The Fallen

CHAPTER TEN

There was another rumble of thunder and the windows in the living room rattled ominously. Aaron began to experience the same overpowering sense of panic he had felt in the guidance office when coming face-to-face with Camael.

“We need to get out of here,” he said, gazing up at the ceiling. “We…we should get Stevie to the hospital right away.”

Gabriel’s words echoed through Aaron’s head. “Something bad is coming.”

“I don’t know, Aaron,” Lori said. “He seems to be calming down.” She looked at her child; there was uncertainty and fear in her eyes.

Stevie’s struggles were indeed waning. He had screamed himself hoarse but still tried to squeak out his warning.

Tom leaned down and kissed the boy’s head. “I’ve never seen him like this before, maybe Aaron’s right. Maybe we should take him—just in case.”

“Good, we’ll take my car,” Aaron said quickly as he and Gabriel moved into the darkened kitchen.

“He doesn’t have any socks on,” he heard his mother say behind him. “Let me go upstairs and get his sneakers and socks. I should probably bring his coat, too, just in case…”

“We don’t have time for that, Mom,” Aaron barked. His panic was intensifying. “We have to get out of here right now.”

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to get away, to leave everything and run as fast as he could into the night. It took every ounce of his self-control not to leave his parents and little brother behind. Nothing would make him do that, in spite of what his senses were telling him. After so many tumultuous years in the foster care system, the Stanleys were the only people, the only family, who’d stuck it out with him, showering him with love, and more importantly, acceptance…

His foster dad came up from behind. “Take it easy, pal. He’ll be okay. There’s no reason to get crazy with your mother. I’ll get his shoes and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

“No time,” Gabriel said suddenly, staring at the kitchen door.

Clack!

They all jumped at the sudden sound as the deadbolt on the kitchen door slid sideways as if moved by some invisible force.

“What the hell is that?” Tom asked, trying to get around his son.

“Go,” Aaron said forcefully. “Take Mom and Stevie and go out the front door.”

The door began to slowly open with the high-pitched whine that Tom had been threatening to put oil to since the summer, and three men entered on a powerful gust of wind. Aaron’s senses were blaring and he winced in pain from their razor-sharp intensity. He knew what these men were. Not men at all.

Angels.

He was enthralled by the way they moved. They didn’t so much walk into the house as glide, as though on wheels or a conveyor belt.

“What is this?” Tom Stanley hollered, pushing Aaron out of the way. “Get the hell out of my house before I beat the livin’—”

It happened quickly. Tom advanced, fists clenched, intent on defending his home and family. Fire suddenly leaped from an invader’s hands and his father stumbled back, covering his eyes as he fell to the linoleum floor.

Aaron couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was just like his dream. The three invaders were holding swords. Swords made of fire.

“Call the police!” his father shouted as he struggled to stand.

Aaron ran to help him. “Get up! You have to get Mom and Stevie out of here.”

One of the invaders stalked slowly toward them, his face eerily illuminated by the light of his weapon. There was something unnerving about the way he looked—the way they looked. They were deathly pale, almost luminescent in their whiteness, and their features were perfectly symmetrical—too perfect. Aaron felt as though he were looking at mannequins come to life.

“Do we frighten you, monkey?” the invader asked in a voice like nails running down a blackboard. “Does our presence make you tremble?”

“Get away from them!” Lori screamed from the doorway to the living room.

In her arms she held the limp and nearly catatonic Stevie, his eyes large and glassy, like saucers. Gabriel stood by them, tensed, preventing her from entering the kitchen.

Aaron got his father to his feet and pushed him back toward the living room. The stranger raised his flaming sword above his head. Wings dappled with spots of brown dramatically unfolded from his back. Aaron and his father froze, awestruck by the sight of something they once believed to be purely of fiction—of myth.

The angel prepared to strike them down. “We are the Powers—the harbingers of your doom. Look upon us in awe!”

The blade of fire began its descent, and Aaron stepped in front of his father to take the hit. Suddenly there was a flurry of movement and a yellow-white blur passed over him with an unearthly grace, landing in front of the sword-wielding attacker and snarling ferociously.

Gabriel.

“No!” Aaron screamed as he watched his beloved friend lunge at the supernatural invader.

The dog’s jaws clamped down upon the wrist of the angel’s sword hand with a wet crunch, like the sound of celery being crushed between eager teeth. The sound made Aaron wince with imagined pain.

The sword of fire tumbled from the angel’s grasp to dissipate in a flash before it could touch the floor—and the creature began to scream. The sound was like nothing Aaron had ever heard before, part crow caw, part whale song, part the screech of brakes.

“What is happening?” Lori cried aloud, clutching her moaning child to her.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Tom shouted as he lunged toward his family and wrapped his arms protectively about them.

