Chapter 11
“Summer in the City”
The Lovin’ Spoonful
~~~

 A Whole New Park in a Different Part of Town,
Just as Steamingly Miserable in July,
As the First Had Been Frigidly Miserable in February.

“THAT’S IT, THEN. Two more for the week.” As he walked alongside Jake, Dodger busied himself writing something down in the little spiral notebook he referred to as his journal. They’d called it a day and were heading toward their latest favorite in a long list of Atlanta diners, chatting back and forth with easy familiarity.

Jake watched the boy out of the corner of his eye, marveling at what five months of clean living and plenty of food had done for his protégé. Dodger had put on at least twenty pounds and had lost the starved, stray-dog look he’d had when Jake first saw him. With color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes, no one would ever imagine he’d been an addict such a short time ago. Of course, Jake had Azrael to thank for the light speed version of a detox program, but the fact that it had worked was all that mattered.

“What’s our total for this week?”

Dodger flipped back a page in his notebook. “Twenty-one talked to, fourteen you said you felt pretty good about.”

“Sooo . . . two-thirds who might have listened, then?”

Beaming, Dodger nodded. “Hell, yeah. One of our best weeks.”

“I’d never have found that many kids to talk to on my own, you know. Probably not even in twice the time. You’re doing a great job, Dodge.”

The boy grinned, then grew silent, his brows coming together in a look that Jake knew would soon result in questions, some of which he wasn’t prepared to answer. Dodger had a never-ending curiosity and was far too smart to lie to, not that Jake ever intended to do so, but he’d better be on his toes. No way to guess what was on the kid’s mind, but he didn’t ask. Dodger would pursue his questions in his own good time.

It turned out Dodger’s own good time was between home-style roast beef hash and homemade bread pudding with caramel-cinnamon sauce on top. As soon as the waitress said “I’ll be back with your desserts in a minute,” and walked away, the boy pounced.

“How do you do it?”

Jake feigned innocence. “Do what?”

“Don’t jerk me around, dammit. I wanna know how you get through to so many of these kids. Ain’t never seen nobody else come close.”

“Yeah? Well, I want to know how come you pretend you’ve never had an English lesson in your life and talk like you were born in the ghetto, when I know better. And even though I’ve asked you about this several times, you still haven’t given me a straight answer.”

The boy’s face flamed, but this time, he didn’t try to deny it. “That’s different.”

“How?”

When Dodger spoke again, he’d transformed into someone else, entirely. Oh sure, he was a Georgia boy through and through, so he still dropped his g’s and softened his r’s, but the sharp-edged street twang was gone, along with the lousy grammar.

“If I don’t speak like everyone else, I stand out, Jake. I learned that the hard way, the first week I was on my own. It was a matter of survival then, and now, it makes it easier for me to fit in. How did you figure out it wasn’t the way I’ve always talked?”

“Been around a lot longer than you, kid. I’ve got a good ear for accents, and now and then, I’d hear something else under there. A bit more Buckhead and a little less Grant Park.”

Dodger was quiet for a long time, then he shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to work harder, won’t I? It wouldn’t do to alienate the kids we want to help, nor to make myself a target for anyone else.”

“Now there’s the real Dodger speaking.”

The boy’s voice held a bitter note. “No, that’s the real David speaking. The real Dodger is the loser you carried out of that alley last February.”

Jake leaned across the booth to grasp Dodger’s shoulder. “Not true. People have many facets to them, Dodge, like jewels. We can be one thing in one light and something else in another. But underneath it all, we’re still ourselves. I see who you really are, no matter the name, no matter the place, and no matter how you speak. And I value you for your own special gifts. And your unique worth.”

Dodger’s head dropped low, and he stared at the table without speaking. Dessert arrived and he still didn’t look up—a dead giveaway that something was really wrong.

“Hey? Dodger? You okay?”

No response at all, and something told Jake it was finally time to reach out. He took a chance, but he had to be careful not to overstep the boundaries. Slipping out of his seat, he slid in beside Dodger and whispered softly, “If you don’t want that bread pudding, I’ll take it.”

Dodger’s hand shot out and grabbed the bowl. After a minute, he glanced up at Jake. His eyes shone with tears, but a tiny, wistful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I wish I’d had a dad like you.”

And there it was. Everything that Dodger was—or wasn’t—went back to whatever had gone wrong between the boy and his father. Jake’s throat tightened and his own eyes stung, but when he could breathe normally again, he draped his arm across Dodger’s shoulders. “I’d have been proud to have you for a son.”

And he was only a little surprised by how much he meant it.

Carrying a to-go box full of bread pudding, Dodger sauntered alongside Jake in companionable silence as they returned to their room. Jake treasured those moments of perfect harmony, when their bond was so strong, they had no need to speak at all. 

After they’d settled in their beds for the night, Jake spoke into the darkness. “I wish I could turn back time, Dodger, and fix the things that went wrong for you. Hell, I wish I could fix the things that went wrong for me, too.”

Dodger took so long to reply, Jake thought he’d already fallen asleep. He should have known the boy was listening carefully. He always did.

“What went wrong for you, Jake? What would you change, if you could?”

Stumbling over words that didn’t come easy to him, Jake told Dodger about his past—about the death of his family, about finding his Saving Grace, and about losing her, as well. This time, he expected the long silence, but not the tears he heard in Dodger’s voice.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how you keep going, Jake. How do you get up every day, just wanting to help others, after so many bad things happened to you? Why do you try so hard?”

“I try because I promised Grace. But also because in helping others, we save ourselves.” And Jake knew that part was true, even for those who hadn’t made a deal with an angel. “None of us can change the past, but I promise I’ll be here for you as we go forward, no matter what comes next. I’ll always be on your side. Count on it. We’re partners now, kid, and I’ve got your back. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Jake pretended not to hear the catch in the boy’s voice. “Okay, then. Goodnight, Dodge.”

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you do it? Is it hypnotism?”

Jake laughed. That was Dodger, through and through. Never give up, never let go, and always, always figure out the answer.

“I’m not sure, myself, you know. Hypnotism just might be part of it. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow’s another day, and we have work to do.”

For the next three months, Dodger and Jake were a staple here and there all over Atlanta, talking to runaways and working their magic like the perfect team they were. And then one cool, crisp, and beautiful October morning, everything changed again.

