The Fallen

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  He fed the dog a slice of apple, which Gabriel eagerly devoured.

  Aaron saw the old man in his mind pointing at him. “You are Nephilim,” he had said.

  “First I’m Nephilim and now I’m bootiful,” he said to himself as he leaned against the counter.

  “More apple?” Gabriel asked, a tendril of thick drool streaming from his jowls to the floor.

  Aaron gave him a slice and took one for himself. Something weird was happening to him. And he realized that he had no other choice than to find out exactly what that was.

  He took another bite of the apple, then gave the rest to Gabriel.

  It was a crazy idea, but he was desperate to know what was happening to him. He would have to take a chance. Before his appointment with Dr. Jonas the next day, he would try to find the old man from the common.

  “Hey, Gabriel,” he asked the dog, who was still chewing, “do you want to go to the common with me tomorrow?”

  The dog swallowed and gazed up at him. “More apple?” he asked.

  Aaron shook his head. “No. Apple’s gone.”

  The dog seemed to think for a moment and then gave his answer.

  “No apple. Then go to common.”

  What was I thinking? Aaron scowled to himself. He pulled back and let the tennis ball fly.

  Gabriel bounded across the common in hot pursuit of the bouncing ball. “Get ball,” he heard the dog say in an excited, breathless voice as he grew closer to capturing the fluorescent yellow prize.

  It was a beautiful spring morning, with just the hint of winter’s cold that had only begrudgingly begun to recede a few short weeks ago.

  The wind still had a sharpness to it and he zipped his brown leather jacket a little higher.

  Gabriel cavorted with the ball clenched tightly in his mouth.

  Since his strange ability to communicate with the dog manifested, Aaron was amazed at how little it took to make Gabriel truly happy: a scratch above his tail, a piece of cheese, calling him a good boy. Simplicity. It must be pretty awesome to get so much from so little, he mused as he watched the dog gallop toward him.

  “Give me that ball,” Aaron demanded, playfully lowering himself into a menacing crouch.

  Gabriel growled; the muscles in his back legs twitched with anticipation.

  Aaron lunged and the dog bolted to avoid capture.

  “C’mere, you crazy dog,” he said with a laugh, and began to chase the animal.

  There was a part of him that really wasn’t too disappointed they hadn’t seen the old-timer. It meant a reprieve from serious thoughts of recent events, the weird questions with probably equally weird answers that he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to hear.

  He snagged Gabriel by the choke chain around his neck and pulled the growling beast toward him. “Gotcha,” he said as he leaned close to the dog’s face. “Now I’m gonna take that ball!”

  Gabriel’s growl grew louder, higher, more excited as he struggled to free himself. Aaron grabbed the spit-covered ball and pried it free from the dog’s mouth.

  “The prize is mine!” Aaron proclaimed as he held the dripping ball aloft.

  “Not prize,” Gabriel said, able to talk again now that the ball had been removed. “Just ball.”

  Aaron wrinkled his nose in revulsion as he studied the slime-covered ball in his hand. “And what a ball it is,” he said.

  He watched the dog’s head move from side to side as he tossed the tennis ball from one hand to the other. “Bet you want this bad,” he teased.

  “Want ball bad,” Gabriel responded, mesmerized by its movement.

  Aaron made a move to throw it, hiding the ball beneath his arm, and the dog shot off in hot pursuit of nothing.

  He laughed as he watched Gabriel searching the ground, even looking up into the air just in case it hadn’t fallen to earth yet.

  “Yoohoo!” he called to the dog. And as Gabriel looked in his direction, he held the ball up. “Looking for this?”

  Surprised, the dog charged back toward him. “How you get ball back?” he asked with amazement.

  Aaron smiled. “Magic,” he said and chuckled.

  “Magic,” Gabriel repeated in a soft, canine whisper of wonderment, his eyes still stuck to the ball.

  The dog suddenly became distracted by something beyond Aaron. “Who that?” he asked.

  “Who’s who?” Aaron turned around.

