Investigation
The klaxon ring raged from the cell phone. Arthur Graves woke groggily, the klaxon tone dragging him along into awareness. Palming the device he saw the text marked “Alpha - Urgent.” “Crud,” Arthur said. He put on his robe and stumbled into the kitchen. The coffee set and brewing, Arthur dashed around the corner and found his small notebook next to his keys, sunglasses, cell bluetooth ear piece, pocket change, a few bills of assorted currency. Grabbing the ear piece and notebook, Arthur circled back around to the kitchen and thumbed through the small pages. Moments later he had the ear piece in, the notepad to the correct page, and the phone dialing. He listened with his eyes closed trying to remember this high security process. There was a single tone.
“Graves, alpha alpha sierra two two one four,” Arthur said.
“Authorized,” came the automated reply.
Arthur knew his entrance would be announced to the other members of the call, by a previous recording he himself had made.
“Arthur Graves,” Arthur heard his voice say in his ear.
“This is Secretary of Homeland Security Mark Stanos, and with me is Director Frank Lovas, White House Office of Science. Director Lovas, joining us is my western PA regional head, Director Arthur Graves.”
Quick pleasantries were unacceptable in these types of situations. Arthur was sure he was about to be a part of a “situation” momentarily. It was, according to his den's clock, 4:18 a.m.
“Arthur, you will give Director Lovas your full attention. There is a situation in Pittsburgh to be addressed,” the secretary advised.
“There was that situation word,” Arthur thought. The hairs on his arms stood even taller.
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary,” came an unfamiliar voice. “Director Graves, I took the liberty to contact the Secretary directly, circumventing a small amount of protocol —“
“You did the right thing,” his boss cut off the Director.
Arthur gave some thought to which of these two was the higher ranked. He quickly reeled in his ADHD.
The unfamiliar voice, Director Lovas, continued, “Minutes ago, Director Graves, two PA Air National Guard F-16's were brought down over western PA, specifically, in downtown Pittsburgh, by an unknown object.”
The Director paused for effect.
“The official story tomorrow will be an unfortunate training accident; however, the real story is much more exceptional.”
Another pause.
“This object, detected fifty-two hours ago, came from space, origin unknown.” The Director was speaking clearly for effect, Arthur noticed.
“At this point, that is all I can say, Mr. Secretary.” The Director gave the conversation back over to his boss.
“Arthur, this is not a drill. This is not an exercise dreamed up by NASA or part of a annual review. This is real and a mess.” Now, his boss was scaring him. “Arthur, we need you to go downtown and supervise the recovery of those bodies and the debris before the public is up and filling their home pages with pics of dead airmen and air craft parts. Then, I want every asset you have, and I'll send you my best as well, if you need them, completely under your supervision. That thing that brought down those pilots flew over Pittsburgh and dissolved just northwest of downtown.”
“Do you have data you can send me?” Arthur asked. He needed details.
"Yes, Director Lovas will send you specifics from NASA.”
“What am I looking for?” Arthur asked awkwardly. “What exactly is this thing?”
“We don't know at this time,” Director Lovas answered. “I’ll have people from JPL upload all the data they have.”
“I need your best people on this,” the Secretary cut in.
“Sir, you'll have my best.” Now it was time to ensure the higher ups, Arthur thought as he squared his shoulders. “While I'm supervising the cleanup, I'll have agents going over demographic metrics of the area this thing, uh, dissolved, and black and whites driving the area looking for anything suspicious or out-of-the-ordinary.” He knew he sounded self-confident. “Mr. Secretary, do I have clearance to pull meta data of the residence in a square kilometer of point of where we lost the object?” Arthur asked, while he still had the floor.
The Secretary didn't hesitate. “Yes, of course.”
“There may be information there of unusual behavior or observations,” Arthur added to cement the request.
“Oh shit,” Arthur heard his boss say.
“Mr. Secretary?” asked Director Lovas.
“Arthur, you don't have to look far.” Arthur could hear his boss murmuring to himself, as though he was reading a report.
