“Fine. I understand that,” he says, shaking his head. He lowers his outstretched arm to shake my hand. “Good luck. If you don’t find what you’re looking for, I hope you at least find some peace.”
I nod, shake the man’s hand, and leave, heading straight for the closest hospital.
Reapers, like Michaela, are the only heavenly beings allowed to travel back and forth between the heavens and Earth. I have to go somewhere where people die, regularly. And the first idea that comes to mind is the ICU ward of the hospital.
So I catch the train over to Mount Sinai. It’s well past dark when I arrive, and the hospital is pretty quiet. The receptionist at the front desk is both pleasant and helpful, and after smiling at me longer than is necessary, she directs me straight to the ICU ward. For the first time, I’m grateful for the immediate attraction women—and even some men—seem to have to me. It has helped me get past the first barrier.
As I ride the elevator to the correct floor, I wonder why I didn’t think to try this sooner. Perhaps this will provide me with a connection to my other life. There are a lot of Reapers, so the odds are slim that I’ll come across Michaela, but I really hope I do. Ultimately, she’s the one I need to find. But perhaps another Reaper would be able to get a message to her. Anything is better than the questions that surround me now.
The doors open to the ICU ward, and I step out, but I don’t get too far. The elevator dumps into the waiting room, staunchly guarded by the receptionist. The actual patients are securely kept behind doors that remain locked and tightly controlled by the woman at the desk. I approach cautiously, trying to come up with a feasible excuse to get past her.
Oh hi. I just need to make contact with a Reaper. I’ll be out of your hair really fast, I promise. I shake my head. Yes, do you have someone who’s dying? Like right now? I’d like to linger at their bedside. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.
“How can I help you?” the nurse asks. She’s middle aged, with a blunt haircut and steel-rimmed glasses that perch at the end of her pointed nose, secured around her neck with a strand of pink beads. It seems to me she’s all business, but at least she isn’t openly hostile.
“My friend was brought here last week. He passed away. I think we might have left something of his behind. His fiancée asked me to come here and look around.” The lie forms a little too easily, but I’m not really ashamed. Not much, anyway. I have to try. The means justify the ends, or at least I hope they will.
Removing her glasses from their perch, she studies me, and I catch a flash of sympathy in her gaze. But maybe I’m wrong. So many intact families come through that waiting room, only to leave broken. I wonder just how desensitized she is to my made-up plight.
“I am so sorry for your loss.” Her tone is very genuine, and I decide she isn’t too jaded, at least not yet. “However, I can’t allow you to go into the ICU unless you are a direct family member of a patient. We can’t have random people poking around in there. Perhaps you can tell me what room your friend was in, and I’ll have an orderly look around. Although, I wouldn’t hold my breath. The rooms are thoroughly cleaned after they are vacated.”
Vacated. That’s one way of putting it. Although I suppose not all patients vacate their rooms in the same way. In fact, a lot of them get better.
“Please, ma’am. Can you make an exception this one time? They were supposed to get married next week. She just wants this one last memento of him. I don’t expect to find it, but I can’t go home and tell her I didn’t even look.”
She crinkles her chin and frowns at me, as if sympathizing with my plight. “I’m sorry, but unfortunately, you aren’t an exception.” She looks over my shoulder at the families huddled in small groups behind me. “In times of tragedy, small things get forgotten. Things that aren’t important when someone’s life hangs in the balance can become monumental once they’re gone.” She looks back to me. “So unfortunately, you are the rule around here. The only advice I can give you is to go downstairs to look in the lost and found. You might have some luck. Frankly, I hope you do. There’s too much bad news floating around here.”
And with that, I’m dismissed. I nod my head, but I don’t move right away—I can’t bring myself to. My one chance at meeting a Reaper is so close, yet so far away. I look longingly at the doors behind the nurse, but she knows what I want.
“Have a nice day,” she says firmly, letting me know it’s beyond time for me to go.
Defeated, I go back to the elevator, unsure of what to do next, where to go. The odds of just happening on a car accident or someone dying so I can find a Reaper are so slim it’s not even funny. Plus, with all these human emotions I’m feeling, I’m not sure I could handle something so gruesome. But what else can I do? As I walk out of the hospital, I spot the ER. But without an ailment, they won’t let me past the waiting room there, either.
I leave the hospital with even more questions than I had before, and no conceivable way to answer them.
12.
Kismet’s parents stay around until a few days after the planned wedding day. Once the funeral is over, they start a campaign to try and get her to go home with them. There’s nothing for her in New York, they say. It would be much better for her to go home and start fresh.
But even in her broken state, she knows that isn’t true. She’s been off work for two weeks, but her phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Her face is still popping up around town—there are new posters on bus stops, buildings, and subway stations. She’s on the cusp of something, and she knows it. The unshakable resolve that once dominated her personality fires to life when she tells them no. I see it again when she tells them no a second time. By the third time, she’s adamant.
After they suggest it a fourth time, while we’re having dinner on their last night in town, she says, “I agree with one thing you’ve said. I need to get out of our apartment.”
Her parents both set their forks down in unison, making a clanging sound that echoes a bit in my small apartment.
