All the Blue-Eyed Angels

by Jen Blood

  “Go home, Joe,” Isaac says. “Don’t come back to this island. You bring violence and ugliness to a holy place, and I can’t allow that.”

  Joe stands. There is a gash above his left eye and his lip is swelling rapidly. He looks at Rebecca and shakes his head.

  “I warned you, Becca. I can’t do no more than that.”

  He turns and walks away. Once he is gone, Isaac turns to her once more. The pacifist has vanished; Isaac looks at her with fire in his eyes and something bestial in his smile.

  She goes to him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I took Einstein out for a perfunctory pee break before I worked up the courage to knock on Juarez’s door, back at Diggs’ place. I knocked lightly at first, then a little louder when I got no answer. When he finally told me to come in, my hands were sweating and my mouth was drier than the Serengeti. I rubbed my palms on my jeans. Juarez pulled a t-shirt over his washboard stomach and ran a hand through his tousled hair. He’d showered and shaved, so he looked marginally better than he had when I’d seen him last. The boxers and the runner’s calves didn’t hurt matters.

  “I need to talk to you,” I said.

  He rubbed his eyes blearily and nodded. “Did they find Matt?”

  “No—not yet. It’s not about that, exactly.” I stood there for another twenty seconds trying to figure out where to begin before he arched an eyebrow.

  “Did you want me to guess?”

  “No—sorry.” Jesus. I shook my head. “Rebecca Ashmont called me. She wants us to meet her on the island—as soon as we can get over there.”

  He showed no reaction whatsoever for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, he blinked.

  “Rebecca…I’m sorry, what?”

  “I know it sounds nuts. Which is why I’m glad she wants you to come, too—she said she knows about my father. She’ll tell me everything if I come out there and meet her. With you.” Nothing. “Tonight,” I added, in case he wasn’t clear on that part.

  He pulled his jeans on. “How do you know it was her?”

  “I don’t. The caller ID was from Joe’s phone, though, and she asked me to bring Zion—and then she said, ‘Bring my son.’ Rebecca Ashmont. They never identified her body with the others—it’s possible.”

  “And you think she meant me when she said to bring Zion.”

  “If she didn’t she’s shit out of luck, because you’re the closest thing I’ve got.”

  “And she wants me out there now?”

  “Yeah—she said there’s not much time. God only knows what that means, but I’m thinking it’s not good.” It took a second for his words to register. “Whoa, hang on. Not you—us. She asked for me, too.”

  “I don’t know if she’s dangerous—hell, I don’t even know who she is,” Jack countered. He strapped on a shoulder holster with unnerving efficiency. “You’re staying here.”

  “I’ll just follow you out there. You know I will.”

  “Then I’ll just call Diggs and tell him what’s going on.”

  I advanced on him. “Screw you—this is mine as much as it is yours. She has information about my father. You have no right to keep me out of this.”

  I wasn’t sure whether he understood my reasoning or sympathized with my plight or just didn’t have the energy to fight with me, but he took a few seconds to think about things before he nodded.

  “You have to do what I say,” he said.

  Given the shoulder holster and the almost unnecessarily large gun that belonged there, that seemed like a reasonable stipulation. I nodded.

  “And we leave a note for Diggs letting him know where we are, just in case.”

  I agreed.

  Twenty minutes later, we were steering my boat out of the harbor yet again. It was just after nine o’clock. The sky was clear, the moon nearly full. We’d left Einstein behind, along with the requisite note for Diggs. I wore a sweater to guard against a chill I hadn’t been able to shake since the night before. Juarez stood beside me at the wheel, his hand at the small of my back while I played captain.

  “It could be a trap,” he said just after we’d hit the open ocean.

  The thought had crossed my mind. I took my eyes off the expanse of deep black sea in front of us and met his gaze.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know—Diggs would never forgive you.” I was trying to be funny, but he obviously didn’t see the humor.

  “I’m not worried about Diggs.” The way he looked at me made it clear he was talking about more than just the obvious. I turned back toward the bow and corrected our course, though it didn’t really need correcting.

  “We should probably stay focused on what we’re doing,” I said. “Conspiracies, dead parents who aren’t really dead…You know, the usual.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed. Despite the tension I saw a flicker of a smile touch his lips. “Anyway, it’s not like I don’t know the score there.”

  “What score is that, exactly?”

  “With Diggs.”

  We had another forty minutes before we got to the island. Try as I might, I couldn’t just let the statement lie.

  “What about Diggs, exactly?”

  He thought about the question before he said anything. “I’m not anything like him—I know that. I like music that sounds like music; I don’t know the latest pop culture references. I don’t Tweet. If I never had to touch a computer again, I’d be all right with that.”

  The seas were calm beneath the boat and our path was clear. Moonlight reflected perfect white light off the water. I looked at Jack and swallowed a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature.

  “So, you’re just a simple cowpoke with simple cowpoke ways—is that what you’re telling me?” I asked.

  He grinned outright at that, a predatory gleam in his eye. “More or less.” He paused. “You should watch out.”

  The shiver returned, a little lower now. “Is that a threat or a promise?” I asked with a sexy smile.

