Nicky Angel on RolePlayer.me - www.roleplayer.me/nickyangel Nicky Angel
How you have fallen from heaven, morning star, son of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations! - Isaiah 14:12

Male
40 years old
Brooklyn, New York
United States

Last Login:
January 14 2024

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   Nicky Angel's Albums
Darkness of Yesterday  (6  photos)
The Exorcism case involving Father Nicky Angel, and events leading to the death of his mentor, Father Thayer Murphy.
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    Nicky Angel's Interests
General

nicky_cross_200 Confessions

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been five years since my last confession. My sins are apathy, deception, illegal exorcism, inciting a demon contagion, murder, more murder and outright cowardice. I’ve also lusted in my heart, but compared to the other things, I think I oughta get a free pass on that one. Lord Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Or maybe don't waste your time. I wouldn’t.


imageedit_4_3737847749 Marks of the Beast

NAME: Niccolo Aristede Angel
NICKNAMES: Nicky, Nico
DATE OF BIRTH: September 16
PLACE OF BIRTH: Brooklyn
CURRENT RESIDENCE: Hell

Mortal Coil
ETHNICITY: Italian
HAIR COLOR: Brown
EYE COLOR: Dark Brown
HEIGHT: 6'2"
WEIGHT: 210
SCARS: Many

Trappings of Woe
EDUCATION St. Joseph's Seminary
OCCUPATION: Former Priest
JOB DESCRIPTION: Selling False Hope
EMPLOYER: The Big Guy
STRENGTHS: Cynicism
WEAKNESSES: Fear


imageedit_7_6371313501 Blood

MOTHER: Carina Angel
FATHER: Alessandro Angel
SISTER(S): Sophia Carina



mickey_cross_stare_forward_edit_200


     Nicky Angel's Details
Status: Single
Orientation: Straight
Hometown:Brooklyn, NY
Body type:Average
Religion:Catholic
Smoker:Yes
Drinker:Yes
Children:I do not want kids
Education:Grad / professional school
Occupation:Former Priest
Characters: Nicky Angel
Playbys: Mickey Rourke
Length: One Liner, Para, Semi
Genre: Drama, Horror, Mafia, Psychological, Supernatural, Undead,
Member Since:July 13, 2013




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   Nicky Angel's Blurbs
About me:
.vicarious{Second Hide Blurbs Code}
Who I'd like to meet:
All   hope   abandon... Ye who enter here.

When you go into the priesthood and your last name is Angel, expectations are high. I was the great hope of my widowed mother, the altar boy made good. For a Catholic in Brooklyn, there is no greater aspiration than to have a son who makes priest. Ordained at 25, I assisted my first exorcism six months later. Nothing like seeing Lucifer through the eyes of a 12-year-old boy, or middle-aged housewife, or the mild-mannered trolley conductor who just days before had a family…a life…a reason to take that next breath. But you know what? I was good at it. I had nerves of steel; I faced off Satan and any number of his f u c kin’ ass-kissin’ imps. It almost became a game to me. I can see you scoffing, sitting there inwardly assessing…He don’t got all his marbles, you’re thinking. Well, I got no energy to debate my sanity.

I was there… through three years of it until Father Quinn brought me to the bedside of little Maggie McFarin, a child I knew from the Bowery. She sold trinkets and paper flowers. We had a joke we shared. “What has four wheels and flies?” She’d trill to me as I passed on my way to Chapel. I’d turn and shrug dramatically. “A garbage truck!” Maggie would giggle and toss an artificial carnation. She was everything beautiful. I looked out for her, made sure the orphanage was treating her right. I might have adopted her… had I a wife, but of course that was not gonna happen.

I don’t doubt why the Devil chose Maggie. She was everything good and kind, and in my zeal I boasted I could save her. Pride goeth before the plummet and all that. I watched Satan eviscerate that child; not only destroy her body, no that was just a trifle. He polluted her soul. She died raging against a God that had been my champion, my redeemer. I can still feel her blood on my hands. I left the orphanage that night for a two-week bender, and soon after left the priesthood. Left Brooklyn too. Gone without a trace. To this day my mother don’t know where I am. Better she think me dead.

