seconds.
He had felt it. Actually felt it.
Connecting in the instant their bodies grew together, the rhythm of their furious lovemaking like the heartbeat of some giant, long-extinct animal.
No. Like the heartbeat of the world.
Remy knew what it was like to be them. He wasn’t just pretending anymore.
He knew what it was to be human.
The phone wouldn’t stop, soon drowning out the sounds of their lovemaking, and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore.
The harsh reality of the present had found him once more, as it always seemed to.
Lying in the darkness, he felt his wife’s touch upon his body, phantom caresses growing softer, and softer still, until all he had left was their memory.
Marlowe stirred at the foot of the bed, lifting his large head as if to ask Remy if he would ever answer that damnable piece of technology.
Remy’s hand moved like lightning, and he was tempted to throw the trilling device at the wall, but what good would come of that? He’d only have to buy a new one.
“Yes,” he said after flipping open the cell. He saw on the face of the phone that it was a little after four in the morning, and had a suspicion about who would be calling him at this hour.
“Did I wake you?” Francis asked. Remy could hear the sound of a television blaring in the background. It sounded like a game show, probably The Price Is Right. Francis had a thing for Bob Barker, thought he was the coolest MC that had ever graced a game-show stage.
“No, I was just lying here in the dark waiting for your call.”
“You need a good hobby. Collecting Hummels would suit you, I bet. Have you ever thought about collecting Hummels?”
“What do you want, Francis?”
Marlowe lifted himself up from where he lay, walked up to the top of the bed and plopped down again. It was like somebody dropping a seventy-pound bag of laundry beside him.
“Got somebody I think you should talk to,” the fallen Guardian said. The sound of a television announcer wailed, “Come on down,” as an enthusiastic crowd clapped, cheered, and whistled in the background.
“About Hummels?” Remy asked.
“Almost as good,” Francis answered without missing a beat. “I got somebody who knows a thing or two about missing property, and would be willing to talk to you.”
Remy reached over and began to scratch beneath Marlowe’s neck. The big dog reacted immediately, rolling onto his back. The Labrador preferred belly rubs.
“I guess it would be too early to talk to him now.”
“Your powers of observation are fucking amazing,” Francis said through a mouthful of something that could have been potato chips. “Have you ever thought about being a detective?”
“The thought’s crossed my mind. Would I make a lot of money and meet fabulously interesting people?”
Francis laughed. “Can’t really say about the money, but interesting people you’ll meet by the wheelbarrow full. In fact, I’ve got one that wants to meet you at lunchtime.”
“Awesome,” Remy said without an ounce of excitement.
“And, oh, yeah, you’re bringing the lunch.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
F rancis was waiting for him in the parking lot of the Lock & Key Self-Storage building located off of the Expressway in Southie. You could see the building from the highway, an inflated padlock and chain draped around the front of the boxy structure.
Remy pulled his car alongside his friend’s Range Rover. Francis stood at the front of his vehicle smoking a cigar and staring up into the sky at a flock of geese flying in a V formation to parts unknown.
“Remembering what it felt like?” Remy asked as he slammed his car door closed. Though the gift hadn’t been lost to him, as it had to Francis, he seldom flew anymore. It gave the Seraphim nature too much strength.
Francis looked away from the birds, taking a final puff of the foul-smelling stogie before dropping it to the ground and crushing it beneath his foot.
“What what was like?” he asked coming around his car,
He had felt it. Actually felt it.
Connecting in the instant their bodies grew together, the rhythm of their furious lovemaking like the heartbeat of some giant, long-extinct animal.
No. Like the heartbeat of the world.
Remy knew what it was like to be them. He wasn’t just pretending anymore.
He knew what it was to be human.
The phone wouldn’t stop, soon drowning out the sounds of their lovemaking, and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore.
The harsh reality of the present had found him once more, as it always seemed to.
Lying in the darkness, he felt his wife’s touch upon his body, phantom caresses growing softer, and softer still, until all he had left was their memory.
Marlowe stirred at the foot of the bed, lifting his large head as if to ask Remy if he would ever answer that damnable piece of technology.
Remy’s hand moved like lightning, and he was tempted to throw the trilling device at the wall, but what good would come of that? He’d only have to buy a new one.
“Yes,” he said after flipping open the cell. He saw on the face of the phone that it was a little after four in the morning, and had a suspicion about who would be calling him at this hour.
“Did I wake you?” Francis asked. Remy could hear the sound of a television blaring in the background. It sounded like a game show, probably The Price Is Right. Francis had a thing for Bob Barker, thought he was the coolest MC that had ever graced a game-show stage.
“No, I was just lying here in the dark waiting for your call.”
“You need a good hobby. Collecting Hummels would suit you, I bet. Have you ever thought about collecting Hummels?”
“What do you want, Francis?”
Marlowe lifted himself up from where he lay, walked up to the top of the bed and plopped down again. It was like somebody dropping a seventy-pound bag of laundry beside him.
“Got somebody I think you should talk to,” the fallen Guardian said. The sound of a television announcer wailed, “Come on down,” as an enthusiastic crowd clapped, cheered, and whistled in the background.
“About Hummels?” Remy asked.
“Almost as good,” Francis answered without missing a beat. “I got somebody who knows a thing or two about missing property, and would be willing to talk to you.”
Remy reached over and began to scratch beneath Marlowe’s neck. The big dog reacted immediately, rolling onto his back. The Labrador preferred belly rubs.
“I guess it would be too early to talk to him now.”
“Your powers of observation are fucking amazing,” Francis said through a mouthful of something that could have been potato chips. “Have you ever thought about being a detective?”
“The thought’s crossed my mind. Would I make a lot of money and meet fabulously interesting people?”
Francis laughed. “Can’t really say about the money, but interesting people you’ll meet by the wheelbarrow full. In fact, I’ve got one that wants to meet you at lunchtime.”
“Awesome,” Remy said without an ounce of excitement.
“And, oh, yeah, you’re bringing the lunch.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
F rancis was waiting for him in the parking lot of the Lock & Key Self-Storage building located off of the Expressway in Southie. You could see the building from the highway, an inflated padlock and chain draped around the front of the boxy structure.
Remy pulled his car alongside his friend’s Range Rover. Francis stood at the front of his vehicle smoking a cigar and staring up into the sky at a flock of geese flying in a V formation to parts unknown.
“Remembering what it felt like?” Remy asked as he slammed his car door closed. Though the gift hadn’t been lost to him, as it had to Francis, he seldom flew anymore. It gave the Seraphim nature too much strength.
Francis looked away from the birds, taking a final puff of the foul-smelling stogie before dropping it to the ground and crushing it beneath his foot.
“What what was like?” he asked coming around his car,
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