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It was the same routine every morning, almost mechanical in the performance of the tasks: fresh water down, a cup of food in the bowl, a pot of coffee to brew.
Remy hit the switch on the coffeemaker and leaned against the counter, watching the animal scoff down his breakfast. It’s like he hasn’t eaten in a week, he thought—and then wondered how many thousands of times he’d thought that very same thing as he leaned against the kitchen counter in the early morning.
Over the centuries, when he had met with others of his kind who visited the world of man, they often talked about the monotony of it all, the tedium of humanity’s day-to-day existence.
He’d never seen it that way. He’d found a unique excitement in the simple act of living amongst them—as one of them. And that excitement had only become all the more enthralling when Madeline had become a part of his life.
But now she’s gone.
“Out?” Marlowe asked, standing by the door again.
“Sure,” Remy answered, his thoughts continuing down a troubling path.
Marlowe finished his business and settled down with a carrot, as Remy poured himself a cup of coffee. He was just about to climb the stairs to his bedroom when he heard Marlowe speak.
“Heaven?” the Labrador asked.
Remy stopped and turned toward the animal that stood staring from the kitchen doorway. “What’s that, pal?”
“Go to Heaven?”
Remy set his coffee mug down on the steps and went to the dog. He often forgot how closely he and the animal had become linked during the years they’d shared each other’s company. What Remy experienced in his dream state, was oftentimes shared by the dog.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he explained as he squatted down in front of his friend, massaging him behind the ears. “That was just a crazy dream.”
The dog grunted softly with pleasure as Remy continued to rub.
“Marlowe go?” the Labrador then asked.
Remy sighed, finishing up by thumping the dog’s side with the flat of his hand. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”
He returned to the stairs and picked up his coffee. As he began to climb, he glanced over his shoulder to see Marlowe watching him with serious, dark eyes.
Eyes that didn’t know whether to believe him or not.
A lumber-truck rollover on Route 128 had traffic backed up all the way into the city, but despite the delay, Remy still found himself on Route 2 to Lexington by ten past nine.
He didn’t listen to the radio, preferring the noise inside his head to morning deejays, Top 40 pop tunes, the news, and the weather.
Remy had a lot to think about.
On the one hand was his concentrated effort to return his life to some semblance of normalcy. Madeline was gone, and that sucking void could never be filled, but he had to try something. He had to find the special things in the human life he’d built for himself, and grab hold to prevent them from being drawn into the black hole as well. He had to continue to live, even though his wife had not.
It was what human beings did every day.
But then there was an alternative, the flipside that he did not really care to entertain, hoping that it was just a passing thing—a part of his prolonged grief. The idea that he could return to Heaven.
He thought of what it had been like there before the war, and wondered if there was even an inkling of a chance that it could be that way again. Remy already knew the answer.
The Seraphim inside stirred with the thought.
Nearing his exit, Remy pushed the troubling thoughts aside, switching his focus to the job at hand. He picked up the printout from Mapquest and gave the directions a quick perusal.
He threw his blinker on, getting over into the right-hand lane so that he would be ready for the next exit.
Not all that familiar with Lexington’s layout, he’d used one of the online services and printed out directions and a map to Karnighan’s home. He’d been in the town only once, the last time being more than ten years ago, when he and Madeline had been out shopping for antiques—well, Madeline, really—and they’d gone to one of the stores in the downtown area of the historic location.
Lexington was probably best known for its history, being home to many historical buildings, parks, and monuments dating from colonial and revolutionary times. Driving a ways, he glanced out the driver’s window to a triangular patch of green that he understood to be the Lexington Battle Green, which, according to the history books, was considered the birthplace of American liberty. On that spot more than two hundred years ago, the first shots of the American Revolution were fired. Remy tried to recall where he was at that time but couldn’t really remember—somewhere in the Middle East maybe.
He was looking for Florian Drive and found it without any difficulty, steering down the paved driveway that led to an open metal gate. As he drove through the gateway, he noticed a wobbling plastic sign stuck in a patch of grass to the right of the driveway advertising Heavenly House Painters; a cartoon angel with white robes and a yellow halo brandishing a paintbrush hovered with feathery wings below the company logo.
Normally he would’ve been amused by something like this, but of late nothing really seemed to penetrate the fog of gloom that surrounded him.
The driveway ended in a spacious cul-de-sac, a fountain, not yet turned on for the season, in its center. The house was big, expensive looking, and with some scaffolding still in place around the side, it appeared to be having some work done to it. With the Heavenly House Painters sign out front, it all made sense.
He got out of the car, pocketing his keys, and walked toward the front door. He’d just about reached the front steps when he heard the heavy, excited sound of panting, and toenails clicking upon concrete. From the corner of his eye he saw the three large dogs tearing around the side of the house, heading straight for him, low rumbling growls escaping from deep in the rottweilers’ broad chests.
They didn’t appear to be in the least bit happy to see a stranger on their doorstep, so Remy figured some introductions were in order.
“Stop,” he commanded, in their canine tongue.
The obvious pack leader came to a sudden halt, the two others stopping as well.
“Intruder,” the leader barked. “Intruder. Intruder.”
“Intruder. Intruder. Intruder,” the other two barked in agreement. “Stop, intruder. Stop!”
“I’m not an intruder,” Remy explained to the animals. “I’m here to see your master.”
The leader stopped his vocalization and started to sniff the air toward Remy. “Invited?” he asked tentatively.
The others sniffed as well.
“Yes. Your master and I have some business to discuss.”
“Business?”
The leader padded closer, smelling the ground around his feet. “Smell dog,” he said, moving closer to his pants leg.
“Yes, I have a dog. His name is Marlowe. What is your name?”
“Luthor,” said the leader. “Name Luthor.”
“That is a very strong name, Luthor,” Remy praised the animal. “And might I say what a good job you and your pack are doing protecting the master’s house.”
The nubby tails on all three of the rottweilers started to wag.
“I Daisy,” said one of the others.
“I Spike,” said the last.
Remy extended his hand for Luthor and his pack to sniff. “My name is Remy.”
Luthor placed its large head beneath Remy’s hand, hungry for affection. Remy sensed a sudden change in the animal’s powerful demeanor.
“Not good. Bad. Useless.”
The dog’s body began to shiver with nervousness. The other two members of the pack had crowded around him as well, starving for the same affection that their leader was receiving.