| |
I take a seat in the private airport in Greece and pull out the ragged map from the inside pocket of my equally worn leather jacket. Ten years ago, I set out to close all of Lucifer’s portals around the world, and I’ve seen every corner of the planet in the process. My dog has been with me all this time, as well, and I stroke Sam’s fur as she sits by my side, laying her head on my lap like she does after every long journey. It’s as if she knows I’m damned tired.
I unfold the atlas, crossing off the last circle just outside of Athens and I send Sam an exhausted smile.
“It’s done,” I whisper and fold the remains of the map, tucking it back in my pocket. Her soft whine prompts me to rub her ears again. “Well, girl, I think it’s time to go home.”
Home.
The word seems foreign on my lips, especially since I really didn’t think I’d live to set foot in York again. And trust me, there were times that doubt was warranted, and both Sam and I have the scars to prove it.
All told, I closed thirty-eight portals; some were easy, some not so much. I got in, scrubbed the land and got out. In most cases, I didn’t encounter resistance from anything, but when I did, it usually came in the form of a horde of demons or an equally undesirable foe.
But nothing was a match for my angel fire, especially when I thought Sam was in danger. Well, nothing except Lucifer. And that bastard only showed his face once. In Death Valley, of all places. Much to my chagrin, he kicked my ass and nearly killed Sam before I got my head in the game and let the angel fire rip. I rained it down with such force I left a crater behind.
Sam had been in bad shape, bloodied and broken, but at least she was still breathing when I carried her out of that crater. I hauled her close to ten miles across the desert. A normal healthy male would have plenty of issues carrying a seventy-pound German Shepherd that distance. It nearly killed me, between my own blood loss, coupled with heat exhaustion, and a busted shoulder just to top it all off. The vet said it was a miracle she survived, and my doctors proclaimed the same about me.
Seeing her limp to my side again when I picked her up at the vet was well worth the six days in the hospital, followed by four months in a cast, followed by another six months in rehab, before I was given a clean bill to move on.
It was a valuable lesson.
I hadn’t used my head. Instead, I operated on fury alone and lost the calculated advantage. I swore I wouldn’t let that happen again. Unfortunately, I never got to test that theory.
A glance at the clock tells me I have a solid two and a half hours before someone from Ted Beaumont’s organization lands to pick me up. I lean back in the chair, tucking my chin to my chest with Sam’s leash hanging on my wrist, I close my eyes, drifting back over the years to the day I found Sam.
* * * *
MY PHONE BUZZED YET again, like it had been for the past six hours, and I glanced at the caller ID. Bridget O’Keefe. Again. She wasn’t going to let this go. I clenched my fists, fighting every instinct to answer. Instead, I glanced out the window of the little coffee shop in some rural nowhere in Ohio. The strip mall across the street had nothing of interest on my first scan, except maybe the miniscule animal shelter housed at the end.
Needing some sort of diversion to keep me from answering her calls, I threw money on the table, took one last sip of the coffee, and stepped outside. The road wasn’t busy, so I crossed, taking my time to glance at some of the window displays on the storefronts. Anything to keep my brain occupied with something other than Bridget.
Last night I’d nearly turned around a dozen times, just thinking of her soft flesh under my hands, and the taste of her. I knew that memory would both drive me and bite me in the ass, but I didn’t expect the fucking turmoil accosting me with every thought.
When I stepped into the shelter, my mind totally blocked Bridget out. The sheer chaos of the open space and playtime for the dogs had my focus. I gave a nod to one of the shelter workers and she bounced over with a smile.
“Hi. My name is Nikolina. How may I help you?”
I returned her smile and just watched the dogs playing. I turned my gaze to hers, and, on impulse, asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have any German Shepherd puppies, would you?”
The blues and greens in her aura flared at the question, as did the light in her eyes. “You’re in luck! We had a litter delivered today, come with me,” she said, and led me to the rear section of the shelter and a smaller play area with bumbling pups.
I squatted and waited. My eyes studied each puppy until they fell on her. Sam was sitting on the opposite side, staring at me. When our eyes met, she trotted through the pack to the spot right in front of me, where she sat and waited just as patiently as I had. It was eerie and felt right as rain.
“I want this one.” I pointed and looked up at the sales girl.
Her eyebrows were already arched, and then her gaze moved from the little puppy to me.
