Echoes in Eternity (The Pella Series Book 1) (17 page)

“
My family members are either dead, or we've lost touch. There are no women I care enough to acquaint you with
,” he said. Does that mean he has someone or more than one woman that he sleeps with, but not worth mentioning? Just casual sex? Maybe I can quiz Anthony. Oh shit! How can I ask such a personal thing about my future boss? I clear my throat. Anthony looks at me with a half-smile through his peripheral vision.

“Anthony?” I say softly, quizzically. “Since I’m going to be Mr. Pella’s personal assistant for the next week, is there anything I should know about him? Uhm... I’ve never really held a real job other than volunteering. I don’t want to do a poor job. I don’t exactly know what my job entails, either. It would be nice if I knew a little more about the man I would be working for,” I explain as Miss Perri croons, telling someone not to be afraid, because she’s loved him for a thousand years, and she’d love him for a thousand more. I swallow once I comprehend the lyrics. I remain frozen in my seat. Why does this song make me think of Mr. Pella...Alex?

“Mr. Pella is a very complex individual, ma’am,” he replies. I figured that
out on my own. Perhaps he didn't work for him long enough to know him better.

“How long have you worked for him?” I ask suddenly, looking at him curiously.

“It’s been a very long time, ma’am. A lifetime it seems,” he says, his voice distancing like he’s lost in his memories. How frustrating! This man is as cryptic as his boss. To my surprise he continues, “I’m the one who has worked the longest for Mr. Pella.”

I look at Anthony’s face assessing. He
 couldn't be over thirty, if thirty at all. He says it feels like a lifetime. If this young guy is the only employee who has worked the longest, he couldn't have worked for him more than ten years unless he’s a child prodigy, but even then he would need to be old and mature enough to hold a job. Then again Alex is about the same age as Anthony. So maybe they were both whiz kids.

“How old is Mr. Pella?” I ask, surprising him. He looks ahead and thinks about it. Why would he have to think about his boss’ age? “Don’t you know?” I inquire.

He gives that half, sort of a sad I-know-something-you-don’t, smile. “Mr. Pella doesn’t celebrate his birthday ma’am, so I shouldn't attempt to guess it. We never bring it up.”

“Surely, his parents or siblings would send a card or something to him. Everyone celebrates their birthday,” I state, probing further.

“Mr. Pella won’t, ma’am. He doesn’t have parents, and he lost his family the night of his birthday.”

My hands fly to my mouth, my heart breaking for him.

“He lost his parents on his birthday?”

“No ma’am. He lost his parents long before. He lost his family, his wife and children on the night of his birthday,” he says in a low voice.

“How?” I ask in a barely audible voice.

Then Christina Perri’s voice echoes clearly through the speakers in the SUV...

“
I have died every day waiting for you... Darling don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years... I’ll love you for a thousand more
...”

“Fire, ma’am...” he says, and large beads of tears string down my cheeks on their own volition. No sound, no whimper, no noise come out of me. Just my lone tears... I’m confused with my overwhelming reaction to his story. I’ve heard horrific stories when I volunteered to aid the refugees. I was saddened immensely, but I haven’t shed tears. Why now? Why does this story affect me deeply?

“Are you alright, Miss Duncan? I’m sorry; I didn't mean to upset you. It’s not a pleasant story. I’m sorry, I shouldn't have told you.”

“No,” I stutter, “you don’t need to apologize. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. I’m sorry, I should not have intruded.”

As I try to wipe my tears off rather crudely, Sting’s voice is heard through the speakers singing the “
Shape of My Heart
.”

Grief coats my heart like a starless night, once again. I bury my face in my hands, unable to stop this overwhelming sadness. Anthony is definitely going to tell his boss that he’s hiring a mental case. I can’t help but grieve. Maybe the sorrow I’m feeling is for myself. I raise my head, feeling the tightness in my throat; I look at the road and the traffic with unseeing eyes. This is the first time I really, truly liked someone, and it turns out his heart belongs to someone he lost. If these songs he was listening don’t constitute a testament to that, I don’t know what would?

