Earth Angels Unleashed

The Battle Never Ends

T DEMONIC INVESTIGATOR

BOOK FOUR EARTH ANGELS UNLEASHED

By Terry Ulick T T: DEMONIC INVESTIGATOR

BOOK FOUR EARTH ANGELS UNLEASHED

By Terry Ulick

ISBN: 978-1-7353192-6-1 Print Edition ISBN: 978-1-7353192-7-8 Electronic Edition

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, drawn entirely from the imagination of the author. Characters, dialogue, events, locations, and situations are all entirely fictional. Characters are not drawn upon or intended to represent any persons living or dead. Any resemblance to actual events or people is unintentional and entirely coincidental.

Proofing and Editing: This book series is exactly as written on an iPhone using the MS Word app, one finger at a time using only the spell checker. That is a critical part of the story. This book has retained the files, as written, and did not go through a separate party to change anything written. Please accept errors in punctuation and style. The book remains the result of pure inspiration, letting the original flow of ideas be seen by the reader. The author beleives the errors are clues to be preserved.

What you see is actual inspiration without conventional authoring. It is as it was at the time of writing and has not been changed from that moment.

First printing: March 2021 by Renegade Company Media

Renegade Company Media is owned by Renegade Company LLC

Type: Text is Garamond Pro, 12 point.

Book designed and presented by: Terry Ulick

Published by:

Renegade Company Media PO Box 271193 Littleton, CO 80127

www.renegadecompany.com 2 T: DEMONIC INVESTIGATOR

BOOK FOUR EARTH ANGELS UNLEASHED

Adult Content Warning: Reader Discretion Strongly Advised.

This book contains explicit language and sexual descriptions. All content is intended only for adult readers. It contains fictional accounts of demonic activity and evil which may be frightening or offend sensitive readers. All references to beliefs and religious practices are fictional and do not accurately portray religions or religious teachings. Although not intended to upset readers, this book contains disturbing portrayals of the impact of evil on people and lives. Authors Note:

Beauty. Is it on the outside, inside, a combination?

In all my T books, my goal is to combine my history of creating self-improvement books and magazines with my interest in the paranormal. Writing about how evil invades our existence leads to how we deal with it. In this book, I define beauty as the inner self that radiates out. That holds true for most people. Meeting a nice person, there is that instant impression we form based on their appearance. Considering that human response, I pondered if that basic reaction is only to their physical appearance, or is the inner self radiating out, forming the way they look to you.

Thinking it through, meeting an attractive person does spark the human sexual response but whatever that person is inside is also seen. Understandably, I can speak best for myself. A good portion of my life has been spent taking pictures of beautiful woman. Physical appearance is not a constant. If a person is mad or having a rough day, they project that. An angry beautiful model looks angry, not beautiful. A good- looking man who is a total jerk looks creepy and ugly. We see both the interior and the exterior even if we only think we see their appearance. As photographer I learned my job was not to only capture physical beauty, it was to bring out the inner beauty. That makes a great photograph.

Locking on to the outward appearance and ignoring the inner person, we’ve all made the mistake of thinking them attractive, even if they may not be a good person. Reversing that, we may meet the nicest person possible but because they do not arouse that animal sexual response, ignore them. Beauty that lasts and sustains a relationship will always be inner beauty. Looks fade and change over time. A good person will become more attractive to you over the years.

Understanding the power of attraction is the underlying theme in the T series. It is about how our spirit and soul are always more important than how we look.

Understanding that, you may question how a book with a perfect-bodied beautiful woman on the cover supports that. Or why the woman in this book, including demons, are the most beautiful in all creation. The main protagonists are not people. They are angelic. Pure souls. When seen, they look beautiful beyond comprehension because their mantle is shaped by their spirit — not physical bodies. They are divine beauty here on Earth. They defy age and use their physical appearance to attract demonic entities.

