The Angriest Angel

Prologue

 "Iratus."

Gavin exhaled the word, as if calling out to that which he feared would somehow give him strength.

It had the opposite effect. 

He swallowed hard and tossed another pebble into the river from the bench where he sat, trying to calm himself.  He had thought that shining a light on the monster would dispel it, that its illumination would lead to understanding.  But instead, the illumination of this nightmare only increased his fear.  All of his observations led to the same conclusion, and that's what scared him most.

He rose from the bench, feeling the need to stretch his muscles.  They would be here soon, and he needed to get his head straight.  How long had he been here?  An hour?  He didn't want to leave—not yet.  The serenity of the river filled him with peace, peace that he needed.

He loosened his tie even more than it had been, and removed his suit coat, laying it carefully on the worn wooden bench.  The scent of the muddy earth closer to the water beckoned him, like a return to innocence, or perhaps some distant childhood memory.  There were rivers like this back home, but nothing this wide open—nothing this peaceful.

He grabbed a fistful of rocks and moved closer to the water, rolling up his blood-spattered shirt sleeves.  Whatever happened next, so be it.  Today's events should not have surprised him, and he resisted the urge to scold himself for missing the warning signs.

He launched a rock high and far, as if aiming for the invoked memory.   There was still enough light in the purpling sky to make out the spot where the water swallowed it.  Gavin studied his mark with exaggerated significance, doing his best to take his mind off what he had just been through. 

Not a bad distance at my age.

He shook a stone from his left hand to his right and tried to hit the same spot—unsuccessfully.

"Anger," he mumbled, launching another.  It seemed as if centuries of its mastery had been rendered irrelevant, and the reasons remained as cryptic as ever.  If anger were simply a state of mind—a choice—then why was there such failure? 

Perhaps they had lived without anger for so long that the formula for its treatment was forgotten.  Or perhaps there was a negative energy about this place which fostered such emotion.

"What if I hit a fish, or some sort of aquatic creature?" he wondered, forcibly willing his thoughts back to the mundane.  As unacceptable as that was, he doubted he could hit one even if he tried.  The marine life was certainly aware that some foolish person was throwing objects into their habitat, thus taking necessary measures to avoid the whole area.

He smiled ironically and said, "If only people were as smart as fish."

He hurled another rock.

Suddenly, out of Gavin's peripheral vision he noticed a dog heading in his direction, its owner not far behind.  He risked a better glance, feigning the need to scrape up more stones from around his feet.  It looked to be innocent indigena—the animal was golden brown, medium sized, and friendly.  The owner was a male, probably twenty years his junior.

"Definitely not Lafaye," he mumbled sarcastically. 

He continued tossing rocks into the water, choosing to ignore the indigena—and hoping they did the same.  He reflexively glanced up at the empty sky behind him though, just to reassure himself.

"Whiskey!  Get over here!" the man shouted, his command superseding any interest the dog had in Gavin. 

The animal obeyed, loping back toward its owner.