The windows of the park’s glass carousel house erupted and the projectiles from the detonation acted as shrapnel, striking everyone in the vicinity. In the distance, more breaking glass could be heard and they knew the windows of storefronts and homes had departed.
People began to run, scurrying through the adjacent streets, uncertain and visibly shaken at what they had just seen. Bloodied people struggled through the park, the glass shrapnel thorough in its damage.
Juan called for Diego and the priest to follow him. They made their way slowly through the carnage, their experience in centuries of warfare enhancing their actions. People they passed spoke of a bomb. “Do you think its terrorism?” they heard one person ask.
The police arrived and people on the street were frantic. The tires of their cruisers crunched the glass-laced streets.
Through the mayhem, Juan led the way to his home. He expected the worst but found that his home was untouched. Whatever the blast area was, his home was apparently out of that particular vicinity.
They entered, ready to be apart from the destruction outside and were surprised to find someone sitting Juan’s table.
“Enoch,” Juan said, recognizing the man at once. “It’s been decades.” Juan was wary of Enoch’s presence as he knew with the events outside, he had not come for a social call.
Enoch offered a strained smile and confirmed Juan’s thoughts. “I wish I was just here to visit but I have more pressing matters. I need the three of you to listen. You see what’s occurring outside?”
“How could we miss it?” asked Diego.
Enoch’s smile became more genuine. Diego’s sarcasm was never lost on a moment.
“Pardon me but who are you?” the priest interrupted.
Juan interceded. “Father, this is Enoch – the Voice of God.”
“The Voice of God…?” The priest was confused. “How can this be?”
Enoch regarded the older man. “Priest, I understand your disbelief. But now is not the time. Right now I just need you to listen.”
The priest relented and Enoch spoke quickly and to the point. When he finished, his eyes passed across all three men. “Do you understand all that I have said?”
“Go back to Ethiopia. Read the Book of Jubilees. Got it,” replied Diego.
Enoch sighed. “If only it was as simple as that. And now, you must leave. The Watchers will know I visited you.”
The priest blinked. Before the blink, Enoch was there and after he was not. A moment later, the angel Shamsiel filled his vacated spot in Juan’s home.
Angels could not be killed but they could be damaged physically in the mortal world. Juan obliged this anomaly by putting his ancient sword (stored in a panel within his coffee table) through Shamsiel’s face.
Although Shamsiel was not actually inflicted, his body reacted as if he were human and the blade split his face. There was no pain and his wounds healed almost instantly but the force of the blow drove him backwards onto the floor. He landed on the carpeted floor just as the other Watchers arrived. Their arrival shattered everything glass within the house.
Juan used the distraction to leave. He looked over at Diego and they put their hands on the shoulders of the priest; instantly, they departed Juan’s home.
“Do we follow them?” one of the angels asked.
Shamsiel was angry but he let the fury pass as he rose from the floor. “We don’t need them. Enoch is the target. He has been here and we will follow him.”
“What was that?” the priest demanded.
“They are the Watchers,” Juan said warily. “But we cannot discuss them here.”
“Where do we go?” Diego asked.
The priest looked around. “Are we in Axum?”
Juan nodded. “Yes, we are back in Ethiopia.”
“I would suggest we go back to the chapel but the police are there,” the priest offered. “I’m sure they will have noticed my absence and will have many questions for me. There is a place on this side of town that people sometimes go to be discrete. The clientele is somewhat sorted.”
“That will have to do,” Juan replied.
The priest led them through soiled alleyways. Prostitutes worked the dark passages and more than one body sprawled the pavement.
They arrived at a dingy building and Juan and Diego waited outside while the priest took care of the arrangements. He reappeared a few minutes later with a key. “I’m not sure the man behind the desk believed I was actually here on church business.”
“I doubt the man behind the desk wants you here on church business,” Diego replied.
“Point taken. Anyways, we have a room.” Juan and Diego followed him inside to a room with one small bed and a scarred desk. “This is the best I could do.”
“It’ll work,” said Juan.
After they were settled, the priest implored of Juan to continue with his story, hoping it would somehow explain all he had seen.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A familiar voice crested the background and the feeling of nostalgia enveloped him. “Hello, old friend.”
Juan had not yet opened his eyes but discerned the voice as he would a precious memory. “Hello, Christopher,” he replied. He still couldn’t believe it but he had found his old friend Christopher Columbus; the man with whom he had toured the New World, loved as a brother and buried.
Christopher first met Juan in a tavern in Madrid. Christopher had just finished his dinner when a fight broke out. He was not sure what had started the fight but as the brawl developed, he saw that one man stood against five.
The five had the one man pressed against a wall: two held the one man while the other three took turns striking. The one man’s face was a mess
