“Nothing you can say will get me to do it,” she murmured. She opened her eyes to see him crouching over her. “There is enough time for you to right your ways. You can change what you’ll receive in the next Eternity.”
His face opened in mock surprise. “Change my ways and gain entrance to heaven? Redeem myself? The priest also tried that on me and I smashed his nose before I put a bullet in his stomach. The only person who’ll be changing their tune is you.”
Vincent abruptly stood. “Go back to the church. Get the cop.”
There was a flurry of footsteps as the warehouse emptied.
“He’s dead. He’s not coming back,” she said.
Vincent walked away. His steps faded to the back of the warehouse. “For you? We’ll see,” he said softly. The door clicked shut.
Chapter Seventeen
“Wake up, dear boy.”
With an effort borne of sheer determination, Daman cracked open his eyes to a small slit. Darkness edged his vision. A face swam above him, made of shadows and muted skin color. He concentrated and the face became a name.
“Father Joseph!” Daman tried to sit up, but was stopped by hot pain that ripped through his side. He dropped back to the ground, sucking in air and riding the agony until it became a dull throb and he could collect his wits again.
He blinked back his vision. The priest was still there. “I thought you were dead.” His voice was an unrecognizable croak.
Father Joseph smiled. His eyes held a look that was happiness and grief all mixed into one. However, you couldn’t have both together; it was either one or nothing. Daman had never seen a happy grief, or known that grief could allow you to be happy, too.
Another face appeared over the priest’s shoulder. It was the most handsome face Daman could recall. Not movie star looks, but something that went much deeper. Strong, well-balanced features, a long nose, chiseled cheeks and a firm mouth. Serious. Masculine.
Short cropped blond hair was brushed back in well formed waves. Beneath an unlined forehead were clear blue eyes. The color of the Mediterranean in summer. Or the sky in a photograph taken with a blue-toned lens. There were only one set of eyes that were similar to those.
They were the pair that shone and sparkled when they looked at him. These eyes, belonging to the man, were compassionate, but restrained. Curious, but not overly willful. There was nothing familiar flashing behind them. No niggling feeling that there was so much more to the warm looks he caught them soaking into him.
They contained none of the emotions that the pair of eyes he’d fallen in love with contained.
“Angel!” he cried out, staggering to his knees. “They have Angel!”
Despair kicked his gut. He bent double, dry-retched, clutching his side. Red-black blood oozed between his fingers as the wound in his side stretched and tore, but it was nothing to the pain of knowing he’d lost Angel.
“I know, my son. And we are here to help.”
Daman turned his head and regarded the priest. “I felt your pulse. There was nothing. You were cold. Shot dead.”
“And yet you can see I’m quite alive. In fact, I’ve never felt so good in my…life.”
Daman inspected the man, who still had yet to move or speak, behind the priest. “You look familiar. Like…Angel.”
Daman sucked in a breath as realization dawned. “You are dead. And you have come to take him.”
The angel bowed slightly and the Father beamed. “You are a smart boy. I pleaded my case for help. I can’t go onwards if there’s unfinished business still on Earth.”
Daman’s face flushed with red heat and his skin prickled. He tried to breathe, but couldn’t kick the airless feeling that constricted his lungs. He twisted onto his side to ease pressure on his chest. His feet knocked something when he moved. Daman looked down to see what he’d kicked and saw the priest’s too-still feet behind the altar. Black blood had pooled and sunk to stain the stone floor beneath them. So much blood. He closed his eyes against the sight, resisting the nausea that roiled in his gut.
“Oh, God. I was too late,” Daman gasped.
“Calm yourself. It was my time to go. I’m happy to have helped so many people in my church and the next adventure beckons. My only regret is that I didn’t help you more, and now I find I’m in a position where I can. It is beyond my expectations. In truth, you, my dear boy, were my last case. The one and only true hero I wanted so desperately to help. When I saw you with Angel, I knew…knew she had come for you and that she would be the only one that could save you from yourself. You have put yourself through enough, and now it’s time to right the wrongs.”
“I know who did this to you, Father, and believe me when I tell you they will pay for coming here and murdering you. It’s my fault they knew about you. I should never have brought Angel here. I knew they’d traced me when I left that day. And then I went away. I should have offered you protection.”
“Don’t fall into your old ways. All is forgiven. I knew what I was doing, who I was helping. These men are bad and they are ruthless. I know what a struggle it has been for you to bring them to justice. I want to help and now I find myself in a position where I can.”
There was a hand on his shoulder. Daman peered around through bleary eyes. “Pete,” he croaked. “You’re alive!”
“And kicking.” Pete smiled. He wiped the blood at his temple. “Well, alive. Seems the bullet nicked my skin. Have a hell of a headache, but I think I’ve come out of it a little bit better than the priest.”
“That depends on how you look at it.” Father Joseph smiled.
This was too much. “You know about this?” Daman said to Pete.
Pete nodded, then winced. “Woke to find them staring down at me. Seems the Father was here since we walked through the door, but wasn’t in a position to show himself.”
Daman turned to the priest. “You saw everything?”
Father Joseph nodded. “We both did.”
“Both?”