“How long ago?” I whisper, not caring whether I would be hired or not anymore.

“It’s been a very long time, ma’am. You
 shouldn't worry yourself about it,” he says effectively closing the topic, and I nod in response.

“Do you like working for him?” I ask to lighten the mood in the vehicle.

“Like...” he says, weighing the word’s connotations, meaning. “No, ma’am. I don’t 
like
 Mr. Pella,” he says pronouncing the word as if he’s not used to utilizing it and my mouth drops open and somehow the shock of his declaration stops my tears.

“You don’t like your boss?” I ask completely baffled.

“Like is a very simple, very light word, Miss Duncan. Because when one uses the word ‘
like
’, it means, enjoyable, agreeable, or satisfactory. I don’t work for Mr. Pella because I enjoy him, or find him agreeable, or satisfactory for that matter, ma’am. At times he isn't agreeable which in return may create disagreements with those of us whom he consults with and we may as a result become unsatisfied. However, I would follow Mr. Pella to any expedition, to the ends of the earth, and accept his leadership unconditionally. Mr. Pella always has the final word; because his intuitions, assessment, judgment, and foresight are unparalleled, and we all know it.”

“Wait a minute... Back up. The most elusive, one of the richest men in the world, a man who owns his entire company--allows you and some others to dispute him?”

“Not some others, Miss Duncan. Just me and one other.”

“Why?”
 “Because he has our loyalty, devotion, allegiance, fealty, respect, esteem and love, ma’am. We would die for him without any qualms or a second thought,” he says veraciously and he sounds older and much wiser beyond his years.

“Do you answer everyone’s questions about Mr. Pella?”

“No, ma’am,” he replies with a solemn face. It’s gotten darker outside; the sun is setting.

“Why answer mine then? If you are devoted to him, surely, you
 shouldn't have answered a total stranger’s questions so candidly,” I observe. He gives me that knowing smile again.

“You’re not a stranger, ma’am,” he starts. Then he tries to continue but as his mouth remains open, no words come out. I blink.

“Anthony, are you alright?” I ask. His eyes bulge, and his hand goes to his throat.

“Oh, God! Are you choking? Pull over, so I can help you!” I shout, trying to remember how to perform a Heimlich maneuver. He shakes his head, no! What? No he’s not choking, or no he doesn’t want help? Is he having an allergic reaction? His eyes are covered with some agony. He’s hurting! I don’t know what to do!

“Are you choking?” Something gurgles in his throat. His right hand is over his throat fighting with something.

“Pull over! I’ll call 911!” I shout anxiously. He shakes his head vehemently. I try to fish my cell phone out of my clutch. Anthony’s eyes are rolling back in his head! We swerve out of our lane.

“Anthony! Pull over! We’ll both get killed! Please!” I beg. He summons all his focus, and presses something on the panel. A discreet button, I barely realize that it’s marked, “
HOME
”. My hands reach out to the steering wheel to keep it in line.

“Oh my God! What do I need to do?” I utter. Anthony fights against some force to look at me and mouths the words,” Your other vision!”

“What? What the hell does that mean? What other vision?” I look at him bewildered.

“Anthony! The car!” I shout and grab the steering wheel to pull it back into our lane. His right hand grasps my left wrist with all his strength. He points to something on my arm. My birth mark! Digging his nail into it, he scratches my wrist making me cry out. I try to force my wrist out of his grasp. But his thumbnail digs into it, finally breaking skin and making me bleed! I pull it out of his grasp. The man is completely gone out of his mind! My wrist starts burning as if on fire. When we start swerving again, I have no choice but to hold onto the steering wheel still afraid that he’ll scratch me. However, I’ll take that over dying in a car crash any day. Anthony’s head is nearly lulling. Just when his head rolls back I notice something covering his face! Someone is looming over him and reaching down from his throat and through his chest! Reaching into him; trying hard to pull something out of him by force! Anthony seems to be losing the battle.

