by August Arrea
Jacob yelled out loudly for him stop but the boy quickly vanished around the corner. Without missing a beat, Jacob took off after him, leaving the echo of Gotham’s implicit demand that he stay put until his return to fade silent in the cold wet doorway. Rounding the corner Jacob caught sight of the fleeing figure now a good block ahead and quickened his pace. His wet, dingy white Converse sneakers splashed their way loudly through the puddles of water pooling along the sidewalk. The freezing rain pelted his face painfully, blurring his vision and making it difficult to keep his focus on the boy ahead. The faster he ran, the harder the rain seemed to fall, and there was no doubt he was moving with impressive swiftness—faster than any normal boy, any normal man, any normal human—until it felt to him as though he was moving through the streets like some phantom blur, and yet despite the unnatural speed being pumped from his legs he still found himself unable to gain ground on the fleeing target he struggled to keep in his sights.
How was the boy managing to stay out of his reach?
After snaking through several blocks, the boy quickly veered to the left and disappeared down an alleyway between two large buildings. Jacob slowed himself as he approached the entrance to the alley before stopping to catch his breath while peering down the long dark and narrow corridor. There was no sign of the boy. Just an old rusted dumpster, some broken up wooden slats and the remnants of paper litter pulverized by the rain and left in rotting clumps along the sidewalk. For a passing moment, Jacob entertained the thought of turning back, not so much out of trepidation but from being winded by the long, taxing chase, when there came from somewhere unseen the faint sound of laughter. Or so Jacob thought.
Cautiously, he entered the alley where he was immediately met by a foul stench of cat urine mixed with the sweet scent of ozone. He made sure to keep to one side of the dank passageway and out of the path of runoff from the rain coming off the roof of the buildings in sheets to form a rushing stream down the center of the alley which spilled its way into a large circular sewer grate. A black cat with white markings leapt with a high-pitched screech from amongst the garbage spoils filling the dumpster as Jacob passed, tripping the heavy metal lid propped open to come slamming closed with a thundering crash that made the startled teen jump. Through gritted teeth, Jacob silently cursed the rain-matted feline as it scampered away down the alley in a desperate search for a dry refuge.
Again the sound of laughter was heard. It was not Jacob’s imagination playing tricks on him. When he reached the end of the alley, Jacob found a weathered iron gate ajar leading to what appeared to be a large, enclosed storage area filled with piles of old crates in one corner and rusted scraps of metal and pipe in another. A large, steel roll down door leading into the back of the building was closed and secured with a padlock. More noticeable, however, was the fact there was no sign of the boy. Aside from the locked metal door and the alleyway, there was no way in or out, except to scale the walls straight up to the roof above, which clearly was an impossible feat—unless one was a spider, or Spiderman.
“Alright, so where’d you go?” Jacob muttered to himself, too focused on trying to figure out the magic disappearing trick that had obviously occurred to notice the stark cold which had suddenly chilled the damp air and shaped his breath into a visible cloud of vapor as he spoke.
~~~
He was about ready to resign himself to the fact the boy, and his things, had somehow vanished without a trace and was about to turn back when there came from the steady drumming of the rain the quick-moving patter of footsteps. Not in front of him or behind, but oddly from above. Circling. Jacob looked up, shielding his eyes from the falling rain while spinning around to dizzying effect to try and get a focus on the sound rapidly shifting in direction.
Then the footsteps stopped, and suddenly Jacob felt something behind him and quickly spun around. It was the boy. He was standing on the far side of the enclosure, like an apparition suddenly reappearing out of nowhere but with the same dead look once again fixed on Jacob.
“You know, you would have come out further ahead if you’d just taken the money I offered you,” Jacob noted, nodding to the nylon bag the boy still gripped in his hand. “I’m afraid all you’re going to find in there is some T-shirts, a couple pair of jeans that have seen better days, some dirty socks and a toothbrush.”
The boy didn’t respond and Jacob suddenly found himself wondering if maybe the kid was deaf. Or mute. Or both.
