The Fallen

PSYCHIATRIST KILLED IN BLAZE it read.

Aaron wasn’t sure why he should be upset, until he noticed the picture that accompanied the story. The picture was of Ly

Aaron pried his eyes from the newspaper and looked at his mother. “Oh my God” was all he could manage.

Lori reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry, hon,” she said supportively. “Did you try to reach him last night?”

Aaron heard the question at the periphery of his thoughts. Dr. Jonas was dead. He was supposed to have seen the man yesterday, but after the business with Zeke, he’d completely forgotten. He’d pla

His mother’s hand was still on his. She gave it a squeeze. “Aaron?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I zoned out. What did you say?”

“Dr. Jonas—he called yesterday while you were out,” she answered. “Did you try to return his call?”

Aaron slowly shook his head. “He called? I…I didn’t see the message.”

When he’d come in last night he’d been tired. The family was out to supper, and the quiet in the house was so inviting. He’d fed Gabriel, taken him out, and then gone up to bed to watch some television. He hadn’t even thought to check for messages.

“I didn’t know he called,” he said dreamily, picturing the man just two days ago, full of life and eager to help him. “How could this happen?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

“They said it was probably a gas leak,” Lori replied as she picked up the child’s cereal bowl and brought it to the sink.

Stevie got down from his chair and toddled off toward the family room, oblivious to anything in his path.

Gabriel hovered around Aaron and he realized that the dog had yet to be fed. “I’m sorry, pal,” he said, going to the drainboard at the sink and retrieving the dog’s food bowl.

Lori was doing the breakfast dishes. “If it was gas, just one spark would do the trick—”

Aaron filled Gabriel’s bowl and placed it on the mat near his water dish. His mother was still talking, but it was her last words that created the disturbing image in his mind.

He saw Zeke lighting his cigarette.

“If it was gas…”

His mother’s words echoed through his head.

Zeke lit his smoke with the tips of his fingers. Fire from the tips of his fingers.

“…just one spark would do the trick.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Aaron couldn’t wait for Monday to arrive.

Ken Curtis High had become his safe haven. Once behind its walls, the rules were simple—go to class, do the homework, take the test. Not so in the real world lately, a place that was becoming less and less real for him with each passing day.

At school he could push thoughts of talking dogs, Nephilim, Powers, and death to the back of his cluttered mind—at least until the bell rang at two thirty. School was the ultimate distraction, and that was exactly what he craved.

At lunchtime Aaron was at his locker dropping off books from his morning classes. He wasn’t feeling hungry, but knowing he had to work at the clinic right after school, he figured he should probably eat something.

His psychology text slipped to the floor, and his thoughts turned to Michael Jonas as he bent to pick it up. The questions flooded forward as if a faucet had been turned on to its maximum. What really caused the fire?

He saw Zeke’s fingertip flash and his cigarette ignite.

Why am I thinking like this? he wondered, returning the book to the shelf in the locker. He knew that Zeke didn’t have anything to do with the fire that took his psychiatrist’s life. The newspaper said it had started in the early afternoon, when he and Gabriel had been with the fallen angel in his hotel room.

But what about the others? he thought with a wave of foreboding. What about the…Powers?

His stomach churned uneasily as he slammed closed his locker. Maybe I’ll just skip lunch and go to the library.

Head down, he turned and nearly plowed into Vilma Santiago.

Aaron stumbled back. “Hi,” he blurted out nervously. “Didn’t see you there, sorry.”

“Hi.”

She seemed unconcerned with his clumsiness, but as nervous around him as he was feeling around her. In the background by her locker, he could see two of her friends playing Secret Weasel, trying not to be noticed.

“How’re you doing?” Aaron asked lamely. If he hadn’t blown it yet, it was only a matter of time.

“I’m good,” she answered. “How’re you?”

“I’m good,” he said with a nervous nod and an idiot grin. “Real good.” His mind was blank, completely void of all electrical activity. He had no idea what to say next, and wondered how she’d react if he started to cry.

The silence was becoming painfully awkward when she spoke. “Are you going to lunch?” she asked, looking quickly away.

And all of a sudden lunch seemed like a wonderful idea.

“Yeah, lunch is great—it’s lunchtime—sure, I’m going to lunch.” Aaron couldn’t believe how he was acting. What a complete idiot. He wouldn’t blame her in the least if she turned around and walked away. No. Ran away.

“Do you want to have lunch with me?” she asked, her voice growing incredibly soft, as if expecting rejection.

He was speechless. No words available, please try again later. He was horrified, he couldn’t even think of something stupid to say.

Vilma suddenly looked embarrassed. “If you have something else to do, I completely understand and…”

“I’d love to,” he finally managed. “Sorry…it’s just that I’m kind of…y’know, surprised, that you’d want me to.”

She smiled slyly, and it felt as though the temperature in the hallway rose sixty degrees. Great, now I’m sweating, he thought. Real cool.

“I’m full of surprises, Aaron Corbet,” she said with a flip of her dark hair. “So, do you want to go to the caf or off campus?”

Just then somebody called his name. They both turned to see Mrs. Vistorino, the guidance office secretary, coming down the hallway. She was notorious for her brightly colored pantsuits, and today she was wearing lime green with shoes to match.

“Aaron,” Mrs. Vistorino called again. “I’m glad I caught you.”

“Is there something wrong?” he asked cautiously, the sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach returning.

“There’s an admissions representative from Emerson College in the office, and he wants to see you about your application.”

“Emerson?” Aaron muttered to himself. “But I didn’t…”

The woman turned and started back from whence she came. “He mentioned something about a full scholarship, so I’d get my butt down there if I were you.”

Vilma touched his arm. “You’d better get going,” she said, looking genuinely excited for him.

He was torn. He really wanted to go to lunch with Vilma, but the potential for a scholarship was something he couldn’t pass up. “What about you?” he asked. “I really want to—”

“We can do lunch tomorrow,” she said, cutting him off. “Don’t worry about me.” She turned toward her friends who were still gawking from across the hall. “I’ll just grab some lunch with them. No problem, really.” Vilma pointed him down the hall. “Maybe you could meet me later—let me know how the interview went?”

“Sure,” he responded, stu

But as he turned the corner he lost control, looked back, and waved. Vilma was still watching him and waved back. Her two nosey friends were with her now and they both began to laugh.