The Fallen

CHAPTER EIGHT

Aaron couldn’t wait for Monday to arrive.

Ken Curtis High had become his safe haven. Once behind its walls, the rules were simple—go to class, do the homework, take the test. Not so in the real world lately, a place that was becoming less and less real for him with each passing day.

At school he could push thoughts of talking dogs, Nephilim, Powers, and death to the back of his cluttered mind—at least until the bell rang at two thirty. School was the ultimate distraction, and that was exactly what he craved.

At lunchtime Aaron was at his locker dropping off books from his morning classes. He wasn’t feeling hungry, but knowing he had to work at the clinic right after school, he figured he should probably eat something.

His psychology text slipped to the floor, and his thoughts turned to Michael Jonas as he bent to pick it up. The questions flooded forward as if a faucet had been turned on to its maximum. What really caused the fire?

He saw Zeke’s fingertip flash and his cigarette ignite.

Why am I thinking like this? he wondered, returning the book to the shelf in the locker. He knew that Zeke didn’t have anything to do with the fire that took his psychiatrist’s life. The newspaper said it had started in the early afternoon, when he and Gabriel had been with the fallen angel in his hotel room.

But what about the others? he thought with a wave of foreboding. What about the…Powers?

His stomach churned uneasily as he slammed closed his locker. Maybe I’ll just skip lunch and go to the library.

Head down, he turned and nearly plowed into Vilma Santiago.

Aaron stumbled back. “Hi,” he blurted out nervously. “Didn’t see you there, sorry.”

“Hi.”

She seemed unconcerned with his clumsiness, but as nervous around him as he was feeling around her. In the background by her locker, he could see two of her friends playing Secret Weasel, trying not to be noticed.

“How’re you doing?” Aaron asked lamely. If he hadn’t blown it yet, it was only a matter of time.

“I’m good,” she answered. “How’re you?”

“I’m good,” he said with a nervous nod and an idiot grin. “Real good.” His mind was blank, completely void of all electrical activity. He had no idea what to say next, and wondered how she’d react if he started to cry.

The silence was becoming painfully awkward when she spoke. “Are you going to lunch?” she asked, looking quickly away.

And all of a sudden lunch seemed like a wonderful idea.

“Yeah, lunch is great—it’s lunchtime—sure, I’m going to lunch.” Aaron couldn’t believe how he was acting. What a complete idiot. He wouldn’t blame her in the least if she turned around and walked away. No. Ran away.

“Do you want to have lunch with me?” she asked, her voice growing incredibly soft, as if expecting rejection.

He was speechless. No words available, please try again later. He was horrified, he couldn’t even think of something stupid to say.

Vilma suddenly looked embarrassed. “If you have something else to do, I completely understand and…”

“I’d love to,” he finally managed. “Sorry…it’s just that I’m kind of…y’know, surprised, that you’d want me to.”

She smiled slyly, and it felt as though the temperature in the hallway rose sixty degrees. Great, now I’m sweating, he thought. Real cool.

“I’m full of surprises, Aaron Corbet,” she said with a flip of her dark hair. “So, do you want to go to the caf or off campus?”

Just then somebody called his name. They both turned to see Mrs. Vistorino, the guidance office secretary, coming down the hallway. She was notorious for her brightly colored pantsuits, and today she was wearing lime green with shoes to match.

“Aaron,” Mrs. Vistorino called again. “I’m glad I caught you.”

“Is there something wrong?” he asked cautiously, the sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach returning.

“There’s an admissions representative from Emerson College in the office, and he wants to see you about your application.”

“Emerson?” Aaron muttered to himself. “But I didn’t…”

The woman turned and started back from whence she came. “He mentioned something about a full scholarship, so I’d get my butt down there if I were you.”

Vilma touched his arm. “You’d better get going,” she said, looking genuinely excited for him.

He was torn. He really wanted to go to lunch with Vilma, but the potential for a scholarship was something he couldn’t pass up. “What about you?” he asked. “I really want to—”

“We can do lunch tomorrow,” she said, cutting him off. “Don’t worry about me.” She turned toward her friends who were still gawking from across the hall. “I’ll just grab some lunch with them. No problem, really.” Vilma pointed him down the hall. “Maybe you could meet me later—let me know how the interview went?”

“Sure,” he responded, stunned by her interest. “I’ll meet you at your locker after last period.” He was going to turn and wave good-bye, then decided against it. It wouldn’t be cool.

But as he turned the corner he lost control, looked back, and waved. Vilma was still watching him and waved back. Her two nosey friends were with her now and they both began to laugh.

As he headed toward the guidance office, he mentally reviewed the college applications he had already sent out. And try as he might, he couldn’t remember ever sending one to Emerson.

Mrs. Vistorino was on the phone behind her desk as Aaron entered the office.

“He’s in Mr. Cunningham’s office,” she whispered as she put her hand over the receiver. “Mr. C’s gone for the rest of the day.”

She removed her hand from the phone to resume her call. “Good luck,” she mouthed as he tapped on the office door. Then he turned the knob and entered.