“Look, kid, I didn’t chase after you all this way to get into it with you, honestly. If you want my bag so badly, take it. I’ll even throw in the money I offered you earlier,” said Jacob. “The only thing I ask is that you hand over the journal packed inside. It’s just a book. It’s not worth anything, but it’s important to me. Whattaya say, fair enough deal?”
The boy raised the bag in a gesture that appeared as though he was preparing to return it to Jacob along with an apology only to toss is aside where it landed with a splash in a puddle on the ground. Jacob immediately felt the friendly nature he was trying hard to retain drain from him.
“What’s your problem, kid?” he questioned with a scowl.
“Do you really think I’m interested in your bag or money, Nephilim?” The boy finally spoke, but the words he spoke sent an uncomfortable shudder through Jacob. Or at least one word did.
“What did you call me?” asked Jacob softly, his voice trembling slightly but no longer from the cold.
“Nephilim. N-E-P-H-I-L-I-M, Nephilim,” the boy replied jovially as though he had just taken the lead at the school spelling bee. A smile then appeared on the boy’s face revealing a row of teeth that had grown crooked and discolored from years of neglect.
“Nephilim? What the hell’s that?” Jacob answered, feigning ignorance. Even with his face dripping with rain, he felt the distinct beginnings of a cold sweat form across his forehead.
“Nephilim? What the hell’s that?” echoed the boy mockingly. Only it was Jacob’s voice that came out of his mouth, leaving Jacob to think for a split second he had suddenly discovered in this most inopportune of times that he had the gift of ventriloquism.
“Who better to know what a Nephilim is, than a Nephilim. Right, Nephilim?” continued the boy in his own voice.
The word Jacob had grown to despise now terrified him coming from the mouth of the grubby street urchin who slowly moved toward him. Instinctively, he felt his feet clench inside his soggy shoes. They were ready to bolt, to carry him as swiftly from the alley and back to his dry spot in the nook in front of the eatery as they had brought him here to this dark dead end. When Jacob spun quickly around and prepared to break for his escape, he found the way blocked by the boy. His eyes widened with shock. He opened his mouth to question how the boy had managed to move from one side of the enclosure to the other in a blink of an eye, but stopped himself.
He already knew.
He couldn’t be another angel. The boy was too young, too small, too unGotham-like to be a member of God’s mighty winged legion. Perhaps he was another half breed such as himself. A fellow Nephilim. Still, there was an unexplainable fear Jacob felt that made him back away out of reach from the boy who continued to move toward him.
“Monstrous offspring born to the Sons of God by the daughters of men. An abomination set forth in the eyes of God. That is what you are, isn’t it Nephilim?” There was noted disdain in the boy’s voice as he spoke, an almost palpable hatred dripping from every syllable uttered.
“Look kid, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jacob as naively as he could. “But I’ve got to get back—”
“To your guardian angel?” The boy was grinning hideously.
Angel? He knew?
“Remove your shirt,” the boy demanded.
“What?”
“Your shirt. Remove it,” the order came more curtly.
Jacob hesitated, clenching and unclenching his fists. His eyes darted about wildly in search of a path to freedom, but there was none. Only the
entrance leading to the alleyway that was now blocked by the figure standing in front of him upon whom his gaze settled and began to slowly look over up and down. He had certainly taken on bigger and stronger boys on the wrestling mat and emerged victorious. Yul Dane, to name one. Why, he wondered, did he not just steam roll over the boy and be done with this?
“That would be a stupid move. I guarantee you, he is much stronger than he looks,” the boy replied, taking Jacob aback. Another mind-reader. He must be an angel, he thought to himself, but why was he referring to himself in the third person?
“Now remove your shirt,” the boy demanded once more. “Or shall I remove it myself?”
It was one threat too many from someone so unthreatening, and a sly grin slowly emerged on Jacob’s face. “You really think you’re capable?”
The two boys’ eyes narrowed tightly on one another.
