Page 29 of Fallen: Darkness Ascending, Vol.1

FAITH

J ust another bout of bad luck. Just another dead body behind me to add to the ever-growing list. Well, fuck this shit.

I stumbled, crashing into the thick, albeit decrepit, door to the church.

Was that where I was? A fucking church? Of course.

That made some kind of fucking sense, and you know what?

I was ready to tell that God fucker to fuck off.

I’d had enough, and none of this shit was my fault, so I shouldn’t have to deal with it.

Sure, I had a temper, but it wasn’t like I was actually killing these assholes, and I was sick of getting blamed for everything that ever went wrong for someone. Yeah, I was a bad penny. But apparently that was preordained because I knew for a damn fact that I’d never chosen it.

The door creaked as I pushed my way through, still wobbling on my feet as I made it inside the somewhat abandoned house o’ the lord, even though it was well past “open hours” and I was what you’d consider less-than-devout.

It was totally empty. In fact, I’d never really seen anyone coming or going through those massive doors from my vantage point across the street.

Working at a bar across from a church it was logical that one of them would do shit for business, and my money had always been on the booze house over “the lort’s. ”

Because that non-existent guy was a fucker.

“Ha,” I laughed sarcastically as I put the bottle of vodka to my lips again, taking back another massive pull.

I’d always had a high tolerance, which was part of the reason I’d decided to work at Lucy’s Wings.

It was damn hard to get me drunk, so I didn’t feel at risk of being taken advantage of by guys who couldn’t take no for an answer—so, you know, like ninety percent of them—and I could hold my own against the other bartenders.

That had been ten fucking years ago, right at the legal age of twenty-one.

And in none of those years had I managed to get anywhere near as wasted as I was now. Go me .

But today had been a special case. It should have been just another shift, but some asshole had tried to get handsy with me. Yes, par for the course, but there were always those handful of dudes that felt especially off, one turned-down date away from snapping.

I’d shoved him off easy enough, but angry about it was a gentle way to put how I felt.

That’s how it was with me. Either you got the happy version, few and far between, or you got the pissed off the likes of which put fire and brimstone to shame.

Okay, sure, there was a neutral mode in there somewhere, but that was usually reserved for when I was alone.

People had a way of flipping the switch real damn quick—like Yankee ball cap bro who’d tried to jam his hand down my pants, regardless of the multiple nos.

One thing led to another, which meant some blows were exchanged.

Yes, 'exchanged' did imply he’d tried to swing back, and he'd. He just missed.

Not my fault his aim was crappy. So, of course, the fucker had managed to fall down the set of steps out back that led to the basement and cracked his neck.

Dead as a fucking doornail.

And I’d lost my job because it was too coincidental that it had been the second time that someone who’d harassed me wound up a corpse. Brian, the manager, wasn’t taking any more chances on the loaner chick who never participated in work functions.

I’d vaguely considered that social bullshit might have been worth it if I was allowed to keep my job, but I’d quickly backpeddled. BBQs, baby showers, and bar mitzvahs were not my scene, and with my luck, all the open flame during those things would cause problems.

No, thanks.

So, this was my one-person pity party, and I was going to cry if I wanted to—while getting phenomenally drunk.

There were a bunch of pews in front of me when I stopped wandering down through the short ante-room that led to the chapel proper.

I could imagine people mingling around in front of the carafes full of crappy coffee and making small talk.

Sure, this place looked a little too ancient to have ever held those kinds of pre- and post-sermon mixers, but maybe that was why people had liked it.

I mean, it had to still be here for a reason, right? If the place had been truly abandoned, the city would have torn it down. Moriah may have been a small town on the East Coast, but even we knew that old buildings going to rot was a waste of valuable land.

The only valuable thing we really had going for us here, honestly.

Oceanfront property sold, and there had been numerous attempts to create resorts and luxury properties along the beach.

None of them ever seemed to pan out, though.

Something always went wrong at the last minute, and Moriah was left what it always had been—some dumb fucking town that I couldn’t seem to escape.

“Why the fuck am I thinking about fucking beach houses?”

My words were likely only intelligible to me, and I bumped into one of the pews at the back of the chapel. Apparently, I’d wandered in here, which was sort of the plan, and I took another swig of my bottle, finding myself fresh out of the firewater.

“Dammit.”

Stumbling up to the front, I plopped down sloppily into the front pew right at the corner closest to the aisle. I’d intended to make it further, but that alcohol was actually doing its thing now, and my coordination and logistical planning were not seeing eye to eye.

Above me, there was a raised portion of the chapel that housed a beat-up, old pulpit and a massive organ, the pipes of which were cracked to hell. I couldn’t imagine the thing still played. My confidence that this place would have been torn down if it were deemed unsafe was wavering—a lot.

What really caught my attention, though, was the stained glass window at the back.

Behind the pulpit and organ, behind the dust and stupid ornate molding that looked like it was going to fall off at any moment, was this massive scene depicted in colored glass.

Some fancy-looking angel dude, probably Michael or something, was hovering in the center, his enormous white wings outstretched as he was silhouetted by the sun.

“Well, look at you. All righteous and smitey. Good for you, asshole.”

I raised my empty bottle in cheers, and when the alcohol didn’t magically refill itself, I hucked the thing toward the pulpit. The glass smashed against it, a loud crack echoing through the room.