There is one, though, that knows I ain’t dead, cause try as he might he can’t catch me. I’m the damn sprinting Gingerbread Man and I got the party line on his devious schemes. I may no longer be a Man of God, but like the Big Guy I can still divine every grain of sand. The Bible says so…and William Blake…or f u c k, maybe it was just Bob Dylan.

Everybody wants to go to Heaven. But nobody wants to die.
Crash_edit
Nicky_prayer_gun
How   can   I   save  your   life? I can't even save my soul.
Put   on   the   armor   of   God, That ye may stand against the devil.

Chaos connected us, and chaos will claim the last vestige of our souls. Don't speak of mercy, little girl. We know we're done for.

nicky_crash_650

Lead   us   not   into   temptation... But deliver us from evil.


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Nicky Angel's Friends Comments
Displaying 10 of 40 comments (View All | Add Comment)
Crash.

Dec 23rd 2022 - 10:55 PM


You are incredible Clergy... :)

Nicky Angel
Nicky Angel

Jun 15th 2023 - 6:58 PM


So are you!!!!
Crash.

Jan 17th 2021 - 11:39 PM


“I can mash those…when they are done.”

Her body stiffened, back straightening the moment his presence entered the room. Crash’s insides swirled, a battle of wills fighting for dominance. She was angry, perhaps hurt, even more so, felt abandoned.

Yet the moment Clergy leaned into her eyeline, a comfort washed over her like a warm tidal wave. Having him back allowed Crash to finally take a bated sigh of relief.

As uncomfortable and tense the atmosphere between the two felt, there was a spark of humanity that desperately cried, ‘I am not alone!’ And above the tense, trying circumstances the world found itself in, at the very least, she had an ally.…   

He spoke, hovering around the food, attempting to engage; yet it didn’t take long before her grudges and unshakeable soreness of the previous events suddenly found her cold and immaturely stubborn.   

Sensing the tension, Clergy scooped up her wrist, swivelling her towards him. “I don’t know how to save us…But I’m here.” A pleading crack of his voice and stern eyes boar into her. “From now on, … I’m here.” The eyeline between them held for several moments before he looked away, settling a warm peck upon her forehead, followed by another upon her cheek, and the last inches from her neck. He paused, catching a heavy breath, gently resting his forehead against her own, still clutching her wrist within his grip until finally releasing, breathing deeply.

“I’ll see if there’s any flour…” He spoke softly, turning away in what felt like slow motion.

The feel of his warm touch lingered long after his fingertips released her and he stepped away. Crash, flush with warmth and desire said nothing, merely turned towards Clergy, reached out, clasped him by the shoulder and spun him around to face her.

Her lips parted to speak his name, but the moment their eyes met, Crash’s fingertips slid along the skin of his freshly shaven cheeks pulling him deep into her kiss. Her craven lips engulfed his own, pulling him closer, losing herself in the brief moment of feeling unafraid and no longer alone.

She arched, welcoming his warm lips towards her neck, guiding him further. “Nick,” she moaned softly. Crash’s chin settled gently against his shoulder, relishing in the warm touch. Her eyelids slid shut, caressing his neck and shoulders with inquisitive fingers, desperate to feel the warmth pressed against her flesh.

*Tap…Tap…Tap…*

“Angel!” She spoke curtly, eyes now wide; spotting movement just outside the floral print curtain of the kitchen window facing the front yard. Her nails dug into his back, stiffening against his frame. “Clergy, there’s someone outside…” Angel’s touch lingered for several seconds, palms wrapped around her torso, pulling back enough to meet her round panicked hues. Just as their inhibitions were calmly stripped away, reality swiftly dropped like an anchor.

It’s us surviving now.

As if instinct, Angel gripped her by the shoulder, swivelling her lithe frame behind him in a shielded manner. One paw reached out, pulling back the curtain, the other balled a fist within her Zeppelin t-shirt, pulling her down behind him. His eyeline narrowed out upon the thin veil of curtained surroundings.

A slack jawed, terrified face popped up, staring in from outside the window pane.

Exhausted, yet terrified eyes, wide as moonlit saucers stared in, rapping softly upon the window. “They’re coming!” The man paused, briefly attempting to catch his breath speaking in a near whisper. His voice gruff, yet horsely muffled and winded continued. “Please… The old man and I… We’ll be sitting ducks… please!”

