“He is bleeding to death!”
“Tiana. Come on. Please.”
She preceded him from the room, face scrunched up and fingers clenching, and stared as he fetched his laptop from behind the counter.
“What are you doing?”
“Hold on.”
“Give me my phone back.”
He held up an open hand, hoped his face conveyed more plea than order, and took the laptop to Moira, who said nothing as she moved from Zac’s side to take it. Tiana still stood in the middle of the room when he returned, and he motioned her to follow him. Of all wonders, she did. Wordless until she and David were in his Jeep, en route to the party store three blocks over.
“Tell me why.”
“Because Zac wants it this way.”
“You’re letting him die, David. He’s going to die.”
No, he isn’t. If only he could say that. Tiana covered her face with her hands. David drove on the lookout for a man in a red hoodie, but the streets were emptying by this hour. Another minute passed before she spoke again.
“Was he attacked? Someone tried to kill him?”
“Yes.”
“Shot?”
“Stabbed.”
“David, why the—?” She stopped, drew a shaky breath. “Why can’t we call an ambulance?”
“Moira’s calling in an anonymous tip to the police. But Zac cannot be identified as the victim.”
“I’m not talking about the police. I’m talking about paramedics. To save his life.”
“Which you know would result in a police report.” And a blood draw. And a medical chart detailing anomalous results.
“But he’s dying.” Shrillness crept into her voice. “And where are we going?”
“I’m getting him something for the pain.”
“What, alcohol? He needs morphine or something. And surgery. And antibiotics.”
He turned into the five-space store lot and parked. “Come inside with me.”
“So I can’t call 911 while you’re gone?” But she was getting out of the Jeep, following him as she said it.
Inside, David kept his voice low while he headed for the liquor. “All I can say right now is that things aren’t what they appear to be, and I need your trust.”
“That’s not fair,” she whispered.
“Not at all, but I have to ask it of you.”
She didn’t answer.
Given what Zac faced in the next twenty-four hours, he deserved the highest proof in the store. Given Moira had just tried to claw Tiana’s face off … In addition to the whiskey, David bought a bottle of red wine. The thin graybeard behind the counter grunted at the two beverage choices set beside each other on the counter, but he rang them up without comment. David and Tiana ran out to the Jeep under a fresh downpour.
She set the bag at her feet with a quiet clanking of glass on glass. “You never would have told me about any of this.”
“No.”
“He’s going to die, and I’d never have known it happened here if I hadn’t come back.”
“Why did you?”
“To read. You know, in a bookstore.” The bristle in her tone fell away as she covered her face again. “Oh, Lord. Zac. Dear Jesus, save Zac somehow. Heal him somehow. Please let him live.”
Nothing David could say was safe, not without Zac’s permission. He crushed the impulse to gather Tiana in his arms as she continued praying aloud the whole way back. When they got there, she climbed woodenly out of the Jeep and started to follow him inside.
By tomorrow she’d know Zac wasn’t going to die. David wouldn’t subject her to a night of distress for no reason. He carried the bag of bottles in one hand and tucked Tiana close with his free arm. She fit bonnily, just the height to rest her head at the crook of his shoulder. When they reached the door, he nodded for her to open it. They stepped in together.
“Come on,” he said.
She drew a deep breath before they entered the room, and whispered, “Please, Jesus.”
When they entered, Moira released Zac’s hand and stood to face Tiana. “Get out.”
David pitched his voice low, gentle. “Moira, is that for the best right now?”
Her lip wobbled as she considered the options, as she must be imagining Tiana sans supervision, going to the police anyway. She sank down onto the couch and took Zac’s hand again as if she could pour protection through the contact.
If anything, Zac looked grayer, sweat on his forehead, his breathing more shallow. He didn’t open his eyes. Moira had draped the leather jacket over his chest, bloody liner facing up, but he shivered every few seconds.
David set the bag on the table. “Is he conscious?”
Zac’s eyes opened. “Liquor. Now.”
David went to the cupboard over the sink and fetched one of the white mugs. He opened the bottle of whiskey and, as he poured half a glass, Zac saw Tiana.
His growl was weak. “Who let the mortal back in?”
“What?” Tiana said.
Without answering, David held Zac upright while Moira tilted the mug to his lips. Zac scrunched his eyes tight at the first swallow, then finished it all, about three shots. Should help, especially if his resistance wasn’t too built up—though a century and a half built up some degree even when consumed in moderation. David lowered him to the pillow.
Zac sighed. “Thanks, John.”
Tension rippled through the room. Moira stepped closer and set her hand on Zac’s head, and he opened his eyes, looked from her to David.
“It’s getting …” He coughed. “I can’t think.”
“You don’t have to,” Moira said.
Tiana crept around David to stand at the couch.
“I guess David told you.” Moira’s tone had flattened. Resigned, maybe.
“I didn’t call an ambulance, if that’s what you mean.”
Moira looked back and forth between them, attention coming to rest on David. “You didn’t …?”
“Not mine to tell, but she’s going to know before long.” Surely Moira saw that.
