All the Blue-Eyed Angels

by Jen Blood

  Kat was still unconscious when we got to the hospital. I stood in the ambulance bay while they wheeled her into the hospital. A doctor in blue scrubs approached as soon as I came through the door.

  “You’re next of kin?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I’m her daughter.”

  “We’re taking her straight to surgery—we’re concerned that she has swelling that’s putting pressure on her brain. We need to go in and relieve that pressure.”

  Brain surgery. He pushed a clipboard into my hands. Kat was gone now—already wheeled out of sight, doctors and nurses swarming in the sterile, too-white, too-quiet hallway of a hospital that wasn’t used to dealing with this degree of violence.

  “She’s—she has a partner,” I said. To the doctor’s credit, he didn’t look at me like I was two rungs below the village idiot on the ladder of life.

  “Dr. Pearce,” he said immediately. “She and your mother have done some lectures here. We’ve already contacted her—she’s on her way.”

  “You know…” I didn’t know how to finish that statement. The doctor glanced down at the clipboard in my hand.

  “You can call her if you like, but I need you to sign this so we can go ahead with the surgery. Time is of the essence.”

  I nodded. If I were Kat, I’d have a long list of questions to ask.

  “Did Dr. Pearce say this should happen?”

  “You should call her—this is her area. She’ll tell you everything we’re about to do is very standard. And your mother won’t survive without it.”

  My hands were shaking when I signed the release; it didn’t even look like my signature. As he was hurrying away, I shouted one more question after him.

  “This Dr. Pearce—she’s a good doctor? She knows what she’s talking about?”

  He turned. Something—pity, I think—flashed across his face. “She’s one of the best neurosurgeons on the East Coast. You should call her—she can explain the procedure, let you know what to expect.”

  I nodded. This time when he walked away, I didn’t try to stop him.

  Except for Diggs, the waiting room was empty when I got there. There was a drab carpet and wooden chairs with plush floral seats, and three Ikea-style wooden tables with outdated magazines and children’s toys. An old episode of Three’s Company played on a wall-mounted TV in the corner. Jack Tripper fell over the sofa into Chrissy’s lap; the sound was too low to hear the canned laughter that followed.

  Diggs was still wet from the rain, two days’ beard growth on his chin and his face gaunt with fatigue. If something didn’t break soon—or I didn’t just give up and go home—I wasn’t sure any of us would live to see a resolution to this whole mess.

  I sat down beside him.

  “They took her into surgery,” I said.

  “Did they say anything about her condition?”

  “Her brain’s swelling, they think—they need to go in to relieve the pressure.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders. I didn’t pull away, but I couldn’t let myself lean on him, either.

  “Did you know Kat’s gay?”

  He didn’t look surprised. “She doesn’t keep it a secret.”

  “She kept it a secret from me.”

  “Not telling someone something and hiding it are two different animals,” he said. “You were busy. Maybe she just didn’t think you’d care—it’s not like she told you about every new boyfriend she had back in the day, did she?”

  It was a valid point. Of course, Kat had changed boyfriends almost as regularly as she’d changed socks.

  “Do you know if they’ve been together long?”

  “The first time I saw them together was at a fundraiser in Portland,” he said. “That was a little over a year ago. They’ve done some volunteer work here at the hospital, taught a couple of lectures since then, so I’ve seen them a few times.”

  Over a year with a woman I’d never heard of. I leaned my head back against the wall. On TV, Jack had done something to piss off Chrissy and Janet—they were yelling at him behind the same sofa he’d fallen over just moments before.

  Diggs leaned down and picked up a wet brown handbag I hadn’t noticed before. He set it in my lap.

  “One of the guys from Marine Patrol gave this to me—he said it was on the boat with Kat.”

  Even considering water weight, it was heavier than it should have been. I unzipped the top, remembering days of sneaking cigarettes and stealing spare change as a teenager. In one of half a dozen compartments, I found the source of the weight: gray steel nested among a dozen gold bangle bracelets, though hardly as innocuous. A gun.

  I closed the purse before Diggs saw what I’d found. I didn’t know what to tell him. Hell, I didn’t know what to tell myself.

  Eventually, Diggs got tired of trying to comfort a woman who refused to be comforted, and withdrew his arm.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “What about a change of clothes—I could go back to the house and get something for you. Do you want something to eat?”

  “I’m fine, Diggs.”

  I caught his annoyance at my pat response, but didn’t comment.

  “Have you been able to reach Juarez yet?” I asked. I knew the answer—I’d been trying to reach Juarez for hours now. Either he wasn’t getting the calls, or he wasn’t answering.

  “I tried a couple times. He’s not picking up for you, either?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  I leaned my head back against the wall again and closed my eyes. Diggs got up to find a vending machine while I tried to work up the courage to call Maya Pearce. Diggs had returned and I had my cell phone in hand when Juarez himself walked through the waiting room doors.

