The mouse was sleeping, but still he heard its voice, its questions about the past and his eventual downfall.
“Do you know I was by His side when He created humanity? The attention He languished on what appeared to us in the heavenly choirs as just another animal!” He remembered his anger, the uncontrollable emotion at the root of his fall so long ago. “He gave them their own paradise, a garden of incredible beauty and bounty. And He gave them something that we did not have. The Creator gave them a piece of Himself, a spark of His divinity—a soul.”
The agony of his healing mixed with the recollection of his indignation caused the prisoner to sit bolt upright within the confines of his cage. His hand moved quickly to his bare shoulder, preventing the sleeping rodent from falling. “After all this time it can still get a rise out of me,” he said, his voice less raspy, on the mend.
The mouse was in a panic, startled awake by the sudden movement. He could feel the racing beat of its tiny heart against the palm of his hand, the bars of the cage cold against the new flesh of his back.
“I was shocked and horrified, as were others of the various hosts. Why would He give such a priceless gift to a lowly animal? It was an insult to what we were.”
The prisoner cupped the fragile creature in the palm of his hand and calmed its jangled nerves with the gentle attentions of his finger.
“Jealousy,” he said, a deep sadness permeating the sound of his voice. “Every horrible act that followed was all because of jealousy.” In his mind he saw them in the Garden of Eden, man and woman, basking in the light of His glory. “What fragile things they were. And how He loved them—which just made matters all the worse.”
The mouse still trembled in his grasp, and the prisoner wondered if it was cold. He held it closer.
“As if things weren’t bad enough, it wasn’t long before He gathered us together and proclaimed that from that moment forth, we would bow to humanity, we would serve them as we served He who was the Creator of us all.”
His scalp began to tingle unpleasantly and he suspected that his hair had begun to grow back.
“Needless to say, several of us were less than thrilled with this new spin on things.” He remembered their angry faces again, their indignant fury, but none could match his own. His Lord and Creator had abandoned him, cast him aside for the love of something inferior, and he would not stand for it. “I was so blinded by jealousy and my wounded pride that I gathered an army of those who felt as I did, a third of Heaven’s angels they say, and waged war against my heavenly father, my creator, and all those who defended His edict.”
Glimpses of a battle fought countless millennia ago danced across his vision of the past. Not a day went by that he didn’t relive it. He saw the faces of the elite soldiers, so beautiful and yet so full of rage, and he knew they believed in him, that the cause he fought for was just. “And as the Creator had done with the first humans, I touched them—each and every one of the army that swore their allegiance to me—and I gave them a piece of myself, a fragment of what had once made me the most powerful angel in Heaven.” The tips of his fingers came alive with the recollection of those who had received his gift, a black mark—a symbol burned into their flesh, a sigil that spoke of their devotion to him, and to the cause.
“We presumed that the Almighty had no right to do what He did to us—but we presumed too much,” the prisoner said sadly. He was exhausted by the painful remembrances of his sordid past; he lowered his hands, and the mouse resting within them, to his lap.
“What were we trying to prove? What were our intentions?” He shook his head and smiled sadly. “Were we going to force the Creator to love us best?”
The mouse looked up from the nest within his hands, its dark eyes filled with what he read to be sympathy.
“It was a ferocious battle. I can’t even tell you how long it lasted—days, weeks, years perhaps—time passed differently for me then. We fought valiantly, but in the end, it was all in vain.”
The mouse nudged at his fingers, its tiny nose a pinprick of cold, and he began to gently pet it again.
“When the battle was finally over, when my elite were dead and myself in chains, I was brought before my Lord God, and finally began to realize the horror of what I had done.”
The prisoner closed his eyes to the flood of emotions that filled them, tears streamed down the newly grown skin on his face. “I tried to apologize. I begged for His forgiveness and mercy, but He wouldn’t hear it.”
A stray tear splashed into his hand and the mouse gingerly licked at the salty fluid.
