Raven spoke to him. Not like she had when she ended their relationship and went off into the Big Bad to find herself. The way she spoke to him made him feel loved, wanted, and appreciated. Then he remembered—or his mind showed him—the falsehood of what he was seeing, feeling, and he opened his eyes to the light.
Raven sat next to him with her back to the wall, only this wasn’t Raven. He remembered… She was Joan now, the famous Saint from France. Dried tears left trails of their passage down her ebony face. Raven’s face, which had been taken from her due to the dire need caused by the apocalypse. Joan had defeated the Horseman of War and won Scout’s heart. She hadn’t accepted the latter yet.
Scout groaned as he tried to roll over. His body ached the entire length and a fog surrounded his thoughts. Then it all came roaring back.
He sat up. “Patrick is Death!” His head spun and he fell over on the dusty carpet, gulping for air.
“So that explains it,” Barbie said, her voice low and torn. “What did you two do?”
Scout turned over and found Barbie kneeling next to Hunter. Fresh tears still welled in her eyes. They broke their containment and fell.
Hunter laid perfectly still, eyes closed, crusted blood on his side, his chest did not move as Scout stared in horror. Adrenaline fixed his grogginess. He sat up again and crawled over to his best friend. “What’s wrong? Why haven’t you healed him yet? Is… Is…”
Joan laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He is lost to us.”
Barbie sobbed and fell over Hunter as if she could will him back to life with the press of her body.
Hunter did not stir. He did not smirk. He didn’t do anything except lay there.
Scout got to his knees, clasped his hands together in front of his face, and prayed.
Dear God, Please, whatever this is, I know you have the power to return Hunter to us. Please Lord, Please! We need Hunter… I need Hunter…
Silence greeted the ending of his prayer except for Barbie’s weeping. Sunlight filtered through the dirty window where the curtains had been drawn, a small offering of hope with the new day. Scout could only focus on the darkness from last night that carried into this miserable awakening.
“Scout,” Joan said. “We tried to heal Hunter together. His spirit is lost to us. What happened with him? What happened with you? We tried to revive you as well, even though we found nothing wrong, we were unable to rouse you.” She touched his chin and turned his head. “Who is Patrick?”
Scout met her soft brown eyes, pain from Hunter fresh in his own. All he wanted to do now was grip her tightly and have her make everything all right. He needed that comfort, but he needed it to be more than one-sided and that was not something he felt from her so he chose not to trust his emotions and only exist in her presence.
He said, “Patrick was part of the original crew that came to Independents with Chase, the Horseman of Pestilence, in search of Catherine. He is a monster who almost killed Jimmy. When we tracked them down in Denver, he had beaten Hunter to death and then Billy killed him.
“He was here last night when we got back. I tried to shoot him and he disappeared in a puff of smoke and then backhanded me hard, like his arm was a baseball bat. I don’t remember a thing after that.”
“Did this Patrick shoot Hunter?” Joan asked.
Scout dropped his head. “No, Hunter got shot when we robbed one of the cafeterias for their poker chips.”
“You did what!” Barbie said rising off Hunter with her grief giving way to rage. “Of all the stupid, dumb-shit things you could have done. What the hell possessed you to try that?”
Joan gasped in surprise by her fellow saint’s furious rant, and possibly the language involved.
Scout’s head sunk even lower. “It was Hunter’s idea. He thought if we had the poker chips we wouldn’t have to waste time earning them to eat so we could spend more time searching for Billy.”
“And you allowed this to happen? I don’t know which of you is the bigger fool.”
Scout blanched under the scrutiny of his character, but he had nothing else to say that would salvage his reputation. He had followed Hunter and it had gotten his best friend killed. He always followed Hunter—more out of desire to show his friend that he wasn’t afraid, that he believed in Hunter.
Joan touched his arm. “You said this Patrick is the Horseman of Death. How do you know?”
“His eyes were solid black. Even his teeth were like covered in black tar. When I tried to shoot him he disappeared. He was dead, and now he’s back. What else could he be?”
Barbie climbed to her feet like she was crawling out of death herself. She looked down at Hunter, and she slowly raised her eyes to Scout. She held his gaze for a moment, accusing him with that awful tear-streaked stare. She turned and walked out of the room.
Joan said, “This is not your fault, Scout. I have been told how Hunter manipulates things to achieve his way. I am sure he would have gone through with his plan with or without you.”
Scout would not be consoled. He inched forward next to Hunter and rested his hand on Hunter’s silent chest. “This is my fault. I’m sorry, Hunter.”
The front door opened and Scout fell over backwards, scrambling to retrieve his gun. Joan stood and unsheathed the sword at her belt. An angel of the Lord appeared through the doorway, wearing Samuel’s goofy grin that extinguished as soon as his gaze encompassed the situation.