“That’s the damnedest thing I think I’ve ever seen.” She nodded as she spoke, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Dogs choose their owners. Not the other way around,” I said and scooped the puppy up into my arms, following her to the front.
She pulled out paperwork for adoption and slid it across the counter for me to fill out. I scribble the information while the puppy proceeded to lick my face. I laughed and dodged her tongue, but for some reason, I didn’t want to put her down, either, for fear someone else would step inside and steal her from me before I could finish the paperwork.
“You really are lucky. We don’t normally get them this young. Usually the dogs are older, and the owners just don’t want them anymore.” She glanced over her shoulder at the dogs playing together. “At least they seem to get along, but sometimes we get one or two that have to stay in their kennels during play time.” She smiled at me. “I’m sure these puppies will go fast. It’s unfortunate, but the owner passed away and their family had no idea what to do with these little rascals.” She kept chattering on and I finally pushed the paper across the counter.
“I guess I’m in need of supplies as well,” I said and glanced around at my limited options.
“I can hook you up with a collar and leash, but for anything else, I’d suggest Petsmart, which is only a mile down the road,” she whispered over the counter.
I gave her a nod, she found a small red collar and a light leash, and I passed her the shelter fee along with another twenty-five bucks for the supplies.
With the leash on, I gently put Sam on the ground and started out of the store.
“Good luck!” Nikolina yelled after me and I gave her a wave, before I walked back to the crosswalk. Instead of letting Sam cross on her own, I scooped her up and jogged to my car.
The minute I got her within the confines of the car, she sat and just stared at me as if I was supposed to impart some ancient wisdom or something.
“I hope you don’t mind me calling you Sam,” I said, her tail wagged, and she stood, letting out this pitiful puppy yelp that immediately formed a grin on my face. I pulled my phone out and snapped a picture of her. “You just sit down and stay right there until we get to Petsmart. Then you can show me all the things you want. Okay, girl?”
Again, the wag of her tail and a bark followed.
I searched for the store and just as the GPS loaded, a text flashed on my screen.
Fuck you, Ryan.
Bridget’s use of my last name told me just how pissed she was, which was better than having her a crying mess. I debated on answering, but starting a dialog would only string her along and give her hope where there might be nothing but heartache for her.
The dog crawled across the console and onto my lap, as if she knew I needed reinforcement of some sort, and I glance beyond the phone in my hand at her. She lay her head on my thigh and gave the biggest sigh I’ve ever heard from a puppy.
I popped the phone on the console plug and moved her to the passenger seat before I put the car in gear and headed to find dog supplies.
* * * *
“MR. RYAN?” A VOICE cuts through the memory and I open my eyes, glancing at the pilot approaching me.
I stand and study him a moment. Ten years flood back, along with the unwelcome sorrow. “Josh,” I say, as his name pops into my head. I stick out my hand to the pilot who had flown me home from this precise airport the night my daughter died.
He hesitates and then clasps my hand. His memory flashes in my head and I drop my hand after a quick shake.
Sam whines at my side, as if she can feel the cracking of my reinforced heart.
“This is my dog, Sam.” I lay my hand on her head reassuring her that I am okay. It has been long enough that I don’t curl into a tight ball, fighting the pain through tear-stained vision, anymore, but she remembers, just as well as I do.
“Ted said there will be a car for you in Wolfeboro,” he says and reaches for my bag on the seat. This time, I let him carry my cargo onto the plane. “Unfortunately...”
“You don’t have a flight crew,” I finish his thought.
He lets out a soft chuckle. “And I’m getting near the max flying within twenty-four hours.”
“I can help fly if you need a co-pilot,” I say and his eyebrows rise. “I had a bit of time to kill when I was laid up in California, and figured a pilot’s license might come in handy.” I pull out my wallet and show him my certificate.
“I might take you up on that,” he says, but his mind is shadowed with doubt, especially with the memory of my mental state being so fractured the last time he flew me home from Greece.
I don’t respond. I just follow him with Sam at my heels.
The flight home takes much longer than that first trek, but I’m not using my powers to make this sucker fly at some insane mach speed like last time, either. Sam is the perfect traveling companion, calm and serene, and as always, has her head in my lap.
The hum of the airplane drops my eyelids farther and farther until the shadows mix together.