~~~

The Cool, Beautiful October Morning Mentioned Above,
Viewed from a Seat Next to a Grimy Diner Window,
While a Pathetically Mediocre Lunch Grew Cold.

JAKE WAITED, FAR too nervous to start lunch without Dodger. The boy was late, and growing later by the minute, which wasn’t like him at all. They’d agreed months ago that they’d rendezvous at lunch time, and again at mid-afternoon, no matter what, and they’d stuck to it.

Something was wrong.

Jake cursed himself for going along with Dodger’s new plan. He hadn’t liked the idea from the start. They should have stayed with the parks, with territory they knew. Yeah, maybe they risked becoming too familiar around many of them, but the parks were safer.

Working back streets in neighborhoods this bad was a terrible idea, and he should have insisted they stick to the system they’d perfected. After all, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Now that was a maxim Jake believed in.

But had he stood firm? No. He’d let Dodger’s enthusiasm for spreading their work into a larger, needier area sway him, and now, here he sat. Worried sick.

The boy had been right about the numbers of homeless teenagers slouching along these grim sidewalks, though. Jake had already seen several in serious trouble pass by this filthy window, one of which he’d manage to nudge as the kid rested on the curb outside the diner. The boy had gotten up, shaken himself like a wet dog, and walked off at a fast clip, as though he’d made a decision to do something else with his day. Jake hoped he had.

He looked at his watch again. Over an hour late. He’d learned to trust his instincts, and they were screaming at him to get up immediately and go find Dodger, even if it meant messing up things for whoever the boy was talking to.

By the time Jake walked away from the diner, his need to find Dodger had turned into a physical pain. Standing at the corner, he looked both directions, then flipped a coin in his mind and headed east. After ten blocks, he knew he’d chosen wrong. The streets were cleaner, with fewer and fewer homeless on them, and it felt like he’d left Dodger far behind.

In a panic, he raced back to where he’d started, and this time closed his eyes as he stood on the corner, concentrating as hard as he could. North. He should have gone north, dammit.

After twenty minutes, Jake found himself in the worst part of Atlanta he’d ever seen. The dirty streets were barely wider than alleys, and the alleys were mere footpaths between dilapidated, condemned buildings. Here and there, eyes stared out through cracks in the boarded-up windows, and the smell of rancid cooking oil seeped under padlocked doorways. Condemned? Perhaps. Empty? Not so much.

Dodger was here, somewhere in this cesspool of dirt and despair. Jake knew it all the way down to his bones, but he had no idea which snaky little alley to check first. He blinked back tears of frustration and kept going, searching around and behind every crumbling corpse of a building, hunting Dodger up one alley and down another.

Would calling the police help or hinder his search at this point? Unsure, Jake argued the issue with himself for another long block, then he peered down an exceptionally dark and dirty passage and came to an abrupt halt. A knot of kids wearing the matching bandanas of a local gang kicked viciously at something on the ground Jake couldn’t see. Fear clutched at his heart, and he charged down the alley like a rampaging bull, screaming at the top of his lungs. The startled boys flew up and over the fence at the alley’s end.

Jake skidded to a halt. No, no, no. God, please, please don’t let that mangled pile of rags be Dodger.

Kneeling, he reached out a shaking hand and turned the bruised and bloody face toward him. The boy—his boy—was almost unrecognizable under a welter of cuts, bruises, and every kind of contusion. Blood dripped from the back of his head. It trickled from countless injuries on his face and arms. It even leaked from his ears. A phrase ran through Jake’s mind, over and over—Beaten to a bloody pulp. For the first time, he knew exactly what that meant.

He’d found his boy, yes, but he’d arrived too late, and his world collapsed around him, as he knelt in a squalid Atlanta alley and sobbed over Dodger’s broken body.

Jake’s cries and curses and vows of vengeance became so loud, he nearly missed the faint whimper. Dodger’s eyes were open. At least, one was. The other was swollen shut, with blood seeping beneath the lid.

“Jake? I’m . . . sorry. . . so sorry.”

“Hush, now,” he choked out, fumbling for his phone. “My fault, Dodge. Not yours. Don’t move. I’m calling for help.”

“Too . . . late . . .”

“No! It’s not too late! You hang on, you hear? You’re going to be fine.”

Dodger smiled. “You were . . . a great dad . . . Jake.”

And then he was gone.

The pain ripped Jake in two. Clutching Dodger to his chest, he screamed into the void where his heart had been, and he knew it was all over.

This time, he was done for good.

There you have today’s offering.
Stay tuned for Chapter 12 tomorrow!