“Where’s Barbara?” the angel asked.
“I’m here,” she said, rushing out of the dim hallway and into the angel’s waiting arms. She buried her face in his chest with a fresh wave of sobs.
The Archangel wrapped her up tight with a heavy sigh. “What happened?”
Scout ran through the encounter one more time and received a similar reaction like the one Barbie gave him, without the cursing. Barbie had retreated again when Scout started to speak. Joan stayed by his side, there but not really there for him.
Michael knelt beside Hunter, his white wings folded behind his back, and rested a hand on Hunter’s brow. The Archangel bowed his head and golden light filled the room. Scout closed his eyes and prayed again that God would make this right.
The light stopped and Scout opened his eyes again to find the angel sitting back on his feet, his hands now resting on his thighs. A frown crossed Samuel’s face as the Archangel shook his head.
“His soul cannot be found. The only explanation is that the Horseman of Death carried it away with him. We will have to confront this Patrick to take back Hunter’s soul.”
“We still have to find Billy,” Scout said. “Now with this…” Scout motioned to Hunter’s still form, but couldn’t complete the sentence. He couldn’t even look at his best friend’s lifeless body. Death had stolen Hunter’s soul.
“That’s why I’m here.” This time Samuel spoke, not in his jovial way, staring down at the brother of his best friend. “Billy came back into town last night. He’s all right. Jimmy…” Samuel stopped and looked away.
The angel looked back. “Jimmy expelled the evil harboring inside Billy. The boy is safe.”
Scout closed his eyes and nodded. “Good. Hunter would have wanted that.”
“Do not give up hope, Scout. We will find Hunter’s soul. All will be right again.”
Scout knew that things weren’t right even with Hunter around, but the world was a better place with him in it. Sure, Hunter drove him crazy, all the time. A world without Hunter was less adventurous because Hunter always pushed the edge. He stood on it looking forward with no care of the drop below. The fall didn’t scare him. Turning back, giving up, was not in his chemistry. He was always ready to move forward, damn the consequences. This outcome was the result of that attitude. Scout wished Hunter had stepped back this one time.
“What do we need to do, Scout?”
Samuel again, and when Scout looked up to answer the angel wings were gone and Samuel was pulling a shirt out of the bag the angel had carried inside. The shirt was not the normal tie-dye that Samuel normally wore. Instead he slipped on a plain white shirt that made him look angelic despite the disappearance of his wings.
Scout stood, still woozy from Patrick’s knockout blow. Joan grabbed his arm and held him steady until the dizziness fled from his reeling head. He nodded that he was okay and she dropped her hold.
He missed her touch immediately. They came few and far between. Each one lifted his spirits and plummeted once they were gone again. He shook away those thoughts. It wasn’t the time to deal with his desires for Joan. What he needed was food. He retrieved his backpack with the poker chips inside.
He said, “We should go get something to eat and try to find out if anyone knows where we can find Patrick.”
“That’s a great idea,” Barbie said from the dim hallway. “I’m sure no one is going to suspect four strangers coming into town with poker chips already in hand.”
“Denver’s a big place, nobody’s going to miss these poker chips or even care if they haven’t seen us before. I counted at least six different cafeterias the last time I was here. All we have to do is blend in. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal.” Scout tried to find her in the shadows. The sound of her scoffing was easily heard, and Scout felt the tension between his shoulder blades building at her dismissive attitude. “Barbie, I’m sorry this happened. We need to get past it if we’re going to bring Hunter back.”
She moved into the light enough to peer at him with unsettling eyes. “Then we better get started.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose. When she looked at him again her eyes held less blame, and a tad of compassion. At least that’s what he hoped. Scout blamed himself enough.
“So how does this work?” Samuel asked. “Should I put on a disguise?”
“Nobody knows you here. You shouldn’t have to worry about it. Joan is the only one that might get recognized.”
“Me too,” Barbie said.
Scout and Samuel stared at her with surprise.
“I spent some time here before I became Saint Barbara.”
Scout spoke first. “I didn’t know that.”
“Nobody does. I don’t really like to talk about it so don’t ask.”
Scout and Samuel looked at each other and then they looked at Joan who shrugged.
“Okay then.” Scout opened his backpack. He pulled out some non-prescription glasses, a hat, a wig and other things he had prepared before leaving Independents. “Make yourself ready.”
He wandered away from the girls disguising themselves and entered the dim hallway. He found a linen closet and retrieved a musty sheet from a shelf, unfolding it on the way back.
“What are we going to do about Hunter’s body?” Samuel asked, not willing to look down at the dead body of his friend any more than Scout wanted too. “I mean, will he be safe here?”
Scout flipped out the sheet and placed it gently over his best friend. “We’ll lock the doors.”