“The damn thing is standing in a park north of downtown,” the Secretary said excitedly. “It’s on Twitter.”
“Sirs,” Arthur said, taking ownership. “I look forward to your emails. I'll be in the field.” Arthur waited for a moment and heard the tones as others hung up, and he ended the call. As he bolted to the shower his phone sounded the tone for encrypted email. It was a quick message from the Secretary. “Frank Curto Park, along Bigalow Blvd” was all it read.
Salvation
The perfunctory Gabriel stood sentinel to its own failure. Never before had an Archangel failed to deliver God's message, much less to possess a host. Inside the brilliance of angelic energy, the encapsulated Gabriel was glad this version of himself was away from the vessel, Griffin. The internal Gabriel could not bear to witness the onslaught of force directed at a human being. Gabriel was in awe of the vessel, Griffin. Never before had a human been able to repel a messenger of God. Usually a vessel was overwhelmed by what was taking place and the information shared. They were helpless to resist. But Gabriel knew he wasn't innocent of harm to humankind. And these thoughts brought out a dark taint in Gabriel. He didn't like the aftermath of any vessel used by an Archangel. Throughout history not a single human had been able to survive the exposed knowledge of an Archangel once the possession ended. The guilt of witnessing a host go mad and die was too much. These beings were someone you had shared mental space with, sometimes for years. After returning and having reviewed their horrors, Archangels would often lock themselves away for long periods. Some Archangels had decided to leave their hosts and not look back.
Gabriel focused his attention on his corporeal shell. After the failure to secure the vessel Griffin, Gabriel's energy form had shot outside of the dwelling, passing through solid matter, and crossing river to stop in a small park overlooking more dwellings. Gabriel looked around his surroundings. The city around him was beautiful. Lights stretched on for miles into the darkness. Except for the distant mechanical wails of sound, all was peaceful. Humankind had advanced so much since his last visit. Seeing that humankind was still here and thriving gave Gabriel a sense of distant pride.
“Now how do I improve this current situation?” Gabriel asked himself.
Gabriel checked the status of his outer corporeal self. The shell was motionless. Action-less. There was no command or commands after such a failure.
“Swell,” Gabriel thought, and “I could be standing here for eons.” Gabriel wondered how long an Archangel could retain its energy. He imagined, to his amusement, what the humans would do with him before he winked out? Would they build a shrine? Try to tap his energy? Provoke the corporeal form into destroying everything nearby? How would this affect God's past message, or shape religion in the years to come?
The last question made Gabriel realize he had to act. He extended his thoughts outward. His mind reached across the city. Gabriel began to touch minds and take in thoughts of those awake at such an hour. He could sense images from dreams from many forms of life. He muted all of it out with regret and allowed his mind to venture further. This city was vast, but Gabriel worked his mind beyond it. His mind witnessed farms and small expanses of forest. He allowed his mind to pause and soak in the natural elements. It was like planting mental bare feet in cool clean grass. Gabriel enjoyed the sensation. Now that his mind was far beyond the city, Ga
briel relaxed and prepared his thoughts. What he was about to do was unprecedented and vital.
Gabriel called out, “Allahu Akbar,” as all sentient beings were taught to offer proper communication to God's fabric. “Allahu Akbar,” Gabriel recited for a second time. He cast his vision up towards the stars and for a third time said, “Allahu Akbar.” He could feel the corporeal form around him shiver for a moment. “Father,” Gabriel began with a mental whisper, “Hear me. I am your grace, your instrument, your Herald.” Gabriel waited, for what he didn't know.
“Father, I have come to this place a duality, one trapped within the other. Your will is everything, infinite, and beyond my ability to reason. Grant me your favor that I may move beyond this moment and into the next carrying your message.”
Gabriel paused and cast his gaze to the ground.
“Amen.”
Gabriel did not look up. He waited.
Minutes passed. Gabriel listened to the voices of humans and the engines of machines mix with the wind and leaves of nearby trees, but he did not look up. An Archangel's faith is knowledge.
