The Damned Holies (The Fallen Wars 1)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

-Aimee, Hell-

I was a man that was once a terrorist. I was in the desert, in the Middle East. The sun blazing down, my throat burning for water, bombs spewing sand and pieces of human beings into the air. Bullets pierced through the wall of sandbags and the noise was deafening. Suddenly, pain exploded in my gut. I looked down. I had been shot. Blood darkened and spread across my shirt, dripping into the sand. I was shot again, in the shoulder.

Then, I was a woman that had been a witch. I had practiced dark things in my life. But this was a good memory, not a bad one. I was in a meadow, having a picnic with my beautiful daughter. It was a gorgeous summer day; a nice breeze, blue sky, pretty wildflowers, and warm bread. I could feel the sun warm my face as I held her hand. She was telling me a funny story about a girl in her class. We wore dresses that said we were from an older time.

And then, I was a man who… Wait. I was not a man, nor a witch. I was… Oh, God. Who am I? I’m a girl. Memories tried to push me away from my own thoughts, trying to make me forget.

“Don’t fight them.” A voice said.

Emily. It all came back. Everything did, but suddenly, my memories were not my own. They spread out to every soul, overpowering any other memory. Now they all knew every feeling, every action, every memory I had. They knew me. They understood. I was forced to see memories filled with sympathy.

So, that was how they spoke.

“Interesting… I had no idea. Aimee, the things we could do to him…” Emily was overjoyed.

“What do you mean? Who?” I could barely string the words together. “Make it stop!” I cried. I was going insane.

“Just enjoy the memories. I’ll be back soon, if there’s anything to come back to…” Her voice disappeared, along with my sanity.

I tried to fight the memories, but they were so strong. It was a formidable wave of sounds, sights, smells, tastes, and emotions. I was slipping and trying to grasp at anything of my old self.

I was Aimee Chevalier.

I was Nephilim, half angel and half human.

I was dead.

I was in Hell, lost.

I loved Lucien, my husband.

I was Aimee Chevalier.

I was a spy. I was in service to the Soviet Union. I just arrived in France. The mission I was tasked with is very important. I must complete it no matter what. Adrenaline was pumped through my veins by my heart and my palms were sweating. The job wasn’t tonight, it was a year from now, but I was still excited. It would take time to gain the trust of the French. The sky was clear and the stars were bright, it was a beautiful night.

No, that wasn’t right. I was Aimee. I loved Antonio, ever since we first met at the market. I was selling Papa’s cattle and Antonio was in line waiting. He was Hispanic, as was I. My skin was darker than his because I worked in the fields all day. My family was poor, but he came from a pampered background.

Antonio was so handsome; deep brown eyes, thick, dark hair, and soft hands.

No, I loved Lucien. I was Aimee and I loved Lucien. Lucien was perfection in my eyes. I forced my memory of when I first met Lucien out to the souls. He grounded me, completed me. Where was he? Why wasn’t he saving me? He must be so angry at me for leaving…

“Why do you love him?”

“Where did you go?”

Emily ignored me. “He’s cruel, heartless, and cold.”