by C. L. Coffey
“Down the block,” Joshua responded, glancing back up behind me to the bathroom window. “Come on, before Karl realizes that we’ve gotten out.”
He tugged my hand, indicating that I should take the lead. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but I think I was expecting Karl to continue to try to get in the bathroom, and follow us out of the window – judging from how Joshua had positioned himself between me and the window, he certainly thought the same too.
We neared the front of the house and the last home stretch, when Karl stepped out in front of us, still brandishing Joshua’s gun. Joshua and I spotted him at the same time, drawing to a halt. We were back in the same position, only this time there was nothing to duck behind. I stared at Karl in disbelief, feeling a bubble of rage forming and growing as I glared at the strung out man. We had nearly escaped from this unharmed – all three of us – and he had no real need to come chasing after us. Yet, here we were, again, looking down the barrel of a gun. Joshua’s gun, no less. How dare he? How dare he? All of a sudden I was back in that theme park with Joshua being attacked. No, that was not happening again. Not while I was still standing.
The anger exploded and I charged at Karl. Using too much force for a being with supernatural strength, I shoved him away from me. He landed on his back, the gun flying out of his hand, but the force sent him sliding along the saturated ground. “Leave us alone!” I bellowed at him. Karl had barely finished moving over the wet grass as he scrambled to his feet. With his eyes wide as saucers, Karl stared at me with his mouth flapping out, and took off running.
As Karl disappeared from view, the anger suddenly evaporated, leaving me exhausted. My limbs felt heavy and my back was irritating me again. I rolled my shoulders before reaching down to collect the gun Karl had dropped. I turned, holding it out for Joshua, and found him staring at me in awe. “Yes, I have strength,” I shrugged at him.
Joshua slowly shook his head. “You have wings,” he whispered.
His voice should have been barely audible over the rain, but I heard him clearly. It took me a moment to try to decipher what he was telling me, though. “Wings?” I repeated, trying to look over my shoulder. When I couldn’t see anything, I glared back at Joshua.
“They’re gone now,” he said, sounding breathless.
Just his words, and the dumbstruck expression on his face at the fact I had earned my wings, were enough to send those all too familiar wracking pains shooting through me again: I didn’t deserve wings. I’d yet to see them, but right now, I never wanted to. The feeling of a giant hole where my stomach should be – the edges all frayed and raw – had me crumbling to the ground, gasping for breath. I couldn’t even find the energy to move myself away when I felt Joshua’s hand on my shoulder.
“Angel?” he urged, worried. “Speak to me, darlin’.”
I kept my eyes closed, trying to push the pain back again. When I finally managed to open my eyes I found him at eye level, his deep blue eyes staring at me with such concern, I nearly crumbled. Instead, I shook my head. “We need to move in case he comes back,” I muttered.
I could tell Joshua was going to push it further, so I got to my feet and started to head in the direction he had indicated his car would be, but his hands wrapped around my hips stopped me. “Angel!” he exclaimed. “You’ve been shot!”
“I’ve what?” I asked, dumbly looking down at my front. I didn’t feel like I had been shot. “I can’t have been shot. When did it happen? Karl was in front of me the whole time.” Joshua had pushed my shirt up, his hands running over my back. There was a moment’s discomfort as his hands brushed over a spot at my lower back, then by my shoulder blade.
“There’s splinters in these wounds,” he explained softly. “I guess he got you through the door when… what the hell?” he muttered, his hands now patting tentatively at my back.
“Joshua?” I questioned, stepping out of his grip to look back at him. That awestruck expression was back.
Silently, he leaned over and plucked something from the long grass, holding it out in front of him. At first, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at: two metal mushrooms, glinting at me as the rain splashed down on them. “They were in your back,” Joshua explained. “When I touched them, they fell out and the holes sealed up,” he added. He sounded like he didn’t believe what he was saying. I didn’t quite believe what he was saying.
For the first time since I had been murdered, I felt cold. I wrapped my arms around my waist and I finally fell to pieces. With a deep wracking breath, I fell against him and finally let out the sob I had been trying to contain for weeks.