  At first he didn’t recognize the man sitting on the bench across the common, soaking up the sunshine. But then the man waved, and he suddenly knew. Aaron felt his heart beat faster, questions turning through his mind, questions he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted answered.

  “What wrong?” Gabriel asked, concern in his voice.

  “Nothing,” Aaron said, not taking his eyes from the man on the bench.

  “Then why afraid?”

  Aaron looked down at the dog, startled by the question. “I’m not afraid,” he said, insulted by the dog’s insinuation.

  The dog looked at him and then across the common. “Afraid of stranger?”

  “I told you I am not afraid,” Aaron said anxiously, and began to head toward the man.

  “Smell afraid,” the dog stressed as he followed by his side.

  They were about six feet away when Gabriel moved ahead of him, his head tilted back as he sniffed the air. “Man smell old,” he said. “Old and different,” he added between drafts of air.

  Aaron could see that the man was smiling, his long wispy, white hair moving around his head in the cool, spring breeze.

  “Beautiful day,” the old man said in English, rather than the ancient language he’d been speaking when they first met.

  Gabriel ran at the man, tail wagging.

  “Gabriel, no!” Aaron ordered, speeding up to catch the dog. “Get over here.”

  The dog leaped up, putting his two front paws on the bench, and began to lick the stranger’s face as if they were old friends.

  “Hello, I Gabriel,” he said as he licked and sniffed at the man’s face, neck, and ears. “Who you?”

  “My name is Ezekiel, but you can call me Zeke,” the man answered as he patted the dog’s soft yellow head.

  “Are you telling me or the dog?” Aaron asked as he took Gabriel by the collar and gently pulled him away. “Get down, Gabriel,” he said sharply. “Behave.”

  The dog went silent, bowing his head, embarrassed that he had been scolded.

  “He asked me what my name was and I told him,” Zeke said as he sat back on the bench and smiled at the dog. “He’s a beautiful animal. You’re very lucky to have him.”

  Aaron stroked Gabriel’s head in an attempt to keep the excitable animal calm. He laughed at the old man and smiled slyly. “So the dog spoke to you?”

  Zeke smiled back. “You spoke the language of the messenger to me yesterday,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “Don’t tell me you can’t understand the dog.”

  Aaron felt as if he had been slapped; a hot, tingling sweat erupted at the base of his neck and shoulder blades. “Who…who are you?” he asked—not the best of questions, but the only one he could dredge up at the moment.

  “Zeke,” Gabriel answered helpfully, pulling away from Aaron to lick at the man’s hands. “Zeke, Aaron. He Zeke.”

  Zeke smiled and reached out to rub beneath the dog’s chin. “He’s right, aren’t you?” he asked the panting animal. “I’m Zeke and you are—what did he call you? Aaron?”

  The old man wiped the dog’s slobber on his pant leg and extended his hand toward Aaron. He hesitated at first, but then took Zeke’s hand in his and they shook.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Aaron. Sorry about yesterday. Did I scare you?”

  Their hands came apart and Aaron shrugged. “Wasn’t so much scaring as confusing the hell out of me.”

  Zeke nodded in understanding and continued to pet Gabriel. “I bet it’s been pretty strange for you the last couple a’ days.”

  Questions screamed to be
asked, but Aaron kept them at bay, choosing to let the old man reveal what he knew at a natural pace. He didn’t want to appear too eager.

  “And how do you know that?”

  The old man tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and sniffed the air.

  “How do I know that summer’s right around the corner?” he asked, letting the morning sunshine bathe his grizzled, unshaven features.

  The man didn’t appear as old as Aaron originally had thought, probably in his early sixties, but there was something about him—in his eyes, in the way he carried himself—that made Aaron think he was much older.

  “It’s in the air, boy,” Zeke said. “I can smell it.”

  “Okay,” Aaron said. “You could smell that I was having a bad time. That makes sense.”

  Zeke nodded. “Kinda, sorta. I could smell that you were changing, and just assumed that you were probably having some problems with it.”