More minutes passed and Gabriel felt the presence of humans, three humans, approaching. He did not look up, nor did he expand his awareness toward the three. Gabriel waited.
From the small space inside the corporal form, Gabriel began to feel his essence grow. Not only was he expanding in size, absorbing the energy from his corporeal self, he was also absorbing the data held within the energy. More and more of its energy and data was moving by the moment. Gabriel flexed his being as the last of what had been his cage was now in his control. He was free of the containment. Gabriel was free to take in all of his surroundings now. He was appearing in this roadside park in the guise his previous form traveled: thirty feet tall, transilluminate, and a form that could quickly change into a more propulsive state. At this height Gabriel's head was within the branches of a nearby tree. Checking to ensure his current form was not going to catch the tree on fire or melt the grass under his feet, Gabriel crouched under branches when he heard his name from a low familiar voice. A bright light winked above one of the limbs near his head. Within the light source was a white dove of immaculate offering. Gabriel heard his name in his head again, and it was his whole name, his angelic descriptor name, and from the melodic tones he heard behind the voice, Gabriel knew he was in the presence of the source. He fell to one knee and placed his palms upon the ground.
In the background Gabriel heard the few witnesses expressed concern. His movement was causing more cars to stop on Bigalow Boulevard.
“We are at a unique crossroads,” the voice said. “The information you now are aware of is paramount to the survival of this race. With it they will come together for their evolution or their self-destruction. Delivery is exigent.”
Gabriel remained silent. There was no reason to acknowledge source when it was right there in front of you.
“You are my grace, my instrument, my creation, and my personal Herald. However, you must be more. Gabriel, I have given you free will upon Earth. You know this.” The dove looked around taking in its audience.
“You asked for my wisdom. But will you carry out my wrath? Are you prepared to do what I ask?”
Gabriel searched through the commands given to the automaton, and stopped. He reread the grim actions and paused. Gabriel could not cry out. The ability to deny his creator was beyond his will. Even his free will. Gabriel accepted these commands. He could feel his and God’s acknowledgement of his responsibility.
“Go back to your vessel. Talk with him and speak the truth. He will understand,” God spoke as if to his own child. “Let nothing stop you.”
Gabriel winced at that last command. His head still bowed, he saw his shadow fade into the artificial light on the grass around him. His father was gone. Gabriel looked to his left and was instantly back in Griffin's home.
The onlookers gasped and cried out at the display of his massive form shooting like a laser out of the park and across the river gorge. Everyone but one. Homeland Security agent Joe Diclaro stopped the video recording on his PDU, then dialed his boss, Director Arthur Graves.
Arrival
Itishree collected her bags from the carousel, happy each had arrived intact. She had heard luggage horror stories from relatives and friends and worried during this last leg that her bags would arrive shredded or worse. But now she was pleased. After a few frantic moments of stacking and balancing, Itishree found an acceptable method to corral her luggage to the nearest exit. She dug into her should bag and found the cell phone her cousin had sent her, and turned it on. It came to life and found service right away. Itishree placed the phone in her sweater pocket and wrangled her luggage to a corner just inside the exit. Plopping down on the largest bag, Itishree called her cousin, not at all embarrassed at the hour.
“Hello?” her cousin answered tentatively after a few rings.
“Aruni, this is Itishree. and I'm at the airport!” Itishree replied.
Over the phone came a loud squeal of joy. “Cousin, I forgot to write down this number before I sent the phone! I didn’t know who was calling.” They both laughed.
“You have your bags and everything? Ready to go?” Aruni asked.
“Yes, please come and get me. I want to sleep in a proper bed,” Itishree replied. She was tired. They both laughed again. Itishree looked around wearily though. Few people were around the airport at this hour.
“I’ll be right there, cousin. Fifteen minutes. Keep your skirt on,” Aruni said and hung up.
Itishree took the phone from her ear, and stared at it in disbelief. She was a little out of color with her cousin's remark. Itishree wondered how long it would be before she got used to hearing such talk.