“I was banished from Heaven, cast down to Earth, and as my constant companion, I would forever experience the pain and suffering of what I had done.”
The mouse looked up at him; its triangular head bent quizzically to one side.
“You want to know about the place called Hell?” he asked the curious animal. “There is no Hell,” he said. “Hell is in here.” He touched the raw, pink skin of his chest with the tips of his fingers. “And it will forever burn inside me for what I have done.”
“She said take a left onto Gagnon and there would be a community center where we could get food,” Gabriel whined.
“That’s what she said,” Aaron replied, looking around as they walked. All he could see were homes, each more rundown and dilapidated than the next.
“And what exactly is a community center?” the dog asked pathetically. It was past his suppertime and he was beginning to panic.
Aaron stopped, glancing back in the direction from which they had just come. “This is still Gagnon, isn’t it?” he asked more to himself than to his ravenous companion.
“I don’t know,” Gabriel answered, his nose pressed to the sidewalk, searching for the scent of food. “I’m so hungry I can’t even think straight, and it’s getting dark.”
They started walking again. A gentle wind blew down the street, rustling what few leaves remained in the skeletal trees.
“Well, let’s keep going and see what we run into. Maybe it’s at the far end.”
“What if it’s not?” the dog asked, a touch of panic in his guttural-sounding voice.
Aaron sighed with exasperation. “Don’t worry, Gabe. If we can’t find the community center we’ll double back to the car, and you can have some of the dog food in the trunk.”
“I don’t want that food,” he said, stopping, ears flat against his blocky head. “It gives me gas.”
Aaron could not hold back his frustration. “Look, I’m just trying to tell you that you won’t starve, okay? You will be fed!”
Gabriel’s tail began to wag. “You’re a good boy.”
Aaron laughed in spite of himself and motioned for the dog to follow him. “Gabriel, you’re a pip!” he said. “C’mon, let’s find this place before I starve to death too.”
The dog thought for a moment, keeping pace alongside his master. “I don’t think anybody has ever called me a pip before. I’ve been called a good boy, a good dog, a best pally, but never a pip.”
“Well, there you go,” Aaron answered. “Something new for the résumé.”
“Do you think we will ever find Stevie?” Gabriel suddenly asked, changing the topic in an instant, as he was prone to do.
Aaron felt his mood suddenly darken. “As soon as we can leave here, we’ll start looking again.”
“How long will that be?”
Aaron felt himself growing angry again and took a series of deep breaths to calm down. “I don’t know,” he said flatly.
“We’ll play by their rules for a while, but there might come a time when we’ll have to take a stand.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Gabriel said.
“Neither do I,” Aaron answered. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
The two continued to walk in brooding silence, both thinking of the disturbing possibilities that waited in their future. They were near the end of the street when Gabriel stopped.
“What is
it now?” Aaron snapped.
“Do you smell that?” Gabriel tilted his head back, nose twitching as it pulled something from the air.
Aaron sniffed at the air as well, at first sensing nothing, but then he too smelled it. Food—cooking food.
Gabriel was off in a flash, following the odor as if arrows had been put down on the street to lead them. “This way,” he cried excitedly.
Aaron had to quicken his pace to keep up with the hungry animal and watched as Gabriel darted suddenly to the left, moving onto the front lawn of one of the rundown homes.
“This isn’t a community center, Gabe,” he called, but the dog was in the grip of a food frenzy.
Gabriel followed the scent right up onto the porch and planted his nose at the bottom of the front door, sniffling and snuffling as if it were possible for him to pull some sustenance from beneath the door.
Aaron stood on the walkway. The smell was stronger and more delicious. He felt his own stomach begin to gurgle. “Gabriel, c’mon down! This is somebody’s house.”
The Labrador reluctantly turned his head toward Aaron. “But this house has food.”
Aaron moved closer to the front porch, feeling sorry for the famished animal. “I know there’s food here, but we can’t just invite ourselves in. Remember, we don’t know these people and they probably wouldn’t trust us anyway.”