I should have felt bad, most likely, but I didn’t .

Scanning over the image again, I noticed that at the bottom of the window, framing Michael’s feet and sort of impaled beneath them was what I had to guess to be hell.

There was so much red and black, with little dudes gathering at the corners that I couldn’t make out really.

But the one totally clear thing was a guy Michael appeared to be stepping on.

“Hey, Lucy. That you?”

The devil. It had to be him. The grayed out skin and black wings, leathery not full of feathers, gave him away. Oh, and the horns and tail. The OG fallen angel looked rather unhappy to be playing the role of angel boy’s foot stool.

“Sucks, bro. All you wanted was to keep doing your angel thing without simping for god’s new humans. I get it, man. We suck.”

Yeah, blasphemy in an actual church might have been taking things too far, but as I’d already determined about a lot of fucking things, I just didn’t give a shit.

I knew I was being a bit saltier than usual, considering I’d just lost my job and all, but I still didn’t have any proof that any of those dicks with wings were even real, let alone nice people to be around.

Being around anyone had always kind of sucked, though.

Strings of bad luck had a habit of making people distrust you, even if it wasn’t your fault. I could get it. I wasn’t looking to stand next to a guy who’d been struck by lightning a bunch of times. Collateral damage was a real thing. It was just…lonely on this end.

Oh, no. You’re not getting all maudlin.

But it was too late. My mind was already circling back to the thoughts that had driven me to that bottle in the first place, and they weren’t great. No, they were lonely, depressive, why-even-bother kind of thoughts, and I’d yet to come up with an answer to that ever-present question.

Why did I bother?

I had zero friends, zero contacts who’d even notice me gone, no hope for a love life, and a string of dead bodies in my wake.

The idea of putting up with it for any longer made the unrealistic notion of being damned to hell totally bearable.

There was no such thing, after all. I’d be blessed with nothingness: no consciousness, no thoughts, no pain, nothing.

That sounded real damn preferable to all this.

I looked around the barren chapel where I sat on a decrepit pew.

It was dark, some light from the street washing in through the windows.

Everything seemed to be colored a subtle tint of blue, cold and very close to gray.

The wood of the bench beneath my ass was scratchy and rough.

I could pick off pieces and let them flake to the ground.

There was that musty smell that all old buildings had, too.

And above me, over there in the corner, was a set of stairs that led up to a balcony that ringed the room.

Climbing those steps would be a fucking thing considering how shoddy they looked, but if I got up there…

if I got up there and stood on the ledge in the middle, I could position myself right over the pulpit.

You’d hit the thing dead on. Maybe that would help it stick. Or maybe I’d need to move down so that I just hit the floor.

My fingers twitched as I gripped the bench seat and then released it again, over and over, until I was flaking off so much of the damned thing I was surprised it didn’t crumble. The alcohol was starting to burn off. I couldn’t even stay super drunk for more than thirty minutes. Seriously?

“Ugh.”

I stood up, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet.

I needed to do this now before I sobered up and logic got the best of me, because I couldn’t keep doing this.

My entire fucking life had been one accident, one death after the other, and I was done.

Maybe there was a reason people should feel nervous around me.

Maybe it was me.

Better safe than sorry, Faith.

Speaking my name in my head made me think of the man who gave it to me, and my gut tightened.

He’d be fucking pissed at me right now, throwing away the gift of life.

But he’d died like all the rest of them, in my arms when I was six.

His “little miracle” hadn’t been able to do fuck all to stop him from bleeding out on the pavement.

All because some asshole had wanted his money.

A flash of white scorched my mind when I tried to remember more. It was always like that. I could see the blood, I could see my tiny self trying to patch him back together, but I could never see what had happened to the mugger who’d shot him.

I could never see how I was taken from the fire station where I lived with him. Joshua .

And then it was foster home after foster home, and the deaths started up even back then.

A cat who’d scratched me. One of the second foster lady’s friends who’d told me I was looking chubby.

A man I saw stealing from the register, who was then found dead the next morning in the gas station where he worked.

It was me. I was doing this.

This is your fault. Just end it. Just end it now.

Stepping away from the pew, I started toward the stairs that led up to that balcony. God, I wished I had some more fucking vodka before I left. It’d be nice to go out with that burn on my tongue. But life had never been what I wanted. Why should it start now?

There were two holes in the stairs, and I had to dodge them carefully so I didn’t fall through and wind up alone in the church basement with a broken leg.

I wasn’t looking to starve to death. Eventually, and through three very close calls because I was still stumbling like a baby deer on ice, I made it up to the balcony.

It was nearly pitch black up here, so much dust and dank crowding the corners.

Walking up to the ledge, I decided to go for not above the pulpit, just in case my falling math was shit.

I put my hands on the railing, then hoisted my foot up so I could climb up on top.

I got about halfway onto the banister thing when a splinter jabbed into my palm, and I hissed .

Adding insult to injury. Rude.

Pushing up, I started deliberating what my last thought should be. If I went with something like “peace out, bitches” that could?—

“I wouldn’t, Faith. You’ve already drawn enough attention to yourself.”

I jumped, yelping loud enough to wake the dead. “The fuck?!”

And then I was crashing over the edge of the balcony as the old ass railing gave way under my weight and broke.