“Antimedus and I.”
The father indicated the blond man next to him that had yet to utter a sound. “My Death Angel. Although he stayed in spirit for my departure. Seems like the book was true. You do need flesh and blood in combination with spirit for an angel to become part of this earth. And the will for it to happen.”
Antimedus bowed formally. His features were stern and serious. Daman was glad that it was Angel who had come for him and not this severe man.
“The page you hid, Father. Is it true?”
Antimedus answered. “It is true. It is a sin for an angel to become flesh and blood. If they do not return within the three days it is written they will walk the earth until the end of days as punishment.”
“It isn’t a punishment to live and love,” Daman said.
“Ah, the boy has learned a lesson. Hard won, I think.” The priest’s eyes gleamed over his smile.
Daman studied the priest. Gone were the jowls, the heavy eyelids and the ever-growing large red nose. The spirit was able to ignore the deprivation of growing old. In fact, the Father looked healthy and youthful. Transformed.
“You look good for a dead man, Father,” Daman said.
Father Joseph chuckled. “I feel better than I ever did while I was alive, to tell you the truth. But I mustn’t say too much. Antimedus will help us as long as I don’t give too many secrets away, hey, Ant?” The priest winked at Antimedus.
Daman was astounded to find the angel’s mouth twitch.
“Won’t he be missed if he doesn’t have you at the pearly gates in a certain time?” Pete asked.
“There is no time,” Antimedus said. “It is a mere illusion.”
“Seems pretty realistic from where I’m sitting.”
“I’ll second that,” Pete said. He winced as he scraped blood from the side of his head. “Hey, can you do anything about these injuries?”
Antimedus knelt before Pete and put his hands to the wound. “Fle
sh and blood can be manipulated like clay. Where there was once a tear, now it has healed. All that is needed is knowledge and the power of the mind.”
Antimedus placed his hands over Pete’s wound. His hands glowed golden and warm where they cupped the injury. The light vanished and Antimedus stepped away. “It is done.”
Stunned, Pete tested where his wound had been. He looked at Daman, clearly amazed. “I don’t feel anything. It’s healed, like nothing’s happened to me. I feel great.”
“I wish I did,” Daman said. The bullet holes in his side and arm throbbed with blinding intensity.
Antimedus placed one hand at Daman’s side, and the other on his wound on his shoulder. There was no weight to his touch, no sense of being touched, but soon a burning heat warmed his skin. It was hot, as though the sun heated his clothes and burned the skin beneath, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The heat intensified. There was a slight tingling at the wounds that wasn’t unpleasant—quite the opposite—then Antimedus returned to his standing position behind Father Joseph.
Daman tested his shoulder. There was no pain. He rolled his arm. It had never felt better. Carefully he stood and stretched his body. Hs lifted his shirt. Although the tear in the materials was there, bloodied and messed, there was no sign of the wound. He pressed the skin to find a mark, but there was none. Angel had done the same for him that first morning he woke to see her in his bed.
He’d do anything to be able to wake to have her there again. Just once more. He couldn’t even wish for such a miracle. Too much to hope he would wake to find her next to him every morning for the rest of their lives.
“It’s a miracle,” Pete said.
“The gift of healing has been given to mankind a multitude of times throughout the ages, but it has been neglected and ignored. Burned at the stake of fairytales,” stated Antimedus.
“You mean people could do this for other people?” Pete asked.
“All that is needed is the knowledge and right frame of mind and anything can be achieved. It has been done in the past, but humankind is still afraid of the unknown. There is so much more you can achieve. Your minds are still truly babies. You limit only yourselves.”
“How could you know this?” Daman asked.
“We are the harbingers, the bridge between the Eternity and Earth. All you need to do is ask and it will be given, again and again if required. We are here for you. We do not tire of helping.”
Daman hooked Antimedus’s gaze. “You save people. Do you save angels?”
Confusion washed Antimedus’s features. His brows lowered, straightened over his intelligent eyes.
Daman looked at the priest. “Have you told him?”
“I was in the process before you came into the church. He’s seen Angel, and what she did.”
“Ahhh, yes.” Antimedus acknowledged. “It is highly irregular that an angel chooses this path.”
“Then it’s happened before?”
Antimedus shrugged one shoulder. “Throughout the ages. Yes. As angels, it is our life to do our duty. But there are others who seek to experience more. To experience the wonder of life.”
“I can see you don’t understand why she did what she did,” Daman said.
“It is not for me to question another’s motives. We simply accept.”
Daman clenched his fists. Angel was worth fighting for. Even if it meant his death, he would make sure she would be saved. “I’m not just accepting. I’m fighting because she’s worth fighting for. Ever felt anything like that before, Antimedus?”
The angel silently regarded him. “Human emotion is a curiosity to us. We are not the same. We do not fully understand your motives or seek to experience more than our existence allows. I can see how much this means to you and as I said, we are here to help. On this occasion, I will endeavor to do so. There is one rule that cannot be broken. That is human will. I cannot intervene, even if death is imminent. That is not for us to decide.”
Daman nodded, understanding immediately. Antimedus would help, but it would be only within his power. Still, help of this magnitude was more than he could hope for.