“Why don’t you tell me?” the boy replied.
Jacob’s keen hearing picked up the pinging of drops hitting water, even over the roaring patter of the rain. His eyes moved downward toward the boy’s feet where they caught sight of droplets of blood hitting the ground and spreading out across the wet cement in thin ribbons of bright red. He followed the drops to the boy’s right hand where he saw to his own amazement the fingernails growing rapidly, thickening as they emerged from the fingertips while at the same time curving their shape until they appeared as razor-sharp talons. His mouth opened but no words came, swiftly extinguished from the fear he felt welling inside his chest.
No…this was no angel.
Without further hesitation, or the desire to see what else might poke its way out of the flesh and blood figure standing before him, Jacob did as the boy demanded by first taking off his sweatshirt followed by the rain-soaked shirt that clung tightly to his torso making it feel as though he were stripping off a second skin.
“There,” barked Jacob irritably. “Satisfy your thrill?”
“Now turn around.”
“Look, I’ve had about enough of this.”
“I SAID TURN AROUND!” the boy hissed venomously in a deep guttural voice that was a species removed from anything human.
When Jacob continued to hesitate the boy took a step forward, his eyes becoming more fierce. “I won’t ask you again.”
The rain was beginning to fall harder, and Jacob knew even if he were to yell out for help it would be swallowed up in the deafening drum roll of the deluge. It could not, however, drown out the sound inside Jacob’s ears of his own heart pounding wildly against the wall of his chest as though it was attempting to break its way out. Slowly he began to turn away from the boy all the while straining to keep in the furthest corner of his eye the flexing fingers that formed the sharp claws, watching as the clinging drops of rain trickled across the smooth talons and clung quivering to the razor-sharp tips. He could hear them, mimicking the sound of a knife blade being sharpened as they scraped against one another. It made his throat tighten.
Once his naked back was revealed, Jacob heard a deep grumbling sigh exhale itself from the boy. He waited, bracing himself for what would come next. His lip was trembling. From the cold of the rain pelting his naked torso or from fright, he wasn’t sure. Then finally, with a voice made meek from his hesitance to hear the answer, he forced out the question that had been struggling inside himself to be heard.
“Who are you?”
~~~
Instantly the boy was upon Jacob. A hand clasped tightly the back of Jacob’s neck and his body was jettisoned forward by a tremendous force. Jacob’s feet began to kick wildly at the open air desperately searching for the ground that had vanished instantly beneath him. He saw the wall of the building ahead coming toward him at a great speed and he struggled harder to free himself of the hold firmly locked on him. The only thing he managed to release was a loud wail that was quickly snuffed into silence when he was slammed face-first against the hard, wet cement. The pain was tremendous. Shooting to every corner of his body before exploding inside his head in a gigantic inferno of a million tiny blinding white flashes.
“Do you still want to deny your Nephilim blood, Nephilim?” the voice hissed from behind into Jacob’s ear. “You show the markings of an impressive set of a wings I’ve yet to see on a half breed.”
“Well, you know what they say about a Nephilim with big wings?” Jacob couldn’t help in flinging forth the sarcastic quip despite being winded.
He then felt the gnarled claws against his skin, and his body tensed sharply. The tips held the sharp prickliness of needles as they traced their way slowly across his upper back. And he felt his body fight to cringe away from the uncomfortable sensation, but he was pinned fast against the side of the building and unable to move.
“And yet I could easily reach inside you and snap your spine like a branch from a termite-infested tree,” the boy hissed.
Jacob’s teeth clenched tightly as the claws dug deeper into the skin.
“Listen to me, I don’t know who or what you think I am. I’m just here on vacation,” he said, wincing with pain while struggling to piece together some believable string from the jumble of words swirling around his head that would somehow appease and call off the menacing figure pinned across his back.
“There’s only one reason a boy like you comes to Tatvan.” The voice growling in Jacob’s ear let loose an ominous chuckle. “So close you were to your destination. Just a hop, skip and a jump left to go before reaching the Gate. Unfortunately for you, yet fortunately for us, you will never get the chance to step through it.”
