Dancing On the Head of a Pin

EPILOGUE

It had taken him time to heal, the damage far more extensive than he would have originally believed.

Hell certainly had its dramatic effects; his shoulder still ached where he had been wounded, his flesh still peeling in places, the remaining manifestation of his angelic form sloughing off like a snake shedding its skin.

It itched like hell.

Remy stood in the foyer of Francis’ building on Newbury Street, listening to the sounds of the empty building. The fallen that had lived here were gone, leaving to go elsewhere when the passageway between this world and Hell was severed.

It is not such a bad thing, he thought, there being one less entry point from the netherworld, especially now.

The jingling of Marlowe’s collar distracted him from his musing. The dog was at the end of the hall, sniffing around an old radiator.

“What did you find?” Remy asked.

“Mouse smell,” Marlowe said, lifting his head to answer, a large wad of dust sticking to his wet black nose.

Since Remy’s return, Marlowe had become his shadow, refusing to let him out of his sight. He believed the dog had thought that he had died, leaving him like Madeline had. It would take some convincing, but he was sure that the animal would soon start to relax again.

Malowe padded down the hallway toward him.

“Want to get going?” Remy asked him, reaching out to pat his head and wiping away the dust and dirt that still clung to his nose.

“Park?” the dog asked.

Remy reviewed his day. It was Saturday, and there really wasn’t all that much planned.

“Sure, I think we can squeeze in a run to the Common,” he said.

Marlowe’s tail wagged happily.

Fishing the building’s keys from his pocket, Remy noticed Marlowe now sniffing around the door that would take them down into what had been Francis’ place.

“Where Francis?” Marlowe asked with a tilt of his head.

He really didn’t know how to answer the animal. To tell the Labrador that his friend was dead would have likely been a lie. Francis had been a Guardian angel in service to the Lord God who had betrayed his station by joining Lucifer’s rebellion against Heaven. He had realized the error of his ways, begging the Almighty’s forgiveness, and had been given penance.

“Francis had to go away,” Remy told the animal.

And until that penance was completed, until the Lord of Lords bestowed forgiveness, there would be no release.

“Coming back?” Marlowe asked, inquisitively tilting his head to one side.

“I don’t know,” Remy answered truthfully. “I really don’t know.”

The former Guardian must have suspected that something had been wrong in the netherworld, putting things in motion in the material world that put Remy in charge of all his financial holdings. Remy had been stunned when he’d received the letter from the lawyer’s office explaining that he was now the sole owner of the property on Newbury Street, until the original owner’s return.

“C’mon, let’s go to the park,” he said, opening the foyer door out into the entryway. Marlowe bounded ahead of him as Remy took a final look.

They’d blamed the results of Hell leaking out from the Tartarus passage on a gas leak, city workers tearing up the street in front of the brownstone, as well as the basement, in search of the problem pipe.

Nobody ever really said if they’d found what they were looking for, but things returned to normal, and the building was again deemed safe to be lived in.

Not wanting the now vacant building to sit there empty, Remy had contacted a real estate company and was going to rent the apartments out. There was no danger now, the passage to Hell having been permanently closed, but Francis’ apartment would remain locked and unrented just to be on the safe side.

Remy left the building, the details over what had transpired in both Hell, and later in Heaven, nearly dominating his thoughts. He had no idea what the future would bring, the concept of a war breaking out between the forces of Hell and Heaven making him feel very afraid. He knew that a war such as that would not stay within the combatants’ borders.

Marlowe barked, snout pointed at the door as he waited patiently to leave.

“All right, pal,” Remy said, pushing open the outside door. “We’re going.”

The dog leapt out onto the front landing, bounding down the steps with increased excitement.

Heading straight toward the lone woman standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Marlowe, no!” Remy yelled, hoping to put the brakes on the dog’s excitement, but it didn’t do much. He loved to meet new people, and when there was one just standing at the end of the walkway, waiting for him, how was a Labrador to resist?

Remy was just glad that she wasn’t holding a roast chicken, or even an apple or banana; then things could have gotten ugly.

He tried to gauge the woman’s body language, her reaction to a seventy-pound dog bounding toward her.

She handled it like a pro—or at least a dog lover—bending down to meet his arrival, sticking her hand out for the animal to smell.

Marlowe licked her fingers furiously, and the woman started to laugh, squatting down to ruffle the dog’s ears and talk to him, telling him how beautiful he was and asking his name.

