No amount of watching will bring Jan here any faster, and I don’t need her to find me waiting for her arrival like an anxious dog. I step back inside to channel my anxiety into a boiler room walkabout and the door is pulled gently shut by its closer. With the darkness of the hallway closing in around me, I had failed to notice just how high the ceilings are down here. It looks like twenty feet to the intricate highway of piping and conduit strapped to the ceiling.
“Good thing for the extra headroom,” I quip to myself. “I’m going to need it.” Although I definitely won’t need all of that space. At full extension, I measure eight feet, two inches; hardly a giant by angelic standards. Even by Nephilim standards I’m on the short end, but this has proven more of an asset than a liability. It allows me to compress my stature to a modest six feet, eight inches, easing my integration with humanity. Of course, that’s still extremely tall, but there are plenty of full-blood humans even taller, enough to avoid being the tallest “person” most people have met.
Nephilim skeletal structure varies from human beings in a number of ways. The shape of each of our vertebrae resembles a cam with peaks and valleys on opposite sides. When we tense special muscles in our back, the vertebrae twist so that the peaks align and extend our height significantly. Our hip sockets have a similar design that raises and lowers our pelvis relative to our femurs. I can only imagine a human doctor’s morbid fascination with our anatomy if we were to stroll into a clinic. Thankfully, Nephilim rarely suffer from illness or injury so the need for traditional medical care is minimal. If it’s ever necessary, there are a handful of Nephilim who have adapted human medical practices and a few basic medicines for our bodies.
My stroll around the boilers reveals the expected: various dead insects, shriveled spider exoskeletons, cobwebs, stray metal shavings, and a couple of forgotten screws and washers. A folding metal chair leans, collapsed, against the wall at the end of the tank. There are several low points in the concrete floor that bear the chalky mineral scars of evaporated leaks, one of which can be traced back to the far wall. Panning up, I find the culprit. A brand-new stretch of four-inch pipe, probably one foot in length, is installed between two couplings. It must’ve rusted out and burst as the adjacent bulging pipe looks prepared to do. Examining the deformed pipe reveals an otherwise healthy stretch of plumbing. If not for this single point of corrosion, it would be in top shape.
A clear memory from nearly twenty years ago comes to mind. It was a sunny fall day, hotter than usual, as my father and I were clearing a section of the yard to build a new shed. An old stump, the diminished legacy of a tremendous oak tree, sat stubbornly in the perfect place for our new building. Realistically, there was probably another suitable location for the shed, but the old stump was matched in its stubbornness by my old man. It took a full morning and most of an afternoon digging, picking, cutting, and tugging to make any progress on the firmly entrenched trunk.
It was nearly dinnertime when my father and I found hope in our battle. We wrapped a chain around the stump and hitched it to the back of our rusty four-by-four pickup. Father gradually increased the tension with the truck in first gear. Initially, it didn’t budge, so he let off the gas. He had me double-check the chain before he gassed it again, this time harder than the first, but still nothing. On the third heave, the oak trunk peeled upward from the earth by more than six inches. Tasting imminent victory, he pressed the gas pedal half an inch farther but the stump doubled down, snapping the chain with the strangest jingling crack. I can still remember the sound to this day. It recoiled in a blur straight toward the back of the truck and smashed the rear window of the cab, flinging glass that embedded itself in the right side of my dad’s face.
The wounds were superficial but painful and bloody nonetheless. After he and my mother tended to his injuries, we both went back outside to survey the damage. A single chain link gave out under the pressure, a metaphor that my father employed wisely. He taught me that we, as Nephilim, must be vigilant to inspect ourselves, to know our weaknesses and our vulnerabilities in order to prevent such catastrophic failures. He said that no matter how hard we work, ignoring even a single weakening link in our integrity or our emotional and psychological health could be our undoing. He said I have to be honest with myself and take care to address my personal weaknesses.
This timely reminder comes as I’m more aware than ever of my own desire for companionship. The effects of last night’s fatherly pep talk from beyond the grave were short-lived, and I’m once again faced with the inner battle that threatens to split me in half. Continuing in this loneliness seems unsustainable, and the more of an island I become, the more susceptible I’ll be to wayward thoughts and actions. I need to remedy this growing chasm in my life, but I can’t let this loneliness motivate my actions with Jan. I don’t fully trust her yet and probably never will. She’s human, prone to deceit and certainly contaminated by their usual filth. That being said, I’ve never fully trusted anyone, and that won’t change if I can’t allow someone the opportunity to earn my confidence. Not only does recruiting Jan provide the ally that I need, it’s also low-risk practice for learning how to trust. That way, when I someday meet a proper Nephilim companion, I’ll have some experience in building a relationship. Besides, revealing myself as a divine being should correct any of her undesirable behavior. And, again, if she doesn’t clean up her own act, a sowing will do it for her.
Voices reverberate from the far end of the hall, ripping me from my introspection. I fly back to my post at the door and prop it open slightly. Though the familiar jingle-clink, jingle-clink of Tyson’s wad of keys obscures their words, I recognize Jan’s voice. A shot of mania pelts my skin. I draw a deep breath then release it slowly through a pinhole in my tight lips.