  He made a valiant effort not to laugh at me as he nudged me aside and took the wheel. “A warning, actually,” he said, nodding toward the sea. “There are some rocks up ahead.”

  Right. I knew that.

  We were both quiet for the rest of the boat ride. We stood side by side in the cool night air, lost in separate worlds. Any concern over romantic entanglements fell to the wayside the closer we got to Payson Isle. A bloated, pale yellow moon hung just over the tree line. We were still about ten minutes out when a thunderous crack shattered the stillness; I nearly jumped out of the boat.

  Juarez pushed me down to the deck and followed suit, reaching for his gun. We waited for something else to happen: more gunfire, ghostly apparitions, the sky to fall. There was nothing.

  “Was that…?” I asked.

  “Definitely.”

  We had an abbreviated debate over whether or not we should keep going or turn back. I voted to keep going. Despite any chivalrous illusions, I knew that that was what Juarez wanted, too. Eight minutes after the first and only shot was fired, we tied the boat at the dock.

  Juarez took the lead, and I was only too happy to let him. We both stayed low to the ground. I thought of my mother out here twenty-four hours ago, fighting for her life. A cold wind sang through the trees. The forest was well lit, the path in front of us deep blue in the moonlight. My heart thundered in my ears. We kept going.

  By the time we were halfway up the trail to the greenhouse, anxiety had gotten the better of me. There was still no sign of another soul—the occasional, quiet call of an owl out on the hunt, maybe the rustle of a deer nearby, but certainly no more gunshots or threatening figures in our path. I followed behind Juarez and kept quiet.

  We both stopped when we reached the edge of the tree line, along the perimeter of an open field surrounding the greenhouse. It was the first time I’d been here since I was a child. The greenhouse was made of granite and glass, though the thick-p
aned windows had been broken years ago. It stood in stark silhouette, the moon low behind it. I thought of the body my mother said she had found hanging here years ago.

  “You came out here today?” I whispered to Juarez, thinking of the search party that had been on the island earlier.

  “Yeah—we didn’t find anyone, though. Obviously.”

  Of course not. Whoever we were looking for—whether it was Rebecca Ashmont or someone else—must not have been on the island earlier. Juarez touched my arm and nodded toward the greenhouse, now about fifty yards away.

  “Stay low and keep close.”

  I nodded. The field was overgrown, but we wouldn’t be nearly as well hidden as we’d been in the woods.

  “You have your phone?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Good. Call Diggs.”

  “But—”

  He held up his hand to stop me. We were close enough that I could feel his breath in my ear when he spoke, the warmth of his body against mine.

  “It will take them some time to get here—whatever’s about to happen, it’ll already be over by then. Just call.”

  I made the call. Diggs answered on the first ring. I told him where I was and what was happening, then hung up while he was still trying to get his head around what I’d said. Juarez looked at me, then nodded toward the greenhouse.

  Now or never.

  Since the gunshot we’d heard while we were still on the water, everything had gone eerily still. Other than the distant surf and the occasional, mournful call of an owl out for its nightly hunt, the woods were silent. I swallowed past my fear. Juarez squeezed my hand. He got down low with his gun close to his body and went out first. I followed.

  Nothing happened. The field was thick with blackberry brambles and burrs and other things that cut and caught at us, but other than a few scratches and scrapes our run across the field was uneventful. When we got to the open, stone archway leading into the greenhouse, Juarez went in first. Looked around. When he was sure that it was safe, he gave the all clear. I went inside. Shattered glass sparkled like rare gems in the moonlight. I picked my way between broken plant pots and stray seedlings that had taken root between cracks in the floor, fallen sculptures and an old birdbath filled with algae and muddy water.

  There was no one there. Juarez paused to look out one of the broken windows. I gave him his space. He’d straightened somewhere along the line; my spine popped when I followed his lead, grateful to walk upright again. I thought of the hours I’d logged out here with my father years ago, just the two of us watching the sun rise while we tended the plants and he taught me the finer points of making things grow.

  “You’ll always be my magic bean, baby.”

  I joined Juarez at the window. We didn’t touch, we didn’t speak. There was nothing outside, either: No Matt, no Joe. Certainly no Rebecca Ashmont.

  “We should go to the boarding house,” he whispered in my general direction.

  I didn’t say anything. Now that we were here, alone and vulnerable on a moonlit night with no sign of whoever had lured us out in the first place, I realized that I didn’t want to go back to the boarding house. In fact, I didn’t want to be here at all. What the hell was I looking for? What did I expect to find?

  Rebecca Ashmont, or someone claiming to be Rebecca Ashmont, said she would tell me all my father’s secrets. Secrets my mother knew and refused to share; secrets Noel Hammond and possibly the entire Payson Church had died for.

  “Do you think it was really Rebecca who called me?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but someone wanted us here. And we didn’t imagine that gunshot.”

  No, we didn’t. I thought of Diggs’ voice on the phone; the fact that he was on his way here now. For what?

  “So—boarding house next,” I finally agreed.

  “It makes the most sense.”

  Right. I started to walk away, but he caught my arm. I turned. He held up his hand before I could ask what he wanted. I stopped. Speaking, moving. Breathing.

