On Unfaithful Wings (25 page)

See?

I didn’t answer. I thought about requesting a lawyer--it seemed like the authentic thing to do--but why? They caught me at the scene, murder weapon in hand, bodies at my feet. Oh, and I shared one quality with the victims: I’d been murdered six months before. Persona non grata, or whatever-the-hell they call it. Case closed. What would a lawyer do for me? Keep me out of the electric chair?

The suit--presumably a detective if my television training steered me right--leaned closer to the cell door. A faint tan line marked the ring finger of his left hand.

“Come on, buddy. It’s been a long day and I got things to do. Tell me who you are and why you did it, and I’ll make sure they go easy on you.”

I snickered and looked away. This was an interrogation? Here in my cell? Shouldn’t he drag me off to a room with two chairs, a table, an ancient cassette recorder and people watching behind a two-way mirror? He’d offer me coffee, a cigarette, pretend to be my friend until my un-cooperative nature provoked him into yelling, calling me a monster, grabbing me by the collar until someone jumped in to keep him from beating me. Instead, it seemed he wanted to make me feel bad about the length of his day, force me to talk by instilling guilt for his lack of sleep. The
Miami Vice
writers would be disappointed.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

His knuckles went white. I’d spoken, given him hope he might go home. Maybe saving his marriage was what he needed to do, or maybe mourning it. I knew the feeling.

“Try me.”

“My name’s Icarus Fell. I died six months ago.”

He let go of the bars, arms sagging to his sides. “Okay, you lost me joker. Nobody’s got a name like that.”

His shoulders slumped and he ran stubby fingers through ebony hair, the fight drained from him.

“I’m going home. Take the night to think about what you’ve done, about what will happen to you. I’ll see you in the morning.” He moved away down the hall. “Don’t go anywhere.”

I lay on the cot, springs protesting beneath my weight, and closed my eyes. Being in jail bothered me, but so many other things occupied my mind: the cross carved on Todd’s forehead, and Phil and the others Poe showed me in the newspaper. And missing the opportunity to come two more souls closer to pressing the restart button.

Why hadn’t I been in time to stop it?

The scroll was wrong, but how? And who bore such a vendetta against me that they’d take it out on others but leave me alive when I was right there, unconscious and at their mercy?

In the darkness of the alley, the desperation of the struggle, I didn’t see a face and doubted I’d have recognized it if I did. Probably a demonic hit man sent to make my life miserable for taking this job. Living on the street, worrying about scoring dope was so much simpler.

As my thoughts turned to Marty and Todd and whether they made it to the toy store or were dragged off to Hell, sleep overtook me. The sandman held me tight enough in his clutches to make it difficult determining if I dreamed the voice or actually heard it.

“Icarus.”

I blinked and stared up at the gray ceiling, waiting to see if the word repeated now I knew it wasn’t a dream.

“Icarus Fell.”

“Ric.” I pushed myself up to my elbows, expecting the detective to have returned with more questions before calling it a night. The bump at the back of my head flared. “Call me Ric.”

Not the tired-looking cop this time. Instead, the man at the bars wore priest’s vestments, a bible clutched in both hands at his chest, looking as if he’d stepped straight from the pulpit. The smile pulling his lips taut might easily have been mistaken for a leer. A jolt of panic raced through my veins as I thought they’d sent him to read my last rites. The thought must have showed plainly on my face.

“That’s not why I’m here, Icarus. Not yet.”

I rubbed my eyes to clear the sleep from them and sat up for a better look. I’d not seen his face before, but his tone and the way he held himself struck me as familiar. That not-really-a-smile smile. It took a second to click.

“Father Dominic.”

He nodded.

“What in God’s name are you doing here?”

“God has nothing to do with it this time.” He shifted and I glanced at his hands. His fingernails were gone, the bible in his hands upside-down. “You might say he and I had a parting of ways. Thanks to you.” He turned sideways and shimmered as he passed through the bars into my cell.

It was him. He did it.

That explained how the man in the alley interacted with Todd’s spirit. I moved away, tucking myself into a ball at the end of the cot by my pillow.

“What do you want?”

“You betrayed me.” He sat on the end of the cot. The mattress didn’t squeak under his ass, the blanket didn’t budge. “You had the opportunity to take me, to allow me to live out eternity at the feet of my heavenly father. Instead, you let Azrael have me. Did you think there would be no consequences? Did you really believe I would be led off to Hell and leave you to live out your joke of a life in comfort?”

I stared at him. A vein pulsed at his temple. Part of me thought about apologizing for the slight, but it wouldn’t have been sincere. After the things he’d done to me, he deserved what he got. His expression went stony as though he heard my thoughts.

“I suppose, in a way, I should thank you. Not going to Heaven has freed me to do things I’ve been wanting to do for a while.”

“Collect stamps? Learn to tango?”

He grinned and I swear blood stained his teeth, like he’d been tearing the flesh from puppies before popping in to visit.

“No, my hobby is much more fulfilling than any of those.”

“What, then? Murdering innocent people?”

“Punishing you.”

My heart skittered in my chest like a cat taking a corner on hardwood floors. When it gained traction, I sucked a lung-full of air through my nose. The deceased priest gave off an odd smell: burnt toast and wet earth.

Do I smell like that?

“Leave them alone.” I felt the cords in my neck standing out. “They’re not responsible for you going to Hell. I was. Take it out on me.”

“Tut, tut, dear Icarus.” His eyes bore into me, flickering with the same menacing spark I’d seen in the eyes of the Carrions. “I am taking it out on you. For condemning me and more.”

“What are you talking about?”

He leaned forward, baring his teeth. I cowered, chastising myself for falling prey to his theatrics.

