by R M Gauthier
The other angels glance at each other for a moment with dubious looks, before turning their attention to Aaron.
Aaron stands completely still, staring at Azrael.
“How can this little human do what all of us have spent centuries trying to accomplish?” Mazereth asks, with doubt in his tone.
“He has the books,” Azrael replies.
“Um—” Before Aaron can respond, he’s cut off by the other two angels.
“How?” Caleb asks, taking a step forward.
“Is that even possible?” Mazereth studies Aaron with a critical eye.
“Um—” Aaron tries again, but the three ignore him.
“It’s more than possible. It’s true,” Azrael insists.
“Holy.” Mazereth takes another step toward Aaron. “We can finally go home?”
“Yes,” Azrael answers.
“No,” Aaron says at the same time.
All three angels glance at him.
“I no longer have the books. Nevaeh and Fallen took them,” Aaron reveals with a smile on his face.
The three angels stare at him for a moment, two looking defeated, but not Azrael. He laughs. Out loud. A huge roar of laughter that sends the rest of the party into confusion.
“You don’t have to have the books, silly.” Azrael chuckles, as he steps in front of Aaron and taps his forehead with his forefinger. “It’s all in here.”
Suddenly, Azrael is lifted off his feet into the air. Mazereth’s two arms are wrapped around Azrael’s waist. His booming laughter engulfs Azrael.
“We’re going home,” Mazereth calls out.
“We’re going home,” Azrael joins him. “It’s going to be epic.”
12
“Try again,” Azrael demands.
Aaron shifts position from one foot to the other, attempting to concentrate but failing miserably.
“I am,” Aaron huffs.
“No, you’re not. But, you will. Go again.” Azrael waves a hand at Aaron.
“I’m tired. Hungry. Cold.” Aaron wraps his arms around himself. “I want to go home.”
“You can’t, we have work to do. Now, try again,” Azrael commands.
“You have to feed me or I’m going to pass out. We humans need nourishment,” Aaron shouts.
“God,” Azrael throws his arms up in the air. “I’ve forgotten how whiny you humans are. What pitiful creatures.”
“That’s it,” Aaron shouts, as he marches into the forest. “Damn angels.”
Aaron continues walking into the dark, tree-filled space without a clue where he is, or how to get home. Still, he carries on, mumbling the entire way.
“I’m so done with angels, books, mag—” Aaron stops talking for a minute. “Well, maybe not magic.”
He treks along the same path, trying to figure out what to do next.
“Aaron, stop,” Azrael shouts out.
“Leave me alone,” Aaron responds.
“Can’t do that.” Azrael falls into step beside him.
Aaron stops short and turns to glare at Azrael.
“What do you want from me?”
“I already told you. I need you in order to return home,” Azrael responds.
“Yes, but why can you not get there on your own?” Aaron asks.
“Because I can’t,” Azrael snarls.
“What’s really going on? Why won’t you let me go home?” Aaron inquires.
“Who said you can’t?”
Aaron raises an eyebrow at Azrael in challenge.
“I just thought you’d be as excited as I am about finding new magical skills, that’s all. If you want to go home, I’ll take you there,” he offers.
Aaron regards him attempting to assess his sincerity.
“Come on.” Azrael throws an arm around Aaron’s shoulder and guides him back to the clearing they emerged from. “Look, Aaron. It’s true, I need your help. But you need my help too.” Azrael gives him a pleading look.
“I’m just tired. I need food and sleep, then I’ll be up to this,” Aaron explains.
“I know. I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget how dependent they made you creatures.” Azrael smiles at him. “I’ll see you soon.”
Suddenly Aaron’s world goes black and he collapses.
“Aaron, Sweetie. Get up. You have an appointment with Dr. Swanson,” Aaron’s mother’s voice cuts through the haze clouding his mind.
Aaron peels one eye open spotting his mother floating around the room picking things up and straightening other things out.
“Mom? What time is it?” Aaron grumbles. “Why are you in my room?”
Aaron’s mom turns around and smiles at her son. “It’s noon.”
Aaron sits up quickly, grabbing his head to stop the spinning.
“You have an appointment in an hour. Better get up, Sweetie.”
Aaron glances around the room, completely bewildered. He can’t decide whether it was all a dream or real. He throws the blanket off and swings his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his hands over his face, attempting to wake fully.
“I’m up, Mom. Thanks,” Aaron says.
“You’re welcome.” She smiles at him. “Brunch is in ten, so hurry up.”
His mother wanders out of the room and Aaron gets up heading straight for his dresser. He pulls out some clothes and throws them on. He stares at his reflection in the mirror over his dresser as he combs his hair. He wonders if he’s crazy after all. If everything is part of his concussion or imagination.
Aaron turns and walks to his door but hesitates as he glances over his shoulder at the wooden box resting on the floor next to his bed. He knows there’s proof inside that will lead to the truth about this entire situation, but he doesn’t have time to explore it right now. Instead, he sighs and leaves the room.
“Is everything okay, Aaron?” Dr. Swanson asks.
He’s observing Aaron pace his office, while he sits behind his desk.
“No.” Aaron spins around and faces off with the doc. “I’m far from okay.”
