Leviathan

  She peeled some more strips of the breakfast meat out of the package and laid them in the greasy pan. “Even found a way to lock myself inside,” she said with a laugh. “Good thing I found a spare skeleton key down there or I’d still be locked up.” The old woman was making sure that the bacon was lined up straight in the pan. “Probably should go see the doctor to rule out concussion or anything,” she added. Gabriel lay down on the floor at her feet, gazing up at her adoringly.

  Aaron turned and looked at Camael behind him. The angel had been precisely right. Mrs. Provost’s brain had done exactly as he described. It had attempted to rationalize the bizarreness of the situation, steering clear of anything that would be too difficult to explain or comprehend.

  Mrs. Provost placed her fork down and walked to the refrigerator, all the while under the watchful eye of his Labrador. “I was just about to cook up some eggs,” she said, pulling on the fridge door to open it. “My father always used to say that a big breakfast could cure what ails you,” she said, removing the carton of fresh white eggs. “Thought today might be a good day to take his advice.”

  Camael had not willed himself invisible this time, and Aaron caught her staring at the large, older man behind him—too stubborn to ask his identity. She would wait until he got around to explaining who Camael was.

  “This is my friend,” he said in introduction. “The one who had some business up in Portland?” She nodded slowly, remembering the conversation that they’d had the first night over supper. “He just got back this morning,” he explained.

  Camael was silent, studying the old woman just as she was studying him.

  “Is he staying for breakfast?” she asked, taking the eggs with her to the stove.

  Aaron was about to answer for the angel, when Camael suddenly spoke for himself. “I will have French fries,” he said, stunning Aaron with his answer.

  Mrs. Provost completely unfazed by the angel’s request, reached down to the stove and pulled it open. A new delicious aroma wafted out of the oven with a blast of heat. There was something cooking inside on metal sheet.

  “Don’t have any French fries, but how about home fries—will they do?” she asked. “My husband, God rest his soul, used ta tell me that I made the best home fries in New England.” She used an oven mitt covered in a pattern of bananas to remove the hot pan of browned, chopped potatoes from the stove.

  “If you like French fries, you’re going to love these,” Aaron told the angel, his mouth beginning to water.

  “Then I will have—home fries,” he said, eyeing the breakfast dish now resting atop the stove.

  ••••

  It was all pretty strange and quite amazing, Aaron mused as he finished up giving Gabriel his breakfast and watched the kindly old woman expertly crack the last of the eggs into the frying pan, making breakfast as if it were just like any other day of the week. It was hard for him to wrap his brain around the concept. Less than two hours ago he had been fighting for his life against a force that could very well have threatened the world—but here he was now, about to sit down to a big breakfast of bacon, egg and home fries. The realization that his life had dramatically changed was again driven home with the force of an atomic blast—and with every new day, it seemed to change more and more. Aaron wondered if he’d ever get used to it, if it would ever seem as mundane as sitting down to eat breakfast.

  Shaking some salt onto his eggs, he watched the angel Camael take a tentative bite of home fries and begin to chew. A look that could only be described as pleasure spread across his goateed face, and he greedily began to eat.

  Would his life ever seem so mundane again? he wondered, watching as an angel of Heaven consumed a plate of home-fried potatoes beside him.

  He seriously doubted it.

  ••••

  Miss you. Love Aaron.

  Aaron sat back in the desk chair, contemplating the last words he had typed in his e-mail to Vilma. Is it too strong? he wondered, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to decide. His feelings for the girl back home hadn’t even come close to changing, and the more he thought about her, the longer he spent away from her—the stronger they seemed to become.

  An all too familiar sadness washed over him as he wondered if he would ever see the pretty Brazilian girl again. He knew it was for her own good that he stay away—Verchiel would certainly think nothing of using her to get to him—but a selfish part of him wanted to be with her, no matter the consequences.

  Aaron read through the e-mail again, smirking at how boring it all sounded—if only he could write even a portion of what he’d been experiencing.

  Miss you. Love Aaron.

  He wondered what Vilma was doing just then. It was early Sunday morning, and he guessed that she probably wasn’t even up yet. He wouldn’t have been, either but they had to get going and continue his search for Stevie. He always loved sleeping late on Sundays, reading the Globe with a big glass of milk and a couple of Dunkin’ Donuts that his foster dad would buy. But that was then.

  Aaron read the e-mail one last time and deemed it perfectly fine. What do I have to lose? He clicked on the Send button and watched his letter disappear into the electronic ether. No turning back now, he thought, in more ways than one. There was only the road ahead of him now, and at the end of that road he hoped to find his little brother, and maybe a chance at a normal life—if fulfilling an ancient prophecy didn’t get him killed first.

  Gabriel and Camael had started loading the car. Aaron was just about to shut the computer down when Mrs. Provost appeared in the doorway to the tiny office. “Don’t shut that off right yet,” she said. “I was thinking of maybe sending a note to my son.”

  Aaron got up and motioned for her to take the chair. “That would be nice. I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.” He suddenly wondered if it could have been Leviathan that had kept her from leaving Blithe all these years.

