Dirty Angel-BarbaraElsborg (2 page)

Aden was bad. Not just bad. Very bad. Bad to the bone, as his father had said on more than one occasion, and he’d know, the fucking bastard. Aden had been the kind of child mothers warned their kids about. The boy who constantly looked as if he needed a bath, a haircut, clean clothes. The boy who always had a sly smile on his face, the sort of smile you didn’t trust.

Consequently, no one ever came to play at his house, though he’d been sort of glad about that because he didn’t have a room of his own. All three bedrooms in their semi-detached house were crammed with plants growing under heat lamps. His parents used a pull-out couch in the lounge to sleep on and Aden bedded down behind it.

There was nothing at his house to play with apart from crappy games and pathetic toys he’d made himself out of cardboard and stolen bits and pieces. He was never invited anywhere, yet he was one of the most popular boys in school, though not with the teachers or parents. He wasn’t scared of getting into trouble, was never a tattle-tale, never turned down a dare and didn’t care whether he learned anything. Though he had the advantage of picking up on stuff quickly, so he mostly understood and remembered what he was taught even when he appeared not to. He never put up his hand to answer questions. He had no one to care whether he was doing well at school, so why bother to make an effort?

The library was his refuge, books and an overactive imagination his escape. He’d even slept in the library sometimes, hidden in the storeroom, until he’d been discovered one morning and his dad had gone ballistic for getting social services on his case. Though the idiots believed his father’s lie that Aden had been accidentally locked inside and since his son had told him he was staying with a friend, he and his wife hadn’t worried. Aden doubted either of his parents had noticed their eight year old son was missing.

Adults could see what kids couldn’t, that Aden was quicksand, poison, highly radioactive and it was only a matter of time before he dragged down anyone in his vicinity. Everything he touched turned to shit. Including his family. Their dysfunctional state hadn’t been his fault yet they made him think it was.
We should never have had a kid. We don’t want you. Get out of our sight.
His heart still twisted when he remembered. After his parents were dead and he was alone, his life was still shit, so that had to be his fault.

He’d managed to avoid being detained in either a young offenders’ institute or one of her Majesty’s prisons, but only, he suspected, because as well as being bad, he was mostly lucky when it mattered. He’d stolen from individuals, houses, shops and businesses and never been caught. He’d lied and conned people and never been caught at that either because he never hung around long enough to get found out. Aden stopped himself going any further down that path. There was stuff he didn’t want to remember. But maybe all that luck had a price and this was it.

Tim opened his mouth, Aden glared and Tim shut it again.
Good.
Aden liked to think he didn’t care much about anything, including whether he lived or died, but one thing standing in this fast-moving line had done was show him that wasn’t true. He didn’t want to be dead. He didn’t want to go to hell. His imagination flashed into overdrive at the thought of it. Eternal torment. Endless pain. His worst fears becoming real. Everlasting life with his vindictive, vicious, vainglorious father. The vitriolic hatred of his mother. An existence like that didn’t sound bearable and Aden suspected he wasn’t up to comprehending how bad hell could really be.

Maybe I’ll soon find out.

No maybe about it. Twenty-seven years old and he was heading for the shit hole in the basement, not the executive penthouse suite.

He kept moving forward at Tim’s urging because there was no choice. This dream or whatever the fuck it was had a tight hold on his body. The only thing he could control was the ability to think, and thinking grew increasingly uncomfortable.

Maybe he was supposed to be using this time to evaluate his life, feel sorry for the wrongs he’d done, regret paths not taken, apologise to those he’d hurt. There were plenty of all of those. But if everyone was sorry after they died and were forgiven their sins, what was the point in leading a righteous life? You might as well have fun while you could. Though that didn’t explain the two guys sitting in judgement ahead of him. Seemed there were some sins that couldn’t be forgiven, and deep down Aden knew, even if his regrets were genuine, there’d be no place in heaven for him.

His feet carried him forward as another soul was judged and led to the right. He couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, but so far everyone had gone in that direction, meekly stepping into the unknown with their escort and disappearing from view. Maybe he’d be the first to go left. What was beyond the mist that side? A blazing inferno? A pool of hungry white sharks? A pit of seething vipers?
Fucking hell, stop it.

