“It’s in the air, boy,” Zeke said. “I can smell it.”
“Okay,” Aaron said. “You could smell that I was having a bad time. That makes sense.”
Zeke nodded. “Kinda, sorta. I could smell that you were changing, and just assumed that you were probably having some problems with it.”
Aaron had put the tennis ball inside his jacket pocket and now slowly removed it. Gabriel’s eyes bugged like something out of a Warner Brothers cartoon. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” he said as he showed the ball to Gabriel and threw it across the common. “Go play.”
Gabriel ran off in pursuit. They watched the dog in silence. Aaron wanted to leave—but something kept him there. Perhaps it was the chance of an explanation.
“What happened first?” Zeke asked, breaking the silence. “Was it the language thing? Did the dog start talking and you thought you’d lost all your marbles?”
Aaron didn’t want to answer but found it was impossible to hold back. “Kids at school were speaking Portuguese. I don’t know how to speak Portuguese, but suddenly I could understand them perfectly fine, like they were speaking English.”
Zeke nodded with understanding. “Doesn’t matter anymore what language somebody is talking,” he said. “You’ll be able to understand and speak it as if it were your native tongue. It’s one of the perks.”
Gabriel was running in a circle. “I got the ball!” he yelled, diving at the tennis ball lying in the grass and sending it rolling. He pounced on it with tireless vigor.
“The language doesn’t even have to be human, as you’ve probably guessed by now.” The old man looked at him. “Wait until you hear what a tree sloth has to say.”
“It’s insane,” Aaron muttered.
“Not really,” Zeke responded. “They just have a unique way of looking at things.”
Aaron was confused. “What? Who has a unique way of looking at things?” he asked.
“Tree sloths,” Zeke answered.
“I wasn’t talking about sloths,” Aaron said, growing agitated.
“Oh, you were talking about all this with the languages and stuff?” Zeke asked. “Well, you’d better get used to it ‘cause it’s what you are,” the old man said matter of factly.
Aaron turned from watching his dog play and faced the man. “Get used to being insane? I don’t think—”
Zeke shook his head and held up his hands. “Not insane,” he said. “Nephilim. It’s what you are; you don’t have a choice.”
There was that word again. The word that had disobediently bounced around inside Aaron’s skull since he first heard it, impossible to forget—like it didn’t want to be lost.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” he asked, tension coiling in his voice as he readied himself for the answer.
The old man ran both hands through his wild, white hair. Then he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “The Nephilim are the children of angels and—”
“Angels and human women,” Aaron interrupted. He didn’t want to waste any time hearing things he already knew. “I know that; I looked it up in the library. Now tell me what the hell it has to do with me. ”
“It’s kind of complicated,” Zeke said. “If you give me half a second and let me speak, I might be able to clear some things up.”
He stared at Aaron, a stare both intense and calming, a stare that suggested this was not a typical, crazy old man, but someone who was once a figure of authority.
Gabriel had wandered over to a newly planted tree and was sniffing the spring mulch spread at its base.
“I’m sorry,” Aaron said. “Go on.”
Zeke stroked his unshaven chin, mentally found his place, and began again. “Okay, the Nephilim are the children of angels and mortal women. Not too common really, the mothers have a real difficult time bringing the babies to term—never mind surviving the delivery. But every once in a while, a Nephilim child survives.”
Gabriel had returned and dropped the ball, now covered in the fragrant mulch, at Zeke’s feet. “Look, Zeke, ball.”
Zeke reached down and picked it up, turning it over in his hands as Gabriel stared attentively.
“They’re something all right, part heavenly host, part human, a blending of the Almighty’s most impressive creations.”
The old man bounced the ball once, and then again. The dog’s head bobbed up and down as he watched it.
“Nephilim usually have a normal childhood, but once they reach a certain level of maturity, the angelic nature starts to assert itself. That’s when the problems begin, almost as if the two halves no longer get along.” Zeke threw the ball and Gabriel was off. “Seems to happen around eighteen or nineteen.”
Aaron felt the color drain from his face, and he turned to the old man on the bench. “You’re trying to tell me that…that my mother…my mother slept with an angel? For Christ’s sake!”
Gabriel returned with the ball and stopped at Aaron, sensing his master’s growing unease. The dog sniffed at his leg, determined that things were fine and went to Zeke.
“Did you know your father?” Zeke asked, idly picking up the ball.
“It doesn’t matter,” Aaron barked, and turned his back on the old man and his dog.
He could see his car parked across the street and wanted to run for it. He could feel himself begin to slip—teetering on the brink of an emotional roller coaster. Zeke’s question had hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. His mother had died giving birth to him, and the identity of his father went with her.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Aaron,” Zeke said from behind him. “It does matter.”
Aaron faced him. He suddenly felt weak, drained of energy.
“There is a choir of angels called the Powers. They are the oldest of the angels, the first created by God.”
Gabriel had caught sight of some seagulls. “Big birds,” he grumbled, and began to creep stealthily toward them like some fearsome predator.
Zeke stood up and moved toward Aaron. “I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he said, holding him in that powerful stare. “The Powers are kinda like—” He stopped to think a moment. “The Powers are like secret police, like God’s storm troopers. It’s their job to destroy what they believe is offensive to the Creator.”
Aaron was confused. “I don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head.
“The Powers decided long ago that Nephilim are offensive. A blight before the eyes of God.”
“The Powers kill them?” Aaron asked, already knowing the answer.
Zeke nodded slowly, his expression dire. “In the beginning it was a slaughter; most of the ones killed were still just children. They didn’t even know why they had to die.” The old man reached out and grabbed Aaron’s arm in a powerful grip. “I want you to listen very carefully because your life might depend on it.”
Zeke’s grip was firm and it had begun to hurt. Aaron tried to pull away, but the man’s strength held him tight.
“It’s still going on today, Aaron. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? Nephilim are still being born, and when they begin to show signs of their true nature, the Powers find them.”
Aaron finally yanked his arm free. “Let go of me,” he snarled.
“The Powers find them and kill them. They have no mercy. In their eyes, you’re a freak of nature, something that should never have been allowed to happen.”
Aaron was suddenly very afraid. “I have to go,” he told the man, scanning the common for his dog. He whistled and saw Gabriel in the distance lifting his leg against a trash barrel. The dog began to trot in their direction.
“You have to listen to me, Aaron,” Zeke warned. “Your abilities are blossoming. If you’re not careful—”
Aaron whirled and stepped toward the old man, fists clenched in suppressed fury. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He was scared—scared and very angry for he was starting to believe Zeke’s wild story. He wanted answers, but not these—these were a ticket to a locked ward.