“Pete, you in?”
“Like I’ve never been before.”
“Father?”
“I am here to help before I embark on my next adventure.”
“What’s the time, Pete?”
Pete glanced at his watch. “Ten PM.”
“We only have about four hours before Angel is stuck here forever.” Daman paced the space in front of the altar. “Time will be tight, but we have the element of surprise. You all are in. That’s good. Now listen carefully, this is what we’re going to do.”
A plan formed in his mind, hasty, too spur-of-the-moment, etched only in black and white. There was no Plan B or C. They had one chance. There was no room for error; that was impossible to contemplate. He had the help of his partner, a dead priest, the power of angels and the element of surprise. And he would need all of them to pull what he had to do together.
Chapter Eighteen
“You sure this is the place?” Daman hid behind a large industrial trash bin. Pete was stuffed between him and the wall behind the hunk of metal. The angel and the priest stood in plain sight in the middle of the alley. They were visible to no one.
The alley was only lit by the yellowing light from a flickering street lamp. It was silent, not even the sound of a lone car passed. This part of town wouldn’t wake to life until the sun touched the sky. At least it had stopped drizzling, although the tar underfoot was still damp. Their footsteps crackled on the loose stones on the tarmac. The sound seemed like an explosion, amplified by the silence, but he knew it was only loud enough to drift to his ears.
He’d found himself at a unused warehouse on the outer limits of Thomastown, a large industrial suburb that was only peopled in business hours. It looked as though it hadn’t been in service for years. The paintwork had long ago split and cracked from years of neglect. The logo on the side of the building—a business Daman had never heard of—was half washed away. Weeds grew in cracks in the tarmac. A tow grate in the driveway leading to the loading dock was bent in the middle. The damage in the steel bar had actually rusted over.
It was the type of lonely place Victor would know about. Although there was no sign of the gang, Daman trusted Antimedus that they were in the right place.
Antimedus nodded. “I can see her light from here. She is on the other side of this brick wall.”
“To always have such higher help would be fantastic,” Pete whispered.
“It’d save a lot of hard work,” Daman admitted.
Daman spotted the deeper shadows of a door in the wall and whispered in Pete’s ear, “We go in there. Ready?”
Pete signaled and Daman slid from behind the relative safety of the trash bin. He pressed his back to the solid safety of the wall behind him. He tested the doorknob; it twisted, but the door didn’t open. Daman saw a slide-lock, with an open bolt. He lifted the lock away, slid open the slide, and stepped around the door to the opening side.
As he moved, the heavy wood swung open and cracked his forehead. His head snapped back. His knees buckled, arms flailed. He fell, limbs numb, head in a thick, gray fog. Then black.
***
Cold water in the face. Down the throat. Mouth clogged. Breathe. Into the lungs. Retch. Spew back the water, now warm mixed with spit. Clear the vision.
Another bucket of water full in the face. This time it brought him to the surface of consciousness. He rolled, went onto his elbows, shaking the last of the fog from his mind. He cracked open eyes to see the tip of a shoddy well-worn basketball shoe. His eyes traveled up the black denim-covered leg into the face of Haki.
‘You son of a bitch,” Daman murmured.
Adrenaline punched his system. He bounced to his feet and smashed a fist into the Maori’s mouth. Haki staggered back, covered his mouth and a curse with his hands. When his hands came away, Daman saw with s
ome satisfaction that there was blood from a torn lip before the Maori returned the favor and sent a meaty uppercut into Daman’s jaw. He wasn’t as fully recovered from being knocked unconscious as he thought and the hit sent him flying backward to the cold concrete.
“That’s enough, Haki. You’ll get your turn in a little while.”
The dulcet tones set Daman’s blood on ice. Winded, he managed to fix his red-filled vision on the man in the neat black Italian designer suit standing a little away from him, lost in the shadows. “Why don’t you come a bit closer and I’ll greet you the same way,” Daman said. He sat, rubbing the hot pain from his jaw as he watched Vincent arrange his lean features in careful nonchalance. His hawk-features did little to hide the greed beneath the slim veneer of style.
“At last, the leader comes out from behind his desk,” Daman snarled. “Glad to see you getting your hands dirty for once, Vincent.”
“Better than them being dirty all the time. You cops tend to be a bit…filthy,” Vincent replied. He walked toward Daman, but was careful to stay away from arm’s reach. He lit a cigarette. The end glowed red.
“Those things’ll kill you, you know. If I don’t get to you first.” Daman went to stand, muscles straining, ready.
“I’ll ask you to stay seated.”
Daman slowly sat, keeping his knees bent. He clasped his hands around his knees so he could rest his elbows. He took the time to study his surroundings, eyeing the muscle in the room as he settled himself. There were four men, including Haki. No sign of Pete, the angel or the priest. Excluding the two that were downed at the church, these men were the four that got away. The one that he shot held his arm, the flesh of his outer arm bloodied. Daman tallied his intended body count, calculating the order and how he would take each of them out. The injured man would be the first to go. Get to the weakest first and take them out of the game. They would be slower to react, but an injured man could wield a weapon and cause damage.
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