“Then please just tell me.” Tiana wrapped her arms around herself, still watching Zac. “Tell me why he wants you to let him die, and tell me why you’re listening to him.”
Moira measured her with a long, calm stare and then sighed. “He isn’t dying.”
“Wh–what?”
Again she took Zac’s hand. “Zachary? I want your agreement.”
He said nothing, but his fingers tightened around hers.
Moira nodded and kept his hand in her lap. “I … I haven’t explained this in so long. I don’t know where to begin.”
David did. And now he could. He cleared his throat. “She already knows.”
“What?” Moira said.
“She knows about me. Well, she doesn’t believe me. Didn’t believe me. Likely will after tonight.”
He glanced at Tiana, but she continued to stare at Zac. David scrubbed a hand upward through the back of his hair and perched on the edge of the table. He waited, but none of them spoke, and then Zac was choking. David held the wastebasket while he vomited, and when Moira lowered him to the pillow this time, his mouth stayed open in an effort to breathe.
“No.” The word seemed to burst from Tiana. “It’s not possible.”
David gave her a moment to sort it out for herself. She was more likely to believe it that way.
“He called me the mortal.” She turned on David and jabbed a finger at his chest. “You went to Arizona.”
“I did.”
“To find him after he fell.” He nodded.
“You believed he was … You believe he …”
“Because it’s true.”
“He’s like you.” Her voice had flattened, disbelief morphing into a dread that couldn’t keep doubting him, though she wanted to. “He’s … old. And he can’t die.” She stared at Moira. “You too?”
“Yes,” Moira said.
“But he’s still bleeding. There’s—there’s
more—red.”
“It takes time.”
Tiana took a step nearer. “Zac?”
His eyelids flickered before opening.
“Was there an angel?”
He grasped a deeper breath. “No.”
“You fell into the canyon.”
“Yeah.”
“But you can’t die. This, now, you won’t die from this either.”
“I won’t.”
She turned away from him. “How long will it take for him to heal?”
“About twelve hours,” Moira said.
“And no scars, or anything?”
“No scars.”
She sank into a chair. “How many of you are there?”
When Moira hesitated, David shrugged. “Better for her to know than to overestimate.”
“Five,” Moira said.
Tiana’s eyebrows arched. “In the US?”
“In the world, we think.”
“They’ve known I existed from the beginning,” David said, “but they could never find me.”
“So you found them, on a hunch. Had you believed you were the only one?”
“Until I saw the news story. In my experience, angels don’t deliver us from earthly consequences of behavior—ours or anyone else’s.”
Zac let out a hard breath, responding either to David’s words or to fresh pain.
Tiana sat twisting one of her thumb rings. The skepticism in her eyes had brightened into amazement, and David had to punch down a fierce hope in the center of his chest. That her opinion mattered so much—it wasn’t sensible, and it could be dangerous.
Yet he had to know. “Do you believe us?”
“I guess I will if he’s alive in the morning.” But the edge in her voice wasn’t defending against them. The foreignness of this reality had to feel threatening. “And …” She stood. “I guess I should … go.”
Moira still appeared to be gritting her teeth, but she gave a nod, and after a moment a long sigh caved the tension from her shoulders. “Thank you.”
Tiana hurried from the room, and David followed her to the door. On the slab porch, she turned.
“Your name was John?”
“Years ago.”
“How many years?”
The questions he’d wished she would ask, yet saying the answers aloud felt rusty and wrong. He leaned in the doorframe. “I took this name in 1973.”
She stood looking at him for a moment, unreadable. “And they’ve lived the same way. Not choice but necessity.”
“They have.”
“I won’t intrude, David, but I want to see him tomorrow. Just see him and then go, if that’s what they want.”
“I don’t think they’ll have a problem with it, now that you know.” Moira might, but he’d talk to her.
“I’ll call Jayde in the morning and let her know the store’s closed.”
“Consider it a paid holiday.”
“You can’t afford to keep doing that.”
“I can, actually.”
“It doesn’t feel right to me, but thank you.” She twisted her thumb ring. “I don’t know how to get my head around this, any of this. But I’m glad you found them. Even though you didn’t know to look for them.”
He watched her walk to her car, get inside, start it up. When her taillights disappeared, he remembered what he’d meant to fetch from the Jeep. He pulled from the hatchback two emergency items he’d never expected to use—a sleeping bag and a thick afghan, woven in brown and green and gold and transferred from one vehicle to another for the last fifty years. Not until he was striding back to the store did he process what she’d said. A stranger to her would not have picked up on the allusion at all.
He had found kin without knowing to look for them. She had looked for hers, inquired across the world to Burundi, and found nothing.
He brought the items inside and set the rolled sleeping bag in front of the refrigerator. The conversation with Tiana was pushed aside as he focused on immediate concerns. “I should go into town again. Try to hunt him down.”
“And do what?” Zac slurred, eyes closed.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s long gone, David.” Moira’s voice was quiet. “Don’t go.”
