Outside on the steps, the wind blew and Aaron pulled the collar of his leather jacket up around his neck. Although it was officially spring, there was still a cruel bite of winter in the air. He was parked in the school’s horseshoe-shaped driveway, and could see Camael and Gabriel waiting for him by the car.
This is it, he thought, and put his hands inside his pockets for warmth as he began to descend the steps.
Something was in one of his pockets, something that hadn’t been there before.
He removed the piece of folded paper and opened it. It was from Vilma and it was her e-mail address and telephone number. She must have put it there when she hugged him. At the bottom of the paper, in delicate handwriting, it said, “Just in case you want to talk.”
Aaron thought about throwing the paper away, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He placed it safely back inside his pocket and continued on his way to the car. For some reason, he felt strangely warmer.
He could hear Camael and Gabriel talking as he approached.
“For the last time, no,” he heard the angel say, a touch of petulance in his tone.
“What’s the problem?” Aaron asked as he came around the side of the car.
Gabriel had dropped the tennis ball at Camael’s feet, and Aaron knew immediately what the problem was.
“He won’t throw the ball for me, Aaron. I asked him nicely and he still refused. I think he’s mean.”
The angel seethed. “I have never thrown a ball and have no desire to ever do so. It has nothing to do with my temperament.”
Aaron squatted down to the dog’s level. “What did I tell you about trying to force people to play with you?”
The dog playfully swatted the ball with his paw and caught it in his mouth before it could roll away.
“Gabriel?” he cautioned.
The dog lowered his head, shamed by his master’s disapproval. “He wasn’t doing anything, and I got bored.”
“He said he didn’t want to play and you should respect that.”
“I’m sorry, Aaron,” Gabriel said, ears flat against his head.
Aaron lovingly ruffled the dog’s floppy ears. “That’s all right. Let’s just try and be a little more considerate.” Then he shot a withering look at the angel. “Though it probably wouldn’t have killed you to toss the ball a couple of times.”
“I still think he’s mean,” the dog muttered beneath his breath before he defiantly snatched up the ball in his mouth.
“Did you accomplish your task?” Camael asked, ignoring the animal, hands clasped behind his back.
Aaron turned and looked back at the school, taking in every detail of the brick and concrete structure. “Yeah,” he said, saving the image of his high school to memory. “I’m ready to go.”
He was opening the driver-side door of the car when Gabriel let out a cry.
“Shotgun!” he bellowed, startling them as he scrambled to the front, passenger-side door.
Camael looked at him, an expression of confusion on his goateed face. “What did you say?” he asked the dog.
“I said shotgun,” Gabriel explained. “It’s what you’re supposed to say when you want to ride in the front seat.”
Aaron could not help but laugh. No matter how many conversations he had with the animal, Gabriel’s increased intelligence still managed to surprise him.
“That’s what I thought you said,” Aaron said. He then looked to Camael. “Do you mind riding in the back?”
“Front or back,” Camael growled with an air of distaste. “It doesn’t matter. I despise the confines of these hellish contraptions no matter where I ride.”
“Great,” Aaron said as he pulled open his door and pushed the driver’s seat forward so that the angel could crawl into the back. Then he went around to the front passenger door to let his best friend in. “Shotgun is all yours,” he told Gabriel, and let the dog hop up into the copilot seat.
“Awesome,” said the dog, bright pink tongue lolling happily from his mouth as he panted with anticipation.
Aaron started to close the door. “Watch your tail,” he said, and slammed the door closed.
He plopped himself down behind the wheel and started the car up, but did not put it into drive.
Aaron was staring at the school again—his school—and thought about all the things lost to him over the past few days: the closest thing to mother and father he had ever known, his home, his job, his school—and even his humanity.
He thought about Vilma, her eyes red from crying. If only he could have explained; yet another thing taken away from him.
“Are we ready, Aaron?” Camael asked impatiently from the back.
Aaron used the rearview mirror to look into the backseat and the angel seated there.
“To be perfectly honest, no, I’m not,” he said, putting the car into drive. “But, from what you’ve told me about the prophecy and all, I don’t think I really have much of a choice.”
He pulled the car away from the curb and proceeded down the driveway. At the end of the drive he waited for his chance to go, and pulled out into the flow of traffic, pointing the car to the north and the uncertainty of the future, the still-tender memories of things loved and lost left sadly behind.
“Where are we going, Aaron?” Gabriel asked, his head moving excitedly from side to side as he watched the other cars on the road with them.
“I’m not sure,” he answered, changing lanes to pass a minivan in need of a new exhaust system.
“Then how will we know when we get there?” the dog asked, concerned.
Aaron could feel the animal staring at him, waiting for an answer. He reached over and scratched beneath the dog’s neck. “Don’t worry pally,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I have a feeling we’ll know.”
It’s supposed to be like this, he thought with disdain as he took the exit that would lead them onto the highway going north.
Predestined, whether he liked it or not.
The Saint Athanasius Church and Orphanage, vacant since 1959, squatted dark and brooding at the end of a seldom used road in western Massachusetts.
It was supposed to have been turned into elderly housing sometime in the mid-eighties, but the cost of refurbishing and renovating the buildings far exceeded their value.
There was an air of disquiet about the place, as if the old, ramshackle structures had gained sentience, and were bitter about being abandoned. It was this atmosphere that gave the grounds its reputation of being haunted.
So there it sat for the last forty-some years, its structure slowly wasting away at the mercy of the elements, absent of life except for the wild creatures of the fields that had gradually found their way inside the buildings, to live within the walls and nest in the belfry.
Mournfully vacant—until a few days ago.
From a wooden seat upon the altar within the Church of Saint Athanasius, Verchiel gazed up at the rounded, water-stained ceiling and examined the depiction of Heaven painted there.
The angel shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he studied the artwork. Pieces of burned flesh painfully flaked away from his body and fell to the altar floor.
“You haven’t the slightest idea,” he mused aloud as he gazed at the castle of gold floating among the clouds, and the harp-wielding angels that blissfully circled above it.
Kraus, the healer, crept carefully toward him, his worn leather satchel of medical tools wedged beneath his arm. Though blind, he stopped before Verchiel’s chair, sensing his presence—his divinity—as only the imperfect could.
“I am here to minister to your needs, Great Verchiel,” Kraus said, bowing his head in reverence.
Verchiel had been in perpetual agony since the lightning strike, the entire surface of his body charred black. “Proceed,” he said with a wave of his blackened hand, his nerve endings vibrating in blinding pain with even the slightest movement.