“Kismet, it might be too soon for that,” I say, eyeing her parents.
“I didn’t say it has to be done today. I just said it has to be done.”
“Where will you live?” Her mother’s question comes out more like a demand.
“I’m not sure. Here, for now, if that’s okay with Penn.”
Her mother frowns, clearly disapproving of her choice.
A sense of dread fills me as I watch Kismet stare long and hard at her mother. Whatever is said at this table will be damaging for a long time. I can feel it hanging in the air. But there’s nothing I can say to stop it. Whatever I do will be used as more ammunition in their battle.
So I sit silently, watching in horror as the two women stare each other down, each biting back what she wants to say. Finally, her mother lets it go. “Don’t you think you’ve settled into another man’s home awfully fast?”
“Wow, Mom. That’s below the belt, don’t you think?” Kismet’s tone is cold and emotionless, and it scares me. She’s always been so positive and upbeat. I don’t like where this conversation is going at all. I look desperately to her dad for rescue, or at least guidance, but judging from the look on his face, he agrees with his wife.
Kismet’s mother sits staring at her, her lips pinched together, as if she’s holding back another sharp comment.
Kismet throws up her hands and lets out an exasperated breath. “I haven’t settled in to anything, Mom. For heaven’s sake. It’s been less than a week, and all I know for sure is I can’t sleep in that apartment anymore. Ever. It’s where my life was supposed to be, and now it’s not. I don’t need to be reminded of that every time I go through my front door. And I don’t need you judging me for that.”
“Honey, that’s not what we’re judging you for.” Her mom slams her mouth shut, as if she regrets the words as soon as they’re out.
“What your mother means is that your feelings are totally understandable.” Finally, her dad jumps into the conv
ersation. “Of course you don’t want to be in the home you were supposed to share with Andrew. But wouldn’t you rather spend this time supported by your family, rather than by Andrew’s best friend? Don’t you think you’ve burdened him enough?”
I can’t stay silent any longer. “Whoa, hold on. Don’t bring me into this. Kismet isn’t a burden under any circumstance. Frankly, I’m a bit rattled by this whole thing myself, and I’ve appreciated having some company around.” Blood is pounding in my ears. I’m getting upset, but I’m not sure why. Is it because they’re trying to take Kismet away from me? Or because they’re acting like she’s some harlot who’s jumped from Andrew’s bed to mine in one fell swoop? I shake my head. The more I think about it, the angrier I get.
“You raised her better than that, by the way,” I add. “You should also know her better than that. What would ever make you think she would cast Andrew aside so easily? I would never have introduced the two of them if I thought for as single second they weren’t worthy of each other.” I pause, taking a moment to look at each of her parents in turn. Their horrified expressions slightly soften my anger.
“Look, I know you’re just trying to help, to be supportive,” I continue. “But your words are hurting her. And you’re not exactly painting me in a flattering light, either. So why not try to trust your daughter? She’s done well for herself so far. If you doubt that, go see one of her plays when she gets back to work.”
They both look away, and then at each other.
“Why not stay with one of your girlfriends? Someone from the play perhaps?” her mom persists. “People will talk, Kismet.”
“So what?” Kismet shouts. “My fiancé died days before we were supposed to get married. People already thought I was pregnant because we supposedly rushed into the wedding. Now think how they’ll talk. I’m all alone and knocked up.”
“You’re not, though, right?” her mom asks. At that moment, I don’t think the conversation can get any worse. The looming sense of dread I feel makes me shift in my seat.
“Mom, Penn’s right. You’ve lost sight of who I am. If you knew, you wouldn’t even need to ask that question. And really, would that be such a terrible thing? I’d have a piece of him with me, as long as I lived. And you’d have a grandchild. What would be so bad about that?”
“But…” her mom persists.
“No, Mom. You’re not going to be a grandma, so let it go.” Silence weighs heavily on the four of us as we sit around the dinner table. Our food has long since gone cold, but we all toy with it, pushing it around as if trying to unbury just the right thing to say.
We’re all good people, so what went wrong? Why is Kismet’s family crumbling right in front of me?
“Okay, let’s just take a deep breath,” I venture one last time. “We all want what’s best for Kismet. So if we can keep that in mind, and trust her to make her own decisions, everything will be fine.”
But my words don’t help at all. Her dad pushes back from the table and stands. “You’ve known my daughter for how long? A few months? And you presume to know her better than her own father?”
That’s not what I meant to say at all, but it’s too late. Her mother is standing too.
“Kismet, I can’t force you to come home with us tomorrow. Nor, it seems, can I force you to make the right choices about Penn, here. But I do wish you would reconsider.”
“Duly noted, Daddy,” she says, but she remains seated.
“I hope to see you at the airport tomorrow. We’ll buy you a ticket tonight, just in case,” he says.
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you for the gesture.”
“Kismet, please,” her mother pleads.
“Bye, Mom. Have a safe trip,” Kismet says. With that, she stands up. But instead of hugging her parents goodbye, she grabs her plate and carries it to the sink, turning her back on the people who’ve loved her most her whole life. It breaks what’s left of my heart.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say, and they don’t object.
