The Fallen

Michael Jonas glanced at his watch. He set his pen down on top of the insurance forms he was in the process of completing and picked up the phone.

Where is he? the psychiatrist wondered.

The dial tone droned in his ear as he searched for Aaron’s phone number in his file. He punched in the numbers and listened as it began to ring.

Aaron Corbet had been nothing but punctual all the years that he’d treated him, and Jonas found it odd that he would simply blow off their appointment, especially after their discussion yesterday morning.

He would have been lying if he had said he wasn’t fascinated by the rather unique talent the young man had exhibited; in all his twenty-five years of practicing he’d never seen anything quite so bizarre and yet, exciting. Certainly Aaron could be delusional, and was already fluent in Portuguese, Spanish, and Latin, but his gut told him no. Jonas grew eager with the thought of the papers he might publish on this specific case, and the accolades he would receive from his peers.

“Hello?” answered a woman’s voice from the other end of the line.

“Yes, hi,” Jonas said in greeting. “Is Aaron there please?”

“No, he’s not,” the woman replied. “Can I ask who’s calling?”

He would need to be cautious; patient-doctor confidentiality was an issue. “This is Michael Jonas,” he responded professionally. “Is this Mrs. Stanley?”

“Yes, Dr. Jonas. How are you? Aaron went out with the dog early this morning and he hasn’t returned.” There was a pause and Jonas knew what was coming next. After being a psychiatrist for so many years he could read people and their reactions. “Is there a problem, Doctor? Is…is Aaron going to see you again?”

She was concerned and he wanted to put her mind at ease without sharing Aaron’s personal business.

“No need for panic, Mrs. Stanley. I’m just checking in, calling to see how he’s doing. Would you have him get in touch with me when he comes in? I should be at the office until well after six.”

“Certainly, Doctor,” she said, less tension in her tone. “I’ll give him the message.”

“Thanks so much, Mrs. Stanley. You have a good day.”

“Same to you,” she responded, and hung up.

Jonas returned the receiver to the cradle and again glanced at his watch. Interesting, he thought. Aaron went out early and no one’s seen him since. Jonas wondered if he had frightened him away. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned his friend at Mass General.

The cartoon image of a scholarly paper with flapping wings flying out a window danced across his mind and he smiled. Jonas reached for his pen to resume his weekly paperwork and saw that he wasn’t alone.

“Jesus Christ!” he gasped as he threw himself back against his chair, startled.

A man stood in front of his desk. He appeared older, but was tall, striking, and although he wore a suit, Jonas could see that he was in good physical condition.

“How did you get in here?” Jonas asked nervously.

The man simply stood staring at the desktop. He seemed to be studying Jonas’s paperwork.

“Can I help you with something, Mr. …?”

The stranger said nothing, continuing to gaze at the top of the desk. And then he raised his head and looked at Jonas. He was handsome in a distinguished kind of way. He reminded the psychiatrist of the actor who used to play James Bond, and later starred in that movie about the Russian submarine. But it was his eyes that were strangely different. There was something wrong with them. Jonas thought of the eyes of a stuffed owl that his grandmother had kept on display at her summer cottage in Maine: dark black in the center and encircled with gold.

“Camael,” the stranger answered in a powerful timbre. “I am Camael—and I’ve come in search of the child.”

Camael tilted his head back and sniffed the air. “The child was here,” he said as he turned in a slow circle, “not long ago—a day perhaps.” He moved closer to the desk, the sour smell of the human’s fear mixing with the strong essence of the Nephilim. It was a masculine odor, a male scent. “I mean the child no harm, but it is imperative that I find him.”

Dr. Jonas stood and slammed his meaty hands down onto the desktop aggressively. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t have a clue as to what you’re talking about.”

The psychiatrist was a large man. He might have been powerful once, but the years had been unkind and his body had gone to seed. He pointed a square finger authoritatively to the door. “So I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

As if on cue, the office door swung slowly open and Camael snarled as two of Verchiel’s Powers came into the room.

The two took notice of him immediately and emitted a snakelike hiss from their mouths. “The betrayer,” spat one with a head of jet-black hair, his body lowering to a readied crouch. It had been mille

“What the hell is going on here?” the human blustered. “Leave my office at once or I’m going to…”

“Silence, ape!” the other angel warned. Camael knew the name of this one for certain. He was Cassiel, one of Verchiel’s crueler operatives.

“I strongly advise you to take cover, Doctor,” Camael warned. He did not take his eyes from the Powers, feeling that special calm before battle slowly wash over him.

“This ape is going to call the police,” the flustered psychiatrist said as he reached for the telephone on his desk.

Cassiel moved as a blur. His hand shot out and from his fingertips a searing white light emanated. “I asked you to be quiet.”

The doctor screamed out in agony as his body burst into flame. He fell back against the wall and crumpled to the floor, completely engulfed by fire. He twitched and thrashed in excruciating death and everywhere he touched began to burn as well.

Camael used the distraction to strike. In his mind he saw the weapon he wanted and it formed in his grasp, composed of heavenly fire. He attacked, swinging the burning blade at Hadriel, who seemed engrossed in the psychiatrist’s death throes. But the angel reacted quickly, summoning a weapon of his own, a spear—and blocking the swipe that would have certainly taken his head.

The weapons clashed, sounding like the grumble of thunder.

“The great Camael,” Hadriel taunted as he pushed him away and thrust forward with the burning spear. “One of our greatest, reduced to living amongst the human animals.”

Camael sidestepped to avoid the spear thrust and brought his blade down, cutting his attacker’s weapon explosively in two. “You talk too much, Hadriel,” he said as he stepped in close and lashed out, the pommel of the sword co

Camael heard the whisper of another weapon cutting through the air. He unfurled his wings and flew upward as Cassiel’s sword passed harmlessly beneath him.

“Are you lonely, Camael?” Cassiel asked as he too pushed off from the floor and spread his wings to join him in the air.

Camael parried Cassiel’s next thrust and maneuvered in closer. He brought a knee up sharply into the angel’s stomach. “My mission is all the company I need,” he said as he drove his forehead into the angel’s face. “I’ve grown to enjoy my solitude.”

Cassiel plummeted to the floor.

The office was on fire and a thick black smoke filled the air.

“Despised by your brothers, feared by the kind you once destroyed.” Cassiel struggled to all fours. He looked up at Camael and smiled. “All for the ramblings of an animal plagued by madness.”

“Feel no sadness for me, brother,” Camael said as he glided down toward the angel, his sword at the ready. “But ask yourself this: What if the seer was right? What if it all turns out to be true? What then?”