Eleventh Grave in Moonlight

“Jehovah has a point,” I said to the angel standing outside my passenger’s door, looking in. “To control the human race, even a little… that can’t be the answer. Where would it end? When people are so healthy they’re living for hundreds of years? And still procreating until the world is so overpopulated we’ll have to pool our resources and find another world to live on? And then what?” I raised my brows in question. “Life is a cycle. I understand that. And I get it. He can step in when asked. When prayed to. That was part of the deal.”

The angel tilted his head as he listened to me rant.

“But it’s those few humans that… that ruin it for the rest of us, you know? I mean, holy hell, why not just get divorced? And then there’s the accidents. The tragic accidents that no one saw coming. They somehow seem the most unfair of all. When they are no one’s fault. They just happen for no explainable reason.” I glared at the celestial being. “Well, I want an explanation. What about Curren? What did he do?”

I had no idea why I was suddenly venting to an angel. I’d seen so much. Faced so much. Maybe it was the essence of that sweet boy crossing through me, a boy who was born to such worthy parents, such a loving family, to then be faced with the reality that not all parents were created equal. Not all of them were such a high caliber. Some, instead, would shoot through their own child to rid themselves of a nuisance. And still others would rid themselves of the child altogether. Or commit unspeakable acts. Or just ignore their offspring, pretending she didn’t exist.

“You know what?” I asked the angel. “I’m with Angel. I quit, too.”

He continued to stare, ambivalent.

The fury that had been pooling like a bucket of gasoline in my stomach ignited. The atrocious things people did to one another sickened me. He shot through his own child to kill his wife. When I couldn’t even hold mine, couldn’t even see her without risking her life, he shot his.

I swiped angrily at the tears that refused to be squelched and glared at the celestial being. He was here. On this plane. And he’d done nothing. A powerful, radiant being had just stood by and let that man hurt all those people.

This was where Jehovah and I parted ways. He could have done something. He could have stopped it.

I could have stopped it.

When the world began to shake around me, I closed my eyes. Filled my lungs. Tried to tamp down the rage that churned inside me. I had to slow my heart. To soothe the raw emotion that threatened to rip me apart.

Then, despite squeezing my lids shut, my fingers, white-knuckled and gripping the steering wheel, came into focus. I blinked, confused when the world tilted and began to spin. Then realization sank in. My molecules were separating.

I bit down.

Fought for control.

Lost.

Before I knew what was happening, I plunged into the celestial realm, the sensation similar to being tossed from a sauna into a frozen lake. The sudden change in temperature, like scalding ice, like blistering freezer burn, sent shock waves rocketing through my nervous system. Winds whipped around me, and I struggled to gather the cells in my body, to bring them back to the fold, but they scattered in the tempest hidden behind the veil of our world.

I doubled over, curled my hands into fists, and said quietly, “Stop.”

A shift in reality shuddered through me. Time had slipped, yes, but I’d been uprooted. The ground beneath me was wet. The interior of Misery had morphed into trees and bushes and grass, and I began to realize I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, unless Kansas was a thick, emerald green with icy-crisp air and an ocean crashing against rocks nearby.

Probably not.

I stood and turned in circles, trying to get my bearings. Trees. Grasslands. Trees. Grasslands. The terrain, stunning and fierce, was the polar opposite of New Mexico.

Last time my temper got the best of me, I ended up in upstate New York, but the crashing waves convinced me I was not in New York, either. I’d learned to dematerialize, but I still had trouble controlling – as in no control at all – where I ended up. So, God only knew. Well, God and my old friend GPS.

I patted my skirt pockets and prayed, but my phone was still in Misery with my bag. And my jacket. And my ID.

A sweaty kind of panic set in. If I died here, no one would know who I was. They’d never find my body. And if they did, they would have no way to identify it. Unless they spotted the tiny tattoo Pari had given me on my wrist that said in bold script MRS. REYES FARROW. That might give them a clue.

Still.

I had to get a handle on this shit. But first, I had to get home.

I could try to dematerialize and find my way back, but knowing my luck, I’d end up in a terrorist training camp. Or a men’s prison. Or a feminine hygiene commercial.

Left with little choice, I began walking.

On the bright side, no angels stalking me.

On the dark side…

No, I was not going to succumb to the dark side.

I repeated that mantra and channeled my inner Luke Skywalker as I walked for what seemed like hours. The landscape was like nothing I’d ever seen. Not in real life. It was rocky and grassy and woodsy and smelled fresh, like dirt and salt and ozone. I followed the sound of the ocean and came to a stunning cliff that dropped at least a hundred feet, white waves crashing against sharp, jutting rocks below. Then I turned right. It seemed like the right thing to do.

It was all so breathtaking, but I had places to view and people to do. I didn’t have time to roam about, searching for signs of life.

Wait. What if I hadn’t gone anywhere? What if I’d actually gone back in time? Was that possible? I went over what I knew about dinosaurs, which was basically: Flat teeth, herbivore. Sharp teeth, run.

I made a mental note to run either way.

After another seventeen hours – or possibly thirty minutes – I spotted an isolated house tucked between two rocky hills. Like a haven. Like a sanctuary for lost travelers. Or, more likely, like the den of a serial killer. Either way, it was my only choice. I started toward it.