Unmarked Graves

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

In reality, it was nearly an hour before all the paperwork was managed and Will was able to climb back into his clothes and have a nurse push his wheelchair over to the hospital’s main entrance. From there, Rosemary took over, rolling him out to the spot where she’d left the Challenger. He wanted to shake his head at what he viewed as overly cautious behavior, although he knew it was just hospital policy that prevented him from walking out to the car under his own power.

And honestly, even though he didn’t want to admit such a thing to Rosemary, he could tell how shaky his legs felt as he climbed out of the wheelchair and into the car’s passenger seat. In fact, as he sat down again and leaned over to buckle his seatbelt, he experienced a slight moment of dizziness, although he brushed it off and tried to tell himself that it wasn’t so bad.

Rosemary told him she’d be back in a moment, and then rolled the wheelchair to the lobby before returning to the car. As she settled herself in the driver’s seat, she looked over and sent him an encouraging smile.

“Still doing okay over there?”

“Okay” might have been stretching the truth a bit, but he didn’t want to admit that maybe going home this evening rather than spending the night in the hospital might not have been the best idea. Still, they’d committed to this course of action, and Will told himself that he’d feel much better once he was back at his own house. He disliked hospitals, had spent far too many hours at the bedsides of ill and dying parishioners to ever feel comfortable in one.

“Great,” he said, and although she lifted an eyebrow, she didn’t question his assertion, only put the key in the ignition and cautiously backed the Challenger out of its parking space. From the way she drove — like the proverbial little old lady from Pasadena — he could tell she was intimidated by the vintage muscle car. Not so surprising, since her own Fiat compact probably didn’t have even a third of the horses his ’70 Dodge hid under its hood.

Once they were on the freeway and headed east, Rosemary said, “You’ll need to tell me where we’re going. I’ve never been to your house.”

Right. He should have realized that. His place actually wasn’t all that far from Michael’s big Craftsman house, where Rosemary had been housesitting for the past few months. “Get off at Lake,” he told her. “Then you’ll head north and turn right on Mountain. After that it’s a left on Wilson.”

She nodded. “Sounds like you and Michael were practically neighbors.”

Will smiled. “Almost. It’s about a half mile from his place to mine.”

He almost added, And his house is a lot more impressive, but he didn’t want to come off as overly deprecating. Michael’s house was a showplace, true, but Will was proud of his own home, a small sanctuary he’d created for himself in a city thousands of miles from the town where he’d been born. It had also been a fixer-upper, or he would never have been able to afford the house on his modest salary.

“Well, that’s convenient,” Rosemary remarked. “At least I sort of know the area, although I haven’t done as much exploring in Pasadena as I’ve wanted to. It seems like most of the time I’m just shuttling back and forth between Michael’s place and the store in Glendora.”

“I’d like to see your store sometime,” Will said. “I always enjoy exploring a new bookstore.”

Her mouth lifted in a faint smile. “Then you’ll have to come over so I can give you the nickel tour. And that’s all it would be — the shop isn’t very big.”

“I like small bookstores,” he replied. “They’re cozier.”

She didn’t quite shake her head, but he got the impression she thought he was only saying that so she would know he’d never judge her by how big or impressive her business was. He’d been telling her the truth, however; he found smaller bookstores to be more carefully curated, and he had a feeling that Rosemary and her sisters had done a very good job of choosing the selections offered in their shop.

Actually, though, what he really could tell was that they were both making small talk because neither one of them wanted to address what had happened between them in his office at All Saints, a kiss that had forever changed how they felt about each other. Or at least, Will knew that things between them had shifted, that there was a then forever separated from now, and they’d have to decide for themselves what they wanted to do from here on out. He knew what he wanted, but, despite what Rosemary said back in his hospital room, he still wasn’t entirely sure how she regarded the current situation.

Or maybe he was misreading her utterly, and she was skating along the surface of things because she didn’t want to address the other elephant in the room, the one involving the Project Demon Hunters footage, now in the hands of the enemy. It felt strange to think of matters in such stark black-and-white terms, since Will had always counseled trying to see the good in people, to do one’s best to understand why a certain individual might believe or act in a certain way, and yet the enemy here wasn’t simply someone whose political or spiritual beliefs were diametrically opposed to his, but a man who had the blood of demons running through his veins. The fallen angels who inhabited Hell had been adversaries of mankind from the very beginning, and were the real enemies of anyone who followed the path of the light.

Because they were enemies, and of a race utterly inimical to humankind, he didn’t quite know what Caleb — and, by extension, his half-demon father — would even do with the footage now that it was in their possession. Possibly, it had already been destroyed. Or were they holding on to it because they thought it would in some way advance their cause? But that didn’t seem very plausible, since the footage only documented that demons were real…therefore proving that Heaven and Hell were also real, and God as well. It was hard to see how confirming the existence of God could ever help the demons.