“What’s happened?” Dr. Swanson drops his pen on the pad of paper resting on his desk, then sits back in his chair to give Aaron his full attention.
“I don’t know.” Aaron throws his hands up, then drops them and begins walking again.
“There’s a reason you’re this upset. Tell me about it,” Dr. Swanson insists.
Aaron halts his steps, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment, then walks to the chair opposite the doctor and plops down into it.
“I was visited by two angels last night,” he blurts out, then stares at the doc waiting on his reaction.
“What did they want?” Dr. Swanson asks.
Aaron stares at him for a moment, waiting for the laughter to begin. When the doc remains quiet, Aaron realizes he’s serious.
“They need my help.”
“With what?”
“Somehow I helped another angel escape and they need my help to put him back.” Aaron lifts a foot, puts it over his other knee and sits back, once more waiting for the doc to react.
“Where is back?”
Not exactly the response Aaron was expecting.
“I’m not sure, but it appeared imperative that we put him back wherever he came from.” Aaron glances at the doc.
“And what would happen if you didn’t?” Dr. Swanson leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk, his chin on his steepled hands.
“I’m not sure.” Aaron glances at his lap for a moment, then his gaze flickers back to the doc. “Then, those angels left and the angel in question showed.”
“And, what did he want?”
“To remain free,” Aaron replies.
The room grows quiet as they study each other.
“Do you believe me?” Aaron whispers.
“Do you believe yourself?” the doc counters.
“Yes,” Aaron responds.
“Then, I believe you too.” Dr. Swanson smiles at him. “However, what you really have to ask yourself is w
hat are you going to do about them?”
Aaron’s gaze shifts to the window.
That’s the million-dollar question.
13
As Aaron arrives home from his appointment with Dr. Swanson, he’s still contemplating the doc’s final question. What is he planning to do about the sudden arrival of angels in his life? Instead of coming up with a solution, he’s filled with more questions.
He enters his room, throws his keys on the dresser next to the door and wanders over to the bed. Exhaustion takes over his weary bones, requiring him to rest. He sprawls out on the bed, his head sinking into the comfortable pillow as he stares up at the ceiling.
Rest—he’s positive that’ll be the resolution to his problems.
He closes his tired eyes and drifts off quickly.
“Aaron,” the voice sings his name.
His groggy mind attempts to ignore the voice.
“Aaron,” the male voice, says in a high-pitched mocking quality.
Aaron ignores it again. What he can’t ignore is the hand constantly slapping his cheek and the one shaking his shoulder. As much as he tries to remain in his slumber, it’s impossible and his eyes snap open.
“Leave me alone,” his voice muffled from the pillow he’s covered his face with.
“No can do. Time to wake, sleepyhead,” Azrael says in his sing-song voice again.
His cheery attitude grates on Aaron’s nerves. He attempts to roll over, only to find himself on hard ground, his comfortable bed and pillow no longer under him. He sits up and glances around. He’s back in the dark forest.
“How the hell did I get here?” he asks, as he scrambles to his feet.
“Hell, has nothing to do with this place,” Azrael seethes.
Aaron believes he’s hit a nerve, but the viciousness of Azrael’s voice has him taking a step back, his eyes opening wide, terrified at the demon/angel standing before him. Because that’s what he thinks Azrael is—a demon. Rather that’s what Aaron believes as he stares at Azrael’s angelic features. He’s an enigma, that’s for sure.
He looks exactly like Fallen, but his mannerisms are his own. He carries himself with such confidence, tall and commanding. However, underneath his exterior, there’s a hint of insecurity. It’s nothing you would ever notice with a glance or in passing, but because Aaron suffers the same affliction, he can spot uncertainty a mile away.
Azrael glares at him as if he’s an insect getting in the way.
“What do you want from me?” Aaron whispers, unsure if his question will set Azrael off.
The angel-demon’s face softens as he scrutinizes Aaron.
“Why me?” Aaron asks. “Why are you bothering me?”
Azrael sighs, spins around so his back is to Aaron. He scrubs a hand over his face while considering his options. He’s not used to dealing with humans. None of them have lasted long enough for him to meet or hold an actual conversation. He’s not sure what he can expect from Aaron without providing him any information.
However, the more he thinks about it, the angrier he becomes. This guy—kid really, doesn’t deserve answers. He hasn’t earned them. There’s one nagging question that keeps bugging Azrael. Why does he care about Aaron at all?
“You have not earned the right to ask such questions.” Azrael spins around to face Aaron. “Now, back to work,” he snaps.
Aaron thought for one moment that he may receive answers from Azrael, but instead he’s angered him more. He squares his shoulders and firms up his resolve.
“I’m not doing anything more for you. Take me home. Now,” he demands.
Azrael glares at him, his eyebrows knitting together, his fists clenching at his sides. If he didn’t need Aaron so much, he’d rip him apart. How dare this child think he’s entitled to anything?
“You will do as you’re told, or suffer the consequences,” Azrael barks.
“No,” Aaron roars.
In the blink of an eye the angel/demon closes the distance between them, clamping his hand around Aaron’s throat and lifting him off his feet into the air.
