyed a group of young women that were chatting and laughing adjacent to the pool table.
He caught the eye of the dark-haired girl and dazzled her with a smile. She returned his smile and dropped her eyes to the glass of wine she twirled in her fingers. He didn’t break his gaze and waited fo
r her to lift her eyes to him once more. He knew if he scored that second glance, it meant game on. He counted silently as he drilled her with his green stare and waited patiently.
A moment later, and ‘bingo’, she threw him a look that fluttered beneath her lowered lashes. He winked and deepened his stare with alluring intent. There was no mistaking his intentions, and she responded with the widening of her smile and the slight tip of her glass.
This is just what I need tonight, he thought. He was beginning to feel better already, and besides, she reminded him of his dark-haired girl in the park – the one he intended to win for his wife when he could figure out how to approach her. And figure out what to do about mum, he thought. Perhaps mum can come live with us.
He shot Steve a look. ‘New band?’ he boomed over the music.
Steve nodded. ‘Yeah, Billy Thorpe or something. I’m liking the vibes, man,’ he bellowed.
Glen shrugged. ‘They’re okay, I guess,’ he said.
They played a few rounds of pool while Glen was mindful of the woman watching them play, careful to time each shot with precise accuracy.
‘You’re on fire tonight, mate!’ Steve belted, after losing the third round.
Glen grinned and drained his beer glass with a gulp. ‘I’m dry, you up for another?’
‘Does a pig wallow in mud?’ Steve cackled.
Glen already had a few beers under his belt by this time, and he had been silently counting each fresh glass of wine placed before the woman that had caught his attention. It was time to get this game rolling.
He swaggered over to the table of chattering ladies, and smoothed back his hair as he made each purposeful stride.
The woman responded to his approach by tilting her head and flashing him a grin.
‘Thought you’d never make it,’ she teased.
Glen grinned. ‘Thought you’d never ask,’ he teased back.
She laughed bashfully. ‘Am I missing something? I don’t recall asking you for anything,’ she said.