The man’s back was to Aaron as he stared out the window on to the school’s parking lot. Aaron gently closed the door and cleared his throat. The man turned and fixed him with a stare so intense it was as if he were trying to see through Aaron’s skull to the inside of his brain.

“Uh…hi,” Aaron said, moving away from the door. “I’m Aaron Corbet—Mrs. Vistorino said you wanted to speak with me?”

He held his hand out to the man. It was something his foster dad had stressed. When you meet someone for the first time, always introduce yourself and shake the person’s hand. It shows character, he’d say. The man looked at Aaron’s outstretched hand, as if deciding whether it was clean enough to touch.

“And you’re…?” Aaron asked, to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Call me Messenger,” the man said in a powerful voice, and took Aaron’s hand in his.

“It’s very nice to meet you Mr. … Messenger.”

Aaron was suddenly overcome with panic. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way before. He wanted to run—to get as far away from this man as he possibly could. What’s wrong with me now? he wondered, using every ounce of willpower he had to not yank his hand away.

Messenger released him, and Aaron quickly brought his hand to his side. It felt odd, tingling, like it had when he’d brought Gabriel back from the brink of death. He rubbed his palm against his pant leg.

“I’m glad that I have reached you first,” Messenger said, studying Aaron with a strange look in his eyes. “You’ve matured much faster than most, a sign that you are certainly more than you seem.”

Aaron was startled by the admissions rep’s words, unsure of their meaning and how he should react. “Excuse me?” he began. “I really don’t understand what…”

“I believe that you do,” Messenger’s voice boomed, and for a split second, Aaron saw the man for what he was. He was clothed in armor that seemed to be made from sunlight, and in his hand he held a sword of fire. From his back, enormous wings emanated.

“I am Camael,” he said in a voice like the rumbling growl of a jungle cat. “And I have come to protect you.”

Aaron closed his eyes and then opened them. Camael had returned to his human state. No armor, no wings, no flaming sword; just a distinguished-looking gentleman with spiky, silver-gray hair and a goatee to match.

“Messenger my ass,” Aaron grumbled with disgust. “I should have known. Zeke said you’d be coming for me.”

Camael looked perplexed. “Zeke?” he asked.

“Ezekiel,” Aaron answered. “Zeke—he’s a Grigori…”

“A Grigori,” Camael said, interested, stroking his goatee. “Then you’ve already made contact with our kind.”

“Right, and he told me the Powers would be after me because of what I am—but I won’t go easily.”

Camael chuckled. “Spirited, that’s good. We’ll need a bit of fire if we’re going to weather what is to come.”

Aaron started to back toward the door, at the moment, confused. “Aren’t you one of them—the Powers?”

Camael shook his head as he casually sat on the corner of Mr. Cunningham’s desk. “Once it was my holy mission to eradicate the likes of you.” He pointed at Aaron and then crossed his arms. “But that was long ago. I’ve come to save, not destroy. If my suspicions are correct, you have a very important destiny to fulfill, Aaron Corbet.”

Aaron suddenly remembered his dream from the weekend—the old man and his tablets. “Does this have anything to do with me building some kind of bridge?”

Camael nodded. “Something to that effect.”

Aaron could feel it again, that dangerous curiosity that got him into this predicament. If he’d ignored it originally, he would never have gone in search of Zeke and things would have stayed status quo, or so he tried to convince himself. Well, this time he would put an end to it here and now. He didn’t want to hear anything more from Camael.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it isn’t going to happen,” Aaron said rather brusquely as he turned to the door. “I don’t care what or who you think I am, I’m not having anything to do with this prophecy business.” He grabbed the doorknob.

“You might not have a choice,” Camael said coolly.

Aaron spun to face the angel. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he barked, attempting to keep his voice down so that none of the insanity being tossed around the office would spill out into the real world. “I’ve been told my entire freakin’ life that I’m in control of my future—me, Aaron Corbet.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest for effect.

“And I’ve got it all planned out. I’m gonna finish high school, go to a good college, graduate in the top of my class, and get an amazing job that I love.” Aaron had no idea what that job would be, but he was on a roll and couldn’t stop himself if he tried. “I’ll meet a nice girl, get married, and have a bunch a’ kids.”

Camael said nothing, staring without emotion, allowing him to rant.

“That’s how it’s going to be, and note—there was no mention of angels, Nephilim, or ancient prophecies. Sorry, there just isn’t enough room.”

The angelic being stood and moved toward him. “You’re different, Aaron. I can feel it coming off you in waves. Let me help…”

“No,” Aaron spat. “I’m through.” He pulled open the door. “Go back to Heaven and leave me the hell alone!”

And as he stormed out into the main office, he thought he heard the angel whisper, “That is what we’re trying to do.”

Camael did not wish to be seen, and so, he wasn’t.

He stood on a grassy area in front of the high school beneath the flagpole and watched as students poured out into the world, finished for the day. The young ones had always fascinated him. So full of life, so sure that they had a complete understanding of everything around them and the universe beyond.

To be so certain of anything, he thought, it must be bliss.