  Aaron had put the tennis ball inside his jacket pocket and now slowly removed it. Gabriel’s eyes bugged like something out of a Warner Brothers cartoon. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” he said as he showed the ball to Gabriel and threw it across the common. “Go play.”

  Gabriel ran off in pursuit. They watched the dog in silence. Aaron wanted to leave—but something kept him there. Perhaps it was the chance of an explanation.

  “What happened first?” Zeke asked, breaking the silence. “Was it the language thing? Did the dog start talking and you thought you’d lost all your marbles?”

  Aaron didn’t want to answer but found it was impossible to hold back. “Kids at school were speaking Portuguese. I don’t know how to speak Portuguese, but suddenly I could understand them perfectly fine, like they were speaking English.”

  Zeke nodded with understanding. “Doesn’t matter anymore what language somebody is talking,” he said. “You’ll be able to understand and speak it as if it were your native tongue. It’s one of the perks.”

  Gabriel was running in a circle. “I got the ball!” he yelled, diving at the tennis ball lying in the grass and sending it rolling. He pounced on it with tireless vigor.

  “The language doesn’t even have to be human, as you’ve probably guessed by now.” The old man looked at him. “Wait until you hear what a tree sloth has to say.”

  “It’s insane,” Aaron muttered.

  “Not really,” Zeke responded. “They just have a unique way of looking at things.”

  Aaron was confused. “What? Who has a unique way of looking at things?” he asked.

  “Tree sloths,” Zeke answered.

  “I wasn’t talking about sloths,” Aaron said, growing agitated.

  “Oh, you were talking about all this with the languages and stuff?” Zeke asked. “Well, you’d better get used to it ’cause it’s what you are,” the old man said matter of factly.

  Aaron turned from watching his dog play and faced the man. “Get used to being insane? I don’t think—”

  Zeke shook his head and held up his hands. “Not insane,” he said. “Nephilim. It’s what you are; you don’t have a choice.”

  There was that word again. The word that had disobediently bounced around inside Aaron’s skull since he first heard it, impossible to forget—like it didn’t want to be lost.

  “Why do you keep calling me that?” he asked, tension coiling in his voice as he readied himself for the answer.

  The old man ran both hands through his wild, white hair. Then he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “The Nephilim are the children of angels and—”

  “Angels and human women,” Aaron interrupted. He didn’t want to waste any time hearing things he already knew. “I know that; I looked it up in the library. Now tell me what the hell it has to do with me.”

  “It’s kind of complicated,” Zeke said. “If you give me half a second and let me speak, I might be able to clear some things up.”

  He stared at Aaron, a stare both intense and calming, a stare that suggested this was not a typical, crazy old man, but someone who was once a figure of authority.

  Gabriel had wandered over to a newly planted tree and was sniffing the spring mulch spread at its base.

  “I’m sorry,” Aaron said. “Go on.”

  Zeke stroked his unshaven chin, mentally found his place, and began again. “Okay, the Nephilim are the children of angels and mortal women. Not too common really, the mothers have a real difficult time bringing the babies to term—never mind surviving the delivery. But every once in a while, a Nephilim child survives.”

  Gabriel had returned and dropped the ball, now covered in the fragrant mulch, at Zeke’s feet. “Look, Zeke, ball.”

  Zeke reached down and picked it up, turning it over in his hands as Gabriel stared attentively.

  “They’re something all right, part heavenly host, part human, a blending of the Almighty’s most impressive creations.”

  The old man bounced the ball once, and then again. The dog’s head bobbed up and down as he watched it.

  “Nephilim usually have a normal childhood, but once they reach a certain level of maturity, the angelic nature starts to assert itself. That’s when the problems begin, almost as if the two halves no longer get along.” Zeke threw the ball and Gabriel was off. “Seems to happen around eighteen or nineteen.”

  Aaron felt the color drain from his face, and he turned to the old man on the bench. “You’re trying to tell me that…that my mother…my mother slept with an angel? For Christ’s sake!”

  Gabriel returned with the ball and stopped at Aaron, sensing his master’s growing unease. The dog sniffed at his leg, determined that things were fine and went to Zeke.