Crash pulled away from Clergy’s grip, sprinting towards the front door. She glanced out the peephole, turning a panicked eye shot back in his direction. She held up what would be considered a ‘peace sign’ symbol, yet it was merely her way of identifying there were two men traipsing outside upon the home. One was clearly pleading with Angel, just outside the kitchen window, the other appeared to be making his way up the steps of the porch. She reached back for the cold steel of the gun, only to realize, the piece she’d clung to so dearly, had not been retrieved from the hiding place she stashed the firearm.

As the older of the pair crept towards the door, Crash spoke out, “Have either of you been bit?”

With no tv, or radio dulling out the world at large, her voice carried loudly throughout the silent home. As if movie cued, the gurgling, drawn out gasping moans of the dead could faintly be heard carried across the evening’s carefree breeze.               

“Have you?!” Crash questioned once again. Slumping against the door, turning a stern stare in Clergy’s direction.

“No! Jesus! No goddamnit!” The man held his hands up, slowly spinning to show Clergy he was without weapon or bite. “Check us!” He stepped back from the window, turning towards the grey haired man descending the steps of the porch. “Show ‘em Coop!”

Crash stood, clamouring towards the peephole, watching intently. The elder grudgingly did as instructed, showing nothing more than an aged torso and slightly atrophied muscles.    

“We just need somewhere saf-“ The gruff voice stopped dead in mid-sentence, eyes widening,“The lights!” He emphasised with whispering haste. “Kill the lights!”

Crash exchanged glances with clergy, unsure what was happening or how to react. Her eyeline darted towards the kitchen lights, firstly leaping towards the socket closest the window. She flattened the hub of switches highlighting the preparation area, plunging the stove and its sizzling pork chops and stewing potatoes into darkness, Crash then turned towards the living room, delicately, yet hastily turning the few lamps lighting the room off, leaving the home in silent darkness.

Aside from the faint hiss of the chops still sizzling upon the stove, the maddening sounds of the moaning dead began to fill the silence surrounding them. Clergy and Crash exchanged looks of uncertainty; she slumped against the front door, he remained in the kitchen, exchanging glances with the man pleading just outside the pane of glass. Suddenly the face within the window disappeared; rabid footsteps descended the porch and both men’s voices urgently begged to be let in, jiggling the knob in desperation.

Crash found herself unable to move. The door lurched and the voices urgently whispered, yet she remained stoic and unmoved, hunched behind the barrier. It was only when Clergy came to stand beside her, that she glanced up. The moment their eyes met, she knew there was no argument that could be made. Crash’s eyes pleaded with him, but in the face of his resolve, she finally stood, slowly moving from the door, taking a stance at his back.

Clergy sighed, gently turning the locks before opening the the door, allowing the two men inside their domain. The older of the two rushed inside with ragged breath, the talker in the window, a middle aged man followed swiftly behind.

Crash inched away, furthering towards the hallway, surveying the men as they rushed in. Clergy swiftly slammed the door behind them, turned the locks and collapsed upon his haunches behind the entrance.

The two men immediately split, each setting up silent posts along the edges of the East and West side windows. Clergy huffed with adrenaline, slumping against the inside of the door and she crouched against the frame of the entry of the hallway.

Survival Mode.

The four hunkered in silence. Listening, smelling, watching as the cluster of dead reached the halfway mark of the home as they began bumping along the siding and windows, shuffling by. A parade of dead moaned its way past the home. A drilling soundtrack of insanity, leaving Crash feeling powerless and petrified. She pulled her legs toward herself, rested her chin among her knees and closed her eyes.

The awful moans, the thumps of their stumbling inability to walk or function properly, the ghost of who those people had once been… The stranger’s invading their space… Clergy…

Crash’s reserve’s fell on empty, silently, resolving herself to a bloody, excruciating death.

They’ll get in, … and when they do, those lumbering, foul smelling beings from hell itself will eventually eat me whole. They’ll gobble me up and spit out me’ bones…

Thats when she felt him slide in next to her.
“They’ll pass…” Clergy whispered in her ear, draping a comforting arm around her trembling torso as if he’d read her mind. The moment his warmth blanketed her frame, she felt comfortable enough to shut down and it wasn’t long before the world began to drift, and a dreamless waking sleep crept in.

