building.
But the sky above it was as blue as the sea and twice as calm, and the shadows around him were just shadows.
He didn’t know where the words came from. They just came, bubbling up from one of those places locked inside the brain where things like that were stored away.
And God saw the light, and it was good. And God divided the light from the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Remy knew where he was even before he opened his eyes.
He could hear the sound of the crashing surf, the smell of the ocean invigorating him as it came into his lungs.
It was a Cape Cod beach that didn’t really exist, an amalgam of many of the Cape beaches and other seaside places that he and Madeline had enjoyed in her lifetime.
He had created this place in his mind as a kind of tribute to her after she had died, and would come here often when things were tough and he wanted- needed — to see her again.
It was foggy here today, heavy, moist air cutting visibility down to mere feet. Despite the gloominess of it all, Madeline and he had always loved these days, walking for hours hand in hand, never knowing what was in front of them in the shifting haze.
Never knowing what was ahead.
Now he walked the shore alone, searching for the one that would make this piece of life he had carved away for himself complete.
A cool gust blew off the water, stirring the miasma of gray that filled the air, and he could just about make out a shape there in the distance, and moved toward it.
He found it a little strange that she hadn’t been there waiting for him when he’d first arrived, but really didn’t think all that much about it. When they finally found each other, he would ask where she had been, and she would likely say something fresh, like it was good that he had to wait until he found her, that absence makes the heart grow fonder, or one of those things she liked to say.
And he would tell her that he had no patience when it came to things involving her, and he would take her into his arms, remembering all the times he had done just that.
Holding on and never wanting to let go.
The shape was becoming more defined and Remy was just about to call out to her when he came to a most startling realization.
It wasn’t Madeline.
A spark of anger flared within him as he approached the male figure standing with his back to him in the rolling surf. The man was dressed in a dark suit, his slacks rolled up to his knees as the water surged up to greet him like an excited dog before receding in play. This was his special place, his and Madeline’s; there shouldn’t have been anybody else here.
He didn’t want anybody else here.
“What are you doing here?” Remy asked the man’s back.
“Which name do you prefer?” the man spoke over the roar of the tumbling waves.
Remy was confused by the question.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Which do you prefer, Remiel or Remy?” the man asked, slowly turning his back on the ocean to face him. “I think I’d like to call you Remy,” he said, and smiled.
There was no mistaking who this man was, and Remy felt the air sucked from his lungs as he dropped to one knee in the sand, head bowed, eyes averted.
“Oh, stop that,” the man said. “Stand up and look at me. I didn’t come here to make you grovel.”
But why did you come? Remy thought, his mind in turmoil. Why did He come?
Remy rose ever so slowly, eyes gradually drifting to the older gentleman’s kindly visage, wondering if there was any reason why He had chosen to appear like this…as if He needed a reason.
“You’d once seen this man walking the boardwalk of Coney Island with his wife, his grown children and their wives, and their children,” He said, answering Remy’s question before it was asked. “Then you believed him to be the embodiment of a happy existence-everything that you wished for yourself, the things that you would strive for.”
Remy recalled the moment suddenly; it had happened not too long after he’d decided to live among humanity-to live as one of them.
“I thought it might make it easier for you to accept why I have come to you,” He said.
The implication hit Remy like a sledge to the heart.
“Am I dead?”
The man turned His gaze back to the fog-enshrouded sea.
“You could have been,” He said. “But I preferred that that you were not.”
As did Remy.
“Why are you…” Remy began, stopping as He again turned His attention to him.
“I need your help, Remy,” He said. “The Kingdom of Heaven needs your help.” The surf grew suddenly angry as winds began to howl off the restless water. “The world of man needs your help.”
Particles of sand hurled by the wind stung his face, and he raised a hand to shield himself from the onslaught.
The man had again turned away from him, gazing out into the fog and the unknown that existed beyond it. There came a low rumble of thunder; the ominous growl of uncertainty.
“There is a war coming, Remy Chandler,” He said. “And I need you to stop it.”
The smell of coffee had replaced that of the sea.
Remy groaned as he opened his eyes, looking up at the white tin ceiling. It took only a few seconds to figure out where he was; coffee beans grown and harvested in Hell had a very specific aroma when brewed.
He was reclining upon the leather sofa, covered with a heavy afghan, in Francis’ basement apartment. Remy sat up, peering across the living room into the kitchen, where Francis, the hobgoblin, and Angus were sitting around the kitchen table, having coffee.
“How did I end up here?” Remy asked, pulling the afghan off.
“Hey, look who’s awake,” Francis said. He rose from his chair, going to the cabinet and reaching for a mug. “Coffee?”
“Sure,” Remy said, noticing that he was wearing a turquoise sweat suit. “What the fuck am I wearing?”
“Your clothes were pretty much nonexistent after you fell from the sky,” Francis said as he poured a steaming cup from the carafe. He crossed the room and handed Remy the cup.
“How did you all get in here?” Remy asked, ready to take a sip, desperate for the taste and the jolt the Hell- grown beans would bring. “Thought I had the only keys.”
When Francis had disappeared and was believed dead, Remy had been left the Newbury Street brownstone. He thought he was the only one who could get inside.
“I left a key under the mat,” Francis said, returning to the kitchen.
“What mat?” Remy asked after his first sip of the rejuvenating brew.
“There’s got to be a mat around here somewhere,” the former Guardian said, filling his own cup again.
“There’s always a mat,” Angus agreed with a nod.
“A dime a dozen,” the hobgoblin added.
Remy left the living room and approached them, coffee in hand.
“Anybody care to fill me in on what happened out there?” he asked. “I’m guessing that the outcome was favorable?”
Francis shrugged. “All depends on how you define favorable.”
“The shadow realm didn’t flood the earth, so that’s good,” the hobgoblin stated.
