The Fallen

Jonas was shaking his head again as he combed his large fingers through his graying beard. “I have no idea, but the fact that you had such a powerful headache before this talent manifested suggests that the how is likely neurological.”

“Neurological?” Aaron questioned, suddenly concerned. “Like there’s something wrong with my brain—like a tumor or something?”

The psychiatrist leaned forward in his chair again. “Not necessarily,” he said, stressing the words with his large hands. “I’ve heard stories of neurological disorders that caused individuals to gain unique abilities.”

“Like understanding and speaking foreign languages?” Aaron suggested.

Jonas nodded. “Exactly. The case I’m thinking of involved a man from Michigan, I believe. After suffering severe head trauma in a skating accident, he found himself able to calculate the most complex math problems in his head. He hadn’t even finished high school, never mind classes in mathematical theory.”

“So you think that something like that might have happened to me?” Aaron asked the psychiatrist.

The doctor pondered the possibility. “Maybe something happened inside your brain that’s caused this unique capability to develop.”

Jonas grabbed his pen again and furiously began to take notes. “I have a friend over at Mass General, a neurologist. We could talk to him—after we’ve done some testing of our own of course and—”

The sudden rapping at the office door made Aaron jump.

The doctor pulled up his sleeve and glanced at his watch. “Damn it,” he said with a hiss. “My nine thirty must be here.”

Aaron’s heart still pounded in his chest from the sudden scare. He watched Dr. Jonas step out from behind his desk and move toward the door.

“Excuse me for a moment, Aaron,” he said as he opened the door and stepped into the lobby.

Alone, Aaron’s mind began to race. What if there is something wrong with me—something wrong with my brain? He began to bite at his thumbnail. Maybe it would be wise to make an appointment with the family physician just in case.

He thought about missing another day of school and felt himself begin to panic. This business couldn’t be coming at a worse time. He’d be hearing from colleges shortly and needed his grades to reflect how serious he was about getting into the schools of his choice. He wondered if colleges looked at the number of absences before making their acceptance decisions.

The door opened. “Sorry about that, kid,” he said, moving behind his desk. “Listen, I’m booked solid for the entire day, but why don’t you come by tomorrow and see me. How would that be?”

Aaron stood. “It’s Saturday. Is that all right?”

Jonas nodded. “Sure, I was going to be in tomorrow anyway. Why don’t you stop by—say early afternoon? We can do a few more tests before I give my buddy at Mass General a ring.”

Aaron agreed with a slight nod and walked to the door. “Thanks for seeing me this morning, Doc,” he said, a hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

Dr. Jonas was removing a file from inside a cabinet beside his desk. “No problem, Aaron,” he said as he opened the file. “It was good to see you.”

Aaron had opened the door and was about to leave when Jonas spoke again to him, bringing him back into the office. The man was standing, looking calm and confident.

“Relax,” the psychiatrist said. “We’ll work this out, I promise. See you tomorrow.”

As he stepped out into the morning sunshine, Aaron could not shake the gnawing feeling that something was suddenly not right with his world.

Something over which he had no control.

Aaron crossed the street and stepped over the low, dark green, pipe fence that encircled Ly

He’d arrived early to his former psychiatrist’s office, so he had parked on the other side of the common and waited there. He’d always enjoyed this place, with its oak trees and unkept grass. Even though it was a bit rundown, it still had its charms. Besides the beach, it was one of his favorite places to walk Gabriel when the fickle New England weather cooperated.

He walked across the expanse of green trying to clear his head. As he reached the middle of the open area, he remembered an odd bit of Ly

Settled in 1629, Ly

He’d always wanted to take a helicopter ride over the city to verify that the common was indeed in the shape of a shoe. Mr. Frost had talked about a book at the library that contained an aerial shot of the common. Since he had pla

Aaron suddenly shuddered, as if someone had just slipped an ice cube along his spine. The strange feeling that he was being watched rolled over him in waves, and he stopped to look around.

He glanced at the ancient bandstand squatting in the center of the sole. The shabby structure was once used for summer band concerts, but was now more of a hangout for kids skipping school or people passing time between unemployment checks. Today it was empty.

He continued to look about, and there, just where the heel began, he could make out a figure standing over one of the “Keep Ly

“Probably deciding whether he should run over and hit me up for change,” he muttered beneath his breath as he reached the other side of the common.

Aaron stepped over the low fence. His metallic blue, ’95 Toyota Corolla was parked directly across the street, and he waited for an opportunity to cross. As he fished his keys from his pocket he thought about what he would do for the rest of the day. He had skipped school, but it didn’t mean that he was going to shirk all his academic responsibilities. He’d spend the afternoon in the library begi

The hair at the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. His senses screamed. Someone was behind him.

Aaron whirled around and came face to face with the man he’d seen at the barrel far across the common. The old man was dressed in a filthy overcoat, pants worn at the knees, and sneakers. The faint smell of body odor and alcohol wafted off him, and Aaron almost gagged on the unpleasant stench.

He was taken aback, not sure of what to do as the man began to lean toward him. What the hell is he doing?

The man appeared to be smelling him. He moved in close to Aaron and sniffed at his face, his hair, his chest, and then he stepped back. He nodded, as if in response to a question to which only he was privy.

“Can…can I help you with something?” Aaron stammered.

The man responded, speaking in a language Aaron had never heard before, a language he somehow sensed had not been uttered by anyone in a very long time.

“Can you understand the tongue of the messenger, boy?” asked the old man in the arcane dialect.