THE EMISSARY

Chapter 8
“Takin’ Care of Business”
Bachman-Turner Overdrive

~~~

Under a Dreary Mid-February Sky,
In an Equally Dreary Mid-Atlanta Diner,
Having a Surprisingly Undreary Mid-Day Meal.

“MORE COFFEE?” THE waitress smiled as she held the steaming pot over his empty cup.

“Yes, thank you.” Jake hoped the weariness in her eyes reflected fatigue and nothing more. Tired himself, he wanted to concentrate on his hamburger and not on whether her soul needed saving.

As she refilled his cup, he studied her face. A bit careworn, definitely tired, but even when he made an effort, he didn’t pick up much else. Relieved, he went back to enjoying his lunch and thinking about what part of town he wanted to focus on next.

Jake had been in Atlanta for nearly six weeks. He could spend six years there and never reach all the people in need of help. The big question was, should he? Should he focus on one area, or would it be better to hit the road again? After all, Atlanta hadn’t cornered the market on lost souls. People everywhere struggled to make the right choices, but as he’d said to Azrael the last time they’d talked, he was only one man.

Why couldn’t the rest of the angels understand what Azrael wanted to do? Surely, they cared about saving souls? It was the reason most of them had been created in the first place, so it ought to be their first order of business. Why was it so hard for them to understand that a few more emissaries could make a huge difference?

He left a tip on the table and headed for the cash register, only to have a too-familiar sense of wrongness wash over him as he approached the woman standing behind it.

Focused on something outside the diner, she clutched a steak knife in her hand and whispered, “Go away, go away, go away.”

Jake glanced through the glass door. Across the street, a grungy young man paced back and forth, casting furtive looks at the diner. Even from this distance, the kid’s nervous twitching and slightly off-kilter movements left no doubt he was strung out on some street drug or other.

“Ma’am? Is there some way I can help you?”

The woman’s head whipped toward Jake, and the knife in her hand clattered to the floor. By the time she picked it up, she had collected herself enough to shake her head and hold out her hand for the check.

He gave it to her, then leaned a bit closer, and spoke softly. “Are you afraid of that guy outside? Should I call the police or someone?”

She shook her head again, though her eyes said something very different. “No. It’s okay. I mean, I’d rather not involve the law.”

“Is he your son?”

Her eyes flew wide in horror. “No! My son’s our busboy. He’s in the kitchen.”

Jake waited. He’d discovered it was a good way to get people to say more than they intended, and once again, it worked.

The woman checked to see where the other waitress was, then added, “I don’t want that guy anywhere near Donny. He’s a dealer, and my son’s just getting his life back on track. That bastard can’t come in here causing trouble. He’s already done enough damage to my boy.”

“Would it help if I spoke to the guy?”

She leaned away, looking Jake up and down. “Why are you so interested? You a narc? Oh, hell. Is this about Donny’s parole? He’s clean now, and he’s worked hard to make up for what he did. For the love of God, please don’t do anything to upset him.”

For the love of God, indeed. The irony did not escape Jake. “Don’t worry. I’m not checking up on your son, but I think I might have some business to take care of across the way. That kid over there needs to move along.”

Again, she made sure the waitress was still at the other end of the diner, then leaned closer. “I’m begging you, don’t make a scene. I can’t afford to lose this job, and Donny can’t lose his, either.”

Then the woman rang up his bill, and Jake paid it, letting his hand brush against hers for just long enough to give her a tiny mental nudge. Not a lot. Only enough to calm her nerves slightly—and to make certain she forgot about him as soon as he left.

That done, he walked out the door, looked both ways, and crossed the street.

~~~

One Hard Mile and A Sweaty Half-Hour Later,
Behind a Dumpster Filled with Week-Old Garbage,
At the End of a Filthy Alley Reeking of Urine.

“GET OUTTA HERE, man, before somebody sees me with you! I’m tellin’ you, clear out, or I’m good as dead.”

“So, you’re not in charge of this little operation, then?”

The boy gaped at Jake. His dilated pupils confirmed substance use, but his shaking hands and the heavy sheen of sweat across his pasty skin told the rest of the story. The kid was coming down hard from his most recent dance with his drug of choice.

“In charge? You crazy? Hell, no! I ain’t in charge of nuthin’. I’m just a runner, man. If you ain’t arrestin’ me, go the hell away. They think I’m shootin’ off my mouth to some narc, they’ll kill me, sure.”

“I’m not a narc.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Look, kid. You aren’t doing so well. Maybe I can help.”

With a gasp and a shaky sob, the boy slid down the brick wall at his back, oblivious to the garbage and dirt he landed in. As his sobs turned into moans of pain, he clutched at his stomach, vomited down the front of his shirt, and passed out.

Great. He had no idea what to do next.

As soon as the kid had realized a man from the diner was coming toward him, he’d raced off down the sidewalk, heading straight for his home territory. Now, they were both in serious danger. Jake needed to get out of there at once, but no way would he leave the boy alone, unconscious and vulnerable.

He considered his options. Okay—option, since the only one he could think of was to carry the boy somewhere he could get help.

Jake scooped the kid up in his arms, then realized he had another problem. Carrying the boy was easy enough—he weighed much less than expected—but that didn’t mean he could waltz out of this alley and right down the street with him in his arms. It would attract far too much attention, even if they weren’t in danger from whatever gang controlled this part of town.

With no idea how much assistance he was allowed in a situation like this, Jake figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Azrael, if you’re there, what do I do now? I can’t walk away from this boy, but I can’t walk away with him, either. Are you allowed to help me get him somewhere safe until I can figure something out? Please, Azrael? He’s just a kid, and he’s already so lost, it hurts me to look at him.”