  I put my cell phone back in my purse. Juarez stood in the entryway, holding to the doorsill like he might fall without it. He was drenched and clearly exhausted, but I wasn’t feeling especially empathetic at the moment. An unexpected calm fell over me. I stood.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  I didn’t need to see Diggs to know the look he gave me—he’d been giving me the same look for the past week. He was worried. A little hurt, a little angry. I ignored him, tucked Kat’s purse under my arm, and grabbed Juarez before he could sit down.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  I walked out of the waiting room, down the corridor, and through the hospital’s automatic sliding doors without looking back. The rain had finally slowed to a manageable drizzle, the night black and starless. I walked across a nearly-deserted parking lot to a stretch of pine trees at the edge of the hospital property. When I turned, Juarez was a few steps back. He waited wordlessly while I lit a cigarette and led him to a patch of forest where the hospital’s incandescent streetlights barely reached us.

  “I lost my cell phone earlier—I just heard about your mother,” he said. “I got here as fast as I could. How is she?”

  “They don’t know—she’s in surgery right now.” I opened Kat’s purse and slid my hand inside. I never took my eyes from Juarez. “Matt did a number on her, though.”

  A flicker that looked a hell of a lot like guilt touched his face. “She said that?”

  “She didn’t have to.” My voice was steady—no tears, no emotion. Pure steel. I curled my fingers around the grip of the pistol my mother never got the chance to fire. “It was him, wasn’t it? That’s what he called to tell you—that he’d done something, hurt someone?”

  He shook his head. His face was drawn, his dark eyes haunted by ghosts I was only beginning to understand. “I didn’t know—he wasn’t making any sense when I talked to him. I didn’t know he’d go after your mother.”

  “But you knew he’d go after someone!” I shouted. “You knew he was dangerous—you knew something was wrong. You knew…” I pulled the gun from Kat’s purse.

  “Erin,” he said. His gaze locked on the gun for just a second before his eyes found mine again. He didn’t look w
orried, or even all that scared. Mostly, he just looked really fucking tired. I knew how he felt.

  “I found the angel in with your things,” I told him. “The one Isaac Payson gave you when you were out on the island. Who helped you escape—who set the fire?”

  The fatigue vanished from his face. He stood straighter, his jaw hardened, his dark eyes suddenly cold. I held the pistol more tightly and pointed it at the center of his body as I took a step back. I could hear an ambulance coming, the sirens getting louder the closer it got to the hospital. Jack didn’t say a word.

  “Who is Matt protecting?” I asked.

  Another few seconds, maybe a minute, passed before Jack spoke. “I don’t know,” he said.

  It wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for.

  “I mean—I don’t know the answers to your questions,” he clarified. “I have just as many of my own.” Once the words were out, it seemed like he’d used the last of his energy for that single grain of truth.

  “I wasn’t lying that day in the car—I don’t remember my childhood. I don’t remember being on Payson Isle, if I ever was. I remember waking up in a Catholic hospital in Miami. I remember the women who cared for me there. When I came to Maine that first summer with Matt, none of it seemed familiar. It’s not like it all came rushing back and I suddenly remembered this life.”

  “And now?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know any of it—maybe I was Zion. Maybe Rebecca Ashmont was my mother; maybe I was there the day of the fire. Matt thinks I was. He used to slip and call me Zion sometimes—I just thought it was a quirk.”

  I still held the gun aloft, though it was heavy and my arms were shaking and it seemed almost silly, somehow, to continue with the delusion that I was in control. He took a step toward me.

  “I didn’t know he would hurt your mother. I didn’t know he’d hurt anyone, Erin—you have to believe me.”

  “What about the day I was attacked?” I asked. I tried to read him and kept my distance, the gun still raised. “How’d you get to the island so fast? How did you even know where the house was?”

  It took him a few seconds to follow my train of thought. When he realized what I was asking, he shook his head. “I’d been out there before—a few times since I’ve been back, trying to get to whatever memories might be locked inside my head. And I got out there so fast because I was worried about you—I was at the general store, so I hitched a ride with the closest fisherman I could find.”

  It made sense. It could just as easily have been lies, of course—there was no way to confirm any of it, short of finding the fisherman who’d driven him out to the island that day. I could do that later; for now, the only thing I had to go on was my own gut instincts. I lowered the gun. I felt sick, and tired, and the information that I had outweighed the information that I needed by a huge margin. And Jack didn’t know any more than I did.

  “I should go back in—find out if there’s any news,” I said when I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  He nodded. I slipped the gun back in Kat’s purse. Jack stood just a few inches from me now. I believed him, it turned out—maybe I really did have an epically bad psychopath detector, but I couldn’t help it. I trusted him. He brushed the hair from my eyes with a cold, cold hand.

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  I flinched at his touch. “Don’t,” I said. Tears rose faster than I could keep them at bay. I turned before he could pull me any closer, stopping just short of a run as I fled for the safety of bright lights and sterile hospital walls.

  August 20, 1990

  There is no wind. The air is heavy with moisture, thick with rain that refuses to fall. Rebecca’s brow and forehead are damp from the humidity and her browned arms and shoulders are dewy with it. Still, the heavens will not spare a drop.