As she sat she watched a few ragged travelers make their way out into the early morning. She was glum to be stuck in the terminal. But then Itishree recalled why she was here. Her new life would start later that morning! She smiled broadly and leaned back onto her battered luggage. Her mood crossed over into bewilderment and concern when she recalled the spell she took in the airport concourse. She made a note to ask her cousin about American food allergies.
Fourth Confrontation
Griffin woke at the foot of his bed. His first sensation was the crack of dried blood within his nose. Next, he noted the puddle of saliva that had developed under his face during the night. As Griffin raised his head, the dried blood pinched off a few nasal hairs. Muscle stiffness, and soreness permeated his every nerve.
“Ow-wah,” Griffin moaned. He pushed himself up on his hands and left hip. Opening his eyes, Griffin found them caked with sleep. He recalled the previous night. To the protest of what seemed like every fiber of his being, Griffin looked around for any sign of the intruder or confirmation of his insanity. He crawled on his hands and knees to look around his bed and down the hallway. He stayed in this position for a while — it still hurt to move. Griffin didn’t hear or see anything out of the usual. He slowly eased himself back down on his side. He was safe for now. Next Griffin did a sanity check. No, no, he knew he wasn't insane. There was a certainty to the events of the last few days, a realism Griffin couldn't define. And, based on the pattern of events, there was purpose. Undeniable purpose. Griffin could feel it more than explain its visceral properties.
Seeing no one in his bedroom, Griffin used his bed's footboard to pull himself to his feet and stretch out his back. He groaned again from his sore ribs. He was hungry and needed coffee. And, maybe an exorcist. Are their real ghost busters? “One thing at a time,” Griffin said, as he walked into his bathroom. He washed the sleep from his eyes, and then scrubbed the blood from his face and nose. This took longer than Griffin could have imagined, and with a small amount of horror he also removed a few rug fibers matted to his left cheek. Thinking of how his favorite rug may be ruined, Griffin looked back into his bedroom and saw a palm-sized blood stain he would have to see to. For now, coffee on his mind, Griffin made a beeline for the kitchen. Maybe a bo
wl of cereal too, he thought.
Griffin set the coffee pot and leaned against the counter top. He thought about last night. ‘Supernatural’ was the word that played in his mind, over and over. There was also no way in hell he could seek counsel with anyone having a brain. Griffin refused to fret about last night. He decided instead, to give himself an exercise: He would write down all of the strange things that happened in the last week and try to get to the bottom of whatever this is. He turned to look for a pen.
“I can answer your questions,” Griffin heard a familiar voice say from inside his home. Griffin turned a full three-sixty in his kitchen. There was no one there.
“I’m seated in your living room,” the voice said. Griffin realized why the voice was strange. It wasn't the voice itself, but that it gave no audible direction. It came from everywhere at the same time. He began a slow cautious walk to his living room.
“It’s because I'm thinking, not speaking, and I can explain that too.”
Griffin froze. Fear took him. The thing from last night was back, but now it was taunting him from his living room. He turned and looked to the back door. Could he make it to the door, unlock it, and pass through it before it would take him?
“There is no desire, no reason to hurt you,” the voice said. Griffin realized its replies were from his thoughts.
“Yes, you understand.”
Griffin made an effort not to think in action terms again. It wasn't easy. Most of him wanted to get the fuck out of Dodge. The other part was curious beyond measure. Stop thinking, Griffin thought.
He rounded the corner and saw, in his favorite chair, a leg. A translucent leg. Then a translucent arm and shoulder.
Seated before Griffin was a man, or what appeared to be a man. Not overwhelmingly large like the thing that attacked him last night. Man-size. Around six feet, Griffin guessed. His features were almost plain. The man in the chair had no marks or blemishes of any kind upon his face. His nose was medium and straight. His hair brown and just shorter than Griffin's. Well kept. He was handsome, Griffin thought. But you couldn't point out any single feature that made him so. And the stranger's face matched the rest of his build — rugged, to the point Griffin believed this guy could win many a bar fight.
Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1) Page 11