To Light Us, To Guard Us (The Angel War Book 1)

by Sean M O'Connell

Aaron even found some extra free time to spend with his wife.

  On top of that, Danny, his son, was on his way up Interstate 15 from Las Vegas for a week-long visit. The six-hour drive would undoubtedly be made much more lengthy by the driving habits of his ex-father in law.

  In the middle of an increasingly hectic world, and only a few years removed from some of the most hellish experiences mankind could create for himself, Aaron Dayne’s life was finally getting in order.

  His mood reflected in his riding. He downshifted, cruising at a more leisurely pace up into the foothills surrounding the city. Controlling the bike with one hand, Aaron picked a bit of lunch from his teeth and thundered toward Foothill Drive. To his left the University of Utah campus poked itself up out of the trees, its mix-and-match architecture containing some of the finest medical and research facilities in the world.

  The football stadium still sported a large fountain and girdered-glass Olympic torch at the south end, a nostalgic nod to the not-so-distant past when the international community was still civil enough to engage in friendly sport. Following the southward curve of the road through two more lights, he stopped at a third and waited in the turn lane.

  The pause gave him time.

  Time to notice the breeze and the clouds over the mountains.

  Subconsciously, Aaron looked toward the southern horizon. Something was coming. He was sure of it.

  For the moment at least, he didn’t bother to ponder on what exactly it might be.

  The traffic signal turned green and Aaron leaned into a rapid turn. He was moving directly east now, uphill, only a mile or so from the base of the mountains. Slowly, he eased off the accelerator, kicking down all the way to first gear with the sole of his boot. He turned in to the parking lot of the one place he most wanted to be.

  Thankfully, crowds were thin because of the sporadic rain. He made quick work of finding a parking spot and pulled his shirt back on, so as not to draw undue attention from the few milling housewives and their gaggles of little ones.

  Aaron was about to pull the phone from his pocket when a crushing force enveloped him, squeezing the air from his lungs and lifting him off his feet.

  Momentary alarm gave way to laughter as he thrashed around futilely. Translucently pale hair feathered the two arms squeezing the life out of him. To a person less familiar, these arms would appear to be frightfully muscled, even dangerous. The interlocking fists at their terminus looked like broad, pale river stones.

  These arms and hands, Aaron knew well.

  There was only one way to escape this situation.

  “Put me down fat boy.” He managed to groan with his last bit of oxygen.

  Tarmac scuffed under his boots.

  He whirled to give a good natured shove to the polar bear of a man that just released him, frowning with mock intensity.

  “I‘ll kick your ass next time you do that!” he threatened.

  Only laughter came in response.

  Aaron threw a semi-stern stare, then spread his arms wide for a hug. “Good to see you.”

  “Good to see you A.D. Where’s Bluejean?” his old friend asked.

  “He should be waiting for us at the ticket office, with Collie.”

  “Nice. I hope he’s hungry.”

  “He’s always hungry… like you.”

  Scott Kevin Fitzpatrick, six-feet-six-inches of muscled ex-pro-football player turned teddy-bear fire-fighter just swung a heavy hand at his friend’s head and laughed. No amount of teasing or mock anger could ever wipe the good natured smile off of his face. Dayne ducked the lazy attempt and countered with a backhand to the ample midsection of the bigger man.

  The two continued their jovial battle as they made their way out of the parking lot and toward the ticket office, modeled after an African wattle and daub hut.

  They laughed and took jabs at one another’s masculinity all the way to the main gate. Aaron was thankful that he was at least wittier than his mammoth friend, because a physical battle was one that he might never win. This same interaction had been played out a thousand times before, in a thousand different places. Their movements looked as though they’d been lazily practiced, smoothed to a pace and volume characteristic of familial comfort. The victor was never, ever declared. A perpetual, happy draw.

  Aaron ricocheted off of his friend one final time as they mounted the curb fronting the main entrance. They both paused to appreciate the remodeled sign glinting with a bit of remaining moisture from the earlier showers. It had been years since either man came to this spot, but their mutual high spirits made it clear that each was glad of the suggestion to return.