There is a famous biblical reference that the devil has the power to assume a pleasing form. To corrupt good people evil uses the laws of attraction to reel in the weak. Seeking easy prey, they pursue those attracted to surface beauty or who will do 5 anything to be beautiful. In the Garden, humans ate from the tree of wisdom which gave them knowledge of good and evil and shame of being naked. We would all be much better off only knowing good and not being ashamed of our bodies. Angels, unlike humans, are in God’s grace and know that angels that defied God lost his love. They lost joy. In our history, angels are not shown inhibited with their form. It doesn’t matter if believe the story or are religious. It’s a foundation for most cultures. When the divine, particularly angels, are depicted in paintings of sculptures they are most always naked. They do not share the shame of the children from the Garden. In this book angels are divinely beautiful, uninhibited, and use that to distract demons.

The fallen angels understand that humans are easily attracted to pleasing forms. They take guise to attract humans and they are rocking hot. They do more than that. They tempt with anything a person may need. Drugs, alcohol, youth, wealth, and above all, beauty. I pose the question of what a weak person will be tempted by. Being beautiful and being immortal comes up number one in my research of literature and dark tales. Humans can’t wait until they die as that is what awaits them after life. There is a need to look beautiful or handsome that is all about covering up the shame of our bodies granted by the Book of Knowledge in the Garden.

Knowing that, I pose the theory that behind the companies that make cosmetics and beauty products are aware of that need. They are run by, owned by, and marketed by demonic entities. The constant reminder that we are not beautiful is more than a way to rob humans of billions of dollars. It is how the dark lord drives us to misery. Each day when the makeup comes off the truth is revealed. We age. Our looks from youth vanish. For men, the gym closes, their guts turn to bellies, and they buy cars they can’t afford to compensate for fading looks. They flirt to see if they are still studs. The path ahead is filled with the loss of physical attraction to others. What better soft spot for a demon to hit?

This book is a fable and like all good fables it has a moral. It will be revealed by the end.

Terry Ulick Somewhere in Colorado

6 Prologue

There is a line in America that one can cross, not knowing its importance. Located in the western part of the country, it is essential to the land mass. Called the Continental Divide, it’s where rivers change direction. On the west side of the divide all waters in rivers and streams flow to the Pacific Ocean. To the east, the Atlantic. It is explained as being the highest elevations in the far west that create a point where water must follow its natural course, which is the path of least resistance as water does not flow up. It flows down as from some giant peak — a point so high on the continent the water has no choice other than flow one way or the other.

As people grow older, they reach their own great divide where their river of lives change direction. Where once life itself lay ahead, it now lays behind. Dreams change to memories and strength turns to fragility. One day the course changes direction, and as is often said, it is all downhill. Waiting ahead is old age, inevitably sickness, then death. Just as early explorers reached the point where rivers changed direction from east to west, the assumption the location of the continental divide was the middle ground of the continent, it was not so. The divide lay far in the west on slopes of the Rockies, much closer to the Pacific than the Atlantic. Once past the divide it’s a relatively short journey to the Pacific.

We reach our great divide, and at that point it’s a short journey to the grave. Things change quickly. Middle age is most of our life. Old age, short by comparison. Our appearance changes fast; suddenly we are old. Physical maladies accelerate and we become weak or frail. As if some cruel joke when we’ve learned to fully live life with the hard work and lessons learned along the way, we are physically too old to enjoy it. Like a race car we’ve worked hard to build and perform, it’s a champion unable to race.

Our river changes direction as we reach our great divide. That point is different in time and years for each person, but it happens.

There are other great divides we encounter not based in years or the physical. When we change from child to adult. When we change from hope to despair. When we change from faith to doubt about our existence and the existence of God. Surely as water changes direction, we change direction many times in many ways. From single to married. From woman to mother; man to father. The biggest change is being strong, then weak. The combination of course changes present a place where we abandon hope and look for a way back to youth and all our days ahead once more. Mid-life crisis. It’s a moment of fear when we understand our best days are behind with only pain and death ahead.

