by Sawyer Black
“I thought you could travel to Earth whenever you wanted.”
“We can, so long as we’re connected to a soul in our care. Right now, you are that soul, Henry. Sure, we’ll be guardians of another, and the new soul will provide us with a way back, but we’ll be too busy working with them to see after Sam.”
Henry shook his head, trying to sift through sense and logic to determine whether he was hearing more of Boothe’s manipulations or the truth.
Did the angel lie?
“He lied?”
Boothe said, “You sound shocked.”
“But he’s good. He’s an angel, right?”
“A fallen angel, Henry. Good, yes, but not perfect. He’s trying to earn his way back into Heaven. That means he must convert enough people to earn his return.”
“Fuck, if I can’t trust the good guys, who am I supposed to trust?”
Boothe’s massive grin said it all. Why not me?
Henry’s eyes fell to the TV screen, and a familiar pair of photos, Tiny Eyes and Bulldog. A third photo appeared, a man Henry hadn’t seen before. Under the photos were the words, Suspect in Henry Black Murder Case Arrested.
Henry stared at the screen, at the man with longish hair framing his pretty boy face. At least ten years younger and a few zip codes away from the first two killers. Everything about the asshole screamed rich kid. Under his photo, a name: Patrick Harrison.
“What the fuck?”
“Looks like the cops just found your third man,” Boothe said.
The photos transitioned to a shot of Henry and Amélie, taken at Disneyland two years before. He swallowed, thinking of his baby girl only for a second before the image blurred to a picture of the trust-fund asshole. That photo went to archive video of Patrick Harrison walking out of the courthouse surrounded by reporters. Beside him stood what appeared to be three hundred and fifty pounds of sweaty, sleazy lawyer. Or maybe a mob bodyguard in a fifteen-thousand-dollar suit.
“Harrison, son of Harrison Tech president Alfred Harrison, a high-level donor in last year’s re-election of Mayor Lucius, bonded out this morning and is expected back in court in two weeks,” said the female anchor, beaming.
Henry found the remote and rewound the story, starving for details.
The police tied two dead men to the murders at his house, then somehow linked one of the men to Harrison, though they weren’t detailing the connection or ruling out additional suspects.
“Bonded out?” Henry shouted as the story repeated. “The trust-fund fucker bonded out?”
Boothe shook his head, folded his fingers on his stomach, and said, “Well, Henry, I’d say that’s the best news we could’ve hoped for, yes?”
“What? That fucker is out of jail! How is that good news?”
“It means that the window to get him is now open. And now you have a name and face. All you need to do is find him and kill him. That shouldn’t be too hard.”
Henry thought of Randall’s offer.
Boothe must’ve read his eyes. “Don’t even tell me you’re considering rejecting me again, Henry. Pretty soon you’re going to start hurting my feelings.”
“I don’t know. Why are you so hot for me to kill this fucker? What’s in it for you?”
“I said our interests are aligned. That’s all you need to know.”
“No,” Henry said, jabbing his finger at Boothe. “I wanna know what happens after I kill this fucker. You said Randall’s trying to earn his way back into Heaven, so what the fuck are you trying to earn? Your way into Hell?”
Boothe shook his head. “Forget it, Henry. I’m not telling you.”
“Then tell me what happens to me.”
Boothe stared, as if weighing how much to say.
“Okay, Henry. I’ll tell you what happens. Kill this man, and your soul is turned for good. Or bad, as it were. You stay a demon and don’t go to Heaven. You’re either stuck in Nowhere forever, like me, or you go to Hell.”
Henry stared. “So you’re saying I could go to Heaven if I turn my back on killing this guy?”
Boothe said nothing, not even with his eyes.
“Don’t lie.”
“Like you could tell if I was lying,” Booth snorted. “But, yes, it’s possible. The real question you should be asking is, Do you really want to let your daughter’s murderer go?”
“I sure don’t want to spend a fucking eternity in Hell!”