Hours later, as the real world seeped into her consciousness, it was to the sound of angry voices that brought her back to the reality at hand. Clergy was no longer by her side. As she groggily sat up, attempting to shake the madness of a waking nightmare from her fog, her focus set on Clergy, sitting up straight as she watched from his back as he barked at the uninvited guests.

“You can’t stay here. I’m sorry, you just can’t.”

“Hear us out first, please.” The younger of the two pleaded, bowing, hands up in a pleading fashion. He turned to lend a glance over his shoulder to the older man at his side before returning attention to Clergy. “The old man,” he nodded, hands still in the air. “He can fly, he’s a pilot. Maybe we can help each other?”

Mid proclamation of the man’s plea, Crash spotted the gun nestled within the back of Clergy’s Levis. A tinge of panic chilled her veins. She didn’t trust these men from Adam, but who was in the best frame of mind to be wielding the gun was yet to be determined.

“Please, we’re just asking for a fighting chance god dammit! You just witnessed …” the dark haired stranger paused lowering his voice slightly. Glancing over his shoulder towards the front door. “After that horde, you’re just gonna send us back out there?! Judging by the looks of you two, this ain’t your place.” He scoffed, running a heavy palm through the slick, sweaty strands of dark hair upon his head. “F*ck!” He threw his fists up, rallying in a rebel yell of frustration and exhaustion.

Crash’s eyeline passed back and forth between Clergy and the fellow survivor. Strangely, she could empathise with the strangers frustration. As the scene grew further agitated, the former cleric reached back, his right hand clasping the steel, steadying his grip, as the man feet away grumbled in a fit of helplessness.

“Where exactly are the two of you headed?” Crash questioned, breaking the silent tension, bringing all eyes on her.

She rose to her feet, carefully taking position between Clergy and the stranger, lending a questioning glance towards the grey hair before returning stare at the dark haired man.

“You’re right, this isn’t our place…” Crash glanced at Clergy, hoping to express a “trust me” look for a segregated moment, before turning away. Briefly, her eyeline flittered upon the ham radio in the corner before glancing back towards the stranger. “We’re all trying to get somewhere and we’re all running away from something. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we can help each other.”

Several moments passed before the stranger calmed, hunching in front of the door with a heavy sigh.
“Me and Coop, we fled the city.” He sniffed, taking a deep breath, releasing a heavy sigh.
“It was bad. We headed out of there on foot, but those things, … there’s just so many of them and it all just crumbled so fast…”

He chuckled in delirious frailty. “Needless to say, some of them caught up with us… and your lights were on.” With another heavy sigh, he exchanged glances between the two of them.

“The old man,” he nodded towards the older gentleman sat in the corner, who glanced up with a grunt, raising a middle finger. “Well, that ray of sunshine is Coop. I’m Ben. And as disingenuous as it may sound, we really are good people.”
Ben rose to his feet, extending a palm out in Clergy’s direction.

“Please, give us a chance.”

Louis -

Jun 19th 2020 - 1:56 PM


Glad to hear you're ok!. I'm still working. I've always been a remote employee so things have been status quo. Just eveything else around me is nuts. I try to write my novel in between this that and the other thing (mostly work). I'm really trying to finish it up (second draft) by the end of July. There, I've said it, so it must be done lol. 
Louis -

Jun 16th 2020 - 7:13 PM


Hello my friend. Hope you are well and surviving these crazy days. I'm good, up to my ears in work. Such is life. Take care and stay safe. 
Crash.

May 19th 2019 - 9:09 PM


1.

“Step away from the door.” 


A chaplet of perspiration welled above her brow line, dangling amid her peripheral for several haunted seconds before dripping onto her feverish cheek. Crash redirected the barrel of the gun behind the front door. One eye stared relentlessly out the peep hole of the barricade, watching the frantic grey haired man on the other side tremble and shake.


“Please…” His fists slammed upon the solid wood of the frame; slumping with a heavy sigh of exhaustion. “It’s my wife… ” The man’s voice cracked. “I, I think she’s dying!”


Taking more precise aim, Crash levelled the gun between the barrier of the survivor speaking and her defensive stance on the other side. She spoke again, c*cking the trigger of the gun within her grip.


“Step. Away.” The litany paused briefly, sizing the man up on the other side.  