7 We see ads and commercials for our golden years showing models running down a beach with grandchildren, living on IRAs and pensions. But look closely. Those actors, even with stylish gray hair and money to spend are a pure fantasy. Money and stylish gray hair won’t help with one foot in the grave or being put into a hospital bed or nursing home wheelchair. The day comes from being mobile and under your own power to needing a caregiver to simply go to the bathroom or eat. Another river changing direction.

For all, it begs the question of a soul. If there is life after this life. We are biologically changed to accept blackness and the void. Our life force is the ultimate change in direction.

From living to dead.

8 1

Getting dusty from head to toe, that did not stop her from making her way through the crawl space under a house said to have been inhabited by two particularly noisy ghosts. Nobody in the neighboring towns had seen them, but anyone who came near to the abandoned farmhouse, especially at night, heard them continue their moans and wails some hundred years after their deaths.

Avoiding the methods of most paranormal investigators, she operated solo with no team or helpers. She was certain that operating alone offered the greatest chance of an apparition or sighting. Bags of gadgets, night vision goggles, recorders and too many helpers did not seem to match what she sought which was a direct connection between her and the dead. Her goal was to be wide open and accessible. All she brought was her phone with its built-in camera which had enough memory to record hours of video and record even more audio. It was small and unobtrusive to not to scare the dead away. Being small and friendly looking, on her own she felt the dead were most likely to talk to her.

Searching out the dead was her life’s purpose, and she took chances most others would avoid. Her only goal was to prove the existence of life after death by capturing definitive proof that spirits live among us. She had encountered ghosts and spirits but had never been able to get the camera to capture the ravings she saw and heard. Spirits seemed to have an aversion to being captured in any manner, thus her quiet, shy, singular approach.

Reaching the area of crawl space under the bedroom of the old house was taxing causing her to stop to rest. Stories told of its history were consistent. Over a hundred years back, the farmhouse was inhabited by a childless couple. Inherited by the wife from her father, his death happened at the same time women won the right to own property. With the house, she inherited her father’s savings which was considerable. With so much money she abandoned growing crops and sought a husband instead. Located in the hills descending from the Sierra Nevadas to the area outside of Reno in Nevada, the property had little fertile ground but held gold in its earth. The wife was named Lucinda, and the man she eventually married named Atticus. The lone ghost hunter was fascinated by their story.

Lucinda’s fortune came from the gold on her land, and that was well known to prospectors and mining companies alike. Wanting no theft of her gold in the ground by thieving miners, and no desire to be forced off her land by eminent domain or other excuses used by the largest mining companies, she and Atticus would stealthily ride the property at night on unshod horses and shoot anyone they came across. They left the corpses lay as warning to poachers. Agents for mining companies, railroads, or fools coming to offer to money for their farm were treated no better. As they 9 approached the house, the door would open, and Lucinda would use her shotgun as welcome. Those visitors were thrown down a dry well by Atticus, leaving the whereabouts of such visitors a mystery. In time, most all had learned best to stay off the farm and avoid the couple when they roamed neared Reno.

Interesting as the ruthless couple may be, she was much more interested in why the couple had become legendary in other ways. In a God-fearing place and time, Lucinda and Atticus were known to be worshipers of the devil and sexually depraved. It was told that while in Reno the two had lured many young prostitutes to their farm. None returned. The few miners or vagrants who managed to scout the property and make it out before being discovered told of finding female body parts laying in the scrubs and brush. One fearless man brought back the head of a young woman. The head was shaved bald, and her mouth was filled with hair — but not from her head. It was full of pubic hair and not her own color. There was a cry to raid the farm. No men were interested in taking the chance of ever returning, so the head was laid to rest in the local cemetery with the unusual epitaph of, “Here lies the head of Jane Doe.”

