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    Angel Spits: Tenebrous Chronicles
    Angel Spits: Tenebrous Chronicles
    Angel Spits: Tenebrous Chronicles
    Ebook149 pages1 hour

    Angel Spits: Tenebrous Chronicles

    By M.E. Purfield

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    About this ebook

    "Have you ever had an author that no matter what they write you just can't wait to devour it? I have had only a handful of authors that do it for me. M.E. is one of those authors." - Fallen Over Books.

     

    "(A Black Deeper Than Death)…has all the gritty, urban noir elements - crime scenes, dark streets and darker intentions. But we also have a few typical elements from YA Paranormal too…I didn't guess the killer - there were so many twists and turns in this though, I'm not surprised!" - Vee Bookish, YA Book Blogger

     

    No one believes in you.

     

    So why should they believe what you see?

     

    Street tough Jersey City girl Maggie Nieves witnesses her older brother fall to his death from the roof of Christ Hospital. Everyone says it is suicide.

     

    Not Maggie. She saw someone up there with her brother.

     

    A girl with wings.

     

    Buy Angel Spits and dive into the urban mystery that will have you believing.

    LanguageEnglish
    Publishertrash books
    Release dateJun 2, 2018
    ISBN9781386926177
    Angel Spits: Tenebrous Chronicles
    Author

    M.E. Purfield

    M.E. Purfield is the autistic author who writes novels and short stories in the genres of crime, sci-fi, dark fantasy, and Young Adult. Sometimes all in the same story. Notably, he works on the Tenebrous Chronicles which encompasses the Miki Radicci Series, The Cities Series, and the Radicci Sisters Series, and also the sci-fi, neuro-diverse Auts series of short stories.

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      Book preview

      Angel Spits - M.E. Purfield

      TALKING SHIT

      Y ou think he feels anything in there? Isis asks. My mom thinks he doesn’t. Shit, everybody thinks he doesn’t. I think he feels something. He is human, right?

      We sit on the short stonewall that surrounds Pershing Field Park. The parents push their brats on the swings while traffic moves up and down Central Ave at my back. Past the swings are two benches. That bitch Kasanu Sims sits on one and talks to Alina Rivera. Probably about me. Just watching her in those tight denim shorts and black halter that she managed to squeeze her fat body into as she twirls her bad weave makes my head ache.

      What you think, Maggie? Isis asks.

      I think they should ask him what he thinks, I say.

      What? The kid’s brain dead. How they gonna ask him that?

      She sighs, then notices whom I’m staring at. Ohhhh. So what ya gonna do, Maggie?

      Kasanu stands, smiles, and walks away from Alina, saying good-bye and giggling.

      Just watch, girl. I stand and stretch out the ache in my back. I rush over to Kasanu. Isis keeps at my side. Hey!

      Kasanu stops and turns just at the end of the short black metal fence that surrounds the swings. The smile drops off her face as she connects with my eyes. She crosses her arms and looks down. Yeah?

      I keep close to her, trapping her so that all she can do is fall back over the fence and land on her fat ass. Heard you been talking shit about me.

      Confusion covers her face as she scans the grass and dirt. What? When?

      I motion to Isis. My girl there told me you were talking shit about me back in homeroom.

      In homeroom? That was months ago. It’s July.

      I shove her shoulder. What you talking shit about me for?

      Her arms tighten. She keeps her balance against the fence. Don’t fucking start with me.

      You’re the one getting all up in my shit, bitch, I say. You’re the one telling people what and who I am.

      The anger finally shows in her eyes. Maybe I’m right. Maybe you’re one fucked up bitch and it’s not right the way you beat down Marina.

      I plow my fist right into her nose. After the bone cracks, she releases a squeal as she covers her face and falls to the ground.

      Parents cover their kids and urge them away from the scene. Some boys cheer me on, hoping I’ll kick the shit out of her for a show. No. I’m not going to give them what they want. They got me wrong. This isn’t about no show.

      I grab Kasanu by her weave and pull her hands from her face. Tears and blood coat her dark, flattened nose. Next time you better be careful what you say. I got ears everywhere. I release her. She sobs on the ground.

      I turn to Isis who smiles at my work. C’mon. We walk onto Central Ave and head down the high stonewall that boarders the old reservoir. People crowd around Kasanu to see if her fat ass is all right. If the bitch can’t take a punch, then she’s hopeless.

