Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1) (16 page)

“Make no mistake, Griffin, and please don't be alarmed when I say that I am not on this planet to answer to you or to any human. I can manifest this energy into any visual form I may need. And, please, just call me Gabriel.”

There was another awkward silence as Griffin tried to makes sense of what was happening.

“Why are you in my living room?” Griffin asked, bringing the tension to focus.

“Throughout time I have visited this realm of existence, what you and other humans of learning call a universe, seven times. Each time bringing an installation of God's meaning.” Gabriel continued. “Each time I am transplaced to this universe, I come as energy. All Archangels are transplaced as energy.” This time Gabriel did pause, sensing the oncoming question.

“Why as energy?” Griffin asked.

“No being can transplace a universe as flesh. Not a human, angel, or Archangel,” the Archangel said.

“Humans can... move between universes?" Griffin asked, not quite understanding Gabriel's explanation.

“Of course, when your body dies, as all Terran beings do, you are conditionally bound to pass through to Heaven as energy,” Gabriel said.

“My soul?” Griffin asked as if he was becoming aware of terms he had never knew existed.

“Yes, your soul. That is the human term.” Gabriel said.

“Why are you here?” Griffin slipped and asked in his thoughts.

“Archangels cannot speak to your race as a whole. We need vessels to communicate through.”

“Why is that?”

“Vibration, harmony, tuning,” Gabriel said. “If I could speak to all of humankind, I would be of a higher form than what you see. That is not my place. When I come, there is one person who is tuned to me.”

Griffin knew it as truth just as it came from Gabriel's lips, mouth, form. “And that’s me?” Griffin looked down at his living room floor.

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “I need you. You and I are in harmony. You are my vessel. Without you there is no eighth message to humankind. No prophet. No miracles. Humankind will continue to feed upon itself until there is no more. Until this planet reclaims your race."

“I wondered how long it would take you to get to the gloom and doom,” Griffin said.

“I know, so I recited it for you,” Gabriel said, managing a brief smile.

“Okay, more questions,” Griffin held up both of his index fingers for effect. “What do you mean, exactly, when you say ‘vessel’? And, you mentioned a prophet. Am I this prophet?”

“This may be upsetting,” Gabriel warned. "I must occupy you to speak to another human. Since I may not communicate with another but you —“

“You must possess me,” Griffin said quietly as if welcoming his own death. His thoughts recalled the horrific encounter from the night before.

“Through you, I speak to the prophet. Through you, God's messages are passed.”

Griffin could feel Gabriel watching him. Even though Griffin’s eyes had slid to the floor, he could sense the Archangel’s eyes, or more, on him.

“Stop groping around in my head!” Griffin barked. “I’m not liking what you're telling me. There! I said it out loud!"

“Griffin, I am here in your living room, in this form, because you can create a bulwark against me. You kept me from you last night,” Gabriel said, more flatly than before.

“That was you, from last night?” Griffin said, irritated.

“A form of me, yes. But me? No. Griffin, when an angel transplaces a realm, there can be no deviation from their purpose. An angel, especially an Archangel, must accomplish their tasks exactly as given. Which means we are not allowed to transplace with our sentience. Angels in any other realm but Heaven are pure instruments of God, without free will. And we have no awareness of what has taken place in another realm until we return to Heaven. What you faced last night was my manifestation void of my free will, or personality.”

“Is that how angels work?” Griffin was aware he was beginning to get out of hand. “Crashing into people and trying to take them over? You nearly crushed me to death!” Griffin was standing, his hands formed to fists.

Gabriel never stopped looking at Griffin. After a moment Griffin felt the silence weigh him down.

“Griffin, sit down,” Gabriel said complacently.

“Fuck you!”

They stared at each other. A trickle of blood slid out of Griffin's left nostril. Gabriel looked away. And in doing so Griffin saw, almost felt, Gabriel's guilt and grief in what had happened the night before. Griffin walked into the kitchen. He returned a minute later with paper towel neatly folded and pressed against his nose. He sat and made a quick jabbing point with his index finger at his nose.

“It is through you that I pass on God's message to next prophet,” Gabriel said.

“Who is this next prophet and where do we meet him?”

“You’ve already met her, in a way,” Gabriel said, raising his eyebrows. The second sign of human-like expression, Griffin noticed.

“Her?” Griffin asked, screwing up his face. “Aren’t all prophets men?”

“God’s will,” Gabriel said with a smile.

“And what do you mean, 'I've met her already, in a way’?” Griffin tried not to furrow his brows with suspicion but failed.

Gabriel looked back woodenly for a few moments. “I can't explain it.”

Griffin was holding his head back, attempting to stop his nose bleed. Then, he caught onto what was falling into place. “Her?” Griffin asked in a whisper.

Gabriel made a small single nod. “I’ve never held my vessel and prophet in my mind at once.” Next Gabriel made a small accusatory gesture that Griffin had something to do with it. Griffin shot up his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Wait, all of the hallucinations I've had in the last week have been your doing?” Griffin asked.

“Again, my automaton version, not as I appear before you now. These aberrations are useful to prime a vessel to angelic possession.” Gabriel winched as those last words left his mouth.

“So, this is a possession?” Griffin asked.

“Griffin, the scope of knowledge an Archangel possesses, coupled with the amount of information in the message, is nearly without measure. There is no better method,” Gabriel said.

“How long is this going to take?” Griffin asked. “To say these words to this female prophet, in all total?”

“Years,” Gabriel said.

That stunned Griffin. He had taken two weeks personal time from work to sort out his mind, maybe his life, and this angel comes along and needs him for years.

