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OVER TWO HOURS LATER, Nicholas is still sitting in the same spot—the bench across from his daughter's house. I held my breath when Hannah's boyfriend stepped outside, briefly, fearing there would be a confrontation. Fortunately, Nicholas never moved from his spot on the bench. He glared, but he didn't budge.
It isn't raining anymore. Johnny is still with me, but he's starting to look bored. “You know,” I speak up, noting the weary expression on his face, “you can leave whenever you want.”
“Nah, I'm not leaving. I'm committed to this,” Johnny claims. “Your charge is a bit pitiful, but I want to see him overcome this.”
“By this, do you mean his crippling fear of an encounter with his daughter?” I ask.
“Pretty much,” Johnny answers with a nod. “Also... I'm committed to you, Lillie. I'm not even a spirit guide anymore, but a success for you would feel like a success for me too.”
“You should go Home,” I suggest to him. “Return to the spirit world. Fallen angels go back all the time. There might be a trial or something, but with someone to vouch for you...”
I would vouch for Johnny. He doesn't seem like a bad guy, and I think his desire to help is genuine.
“Nah, I'm not returning,” Johnny dismisses the thought. “I don't like the rules, and I don't like to have assignments forced on me. I don't mind helping, but only when I feel like it.”
Nicholas' mouth is ripped open by a cavernous yawn. Peeking into my charge's mouth, Johnny casually says, “It looks like his teeth are rotten.”
“They... are,” I reluctantly confirm. “I don't think he should be judged for it, though. When I was alive, I didn't go to a dentist much either.”
“Is that so?” Johnny flashes a smile at me, as if to demonstrate his straight, white teeth. Any spirit can have perfect teeth, though, assuming they've earned the ability to shift.
“Toward the end of my life, I actually had false teeth,” I admit to my nosy new partner. “It's nothing to be ashamed of. I don't think Nicholas can afford to fix his, and I definitely didn't—”
Johnny cuts me off with a question. He asks, “Did you die young, or did you die old?”
Crossing my arms, I answer curtly, “I don't think that's any of your business!”
“No, it's not my business, but I'm curious,” Johnny says. “You look beautiful now. It wouldn't matter to me if you were an old lady once. It—”
This time, I'm the one who interrupts him. “You died young, didn't you?”
“Yeah...” Johnny's answer is followed by a deep, heavy sigh. “I was a firefighter. I died when I was thirty-one, on a job that went bad. A flaming roof collapsed on me.”
“That sounds horrific!” I exclaim.
“It was... and even now, I still have a fear of fires,” Johnny says. “I'm a former firefighter with a fear of fires. How pathetic is that?”
Johnny is opening up to me, and I like that, but how much do I want to share with him? Does he really need to know I was an old lady with cancer, with loose bowels, false teeth, thinning hair, and endless days of loneliness? My story wouldn't impress anyone, but I'd say I'm not much different from Nicholas. I think that's why I care about him so much.
Nicholas shifts on his bench, and for a moment, I think he might be getting up. Johnny must think so too, because he shouts, “Get off your ass and knock on your daughter's door, man! You're just wasting your time if you sit here. You won't make any progress if you don't—”
My head snaps up when I hear a nearby scream. It's not from Nicholas or Hannah, or anyone familiar. It's the bloodcurdling scream of an old lady with taut white curls.
“You took my purse!” the old woman warbles at her assailant, a much younger man with her bag tucked under his arm. “Why would you do that? Please, don't do that!”
“Nicholas!” I shout my charge's name and stomp my foot, but he seems disinterested in seeing anything that isn't his daughter's house. “Nicholas, that old lady is getting mugged! You have to do something!”
In the middle of my plea, Johnny takes off running. He's chasing down the man who took the old lady's purse, and for all I know, he might be able to stop him. If Johnny's really an angel, he's capable of a lot more than me. I can't run half as fast as Johnny or the mugger, not in my dress and high heels, but I follow as quickly as I can. Even the old lady is running, begging her attacker to return her purse.
Johnny catches up to the assailant and clotheslines him to the ground. The boy's chin hits the concrete when he lands. Whimpering, and still clutching the old woman's purse, he rolls on his back and stares into the sky.
“Give it back!” Johnny demands. “You know you've done a bad thing. I know it, you know it. Give the lady her purse, and be a man about it! Apologize!”
If the thief obeys Johnny's command, I'll be shocked. He seems to be considering it, at least. As I draw closer to them, I realize the young man is even younger than I initially thought. He looks like a teenager.
“Give... it... back.” Johnny stretches out every word of his command, stating it loudly and clearly. “You don't want this on your conscience, kid. Trust me.”
Gasping for breath, the old lady is the last to reach the scene. The boy sits up, sniffles, and holds out her purse.
“I-I-I'm sorry!” cries the boy. “I'm really sorry, ma'am. I wasn't thinking clearly. Here's your purse. I-I won't do anything like that again, I promise.”
The woman collects her bag from the boy's outstretched hand and tucks it firmly under her arm. She shakes her head and glowers, but doesn't say a word.
“I mean it. I'm really sorry!” says the teenage thief. “I-I'm not going to go to jail for this, am I?”
“I won't press charges, if that's what you're worried about.” The woman pauses and breathes deeply. When the boy stands up, she backs away, and I don't blame her. I'd be wary of him too. She asks, “Can I ask you something?”
“Umm... yes, ma'am,” the boy says.
“Why'd you do it?”
“I... needed some money,” the boy reluctantly confesses. “I just turned eighteen six weeks ago, and my dad says I have to start paying rent, or he's going to kick me out! I tried to find a job, but I just... I just...”
The woman dips a hand into her purse and fishes out a fifty dollar bill. Passing it to the kid, she says, “It sounds like your dad might be a jerk.”
“He is!” the boy exclaims. “And I... I don't wanna take your money, ma'am. I don't deserve it.”
“Everyone deserves to have what they need. That's what I think,” the woman replies. “Take it, give it to your dad, and don't ever do anything like this again.”
“I...” His hand quivers as he accepts her fifty dollar bill. “I'm really so sorry. I really am.”
“If you need a job, come to my nephew's restaurant. It's called Brooks Burgers, on Fifth Avenue,” says the woman. “Tell him Aunt Carol sent you.”
The boy's eyes swell as he pockets the lady's cash. Blinking, he asks, “You want to give me a job... really?”
“If it'll stop you from doing something stupid... well, I believe in doing the right thing.” When she pats the young man on the arm, he's suddenly blinking back tears. “You don't seem like a bad kid to me. Even good people do bad things every now and then.”
“Yeah...” The boy sucks his trembling lower lip into his mouth and gives her a nod. “Yeah, I guess so.”
When I look at Johnny, he's grinning from ear to ear. Realizing he has my attention, he says, “I told you I'm pretty good at getting through to humans, didn't I? Let's just say... it wasn't an exaggeration.”