“You are the issue of an unholy coupling.” Spittle flew from his lips. “Your mother was a saint. And she was damned to Hell the moment you were conceived.”

“My mother? This is about her?”

“Your mother was a child of God. She didn’t want you. She didn’t want what happened to her, but she couldn’t resist. She’s not to blame, yet she spends eternity reliving sins that should never have been hers. It’s your sire’s fault.”

“I don’t know my father.”

He grinned again and stood, the blankets where he sat undisturbed.

“Oh, yes. You do.” He shook the bible at me and I saw it was not only upside-down, but the ‘Holy Bible’ on its cover was written backwards.

I looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon. But we were in a prison cell, a place known for being weapon-free. The blanket wouldn’t do him much damage. I felt anger burning in my cheeks.

“You don’t have to do this. I’m not responsible for what happened to her.”

“Yes, I do.” He looked up, the grin climbing back onto his lips, red teeth and all. “You’re still responsible for what happened to me. And I can’t punish him; he’s untouchable. Which leaves you: his progeny.”

“But...” My head spun, teetering on the edge of comprehension. Why do angels and demons use such big words? I’d have called him a madman, but he was clearly not a man and mad seemed an understatement. His eyes flared, the spark in their depths burning hot. “I don’t know whose punishment I’m taking.”

“Think.” He backed away toward the bars. “Why did Michael choose you as a harvester of souls? What is so special about a loser like you to make you suitable for the job?”

I looked at him through slitted, suspicious eyes. He crossed his arms impatiently.

“Who did the job before you?”

My eyes widened.

Azrael.

“That’s right...Azrael. He took your mother from me and I could do nothing to seek revenge, so I had you. God has seen to punishing that poor excuse for an angel. That debt has been paid. But you...you turned me over to him, to Hell. That will not go unpunished. A trip to Heaven would have prevented my revenge.”

“No!”

I leapt off the cot, hands reaching for his throat, but he stepped back, melting through the bars. I slammed into the metal door with a clank that rattled my head and sent pain shooting down my spine. He stood back, tantalizingly out of reach, the bloody grin plastered on his kisser.

“I’m going to take the lives of everyone about whom you’ve ever cared. Perhaps if you ask nicely, they’ll give you a newspaper so you can read about the deaths of your loved ones.”

I swung at him. My fingers clawed the air inches from his face.

“Don’t do it. Take me instead.”

“Oh, I’ll get to you. Be sure of that.” He started down the hall at a pace like marching a death row inmate to his execution. “But not until you’ve suffered the way I suffered your mother’s death, the way I suffered all those years watching you grow like an incurable cancer. The way I’ve suffered in Hell.”

“You’re insane,” I yelled after him. “I won’t let you do it.”

“Don’t worry, Icarus, I’ll stretch it out for you, make it nice and painful. I’ll save your most loved for last.”

His laughter echoed down the hall, bouncing from bare wall to bare wall even after he’d disappeared. I slumped onto the mattress, head hung between my knees. His threat set one name repeating in my head:

Trevor.

Chapter Nineteen

I paced the eight-by-eight cell, alternately rattling the bars to draw attention and slamming my palm against the wall in anger, accomplishing nothing but a sore hand. After a half-hour, I sat back on the cot, breathing deep in an effort to collect myself. Anger and frustration wouldn’t get me out of here.

First I thought about Trevor and Rae. I had to warn them about the danger from that lunatic, protect them. And Sister Mary-Therese. Surely, Father Dominic wouldn’t harm her, not when they’d been so close.

Or would he?

He’d already gotten everyone else I’d cared about: my drinking buddies, the only woman other than Rae I’d loved, the closest thing I’d had to a father. For once, not having many friends might be a good thing. Thinking about his potential victims heightened my frustration, so I did my best to think of anything else. Unfortunately, the next thing to come to mind was Azrael.

The angel of death. My father.

It explained a lot.

Now I knew why I’d been brought back and why Heaven gave Azrael the boot. Not sure God would be happy about anyone procreating with a nun, never mind one of his right hand men. I suppose it explained Azrael’s habit of showing up at my job sites, too. Checking in to see how far the apple fell from the tree.

The son of an angel and a nun: a story to tell the grandchildren. A lineage like that could get a man killed.

Ha!

I stood. Procrastinating wouldn’t answer my questions, wouldn’t keep my family safe. Rae might not want me around, but I still loved her. I raised my face toward the unpainted ceiling.

“Poe,” I called, quietly at first, not knowing if summoning one’s guardian angel was possible.

Nothing.

“Poe.”

A minute passed. Impatience pressed my lips into a tight line: she was my only chance. Why have a guardian angel if she can’t be found when she’s needed?

“Poe!”

“No need to yell.”

I spun to face her standing on the other side of the bars, the usual smile on her face. She wore her hair pinned at the back of her head, removing any distraction from gazing into her golden eyes.

“Where were you?” I sounded like a grumpy husband left to make his own dinner.

“Out. What are you doing here?”

I stomped to the cell door and grabbed the bars. “You don’t know?”

“I am neither ubiquitous nor omniscient, Icarus. You’ve apparently got me confused with someone else.”

“They think I’m the killer.” I watched her smile fade, saw regret leak into her expression. Mike told her to watch out for me and look what happened. I changed the subject, letting her off the hook. For now. “Why didn’t you tell me Azrael is my father?”

She lowered her eyes. “I didn’t know. I mean, I suspected but wasn’t sure.”

“Never mind. Can you get me out of here?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

She hesitated, glancing down the hallway, then laid her hand on the lock mechanism and closed her eyes. The tumblers clicked and the door slid open. I wondered what that looked like to the guy at the control panel, or what they’d see later on the surveillance tapes.