Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1) (15 page)

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 bowl 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.

“Thank you,” came the voice. But his mouth didn't move, and his eyes, unblinking, were fixed on Griffin.

“You’re welcome,” Griffin thought. The stranger nodded back to him in a weird sort of way. Quiet and eerie as if measuring, waiting.

The stranger wore a white tunic, split half way down the chest, with gold inlay along the seams. Then Griffin noticed his eyes. Those outrageously blue eyes. They were just like the creature from the hallucination of the other —.

“You understand more,” the stranger actually said this time, with his mouth, and his words had direction.

Griffin's head cocked. Before his common sense filter could engage, he asked the stranger, “Who are you?”

What Griffin failed to take in until now was this thing, not a guy, was transparent. Not opaque. Like smoke but lit from within. But, unlike how smoke mutes color, this apparition was detailed in vivid color as if real. Griffin could just make out his favorite chair looking through the guy-thing. Everything about the stranger was translucent but his eyes. They were a magnificent blue. Brilliant and illuminating. Griffin squelched his rising fear and compared the eyes to the overall appearance of the terrible monster from last night. Blue seemingly lit from within, with flashes of separate sparks swimming around his pupils. What Griffin should have asked is —.

“What am I?” the stranger said, again, aloud.

Griffin realized he had been thinking absent-mindedly again.

“Please, Griffin, sit with me,” it said, gesturing to his couch.

Griffin slowly pulled his hands out of his pockets and stared back at the man-thing in his chair.

“I need your help,” it said. It sounded sincere.

Griffin, not wanting another violent confrontation, carefully walked over to his couch. He couldn't recall really sitting on it. He always sat in his chair, which was now occupied by the thing across the room. He sat. Griffin and the stranger never broke eye contact.

They both sat in an awkward silence for the span of three breaths while Griffin carefully policed his thoughts, and Gabriel soberly, almost entertainingly watched.

Finally, Griffin sat forward and asked, “What are you?”

The thing’s eyes wavered for a moment and fixed, again on Griffin. “Forgive me, Griffin. I am appreciating this moment. In all of my visits to Earth and elsewhere, I have not been allowed to be in an active state of awareness. While in a transplaced form, an Archangel is purely the will of source, God, Allah, the universal purpose. There was never self consciousness, no sentience, no ability to deny, change course and certainly not, second guess. There has never been a me. I have never had the opportunity to sit and talk to my vessel.”

Griffin was becoming anxious.

“I am an Archangel, and instrument of God. Specifically, the Herald of God,” Gabriel said.

“Who are you?” Griffin asked.

“Gabriel”, the apparition said flatly. “And I imagine you want verification? You want me to prove to you who am I?”

“I see no wings, no horn, Mr. Gabriel, how am I to know you are what you —“