Gabriel dangled from the angel’s wrist, growling and thrashing, as if trying to sever the hand from the arm. The angel seemed stunned by the savagery of the animal’s attack. The other two, who had remained uninvolved in the background, now stepped forward to assess their comrade’s situation.

“It hurts, my brothers!” wailed the Powers soldier as he frantically tried to shake Gabriel loose. “The animal is not as it should be—it has been changed!”

The angel flailed his arm wildly and Gabriel finally released his grip, falling to the floor.

“Gabriel, come! Now!” Aaron yelled.

The Lab stayed where he had landed, in a crouch, baring his fangs and snarling at the angels. A thick black blood, like motor oil, streamed from the injured angel’s wounds to form glistening puddles on the yellow-check flooring.

“No,” said the dog between snarls. “Get Mom, Dad, and Stevie out. I will keep these beasts here.”

Aaron was torn. “I’m not leaving you!” he yelled.

But he knew that every second counted. Aaron quickly gathered up his family and ushered them toward the hallway. He would try to get them out the front door to his car and then come back for his friend.

They stepped through the kitchen door and stopped short. Another angel was crouched in the hall, going through his bookbag, its eyes glistening wetly in the darkness. “Going nowhere, silly monkeys,” it hissed.

A powerful gust of wind pummeled the house from outside and it creaked and moaned with the force of the blow. Aaron tensed, sensing that something bad was to follow. The front door explosively blew in, torn from its hinges, practically crushing the squatting angel against the wall, and driving Aaron and his family back toward the kitchen in a shower of debris.

Aaron shielded his eyes from pieces of flying matter, and when he looked up he saw that another of them now stood in the doorway, an angel with long white hair. The way this one stood—the way he carried himself—Aaron was certain he was in the presence of the leader, the one Zeke had called Verchiel.

The newcomer cocked his head strangely and surveyed all that was before him. Others slunk into the home behind their leader: all deathly pale, all wearing the same kind of clothes.

There must have been a sale somewhere, Aaron thought perversely, almost starting to giggle. The angels followed Verchiel closely as he strode down the hallway as if he belonged there, and Aaron forced his family back into the kitchen, out of his destructive path.

“What has happened here?” he heard Verchiel ask, in a low, melodic voice that was almost pleasing to the ear.

The Powers soldier held out his wounded arm to his master and averted his gaze. “The animal—it has been altered.”

Verchiel moved toward them—toward the family, his dark gaze on Gabriel, and they retreated to the living room.

“Stay away from my family,” the dog growled menacingly, baring his teeth and putting himself between the Stanleys and the angel leader.

“He has done this to you,” Verchiel said in disbelief, looking from the dog to Aaron. “It is worse than I imagined,” he whispered. “The Nephilim has spread its taint to a lowly beast.”

“I’m not lowly,” Gabriel snarled, and leaped at his newest adversary.

In a flash, powerful wings appeared from Verchiel’s back and swatted the dog violently away.

The animal yelped in pain as he hit the far wall, narrowly missing the windows, and crashed to the floor.

“See the damage you have already wrought, monster? This is why we act,” Verchiel growled, his wings slowly flapping like the twitching of a pensive cat’s tail before it strikes. “This is why the unclean must be purged from my world—” The angel paused, considering what he had just said before he continued. “For if allowed to fester, the consequences would be inconceivable.”

Aaron left his family to go to his dog’s side. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Gabriel struggled to his feet and shook his body vigorously, shedding the effects of his injury like water. “I’m fine, Aaron,” the dog said, fixing his gaze on Verchiel. “And I won’t let him hurt you.”

Aaron stood and patted his dog’s head. “That’s all right, this is over now.”

Gabriel gazed up at his master, a quizzical expression on his canine features.

Aaron addressed Verchiel. “No matter what you think…I’m no threat to you or your mission.”

Verchiel tilted his head to one side as he listened.

From the corner of his eye Aaron could see that more of the angelic soldiers had moved into the room to encircle him and his family. He didn’t react. He didn’t want to show any signs of aggression.

“Whatever you’ve heard—or sensed—about me is a lie. I want nothing to do with Nephilims—or the crazy prophecy that comes with it. I already told Camael, I renounce it. Whatever it is, it’s not going to be part of my life,” Aaron said firmly. “Please, leave my family and me alone.”

Verchiel smiled and Aaron was reminded that he was in the presence of something all together inhuman.

“Camael believes you are the One,” Verchiel said smugly, moving his head from one side to the other.

“He’s wrong,” Aaron responded emphatically. “I want nothing more than to have a normal life.”

“He believes you to be the one whose coming was foretold in an ancient prophecy, that you are going to reunite the fallen angels with God.”