Long seconds ticked by in silence, and Jake’s spirits sank. Then Azrael’s voice filled his head. “Close your eyes, Jake. Do not open them until I tell you to do so.”

Jake followed the angel’s instructions, ignoring the sensation of rushing wind and the loss of equilibrium that accompanied it. After what seemed like far too long, Azrael spoke again. “You may open your eyes now.”

He did. In spite of a brief moment of vertigo, Jake—and the unconscious boy in his arms—seemed to have suffered no ill effects from the journey. Better yet, they were standing beside his black BMW, which now occupied a space right outside the emergency room of a large hospital.

“Thank you, Azrael.”

“Thank me by saving this boy. I have smoothed the way for you inside. You will be attended to immediately with no questions asked. Take care of him. He is far more important than you might think. Do not lose him.”

“Got it.” Jake carried the kid toward the ER, not sure what would happen inside, but he would not lose this one. Azrael had spoken.

~~~

Three Frustrating, Argumentative Days Later,
In a Liver-Bile Green Hospital Room,
Redolent of Sweat, Antiseptic, and Bad Coffee.

“I KNOW IT’S crummy hospital food, but you have to eat it. They are never going to let you out of here until they see that you’re eating and that all bodily functions are in order.”

The kid glared at him. “You ain’t my mama, you know.”

“No, but right now, I’m your best friend. You nearly OD’d on whatever that junk was you were taking, you know. OD’d—as in died, Tony.”

“And Tony ain’t my name, neither.”

“Well, it’s the name I gave them when you were admitted, so while you’re here, I’d appreciate it if you’d answer to it.”

“Yeah, about that. Tell me again how I ended up in this place? And who the hell’s supposed to pay for it? I don’t get it, man.”

Jake sighed. “I told you several times, I brought you here when you puked all over yourself and passed out. It seemed like a good idea to try to save your life, though I’m beginning to have second thoughts on that one.”

“I know what you told me. I ain’t stupid. But say I believed your screwed-up story, whacked as it is. You coulda just dumped me off at the door and beat it outta here, but you stayed. That don’t make no kinda sense to me. I wanna know why you stayed.”

The kid, Tony for the time being, had been in the hospital for three days and seemed to be doing well, which confused his doctors no end. Apparently, whatever magic Azrael had worked to cover admissions included a near-instantaneous detox of some sort, and the physicians were all left scratching their heads.

Upon admission, they’d suggested Tony go through a weeks-long program to kick what they said looked like a pretty severe habit, and they were reluctant to let go of that idea, no matter what evidence they now saw to the contrary.

Tony had awakened a few hours after admission, bright-eyed, coherent, and loudly proclaiming he wasn’t a big enough dumbass as to take drugs at all, much less “get hooked on the damn crap.” Yeah, he admitted to smoking pot a bit but swore he’d never touched the hard stuff. Jake knew he was lying, but the doctors, while skeptical, couldn’t prove otherwise.

Now, as he waited for Tony to be released, Jake sincerely hoped Azrael had taken care of all of that, too. They’d be walking away from a significant hospital bill, and he definitely needed to ask the angel how this stuff worked. Did everything disappear after they left? Did the angel wipe the minds of all hospital personnel who’d been in contact with the two of them? Or did the bill mysteriously get paid somehow? He had no idea, but he’d have to trust Azrael to handle it. He had other things to worry about, like what he was going to do with the boy when they walked out the front door.

Azrael said the kid was important and Jake must take care of him. That pretty much ruled out returning Tony to his old stomping grounds. Better come up with a plan, and better make it a good one, too. Some way to keep the boy out of trouble while Jake tried to steer him in a better direction.

The door swung open, and a volunteer pushed a wheelchair into the room, smiling at Tony. “You’re all set to go.”

She gave the boy his freshly laundered clothing, pulled the curtain closed around his bed, and handed Jake a clipboard with some highlighted areas to sign. That was it. Oh, yeah. It was good to have friends in high places, all right.

Ten minutes later, the girl parked the wheelchair in the lobby, and Jake told her he had it from there. He helped his charge to his feet and led him out the door to the parking lot, never letting go of his arm until he buckled him into the BMW’s passenger seat.

As Jake inserted the key into the ignition, the kid made his pitch. “Wait a minute! Look, just gimme some money for bus fare, and I’ll take it from here. Thanks, and all that, but I gotta get goin’. Okay?”

“And where do you think you’ll go, Tony?”

“Told you, my name ain’t Tony. Just call me Dodger.”

“Dodger, huh? Okay, then. You think your pals will believe anything you tell them at this point, Dodger? If they were going to kill you just for being seen with me, how will they feel about you having disappeared with me for three days?”

Dodger’s face paled, but he soldiered on. “I can make up something, don’t you worry none. Just give me the damn money and let me get outta here, man. Please?”

“Call me Jake. And if you really want to go back to where I found you, I’ll drive you there, myself.”

“No, man!” With a vehement shake of his head, Dodger tried another tack. “That wouldn’t be good. Just let me find my own way back, okay?”

“I don’t think so. I think you’ll head anywhere but back to where you came from. You know why I think that? Because I believe what you told me in that alley. I believe if the guy in charge thinks you’ve been talking to a narc, they’ll kill you, just like you said that day. So, instead of doing that, how about we take a drive in the opposite direction, and you spend some time listening to some ideas I have. After two days, if you still want to go back to your old life, I’ll give you a hundred dollars and wish you the best of luck.”

A long moment passed in silence, then Dodger’s shoulders slumped, and Jake knew he had him.

“A hundred dollars, huh?”

“Yep.”

“And all I have to do is listen to you for the next two days, then I can take the money and go where the hell I want?”

“That’s it.”

“No funny stuff, right? Cuz I don’t do guys.”

“Neither do I, so no funny stuff.”

The boy chewed his lower lip, then gave a reluctant nod. “Okay. But if you try anything with me, I’ll hurt you bad. Just so’s you know.”

Jake nodded, though he couldn’t imagine Dodger being a serious threat. “Deal. Now we’re going to find us a safe, clean place to stay, get a decent meal, and talk.”

As they left the hospital parking lot, Jake said a little prayer that he could find the words he needed to turn this kid around. One way or the other, he had to. Azrael said to save the boy, and save him he would, no matter what it took.

There you have today’s offering.
Stay tuned for Chapter 9 tomorrow!

THE EMISSARY

Chapter 7
“The Devil Went Down to Georgia”
Charlie Daniels Band
~~~ 