“Hell’s not as bad as you think, Henry. Nothing like the fire and brimstone in your storybooks. Of course there’s some. Hell does have a reputation to live up to. But some parts of Hell are quite exciting, especially if you’re well respected, or an excellent earner. With your thirst, you surely will be.”
“‘Earner?’”
“If you convert enough souls in Purgatory.”
“So, that’s what this is about? You’re converting me to do what? Get a corner office in Hell?”
Boothe laughed. “Henry, Henry, Henry, it’s not about me. It’s about you protecting your wife. Ask yourself what would’ve happened if Ezra had not been watching when Samantha wanted to end it? What would’ve happened if I hadn’t called the police?”
Henry said nothing.
“Don’t worry, Henry, I’ll tell you exactly what would have happened. Samantha would’ve died. By suicide. You know what happens to suicides, right? They go straight to Hell. No Purgatory, no judgment, amen and hallelujah, Brother Henry. Believe me, that’s not what you want for her.”
Something shifted in Boothe’s tone. In his eyes. Subtle, but enough to suggest that he was speaking from painful experience. It was too much for Henry. He had to ask the question burning his tongue.
“Who’s Maria?”
Boothe, without missing a beat, asked, “Did Randall tell you about her?”
“Yes. Well, sort of. Randall told me to ask you.”
Boothe shook his head. “Maria was my Samantha … except she succeeded.”
“You mean … she killed herself?”
Boothe looked down at his martini glass, then out the windows. “Yes, Henry. She killed herself. Now she’s in Hell.”
Something clicked for Henry.
“Wait. So, you’re doing this for her, right? You’re trying to earn your way to Hell so you can be together again?”
“No, Henry. I’m trying to get her out of Hell. And that’s all I’ll say about this. My troubles aren’t something I wish on anyone. You have a chance to protect your true love. Kill these men so nothing bad happens again. When I see how little you must do to keep Samantha safe, and see the pitiful size of your sacrifice alongside the heft of your complaints, it sickens me. I’d slap the Devil on the back while handing him my soul for the opportunity you seem so eager to fritter away.”
“What about the angel?”
Boothe sighed. “Why are you so keen on Randall?”
“Not Randall. The Tracker you killed.”
Boothe’s face blanched. He took a slurping sip of his martini, looking at Henry from the corner of his eyes. “I didn’t kill him, Henry. I’m not a fool. I expended a significant amount of power in obtaining that spear from an old friend and bringing it to your defense. I don’t expect you to thank me, but neither will the Tracker. He’s probably sitting on a couch of his own, nursing a drink.” Boothe stared into the swirling liquid of his glass. “He will be watching for me.”
Henry stared out the window, joining Boothe in his absent gaze, feeling a sudden fraternity with the demon. Boothe was right. Henry should be willing to do anything to protect his family, eternity be damned.
He had a chance to avenge his wife and daughter. One chance to put down an enemy that seemed determined, for some reason, to kill his wife.
“Okay,” Henry said. “I’ll kill him.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
That evening, Henry went to Mercy Hospital, well-rested and rather strong. Surprising, since he hadn’t killed anyone since Bulldog and had been running on fumes back at the police station.
&
nbsp; Was sleeping last night really enough?
Henry barely slowed on his way to Mercy, at least not until he slipped beneath the fluorescent glow bathing the hospital lot. He crept around the building, searching for where he thought Room 741 was. He scampered up the side to a wide ledge circling the seventh floor, where he went from window to window, searching for his wife.
He wasn’t alone. Ezra appeared on the ledge, turning visible from his hidden guard position in front of a window two from Henry. He moved to join the goll, then glanced into the room, seeing his wife in bed, tubes running into her arms, nose, and mouth, hooked up to God knows what kind of monitors and IV bags.
But still alive.
“Hello, Master Henry,” Ezra said with a slight bow.
“Hey, Ezra. Since we’re away from La Paz, you think there’s any way you could see to dropping the Master stuff? Just Henry is fine.”