“I won’t ask you again.”

Crash.

May 19th 2019 - 9:08 PM


2.

|A Week Earlier|



What a lovely day. 


A light breeze tussled thin strands of straw like bangs back and forth along her forehead, teasing the pale temples like passing dandelions. The smallest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lip, admiring the sky above. Blue as a robins egg. Perfectly strewn, wispy clouds sauntering by as if they too… were struck by the beauty of the surreal surroundings. 


‘What a lovely day…’ Crash relished. She drew in a pleasured breath, admiring the sky above for several seconds before a sharp voice echoed out in torment. Her smile slowly withdrew from her lips like a budding tsunami as a steady, throbbing began a timely beat within the back of her head, sharp and heavy, thumping what felt like a cartoonish lump the size of Mt. Everest straight out of the back of her skull.


That morning she came out of a distorted reverie; head aching, swimming like a warbled fish bowl. Crash sat upright amid the wooden porch stairs, clutching at the back of her aching head, watching in stunned silence, unable to look away from the scene unfolding before her. 


Clergy had turned feral. Airing his grievances into the sky like a drunken sailor. Salivating at the mouth as he cried out, clawing at his shirt as though if he could only rip his own heart out, it might just ease the pain, even for a brief fleeting moment.  


Before her lay the ruins of the Angel. Damning the God he so trusted, while feet away the remains of young Johnny’s body lay obliterated; still, and rotting. She watched in a mixture of fascination and horror as he screamed to the heavens above. When his voice grew horse and his body collapsed to the ground, Crash shakily stood. Her legs felt like jello, wobbling beneath her like a small child learning to walk for the first time. 


She paused leaning upon the porches railing, wincing at his mournful cries of pain.

It was her body that ultimately took control and not her mind, as she stumbled, heavy footing stomping upon the ground, kicking dirt clots as she made her way towards the broken cleric. 


An overwhelming need to rush to his side and swaddle him in her arms spoke to every instinct. Yet she hesitated, approaching with caution towards his back. Her arms delicately embraced his sunken shoulders, settling upon his trembling frame. Cold tears ran down her fiery cheeks, eyes clasped shut, lying her her head upon his heated, contentious shoulder; whispering into his ear. “Clergy…”  


“No!” He shouted, harshly pushing away her warm embrace, sending her scuttling backwards. 

“Don’t!” Clergy cried, glaring at her with condemning eyes. 

“I don’t need you…” He spat. “Or your God!”


She stumbled away, disbelieving eyeline swerving in his direction.

A helpless brow furrowed up at her; mystified orbs stared back, watching tears pour down his rouged and heated cheeks. “He was just a boy… He’s all I had left.” 


Stunned, Crash watched as the broken Cleric turned back towards the young, dead Johnny. 

He rose to his knees, clasping his palms together in contrition for a brief moment, before inching towards the perished follower.


No... Not you... Not now...


The world was spinning around her in a woeful tale of humanity gone mad and for a fleeting, macabre moment, she envisioned plucking the gun from the ground and turning it on herself. 


It was his heartbroken moans that snapped her back to reality. 

Clergy loomed over the corpse sobbing. Prayer rhetoric streaming from tattered breaths, swiping at his slobbery eyes and runny nose with the back of his hand like a school boy. 

When the cleric reached out, gently stroking the boys shoulder, just below the bloody stump of where Johnny’s head had once been, Crash could take no more. 


Both fists came down upon his trembling shoulders. Blanched knuckles dug into the fabric of his borrowed clothes, yanking him away from the corpse. She forced him stumbling to his feet and back towards the home. Catching him by surprise, Crash ambushed Clergy against the oak steps of the porch, forcing him into a sit. 


They tussled back and forth, Crash straddling his frame, using every bit of adrenaline she had left to reign in his weakening attempts to buck her and get back to the boy. Neither had slept in at least two days, and it was becoming clear, exhaustion was beginning to set in for the both of them. 


She grabbed his wrists, forcing his arms down, subduing his flailing limbs for a fleeting moment, securing them at their sides. A deep breath proceeded, before gently releasing him. Her thin pale fingertips cupped the sides of his face forcing direct eye contact. She had yet to even speak and already his panicked, clammy palms, free from her restraint, once again rose up, squeezing her shoulders. She refused to break gaze, gripping him tighter, holding his attention.  