He remembered how it had been when he first abandoned the host under his command. Even though he knew what he was doing was right, there was still that nagging uncertainty festering in the dark corners of his mind that could not be dispelled. Yes, deep down he felt what the seer foretold was truth, but if he had known in advance the suffering he would have had to endure these many centuries following the prophecy, would he still have taken up the cause?

How many had he saved? How many had he enlightened with the knowledge of their true nature? How many plucked from the destructive path of the Powers? And where were they now? he wondered. Hiding? Waiting for the time when they would be recognized by the eyes of God? And by that account, how many would never see that day of acceptance? How many were slain before even becoming aware they’d been touched by Heaven?

Was it worth it? he reflected, watching the last of the students trickle from their place of learning, milling about in front of the orange brick building in small chattering packs.

And then the one named Aaron Corbet stepped from the school and he experienced an elation the likes of which he had not felt since the day he first bore witness to the seer’s words of redemption. Is this truly the One? he pondered. Was this the one who would make all the loneliness and pain he had endured worthwhile? If the answer was yes, all he need do was protect him—all he need do was keep him alive to fulfill his destiny and it would all be worthwhile.

But am I strong enough? Camael wondered.

The boy was with a female, very attractive by what Camael had come to understand of human standards: dark hair, skin the color of copper, a radiant smile. And by the looks of it, Aaron was smitten.

This will not do, thought the angelic protector. There are far more important things for this boy than matters of the heart. He has no idea how much is at stake. Yet, there was something about the girl, the way she moved, the power in her smile—

“Is that the one that has caused so much excitement?” a voice said from behind.

Camael turned to face Verchiel standing just beyond him. He tensed, a weapon of Heaven just beyond his thoughts.

“Of course it is,” Verchiel continued. He leaned his head back slightly and sniffed the air catching the scent of the Nephilim that he had followed here. “Doesn’t smell much different than any of the others: heavenly power awash in a stink of offal.”

Camael chanced a quick glance to see where Aaron and the girl were. They were talking at the end of the school’s main walk.

He looked back to see that Verchiel had moved closer.

“Look at him,” Verchiel said, “completely oblivious to the world around him. He doesn’t even see us. How powerful can he be?”

“It’s not that he can’t,” Camael explained. “He just doesn’t want to.”

Verchiel mulled this over for a moment, his hawklike gaze still upon Aaron. “I see…he denies his true nature. He clings to his humanity while suppressing the angelic.”

The girl laughed at something Aaron said, and Verchiel flinched. “I hate the sounds they make,” he said, eyes narrowing with distaste. “Don’t you?”

“I have spoken with the boy and he rejects it all,” Camael said calmly, with just a touch of disappointment for Verchiel’s sake. “He wants nothing to do with his heritage.”

Aaron and the girl began to move across the parking lot.

“So he is of no immediate threat to us?” Verchiel asked, his head slowly moving as he followed the pair with his unblinking stare.

“He is content with being human,” Camael said, watching Verchiel closely.

“His contentment matters not, not in the least,” Verchiel said as he turned his attention to Camael. “He still needs to be put down, for his own sake.” The angel smiled, fully aware of the effect of his words. “He’s far too dangerous to live.”

Camael heard the sounds of car doors slamming shut and suspected the couple had gotten into Aaron’s vehicle. A burning blade manifested in his hand and he stood his ground, ready to fight if he had to. “Then you will need to go through me,” Camael said, an electrical energy radiating from his body and charging the air around them.

“You draw a weapon against me?” Verchiel asked as similar energy began to leak from his eyes and leap from the top of his head.

From the parking lot, car alarms inexplicably wailed, headlights blazed, and horns blared as if pronouncing the coming of a king. The humans ran about frantically, bewildered, not able to see the battle brewing in their midst.

“We were brothers once, Camael, sharing the same duty to our Heavenly Sire with equal zeal—and this is what it has come to?”

Over the din from the parking lot, Camael located the sound of a single vehicle starting up and driving away. Relieved that Aaron had managed to escape for now, he said nothing.

“I came here to warn you, Camael,” Verchiel said, his energy receding. “As former brothers, I believe I owe you at least that.”

Camael did not put his weapon away, scanning the area for more of Verchiel’s soldiers.

“It’s all coming to a resounding close,” Verchiel said as he casually slid his hands inside the pockets of his coat and turned away. “After so long, it is finally going to end. A day of reckoning, so to speak.”

Camael watched Verchiel begin to walk away. He wanted to call out to him, to make him explain further, but doubted that Verchiel would share any more.

“This moment of truce is over,” Verchiel said. “If you should stand in my way, I will not think twice about striking you down,” he warned. “Be careful which side you choose, for if you choose wrong—you will share their fate.”

The weapon in Camael’s hand gradually returned from whence it came. And as he watched his former comrade recede to nothing, he felt a familiar stirring from within. He knew the feeling well. It was something he had attempted to lock away when deciding to follow the words of the ancient prophecy, something he had held at bay, denying it freedom. But Verchiel’s words had drawn it from the shadows and fed its growth.

And its name was doubt.