Four Event-Filled Weeks Later,
On a Park Bench in Mid-Town Atlanta,
One Way-Too-Cold January Afternoon.

JAKE KNEW ONE true thing—if the devil really was looking for a few souls he could steal, Atlanta made a mighty fine hunting ground. In the two weeks since his arrival, he’d seen miseries and meanness of every kind written on the faces of rich and poor, black and white, male and female.

It wasn’t that there were no decent, honest, or God-fearing people in Georgia’s capital. It was a matter of sheer numbers. In a city with a metro area population of over five and a half a million, even a small percentage of lost souls added up to a huge number of humans in peril.

He’d been busy every minute since he’d arrived, reaching out to those he recognized were in need. He even managed to get through to some of them, but he was only one person. Oh. Maybe he really couldn’t refer to himself as a person these days. Another question for Azrael. But by any description, there was just one of him, and he could only reach so many souls a day.

Jake had been so overwhelmed by how many people needed him, he hadn’t even realized how long he’d stayed in one place. It was way past time to get back on the road, but it felt wrong to walk away when he could see how many people were in danger. Their anguish reverberated down to his bones. Sometimes, the pain of someone truly on the brink would wake him at night and send him racing into the dark, trying to locate them before it was too late.

It was like a freakin’ bat signal hovered over the city twenty-four hours a day.

If only he had some help. Yeah, that’s what this whole deal needed. More emissaries, covering a wider range.

“That was my original plan, you know.”

Jake jumped a foot off the bench. “Geez, Azrael! You want me to have a heart attack and die on the spot?”

Azrael lifted an eyebrow.

“Okay, I know I can’t die again, at least not here. But I hate when you do that. Look! You made me drop my coffee on the ground.”

“This is not a problem of mine.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “And that’s another thing. You really should work on your slang. Idiom. Whatever you want to call it. No one would say ‘This is not a problem of mine.’ They’d say ‘Not my problem.’”

Azrael’s brow wrinkled. “Is it not the same thing? A problem I do not have?”

“Technically, yes, but when you say it all wrong, it weirds me out.”

“Weirds you out? This means it feels weird to you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why out?”

“Huh?”

“Feelings are usually thought of as being internal. Why would it not weird you in?”

Jake groaned, executing a face palm worthy of Jean-Luc Picard. “Arrggh. I give up. I don’t know how to . . . wait. Are you . . . are you laughing at me?”

“Me? Laughing at you?”

“You are! I can’t believe it! You pop up beside me out of thin air, scare me half to death, talk like some sort of grammarian from the Middle Ages, and then you laugh at me?”

“When you put it like that, it does seem a bit unfair, I suppose, but you are so very easy, sometimes.”

“When the heck did you develop a sense of humor? And by the way, at least I understand the basic function of a contraction. You should try one now and then. It might keep you from sounding like you have a stick . . . oh. Umm . . . never mind.”

Azrael’s eyes flashed an icier shade of blue. “I beg your pardon?”

Jake reminded himself he wasn’t talking to some punk wise-ass wandering the streets of Atlanta looking for trouble. This was Azrael of the flaming sword, his warrior angel of a boss. Not to mention the person—or being—who brought him back to life. The angel deserved some respect.

“What I really meant was, I’m glad to see you.”

Azrael’s smile returned. “It is good to see you, too, Jake. I had a feeling you wanted my counsel.”

