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"Get in for a minute," the homicide detective said.
Remy thought that the man looked like hell; his face unshaven, dark circles beneath swollen eyes.
He went around to climb in on the passenger's side. "What's up?" he asked, an involuntary shiver ru
Mulvehill reached inside his raincoat pocket and came out with a folded piece of paper. "Got the information on that Cape Cod property you were looking for. It was sold by the original owner about four years ago."
It was sold before Israfil took control of Jon Stall's life.
Remy took the offered paper, reading the address scrawled there. "Thanks. You didn't have to drive over here. You could've just called me."
His friend gazed out the windshield, the wipers on high to keep up with the intensity of rain that was falling. Despite the speed, the blades were still having a difficult time.
"Yeah, I know, but I wanted to talk to you… before you left." Mulvehill took a long pull from his cigarette as he looked at him. "I should go with you," he said.
Remy shook his head. "Thanks, but no. This isn't for you."
"Angel shit?" the detective asked.
"Angel shit," Remy answered with a nod. "It's better that you stay here. I have no idea how this is going to work out."
It was Remy's turn to gaze out the front window, the wipers going back and forth in a mesmerizing beat.
"Things are bad, aren't they?" Mulvehill commented.
"Yeah, they are," Remy replied.
"Be honest with me," Mulvehill said. "Do you think we've got a chance?"
"Failure's not an option," Remy told his friend, forcing a smile on his face. "Get a bottle of Glenlivit, and when I get back, we'll go up on the roof and I'll tell you all about it."
Mulvehill nodded, smoking his cigarette down to nothing. "Don't stand me up," the detective said finally. "You know how much I hate to drink alone."
Remy laughed as he pulled the latch and opened the car door. "What the hell are you talking about? You always drink alone." He got out into the rain.
"Yeah, you're right," Mulvehill agreed. "All the more for me that way." The detective smiled at him. "Watch your ass, angel," he said, putting the car in drive, starting to pull away.
Remy closed the door, standing in the early morning rain, watching as his friend continued down Mount Vernon Street, taking a right and disappearing from view. He wondered briefly if it would be the last time he'd see Steven Mulvehill, before dismissing the dispiriting thought.
Hurrying to his car, he glanced at his watch. It was getting late, but he still had one more stop to make.
One final good-bye that had to be said.
Chapter fifteen
Somerville, Massachusetts, 1972
Madeline knew that he wasn't asleep; after fifteen years of being married to Remy, she could tell these things.
They had finished making love a little while ago, but she found that sleep was eluding her as well this cool summer night.
It was dark in their one-bedroom apartment, and the light curtains that hung in front of the window billowed in the night breeze, looking like a ghost from any number of scary movies she'd seen throughout the years.
"Hey," she said, her voice sounding intrusive in the still of the dark.
"Hey back," he answered.
"What's wrong — not sleeping tonight?" Madeline rolled onto her side, throwing her naked leg over her husband's lower body. She snuggled her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. He smelled faintly of ci
Madeline remembered when she'd first asked him about the aroma, not too long after he'd told her what he was… had been.
He'd told her that that was just how angels smelled.
It was fine by her; it reminded her of fall in New England which was her favorite time of year. Madeline kissed his neck.
"What's your story?" he asked. "I'm not keeping you up, am I? I could go in the living room and read if…»
She patted his muscular chest. "Shhhhhhh," she told him. "It's all right, I just can't seem to sleep either."
The room momentarily returned to quiet.
"Want to fool around again?" she asked him, taking the skin of his neck in her teeth.
Remy chuckled, putting his arm around her and pulling her closer to him. She never felt as safe as she did when he held her.
"I was just about ready to put myself to sleep when I made the mistake of listening."
For a second she didn't understand, but then remembered that Remy still retained the gifts of his kind, the ability to hear those praying to their gods.
"Did you hear something that bothered you?" she asked.
"Worse," he said. "I heard something that made me think."
"What was it?"
"It was a guy, older guy from the sound of his voice, whose wife is dying. He was begging God to help, promising anything just so that his wife wouldn't die."
"That's sad."
"Yeah, it is, and it made me think of us… of you, and what if…"
Remy gently moved her over and sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed.
"Hey," Madeline said consolingly. She hugged him from behind, liking the feeling of her bare breasts pressing against the warmth of his back. "I'm fine, nothing's wrong with me. No need to think this way."
She kissed his shoulder blade and hugged him tighter.
"But I do need to think that way. I'm not like you, Madeline, and no matter how much I want to be, I never will be like you."
"Don't talk like that, please," she said. "You're my husband and I love you very much, and I don't want you to ever forget that. Yeah, you're different. So what? My girlfriend Gi
Remy turned around on the bed, taking her into his arms. He brought his face down and kissed her long and passionately on the mouth, both their tongues hungrily searching out each other's.
He broke their kiss and looked lovingly into her eyes. In the dark his eyes had a golden glint, the flecks of color reflecting in the faint light of the bedroom.
"Hearing that man's prayers," he said, his voice an emotional whisper. "It reminded me of how fragile you are."
Madeline couldn't remember the last time she had seen her husband so upset. She pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him, a bandage to his emotional wounds.
"I don't want you to think about that stuff," she said, ru
He started to protest, but she brought her lips around, placing them firmly over his in a kiss that forced him to be silent.
Remy broke her lock upon his mouth, again looking into her gaze.
"I just don't know what I would do if…»
She didn't want to hear it anymore, and using all her strength, forced the man she loved back down onto the bed and crawled naked atop him before he could even think about escaping her.
"There are other things to think about now," she said, grinding her lower body into his, feeling him respond.
His hands drew her down to him, and they kissed.
Within moments, they were making fevered love again, their cries and moans of pleasure drowning out the prayers of the needy traveling in the night.
She looked so frail.
Remy stood beside his wife's bed, watching her as she slept.
Her eyes slowly came open, as if somehow alerted to his presence, and she turned her head upon the pillow, looked at him, and smiled.
"Hey," she said, her voice no stronger than a whisper.
"Hey," he said back, moving closer to her bedside. He reached out, taking her hand in his. Again he was disturbed by how cold it felt, how artificial the skin that he had kissed and adored every inch of felt beneath his touch.