One prostitute had made an escape and told the couple were dedicated to praising the devil with sexual acts unheard of even in the lowest of brothels. She claimed to have seen chains, leather clothing with hooks and nails, special machines for torture, objects for insertion into all parts of the body for both man and woman, ropes to hang from, and buckets of blood assumed to have been taken from the whores they recruited. The woman stated she was forced to crawl on all fours and surrender to every manner of penetration in all orifices by the couple and a forced victim to other sundry devices.

More than a hundred years after the couple’s death, both committing suicides together in front of a Satanic altar, the bones and body parts had been found and sold as curiosities and the same with the sex objects and tools of devil worship. No more gold was ever found on the land, but some told it hosted a strange plant that had the power to drive anyone even smelling it insane. Some felt it was the plant that drove Lucinda and Atticus to such acts of depravity, but none were sure of its powers or location. It was assumed that any who ran across it were taken by its evil powers.

What remained, and confirmed by all nearby, were sounds in the night of a couple screaming out in passion of sexual frenzy, describing sadistic acts and joy from dismembering young whores. It was those voices in the night that the young ghost hunter sought to capture. Crawling under the house to its larder, she prayed she may go unnoticed. Before dusk she quietly crawled under the house and waited without making noise under the bedroom which doubled as their torture chamber and pleasure room. There were gaps in the floorboards where she could get some photographic proof if apparitions appeared.

10 From Wales, her need to find the ghosts of the dead had led her to America and this night to the deserted house in western Nevada under its floorboards. She, like the couple, lived off money inherited from her father. She wished to contact him as he had died promising to see her again — here on Earth in the most unlikely of places. She concluded that if she could connect with a spirit, it may help her find her father. After psychics, clairvoyants, ghost hunters and frauds of all sorts, she decided to go on her own to where ghosts had appeared and wait for them. She was sweet and bonnie with no fear of what she may encounter.

Patiently waiting long past midnight, she was snacking on an energy bar when she heard a slap. Then a moan. Then three slaps in succession, with more moaning. She was still and put her hand on the floorboards to see if she could feel the floor moving under some weight. Then the sound of a chain. Not dragging but being wound around and around in the same spot. Then quiet. Her camera’s digital recorder was running, and she prayed it would capture what she heard. There was the sound of a key turning a lock, then scraping cross the floor of a chair and chains. A moment of silence passed. Then slurping, gagging, and gasping. The sound was repetitive and went on for at least 15 minutes. She was right under the noise. After the first minutes, trickles of what she took to be ectoplasm dripped between the floorboards onto her face. Minutes passed, the gagging increased as did the slime covering her face and running down into her hair. The chair and chain noises grew loud in a rhythmic pulsation. She thought that a couple of teenagers must have snuck in and were having sex. Suddenly she felt sickened by the goo on her face and breast. Unsure of what to do she remained still and silent.

There were no footsteps or sounds of doors opening and closing. Considering the situation, she heard the chain noise again, this time with the squeaking and cranking sound of a pulley. With each crank, a woman groaned as if in pain. The slow sound of cranking continued and then finally it stopped and there was a sound of the pulley crank locking. The moaning and sounds of pain continued. The next sound was subtle, but rhythmic as if whatever hung from the pulleys was swinging. With each pass over her, the crack of a cane or stick. There was a scream of pain with each crack. The cracks grew louder. The scream increased in volume and hurt. After each crack, laughter of a man mingled with the gasp before each scream. The noise was directly above her, and like the slime before, she was getting wet again, but this time with blood. Panicking, she silently crawled to the edge of the house frame, gasping herself as she pulled herself along. With great effort, she pulled herself out from under the house. Panting and clutching her phone she managed to sit up, then got to her feet. She kept silent as she walked to a window to look in where the noises had come from.