You know that inevitable scene in the movies, where the leading lady is sobbing into the arms of a gorgeous guy, and despite the amount of mascara and eyeliner she’s wearing, she manages to look graceful and refined? This wasn’t one of those scenes. True, I wasn’t wearing any makeup, but if I had been, I would have looked like a cross between a panda and the Joker. Heck, there wasn’t even anything remotely refined about my sobs. I was one, red, hot, blubbering mess and I didn’t care. With each tear that fell, it felt like a small part of what I’d been feeling – the guilt and regret; the loneliness; the sorrow – those emotions which had built up were slowly being eased.
I know it took a long time for me to calm down, and somehow, Joshua had maneuvered me against him, rubbing my back with one hand, in calm, soothing circles. The other covered my own hands as I clutched at his shirt. Not once did he let go or stop rubbing my back, even when the rain came down harder for a time.
The heavy rainfall gave way to a softer drizzle, and eventually eased off altogether. Somewhere around the drizzle was when my tears finally stopped, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. For the first time in nearly eight weeks, I felt a little bit better, if not exhausted. Emotionally, it was like a weight had been lifted, but physically, it was like everything was catching up on me. The crying had certainly been cathartic, but there was something more soothing about Joshua’s hold of me, and I didn’t want to move and break it. However, there was still a chance Karl would come back, and we’d been in the rain that long that even though I couldn’t get ill, Joshua was probably going to catch pneumonia. More importantly, if we didn’t move now, I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to leave his embrace.
“We need to move,” I muttered into his chest.
“I should get you checked out by a doctor,” Joshua told me, helping me to my feet. Before I could object, he sighed. “I know, I know. Let’s just get you home.”
I shook my head. “I can’t be in that room any longer,” I told him.
“Your aunt’s?” he suggested.
Shaking my head again, I took a deep breath and finally pulled myself free of his grasp. “I’ll be fine, Joshua. I’m a big, strong girl,” I assured him.
“I have no doubt that you would be able to flatten anyone who tries anything on you,” he agreed, getting to his feet. He held out his hand, offering it to me. “The problem is, if Maggie ever found out that I just left you here, well, my life would be over.”
I’d met Maggie. Although she wasn’t actually related to him, she was as good as blood, looking after him after his father had died. Joshua was also telling the truth – if Maggie did find out about this, he would never hear the end of it.
“At least come back to mine,” he offered. “You can have a hot shower, and I’ll order in pizza.” Getting into some dry clothes did seem somewhat appealing. As though he sensed what I was thinking about, Joshua took a step back and studied my appearance, frowning. “Where are your shoes?” At the shake of my head, his hand tightened around mine. “Come on,” he muttered, leading me back to where his car was parked.
CHAPTER THREE
Finding Warmth
The break in the rain was short-lived. The heavens opened again as soon as we got into the car. The journey to Joshua’s was spent in silence. The only sound came from the rain hammering on the car roof, and the rhythmic switching of the wiper blades as they brushed the water
away. When we had first gotten in the car, Joshua had turned the radio off and turned the heat on. I could feel him looking over at me periodically, but I couldn’t face small talk. I certainly couldn’t face any conversation about what had happened either the night Hurricane Tabitha hit, or the days that had followed.
Eventually we pulled into the small apartment complex Joshua lived in. I knew exactly where it was. Being constantly tuned in to Radio Joshua – although it was probably more apt to compare it to a GPS – thinking about him inadvertently led me to knowing where he was. There were several locations he spent a considerable or regular amount of time at. I’d figured one was work, and another home, depending on the time of day he was there.
Joshua led me under the safety of the balcony above, and out of the rain. I followed him up to the next floor and around the back of the building to his apartment. It took him a moment to negotiate his lock, and then he was walking in, flicking the light on as he stepped back and held the door open for me.
