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Remy stepped back against the wall as emergency workers pushed the stretchers past him, then approached Mulvehill and his partner, who stood beside the queen-sized bed. "It's the damndest thing," Healey was saying, obviously flustered. "They were getting ready to bag 'em when they felt a pulse on the guy. They checked the woman just to be sure, and she was still alive too."
Mulvehill looked at Remy, his expression that of someone who had just been slapped.
"Steven?" Remy asked, concern growing in his voice.
"Why don't you go outside and get some fresh air," Mulvehill told his partner, squeezing the man's shoulder in support.
Healey excused himself and headed for the door, shaking his head as he went. From outside they heard the mournful sound of sirens as the ambulance departed the lot.
Mulvehill cleared his throat and fumbled for his cigarettes. "They're still alive, Remy," he said, the package crinkling from inside his coat pocket.
"That's impossible. I saw the woman's body, Steven. Mountgomery shot her in the forehead." He pointed to the center of his furrowed brow. "And just to be sure, he put another one in her heart."
Mulvehill was silent, glancing around at the several spots where blood had been spilled. It had already begun to dry, ugly dark stains that would never be completely washed away.
"I saw him put that gun under his chin and blow his own brains out." Remy pointed to the wing-shaped stain on the ceiling. "That's brain matter up there. They can't possibly be alive."
Mulvehill looked away from the ceiling and shrugged his broad shoulders. "Did you not see the ambulance take them out of here?" he asked. "They're alive. They both have pulses."
The feeling in Remy's gut grew more pronounced.
"Hey, it's not a bad thing — two people are still alive," Mulvehill reasoned. "Maybe it's a miracle or something."
"Or something," Remy repeated as he turned and walked from the motel room, leaving his friend to make sense of it all.
Though Remy looked and acted like a human being and chose to live like one, he was nothing of the kind. On occasion, his body functioned on another level entirely. He could feel things, sense things, that others couldn't. And right now there was something in the air that no one else could feel, something u
As he walked across the parking lot, he glanced at his watch and swore beneath his breath.
Late again.
Remy got into his car, knowing that what had begun in room 35 of the Sunbeam Motor Lodge was far from over, and that two hundred and fifty dollars a day plus expenses wasn't going to come close to compensating him for what he feared was waiting on the horizon.
Chapter two
Remy stopped his car as a group of Northeastern University students crossed Huntington Avenue on their way to the dorms from afternoon classes. Impatiently, he glanced at his watch, angry with himself for being even later than usual. One last student cut across at a run to catch up with the gaggle, and Remy continued on toward South Huntington.
Well, at least something's going right, he thought, as he caught sight of a car pulling away from a space directly across the street from the Cresthaven Nursing Center. Remy performed an amazing feat of parallel parking, locked up his vehicle, and jogged across the street through a break in the di
He pulled open the nursing home's front door, and took a moment to compose himself as he was bombarded with a sensory overload the equivalent of storming the beach at Normandy. Smell, sound, emotion, taste; they all washed over him, pounding him, as they did every time he visited. The first time, he was nearly driven to his knees by the onslaught, but he quickly learned that a few deep breaths would help him to center, making the experience bearable.
"You are in some deep doo-doo, my friend," called out a large black woman dressed in a light blue smock and white slacks. She walked around the reception desk, waving some papers at him. "That poor woman's been waiting for you over an hour. I told her you were caught in traffic, but I don't think she's buying it."
Remy smiled as the woman playfully tapped him on the shoulder with the forms.
"I think she's catchin' on to us," she said conspira-torially, looking Remy up and down as she moved on through the lobby.
He waved to the receptionist, then stepped up behind the nurse. "No one must know of us, my Nubian goddess," he whispered in her ear.
The woman began to laugh, bending over and slapping her leg with the paperwork. "You are a crazy white boy, you know that?"
"Joan, you wouldn't have me any other way." Remy smiled. He paused for a minute, enjoying the sound of laughter in a place where the atmosphere could often be so oppressive. "How is she today — giving you a hard time?"
"If she's not careful, I'm going to toss her out on the street," Joan said, walking with him toward the ground-floor nursing unit. She moved away as a light came on outside a room on the opposite end of the hall. "Your mother's in the TV room," she called over her shoulder. "Why don't you go on and see her now so we can get some peace. Meet me in the supply closet at the usual time, and don't keep me waitin'."
Remy laughed as he turned, amused, but not only by Joan's invitation.
Your mother.
No matter how often he heard it, the lie always struck him fu
He stopped in the doorway to the TV room as an old man pushing a walker struggled through. He looked up at Remy with red-rimmed eyes, confusion and turmoil in his gaze.
"Have you seen Robert?" the man asked, his voice like the rustling of dry leaves. "He was supposed to take me home."
An aura of despair radiated from him in waves, nearly pushing Remy back with its strength.
"I have to get home. Who's go
Remy gently touched the old man's shoulder and looked deeply into his aged eyes. "Robert will be here soon, Phil. Why don't you go see Joan, and ask her to make you a cup of tea?"
Phil smiled, his rheumy eyes slowly blinking away confusion. "Tea would certainly hit the spot." He licked his dry lips. "Why didn't I think of that? Must be getting old." He winked at Remy and continued on his way down the hall, a new strength suddenly in his step.
Remy watched his progress. He had spent many an afternoon talking with Phil about what the old timer called the good old days. Although his presence seemed to have a calming effect on these tortured souls ravaged by age, it still pained him to see the effects the years had on those to whom he had grown so close.
It was never more obvious than when he saw his Madeline.
Remy stepped into the doorway of the room that tried hard to be homey but never quite overcame that institutional air, and spotted the woman he loved. She seemed so small and frail, sitting in a lounge chair in front of the big-screen television. There was an ache inside him, and he wondered why he had ever wished to be flesh and blood. It was a question he asked himself with every visit to Cresthaven.
Madeline hadn't noticed his arrival, and he watched her for a few seconds as she struggled to stay awake. Her eyes would flutter and close, her head slowly nodding until her chin touched her chest. Then she would come awake with a start, and the futile battle to remain conscious would begin all over again.