“But you’re the Chosen One,” he said sadly. “And I’m your dog, who’s very hungry.”
If it weren’t so pathetic, Aaron probably would have laughed, but the events of the day so far had chased away any chance for humor. “Gabriel, come down here this instant or—”
“Can’t we knock and ask where the community center is?” the dog asked with a nervous wag of his muscular tail.
“I guess we could do that,” Aaron answered, climbing the three rickety wooden steps to the porch. “But if nobody answers, we have to go. Deal?”
“There’s somebody in there, Aaron. I can smell him over the food.”
Aaron rapped on the door and waited. He listened for sounds from inside and could just make out the chatter of a television. “I don’t think they want to—”
“Knock again,” the dog demanded, his tail wagging furiously.
Aaron knocked harder. “Remember what I said: If nobody comes to the door, we go.”
Gabriel suddenly bolted down the steps and around the side of the house.
“Where are you going?” Aaron demanded, starting to follow.
“There’s somebody in there. Maybe he can hear the back door better,” the Lab called excitedly, already out of sight.
Aaron reluctantly followed. He had no idea how the citizens would react if they found him skulking around somebody’s home. An image of Lehash with his golden pistols drawn suddenly came to mind. He rounded the corner of the house, careful not to stumble in the growing darkness, and found Gabriel already on the back porch trying to turn the doorknob in his mouth. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I scratched at the door and somebody said come in,” Gabriel replied as the door popped open and the rich, succulent smell of cooking food drifted out from the kitchen. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed through the door with his snout and disappeared.
“Gabriel!” Aaron called, climbing the steps and following his dog into the tiny kitchen. It was overly warm and the smell of cooking meat enveloped him like a blanket. Sounds of a television drifted in from the room beyond. “Gabriel, you can’t just—”
“I can’t help it.” Gabriel was moving toward the stove as if hypnotized, droplets of saliva raining from his mouth to the floor, nose twitching eagerly. “Maybe he’ll invite us to stay.”
“Or he’ll call the constables and we’ll really be in a fix,” Aaron said nervously, half expecting the house’s resident to fly into the kitchen screaming.
“I told you he said to come in.”
Aaron moved toward the door that would take him out of the kitchen, the light of the television illuminating the room beyond. “Why don’t I trust you,” he hissed, his back to the animal.
“I don’t know.” Gabriel sounded hurt.
“Hello?” Aaron called softly as he wrapped his knuckles on the frame of the kitchen doorway. “I don’t mean to bother you, but we’re looking for the—”
“Come in, Aaron,” said a voice from the living room.
Aaron turned back to Gabriel and must have looked surprised.
“I told you he knew we were here,” the dog said knowingly.
Aaron walked through a short corridor and into the living room beyond, the sound of Gabriel’s toenails clicking on the hardwood floor behind him as he followed. The room was dark except for the flickering light of the television and Aaron could just about make out the older man sitting in a worn, leather recliner in front of an old-fashioned console. It was Belphegor. Aaron cleared his throat, but the old man did not respond, apparently engrossed in the television show.
Curious, he stepped farther into the room. The sound was turned down, but it looked as though the angel was watching home movies, the scenes jumping from one moment to the next. Suddenly Aaron saw himself on the screen.
He was dressed in a black tuxedo and carrying a flower—a corsage in a clear plastic container. He had just stepped out of his car and was approaching a house that seemed vaguely familiar. What is this? His mind was in a panic.
“Aaron, what’s wrong?” Gabriel asked, obviously picking up on his panicked vibe.
Aaron could not pull his eyes from the scene unfolding before him. Where had he seen that house before? His thoughts raced as he watched himself on the television knocking on the house’s front door. It hit him just as the door began to open. It was Belvidere Place back home in Lynn. He’d been there only once before.
The door opened, and Vilma stood there in a cream-colored gown, her hair up and decorated with baby’s breath, and the smile on her face as she saw him made him want to cry. His tuxedoed version was in the process of giving her the flower he had brought, when he ripped his eyes from the screen to look at the old man placidly sitting in the oversized chair.