“As a matter of fact, there are some things I’ve been wondering about. Can we talk? I mean, I assume you’ve already put up the Pass By thing again, since no one seems surprised to see a man with huge white wings sitting beside me on a municipal park bench.”

~~~

A Talk-Filled Quarter-Hour Later,
Same Park Bench Somewhere in Mid-Town Atlanta,
On the Same Miserably Cold January Afternoon.

“SO I’M REALLY doing okay with this?”

“More than okay. I am pleased with how you are handling this mission.”

“Good. That should mean you’ll be able to enlist more emissaries, right?”

Azrael looked away, mouth a tight line. “No. At least, not yet.”

“Why not? If it’s working well, wouldn’t it be a good idea to have more help? Seems like a no-brainer to me, no offense.”

“I am not offended. I am also not the one holding back on this idea.”

“Well, who is?”

Azrael actually laughed out loud. “You certainly do enjoy kicking the hornet’s nest.”

“Hey, you can’t blame me for being curious. The more I understand, the better I can do my job.”

“You might as well give up, Jake. I am not at liberty to explain the inner workings of the Council of Angels to you.”

“Council? Sounds like hush-hush big business dealings. Or a political group.”

The angel’s laughter disappeared. “You are not so far off the mark. Suffice it to say, I cannot tell you more about these things, even if I wished to do so. And I do not. Your focus should be on your mission. Leave the machinations of the angels to me.”

“Okay. I give up for now. Besides, if the rest of the angels act anything like Simiel and Raguel did, I’d just as soon stay far away from them.” Lightning bolts and icicle spears, indeed.

“That is not all you wished to talk about, is it?”

“No. I was wondering—not that it matters much—but after I left the Keys, I kept thinking about that man’s body, slumped over the driftwood where we’d been sitting.” He looked away, then gave a shake of his head. “Never mind. I guess I don’t need to know.”

“Ah. You are wondering where your own body is.”

Jake nodded and braced himself, sure he wouldn’t like Azrael’s answer. He was right.

“It is where you left it, Jake.”

“I left it in the freakin’ mud at the bottom of a cold, dark river.”

“Yes.”

“Well, isn’t that special? A muddy, unmarked grave for me, then?”

“Probably so, although, drowning victims are recovered from time to time, are they not?”

“Somehow, I think you know that’s not the way it will work out for me.”

“I am not able to see everything that happens in the future, though I can usually guess. But you should not worry overmuch about this. Your sacrifice for another assures that wherever your mortal remains end up is hallowed ground. Believe me when I tell you there are many, many people lying in grandiose tombs that are far less sanctified than your final resting place, humble though it be.”

“Well, I guess that’s good to know.” He looked down at himself, frowning, then studied his hand, turning it this way and that. “But what about this? This body I have now? How could you have done this without my old one?”

“Did I not tell you when we first met that there is no real limit to my power? Let us just say I used your original body as a template when I gave you solid form again.”

“A template? Hold on. Are you saying you created a brand-new body for me, yet gave me every ache, pain, broken bone, scar, wrinkle, and failing of my old one? Why in the name of all that’s holy would you do such a thing?”

“Do not swear on that which is holy, Jake. And I did such a thing because it seemed like a good idea to give you the body you were already familiar with.”

“Okay, I’m sorry about the swearing, but for Pete’s sake, Azrael! I’m familiar with this body, sure. I’ve had it for forty-one years! But I’m half deaf in my left ear, and my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. If you weren’t going to start from scratch and give me the body of a rugged twenty-year-old, couldn’t you have at least refurbished this one?”

Azrael cocked his head to one side for several minutes as he considered the question.

His answer came as a surprise.

 “I never thought about it. All of this is uncharted territory, you understand. I am afraid I was focused on what your job would be—how you might best be of use to us. Therefore, I was thinking only in terms of your body being equipped to stand up to the rigors of the extraordinary task ahead of you. I never once took anything else you have asked about into consideration, and I apologize for that oversight. I will take care of it immediately.”

Jake’s eyebrows shot toward the sky. “You mean, you’ll fix this body up for me? Get rid of my scars and wrinkles, and make me young again?”

“Do not be ridiculous. I most certainly will not fix cosmetic issues. The wrinkles and scars stay. And no, I will not make you younger, either. Your face is perfect for this job, lined in all the right ways. It is a kind, reassuring face, and one people can trust. I will however, take care of your aches and pains. Those could make doing your job more difficult.”

“Even my right foot? I have a steel pin in that one, and it has been a problem for years.”

“It will not bother you anymore. Now close your eyes.” Azrael touched the tip of his forefinger to each eyelid and each ear.

When Jake peered around again, he gasped with pleasure. Then he looked at Azrael and his mouth dropped open. “Oh, geez!”

The angel sighed. “Now what?”

“Your eyes! They’re so blue, it’s scary. I mean, way, way more than I noticed before. And they’re all . . . glowy.”

 “Glowy? And you lectured me on how to speak properly?”

“I swear, I’ll never lecture you again. About anything. It feels like you can see straight through me.”

“And you did not notice this before I ‘refurbished’ your eyes?”

Jake shook his head, still staring.

The corner of Azrael’s mouth curved up a tiny bit. “Hmm. A pity I did not find out about your vision problems earlier, then. I could have taken care of them from the start. Things might have gone more smoothly, had you been able to see me and my ‘glowy’ eyes better.”

“I suspect you’re right on that one. I doubt I’d have been quite so outspoken the night I met you, and for sure, I’d never have had the nerve to try walking off the job before we even got started.”

“Nevertheless, you stayed. You have done well so far, and now, you can even see and hear properly again. Your aches and pains are gone, too. Do you know what this means?”

Jake sighed. “I’m guessing I’ve just lost any excuses for messing up, haven’t I?”

Azrael’s smile grew wider and his glowy blue eyes positively dazzled with inner light. “I believe the expression is ‘got it in one.’” And then he disappeared.

“Hey! What the heck, Azrael? No goodbye, or blessing, or kiss my grits? What’s up with that?”

He searched the gray sky as though he might see the angel hovering directly above, but only ragged, wintry clouds looked back. Surprised to discover how much he’d counted on their usual farewell ritual, his spirits sagged.

Then a faint whisper filled his head. “Cheer up. I just wanted to check your newly improved hearing. And Jake? I will never, ever leave you without giving you my blessing. Close your eyes now and hear my prayer.”

The benediction—affirming and hopeful as always—came to an end, and Azrael departed for real. All was right in Jake’s world again. At least, as right as things could be in a world with so many lost souls to track down.