Looking into room, it was empty. No chair, chains or pulley. The floor was dry and there was not a drop of blood. She backed up and looked around the property and could see no one. The only footprints on the dry grass showing in the moonlight 11 were hers. Looking back into the house, she saw nothing different, but her body felt cold and she felt breath on her neck. Shocked, she turned around and standing close behind her were a naked man and woman. They were stunningly attractive. The man was tall and bearded, fit and had muscles. The woman was full-figured with dark brown hair and a beautiful face. They were translucent and appeared terribly upset.

She realized that her dream of finding a discarnate entity, a ghost, had happened. They weren’t equally pleased to meet her, and she understood she had interrupted their nightly ritual. Reminding herself they were not physical, that they could scare her but do no actual harm, she stood her ground and remained calm.

“I’m be not here for thou or to disrupt ye ritual. I be looking for my father. Like you, he is sprit. Please, help me find him if ya can.”

She surprised herself with herself confidence and dismissing the fact they were trying to scare her. She watched as the two looked at her, then each other. The woman nodded to the man, and they each had disturbing smiles. They turned and started walking as if alive and it was any other day. The ghostly woman turned and looked back at her and waved for her to follow. Clearly, they understood her and wanted to take her someplace. Her mind raced that they were going to show her how to reach her father. With caution she followed them. They walked holding hands, their pace leisurely.

Walking a considerable distance, they stopped in a grove of ponderosa pines. The moon was bright and the sky clear. The two kneeled down in front of a small tree and pointed to a patch of green leaves growing at its base. The ghost hunter stood, confused. This was not a way to her father or anything she had hoped for. The man stared at her and seemed to understand her confusion. He pointed at the plant and made a motion as if plucking a leaf, putting it in his mouth. He remained waiting, apparently for her to do what he was showing.

She nodded. The two backed away from the tree and sat on the ground where they could watch. She felt a compulsion to do what they were showing her. She reached down and took a small leaf from a tiny plant and rubbed it lightly against her cheek then gave it a tiny bite.

She closed her eyes and felt nothing happening. She hoped to see her father but did not. She felt tired and when she looked, the two ghosts were gone.

“Nothing is having an effect one way or another.” Two men stood by a bed the lone woman was strapped to. The one who spoke was reading from a chart to the other man. “It’s been two weeks. If it were drugs, they would have worn off so that’s been ruled out. We’ve been unable to communicate with her, so any psychosis is impossible to diagnose right now, but it does fit a total psychotic break. She doesn’t 12 have anything on her tests or scans to indicate a neurological issue. It’s a mystery. We were going to wait it out but decided to get your opinion after you called. I’m glad you took an interest in this one. She may do better at your institute.”

The other man was standing and nodding. He looked at the other and asked, “Do you have more detail on how she was found? My main question is what happened to her to have caused her trauma.”

The man with the chart reviewed it. “You probably will have a hard time sorting it out until she is coherent. She was found by some ghost hunters touring an old farmhouse that has a history of strange events over the last 100 years. A big draw for tourists. They went to set up cameras and gear and found her. She was hanging from the rafters in the main house. She had been tied in chains… quite expertly. Nothing that caused any permanent harm, but strong enough to hold her until she was found. She was naked, though not raped, she was covered heavily in saliva, not hers. We ran DNA, no match found. She wasn’t asking to be taken down. She was awake and like this. Whatever happened, it flipped all the switches. We ran all possible tests. All she had in her stomach was some sort of granola and little bits of plant leaf. That was it.”

The other man nodded again. “Yes, we’d like to help with. It was the contents of her stomach that caught my attention. The small bits of leaf. The tribes out here used remedial plants that could cause such a catatonic state. The hanging from the ceiling? Sounds like a ritual punishment or offering. You still have the stomach contents.”

The first man nodded.

The other man rubbed her cheek, “Okay, I can’t do much until I run tests on the contents to see if we can identify the plant. We couldn’t do more than you already have. If we find anything that will help, we’ll call you. Speaking of calls, your report said she was found naked, but clutching her cell phone. I’d like the cell phone if that’s alright. There may be toxic traces on it from the plant. I know you said it had no useful data, but you never know.”