Even though I knew where his apartment was, this was the first time I’d ever been in it, and I couldn’t help but stare. The front door opened up into a living room. Next to the door was a television about as wide as I was tall which I was already jealous of. The unit underneath it was glass and chrome – a common feature of a lot of the furniture I could see in the room. Behind the black suede sofa was the kitchen area – white cupboards, a black counter and silver appliances. It was the bookcase, however, that caught my attention; or rather, the bookcases. Along the remaining wall, the glass shelves reached from floor to ceiling and they were covered in books. He’d once told me he read in his spare time, but I hadn’t realized just how much. “Wow,” I muttered, half registering that Joshua had closed the door behind me.
“It’s not much, but it’s mine.”
I took a couple more steps inside the room, turning to take everything in, until finally, I was facing Joshua. “This doesn’t make any sense,” I told him. As his expression turned to one of confusion, I couldn’t help but smile at his small frown. “Your place is tidy,” I expounded, and threw him a grin.
“That’s a bad thing?” he asked me.
“Your desk is a dump,” I blurted out. It was. The last time I had seen it, I could barely tell what kind of wood it was, but I could tell you how many paper cups of coffee he’d had.
“To the untrained eye, maybe, but that is organized to me,” he retorted.
“Organized chaos, at best,” I corrected him, playfully. It wasn’t until he shrugged at me, sending water dripping from his jacket onto the wooden floor below that I suddenly noticed just how wet he still was, which in turn had me looking down at myself. I knew I was drenched – that didn’t surprise me. What did was the amount of mud that covered my legs and feet. “Oh,” I muttered.
I looked back up to find Joshua running his gaze over me. “You must be freezing,” he told me, quickly shrugging his jacket off and hanging it on the door handle.
“I’m fine,” I assured him.
He gave me a look that said he clearly didn’t believe me. “Wait there,” he told me, before disappearing into a room just off from his living room. He emerged moments later, this time wearing a light gray pair of jogging bottoms, and a white NOPD t-shirt which was tight enough to highlight his muscles. I cleared my throat and focused my attention on the slightly disheveled towel in his hands. “I pulled it out of the laundry basket,” he admitted, walking over to me. “But I wasn’t about to use a clean one for this.”
“A clean one for what?” I asked him suspiciously. He didn’t give me an answer so much as wrap me up in the towel, and scoop me up in his arms. “What are you doing?” I squealed, trying to wriggle free.
“I’m trying to stop you getting dirt all over my bedroom carpet,” he explained with a roll of his eyes, as he strode around the couch to a door which led to his bedroom. I barely got a glimpse of it before I was in his bathroom. He set me down on the tiled floor, pulling the towel away. “Clean towels,” he said, pointing at the new pile which hung from the rack. He turned back to me, frowning. “I’m going to leave the towel outside the door. Those,” he pointed at my filthy clothes. “Those I want you to leave on the top of it. I’ll leave you something to change into.” And with that, he was gone.
I sucked in a long, deep breath, and then blew it out slowly. Quickly I peeled the sodden material from my skin and rung them out in the sink. When the football shirt wasn’t dripping water everywhere, I held it up, staring in disbelief at it. Just as Joshua had said, I had been shot. Apparently I could survive a bullet wound. That was good to know. My fingers played with the two small holes, tinged with red.
It was pretty amazing, really, even if I had been told how hard I was to kill. It wasn’t that I doubted everything Michael or Cupid told me, it was just that after being brought up as a human, it was sometimes still hard to forget that I wasn’t one anymore. Unfortunately, even though I was alive (or undead?), and I was unbelievably grateful for that, this shirt had been my dad’s and I couldn’t help feeling sad that it was ruined.
I carefully pulled the door open a crack, using it to shield my naked body. True to his word, Joshua had left the towel where he said he would, and he was nowhere in sight. Regardless, I stuck my arm out, and dropped the small pile of clothes on the top, and then closed the door behind me.
I didn’t pay much more attention to Joshua’s bathroom. It was warm, bright, and full of exactly what I’d expect to find in a guy’s bathroom. He was also in possession of a shower with glorious water pressure. As water rained down on me, this time with a warmth and comfort I found welcoming, I pushed my face into the stream of water and just stood there. A small part of me suspected that had I just gotten out of bed and into my shower sooner, I may have felt better before now. The larger part of me knew that this was nothing more than wishful thinking.