  “Did you know your father?” Zeke asked, idly picking up the ball.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Aaron barked, and turned his back on the old man and his dog.

  He could see his car parked across the street and wanted to run for it. He could feel himself begin to slip—teetering on the brink of an emotional roller coaster. Zeke’s question had hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. His mother had died giving birth to him, and the identity of his father went with her.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Aaron,” Zeke said from behind him. “It does matter.”

  Aaron faced him. He suddenly felt weak, drained of energy.

  “There is a choir of angels called the Powers. They are the oldest of the angels, the first created by God.”

  Gabriel had caught sight of some seagulls. “Big birds,” he grumbled, and began to creep stealthily toward them like some fearsome predator.

  Zeke stood up and moved toward Aaron. “I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he said, holding him in that powerful stare. “The Powers are kinda like—” He stopped to think a moment. “The Powers are like secret police, like God’s storm troopers. It’s their job to destroy what they believe is offensive to the Creator.”

  Aaron was confused. “I don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head.

  “The Powers decided long ago that Nephilim are offensive. A blight before the eyes of God.”

  “The Powers kill them?” Aaron asked, already knowing the answer.

  Zeke nodded slowly, his expression dire. “In the beginning it was a slaughter; most of the ones killed were still just children. They didn’t even know why they had to die.” The old man reached out and grabbed Aaron’s arm in a powerful grip. “I want you to listen very carefully because your life might depend on it.”

  Zeke’s grip was firm and it had begun to hurt. Aaron tried to pull away, but the man’s strength held him tight.

  “It’s still going on today, Aaron. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? Nephilim are still being born, and when they begin to show signs of their true nature, the Powers find them.”

  Aaron finally yanked his arm free. “Let go of me,” he snarled.

  “The Powers find them and kill them. They have no mercy. In their eyes, you’re a freak of nature, something that should never have b
een allowed to happen.”

  Aaron was suddenly very afraid. “I have to go,” he told the man, scanning the common for his dog. He whistled and saw Gabriel in the distance lifting his leg against a trash barrel. The dog began to trot in their direction.

  “You have to listen to me, Aaron,” Zeke warned. “Your abilities are blossoming. If you’re not careful—”

  Aaron whirled and stepped toward the old man, fists clenched in suppressed fury. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He was scared—scared and very angry for he was starting to believe Zeke’s wild story. He wanted answers, but not these—these were a ticket to a locked ward.

  “What?” he screamed. “If I’m not careful these storm trooper angels are going to fly down out of the sky and kill me?” Aaron suddenly thought of his dream, the recurring nightmare, and wanted to vomit. It made him all the angrier.

  “I know it sounds insane,” Zeke said, “but you’ve got to understand. This has been going on for thousands of years and—”

  “Shut up!” Aaron exploded in the old man’s face. “Just shut your stupid mouth!” He began to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “And how do you know all this, Zeke?” he asked, sticking his finger in the man’s face. “How do you know about Nephilim and Powers and the killing?”

  The old man looked perfectly calm as he spoke. “I think you already know the answer to that, and if you don’t—think a bit harder.”

  Aaron laughed out loud, a cruel sound and it surprised him. “Let me guess. You’re a Nephilim too?”

  Zeke smiled sadly and shook his head. “Not a Nephilim,” he said, and began to unbutton his threadbare raincoat. He was wearing a loose-fitting green sweater beneath and some faded jeans. “I’m a fallen angel, a Grigori, if you want to be specific,” he said as he moved closer.

  He yanked on the collar of his sweater, pulling it down over his right shoulder to expose unusually pale flesh—and something more. A strange, fleshy protrusion, about six inches long, jutted from the old man’s shoulder blade. It was covered in what appeared to be a fine coat of white hairs—no, on closer examination it wasn’t hair at all—it was covered in downy, white feathers. Aaron jumped back as the protrusion began to move up and down in a flapping motion. Something similar on the other shoulder moved in unison beneath the sweater.