13 2

Sitting alone, April held back tears on the anniversary of her mother’s death. April was now older than her mother had been when she died. Born with the divinity of an angel, until recently she had led a simple human life. Being an orphan, she was adopted by a caring couple when she was seven. She understood what it was like to be alone twice in her life. Fully recalling being in an orphanage, it was a time when her world was one of waiting. She believed that one day a car would pull up, a lonely couple would get out, meet her and know right then that they wanted her as their own. The second time was after her mother died. Her parents had no living relatives which meant neither did April. Facing a world without them made her an orphan again.

Remembering her mom, she thought of how her first instinct when she met T at the library was to call her mother and tell her she met the man she knew she would marry. She reached for the phone on her desk in the library where she worked, then realized her mother was gone. She had nobody to call. That was the first time she fully understood she was truly alone. It was the day T had come to the library and asked her for help, and like today, it was on the anniversary of her mother’s death.

Starting to shake, it wasn’t sadness or despair. It was guilt and shame. The period between the two events was a time she shut from her memory. It was not a time like any other in her life, and the memories were coming back, haunting her like a demon’s oppression. After her adopted mother died, feeling so alone, she sought solace. As she learned since meeting T, comfort that comes quickly and exactly when needed — when at a low point in life — is most often a time preyed upon by evil. She now understood T’s description of people at their weakest moment, like being a runaway teen with no money and all alone. It is that moment when the gentle man with every answer sits down and says he understands and can help. T called such situations the “bus terminal”. It’s where demons find their prey. Seeking comfort, she had sat on that very bench all alone and hoped someone would love her. Looking back, she understood it didn’t matter who. Sunk deep in despair she momentarily abandoned her belief that like Maria in West Side Story, she would meet her Tony. Someone like that was in movies and singing on records, filling her life with a manufactured fairy tale. There was no Tony. No, the only man who gave her attention was Morton.

Unable to stay in Bartlett where she was born and raised, she decided to sell the modest house she had inherited and leave her job at the Bartlett Library. Facing the loss of her mother and returning to her origins as an orphan was more than sadness, it was a future all alone. It didn’t take long to sell the house and she already applied for a job at a big city library and they hired her even without asking her to come for an interview. She eventually learned that the decision to move, the ease of getting 15 an important job at a major library, and eventually meeting T was all the work of Gloria, her majestic guardian angel. Although Gloria opened doors, it was April who used her free will to walk through them. Suddenly, she had a cozy apartment in the Ukrainian Village, a great job she loved, and for the first time in a long time, hope. Hope she would meet her Tony at long last. She knew she was pretty so the next objective was to meet a very special man.

T always said that for there to be light, there must be dark. April nodded in agreement as she sat letting memories flood over her. She understood that to recognize the light, T, she needed to understand true darkness. That was Morton.

Morton. A name she had never uttered and a story she never told. She knew that Gloria would know, but she also knew Gloria would never tell. That was entirely up to April and her free will. In many ways, that made it worse. Her guardian knew the truth, and she was afraid to talk to her about it. Telling T was the right thing to do, especially before their marriage. Just as much, she needed to confess in Church. Each one compounded her fear. If she told the truth, she risked losing only happiness since being adopted.

She opened her White Surface laptop and did something she had been fearing. She sent a text message to her mother. She simply typed in “Mom?”

She didn’t know what to expect, but just as soon as she typed the question mark, a blurb popped up under hers and said “I’m here. I’ve been waiting for you to text me. I’m surprised you took this long.”

April started sobbing. Her mother wasn’t gone. Only her body was. She was there and April understood her mother knew all she had been through. She was anxious and frightened. Suddenly, text appeared on the screen.

“You never gave up on me, not on the worst of days. Why? Did that help me? Or was that to make you feel good about yourself?”