“What is this?” Aaron demanded.
He looked back to the screen briefly to see him and Vilma posing for pictures. Vilma seemed to be embarrassed by the whole thing, waving her family away and trying to drag him toward the car. He couldn’t get over how beautiful she looked.
“It’s how you wish things had been,” Belphegor responded, his eyes never leaving the television. “I like this part … didn’t take you for a dancer.”
Aaron gazed at the set again and saw that he and Vilma were slow dancing among a crowd. He didn’t recognize their surroundings, but it appeared to be someplace fancy. Vilma was whispering in his ear as they slowly twirled in a circle on the dance floor. Foolishly he found himself growing jealous of his television doppelgänger. He pulled his eyes away, wanting to look anywhere else but there. His eyes landed on the dark cord of the television lying upon the floor, curled like a resting snake.
“It’s not plugged in,” he said aloud, turning his full attention to Belphegor. “The television’s not plugged in.”
“This is what your life could have been if not for the power that awakened inside you.”
He didn’t want to, but Aaron found himself looking at the screen again. He saw himself in a cap and gown, a stupid-looking grin on his face, accepting his diploma from Mr. Costan.
The view suddenly turned to the auditorium audience. With a sickening feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, he watched his foster mom and dad proudly applaud his achievement. It was when he noticed Stevie sitting in the chair beside his mother, smiling as if he didn’t have a problem in the world, that he realized he’d had more than enough.
“Make it stop,” he demanded, stepping farther into the room, fists clenched. He felt the manacles around his wrists and the collar about his neck grow warmer.
Belphegor didn’t respond, smiling as he watched television. Aa
ron couldn’t help himself and chanced a quick glance. It was like driving past a car accident. You didn’t want to see—but you just had to look. He appeared older now, sitting in a large classroom taking notes as a professor lectured. He was in college, and a part of him longed to switch places with this version of himself.
“I’ve seen enough,” he said louder, more demanding. The restraints were burning him, but he barely noticed, for his angelic nature had been awakened by his anger and it coiled within him, eager to strike.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, Aaron?” Belphegor asked, pointing to the TV.
Aaron didn’t want to see, but it was as if he weren’t in control of his movements. He was giving Vilma a ring. They were on a beach at sunset. Gabriel, looking older but still active, was happily chasing seagulls, and Vilma was sitting on a blanket with him. There was love in her eyes—love for him—and even though the sound was off, he knew his words at that moment. Will you marry me?
The angelic nature within him screamed, hurling itself against the restraints of the magicks within the golden metal that bound him. The pain was incredible, and he began to scream, but more from anger than hurt.
Gabriel began to panic and fled into the kitchen, barking as he ran.
“Turn it off! Turn it off! Turn it off!” Aaron demanded, his voice raw and filled with emotion. “I don’t want to see this—I don’t want to see what I can’t ever have. Why are you doing this?”
He stumbled forward to block the set, catching sight of Vilma in a wedding gown as she walked down the aisle of a church. His skin was on fire, the alien symbols appearing upon his flesh, even though the magick within the restraints tried to stop it. The wings beneath the flesh of his back writhed in agitation, gradually moving to the surface, ready to unfurl.
“I have to see if it’s true,” Belphegor said calmly. “I have to see if you are indeed the One.”
Something inside Aaron broke. There was a sound in his head like the scream of high-speed train, and his wings exploded from his back, as the power of an angel suddenly flowed unimpeded from his body. As if suddenly made ancient and brittle, the manacles upon his wrists and the collar about his neck broke, crumbling as dust to the floor. A sword of fire ignited in his hand and, gazing greedily upon its destructive potential, he spun around, bringing the burning blade down upon the wooden cabinet of the television console. The window into a life he would never know exploded in flames and a shower of glass, but not before he glimpsed a very pregnant Vilma, smiling as if she somehow knew he was watching.
The Fallen 2 Page 9