      SIBLING HEAT

      Iwas five years old and in the same apartment we live in now. I had my own room since I’m a girl. Joaquin, who was five years older, slept on a foldout couch in the living room. Mami was cooking pernil with black beans and the smell of spices not only filled the apartment but the building hallway for the neighbors to enjoy. Winter was violently cold outside, turning the six feet of snow from a few days ago to solid ice. You wouldn’t know inside since the radiators were at full blast. I couldn’t stop sweating in my khaki pants and PS 6 shirt, clothes handed down from my brother.

      Joaquin sat on the couch, also dressed in his school clothes. He read some book. I can’t remember what it was.  Everyone was so proud that he could read authors like Dickens and some woman named Austen. He spoke and read Spanish and English so well that he helped my mother and father communicate with people around Jersey City who didn’t speak Spanish. Trouble reading the bills? Hand it to Joaquin. Collection agency on the phone? Here Joaquin, talk to them for us.

      I pushed my Scooby Doo Mystery Machine across the floor, the gang all inside and being chased by The Creeper. By the time I made a lap around the old couch, sweat was coating my skin and soaking into my shirt. I wanted to ask Mami to open the window, but I knew it was a waste of time. The heat and hot water was included with the rent and my parents would never waste something that was a free privilege since people had to spend so much on oil. 

      I tried to ignore the sticky feeling trapped under my clothes that covered my skin. I really did. For like five seconds.

      I picked up the Mystery Machine. Joaquin glanced at me from his thick book. His face remained unemotional as he shook his head. I turned back to the window and threw the toy. The plastic van left a crack in the glass.

      Mami stormed into the room.

      What is going on here? she asked, her arms crossed over her apron.

      She glared with dark brown eyes under graying brown bangs at the cracked window, the toy van, and then me. Did you do that, Magdalene? she asked.

      I crossed my arms back at her. Yes!

      She sighed, shook her head, and asked, Why did you do that?

      I opened my mouth. At first I had no words. Then,  I don’t know.

      Bruta, Mami said. Why can’t you be more like your brother?

      Joaquin smiled at Mami, then frowned at me.

      I told her not to do that, Joaquin said.

      Wait until your father gets home. Mami walked back into the kitchen.

      I gave my brother a hard, dirty look. He sighed and turned back to his book. I sat on the floor, watched television, and wiped the sweat from my eyes.

      ALL FALL DOWN

      Isis and I walk down Palisade Ave. I stop at the corner to pick up the new El Especialitos from inside the yellow plastic rack. The cover has some tramped out girl showing just enough skin to entice the ninos to grab it just for the cover.

      Shit, don’t tell me you getting all dyke on me, Isis says.

      Fuck you. I shove her and laugh. For my papi.

      Ew.

      Nah, he’s not like that. He actually reads it, I say. He reads everything. Especially if it’s free.

      The humid summer breeze blows against us as we stand on the corner of Jefferson, preserving the coating of sweat that covers our bodies. Must be almost a hundred today and I hear it isn’t getting better.

      So where to now? Isis asks.

      I gotta get home. I rub out the sting in the hand I used to bust Kasanu’s nose.  Gotta work tonight.

      Sucks.

      I shrug. Need the money. Parent’s won’t pay for my phone and shit. Plus Papi has been out of work again so money is tight.

      Maybe you can share some of it with me. She shows me the dark roots in her dyed blond hair. I need a new color and my mom is so not going to pay for it.

      Isis’s mom, like so many people around here, is out of work and her unemployment might run out unless the government gets their shit together and extends it.

      Shit, I sigh and give her a shove. Later. She laughs and walks in the other direction.

      I continue down Palisade and pass the doctor’s offices that used to be houses on both sides of the street and the groups of patients that wait outside to see them. A lot of the gimps lean on their metal walkers and canes and smoke cigarettes. To my left you can get bird’s-eye glimpses of yuppie Hoboken, the Newport high rises, and the New York City skyline between the houses that run along the cliff. They do call my neighborhood The Heights for a reason. The land is way above sea level over the rest of JC and runs all the way down to Union City. Up ahead, news vans with their big ass satellite dishes filled with vultures are parked in front of Christ Hospital, waiting for the latest scoop on that Timmy kid goofing off in a brain dead land. 

      When I get to the hotdog cart across the street from the emergency room, I notice a few people looking up at the sky. On top of the hospital’s huge, six story black structure with no windows, a man stands on the edge of the hospital roof with his calves pressing the metal bar that acts as a safety railing. He wears a dark suit and an ugly pink tie and there’s only one person I know who would be crazy enough to do that in this weather, let alone wear a fucking pink tie.

      Joaquin? I whisper.

      My older brother looks to the thick dark clouds and holds his arms up. Another figure steps up to the edge at his side: a girl in jeans and a ratty old red t-shirt, and short, blond hair. She reaches out for him.

      He tips over the edge

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