“No, Master Henry. I’d not disrespect you. You are my Master. There is no shame in that for me. It is my honor to serve you.”
“Okay, Ezra,” Henry said, noticing that the goll’s weird-speak in his head had cleared to normal. “Thanks for being here. For Sam, I mean. I know you’ve kept her safe.”
“You’re most welcome, Master Henry. I am glad I could help.”
“Hey, Ezra?”
“Yes, Master Henry?”
“Would you mind if I asked for a little privacy? I’d like to look in on my wife, and I don’t really wanna worry about what you’re thinking or what I’m not saying, or anything. I just want to be. That okay with you?”
The goll nodded. “Of course, Master Henry. I will wait on the roof. Keep a look out for Trackers up there. Master Boothe said they almost had you. Twice, that was.”
“Yeah, I’d appreciate you looking out for them so that doesn’t happen again. Thanks.”
Ezra bowed, folding his hands as he looked up at Henry, as though he would do anything in the world to please his master. Then he left with a POOF!
Henry stared through the window, watching his wife lying in bed. He knew things were often dark for Sam. Before they met, a few times during their marriage, and definitely after his death. But not so dark that she never wanted light again.
Maybe losing Amélie was the beginning, and this was the end. Perhaps the shootings at the church had hurled her over the edge. So much death, brought to children she’d known, no less. That would ruin anyone. But what would it do to someone who had already lost so much?
Things were awful after they lost Avery, the first of two miscarriages. The last time they had been willing to name a child before she was brought breathing into the world.
Samantha had cried for weeks, rocking in a chair they couldn’t afford while staring at the empty crib from page forty-seven of the Pottery Barn catalog. Bought on a maxed-out credit card. Sitting in the small writing office that was supposed to be the new nursery in their tiny apartment. She might have circled the drain into forever, but dawn cracked through the blackest night and Sam got pregnant with Amélie.
Amélie changed everything. She was healthy, smart, happy, and exciting. Able to keep Samantha company during the many long nights when Henry was touring. She was a living, breathing token of their trajectory. From not having enough money for clothes that weren’t worn by another kid first, to letting her wear things just once if she wanted. A career set aside for a child she’d dreamed about her entire life.
Yet, Amélie was unaffected. A beautiful girl who understood her world should never be taken for granted. Part Henry, part Samantha, and every ounce amazing.
Henry stared through the window, wishing Sam could see Amélie again, as he’d seen her ghost. He gasped. As if she had heard his thoughts like a call, his daughter appeared, standing next to her mother’s bed wearing jeans and the long purple sweater that she often let drape over her hands. She looked down, smiling, stroking her mother’s hair.
At least, sort of. Amélie’s hand was transparent, and fell through Sam’s skin as though sinking into a river. She kept smiling, though, and tried tucking the blanket further up under her mother’s chin, even as her fingers slipped through the fabric.
Henry watched, guilty like a spy, standing in shadows outside the window, looking in and saying nothing. Amélie had somehow escaped Purgatory, but he wondered how she had escaped, and if she had managed to flee with her full mind intact.
It was the first time the three of them were so close together since dinner the night that he and Amélie were killed.
How did she get out of Purgatory?
Does she know I’m outside?
Amélie turned from her mother, looked up at her father, and grinned from ear to ear. “Hi, Daddy!” she mouthed, then kissed her mom on the cheek, sinking through Samantha’s skin, before heading his way.
Walls meant nothing once you were dead. Amélie moved from one side of the glass to the other, as if there was nothing in between them.
“Hi, Daddy.” She sat on the ledge next to Henry, swinging her legs high above the parking lot. “Mommy’s going to be okay, right?”
“Yes.” Henry nodded as he sat.
After a long moment, he caught a look in his daughter’s eyes. That one which said she wanted to ask something but was afraid to bring it up. She knew something was wrong. He couldn’t not talk about the elephant in the room.
He cleared his throat and said, “Mommy has always been very, very sad.”