“Its over Clergy!” Her heartbroken, shiny hues pleaded. “Goddammit you HEAR me! It’s OVER!”


His cheeks paled, settling a long, hardened look over her shoulder at the decomposing body several feet away. Clergy’s gaunt eyelids slid shut, forcing a trail of tears that traversed the crest of his cheeks, pooling down upon his chin. The once digging grip upon her frame suddenly loosened. His palms gently slid down the casper hue of her forearms and fell away completely, as his body crumbled beneath her.


Crash moved to his side, kneeling as she swooped down, digging her arms around his torso, forcing him to his feet. “It’s all my fault…” He whispered.


“Shut up Clergy, just move.” 


She ushered him into the home around her shoulder like a wounded brother in arms, walking him down the dimly lit hallway towards the master bedroom. Sat upon the edge of the bed, Crash’s mind raced frantically, unsure what to do next. 


Leaving his side, she ransacked the bathroom countertop uncertain what she was even looking for. She flung the doors to the medicine cabinet open, eyeline suddenly zeroing in on an orange medication bottle. 


Diazepam - more commonly known as Valium. Prescribed to one Betty Dudley. Insomnia. Directions: 1 Tablet 30 minutes before going to sleep.


Crash wrestled the bottle open; exhaustion and adrenaline waging a battle of wills amid every muscle left fighting within her sleep deprived shell of living flesh. The lid flew off and several  pills spilled into her palm; she cupped one and funnelled the rest back into the trembling bottle within her grip. 


A small rose tinted cup sat beside the sink which she swiftly filled from the tap. 

Sloshing waves of liquid dribbled down Crash’s fingertips returning towards Clergy’s shell shocked frame. 


“Swallow this.” She plunked the pill between his lips, handing him the water, kneeling at his side. Crash forced the cup into his palm, tipping his arms upwards, nudging him to drink. He moved mechanically, like a puppet being pulled by the strings of its master. He appeared vacant, nothing but an empty shell and lifeless, glassy eyes.  


“Stay here.” 


Crash left the bedside, exiting the room for several moments before returning with the quilt Clergy had shoved into her arms when he returned from Ligon’s.


She rounded the corner of the door frame finding his stature unmoved. The ceramic cup sat within his lap, whilst a lost, deserted gaze remained fixated upon the bureau’s mirror directly across the bed; staring at his own reflection.  


Crash set the quilt behind him, gently kneeling at his side as she begun untying and pulling off the former Cleric’s boots. She rose slowly, taking a sober seat upon the bed at his side. Blindly she reached slipping her small palm into his free hand as her eyeline rose towards the mirror his wayward stare seemed so fascinated with. 


“This is not us against each other Clergy,”, she whispered, facing his thousand yard stare with her own pleading hues. “This is us fighting to survive now. Fight with me…” She pleaded,  squeezing the dead weight of his much larger mitt. 


She held the stare for several moments, before ultimately breaking the eyeline as she reached over and removed the cup from his grip. Crash couldn’t be sure what had gotten through, but her haggard body was on the verge of a shutdown.  


Thin, trembling fingertips crawled along his shoulder, guiding his frame towards the bed, laying him down beside her. Crash unfurled the quilt, bringing its edge up to rest just below his jawline before lying down at his back. She reached up, caressing soft tendrils of his dark locks, slowly beginning to drift off. 


“Please try to rest…” 


“The gun?” His hoarse voice croaked in a near whisper.  


Ice water overtook every last weary muscle within her body and Crash froze. The piece of steel she had picked up but ultimately decided NOT to use against herself suddenly grew cold amid the naked skin of her hip. She had retrieved the gun, put the safety on and tucked it away within the back of her jeans, perhaps a back up plan, perhaps safety measures; but the out of left field remark, albeit slurred and dreamy, left the piece of steel feeling like an ice cube of guilt stabbing at her kidney. 


She cautiously shrank back, knowing there was a chance he may have been playing her the whole time. His grief so over powering that he could shake her down at any moment, find the gun she was stowing away and ultimately make a life changing decision for both their fates.

Breath clenched within her chest, and what felt like an eternity later, silence eventually passed.

