"No," I said, not in answer, but out of sheer denial.
I wanted to tell her I'd been wrong. I wanted to tell her I was sorry. I must've tried a dozen times, but her eyes would pass right over me, in the way that people's do when confronted with those who have fallen through the cracks, and every time, my voice would fail.
"You must have seen your child growing within her."
Every time but one. It was early evening, and Liz was walking briskly down the street, a bag of groceries in her hand. Her face was downcast, her brow furrowed in worry, and in that moment, I wondered if she was thinking of me. As she passed, I called to her — just her name, just once.
I said, "You're lying."
She turned around then, the bag falling forgotten to the sidewalk. I saw Liz peering into the crowd, searching for my face, but with my ratty hair and my twisted scraggle of a beard, she didn't see me looking back at her. But I saw. I saw too much. I saw the weight she carried in her cheeks — just a touch, rounding out her face and glowing pink in the chill fall air. I saw her swollen belly, protruding from beneath her woolen jacket.
"Did you tell yourself it wasn't yours?" said So'enel. "I assure you that it was."
And in that moment, I understood.
"Shut up."
Why she had pushed me away. Why she'd been forced to let me go.
"And that child grew into a woman, who had a child of her own."
She'd been protecting her child.
"I said shut up."
Protecting our child.
But he didn't shut up. "A child that grew up strong and sweet and brave and beautiful, so like your fair Elizabeth."
She'd been protecting it from me.
"Shut up shut up shut up!"
It was then, as I stood staring at the woman that I loved and the daughter I'd never know, that Bishop struck.
"A child that this one killed, without mercy, and without remorse."
The pain was excruciating as Bishop gouged my soul out of my chest, cackling gleefully all the while. In truth, I didn't mind. I knew then that I deserved it. For the person I'd become. For the choice I'd forced Elizabeth to make. And as the world around me disappeared, replaced by the swirling gray-black of my soul, I thought I heard her call out — just one heartbreaking syllable, her voice tremulous and full of hope: "Sam?"
My entire body shook in rage and pain and sudden doubt. I looked from the seraph to Kate, who once more fought against her restraints. She was trying in vain to speak, but the gag prevented it, deadening her words into a frantic series of grunts. Her eyes, wide with shock and terror, found mine, and even without her words to guide me, I knew that she was beseeching me not to listen.
"It seems the girl has something she'd like to say," the angel said. "Well, then, by all means, let her speak." He gestured, and the duct tape unwound from Kate's mouth as if of its own accord. "But first, my dear, a question. Your half-brother: what was his name?"
Kate forgot her fear for a moment, so thrown was she by the question. "C-c-connor," she said. "Connor MacNeil."
"Yes," said So'enel, not unkindly, "but what was his middle name?"
At that last, Kate's eyes went wide with shock and horror. When she spoke, it was flat, uninflected, barely audible. To me, though, it was a fucking knife in the gut.
"Samuel," she said. A single tear tracked downward across her trembling cheek. Then, as if from somewhere far away: "Patricia said it was in honor of her grandfather. But Sam, I never thought-"
"Enough of this," the angel said. "You see, Collector, I've steered you true. You know what it is you have to do."
I felt sick. Tears poured down my face, and my breath came in ragged, hitching gasps.
"Collector," So'enel said, and then he stopped short, correcting himself. "Samuel. This violation of your blood cannot be allowed to stand — the girl must pay."
"No!" I said, clenching shut my eyes as though to shut out the world — as though to shut out the angel's words.
"Samuel, you have to realize you were sent here for a reason. God isn't through with you yet, my child, and perhaps redemption is not so far off as you would think. It's time for you to do your duty. It's time for you to do what's right."
As the angel spoke, a calm settled over me, quieting the trembling in my limbs, the fire in my heart.
"You're right," I said, smiling at So'enel through my tears. "Of course I know you're right."
And then I aimed my gun and fired.
33
I suspect there aren't many who've had occasion to see an angel die. I'm pretty sure that's for the best. When the bullet struck, he staggered backward, his face a rictus of shock and sudden pain. His inner light dimmed a moment, and then surged outward, engulfing us all in its radiance. Ceramic dust from the cat-shard, which had filled the room when the gun discharged, sparkled like stars in the sudden glare. The very building beneath us trembled, and I felt as though the flesh was being stripped from my bones, though perhaps it was my soul that ached, as the cleansing light of grace illuminated every moment of doubt and anger, of sin. A cry escaped my lips, agony and ecstasy in equal measure. From somewhere in the blinding light, Bishop let out a piteous wail, his own corrupted soul no doubt in flames. Only Kate failed to cry out, and it was in that moment that, by luck or providence, I realized my choice had been the right one.
Then, suddenly, the light collapsed upon itself, and unsupported by its presence, I fell to the floor, weeping like a child. In the angel's place, there writhed a single segmented insectile creature, black as sin, its back on the floor, its legs kicking frantically to right itself. It shrieked in agony, and then lay still, collapsing inward on itself as if a thousand years had passed in just one heartbeat, reducing the creature to no more than an ashen husk. I thought back to the demons Kate and I had so recently dispatched, full themselves of such creatures, and I wondered how long it had taken Beleth and Merihem once they fell to be consumed by the creatures, filled from within until there was nothing left of the beings of grace and light they once were. Then I thought of Veloch's act of mercy, and decided perhaps not all of them were so far gone.
I can't tell you how long I lay there crying, only that the first faint rays of morning light glimmered off the rooftops of Manhattan by the time I finally managed to rise. A glance around the room told me Bishop still lay trembling in the corner. I staggered over to where he lay and rolled him over, grabbing handfuls of his shirt and pulling him toward me until we were nose to nose.
"You're finished, here, you hear me? You'll not come for her again," I said.
But Bishop said nothing — he just stared wide-eyed at me, his face red and wet with tears. A stream of snot poured from his nose, and as I held him, he tried to pull away from me like a frightened animal.
I slapped him, hard. He yelped in pain and fear, but I thought I saw the slightest hint of clarity returned to his borrowed eyes.
"I said you're done here."
His head bobbed up and down — suddenly obsequious, eager to please. Eager, perhaps, to avoid another slapping. Not that I cared either way. Bishop was broken, beaten down by what he'd seen. So long as he remained that way, he'd pose no threat to Kate or me or anybody.
"I suggest you leave this body at once. He's an innocent in this, and I'd hate to have to kill him."
Again he nodded, and then his body went slack in my hands. Improbably, his abandoned vessel started snoring, and so I lowered him to the floor, leaving him to sleep. No doubt the man had earned it.
Kate, of course, was still fastened to the kitchen chair. I knelt at her side and tore through her restraints; the skin beneath was red and abraded. When she was free, Kate threw her arms around me and held me tight, tears streaming from her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know."