  Scott read the sign aloud, “Welcome to Hogle Zoo”

  “Glad you can still read.”

  Another laugh. “Shut up Dayne.”

  Immediately, from off to their right, Scott received a reprimand for his language.

  “Don’t say dat ‘Cott!”

  This unleashed an intense peal of almost-giggles, out of place coming from grown men. Especially from such large grown men.

  The source of the voice came toward them, wagging a short, chubby finger in front of the sweetest crooked smile ever to grace the earth.

  “Auntie Coll’ says don’t say chut up!.”

  With no other options, Scott could only raise his paws and surrender to the tyrant, a full fourteen inches shorter than him.

  “Sorry, Bluejean,”

  “S’okay Cott.”

  This time, the reward for apology turned out to be a disproportionately large hug from his half-sized friend.

  “Hi, Dame.”

  “Hey ‘Jeans”

  Aaron pulled a face as the little man fixed his round head just under his own diaphragm to constrict with all of his might. The grimace as always accompanied by a theatrical whoosh of air and mock objection to the embrace. Aaron smiled down for a moment, fighting the slight embarrassment that always accompanied such pure and unabashed affections from his old pal.

  “I swear, you boys will never grow up!” This voice came slightly exasperated, and more than a little grumpy. Any other tone would be almost alarming.

  “Come on Collie! You know how long it’s been.” Aaron objected.

  “Not long enough for you two to start acting like grown-ups obviously!” The girthy woman loved to work herself up like this, “We watched you pushing and patty-caking all the way across the parking lot like a couple of toddlers. Didn’t we Eugene?”

  His round head bobbed up and down in response, cheeks jiggling as he too worked up into a laughing fit. Collie was far from finished.

  “What is your excuse Aaron James Dayne? Riding around the streets with no shirt on your back or helmet on your empty head?! You have a child now. You can’t afford to look so cool anymore. And would you please get a different haircut?”

  Now Scott was laughing, mouth wide open. He enjoyed the normally unflappable Dayne’s expression as Collie unleashed a verbal tirade. The wisdom of this expression of satisfaction was unwise. His hearty chuckles only drew the squat woman’s attention away from Aaron and onto himself.

  “Just what do you think is so funny? You don’t look so good yourself!” With Scott she bit off her grumpiness, it seemed that nobody ever wanted to attack the big man, he was so personable. She contented herself with a serious glare as reprimand enough.

  Collie was Eugene “Bluejean” Moss’s biological aunt, and legal guardian.

  For all of her blowhard bluster, she was perhaps the most caring and gentle woman either man had ever known. All bark and not even the slightest bite. As she turned her rheumy gaze toward Bluejean, her frown softened.

  “You think you can keep these two monsters in line Eugene?”

  He could only nod as he tried to stop his spastic giggles.

  For some reason, Collie had never taken to the nickname that virtually everyone else used when addressing her nephew. Most people didn’t even know his real first name. Or his last name for that matter. Since the men were young b
oys, he had always just been Bluejean.

  He had given the name to himself in a way, even going so far as to scribble the modified moniker at the top of all of his papers in school. In his adolescent and later years, he had taken to signing it at the bottoms of his beloved drawings and paintings, scrawling a stylized version that Scott had helped him perfect in the bottom right hand corner. In red. Always in red.

  Aaron, having since recovered from his tongue lashing, strode over to Collie and squeezed her sagging shoulders. She did nothing to reciprocate the gesture, as was her custom. Still, Aaron knew she appreciated the affection. Scott followed suit, slipping an envelope full of cash into the unremarkable leather purse resting against her lumpy hip. It was his own custom.

  Collie waddled over to where Eugene had distracted himself with the water fountain and embraced him. The two, squeezed together, were wider than they were tall. As much as she tried not to dote, she couldn’t help but let the hug linger and swipe a saliva-moistened thumb across his cheek to remove some imagined smudge. Her ritual completed, she offered a few more motherly threats to the trio and turned to leave.