“He’s up here on the left,” Tyson says like an assistant delivering a client to my office. He speaks calmly, naturally, as though it’s perfectly normal to walk through a dark, dingy tunnel for a one-on-one meeting in a boiler room. They enter the trapezoid of pure light that’s escaping around me as I push the door slowly to avoid startling Jan.
“Thank you, Tyson,” I say before turning my attention to Jan. “Thanks for meeting me down here. I know it’s a bit…unconventional, but you’ll understand soon enough. I’ll take it from here, Tyson. Are you good with us just showing ourselves out after the meeting?”
“Uh,” he hesitates, “I guess that will be fine, sir.” He nods a goodbye and heads back the other direction as I pull the door to make sure it’s completely shut.
“DAMN, it’s bright in here!” Jan exclaims. “I can’t see a thing after being in that dark hallway.”
“Yeah, the light is overwhelming at first, but you’ll adjust,” I say, accidentally speaking in metaphors.
Jan blinks tightly and rubs her eyes. She opens them a touch, staring at the floor to avoid the direct blast of the floodlights. Gradually, she raises her head and scans the room.
“Okay, I can see again.” She puts her hands on her hips and surveys the room. “Well, this is homey,” she snarks.
“Sorry, it was the only place Tyson could think of where we could have total privacy.” As I say that, I remember the phone on the wall. “Actually, hold on a second.” I reach to the back of the phone and unplug the cable. “Okay, now it’s totally private.”
“I assume that’s the phone you used to call me?”
“It is. There’s no cell service down here. Speaking of, would you mind turning your phone off and setting it on that ledge? I’ll do the same.” I remove the phone from my pocket and hold the power button until Samsung appears on the screen. Jan holds her power button and shows me the black screen before placing it gently on the ledge.
“You sure you aren’t being a little paranoid there, Ted?” she asks rhetorically. “I don’t want to spend any more time down here than I have to, so what game-changing information did you want to show me?”
I draw another deep breath and squeeze it through taut lips. My pulse
slows for a few beats before a surge of electricity enters my chest and jolts my heart into overdrive. If I can’t subdue my nerves, I’ll just have to fight through them.
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it game-changing information. It’s more of a game-changing revelation of reality. Yes, information, but, more importantly, cosmic truth.”
“What the hell are you smoking, Ted? There are few things I hate more than listening to people say things that don’t mean anything. Stop telling me about what you’re going to say and just say it.”
“Fair enough,” I concede. That was a clumsy start. “Jan, are you a religious person?”
“No, I’m not religious but I believe in the spiritual, the supernatural.”
“By ‘supernatural’ do you mean God, angels, and demons or do you mean ghosts, vampires, and werewolves?”
She lets out an impatient sigh then humors me. “I’m not entirely sure. I just wouldn’t be surprised if humanity isn’t alone and life doesn’t really end when we die.”
“Good. Have you—”
“You’re not about to tell me that God’s on our side or some religious garbage like that, are you? If you are, you can save it,” Jan spits.
“No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. Have you heard the story of Noah, from the Bible?”
“Yes, when I was a young girl and again when I dabbled with church during my college years. I was curious, I guess. I didn’t want to dismiss it without giving it a try.” She smirks sheepishly before saying, “You know, that story is a lot more R-rated than I remembered from Sunday School.”
“Indeed it is. So, is it safe to assume you’re familiar with the concept of the Nephilim?”
“I know the word,” she says, pausing to search her memory. “They were the offspring of angels and women right? Weren’t they giants? Wait, never mind. What the hell does this have to do with us and Pentastar?”
“I’m getting there,” I say, intently watching every twitch of her eyelids, every stretch of her lips, and every movement of her pores. Under these lights, it’s like looking at her through a magnifying glass. She seems a little nervous but no more so than anyone would be during a private meeting in a basement with a large man asking strange questions. “Would you believe me if I told you that the Nephilim are real and walk amongst us to this day?”
“I would say it’s possible, potentially believable, but I would need more than your word to accept it.”
“What if I could show you?”
“I don’t know what that means. Are you about to offer up some blurry Bigfoot photo or are you saying you actually know where to find them? I’ll just tell you now that I’m not going to believe a photo. Any hack with a computer can doctor a picture. I’d have to see it in person.”
“Well, that’s the idea.”
“So you’re claiming to know the identity and whereabouts of an actual angel/human hybrid, and that is somehow relevant to our situation here…”
“I realize how it sounds, but I asked you to trust me, and the fact that you’re down here in the underbelly of Milburn Tower means that, at some level, you do.”
“I was starting to trust you quite a bit, but right now you sound insane.”
My ribs tighten when I realize the only way forward is to show Jan my true identity. I remember the chair leaning against the wall and grab it for Jan to sit on. I don’t want her head bouncing off the floor or anything else if she faints. I don’t know how she’ll react. I’ve never done this before unless it was part of a sowing. No matter how this goes, I need her to accept this reality, vow to keep my secret, and commit to being my ally in this fight.
“Jan,” I say, pausing heavily. “What I’m about to show you will be frightening but I promise that you are not in danger. This will not hurt and I will not harm you.”