“I know.”
Henry turned to Amélie, surprised. “You know?”
“Of course,” she said, as though it were a matter of public knowledge.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I saw it in The Forgotten.”
“Oh,” Henry said, trying to figure out what she meant. “What else did you see?”
“Everything.” Amélie laughed, sounding nervous.
“How did you get out?”
“By being okay with whatever I saw.”
“Oh.” Henry fell silent.
Into his quiet, Amélie said, “Are you going to take care of the bad man who killed me?”
“You mean kill him like he killed you?”
Amélie nodded.
“You think I should?”
“I think he deserves it. It’s fair. But Randall said if you kill the man, something bad will happen, something that can never be taken back.”
Randall!
“Do you know what that something is?”
Amélie shook her head. “He didn’t say.”
“Didn’t or wouldn’t?”
“Wouldn’t.”
Henry laughed humorlessly. “Well, that sounds like Randall. Did he send you here to stop me?”
“No. I heard Mom crying and found my way out of the scary buildings. It took a while, but I finally found her, just like I found you.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” Henry put his arm around his baby girl, surprised when could feel her physical form. Maybe demons and ghosts could connect.
“Me, too.” She leaned on his shoulder.
Her touch melted his insides. He wanted to hug her forever. He put his arm around Amélie and drew her closer.
My girl is here with me.
They shared the silence. Henry swung his feet, matching Amélie’s rhythm. Finally, she pulled away from his embrace. “You shouldn't kill him, Daddy. I don’t want you to do something bad that can’t be taken back.”
“But I have to protect, Mommy. That’s my job.”
“You don’t have to kill him.”
“I might,” Henry argued. “And there’s more than just one man left. There’s at least three who are trying to hurt Mommy. What if that’s the only way to keep her safe? These men are bad, super bad, and I don’t know why, but they want to hurt our family. Since Mommy’s the only one left, you and I have to do all we can to protect her. That means you being okay with whatever I have to do. What do you think?”
She shook her head, growing more insistent. “No, Daddy. You have to find anot
her way.”
“There isn’t one.” Henry held her eyes, quietly begging his daughter to believe him, if only so it would be easier for him to believe himself. “I have to stop them.”
Amélie pouted. “Randall said there’s another way.”
“Maybe. But if there is, I don’t know what it is.”
He looked to Amélie for the answer, but her quivering lip had nothing to say. Her face was about to crack into a cry … and then she was gone, as suddenly as she had appeared.
“Amélie?” Henry cried out, searching the ledge, before peering through the glass, back inside the hospital room.
His daughter was gone.
And again he was alone.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Henry practically flew on his way to kill Patrick Harrison, leaping from the hospital ledge to the parking lot, racing through the night and gliding from one shadow to the next until reaching Boothe’s apartment. He went straight to the computer, looking up everything he could on the rich fuck sucking at the teat of Harrison Tech.
He couldn’t find a direct route, and ended up hopscotching all over the Internet for twenty minutes, eventually finding the fucker’s address in his public arrest report.
Time for justice, motherfucker.
Twenty-one minutes after memorizing 82734 Ariel Way, Henry dropped into the shadows on the other side of the long retaining wall surrounding the compound bought by Daddy. Probably with kickbacks and tax incentives paid out by the mayor after a landslide victory. Harrison Tech didn’t donate. They invested.
Henry skirted a pool, water glowing like an invitation in the cool night, and passed a half-dozen cabanas. He climbed the Spanish tile steps to the sliding glass door where he sensed activity at the edge of his awareness. He dropped into the darkness, and slid inside.
Three rooms later, Henry walked in on Patrick Harrison under a blanket of naked women. The room had barely any light, though he doubted either Patrick or his invoiced companions would’ve noticed him, even with a bank of fluorescents on the ceiling. Lines of coke, loud music, and dripping sex. Patrick’s senses were indulged to overwhelm. The music was loud, but Henry was louder. He dropped into a crouch and roared.