Finally, I stepped back, reaching for the shampoo. Massaging my scalp, my nostrils were assaulted with the familiar scent which I associated with Joshua. Distinctly masculine, I was going to have fun trying to explain why I smelled of a guy back at the convent. When the water ran clean, I stepped out into the steamy bathroom and grabbed the towel. I quickly ran it over my hair, before wrapping it around my body.
I had to use my hand to wipe the condensation from the mirror and when I saw my reflection, I wished I hadn’t bothered. Despite everything, my hair still remained the artificial red it had been when I had died. My eyes were still the same shade of green, but now they looked like they were sunken into my skull. I hadn’t lost weight, despite the fact I hadn’t eaten for quite some time, but my cheeks were pale, and my skin looked gray. My body held far too many resemblances to the corpse I was supposed to be. Not going to my aunt’s had definitely been a wise decision.
I sucked in a deep breath and dropped the towel, doing what I had been putting off since I pulled the t-shirt off. Exhaling softly, my eyes fell to my stomach reflected in the glass. Silver slivers still marked my body from where I had been murdered. I turned, peering at my reflection over my shoulder, assessing my back. I remained strangely calm as I stared at the two small craters marring my back.
I’ve never been shot before, and I’ve never actually seen a bullet wound unless you count on the television, yet even I knew this wasn’t right: there was no blood. It was like my skin had already knitted together over the two penny sized holes. I had no doubt that by tomorrow morning, there would be nothing left.
It actually was pretty cool, really.
Or it was until I started to think about how Lilah should have been able to heal Paige’s body. I wasn’t prepared for the agony that shot through me, and I wrapped my arms around my stomach, doing my best to push it back. When the pain ebbed back, I reached for the towel.
With the towel wrapped securely around me, I cautiously poked my head out of the bathroom. Seeing it was empty, and the door to the living room was also closed, I stepped out into the bedroom. This room, like the living room, was unsu
rprisingly masculine, though opting for an equally modern theme. The bed was large, possibly a queen, and had the effect of floating above the floor. The walls – I had to bite back a laugh – were blue, like the dress shirts he often favored. The wall opposite the foot of the bed shared a wall with the living room, upon which a large mirror hung. Below it, matching the rest of the furniture was a long, low set of drawers.
Aside from the small flat screen television, the only other item on it was a large framed photograph. I walked over, picking it up. It took me all of two seconds to work out that this was Joshua and his family, taken a good ten years ago. Joshua had to have been in middle school when the picture was taken, and it was easy to see that even then, he would have been popular with the girls. Beside him, with the same good looks, was the sister I’d heard about, but never met. Behind them both were their parents. They’d been a happy family once upon a time. Now, it seemed Joshua was the only one left. I set the photograph down and turned back to the bed.
Lying on top of the navy bedspread was a flannel shirt and a pair of boxers – still in the packaging. I couldn’t help but be amused at the plaid design: a purchase of Maggie’s, no doubt. She regularly bought him plaid shirts, and even though he didn’t like them, he would wear them to appease her. I had a strong suspicion that this unused set of underwear had been from her at some point too.
I slipped them on, grateful for the drawstring bottoms, and made my way back to the living room. I stepped out, just in time to see Joshua closing the front door, an enormous pizza box in his hands. He took one look at me and snorted. “If you’re going to laugh, I’ll have my clothes back,” I growled at him.
“Help yourself,” he told me. “They’re in the laundry.” I gave him my best glare and stormed over, taking the pizza box from his hands. I could already smell the cheesy goodness and all of a sudden my stomach was deciding to be vocal. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I was going to get the works, but then I had this nightmare that you might be allergic to something, so I figured cheese was the safest option,” Joshua explained as he retrieved a can of Pepsi and a beer from the fridge. “You can sit, you know,” he added.