Sobbing, April managed to type, “Of course I was there. I’m your daughter.”

The screen flashed hundreds of pictures of them throughout the years. Not snapshots or prints. They were images that could only be from the memory of her mother. The last one was of her mom dying. April was shocked and crying at the same time. She thought her mother would be happy to hear from her. She wasn’t. She managed to type, “All this time I thought you couldn’t remember things, but you sure can. How is dad? I think about him every time I look in the mirror…”

An instant pop-up. Her mom had typed “That’s several times a day!”

16 April was unsure of what to say. “Nothing wrong with that. I need to look pretty for my love. I’m sure you know all about him…”

Her mom sent back a skeptical face emoji, then, “I recall you spending a lot of time in front of it before you met him.”

April typed, “Just making sure my clothes look good.”

She waited, then, “Your dad is busy with all types of chores. He knows you think about him. He wanted me to chat with you first. So, April, anything special you need to talk about? You must be troubled with your secret. If you wish, we can talk about it.”

Almost frozen, she stared at the screen. It had been too long in hiding. Her mom didn’t seem to understand. April grew serious and typed “How is my birth mother?”

There was a slight pause. Then her mother typed, “She hopes you can forgive her.”

April stopped and thought for a long time. “I was never angry at her. How could I be? Without her I wouldn’t exist. Was she pretty? I mean, well, like I’m pretty?”

Floating on the screen was her birth mother fully pregnant with April. She had many of the same features but didn’t look much like April. She studied the picture and it all poured out of her.

“Mom, I found out what happened when I was born. A man, an unbelievably bad man, found me soon after you died… He was waiting for that moment. He said he was my real father. That he had sex with my birth mother while my birth father was off in the Middle East. He said he wanted to be a father to me as I was all alone, and he felt responsible for me. I was so down and lost. I was all alone. He acted so sincere that I fell for it. I believed him. I still can’t believe I trusted him. A man who did that to my poor birth parents?”

Her mother went slowly. “I know. And I know you learned that your mother played up to him. She cheated on your real father while he was overseas. I understand you think he raped her. That made you feel better by deluding yourself. The only truth was that he was your actual father.”

April sat and stared at the text balloons. She felt the presence of Gloria behind her. She looked over her shoulder for her. For the first time her guardian was not in a blaze of light, but in a shadow where her face could not be seen. April looked at her. Gloria just nodded. April turned back to the screen.

17 “Yes, I found that out. He started trying to get close to me and acting like my father, pretending to care about me. He was so convincing…”

Her mother cut in. “And so attractive to you. Have you figured out if you wanted him near because he was your father… or because you were sexually attracted to him, like your real mother was?”

April sat frozen. She felt as if the blood had drained from her body. Her mind was in a panic. Her mom had asked the one question she could never ask herself.

Truth washed over her. Now she understood the shame that always shadowed her anger when she thought of Morton. Sitting in disbelief, the answer poured through her fingertips onto the keys.

“I wasn’t okay. I wanted love, but no, not sex. Not from him. Birth parents, adoptive parents, then the man who fathered me. Yes, I wanted him, pathetic as it was, as my father. Even knowing he raped my mother. That made me more confused. To rape her, she had to have been involved with him. She cheated on her husband. He told me she needed someone, just like I did. He acted so caring and understanding. Eventually he revealed himself. Mom, oh, I was so wrong to have had anything to do with him. One night, he made dinner and when it got late, he just came out and said, ‘You have no idea what this will be like for me. To do your mother, and tonight to do you.’ He ripped my dress off and I could see the evil that was always there, lurking. He was hell bent on raping me. He kept saying ‘Nothing better than doing a mother and her daughter.’ I got sick. He was what I now know to be a demon.”

Gloria remained in the shadows. Her presence offered no solace, no support.

“Mom. I’ll chat with you later.” She closed the White Surface. She turned to the shadow behind her. “Gloria? How can I be an angel when my father was a demon? How?”