  “I’ll be to your house to pick him up in the morning Aaron. He’d better be ready when I get there.”

  “Okay, Aunty.” The way the two men intoned her informal title made it apparent that they held her in very high regard. Deep down, they all knew that their love for Bluejean -the young man who was the crux of their relationship- was a truly powerful and profound force. It was a subject never broached, and never to be broached, just an unspoken understanding within an unofficial family.

  Aaron and Scott watched as she ambled out to her van and drove away. This rare free time, when she didn’t have to worry about her nephew, would most likely be spent, not far away, at Sunnyside Park, or maybe up Emigration Canyon at the retro style diner she had always loved. Ruth’s was the name of it. She would almost certainly sit and read a book, enjoy the quiet, entertain thoughts and concerns that were completely her own. A little selfish indulgence was more than well-earned for the saintly woman.

  The moment she left view, Scott, Aaron, and Bluejean turned their attention to one another, and the task at hand. It wouldn’t be a proper day at the zoo without riling up a few apes and maybe pestering a keeper into allowing them to feed the elephants or giraffes. Neither Aaron nor Scott had any qualms about cashing in on the handicapped status of Bluejean. They only made the day more enjoyable for him in doing so. It had worked in the past, and it would no doubt work today.

  Eugene “Bluejean” Moss had grown up down the street from Aaron, and less than a mile from Scott Fitzpatrick. He was actually a year older than both boys, but had been left back in school because his Down Syndrome would retard his physical development as well as his mental capacities. Concerned counselors and doctors had warned his parents that the boy would experience plenty of challenges, and his small stature would only make him a more enticing target for bullies. The unfortunate circumstance of having a handicapped child had overwhelmed them enough that they listened to the experts and held him back in school, trying to even the odds stacked against their son.

  A pre-natal injection would have saved his parents their initial grief, Down Syndrome had been virtually phased out in the first quarter of the 21st century. Stem cell research and an unbelievably large post-mortem donation from the Bill and Linda Gates Foundation had made it possible for geneticists to isolate and eliminate the chromosomal mutations and stunted development that was responsible for not only Down’s, but Chron’s Disease, certain palsies, and many other birth defects.

  For better or worse though, the Moss family was an extremely conservative Catholic bunch. They adhered very strictly to the mandates set forth by the Vatican that demanded devout members avoid stem cell manipulation. The Church, headed by a hyper-orthodox Pope, decried the research as godless, fearful that delving so deep into the makeup of God’s creation was an abomination to Him. Doctors had done their best to encourage the Mosses, using bland layman’s explanations.

  Sterile and meaningless words in their sterile offices.

  When these offers were refused, one young doctor had attempted to explain everything to them in explicit detail, hoping that an appeal to intelligence might be more successful. Rambling on for the better part of an hour about genetic sequence, determinism, chromosomal disjunction, and other unfamiliar terms ultimately changed nothing. Such diligence was not unappreciated, the young couple knew he was only concerned, but his effort was to be in vain.

  True to character, the Moss family declined to have the injection, happily assuming the risk as part of God’s grander plan. Such unwavering devotion was admired by some neighbors, and dismissed as zealotry by others. They simply assumed it was the correct thing to do and went about preparing for the arrival of another baby.

  The news had still come as a shock. Early in Trudy Moss’s third trimester, the results of a routine test showed the doctors that something was wrong. Double and triple checks only confirmed.

  Paul and Trudy sat staring at a blue and white printout, a mess of nonsense graphs and percentages, as a doctor with concerned eyes and a lazy tongue explained that there, in the highlighted section near the bottom, was the information that had caused alarm.

  Non-disjunction of the 21st chromosome. Down Syndrome.

  The Mosses had cried, had denied, and had blamed themselves. Ultimately, their only options were to deal with it or abort the pregnancy in another state.