This is a dream. I’m not bloody dead.

Except…Aden had a horrible suspicion he was.

Jesus Christ.
Who’d have thought heaven and hell actually existed? He hadn’t believed in some omnipotent benevolent being since he was a little kid. The vision of a kind man with a long white beard sitting up in the sky hadn’t lasted long. Aden had given up praying because things he wanted never happened, never changed. Given up thinking that
this
year a different guy with a long white beard would fill his stocking—the biggest sock of his dad’s he could sneak out of the drawer. Santa always missed his house—
and not because there was no fucking chimney, Dad
—so why should he bother being good? It got him nothing.

But being bad had him heading for hell. He gulped.

Aden had been a thief for as long as he could remember. He was quick, cunning and never stole anything he couldn’t consume, hide or eventually return. When he was young, he mostly took food and books from the library. His dad had found him one Christmas morning, hiding under his tatty blanket at the back of the couch, stuffing his face with chocolate, a new toy car clutched in his fist, a pile of library books at his side and Aden had borne the scars from his father’s belt for months. It hadn’t stopped him stealing, just made him more careful.

But Aden was
not
going to blame his crappy childhood for the way he behaved as an adult. He knew the difference between being bad and being good, he just happened to like being bad better. Still, there was some good in him, wasn’t there? He didn’t…kick puppies or stamp on spiders.

He thought about it. Fuck, was that the sum of his good side? Puppies and spiders had nothing to fear? He was rarely a decent friend or a considerate lover. He was too selfish. He could be generous if
he had the money, but he never let anyone see beneath the surface of Aden North, was never generous with his feelings. He didn’t trust and he didn’t expect to be trusted. He didn’t help anyone because it might come back to bite him. That attitude kept him safe.

Though not exactly happy. Aden existed. He didn’t live. Now, he did neither.

Hard not to wonder if he really had been born bad. If genes made a difference. Had he ever stood a chance of a different life? How much was engineered by fate, determined by circumstance, governed by choice? Did he like the guy he was? That he couldn’t unequivocally say yes, was disappointing.

Another step, then another until Aden stood in front of two dark-haired guys who sat on high backed, wooden chairs, a big wooden desk in front of them. The men looked like twins, though they weren’t identical. Maybe in their late thirties and both of them hot. Aden expected his cock to perk up at the idea of fucking around with twins, but it didn’t. That was worrying. No sex after you were dead? The one on the left lounged with his legs up on the desk, crossed at the ankle, a bored expression on his handsome face. The other sat up straight and stared right at Aden.

“I present to you—Aden North,” Tim said.

A thick file materialized in front of the lounging guy.
Shit.
That had come out of thin air. The man let his legs drop to the floor, grinned at Aden and slid his tongue over his lips. “You can call me Dante.”

A thin file appeared in front of the other guy who Aden assumed to be Raphael.

“This one’s mine.” Dante began flipping through the file. “Selfish, conceited, conniving, a liar, a fraud, a thief. Drinks too much, takes drugs, fucks anything with a pulse. Hmm…” He winked at Aden. “Soon anything without a pulse.”

What?

“Not one of the seven deadlies left untouched.” Dante chuckled. “Well done.”

Aden suspected it wasn’t well done at all.

“You’ll fit right in.” Dante gestured left. “Off you go.”

“Not so fast.” Raphael tapped his fingers on the desk.

Dante glared. “You’ve got to be fucking joking, Raph. There’s no charity in him, no patience, kindness or humility. He cares for no one. Not even himself. He has no compassion. Has he ever given to charity? Helped without expectation of reward? Been kind because that was what someone needed? Well have you?” He stared at Aden.

“No.” Aden was almost surprised the word came out of his mouth.

Dante’s eyes darkened. “He doesn’t know the meaning of temperance. Why settle for moderation when excess is more pleasurable? He has a filthy mouth and he’s full out, full on for the bad side. Diligent in that at least.”

“I disagree.” Raphael passed his file to Dante.

Dante opened it, read whatever was inside and scowled. “That first act was
not
charity. This latest, an unconscious deed. It does
not
make up for what went before.”

“The first act was not his fault. The ensuing damage was immense. Too much for an unloved child to bear. The second act
was
deliberate, selfless, and it
does
make a difference.”

