That shut me up for a couple of seconds. He had a point. Sort of. Not that it mattered because he was clearly missing the big picture. “Michael, you’ve been on earth long enough to know that there are some lines you just shouldn’t cross. Last night was one of them. If you don’t see that, then we have nothing else to talk about.”
I stalked off to the bathroom, not answering when he called after me. The door slammed shut between us—louder than a gunshot. I stood in the middle of the room and wrapped my arms around myself.
I still felt warm.
Damn him.
Thirty minutes later, we were both dressed and out the door to head to the psychiatric hospital where my mother’s records would be. I didn’t expect to find much—after all, it had been eighteen years. I was lucky the hospital was small enough that they hadn’t deleted the files. The backups were our only shot.
“Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
Michael ignored me and continued anyway. I was still a bit mad at him but at least he hadn’t tried to bring the argument up again. “How come you didn’t do this sooner?”
I thought about blowing him off, but telling him the truth at least kept my mind off our spat. “I wasn’t able to leave my aunt’s place until I was sixteen. I’d gotten a job at fourteen and hid money around the apartment. When I had enough, I ran for it and hitched a ride to the first thing smoking out of Jersey. An old woman drove me to Albany and that’s where I decided to set up shop. Her name was Selina Lebeau. She let me rent the room above her candy store while I got another job. Took me forever just to be able to afford basic household stuff. Got lucky one night at the restaurant when I met Lauren and she helped get me a full time job there. I just couldn’t save up enough to get back to Jersey, no matter how hard I tried. Why do you ask?”
He shrugged one shoulder, concentrating on the road ahead rather than looking at me. “She’s important to you. I knew there had to be a reason why you hadn’t done it before now.”
Further talk was hindered by the fact that we’d pulled into the parking lot of the psychiatric hospital. Like last time, I felt the creeping sensation of a panic attack coming on: muscles tightening, pupils dilating, cold sweat, and rapid breathing. I gripped the side of my car door and closed my eyes, breathing in and out slowly until the symptoms faded. This time, there would be no faceless men dragging me away from my mother, nor would Belial or Mulciber be waiting for me. I had to believe that with all my heart, or I’d never get out of this car.
Finally, I opened the door and stepped out, squaring my shoulders and doing my best not to wince as I looked up at the sparkling white hospital, stark against the bright green grass and the vibrant blue-sky overhead. Cheerful place. I wasn’t buying it.
The automatic doors whooshed open, sending a blast of frigid air against my skin. I shivered and glanced about the lobby. Pristine baby blue walls, linoleum floors, and framed pictures of smiling people. It felt oddly like walking into an eye doctor’s office.
I brushed the thought aside and walked up to the front desk where a black guy sat with a phone tucked against his shoulder. He smiled when we walked over, lowering the receiver.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. We have an appointment with a Dr. Reginald,” I said.
He faced the computer in front of him, typing in a few things. “I see. I’ll send a call for her. Make sure you have your paperwork ready. Please have a seat over there.”
He pointed to the plush navy chairs in the carpeted waiting room to my right. I withdrew the paperwork that had been folded up in one of my inner pockets and sat down. Michael took the seat to my left. Silence fell over us as the minutes crept by, punctuated only by a clock ticking on the wall and the typing of the male secretary. Anxious energy began to build in my nerves. It wasn’t until Michael touched my left leg that I realized I had been bouncing it up and down.
He flashed me a reassuring smile and leaned over a bit to murmur something to me. “If you don’t stop doing that, I’m going to staple your foot to the floor.”
A challenging smirk touched my lips. “Try it and die.”
The angel adopted a haughty expression. “Is that a threat, mortal?”
“I most certainly hope it is.”
“I could take you blindfolded with one arm tied behind my back.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Is that how they did it back in your time, Grandpa?”
“Ouch. That’s a low blow.”
I would have replied but then a short Asian woman in her forties walked over, offering her hand.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Reginald. Are you Jordan Amador?”
I stood, accepting her firm handshake. “Yes, ma’am. This is my friend Michael O’Brien. He’s here for moral support.”
She paused, pointing at him and then me. “Michael…Jordan?”
I couldn’t help but smile a bit. I’d gotten used to people making that reference over the past couple months. “Yeah, I know. It’s weird.”