Will’s head hurt too much to ponder that particular conundrum right then. Since Rosemary seemed content to let their conversation peter out, he sat quietly in the passenger seat and watched as she guided the Challenger off the 210 Freeway and onto Lake Avenue, then north toward the neighborhood of historic homes where his house was located.

After she turned left on Wilson, he said, “It’s number 1102 — up there on the right. The white house with the green trim. Just pull into the driveway.”

She followed his instructions and parked in a location where he could open his door and emerge right next to the walkway that led to the front door. “Hang on,” she said as she shut off the engine. “I’ll come around and help you out.”

Although he disliked the idea of being so incapacitated that he couldn’t even get out of the car by himself, Will knew she was right to be careful. He’d already jarred his brain enough for one day — a single slip, and he could be right back in the hospital.

So, he sat and waited while she got out and locked the door behind her, then came over to the passenger side of the car and extended a hand so he could steady himself as he rose from his seat. Her fingers felt impossibly slender against his, but he found himself surprised by her strength as he leaned on her arm while she locked the passenger door as well before slowly guiding him up the path to the front of the house.

Never before had the stairs that led from the yard to the porch seemed so tall. Leaning heavily on Rosemary’s arm, Will took each step with exaggerated care, until at last they’d reached the front door. Once there, he reached with his free hand to get the house keys out of his pocket. With some dismay, he realized how badly he was shaking — he couldn’t seem to get the key in the lock.

“Let me,” Rosemary offered, and she gently took the keys from his trembling fingers, making sure to keep the proper one extended, and inserted it in the lock. The door swung inward, and she helped him stumble across the threshold and into the cramped entryway.

Thank God his home had only the single story. When he’d bought it, he’d wished he could have afforded something bigger, but now he was glad that the small three-bedroom house didn’t have any stairs. He doubted he would have been able to climb them in his current state.

“Your room?” she asked, her gaze not quite meeting his. Well, he could understand how she might feel a little awkward about taking him to his bedroom. It was a place he would have liked to end up with her at some point, although he couldn’t have guessed that her first look at the room would involve her playing nursemaid.

He wouldn’t sigh. Things happened, and he’d get past this.

“Down at the end of the hall.”

She helped him through the living room along the hallway in question, and on into his bedroom. A brief pause as she reached for the light switch next to the door, and then they traversed the last few steps to the bed. Although he doubted she would have cared, not with much more important matters claiming her attention, Will was still glad that he’d performed his usual morning ritual of making the bed and putting away his dirty clothes, and that everything looked tidy enough. If you looked closely, you could see a faint layer of dust on the mismatched antique furniture, just because things had been crazy at All Saints lately and he hadn’t had much time for cleaning, but at least the place wasn’t a complete pigsty.

Another pause as she reached with her free hand to pull down the bedclothes, and then she turned to look up at him. “Do you need help getting your shoes off?”

While he hated to admit it, Will knew he probably did. Just the thought of having to bend over and undo the black lace-ups he wore made another stab of pain go through his head. “If you don’t mind.”

She shot him a dazzling — but brief — smile. “If I minded, I wouldn’t have asked. Go ahead and sit down, and I’ll take them off for you.”

He went ahead and carefully lowered himself onto the bed, and then she knelt down and untied his shoes and set them on the rug. For a minute, he wondered if she was going to ask whether he needed help getting out of his clothes as well — and what he would do if she did — but apparently she’d decided that the shoes had been enough, because she straightened and reached over to fluff up his pillows.

“It’s better if you stay sitting up,” she told him. “How does that work?”

While he understood the wisdom of not having him lie on his back, he wasn’t sure how comfortable the setup would be. However, once he’d gingerly scooted backward and leaned against the pile of pillows, he found it more relaxing than he’d thought. Also, his head didn’t hurt as much in this position. “Seems comfortable enough.”

“Good.” She hesitated, then said, “How about some tea? Do you have any in the kitchen?”

He did, because he tended to switch over to tea after he’d had his morning cup of coffee. “Yes, there are some boxes in the pantry. That’s where you’ll find the coffee, too.”

The mention of coffee made her appear a little more relaxed. “Thanks. I’ll probably need it to stay awake.”

She’d made the comment in the most neutral of tones, and yet he couldn’t help but experience a small stab of guilt. Her day had been even more harrowing than his, and now she would have to stay up all night to make sure he didn’t sleep for longer than an hour or so at a time.

“I’m sorry — ” he began, and she shook her head.

“Don’t,” she said. To his surprise, she bent down and kissed him very gently on the forehead. “I’m doing this because I want to. It’s the least I can do, after you put yourself in harm’s way on my account. Just hang on for a few minutes — and I’ll be back with some tea.”