“What the hell are you?” I shout. And the transparent shape shifts to look at me. The body looks solid, but transparent, the last lights of the day spears through the body of this creature. His hair looks like transparent flames licking his face; reaching down and coiling around Anthony’s neck purposefully, strangling him!

“Get away from him!” I shout. Twin pits of molten lava for eyes stare at me maliciously as it doubles its effort to extract the life out of Anthony. I try to swat it, but my hands only grasp air. I try to push him, but I end up pushing Anthony.

“Daughter of Marcus... If you desire to save this Nephilim, you must surrender your body and soul to me! He has but a few minutes to part with his soul in a hellish agony!”

“Leave him alone! What are you?
 
Who
 are you?” I ask while quickly trying to find a way to help Anthony.

“I’m holding his beating heart in the grasp of my inferno. The soul that gives animation to this body will cease to exist shortly. Your word daughter of Marcus! I need your word!”

“ You've got the wrong person! I’ve no father! Let him go!” He laughs and to my utter surprise rings of fire runs through his body as his tongue comes out of his unbelievably large, unhinged mouth in a large flame and hits Anthony on the face, scorching him!

“Your word promising your body and soul, or his life is extracted agonizingly! If you surrender, I shall make his last minute painless,” his voice sizzles.

Anthony mouths, “run!” Where the hell would I run? If we have a chance, we’d have it together. I look around to grab something to hit this creature of Hades with, and the only thing I have is my clutch. I swing it forcefully and it completely passes through his fiery ethereal body as if it’s a figment of my imagination and I only manage to hit Anthony’s nose! My attempt only causes him to swerve, and he finally loses control of the vehicle. I hear the loud screeching of the tires, and the SUV tilts to its side. Just as I expect us to roll over, I feel weightless first, then experience double my weight as being lifted into the air. The entire SUV is off the ground! I scream. I think this is it. What goes up must come down! We are both going to die!

“Alex!” I hear out of my lips involuntarily. “Stella, Uncle Gabe, I love you!” I find myself whispering. I hear large wings beating outside with such a turbulent force that it creates the effect of gusts of wind blowing ready to rip this armored SUV into tiny pieces! Maybe we are rolling and my mind is playing tricks on me. Maybe
 we've already died... The fact that I feel my heart still beating in the vicinity of my throat, my ears and even my fingertips like an orchestra of the loudest percussion and Anthony’s sudden grasp of my left arm with a death grip reminds me that we are still alive and in shitload of trouble! The fight is about to go out of Anthony as the ethereal creature is yanking his soul forcefully and I’ve never seen a more tortured look on anyone’s face before as the torturer of the underworld doubles his efforts; Anthony’s grip on my arm weakens!

“There is something delicious to be said about a long lived life with a lot of pain and suffering and to relive and suffer
through them all over and over again as the soul exits the body. I love giving the experience of loss of love, loss of friends and family, and loss of purpose in life, and the dark abyss to push you in where you cannot find your way out in the seventh circle of hell! Lost! It gives me such pure joy!” he hisses. I can no longer take the misery Anthony is being put through and unbuckle myself and just as I scramble to move into Anthony’s seat to try to save him without knowing how, a blindingly bright face of a blonde woman with a braided crown reaches in from the windshield as if she’s made of light! She is singularly focusing on the ethereally fiery creature. As her hand extends in to grab him, I feel the words echo around the SUV:

“
Deo duce, lux caelestis comitante!
” Her words do not come out of her lips in a speech, rather as thought patterns forming itself around this creature of Hades who’s been torturing Anthony. I can see and sense the meaning of her words rather than understanding it as a linguistic pattern through my ears: “
Led by God, armed with heavenly light!
” The feeling is odd as if discovering a new limb I didn't know I possessed. As soon as the words solidify, they weave around him in such a blinding speed; his fiery body is quickly extracted from Anthony’s, both scaring me and giving me immense relief at the same time. The last thing I see withdrawing is his flaming hair from around Anthony’s throat and face. I vaguely hear 
the Cranberries
 croon through the sound system “
Hold onto my hands, I feel I'm sinking, sinking without you...”
 in the background.