Aaron shook his head vigorously, remembering the old man with the cataract-covered eye from his dream. “I don’t know anything about that and I don’t care to know.”

“Criminals,” Verchiel spat. “Those who fought alongside the Morningstar against the Father during the Great War and fled to this pathetic ball of mud, those who disobeyed His sacred commands—those are the ones of whom the ancient writings speak. If this prophecy were to come to fruition, they would be forgiven.”

Aaron said nothing. He glanced at his parents who were huddled with Stevie, Verchiel’s soldiers surrounding them with their flaming weapons. They appeared to be in shock. He wanted to tell them how sorry he was for bringing this down upon them. He hoped there would be time for that later.

Verchiel shook his head. “Imagine the Almighty looking favorably upon the by-product of angel and animal. It is an insult to His glory.”

“I swear you have nothing to fear from me,” Aaron said. “Please, leave us alone.”

Verchiel laughed, or at least Aaron believed it was a laugh. It sounded more like the caw of some great, predatory bird.

“Fear you, Nephilim?” Verchiel said with what seemed to be amusement. “We do not fear you or anything like you.” An orange flame sparked in the palm of his hand and began to grow. “The Powers’ mission is to erase anything that would displease our Lord of Lords. This has been our purpose since Creation, and we have performed it well these many millennia.”

Verchiel now held an enormous sword of fire, and Aaron heard Lori gasp. “It’s a nightmare,” she said softly, “some kind of bad dream.”

If only that were true, he thought sadly.

Verchiel watched the weapon blaze in his grasp, his eyes of solid black glistening. “And when our mission is finally complete, He shall give us this world—and all who live upon it will know that I sit by His side and my word is law.” The Powers’ leader admired his weapon. “But there is still much to be done.”

Verchiel pointed the blade at Aaron. “You must die, and so must everything that has been tainted by your touch.” He motioned toward Gabriel and then across the room at Aaron’s parents and Stevie.

“Listen to what I’m saying,” Aaron pleaded, stepping forward. Two of Verchiel’s soldiers grabbed him, driving him roughly to his knees. “Please,” he begged as he struggled against his captors.

Verchiel still pointed his sword toward Tom, Lori, and Stevie who had again begun to flail in his mother’s arms, moaning and crying at the angel’s attentions.

“Beg all you like, Nephilim. It will do you no good. You shall be destroyed.” He paused, suddenly interested in the cries of the child. “All except the young one,” the angel said thoughtfully.

“I think I’ll keep him.”

Verchiel garnered a certain measure of perverse satisfaction as he watched the Nephilim squirm. This was the savior? The one who was supposed to bring about a peace between Heaven and Earth the likes of which had not been seen since Genesis? It was laughable—yet, there was something about him.

“Bring me the child,” he ordered with a wave of his hand.

If there was ever to be peace, it would not be until the enemies of the one true God were turned to ash drifting in the wind. This belief, of his own devising, was the only one he could ever come to imagine.

“Leave him alone!” the one called Aaron shouted, struggling mightily against his captors.

The accursed dog moved defiantly toward him, the skin of its snout pulled back in a ferocious snarl. The blood of angels stained its muzzle.

“Shall we see who has the worse bite?” Verchiel asked, and brought his sword to bear on the dog.

“No!” the Nephilim cried. “Come, Gabriel. Please, come to me.”

Hesitantly the dog returned to his master’s side, growling and snarling at the angels who held him. “Good boy,” Verchiel heard him say. “It’s okay, everything is okay.”

Verchiel decided that it was time to show the boy how wrong he was. He motioned toward Uriel, still nursing his wound from the Nephilim’s tainted animal.

“The child,” he ordered Uriel. “Bring it here.”

The angel tore the squalling youth from its mother’s arms while Sammael and Tufiel restrained the parents. The cacophony of screams and wails put Verchiel’s nerves on edge, but he restrained himself. After all, they were only animals.

Uriel brought the writhing child before Verchiel, holding him by the hair for closer examination. “This one,” the wounded angel noted, “seems full of spirit.”

Yes, Verchiel thought, staring into the child’s unfocused gaze. He shall serve us well. He brought the burning sword up beneath the child’s eyes and moved the blade back and forth. Its eyes followed the fire attentively.

“A hound perhaps,” he said aloud. “You have the eyes of a tracker.”

It was then that the Nephilim began to carry on, and Uriel stepped back with the child in his arms.

“Calm yourself, Nephilim,” Verchiel said in his most soothing tone. “I told you, I wish the little one no harm.”

There is a great power growing within this one, Verchiel observed, studying the Nephilim. He could feel it radiating dangerously from the young man’s body.