  A low moan rose on the cold night air, traveling like fingernails up the base of my spine.

  Juarez pushed on my shoulder and I crouched down again. He did the same. I stayed that way, trapped between the cold stone wall and Jack’s warm body, for another thirty seconds or more before the sound stopped just shy of a wail.

  The world went quiet again.

  “What the hell was that?” I whispered when I could speak again.

  “No idea,” he whispered back. He backed away from me but stayed low against the wall. He nodded in the general direction of the field. “I think it came from out there.”

  Of course it did.

  I followed him back outside, as much because I didn’t want to be left alone as anything. We’d come from the right before; now, Juarez went in the opposite direction. I kept two steps behind, looking over my shoulder for any sign of the monster I was sure lurked in the shadows.

  We were back in the field, fighting our way through a dense thicket of thorns and brush, when Juarez stopped. He pointed up ahead. It took a second or two before my eyes adjusted enough to sort out the shapes and make sense of what I was seeing.

  Another two or three yards, and the thorns and brush cleared to open field again. Someone was there. Dressed in black, barely discernible in the high grass, a figure lay on the ground.

  Whoever it was, he—or she—wasn’t moving.

  Juarez and I crept closer, his gun trained on the inert form.

  The second we were close enough to see who it was, Juarez dropped his gun to his side. He ordered me back and rushed in without so much as a glance in either direction to make sure he was safe. I waited with the blood rushing in my ears while he knelt beside Matt Perkins and checked for a pulse.

  Apparently, he found one because a minute later Jack took off his jacket, wadded it up, and put it under Matt’s head. I got closer. The front of the old man’s shirt was stained with blood, his eyes wide and his face twisted with pain. He stared at Jack like he’d never seen him before.

  I took a step back and tripped on something lying beside him, barely managing to right myself before I fell.

  A shovel. While Juarez tended Matt, I focused on the site where we’d found him. A few feet away was a hole maybe four feet long, some spots deeper than others—like Matt had been searching for something buried there. I looked closer. It didn’t take long to find what that had been.

  At the far end of the hole, the moonlight reflected off something hard and pale white. I got closer. Knelt in the cold, damp earth, and brushed the dirt away.

  A human skull.

  “Jack,” I said. I forgot to whisper. The sound of my voice was almost as jarring as the gunshot we’d heard back on the water.

  He didn’t answer.

  I swept away more dirt until the entire head was exposed. If I was Kat, of course, I could tell something from the skeleton—male or female, age, race…Something. All I saw was a human skull with a very prominent hole in its forehead. I turned to look at Jack. He was kneeling over Matt, but I caught the confusion on his face when he looked in my direction. I turned back to my own task as he returned to his.

  A skeleton. It wasn’t an infant, but other than that I couldn’t tell anything. I was trying to clear more of the dirt when my finger snagged on something sharp. I pulled it back as blood dripped from a cut in my index finger. I ignored the blood and the dull pain and the imminent threat of tetanus, and set back to work until I’d fully excavated what I had found.

  A glass crucifix.

  Rosary beads of bone.

  I rubbed the dirt from the rosary until I could make out the name etched in the glass:

  Zion.

  August 22, 1990

  The rain comes late that night—well past midnight, while Rebecca waits inside the greenhouse for whatever is about to happen. She still smells Isaac on her, is raw from his caresses and the violence of their union after Joe left. In the moment, she had thought it would change s
omething, being with Isaac like this again. Now, she realizes that is not the case—there was a sense of finality in their parting that she can no longer ignore.

  Now, she is back to the decision she had hoped she would not have to make. She thought once her mind was made up she would feel some sort of peace at the resolution, but all she feels is sadness.

  She will go. Zion will stay.

  Isaac returned to the house a short time ago, but Rebecca remains, waiting for the rain. The heavens open and the skies weep with a fury she understands all too well. She is exhausted. Confused. Bitter, when she knows she should not be. Isaac will guide her son. She will find her own path, whatever that may be. She sits on the ground inside the greenhouse with her back against the cold stone. By the time someone finally comes, she is nearly asleep.

  The man who stands in the doorway isn’t the one she expects, however, and apprehension wells in her chest at sight of the boy at his side.

  “Matt?”

  “What’s going on, Mom?” Zion asks. His hair is wet, and rain washes down his cheeks in rivers. His eyes are still bleary from sleep. “Uncle Matt said you needed me.”

  She stands and goes to them. They come in out of the rain; outside, the sudden onslaught after the long drought has washed away topsoil and already flooded the path in places. Matt is soaked. He looks drawn and frightened, but resolute in that way that always meant trouble when they were younger. When Matt makes a decision, few can sway him.

  “You talked to Joe?” she asks.

  “He said you won’t come. I told him maybe this time you need somebody else to make the choice for you. Adam and Diggins aren’t part of this—it’s none of their business. It’s just us. Like always. I’ll take you somewhere safe—Joe says he won’t stop us.”

  Zion looks bewildered, more childlike than she has seen him in years. “Take us? We’re happy here. Isaac is teaching me. This is where we belong now.”