David folded his arms and rubbed them to generate warmth, though the room wasn’t cold. “We have a responsibility to do something about this.”
“Simon would tell you crime fighting is not a hobby.”
“Would he call in a vague tip and let it go at that?”
“I believe he would,” she said.
She folded Zac’s jacket and set it aside. David handed her the blanket, and she draped it over Zac instead.
Her face crumpled. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Didn’t she expect the best care he could offer?
“And thank you … that she’s gone.”
“That was all Tiana. She understands now.”
Moira threaded her fingers with Zac’s, and a few tears fell. “I don’t mean to be watery. But what he said earlier, about memories …”
“He told me how you met.” David moved one of the chairs out from the table and dropped into it.
“Did he?” She nodded. “He would. Fairness, of course, but also … well, all of us have wanted to find you, but I think it’s mattered most to him.”
“Why?” Simon was right—for all they knew, David was a rotten person.
“If you hadn’t noticed, he’s the gregarious one.” She smiled.
David nodded.
“Whatever else it may be, we haven’t discussed.”
“Do you have bags with you, a change of clothes? Or is everything in your hotel room?”
“Rooms.” She said it automatically then looked up to meet his eyes. “But no, we hadn’t booked anything yet. It’s all in the car.”
“In the morning, if he can move, I’ll take you to my place for showers and such.”
“That would be appreciated.” She waited for him to ask, but that wasn’t going to happen. At last she sighed. “We maintain a semi-platonic relationship.”
He laughed. “Now there’s a creative term.”
“Perhaps a better description would be … platonic more often than not.”
“It’s not my business unless you want it to be.”
“You’re right. And I don’t.”
“Well then.”
They sat awhile. David sent a prayer that Zac would sleep through the worst, but in about fifteen minutes, he lurched up on the couch with a strangled sound and vomited again. It appeared to be more blood than whiskey; he fell asleep as soon as he lay back down.
David and Moira sipped wine and talked quietly into the night, stories of their travels, their occupations, nothing about anyone loved and lost. Moira had seen more of the world than he had, and she described Spain, Belgium, Japan, Brazil, Norway, and Sweden—she’d been there though Zac had not—with affection and an artist’s eye. When he mentioned his long-ago pilgrimage to Scotland, she probed with questions that understood things he didn’t say. It had been good to explore the land of his father, and he’d thought before the journey that he might stay forever; but he’d found himself ready, seven months later, to return to America. Home, for better and worse. Moira nodded, though he wondered if she considered any place home.
Their conversation sometimes paused but never ceased. He couldn’t blame the wine for his loose tongue, given he’d had only two mugfuls. But when the brogue crept into his speech, it took him an hour to notice.
Before David bought the place, someone had installed a dimmer switch on every light, and around ten he lowered the break room’s to half brightness, then lowered it again a little past midnight when Moira’s eyelids drooped and she listed in her chair.
“Hey there.” David nudged her upright with a hand on her shoulder. “Roll out the bag and get some sleep.”
“But Zac.”
The man hadn’t stirred in two hours. “I’ll watch him.”
I
n the dimness she rolled out the sleeping bag on the floor in front of the fridge, tugged off her knee-high boots, and crawled inside. “By the way, you ought not squelch that burr, David. It’s pleasant.”
He gave a low laugh.
Five minutes of silence, and then she whispered, “David?”
“Hmm?”
“My near-death. It wasn’t in any way remarkable. Many women died the same way I was supposed to.”
He clasped his hands between his knees and sat forward in the chair. The ticking of the regulator, hung on a wall halfway to the front of the store, seemed louder while he waited.
“My second child,” Moira said. “A breech birth, and Dr. Leon couldn’t turn him. In the last hours, the child was still, and I told the doctor he was dead. I …” The sleeping bag rustled as she turned onto her side, finding his gaze in the near dark. “I was weak when he finally came, and then the bleeding was very bad. Dr. Leon asked both of us, me and my husband, if he might try to save my life. He didn’t know if the serum would work on a case like mine, but we agreed to let him try it. He might have given it to the child too, but I was right. He had been dead some time.”
So many children lost in those days—at birth, in the weeks and months after. Sarah had lost two pregnancies after she had Kathleen. Early on, before she was showing, no one but the two of them knew their loss. David had held her through nights of keening grief each time. To carry a child to term, to labor for its birth, and then to feel its death only hours before it came …
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I didn’t become pregnant again,” Moira said. “When I understood what had happened to me, I counted it a boon. It’s different for all of you—you could be fathers, probably. But a child of mine would receive nourishment from my blood, and there’s no way to know … the consequences.”
He’d never considered it. A chill traced his spine at the image of an infant that couldn’t grow up.
Moira rolled onto her back again and nestled deeper into the sleeping bag until the top of it reached her chin. “Thank you for all of this. Letting us stay here, taking care of Zac …”
“A wee bit of alcohol.” He smiled and hoped she saw it in the dark.
“That too.” She smiled back. “Don’t let me sleep all night. You need rest too.”
“All right.”
No Less Days Page 11