“Gate? What are you talking about? What gate?” The panic grew in Jacob’s voice. His feet continued to kick freely in the air, his toes barely able to graze the surface of the ground above which the boy dangled him. He glanced about him wildly and then to the ground below littered with various objects that had been tossed and left forgotten into the back alley. His eyes spied a small pile of cement cinder blocks near his flailing feet that were impossibly out of his reach.
“RELEASE YOUR HOLD ON HIM, DEMON!”
Jacob felt his breath give slightly with relief at the familiar voice ringing out from somewhere behind. His attacker looked over his shoulder and scowled with rage at the sight of Gotham standing drenched at the far side of the dead-end enclosure. He let loose an angry chilling hiss that sounded like a combination between a snake revealing its venomous fangs and a cornered cat with its back arched ready to pounce on the dog it stood facing. And the whole of the boy’s eyes rolled back into his head like that of a feeding shark until only the vacant whiteness remained showing.
“Stand back, angel! You’ve lost him.”
Jacob cried out again in pain as the claws pressed harder against his skin. Gritting his teeth, he tried to calm and steady himself. He turned his gaze once more to the pile of cinder blocks on the ground. There was no earthly reason to suggest he could even come close at making a grab for one of the blocks. Yet he knew, somehow, instinctively, what appeared futile wasn’t necessarily impossible, and he focused his concentration with all the strength he could muster into the five fingertips of his outstretched hand until—miraculously—one of the blocks shuddered with movement.
“RELEASE HIM!” Gotham’s voice once more thundered loudly.
The hold on Jacob only tightened more painfully. Jacob focused harder his gaze and pushed forward everything he had onto the cement block. Then, suddenly, to his amazement, it sprang forward from the ground and was in his hand. Without a moment’s hesitation, he swung his arm up and over his shoulder with all the force he had and the cinder block exploded against the side of his attacker’s head.
The blow knocked the boy aside leaving him momentarily stunned and howling with a demonic growl. Jacob, free of the painful hold on him, was left sprawled across the hard, wet ground. He would have sprung to his feet and run as fast as his feet could carry him, but when the boy turned back on him with a face that was becoming more distorted from the growing rage and the menacing void in
the whiteness that was now his eyes, Jacob froze with terror. The boy came at him again with a fury and Jacob quickly attempted to scurry away backwards across the ground like a crab desperate to keep out of reach from the clawed hand looking to find residence in his flesh once more.
In a flash of movement, Gotham swept forward and grabbed hold of the monstrous boy, lifting him off from the ground as though he were a bag of dirty laundry, and threw him hard against the building where Jacob moments earlier had been slammed up against.
“Go Jacob. Run. NOW!” barked Gotham with a fiery urgency before pouncing once again on the boy.
Jacob hesitated a moment, watching with wide-eyed horror the boy who attacked him thrashing and hissing wildly like something possessed against the captive hold Gotham once more had on him. When Jacob finally jumped to his feet to do as the angel had instructed, the boy’s pupil-erased eyes focused themselves on him with an unmistakable viciousness, and with a point of the boy’s clawed finger Jacob felt a breath-stealing, unseen force suddenly take hold of him and snatch him from his footing. Backward across the alley, Jacob was sent sailing through the air to slam hard against the wall of the neighboring building. An explosion of pain tore through his writhing, limp body, and when he finally managed to pry open his eyes he found much to his surprise that he had not been reduced to pile of busted body parts lying in a battered heap upon the ground. Whatever unseen force had tossed him about so effortlessly continued to hold him several feet off the ground and pinned tight to the side of the building, and as it did it also nudged one of the many steel rebar rods left rusting on the ground and sent it hurling toward Jacob. It struck the building grazing the outside of Jacob’s right arm and impaled itself into the hard cement wall like the prong of a fork into a soft slab of butter.