 

Clergy’s chest relaxed as his delicate breathing grew and fell. After a short time of tense stiffness at his back; a soft snore echoed through his nose, softening her rigid frame. It appeared the Valium had kicked in, and Crash was finally able to timidly relax. Exhaustion took over every inch of her body, curling up at his backside passing out herself.

Crash.

May 19th 2019 - 9:06 PM


3.

A sudden gasp of air filled her lungs, as if the unconscious act of inhaling had become a forgotten and foreign priority. Her eyes opened sharply, but her head was still lost in a hazy fog of remembrance, uncertain of the current surroundings. “Mickey…” Crash uttered softly within the thin veil of remembrance and sleep riddled memories. For a brief moment she had been dreaming of her brother, but as her surroundings came into focus, Crash realised it wasn’t her brother, but Clergy who lay beside her. 


She’d woken, curled up at his back, tucked beneath the quilt she stretched upon them… what seemed like an eternity before, in another life. 


Panic stampeded across her chest, flashbacks of Johnny’s milky white stare and Clergy’s tragic plea for mercy. The sun began to peer through the draped curtains in shiny, warm beams. Unfortunately the shadowy scene it presented was grim, dull, and disturbingly silent. They had slept from the previous morning all the way into the following morning. 


Her body stiffened, as if a cold draft had caressed her shoulder and a frightening reality took hold. Johnny was gone, and Clergy had become despondent, perhaps even unpredictable. 


Inches away from Clergy’s body, she lie still, nothing but the back of his shaggy head of dark hair just above the quilt for her to see. A gentle inhale and exhale of his breath proceeded and the way his shoulders and torso raised and deflated, his warmth… Crash exhaled softly, slipping her eyes closed thankful for the much needed win. Clergy was still living. 


Slowly slipping from his side, she made her way towards the edge, careful not to rustle the quilt more than necessary. Once off the bed and standing at its side, she watched as he breathed peacefully.


The door to the bedroom slid shut tightly, bringing a sudden pang of anxiety and memories of leaving young Johnny alone. 


“No.” She mantra’d. ‘This is different. Clergy’s alive. 

He hasn’t been bitten, he’s just in shock.’ 


She hesitated, palm trembling above the doorknob staring at the door frame which now separated the two. 


“He hasn’t been bitten… and he’s not going to hurt himself.” She whispered.


An instinct to barricade the door flashed through anxious survival instinct, ‘What if’s?’ 

But ultimately she turned away. Breakfast first, after that… Crash pulled the floral curtain of the front window aside, shaking her head at the grizzly scene that had been left behind. Johnny deserved a proper burial and there was no way she’d allow Clergy to relive the gruesome events of the boys untimely demise by leaving his corpse splayed out beneath the towering oak trees of the property.

Crash.

May 19th 2019 - 9:05 PM


4.

Crash spent that first morning digging. 

Upon dragging what remained of Johnny’s body into the shallow grave, and ultimately finishing the macabre task of burying the young boy; aching, callused palms tossed away the shovel pilfered from the Dudley’s shed as she fell to her knees in fatigue… and wept.     


Hours later, on the perimeter of dusk, Crash carefully re-entered the reticent home. 

Cicadas hummed a fervent lullaby at her back, the sun casting lowering shadows upon the horizon as she slowly slid the door shut behind her. She neither found him aiming about the living room nor any of the belongings moved as if he’d once been there.   


“Clergy…” Crash found herself standing outside the master bedroom’s door frame, longing for a reply. When only silence answered back, she reached out, sliding dirty fingernails around the glacial door knob, only to pull back. 


A heavy sigh escaped her lips as the lithe frame suddenly grew heavy with not only the weight of dirt and blood soaking her clothing but the guilt of being at a loss for words. 


What could she possibly say…


The man who had saved her life may never forgive her for the tragic events leading up to Johnny’s demise. But forgiveness or not, Crash could no longer picture herself continuing on alone without him. She had been seconds away from leaving them both far behind her in search of her brother, yet in the wake of his valour and the heartbreaking defeat, she felt in debt and a connection she was unready to walk away from.   


She turned away silently, not wanting to push him and cause further damage. 

Instead, Crash headed into the daughters room, pilfering a pair of jeans and a white tank top from the dresser. She would’ve raided ole man Dudley’s own wardrobe if meant stripping off the proverbial battle fatigues as quickly as she could. 