“Sorry about that,” Remy said, reaching the end of the walkway. He removed a leash from his pocket and attached it to the loop on Marlowe’s chain collar. “His name is Marlowe, and as you can see, he doesn’t care for people very much.”

“I can see that,” she said, rising from her squat to meet his gaze.

The first thing that passed through Remy’s mind was that she was a very attractive woman, the next being that he knew her.

She continued to pet Marlowe, the black Labrador leaning into the woman’s legs, his hunger for affection nearly pushing her back.

Remy must have stared too long, still shocked to be standing there, talking with Linda Somerset, the waitress from Piazza that had so captured Francis’ attentions.

How weird is this? he thought.

“I know this is going to sound stupid, but have we met?” she asked, moving a lock of dark hair away from her pretty face with one hand, while continuing to pet an attention-starved Marlowe with the other.

He remembered how he’d been at the café with Francis, both of them willing themselves unseen.

“You work at the restaurant down the street, Piazza,” he said. “A good friend of mine used to go there quite a bit.”

She smiled, nodding. “I knew you looked familiar.”

Remy smiled back, suddenly experiencing a bit of what Francis must have felt with the woman. There was a warmth about her, an air that she was a good person.

He knew Marlowe would agree.

She looked to the brownstone.

“Do you live here?” she asked. There was a hint of awe in her voice.

“No,” he said. “Marlowe and I live on the Hill. I’m just managing the property for a friend.”

Linda continued to stare at the building. “I love this place,” she told him. “I go by it every day on my way to work and I heard from an agent at the restaurant that there were apartments opening up. I couldn’t resist stopping by to check it out. Don’t know what it is, but there’s something about it that just makes me feel safe.”

She laughed again, returning her attention to the dog. “Bet that just makes me sound crazy,” she said, rubbing Marlowe’s ears, making his collar jingle like sleigh bells.

“Not at all,” Remy said. “There’s definitely something very special about this building.”

He almost started to laugh, thinking how bullshit Francis would have been to see him now.

“It was very nice meeting you, Marlowe,” she said, bending down to plant a kiss on top of his blockish head. “And it was very nice speaking with you,” she said to Remy with a friendly smile. “I’m Linda.”

She extended her hand, and he took it in his. He almost responded by saying that he already knew her name, but decided that it could come across as creepy.

“Remy,” he said. “Remy Chandler.”

“Marlowe!” the dog barked.

“And you already know Marlowe.”

The handshake broke, and they continued to stand there in uncomfortable silence, each waiting for the other to speak.

“Linda go to park with Marlowe?” the dog asked in a series of whines and grumbles that only Remy, and other dogs, could decipher as language.

“No, I don’t think Linda wants to go to the Common with you,” he told the animal with a chuckle.

Linda laughed. “Is that what he asked you?”

“Yeah,” Remy said. “We’re going to the Common and he asked if you wanted to come along.”

“So you speak dog?”

“Among other languages, yes.”

She thought he was fooling around, of course.

“Tell him that I would love to go on a walk with him, but that I have to go to work,” Linda Somerset said.

Remy looked down at Marlowe.

“Did you get that?” he asked the animal.

“Yes,” Marlowe woofed.

“He got it,” Remy said.

She looked at her watch, and quickly up Newbury, not sure how to end the conversation.

“Maybe I’ll see you at Piazza sometime,” he said, beginning to lead Marlowe away, toward where he’d parked his car.

“Maybe you will,” she said, starting to walk backward. She waved, and then turned around to head up Newbury Street.

Nice girl, he thought, giving Marlowe’s leash a tiny tug as they headed toward the car.

“I work Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and every other weekend,” he heard a voice call after him.

He turned to see that Linda was calling to him.

“You talking to me?” Remy asked jokingly.

She shook her head. “I was talking to the handsome one,” she said. “I was talking to Marlowe.”

“Linda say Marlowe handsome,” the black dog said, his tail wagging excitedly.

He laughed at her joke and gave her a final wave.

“See you around, Remy Chandler,” she said, heading on her way.

There was something in the way the words were said, like they had come from an old friend who hadn’t been heard from in a very long time.

Something that he knew she believed.

“Like,” Marlowe said walking alongside him.

And strangely enough, so did he.

“See again?” the dog asked, looking at him with dark, inquisitive eyes.

“Yeah,” Remy finally answered as they reached the car, not sure exactly how he felt about it, “we probably will,” at that moment understanding again how difficult it was to be human.