“The parents, on the other hand,” he said slowly as he pointed his blade at the husband and wife. “I have little use for them. And since they have been infected by your presence…”

Sammael and Tufiel stepped quickly away from the two as the flame from Verchiel’s blade roared to life—and hungrily engulfed the pair in its voracious fire.

Aaron’s parents screamed for mere seconds—but it seemed to him an eternity. Their blackened skeletons, burned clean of hair, skin, and muscle, collapsed to the ground in a clumsy embrace.

Verchiel looked to him, seemingly savoring his expression of complete despair. “Now,” he said, a hint of a smile on his pale, bloodless lips. “Shall we continue?”

Gabriel tossed his head back and began to howl, and Aaron was certain he had never heard anything quite so sad.

His parents were dead—burned alive before his eyes.

He jarringly recalled the day—his birthday, in fact—when he had stood and stared at his sleeping foster mom in this very room, and thought of her now no longer in his life. His heart raced and he could barely catch his breath.

The pungent aroma of overcooked meat hung sickly in the air, and he did all that he could to keep from vomiting.

Verchiel was saying something, but he wasn’t listening. The smoke alarm was blaring from the ceiling above him and he barely heard it. The image of the two people he loved most in the world being consumed by fire kept replaying before his mind’s eye as their skeletal remains still smoldered before him.

Disturbingly, Aaron wondered if the fire used by the murderous angels was the same as what he cooked with, or what burned on the head of a match. Maybe it was a special fire, given to those with special identification by high-ranking officials at the pearly gates. Aaron smiled, more like a grimace of sharp and sudden pain. If I’m so special, maybe I can wield this fire as well.

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and pulled his gaze from what was left of Lori and Tom Stanley.

Stevie was being taken from the house. The angel—what had he been called? he asked himself. Uriel? Uriel was taking his little brother out through the broken front door. But to where? Where were they taking his little brother? He didn’t have on any socks or shoes. Aaron thought about trying to follow, but was distracted by the latest nightmare unfolding in the middle of the living room.

They had Gabriel.

Four angels pinned the dog in place while Verchiel stood before them. He still held the sword in his hand—the one he had used to kill Aaron’s parents, to burn them to bones.

Gabriel was struggling, foaming at the mouth and snapping his jaws trying to take a chunk out of the creatures that held him. Aaron wanted to cheer his dog on, but found that he just didn’t have the strength.

He looked back to his parents. Even the bones were almost gone now and he wondered if his bones would burn as fast. Something called to him. He could hear it echoing far off in the distance, but didn’t pay it any attention. He was busy, watching the fire finish the gruesome task it had started.

Again he was called, louder, sharper and Aaron realized that the sound wasn’t coming from inside the room, but from somewhere inside his head. He turned to see Verchiel raise the sword above Gabriel. It seemed to be happening in slow motion.

How come everything horrible seems to happen in slow motion? he wondered with building dread.

Again Aaron heard the sound of his name, this time far more forceful. It partially shook him from his stupor, and he came to realize how angry he was. How enraged. They’d killed his parents, taken his little brother. He couldn’t let Gabriel die too. But what could he do? It was just too much for him to bear.

Two angels still held him in their grasp. He was on his knees, his arms pinned behind his back. He felt their hands roughly grab his head. They wanted him to watch, to see Verchiel’s blade end his best friend’s life.

The voice from inside his mind continued to urge him from his complacency, not in words, but in feeling—raw emotion. He knew what it was that called to him. When he had last encountered it, it had resembled the strangest of serpents, and it had held open its arms to him and he had accepted it.

Now it was older, more mature—stronger.

And as much as he hated to admit it, it was part of him.

A surge of strength coursed through his body and Aaron struggled to his feet, throwing off his captors with extraordinary power.

Verchiel stopped his blade’s descent and glared. “You only delay the inevitable,” he said, advancing toward Aaron. “But if you are so eager, then you may die before the animal.”

And they closed in around him. Each of them summoned some weapon of fire, and Aaron braced himself for their attack. He was prepared to go down fighting.

The windows of the living room exploded inward, showering the room with broken glass as two more entered the fray.

The Powers seemed to be as startled as he. Gabriel broke from those who held him and ran, panting nervously, to Aaron’s side. The angel called Camael slowly straightened to his full, imposing height before the shattered window, a burning sword of flame in his hand. And beside him, his skin singed a scarlet red and his hand holding what appeared to be an old Louisville Slugger with multiple six-inch nails pounded into it—turning it into a kind of primitive mace—was the Grigori, Zeke.

“Camael here’s been telling me some interesting things about you, Aaron,” Zeke said with a cagey wink, breaking the palpable silence. He raised the bat as if to swing at a pitch.

“Told ya you were special.”