~~~

“NOW WHAT?” JAKE held up the fancy silver key ring he’d just pulled from his pocket. He’d never seen it before, and it bore absolutely no resemblance to the set of keys for the big semi. And speaking of his truck, where did it go? It was certainly not where he’d left it. In fact, the only car in the parking lot was a sleek, black BMW. On a hunch, he pushed the unlock button on the key in his hand, and the BMW’s lights blinked. Well. How about that!

Upon investigation, he found his travel bag and CD case in the trunk of the car, and a note laying on the passenger seat—a note written in an elegant hand on a piece of heavy, cream-colored parchment, no less.

J—

I hope you like your city car. I have a feeling you will be in Atlanta for a while, and you may as well have something less unwieldy to drive, at least until you are ready to hit the highway again.

Continue to follow your heart—and the rules, of course—and you will do fine.

Have faith.

A.

All righty, then. Azrael had spoken, and Jake was officially on the job in Georgia. Time to put the devil on notice that his luck was about to run out.

There you have today’s offering.
Stay tuned for Chapter 8 tomorrow!

THE EMISSARY 

Chapter 6
“Don’t Stop Believing”
Journey
~~~ 

On an Empty Stretch of Unnamed Beach,
With Stars Wheeling Across the Ink-Black Sky,
And the Scent of Warm Salt and Cooling Blood in the Air. 

A GUNSHOT IS a shockingly loud thing. A gunshot six inches from your ear is even louder. And a gunshot accompanied by hot blood spraying across your face and a body tumbling into you, bleeding out against your chest—well, that’s absolutely horrifying.

Jake cried out, then clamped his hand over his mouth, muffling the shocked sobs he couldn’t control. He wrapped his arms around the stranger he’d been unable to save and rocked him back and forth, as though he could still shelter the man from this terrible thing. And when his sobs died away, the only sound still gracing the night was that of the lazy surf shushing its way along the shoreline.

Nearly an hour passed, but Jake remained unaware of anything beyond his overwhelming sorrow and guilt at allowing this man to die on his watch.

He’d failed Azrael.

~~~

“JAKE? JAKE, CAN you hear me? Let him go. There is nothing else you can do for him. Please, Jake. You have to let him go, now. We must get you out of here, before you are seen.”

Unwilling to face what had happened, Jake tried to ignore the words, but the speaker’s tone sharpened. “Jake! I need you here with me. Right now!”

Azrael had arrived.

Something painful stirred within Jake’s chest. He’d sworn never to disappoint the angel again, but he’d failed at his mission big time, and now he had to man up and face the music.

With a deep sigh, Jake forced himself to unclasp the cold body. His shoulders and arms had gone numb, and moving them hurt. How long had he been huddled there, wallowing in his misery? How long had Azrael been calling him? Minutes? Hours? He had no idea.

When he finally maneuvered himself into an upright position, he opened his eyes and found Azrael kneeling in the sand beside him. But instead of the righteous indignation Jake expected, the angel’s eyes were filled with compassion, and his voice was gentle.

“That is better, but you are covered in blood. Are you hurt?”

Jake shook his head. “It’s his blood. He only hurt himself. But Azrael, I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t even realize it was coming until it was too late.” He hung his head, tears stinging his eyes again. “I failed him. And I failed you, too.”

“It was not your failure at all. Let us return to your truck, and then we will talk. We must not linger.”

Azrael helped Jake to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

“Go on then. I will join you as soon as I eliminate any indication that you have been here.”

Jake slogged toward the distant parking lot, his bare feet sinking into the deep sand. All the earlier joy in walking alone on a moonlit beach had disappeared, and every step became slower than the one before. The parking lot seemed miles away, much farther than he could navigate on his own. Exhausted, he staggered to a halt, longing to drop to the ground and never get up again.

And then Azrael appeared beside him. The angel handed Jake his shoes then took his hand. In a heartbeat, they were inside the truck’s cabin.

Jake fumbled for his keys, but Azrael shook his head. “We can stay here until you are ready. I cannot keep people off an entire beach, but no one will pull into this area until after we leave.”

“Because you did the ‘Pass By’ thing?”

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Jake tried to gather his thoughts. Overwhelmed with guilt and grief, he tried three times before he could choke out, “I’m so sorry.”

“I am sorry, too. It hurts to lose one, but this was not your fault.”

“How can you say that? The man blew his brains out because I wasn’t able to reach him.”

“No. He blew his brains out because he was too far gone to hear you. Or anyone else. Short of tying him down, you could not have stopped him.”

“But I should’ve been able to. I should’ve found the right words to make him rethink what he was about to do. He seemed calm, and I thought I could get through to him. I thought I had it under control, but I didn’t. Not even close. And I should’ve—”

“Stop. You did everything exactly right. And you did everything you could have done. Guilt is a waste of time and energy when it is over something you cannot change. And it is an even bigger waste of time when it is over something that is not your fault. Look at me, Jake. You have seen me angry. Do I look angry with you now?”

Jake studied the angel’s gentle eyes. “No, and I don’t understand why not.”

“Do you remember me telling you that you cannot save them all? That some are so far gone, you can never hope to turn them around?”

“I do, but I didn’t see that in him. With Hunter, despair leaked from every pore. No one could have missed his desperation.”