  “Damn thing’ll probably blow up in my face,” she said, scowling at the computer as she took a seat in front of the monitor.

  “You’ll do fine,” he said. He then remembered that he hadn’t paid the woman yet for his stay, and reached into his pocket for the money there. “Oh, before I forget,” he said handing her the stack of bills. She took it from his hand and began to count it.

  “Gave me too much,” she said, handing back more than half the cash.

  “You said that it was—”

  “Are you calling me a liar, Corbet?” she interrupted with a scowl worse than the one she had given the computer.

  Aaron knew he was on the edge of real trouble here. “No, it’s just that you said—”

  “Never mind what I said. This is plenty.” She held up the money she had kept, then folded it and stuck it inside the front pocket of her ancient blue jeans. “I enjoyed your company—and your dog’s, too, even though he’s a bit of a pig, if you ask me.”

  Aaron laughed. “You don’t have to tell me! The boy’s been like that since he was a baby. His stomach’s a bottomless pit.”

  They both laughed.

  “Well, I gotta hit the road,” Aaron said. “You take care of yourself, Mrs. Provost,” he said, waving good-bye as he left the office doorway.

  “Same to you, son,” she said. “You and that dog of yours stop by again sometime, and bring your handsome friend along too.”

  Aaron headed for the front door, listening to the old woman’s fingers tentatively moving on the keyboard. It sounded as though she was doing just fine, but as he opened the door, he heard her curse and threaten the computer with being tossed out with the trash. Laughing softly to himself, he stepped from the house to join his friends.

  Aaron was passing beneath the flowered archway to go to his car when he saw Katie McGovern. She was dressed in a baggy white T-shirt and some running shorts. The vet was patting Gabriel, checking out his bite wound. Aaron noticed that her hand was bandaged as well. “Hey,” he said, approaching them and his dog.

  “Hey, back,” she
answered. “Was out running and saw Gabriel in the yard. He begged me to come pet him.” “Healed up pretty fast, didn’t he,” she pointed out, running the flat of her bandaged hand along the dog’s flank.

  “I didn’t tell her anything,” Gabriel grumbled, looking at him guiltily, tongue lolling.

  Aaron ignored the dog. “I don’t think it was as bad as it looked—and plus, he had the best vet in town looking after him. How could he do anything but miraculously heal?” he asked, chuckling. They were both patting the Labrador now, and the animal was in his glory.

  “So you’re leaving, huh?” she said, eyeing his vehicle. He looked where she was staring and saw that Camael had already taken up his place in the front seat, patiently waiting.

  “Yeah, got some things to take care of,” he said, stroking Gabriel’s side. “Thought I’d get an early start.”

  “Is that the friend you were waiting for?” she asked, motioning with her chin to the car, and the back of Camael’s head.

  “That’s him. Got back from Portland yesterday,” he lied.

  “Nothing I could say to get you to stick around and help Kevin and me with the practice, is there?” she asked halfheartedly, already expecting that she knew what his answer would be.

  “You and Kevin, eh?” he questioned, a sly smile creeping across his face.

  “Yeah,” she said, now rubbing Gabriel’s ears. “Since he got back, we’ve been spending a lot of time with each other and have decided to give it another go.” Katie shrugged. “We’re taking it a day at a time—see what happens. So I guess your answer’s no?”

  Camael turned around in his seat and gave him an intense stare. Even an angel’s patience has its limits, he thought, moving gradually toward the car. “Sorry,” he said, opening the back door of the Toyota for Gabriel. “Still got something I have to do, but thanks for offering.” He thought of his little brother still in the clutches of killer angels and he felt his pulse rate quicken. The dog jumped into the backseat, and he slammed the door closed.

  “You’re good, Aaron,” she said, hands on her hips. “If you ever need a letter of recommendation for school or anything, be sure to look me up, okay?”

  “Thanks,” he said, opening the driver side door. “You take care now. I hope everything works out between you and Kevin.”

  Aaron sat behind the steering wheel and was just about to slam the door of the Toyota closed when Katie abruptly stopped him.

  “The other night,” she said, her eyes wide. She licked her lips nervously. “You know what happened then—don’t you?” Katie nervously played with the bandage on her hand.

  Aaron looked into her eyes and told her that he didn’t know what she was talking about, but he suspected that she didn’t believe him.

  “There’s a little voice in the back of my head telling me that I should be thanking you for something—but for the life of me I don’t know why.”

  He turned the key in the ignition and started up the car. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, shaking his head, feeling a little sad that he was leaving. The town of Blithe had really started to grow on him. His own little voice—the selfish one again—was telling him that he should turn the car off this instant, accept Katie’s offer, and take up permanent residence in the now peaceful town—to turn his back on the prophecy.

  “Never ignore the little voice in the back of your head, Aaron,” she said, leaning into the open window and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. But he knew that it wasn’t to be; that if he had listened, it would be no better than the false peace that he had known in the belly of Leviathan.

  “Thank you,” she said as she withdrew herself from the car.

  “You’re welcome,” he responded, and she turned from the car with a final wave and continued with her morning run.