“Five years continuously, plus fifteen years sporadically,” Gabriel said.

Griffin was getting that sensation again. Gabriel was sifting through is mind.

“I dislike when you do that,” Griffin said.

“Harmony,” Gabriel shrugged. “The span of time is actually your doing. If the automaton version has succeeded, working with the prophet would have been shorter. Now, everything has changed.” Gabriel paused, looking like he was pondering on long forgotten facts. “Or has it?”

Griffin was surprised to see Gabriel ask himself a question.

Griffin sat back and looked up at nothing, dabbing at his nose, not confident the blood had stopped. “What am I supposed to do for all those years?” he asked.

“Your nearly invisible existence is at its terminus,” Gabriel said, rather coldly. “With me, you will no longer dwell within this false concoction of reality, Griffin. I will provide for you. You will no longer be aware of needs.”

“What do you mean, 'no longer be aware of needs’?” Griffin asked.

"Your struggle, like all other humans, especially those in this region of the world, the struggle debt, will end. You will have the ability to do as we wish.” Gabriel said.

Griffin nodded. “No longer have to work, got it. I think I can live with that,” he said. He paused for a minute. “What about the debts I have now — car, house, those debts?"

“You will no longer need them. You will no longer want those objects.” Gabriel smiled.

“No possessions? Should I call you John Lennon?” Griffin smiled back.

Gabriel ignored the question.

“When will I see her?” Griffin asked.

“When do you want to begin?” Gabriel asked.

“What will the experience be like?” Griffin asked. He wanted to see her. But the thought of seeing her did not balance with the years of commitment Griffin had to make. He closed his eyes realizing he had already made the decision.

“We will converse in thought without others hearing. You will be exposed to a great deal of knowledge you never imagined. It may be painful at first. A headache and disorientation as your mind physically changes to accept the increased capacity and ability,” Gabriel answered, sounding re-assuredly scientific. “You will be aware of an energy, an angelic energy. This is my form. You will not be able to weld it or control it. This energy is under my domain while in this plane. I imagine, given the circumstances, cooperation will be difficult at first. But once you are aware of…”

Gabriel paused. Griffin looked at him and knew Gabriel was filtering his thoughts.

“…aware of everything within me you will understand the immediacy of our goals,” Gabriel continued.

“Summarize down for me. What exactly will we be doing together?,” Griffin asked, trying to cut through the robotic explanations.

“God’s will,” Gabriel simply said.

Clean Up

Director Graves knew this could have been worse, but it was still a delicate mess. One pilot, along with his ejection seat, had landed in the water where the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers met. If not for the seat dragging the body to the bottom and giving off a traceable magnetic field, finding his body would have been difficult. Or, heaven forbid, if his body had washed up on the river's shore somewhere downstream, that would caused a shit storm. And also fortunately, his plane had come apart over the river convergence with only a few parts landing on the downtown side of Mt. Washington.

The Captain's plane was a another story. His plane had come apart over the southern edge of downtown, scattering debris into the Monongahela and into the city’s center. His ejection seat and body gouged out chunks of Smallman Avenue before crashing onto the steps of St. Stanislaus Church.

Standing on Smallman Avenue, DHS Western PA Director Arthur Graves was coordinating the disposal and clean up from various city and country organizations. Most of the pre-dawn hours were used to close down the city while it dealt with a PA National Air Guard training accident, or so the story would spin. The credit for the believable concoction went to the mayor, and Graves had no doubt she would call in the favor soon. After all, the mayor and the Air Force would share the fury of hundreds of companies without workers for a day or two. That would be their headaches, not his. That gave him small comfort. Graves had enough to deal with for a few days and wasn't paid to deal directly with the public or media.

His mind wondered to the true origin of the event that had taken place the night before, an alien and unknown object downing two military jets, but stopped himself. Those responsibilities and thoughts were not his to ponder. Above his pay grade and such. Best to focus on his tasks. There was an entire F16 sprinkled from the Monongahela to 21st Street.

His radio handset made a small crackle, “Sir, we have the police and contractor helicopter units patched,” the tech's thin voice said.

“Good, good. Let me know when they are up and working. Have them search the south and west sides of every building from the Monongahela north to Herron Avenue. And who is the officer in charge of the air search?” Graves asked, wanting the air search to begin immediately.

“Sergeant Crawford, sir,” his radio squawked.

“Sergeant Crawford, excellent,” Graves said, scribbling the officer's name in his notes while he clipped the radio back onto his belt.

Most of the lighter debris landed in the parking lots north of the city and did little damage. But Graves knew the heavier bits, engine, landing gear, and ordinance would have fallen shorter and may have destroyed buildings. The government was going to have a helluva bill.

Itishree woke just after one o'clock in the afternoon. Despite her long sleep she woke groggily, and for a moment had no idea where she was. Fighting back the panic, Itishree's memory filled in the blanks. Her cousin had picked her up from the airport. They had driven through the dark streets, lit only by streetlights. Her cousin talking the entire ride.

When Itishree tried to rise from bed, she found she ached all over. Her muscles were tired and she questioned if she should lay back down and gain more sleep but decided against it. Her interview was tomorrow morning. Was it tomorrow? Was it Wednesday or Thursday? She rolled out of bed and placed her feet on the floor. It was like lifting a train. How in the world had other relatives traveled back and forth from America to India year after year, Itishree would never understand. Maybe it was some animalistic force a kin to seasonal migrations?

Itishree found her bags and dressed in comfortable house clothes. She made her first appearance to their shared kitchen.

“Whoa, you look like ass,” Aruni said. She wore house clothes, Itishree found that odd.