had turned his back on. He had thought that what he’d experienced there during the Great War had been the most painful moments of his existence.
Until now.
He would have gladly endured that pain twofold rather than deal with what he was going through now.
It felt as though he were disintegrating, that if he stared at his hands he would see the skin there slowly beginning to blemish and crack, eventually falling away to reveal what lay beneath.
What he had been before…
The hairs on the back of his neck reacted to another presence, and he knew that he was no longer alone. He turned to see Ashley standing there, the once-little girl on the verge of blossoming into a mature young woman.
He forced a smile as he looked at her.
“Hey,” Remy said. “Thanks for coming.”
She looked incredibly uncomfortable, eyes darting everywhere but to the coffin in back of him.
“Mom said that it went from seven to nine, and I didn’t want you to…y’know, be alone or anything.”
“Thanks.”
Ashley looked as though she might jump out of her skin as she stood in the doorway to the viewing room.
“Have you ever been to a wake before?” Remy asked, pretty sure that he knew the answer.
She shook her head. “Does it show?”
Remy shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I have no idea what I should be doing,” she confessed. “Mom and Dad said that I could wait for them, but then I thought of you here alone, and I knew that I would want somebody here with me if…”
Remy went to her and put his arm around her shoulder.
“That means a lot.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder, the two of them just standing in the viewing room’s doorway.
“I’m really sorry, Remy,” she said softly.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he replied. “These are just the things that happen.”
“Doesn’t mean we have to like them.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“How’s Marlowe doing?”
Remy thought about his canine friend for a moment. The dog actually seemed to be taking Madeline’s death better than he. Maybe it had something to do with an animal’s simplicity, more accepting of the natural order of things, or maybe they were just smarter than everybody else.
“He’s doing all right.”
“And you?”
“Marlowe’s doing all right.” He answered the previous question again, not wanting to face the pain.
They were quiet for a bit, just standing together. He could tell that she was looking at the casket and its contents, getting used to the image.
“So, what are we supposed to be doing?”
“We’re doing it,” Remy said. “We’re saying good-bye.”
“Over here?” she asked him.
“If that’s what makes you comfortable.”
She looked up at him them, and he saw in her eyes the little girl he’d first met on that hot summer’s day. But he also saw a beautiful young woman filled with promise and wisdom. She reminded him more and more of Madeline, and that made him very happy.
This world needed more like her, now that she was gone.
“This is no way to say good-bye,” Ashley said, taking his hand.
She led him to the coffin, where they stood in silence, hand in hand.
“She looks nice,” Ashley said finally.
“Yeah,” Remy agreed. “That was her favorite dress. She picked it and the jewelry before…” His voice trailed off.
The agony was back.
Remy wanted to shed it all, to return to the simplicity of being one of God’s divine creations. It would be so much easier than this.
But he was brought back from the brink by his hand being squeezed tightly, and glanced over to see Ashley’s gaze riveted to his deceased wife.
“Was she a good one?” Ashley asked, eyes unwavering.
For a moment he wasn’t quite sure he understood the question.
Ashley turned her head to look at him. “A mom…was she a good mom?”
“Yeah, she was the best,” he said, nodding, remembering that only the very few who knew what he was knew that Madeline was his wife; everyone else thought she was his mother. Madeline had always been amused by the interpretation of their relationship. Remy Chandler, the Mama’s Boy, she used to tease him.
He found himself smiling now.
“I always thought she would be,” Ashley said. “Just watching her with Marlowe, you could tell.”
It was then that Remy realized if he were to return to Heaven, his pain would fade, but so would the memories of what he had created here-what he had had. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to give those up, despite the agony of his loss.
He turned his head ever so slightly to look at the young woman who had made it a point to come here tonight and share his sorrow. He thought of how special she was, and how special he felt to have her and other friends like her in his life.
Did he really want to leave all that behind?
“Mr. Chandler?” Someone spoke softly behind him.
He and Ashley turned to see David Carroll standing in the doorway.
“Visitors have started to arrive,” the fair-haired man said, motioning toward the funeral home door behind him.
Remy nodded. “Thank you.” He looked back to Ashley, who was watching him with a careful eye. “Here we go,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“Are you going to be all right?” she asked him.
“Yeah,” he said, not yet 100 percent convinced, but on the road to finding out.
“I think I might be.”
Remy Chandler awakened to the smell of blood.
Eyes fluttering, he rolled onto his side to see a heavyset man standing over Ashley, his hands stained red. Remy reacted instantly, rising to his knees and reaching across to grab the fat man by the front of his shirt, pulling him down close enough for Remy’s fist to connect savagely with his face.
The big man howled in pain, nose gushing blood as he was driven away from the bed. Remy gazed down in horror at Ashley’s mangled body. Bloody bandages littered the bed, and his eyes became transfixed by the vision of her gore-stained midriff.
“What have you done?” he screamed at the man, who sat slumped on the floor, chubby hand clutched to a badly bleeding nose.
“It’s not what you think,” the man cried. “Let me explain.”
But Remy heard none of it, his warrior’s mind already activated. He bounded from the bed and hauled the blubbering man to his feet. If he had been able, the fires of the Seraphim would have already been flowing, eating the man’s flesh inch by inch.
But the fire did not answer his call, so Remy had no choice but to hit the man again and again.
There came a sudden flash, and Remy found himself flying backward over the bed and into the wall beside the door. He lay there breathing heavily, his heart rapidly beating as if shocked by a defibrillator.
“I could cook your flesh to the bone,” the fat man snarled, blood running from his nose to drip from his chin. His hand crackled with supernatural energies, and Remy realized that he was dealing with a magick user.
So be it, he thought, springing to his feet again. He would just have to hit the guy that much harder.
