Fallen Angel v2.0

Fallen Angel

An angelic figure stalked the streets of night time London: Inhumanly tall with ashen skin and hair to match that brushed his shoulders. An angel in a suit many would say, if they couldn’t sense the icy cruelty that rolled off him in waves. Eyes of bitter steel, it was needless to say Gideon Josias easily parted the oncoming crowd without trying. This angel, malicious as sin endures great sorrow – not that he would admit it. Beaten by his foster Father as a child, Gideon was moulded into his sadistic image. The bane of Gideon’s existence had been vanquished during the hostile takeover of JosiaCorp forty years prior. One vengeful Gideon led this ‘revolt’ against his tyrannical foster Father, Abimelech Josias.
Turning into a side street, shoes clicking on cobblestones, Gideon now stood before the cosy Papagni’s Café. He strode in, greeted by a sweet aroma, the tinkle of the bell and –
“You’re late,” rang a smooth voice. “But you knew that.”
Rachel Josias had inherited the blessing of nigh-eternal youthfulness; possessing raven bangs which masked her emerald eyes and silky rivers flowed down her back. Her aura, equal to her father’s but it wasn’t a torrent of ice but an inferno of fire. It enveloped all nearby. Sitting dignified at a lone table, arms crossed and a scowl planted on her face, she commanded the space she occupied.
“It wasn’t intentional,” Gideon snapped. Rachel was unfazed.
“I’ve been sitting in this dingy café for forty minutes, explain.” Rachel demanded, her eyes attempting to pierce Gideon’s façade.
“I was busy. I needn’t explain myself to you.” Gideon sneered, sitting opposite Rachel.
“Whatever Father.” Rachel bit back harshly. Rachel slid out a folder and began pulling out papers of statistics.
“Won’t you order?” Gideon questioned.
“No, I filled up on the pity bread while I was waiting,” Rachel replied coolly, without looking up.
“Stop acting like a brat,” Gideon hurled back. Rachel didn’t respond. She was used to his antics now.
Rachel used to treasure these meetings, even when she was a child her Father would sweep away his work just to be with her for a small, invaluable amount of time. That had changed two years ago, when Rachel’s mother Helen was involved in a car collision. Helen’s final words were to Gideon as she lay broken in hospital. He had exploded from the room with a look of malevolence, like a newly awoken storm ready to tear at London. From that day, Rachel and her father’s relationship was strained. She was left alone to deal with the seemingly unending void of anguish, the pain of losing her mother and best friend. Her father had submerged himself in work; he had become cutting, cold and cruel. Helen was his light in his dark world but now a deep gash is all that remained.
In truth Rachel was still struggling, on that tragic day she had lost both her parents. She erected a stony front, attempting to imitate her father whom she idolised but she was hollow inside. Her flame now tainted by ice. She was not the slab of granite her father had become. She often wondered: why do we still hold these intermittent sparring sessions? The truth was that secretly they need each other, subconsciously they felt whole – but she’d never admit it.
Clearing her throat Rachel began to present data to her father who…looked like he wasn’t paying an ounce of attention.
“When I am talking to you I expect some recognition.” Rachel demanded with fury, her pride wounded. “It’s just-”
“I was here when it happened,” Gideon cut across sharply; he looked like he was in a trance. His cold eyes held a spark, a distant memory.
“What?” Rachel questioned curiously.
“I was sitting here.” Gideon let out a dark chuckle. His eyes snapped onto Rachel’s face. “And you were at Oxford, Helen was at home baking her cookies she bragged to the neighbours about…just how I left you.”
We were all doing our own little thing…the night she died.” Gideon whispered with finality, Rachel paled.
“Dad, we need to get this done, why d-”
“She died that night. The police said the car careened into a river. My Helen put up a fight, which is expected,” he let out another sad chuckle. “But here’s the kicker. She was driving to Oxford University, to pick you up. She died selflessly…my Helen through and through.”
Rachel now understood his pain. The careless call to her mother asking for a lift had ended her life. Her exterior crumbled, tears welled into her eyes. “You hate me for that, don’t you? I was selfish, I understand that.”
“You understand nothing little girl,” Gideon broke free from his reverie, disgusted by his weak behaviour he bolted upwards.
“Dad wait, I’m sorry, forgive me.” Rachel stood.
“I do not blame you. I blame myself,” Gideon whispered nearly inaudible, almost affectionately, then continued louder with deathly intent and full of scorn. “God has not only bestowed a curse upon me, so that everything I touch turns to crap. He has also given me a daughter that defiles her mother’s memory. You look so alike, you remind me of all that I have lost but you are the one who takes it all away.” His face now morphed into a monstrous smile, he mockingly clapped. “I applaud you on a job well done.”
Driven by her rage and pride, Rachel struck her father. “I have lost her too!” Rachel raged.
Licking blood from his lips, Gideon seized Rachel’s arm in an iron grip and leaned into her face, continuing on in his tirade as if nothing had interrupted. “And I hate you for it. I neither want you, nor your understanding.” He spat with revulsion, throwing her arm back as if burned, he swiftly turned, banged open the door and stormed into the thick fog.
Rachel crumpled, even though she knew her Father expected this. She knew he had lied, she knew he had concocted a weak excuse that even a blind man could see through. She knew the last link with her Father had been shattered, like her heart.
Through the window, he saw Rachel collapse onto the table. Sometimes to preserve what you love, you must push it away. “I do love you my Rachel,” he whispered into the night. Remembering Helen’s final words: I can not meet the Lord knowing I have lied to you…
The angel, hunched over, bathed in moonlight, had fulfilled his deed. Remembering what Helen had said next, he knew he had done the right thing concerning his Rachel.
Turning sideways, the mist wrapping lovingly around his form, only one thought carried him through his dark void of desolation, this one thought helped him exile his own daughter, helped him transform into the monster he had become and it will help this angel carry out his final endeavour. Abimelech will die.