“Possibly not. But this man was not Hunter Painter. This man had been lost for a very long time, and he did not care to be found. In fact, hiding was something he knew how to do very well.”

Jake considered Azrael’s words, and then, it clicked. “It wasn’t the first time he’d killed someone, was it?”

“No.”

“Then why did it upset him so much he shot himself?”

The angel shook his head. “Even for those of us who have been around a very long time, it is not always easy to read the thoughts of men—to understand why they make the choices they do. I think this man simply grew tired of it all.”

“You’re saying he killed himself because he was bored? What kind of man does something like that?”

“The kind who no longer believes that life has meaning or value.”

“But he told me her name. Why, if none of it mattered?”

“I wish I had an answer for you, but I do not. Perhaps he just wanted to be sure someone knew she was dead, or that he was the one who did it.”

“Like he was keeping score and wanted her counted?”

“Maybe. Or maybe she meant something to him. We will never know the answer, and it is better that way. There are many things we are not meant to understand, Jake. Some things are part of a bigger plan than you, or even I, can grasp. You must learn to accept that in order to do your job.”

With a sigh, Jake scrubbed his hand over his face. “That might take some work. I guess I can try, though.”

“Trying is a good first step. I believe you will get better at it.”

“Azrael? Could I ask you something else?”

Azrael nodded.

“Do the kids I’ve helped count?”

“Count? I do not understand what you mean.”

“Well, their problems were small, in the grand scheme of things. They weren’t on the brink of taking that final step—the one that would consign their souls to hell. At least, I don’t think they were. So, when I nudged them toward better choices, did that still count as part of my mission?”

“Ah. I understand now. You feel they were not in immediate peril.”

“I don’t think they were, no.”

“So, you doubt they should be part of your mission. And if I agree with this assessment, you would, of course, stop helping them?”

Jake’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t think I can do that. How can I turn my back on kids in trouble, no matter what my mission is?”

Azrael’s mouth curved up in a singularly sweet smile. “Perfect answer. Of course, they count! No one wakes up one day to find themselves standing on the precipice of damnation. They get there one step at a time. If you can stop someone in trouble from taking that very first step, you have changed that life in ways that none of us can know, until that person has reached the end of it.”

“So, what I’ve done this past week may have saved souls?”

“You may, indeed, have saved souls. There are no guarantees at any stage of a person’s journey, but every time a better choice is made, the odds for salvation are stronger. You have good instincts for people in trouble, whether in the earliest stages or the final ones. Listen to your heart, do your very best, and it is unlikely you will go wrong. Do not always assume it is your fault when you lose one. And remember—never stop believing in what you are doing.”

A weight lifted, and Jake’s spirits rose a bit. “I’ll remember. Thank you.”

And there was that angelic smile again. Somehow, it made all the difference. 

“Guess I should be getting on the road, now?”

“Yes. You have work to do.”

Azrael laid his hand on Jake’s shoulder and Jake bowed his head. When Azrael finished his whispered benediction, Jake opened his eyes to find himself alone in the truck. He cranked the engine, pulled onto the highway, and didn’t stop for the night until he’d crossed back over the Seven Mile Bridge.

It was time to say goodbye to the Keys, and he found himself ready to see what waited ahead, vowing to listen to his heart and trust himself.

“I believe you, Azrael. I can do this.”

~~~

A PINK NEON flamingo balanced one-legged atop a blinking yellow vacancy sign. That was all it took to convince Jake it was time to get some sleep. He parked his rig along one side of the motel lot, blocking several spaces. The place appeared to be nearly empty, so he hoped it wouldn’t be a problem. He needed to rest, and if they had a clean room and a functioning shower available, he didn’t intend to drive another mile.

Jake started to climb out of the semi, then paused. He couldn’t walk into that little office covered in dried blood. Crap. The next campground was at least an hour away, with no guarantee anyone would be at the ticket booth this time of night, anyhow. Plus, even if he didn’t have to get out to register, it wouldn’t mean his clothes would be invisible to the person inside the booth.

He probably still had blood all over his face, too. Angling the rearview mirror down a bit, he checked, surprised to see that not only was his face clean, it looked as though he’d had a fresh shave, as well.

Puzzled, he glanced down at his shirt, and found not so much as a drop of blood anywhere. His jeans were spotless, too, and he couldn’t help smiling. It seemed having friends in high places was pretty convenient at times.

“Thank you, Azrael,” he whispered.

A soft flicker that may or may not have been heat lightning brightened the still-dark sky. Maybe it was Azrael’s way of saying, “You are welcome.” Sure, the angel had far too many other things on his mind for something so trivial, but it made Jake feel good to imagine the response, so he went with it.

Ten minutes later, hot, soapy water cascaded over Jake’s shoulders. The room was small, but clean, and the bathroom was surprisingly well appointed. No tiny, postage stamp-sized bars of anonymous soap, for one thing. Even the towels were bigger and softer than he would have expected in a little place like this, but he wasn’t about to complain. He’d take whatever small moments of luxury he found, grateful he could still enjoy such purely physical pleasures.

Crawling between fresh, clean sheets, he shut away the pain and horror the earlier part of the night had brought. He left a 10:00 wake-up call, deciding he needed the extra rest more than he needed to be on the road at dawn. But he wouldn’t dawdle too long. There were places to go and people to help, and Jake had a very strong feeling that the days ahead were going to get busier—and harder—than ever.

There you have today’s offering.
Stay tuned for Chapter 7 tomorrow!

THE EMISSARY