  He had responsibilities now, he thought as he watched Katie recede down Berkely Street

  , duties that extended far beyond his own personal satisfaction and happiness. It was a lot to cope with, but what choice did he have, really? He’d tried to deny it, to keep it locked away, but that had almost got him killed. Begrudgingly, he was beginning to accept it was all part of what he had to do—the job he had been chosen for.

  “I like her,” Gabriel said as Aaron put the car in drive, beginning the process of turning the car around on the dead-end street. “Even if she is a vet.”

  “I like her too,” Aaron said in the midst of completing a three-point turn, his mind already elsewhere. He thought about his brother, and the dangers that were obviously to come—and he thought about his father.

  He began to drive up Berkely Street

  , and on reflex turned on the radio. Paul McCartney and the rest of the Beatles were singing “Yesterday.” It had always been one of his favorite oldies, and listening to the words now, it had new meaning for him. He turned the volume up a bit and felt Camael’s burning gaze upon him.

  “I want you to listen to this,” he said, glancing over at the scowling angel as he took a left off Berkely and headed back through the center of town. “Don’t think of it as a song—think of it as poetry.”

  “I despise poetry,” the angel growled, looking away from him to gaze out the passenger window at Blithe passing by.

  “Bet you thought you hated French fries too,” Aaron said, chuckling.

  Would his life ever again be filled with lazy Sundays reading the newspaper, drinking milk, and eating doughnuts? Aaron had no idea what the future held, but he did know it would certainly be interesting; it was in the job description.

  What else would one expect as a Messenger of God?

  Epilogue

  IT WAS a dream—but it felt like reality.

  The night was cool, although she could feel the heat from the sand, warmed by the day’s relentless sun, beneath her bare feet as she fled across the ocean of desert.

  It seemed so real, as if part of a life lived in the past. Long, long in the past.

  Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, and she turned back to gaze at the city burning in the distance—somehow she knew that its name was Urkish. The sky above the primitive desert-city had turned black, as smoke from the burning buildings of straw and mud rose to hide the stars.

  She could hear a sound, a high-pitched, keening sound, and even at this distance, she had to cover her ears against it. It was like the cries of birds—hundreds of angry birds. and she found she was beginning to fear sleep. She would have given anything for a dreamless night of rest. But it wasn’t to be.

  Someone called to her, and she remembered she wasn’t alone. Eight others had fled Urkish with her—eight others had escaped from … from what? she wondered. A girl no older than she was, wrapped in a tattered cloak and hood, motioned frantically for her to follow. There was fear in her eyes, fear in all their eyes. What are they afraid of? What has driven us from the city? She wanted to know—she needed to know.

  “Quickly,” said the girl in a language the dreamer had never heard—yet could comprehend. “We must lose ourselves in the desert,” the girl said as she turned back to the others, her ragged cloak blowing in the desert breeze. “It is our only chance.” They started to run, fleeing across the dunes—but from what? the dreamer wondered again.

  She turned her attention back toward the city. Was the answer there? The fires burned higher, and any semblance that a civilization had once thrived there was lost—consumed in the rising conflagration.

  The others called to her, their voices smaller in the distance, carried on the wind. They pleaded for her to follow, but she did not move, her eyes fixed upon the city in flames.

  Sadness enveloped her as she watched the city burn—as if Urkish was somehow important to her. Was it more than just a place she dreamed about? Did it actually have some kind of a special meaning for her?

  She stamped her foot in the sand, frustration exploding within her. “I want to wake up,” she shouted to the desert. “I want to wake up now.” She closed her eyes, willing herself to the surface of co
nsciousness, but the world of dream held her in its grasp.

  The horrible cries again rang in her ears, and she opened her eyes. She saw them flying up from fires of the city, their wings fanning the billowing black smoke as they rose. There were hundreds of them, and even from this distance she could see that they were clad in an armor of gold.

  She knew what they were. Ever since she was a child, they had filled her with wonder and contentment. She had fancied them her guardians, and believed they would never let any harm befall her.

  Breathlessly she watched them fly now, dipping and weaving above the burning ruins of the city. She knew she’d been in this dream before, but for the life of her, could not remember why the heavenly beings had come to Urkish.

  “They’ve come to kill you,” said a whisper from the desert, and she knew the voice was right.

  They were flying beyond the city now, out over the desert waste—searching. Searching for her.

  She started to run, but the sand hindered her progress. Her heart hammered with exertion as she attempted to catch up with the others. She remembered now. She remembered how the creatures had dropped from the sky, fire in their hands—and the killing. She remembered the killing. Her thoughts raced with images of violence as she struggled to climb a dune, the sand giving way beneath her frantic attempts.

  They were closer now—so very close. The air was filled with the sounds of pounding wings, and the cries of angry birds.

  No, not birds at all.

  She reached the crest of the dune. She could just about make out the others. She cried out to them, but the sound of her voice was drowned by the beating wings. She turned to look at them—to see how close they were.

  And they were there, descending from the sky, descending from Heaven—screeching for her blood.

  Angels.

  How could she have ever loved creatures so heartless and cruel?

  Vilma awoke from the nightmare, a scream upon her lips. She could still feel the wind on her face as they carried her up into the night sky, the swords of fire as they pierced her flesh.