“A little bit, yeah.”
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms over my head before pressing them over my eyes to think. The best course of action now would be to contact the writer of the article to see if they had a listed address for Michael. I’d hate to go snooping around his apartment if the killer was hanging about, but any other method would involve alerting the others to the fact that he was dead. It would be much harder to recover his memory and get him crossed over with cops covering all the angles of the case. Honestly, I should have just enrolled in the Albany police academy for all the trouble I went through with deaths in this city.
“What are you thinking, Beckett?”
I didn’t bother telling him not to call me that. Instead, I removed my arms from my face to stare up at him from upside down. “I’m thinking we should contact the author of the article to see if we can get an address. With any luck, no one is there and we can figure out how to get inside.”
“What if my body’s in there?”
“We’ll pretty much have no choice but to call the cops. Things will get sticky, but not impossible. Every day that passes is another day for you to potentially get your memory back.” I sat up straight and scribbled down the email address of the article writer posted on the right-hand side of his name—Vincent Dreyfuss. I typed the most innocuous email possible asking for Michael’s address to send him fan mail and hoped he would reply sometime soon. For now, we would have to wait.
“Now that we have some free time…” Michael sat down in the chair next to me, fixing me with a sobering gaze. “Why don’t you tell me about how you got into this mess you’re in?”
I lowered my eyes to the keyboard. “I’d rather not.”
“Jordan.” He spoke just my name with a tone that was both firm and gentle at the same time. There wasn’t really a defense I had other than it was my own damn business. Part of me knew I needed to face my past at some point. After all, little harm could come from telling it to a dead man.
I let out a long breath. “Two years ago, I was home alone when some sort of demon came into my apartment and tried to attack me…”
Crazed teeth gnashed inches away from my face. The eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Spider-like fingers strained for my throat. I screamed and ran towards the bedroom.
I slammed the door shut and dove for the nightstand, hands shaking as I checked the chambers to make sure the gun was loaded. The door flew open with a bang. A second bang followed. Then all was silent.
The phantom was gone, but in its place stood a man in a suit beneath his dark grey duster. His hair was black and his face was growing paler by the second. He reached out his hand. My panicked eyes spotted the scarlet speckled across the palm. The room had gone silent because the gun had deafened me. The barrel was still smoking and now I could see the hole I had put through the man’s chest.
I couldn’t breathe, but somehow I could still talk, and my lips were whispering one word over and over.
“No, no, no, no…”
The man said nothing as he fell to his knees in front of me, his azure eyes locked on mine as if he were trying to tell me something, but the strength was ebbing from him in crimson rivulets. I dropped the gun and fell to my knees as well. My fingertips grazed his face as if I could bring him back to life with one touch, but we both knew it was too late. He laid a rough, scarred hand to the side of my cheek where hot tears had fallen, his lips parting to whisper in a soothing voice.
“Don’t be afraid. They’re going to come for you, but please don’t be afraid.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please…” I managed to gasp out in between sobs.
The man merely smiled and closed his eyes. “Don’t be. I’m ready.”
He swayed forward and I caught his heavy body, feeling his blood soak my shirt. He slid down until his face rested in my lap, drawing in a few more shallow breaths before going completely still, empty, lifeless. I sat there with my coated hands stroking his hair, still whispering over and over for him to forgive me.
Golden light poured in from all angles, nearly blinding me, and I could just barely see the outline of a man with wings.
When the light dimmed, a blond man stood in front of me with white-gold wings that stretched nearly from wall to wall of my small bedroom. His tanned body was wrapped in white linen and his skin seemed to possess an ethereal quality, glowing like he had some unique source of inner radiance. Blue eyes like twin suns shone down on me with kindness and empathy. A new feeling of shock and reverence gave me enough strength to speak.
“W-Who are you?”