  The second option was not an option at all.

  Together, the family would deal just fine.

  That would prove easier said than done.

  Eugene was a very sickly baby. Despite their best parental efforts, he developed much more slowly, physically and mentally, than the Mosses first child, Steven. Potty training was a long and arduous process. Communication with the fussy child made all the more difficult because of his challenges. By the time Eugene was four years old, his mother had birthed two more children. The burden was incredible. Still, the Mosses did what they could, remaining faithful and happy despite the strain. Difficult times were not without reward, the struggle that had once threatened to break the family had instead forged them into a steadfast and loving unit. Paul received a long-needed promotion and the family was afforded some breathing room. Little Eugene battled his way through kindergarten with a joyful innocence, and the family was blessed with another child. They were happy.

  Aaron and Scott had met Eugene the very first day of first grade, at Willow Canyon Elementary School. Six-year-old Aaron had been a little uneasy when the short, fat, boy with squinty eyes was assigned the seat next to his own. He couldn’t help but gawk at the oversized tongue sticking out between pouted lips.

  Little Dayne thought that little Eugene was sort of scary, and ugly. Inching further away in his seat, he only stared. Trudy Moss stood in the doorway and watched as the other children took notice of Eugene, each in turn staring, some laughing, some averting their eyes, some just walking on, innocently confused.

  Eugene himself looked a bit jittery. The new environment had to be overwhelming for her boy. All children needed time to adjust and get comfortable. With Eugene, the natural process took even longer. Her rotund little man sat in his chair, opening and closing his crayon box, looking around, but never turning back to his mother. As she stood, misty eyed with worry, a sturdy little fellow squeezed past her and bounded into the room, panting and lugging a backpack nearly as large as he was.

  “Scuse me.” He offered over his shoulder as an afterthought.

  The boy was certainly large for his age. His bare forearms were thick, and his hands had to be as large as her own. He stood a full head taller than most of the children in the room, probably two full heads above Eugene. She observed him curiously, as he searched for the desk tagged with a crayon-shaped nametag belonging to him. His skin, save for flushed chubby cheeks, was pale pink, with downy white hair. Such skin and hair seemed ill-fit for a frame built as sturdily as
his.

  The low desks in the room were arranged to form tables. Tucked together in groups of six or eight, the children would face one another when seated. The large boy trundled over to the group of desks where Eugene was seated, finding his nametag on the desk directly across from her son.

  This boy stopped and unburdened himself with a loud thunk! Eugene looked up across the space between them. His tongue drew back as he swallowed, still staring. The larger boy calmly appraised her son for a second, and then, to her surprise, he grinned.

  “Hey.”

  Eugene just stared.

  “What’s your name?”

  Still nothing except a blank face.

  “I’m Scott.” The boy said as he plunked himself heavily into the hard plastic chair.

  Eugene finally caught up to the situation and returned the smile, letting a sparkle of drool slip from the corner of his mouth, to be wiped away on the back of his sleeve.

  “I’n U‘Gene.” He managed to blurt.

  Scott’s face lit up even further as he responded in that serious, soft voice.

  “Nice to meet you Eugene. He’s Aaron. Aaron Dayne.” Stretching out his arm, he pointed directly at the other boy’s face.

  “Hi Dame.” The initial shock of the much bigger boy speaking to him had apparently passed, because Trudy could see her son grinning widely, head swiveling back and forth between the other two.

  “umm. Hi…”

  “okay.”

  “Okay?”

  Eugene just smiled. All confused happiness and nervous giggles.

  “Scott, what does he mean?”

  The fat on the back of the larger boy’s neck wrinkled into little donuts as he shrugged casually.

  “Don’t know, doesn’t matter, prob’ly. Hey can I use some of your crayons? I forgot mine.”

  “okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  “okay.”

  Trudy shook her head in the doorway and chuckled to herself at how an introduction between children could go so smoothly while grown adults had a hard time speaking to people they didn’t know.