The Rise of the Fallen (The Angelic Wars Book 2) by J.J. Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

again at the latest mutter of
thunder. Chris could feel not just Natalie but some of the others
watching him as well. Suddenly he needed to be alone, if only for a
minute.
    “ Excuse me, Nat,”
he said as he stood up abruptly. “I have to use the bathroom.”
    “ Oh, right.”
She moved her legs to the side and gave him a searching look. “You
okay?”
    “ Oh yeah. I just
have to, you know, go.” And with a quick grin, he sidled by her
and walked toward the back of the plan. As he passed the trussed-up
flight attendant, she seemed to be trying to say something, But with
the gag in her mouth, she sounded like she was making obscene,
kissing sounds. Chris tried not to look at her as he hurried past.
    He walked into the galley
and took a quick look around. There was a small fridge and microwave
and several closed cupboards. Margaret had at least left the place
neat before she'd gone nuts, he thought dryly.
    He didn't see the bodies
of the flight crew and assumed they'd been stowed out of sight.
    Past the galley was the
door to the washroom. He knocked out of habit and then opened the
door and walked in.
    The light flashed on
automatically and Chris found himself in a small square room. He
closed the door behind him, locked it and then just stood and stared
at himself in the mirror.
    It had been a long time
since he'd looked at his own face. The thirteen year old, almost
fourteen he reminded himself, who stared back looked pretty much like
he remembered him.
    His face was still too
round and soft for his liking. The peach-fuzz on his cheeks was still
there; no sign of a beard yet. The blue eyes were puffy and tired
looking and he looked at them and raised an eyebrow.
    “ Got some miles on
ya, eh Chris?” he muttered. He was embarrassed to see a smudge
of dirt on his nose. He hadn't exactly had a chance to get cleaned up
since they'd started their journey from the hidden temple in the
middle east, he thought defensively.
    He turned on the tap and
splashed cold water on his face. It helped him to wake up a little
and, when he dried himself off, Chris saw that the smudge was gone.
Good, he thought.
    He pushed his hair off his
face impatiently. It had been a very long time since the last
haircut. It hung to his shoulders now and the bangs were long enough
to cover his nose. He brushed them to the side and was about to leave
when something caught his eye. He leaned forward and looked at his
hair.
    He called it brown but his
mother had said it was auburn. 'There's some red in there, Chris,'
she'd say. His dad had always rolled his eyes at this comment but
would stay silent. When it came to Chris' hair, his mom had the final
word. She liked it long and that was that. And now Chris kept it that
way to honor her memory.
    But now the auburn was
broken up by streaks of...white? He pulled the hair out from his head
and looked through it. What the hell?
    Yup, it was white. Here
and there, small streaks of white marred the solid color that was
once there. I'm going gray, he thought. Great. Next I'll go bald.
That'll be wonderful.
    He sighed loudly enough
for the sound to echo around the small room. Then he shook his head
violently and stared at the streaks again. What did it remind him of?
He considered the hair for a moment. Sariel. That's it. Sariel has
streaks in his hair. But they were gold, not white. Then he shrugged.
Whatever. There were more important things to worry about.
    At that thought, the plane
rolled over on its side so suddenly that Chris was thrown against the
wall and almost fell on to the toilet. And then the lights went out.
    Oh crap, Chris thought.
Now what?
    He groped for the door
handle and opened it as the plane leveled out. As he stepped out of
the washroom, the lights flickered on again, glowing weakly at first
and then brightening to normal strength. He closed the door and made
his way through the galley and walked back into the main seating
area. And stopped dead in his tracks.
    A few feet from the door
of