She plucked a handful of towels from the hallway cabinet and proceeded to the communal bathroom directly across the girls bedroom.

Crash.

May 19th 2019 - 9:05 PM


5.

Steam traipsed out behind her as she stepped into the hallway, rendering a look back at the door Clergy lie behind. Refreshed yet exhausted, she turned away and headed towards the kitchen. 


About half an hour later, she once again found herself at the bedroom door. This time she knocked, calling out gently.

 

“Clergy, it’s me.” She paused. “I’m coming in.”


As she slipped her free palm along the knob, a sudden deja vu swept through her bones, cramping every muscle in her body. The last time she had done this, Johnny’s corpse had come charging at her. If Clergy were to do the same, Crash was sure she’d go insane.


Gathering all remaining reserves of bravery, she took a deep breath and entered the bedroom.  

The door creaked open as she stood in the doorway trembling. His frame lay beneath the quilt, unmoved. 


The carpeting dug between her toes as she stepped further into the room. Halting in mid breath, she silently watched from a too close for comfort distance. There was no movement, not even a flinch as if he was present of the current surroundings. 


“Chicken soup.” The bowl trembled slightly between her palms. 

She watched for several bated breaths, knuckles blanching, muscles aching as she waited. 

Although he had pulled the quilt close beneath his chin, nearly burying himself between the pillow and the bedding, the rise and fall of his chest, gave her an overwhelming sigh of relief.

Clergy was still living. 


Crash took seat along side his sleeping frame, setting the bowl of soup upon the nightstand.

“Please eat.”


She brushed dampened hair away from his drenched forehead, pulling the quilt back as she climbed beneath the bedding beside his back.

Her shoulders buckled at her sides, chin falling to the cradle of her chest, as she shrank beneath the quilt and began to weep in sheer exhaustion and frustration.

Crash.

May 19th 2019 - 9:02 PM


6.

Several days passed.

   

Shortly after breakfast she’d exit the house in solace of the outside. The home itself had become dreadfully silent. Even the slightest settling of its groaning foundation sent her heart into a marathon race of worry and uncertainty. The outdoors remained a serene harmony of activity that held a small semblance of normalcy. Insects buzzed, birds chirped, and the wind rattled the trees and grass with a blend of comfort and safety. 


A few days in, she began scavenging the old man’s shed for tools. She wasn’t quite sure what problem(s) the Buick had, and because of that, Crash liberated everything she could get her hands on. Behind a pile of dusty grey tarps, Crash discovered an old portable ham radio, which surprisingly turned on.


That particular day she traversed the entirety of the land, clutching the mic in hope of sending desperate messages out over the few channels available in range of the comms… but ultimately, mere static had been the only response. 

   

Nearly a week had come and gone. 


She was enjoying the breezy, cool morning, taking opportunity to work on the vehicle. The ham radio, still kicking, yet frustratingly silent, sat upon the Buick’s hood. Crash drifted back and forth between the shed, hunkering below the ole Buick’s bonnet changing filters, changing oil, checking fuses and running belts. Unfortunately, the last of Dudley’s supplies were being used in a Hail Mary to get the Buick up and running. If it didn’t work… Well, that was a thought she just couldn’t entertain at that moment. It had to work. It would work. 


Crash sighed, ducking out from the beneath the hood, shutting the bonnet, bringing her elbow   sharply down upon the seal of the front chassis to ensure a proper close. She paused at the drivers side door, keys hanging in the ignition as she glanced back over her shoulder at the house, thinking of Clergy. 


The Angel had become reclusive. 

Never leaving the room, barely leaving the bed. 


He was eating. This she knew only because each morning she would bring a small breakfast, followed later in the day by lunch and eventually dinner. It wasn’t much and she usually carried nearly untouched plates and bowl’s back into the kitchen, both worrying and frustrating her. 


Despite the irritation; at some point, each night, she would come back to sleep at his side. Sometime only two hours and some periods only long enough to make sure he was still breathing.


But as the days passed, Crash became increasingly anxious. 

They were grieving in a graveyard. And neither could begin to heal in their current surroundings. It was time to move on. And the only means of viable success was by way of the Buick. She didn’t have a plan, but anywhere else would be better.

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