  It is dusk, and she is once more in the greenhouse waiting for Isaac. Like the distant storm, she senses that something is coming—something dangerous, something that will change everything. Isaac sent Adam to her earlier in the day, this time to request a meeting between the three of them. The fact that Adam will be there is maddening, but she doesn’t dare refuse him. Isaac won’t speak with her alone anymore. When she seeks counsel from him, he meets with her in the chapel and schedules her for times when the most people are likely to be present.

  The day before, she waited on the greenhouse trail for three hours, hidden in the underbrush like a fugitive. When Isaac finally appeared, he would say only that others were waiting for him; he couldn’t speak to her then. His eyes lingered on hers, trailed down her long neck, and she knew then that she still held some sway. If Adam wasn’t whispering indictments in his ear, Rebecca is certain she and Zion would be safe.

  She needs to be rid of Adam.

  When Isaac finally appears on the path, she watches as he makes his way to the greenhouse. He is surefooted and fit, moving with a grace that’s in stark contrast to Joe’s thunderous assaults on everything in his path. In the past few weeks, she has been pleased to note that Zion is adopting the Reverend’s grace as his own.

  Rebecca waits until Isaac actually enters the greenhouse before she stands. Adam is not with him. She feels a brief surge of relief before she notes how guarded he looks. She takes a slow step toward him, her hands low and at her sides, as though approaching a wild animal that will spook at any sudden movement.

  “Thank you for coming,” he says formally.

  She forces her lips into a smile. “Thank you for having me,” she responds, equally formal. He looks surprised, as though he suspects she is mocking him.

  “Adam will be here soon—I wanted a few minutes alone with you first. To discuss things.”

  “You want me to leave the island.”

  “I don’t believe this is the best place for you any longer.”

  If he expected histrionics, he is disappointed. Rebecca remains cool and controlled when she replies.

  “What do you believe is the best place for me, then?”

  It is clear from his relief that he has already considered the question. Of course. His job may be to provide spiritual counsel, but Rebecca knows he is much more comfortable in a world of tangibles. This is the problem; here, then, is the solution.

  “I have some money—not a lot, but enough for you to start over somewhere new. Get away from Joe, away from Littlehope. There’s a couple from Boston that I knew before the church—they’re good people. They can provide you with food and shelter until you can find a job and make it on your own. Adam can take you to the bus station tomorrow, if you like.”

  When she doesn’t respond, he hesitates before adding, “Or in your own time. Whenever you feel that you are ready.”

  Rebecca considers this. It takes a moment before she realizes what he is really saying; before the weight of his omission is clear. “And where is Zion to stay?”

  His uncertainty returns. He looks out toward the path, where Adam is now making his way toward them.

  “I want you to truly consider what is best for your son. You know that he has been called—that he has a God-given gift. To waste that gift because of an earthly love for the child would be a sin. Zion requires the closest attention to fulfill his destiny. I can provide that for him.”

  “And Adam agrees with this? He believes that Zion staying with you is the best option?” she asks doubtfully. The look on Isaac’s face tells her plainly that Adam does not believe anything of the kind.

  “Adam knows that the good of the church is my first priority. He has concerns, but he will not stand in my way.”

  Rebecca says nothing. Feels nothing. She tries to imagine life without her son. Has her purpose been filled? Was she meant to bear the child, help him to grow, watch him suffer, and then simply walk away?

  Isaac takes a step forward. They are an arm’s length from one another, but he is the last thing on her mind now. Adam arrives and stands just outside the entrance—she senses him but does not turn around. Over a life
time of abuse and lust and love and betrayal, she has never hated anyone so much as she hates this man.

  “You would teach my son,” she says to Isaac.

  He nods, relieved. He believes he has won. “I will teach him everything he needs to know. Mae and I will raise him, and he will be at my right hand learning God’s word from morning to night.”

  “And I will just…disappear from his life? Tell him I’m going to visit relatives, try a new life in the city, become a missionary in some distant land? What is the story you would have me tell my only child, before you ask that I abandon him?”

  Her voice is a whisper, so tight that it is painful. Isaac steps back. His face changes when he realizes she is not as pliable as he would have hoped.

  “I…You would tell him the truth. That he has been chosen; that he is meant to stay and study at my side. But that your destiny lies beyond this island.”

  His eyes soften. For a moment, she believes that he truly sees her for the first time. “Rebecca, you are an amazing, powerful, vibrant woman. You are bright and dedicated—you have the potential for anything. My congregation is filled with people best suited to follow, living out their lives serving the Lord in peaceful obscurity. I don’t believe that is your path.” He pauses. “Zion will thrive here—you never will. Let him go, and have the courage to believe that God has better things in store for you than this.”

  She hears children playing somewhere in the distance. Their voices meld, high-pitched shrieks that carry far in the thick air. She knows that Zion’s voice is not among them. He is either in his room studying or in solitary meditation in the woods. From the time he was small, she has been his only companion—the only one able to lighten his mood, coax a smile from his serious black eyes.

  She shakes her head and turns a hard stare on Adam as he joins them. “You know what has been asked?”

  Adam hesitates. She realizes that he is truly afraid of her, and the realization pleases her. Good. Let him quake—whatever may come, she has already decided that if her life on Payson Isle is over, so is his.