Gloria spoke lovingly. “April. Who fathered T?”

A shudder went through April. His own grandfather. He raped his daughter. “Oh, oh, I never put those things together. So, his father was a demon too?”

Gloria nodded in the shadows. “A true demon. Bad. His mother couldn’t fight him off. But your demon father, Morton, didn’t get that far with you, did he?”

April gasped and expressed anger and spoke at the same time. “Morton didn’t rape me. He couldn’t. I killed him.”

Gloria remained in the shadows. April sat looking at her. 18 “When he said he was going to have me like he had my mother then ripped my dress off, something overtook me. Not fear. I wasn’t afraid. I just knew he couldn’t be here. That was my only thought. He couldn’t be here anymore. We were in the kitchen with everything from dinner on the table. My pretty dress was ripped and on the floor. I just had on my undies and bra. He stood there looking me up and down. I turned to run. He grabbed my waist to stop me. I grabbed a steak knife off the table at the same moment. As he twirled me around, I don’t know how, exactly, the knife went right into his left eye. It was with such force it went into his brain and he collapsed on the floor. The handle of the knife was about all I could see. Some blood. Not much. He still had that sick grin in his face. I felt nothing but gladness he was gone. I went to the phone, called the police, told them what happened. They didn’t arrest me. They said it was self defense.”

Gloria moved forward and was not glowing but moved to the light where she could be seen.

“I was there. You did what avenging angels do. You slew the serpent. You vanquished the demon. It wasn’t fear of being raped. You said it right. He couldn’t be here. The battle is eternal. You faced evil. You prevailed. Raised a human, you thought you did wrong. I was smiling. One less demon, one new angel.”

19 THE SERIES FINALE

T: DEMONIC INVESTIGATOR

BOOK FOUR EARTH ANGELS UNLEASHED

T, April and a new warrior join Gloria, their Guardian Angel, to discover their true destiny and stunning powers.

Elsa, the demon lawyer who wreaked havoc in Death Do Us Part, returns with a ruthless plan to take over the beauty industry and poison anyone who wears makeup to get T’s attention to steal his heart and soul.

Erotic, passionate and shocking, even Statn can’t tame Elsa’s sexual desires. T: Demonic Investigator Book Three Death Do Us Part By Terry Ulick Renegade Company Medai

The Epic Battle for Souls The Battle For Hearts... and Souls Rages On The Epic Battle for Souls

T: DEMONIC INVESTIGATOR

BOOK THREE DEATH DO US PART “Planning for her future without Hudson was a full-time job. She made sure that her name was on everything of value. The house, business, car, accounts, and anything was in her name. She made him obtain a multi- million-dollar life insurance policy with only her as the beneficiary and made sure that her name couldn’t be taken off of it as any change to it would require both of their signatures. She had done as much as she could do to secure all of the assets and was now hard at work proving why she should be entitled to all the money, the house, the business and give Hudson nothing. That took hard work and it would take some time.”

Fueled by a therapist practicing mind control learned in Nazi Germany, a wife turns to fallen angels to divorce her loving Husband. T unravels the mystery behind the powers controlling T the sex trade, PTSD therapy, and high-stakes divorce. Demons keep finding new ways to T: DEMONIC cause suffering. T and April do battle with the worst demons ever. T

INVESTIGATOR The Epic Battle for Souls T: DEMONIC BOOK ONE T INVESTIGATOR T: DEMONIC INVESTIGATOR

BOOK ONE VOICE VOICE IN THE NIGHT BOOK THREE IN THE By Terry Ulick NIGHT By Terry Ulick DEATH Published by Renegade Company Media DO US $15.95 ISBN 978-1-7353192-4-7 51595> PART By Terry Ulick

9 781735 319247 By Terry Ulick

By Terry Ulick Published by Renegade Company Media

$15.95 ISBN 978-1-7353192-4-7 51595>

9 781735 319247