“You will stop asking questions and do as you’re told, or—” He squeezes Aaron’s throat a little tighter, cutting off his oxygen. “I’ll make certain you never return home.”
He drops Aaron to the ground and stands over him, scowling.
“Do it then. It has to be better than this,” Aaron retorts.
Azrael stills, shock covering his features. Humans usually have more fight in them. Life is everything to a human. Azrael’s never understood it, but it tends to be enough to get them to do what he wants. He’s unsure how to proceed with Aaron.
Aaron sits on the ground gasping for breath as he rubs his throat. He peeks up at Azrael, not understanding his sudden change in demeanor from anger to—well, shock. Azrael seems shocked. Aaron didn’t think someone who has been around forever could be surprised. Evidently, he was wrong.
He takes a deep breath as his eyelids slide closed.
Aaron’s eyes spring open and he glances around the room. He’s back in his bedroom. He sits up, scrubs a hand over his face and scans the room more carefully—still empty. He falls back down and stares up at the ceiling. These nightmares are becoming too much. They feel so real as if he’s been somewhere else with that angel-demon. How can they be so detailed if it’s just a dream?
They’re just dreams.
Only dreams.
That’s the mantra on repeat in his mind as he attempts to convince himself.
Aaron sits up and swings his legs over the bed planting his feet firmly on the floor. Even after sleeping through the night, he doesn’t feel rested at all. It’s as if he’s been up all night, which is ridiculous, considering he’s been in his bed the entire time. He has a busy day, starting with an appointment at Dr. Swanson’s office.
These appointments are becoming a pain that he doesn’t believe are helping either. In fact, he thinks they may be the reason he’s still having delusions of angels. Talking about his incident tends to bring out the hallucinations more. He’s thinking about talking to the good doctor about ending their sessions. His mom will be disappointed, but he knows she’ll get over it.
If the sessions are truly bringing on the delusions, then they can’t be that good for him—or so he thinks.
14
Dr. Swanson’s office hasn’t changed at all in the time Aaron’s been coming for his sessions. He wanders around as if he’s never viewed the place before. Same desk, same chair, bookshelves, couch and chair on the other side of the room, even the same diplomas hanging on the wall.
Aaron stands, staring out the window as he usually does when deep in a session. His plan was to show up and quit, but somehow the doctor got him talking before he had the chance. They’re smack-dab in the middle of this session. The topic of discussion today—Aaron’s childhood.
As he stares at the hustle and bustle down on the street, he tries to regain the courage he had this morning to end this relationship. He feels it’s the right decision, yet faced with the prospect now, it’s not as easy as he believed it would be. Dr. Swanson goes right into his routine before Aaron can even get a word out this morning.
“So, your childhood was perfect?” Dr. Swanson asks in a quizzical pitch.
Aaron turns, stares at the doctor and rolls his eyes.
“That’s not what I said,” he responds, as he walks over and takes a seat in his usual spot, the couch behind him still mocking. “My childhood was normal, until—” Aaron stops talking immediately and lowers his head.
Dr. Swanson waits a moment hoping Aaron will continue. When the room remains silent for another few minutes, the doctor probes.
“Until?”
Aaron’s head snaps up, he gazes at the doctor for a moment then sighs, runs a hand through his hair and gets more comfortable in the chair.
“When I was little my father used to teach me magic tricks. He’d take me into the garage and try his newest trick out on me.” Aaron runs his hand throug
h his hair, again. “I used to love watching him work out how tricks were done and how he put his own style to them.”
“Sounds fun,” Dr. Swanson comments.
“It was. The best time of my life. I loved my father, dearly.”
“What happened to him, Aaron?” Dr. Swanson inquires.
“You have my file. I’m sure it’s in there.” Aaron points at the file on Dr. Swanson’s desk.
“I have the clinical details, but I’d rather hear your version,” Dr. Swanson encourages.
Aaron moves around in his seat. He leans his head back as his gaze shifts to the ceiling.
“My father died while performing. It was shocking, terrifying, absolutely heartbreaking for both my mother and me.”
The doctor leans forward in his chair, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on his hands. He stares at Aaron encouraging him to continue.
“What do you want to hear?” How many nights I cried myself to sleep? How much I missed him?” Aaron rolls his eyes. “Do you want to hear how I took it out on my mother? Treated her like crap? Are those the details you’re looking for?” Aaron slams his hands on the arms of the chair, the anger radiating from him.
“Why are you so angry?” Dr. Swanson asks.
“I’m not angry,” Aaron sneers.
Dr. Swanson raises an eyebrow.
“Fine. I’m angry,” Aaron snaps. “I’m angry he died. How could he be so stupid?”
“Why do you think he was stupid?”
Aaron shifts in his chair again, crossing one leg over the other.
“Aaron?” Dr. Swanson encourages.
“He shouldn’t have done it,” Aaron replies. “The trick.”
After a moment of silence, the doctor prompts Aaron.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. He just shouldn’t have.”
The room grows silent again as the doctor stares at Aaron, while Aaron stares at the floor.
“Why don’t we pick this up next session?” Dr. Swanson offers.
“Times up? So soon?” Aaron quips, as he stands from the chair.