What were they talking about? If the first act was what he thought it was, then it was his fault. But what else had he done? Aden listened as they continued to bicker. Although he understood Raphael was fighting for him, it was Dante who held his attention, Dante who tempted, Dante with that insouciant shrug that didn’t fool Aden. This guy oozed trouble, yet Aden still wanted to fuck him, maybe be fucked by him.

“I’m bad,” Aden snapped. “I admit it. Okay? For Christ’s sake just get on with whatever it is you have to do. You’re giving me a headache.” If he could lie down and go to sleep maybe he’d wake in a sane world.

“See?” Dante laughed. “You heard him.”

“No.” Raphael pinned Aden with his gaze. “This is not his decision. Nor ours yet. We wait.”

“And when his black wings come out, you’ll see I was right,” Dante said.

Fucking wings?

Brody stared at the computer screen and briefly closed his eyes. Days like this, he wished he wasn’t a vet, or at least wished he believed in an afterlife. If he were sure dogs went to some better place after they were put down, where they had all they wanted to eat and could run free, it would make this part of his job more bearable.

His day had started off badly. He’d operated on a dog who’d been crushed under the wheel of a tractor and just as he thought everything would be okay, the dog had a heart attack. Brody hadn’t been able to save him. He’d even tried open heart massage. The farmer hadn’t left the practice. He’d paced outside, waiting to hear, and had cried when Brody told him.

Brody reread his notes on his current patient, Sam, the spaniel whose x-ray he was looking at. There had been no miracle. Now he had to give bad news to the elderly couple waiting for him in the consulting room. He sighed and picked up the file.

The Wilsons were stroking their six year old spaniel when Brody walked in. He saw the hope on their faces, hope he was about to dash and steeled his features.

He sat beside his desk and put down the file. “I’m sorry. It’s not good news.”

Neil Wilson seemed to deflate, his wrinkled face sagging like an old balloon. “The cancer’s back?”

Brody nodded. “There’s no treatment that will save him.”

“We can get the money for more chemotherapy,” Anne Wilson blurted.

“It would be very distressing for him and likely not extend his life.” The spaniel wagged his tail, one weak gesture, and Brody crouched down to tickle his stomach. “I’m sorry, Sam. You’re a good boy. You don’t deserve this.”

The dog looked him straight in the eyes and Brody sensed Sam understood his time was up. Anne Wilson was crying, her gulping sobs filling the room as tears rolled down her cheeks. As Brody stood, she dropped down and hugged the dog to her.

“He’s suffering,” her husband said.

“Dogs are stoic. They tend not to show how much pain they’re in. But he
is
suffering and it will get worse.”

“What shall we do?” she asked. “What would you do if it was your dog?”

A question Brody was asked on a daily basis. “I can’t tell you what to do, but if he was my dog, I’d do what was best for him. If I couldn’t make an animal better, eliminate all pain, I’d feel it was morally wrong to allow him to continue to suffer.”

Neil Wilson took his wife’s hand. “We don’t want him to be hurting.”

“How long does he have?” she whispered.

Brody hesitated. “Not long. I think if you take him home, by the end of the week he’ll probably not be able to walk.”

“Then we…let him go now, not drag him home and then back.” She wiped her eyes. “But we want to be with him when you… He’s a good boy. The best.”

Brody watched them make a fuss of the spaniel. He wouldn’t hurry anyone saying goodbye to their pet.

Finally, Neil Wilson nodded. “Okay.”

“Let me take him into the back and put in an IV, then I’ll bring him in here to give him the medication. You can be with him and stay with him as long as you like.”

Brody picked up the dog and carried him out. He worked as quickly as he could in the prep room. He could have euthanized Sam without an IV, but he preferred to sedate before injecting the pentobarbital. It went a long way to eliminating reactions to the fatal dose that might distress the owners.

Back in the consulting room, the Wilsons were in each other’s arms. Brody put the dog on the table. They leaned over and stroked their pet, whispering endearments, telling him they loved him, that he was the best little dog in the world, and the usual boulder lodged in Brody’s throat. He couldn’t do this job if he fell in love with every animal he treated, but it still hurt because he understood how much people’s pets meant to them.