Once they’re in the hallway, I try to repair some of the damage I’ve caused. “I apologize if I overstepped. Obviously, you know her better than I do. But you need to understand that she and I are not romantically involved. We never were, and in light of what’s happened, I don’t think we ever will be. Neither of us will ever get over what happened to Andrew. But it’s a shared trauma, something we’ve bonded over. She doesn’t have to explain it to me, and I don’t have to explain it to her. Please, just try to be supportive as she attempts to move forward with her life. If she can manage that, she’ll do great things. I know it.”
Neither of them responds. They just nod curtly and turn to leave.
“Have a safe flight, guys. Thank you for everything,” I say to their backs as they walk away. Only her father turns and nods in acknowledgment of my gratitude.
When I go back inside, I find Kismet at the sink, shaking. She’s holding a plate in her hands, poised to put it in, but it hovers just shy of the bottom.
“How dare they,” she says, more matter-of-factly than accusingly, and finally sets the plate down in the sink. “How dare they.” The second time is much more emotional, and I can tell her mood is escalating.
But it doesn’t end the way I expected it would. Instead of railing about their misunderstanding and lack of support, she turns to look at me with fire in her eyes, fire that’s quickly extinguished by a burst of tears. All I can do is take her in my arms.
“I miss him so much,” she says through her sobs. “None of this should be happening. We should be at the Four Seasons right now, saddle sore from all of our newlywed shenanigans.”
I chuckle, but it’s a sad sound. “Yeah, I don’t need all the honeymoon details.”
“It’s not fair,” she cries out, soaking my shirt through with her tears.
“No. It’s not.” It’s all I can say, because she’s right. It isn’t fair.
I don’t give up on finding a Reaper. I find myself frequenting nursing homes on the rare occasions when I don’t have to work and Kismet is busy.
Now that Kismet’s parents are gone, she’s eager for something to do, so she goes back to the diner, and tells her director she’s ready to pretend she’s someone else.
I’m worried at first, but when I go to her first show a few weeks later, she’s better than ever. She immerses herself in the character in a way she never has before, as if she truly is that person. Maybe for those few hours she’s on stage, it’s true. She leaves the tragic woman she’s become behind and blossoms into the heroine of a new story. It’s absolute magic, and I only wish Andrew could be there to see it.
After Kismet goes back to work, I have more time to focus on getting some answers. I need to protect her. I start wondering who else has been banished and where they might be. Maybe a fallen angel might be able to cast some light on what’s happening.
A quick Google search for fallen angels plants a seed of doubt into my brilliant plan. Although there isn’t much information, no one gets thrown from heaven for being good. Some of the angels were cast out for wanting God’s power. Still others were cast out for descending from the heavens and seducing the people on Earth. Watchers, they’re called. They sound less dangerous.
I’ve never heard of a Watcher before. But that may be because they don’t live in the heavens anymore; they’ve all been cast out. I wonder at the reliability of human information on the heavens, but I can’t afford to be picky. It’s all I have to go on.
I have to find a Watcher, if they exist. But where should I start looking? Most of the sources I find claim the Watchers descended to Mount Hermon and wreaked havoc from there. Maybe one or two still hang around that area. It’s a long shot, but it’s my best lead. I just have to sell it to Kismet.
I’ve decided to ask Kismet to go with me. Even though it’ll be difficult to do what needs to be done without rousing her suspicions, I need to keep an eye on her.
When she gets home from rehearsal that night, I b
roach the subject. “Kismet, I’d like to take a trip. Together.”
“Oh? Where?” she asks distractedly as she takes off her shoes and sets her purse and keys on the small table near the door.
“Syria, I think.”
She laughs. “Syria. That’s very specific. Also, I’m not sure the Middle East is the best place to go right now. Aren’t they at war? I’m not big on trying to get into a country that so many people are trying to get out of. Anyway, I just went back to work.”
She sits down on the couch next to me as if it’s a closed subject. “Still. I’d like to try,” I say.
I have no idea how my plan will work. I have a passport now, thanks to Cedric, but the idea of testing it makes me nervous. Traveling to a war-torn country where security is tight seems like asking for trouble.
Sinking back into the couch, I reconsider my idea. “Maybe you’re right,” I say, letting my disappointment come through more than I intended.
She looks at me then, as if taking my inquiry seriously for the first time. “You were serious about going to Syria?”
“No. It was a dumb idea. I’ll find another way.”
“Another way to what?” she asks, but I don’t answer her. Instead, I head back to the computer, intent on brainstorming more ways to find a Watcher.
What are the odds that one of them has made their way to New York City? Without knowing exactly how many Watchers there originally were, I can’t figure the number exactly, but I’m guessing the chances are pretty slim.
What else can I do? In the meantime, maybe I’ll think of a better idea, but for now, I’ll start my search in New York.
My progress is slow, mostly because my attention is so divided. Between resuming my work at the shop and trying to be supportive of Kismet, the months that follow Andrew’s death don’t offer many opportunities to find a Watcher.
The Children of Wisdom Trilogy Page 10