Jan glares at me like I’m an extraterrestrial. It’s now apparent that I’m talking about myself, that I’m claiming to be Nephilim. Her cynical expression takes on notes of sizzling fascination. She knows I don’t lie and have never before given her reason to doubt my sanity. She’s inspecting my face and my stature, doing the math. I don’t look like most humans, a fact she has undoubtedly noticed, but one that’s taken on new significance during this conversation. Suddenly, her face opens to the possibility.
“Show me,” she urges with a flick of her eyebrow. It’s a hungry show me, as if she has buried the need for such a revelation her whole life and now it’s breaking free. It’s proof that there’s something more to this existence, the answer to whether or not humanity is alone. “Come on, prove it,” she gently pushes, as one would say to a friend who said he could do the impossible. I can almost read her mind: He sounds crazy, and maybe he is, but it would be amazing if it were true.
I cock my head as I look down at the feisty woman who’s still surprisingly tall despite being seated. “Okay, then. I’ll show you,” I say calmly.
I remove my suit coat and hold it up to Jan. “Would you mind laying this across your lap?”
“Sure, whatever helps get this show on the road, Ted.”
Next comes my tie, then my dress shirt, button by button. Jan looks at me, annoyed, from beneath a growing pile of laundry. “If you get naked, I’m leaving…and you’re fired.”
“Noted,” I reply while kicking off my loosened shoes.
“Is this really necessary?”
I respond stoically, “It is.”
While extending to full Nephilim form, I have ripped the seams on more than one dress shirt. Most of my growth is vertical but my overall proportions also change, putting stress on the shoulders and typical cut of human shirts. It’s also just really uncomfortable to grow over a foot in clothes that weren’t made to stretch. Some situations, like Joel’s sowing, don’t require full extension, just five or six inches. After a sowing like that, I can simply tuck in my shirt and go about my day, but this is different. If I want to make sure Jan knows her place, it’ll require a stronger dose of humility, one that only my full stature can impose.
The pumps grumble to life again, providing a convenient pillow of sound to stifle any gasps or screams from Jan. With my eyes closed, I carefully tense the muscles along my spine, twisting my vertebrae to their full extension. My disks pop and crackle like chafing leather as they uncoil, raising my head even with the top of the tanks. Every inch stretches my skin tighter around my skeleton. Through my eyelids, I can see the room’s dazzling lights flash sporadically. Three flickers…pause…two flashes…a bright blast…darkness…four flickers.
The microbes in my blood dance against my tingling veins which are now quite visible through my thinning skin. As on a roadmap, the dark trails extend in major thoroughfares and tiny back roads, zigging and zagging along and around my limbs, torso, neck, and face. Waves of adrenaline sweep across my body with every pulse. I lift my face to the ceiling as a surge of strength passes through my clenched jaw. The pressure in my ears makes it difficult to hear more than the muffled rumbling that originates in both my quaking bones and in the droning utility pumps that surge on.
Each and every hair flees the surface of my skin only to be stopped by its follicle. A tumbling, metallic trickle approaches from behind me. I snap around only to find the loose screws, washers, and metal shavings from the floor caught in my electromagnetic field and jittering along the side of the boiler tank. The lights are now flickering with frantic intensity like an epileptic nightmare, their moments of darkness almost indistinguishable from their moments of light. I spread my arms wide to bask in the raw exposure of my angelic glory.
A vulgar, carnal euphoria washes over me; the sour satisfaction that can only be found in the flesh of forbidden fruit. For the first time in my life, I’ve broken one of my rules and it is a big one. Taking my true form in front of a human who will live to retain the memory violates my personal code but exhilarates my body. I revel in the debased liberation of this moment.
“Jan,” my voice rolls in an earthquake whisper, “the Nephilim are r
eal and I am one of them.”
No response.
Slightly panicked, I look down to the door—it’s still closed—then pan over to Jan. Still in her chair, she is the embodiment of dread, frozen in time. Like the immortalized dead of Pompeii, Jan’s body is stiffly contorted on the metal seat. Her face a ghoulish grimace, both pained and horrified. Her mouth, agape and twisted, releases a breathless shriek. The possibility that I’ve actually hurt her confronts my conscience. A face like that is enough to inflict pain on passersby; I can only imagine what she must be feeling.
I relax my spine and instantly settle back into my human form with a crackle like twisting bubble wrap. Lunging toward Jan, I grip both of her shoulders firmly.
“Jan…Jan. Snap out of it.”
No response.
“Jan,” I call, snapping my fingers, “come back to me.”
She takes a series of audible, labored breaths, then a gasp as she reanimates. Still dazed, she hangs her head and collects herself before looking at each of my hands on her shoulders.
“Do you mind?” she asks. I release her shoulders and stand upright. She props her elbows on her knees and rests her forehead in her palms. I maintain the silence in the vain hope that she’ll speak first. After thirty seconds of Jan’s groaning, I decide to speak up.
“I’m sorry. Did it hurt? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Holy shit, Ted. What the hell did you do?” she shouts. “I feel like I got hit by a truck. My whole body is sore.”
Verity Rising (Gods of Deceit Book 1) Page 13
