Purpose (18 page)

“Tom, maybe we’d better let you make sense of what I’ve told you so far. Ryan and I can go and come back tomorrow.” He nodded to Ryan

“No, don’t.” Abby’s voice reminded him she was in the room. “There’s still a lot to talk about.”

“Abby, there are nearly forty years of things to talk about. We can’t do it all in an afternoon.” He knelt and took her hands and squeezed them gently. “I’m not going to disappear again. I promise. But maybe a bit of time will help make things easier.”

“Why?”

Will looked up. “Why, what, Tom?”

“Why now?” Tom’s eyes were narrow and his face tight. “What possessed you to come back into our lives now? I mean, you let Mom and Dad die thinking they did something horrible to you. Their deaths didn’t bring you back. So why now? Do you need money or something?”

The words stung, as he knew they would. The part that doubted the merits of this idea told him it was a mistake. They didn’t need or want him back. No, that part was wrong. They might not need him or even want him back, but they deserved to know. They were his family; it was their right. He wouldn’t shove them aside again. Will rose and stepped back to where Ryan stood. “No, I don’t need money.”

“So what is it? You know you tore them up, us too.” The fiery glint in his eyes told Will how mad his brother was at him. “We had to watch them blame themselves, had to see Mom cry because she missed you. Dad tried to hide it too, but he would ask me what he could have done different to help you.”

“Tom….” He forced down the lump in his throat. A part of him, small, hidden, suppressed, knew all along how much he had hurt them. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Bullshit!”

Will flinched. The word, with all the anger and hurt behind it, cut Will like no blade could.

“You don’t get to disappear for forty years, then waltz in and say it’s too complicated to explain.”

From the corner of his eye, Will saw Ryan shake his head. If he didn’t do it now, Will knew he’d never get another chance. “You’re right. Sit down and I’ll explain everything.”

“T
HIS
was your old room?” Ryan ran his hand over the dresser, avoiding the thin white lace covering the center.

The old black-and-white picture of him and his siblings still sat on the nightstand. He didn’t need to pick it up to remember when and where it was taken. Same with the one of him and Tom after Will won the fencing medal for his prep school. Tom was a senior, but his freshman brother trounced the field, including the elder Morgan.

“Can’t you tell?” Sweeping the room, he took in every detail. “I can’t believe it’s still the same as when I left.”

“It was your room.” Tom stood, hand on the doorframe. “Until we knew where you were, Mom and Dad refused to change it.”

Slowly, he inhaled, tightening his lips in a frown. “That was a lifetime ago. I can’t believe Abby never made you redo this.”

“I wanted to, but she refused. Said Mom wanted us to keep it in case you came back.”

Picking up an old throw pillow, he smirked. “She really thought I’d want this stuff?”

The laugh was short, almost forced, but it softened Tom’s face. “I… I need to go out for a bit. It’s good… I’ll be back later.”

He left before Will could say they weren’t staying. They couldn’t. Already, the pull of three innocent victims played at the edge of his consciousness.

“It was a mistake agreeing to stay here.” He turned toward Ryan, who refused to meet his gaze. “You shouldn’t have accepted.”

Ryan continued to examine the pictures around the room. “We had to stay.”

“Had to? I know you felt the tug. I saw it in your face. Are you aware it was three instead of just one?” Harsh, but he was upset. Staying only made it worse.

“I feel all three, Will. But I also know this is your family.” When he turned, tears slowly trickled down his cheeks. “They want you. They want us. That’s more than I have.”

A calloused thumb on each cheek cleared the drops away. When the soft brown eyes met his, Will pulled him closer. Combing his fingers through Ryan’s hair, he felt the arms around him tighten. “I understand.”

Standing in his room, holding Ryan, it didn’t feel real. Two weeks ago, he was content being Gar, his feelings locked away. Before they went back to DC, he needed to figure out what had happened to change him.

“What are you going to do?” The voice drew him from his introspection.

“I’m going to help the three innocent victims find peace.” What else could he do? “We can’t leave until I do.”

The blank look required an explanation.

“Once a soul connects to the Purpose, I have to handle it.”

“But, three? Has that happened before?”

He’d avoided this, but there was no choice if Ryan felt the connections. “If
It
isn’t close, most souls will move on. Some refuse, almost as if they know eventually I’ll cross the path of their killer and act. That’s what these three are. Every new city I visit generally has one or two stubborn victims.”

“So coming here….” Ryan shook his head, trying to pull back.

Will kept his hold, keeping them close. “Yes, but it’s fine. Eventually, I would have come here.”

“How come you don’t tell me things?” Anger flashed briefly in his eyes.

“I’ve been alone so long, I didn’t think of it at the time.” He shrugged, letting go. “And things have been so different since I met you. I can’t be sure the old rules still apply.”

Free, Ryan sat on the bed, staring at a picture on the nightstand. Will knew his words hadn’t helped.

“When I get back, we need to figure this out.”

“Back?”

Why did he ask questions he knew the answers to? “This needs to be taken care of or we can’t leave.”

“How come you didn’t feel it before we left? I mean, can’t you tell what’s waiting here?”

If only.
Shaking his head, he sat next to Ryan. “I think the range is about twenty-five miles, give or take a bit. Like so much with this thing, I don’t know why. But going by the others’ memories and my own experience, that’s how far
It
can feel the call.”

“Must be a bitch to take a vacation.” Ryan’s smirk made him smile.

Cute. “Did I tell you how adorable you are?”

Red crept into his cheeks, but the smile was real. “No one’s ever told me that. At least, no one that meant it.”

Winking first, he leaned over and kissed Ryan’s cheek. “Glad to see you know I mean it.”

They sat in silence for a bit, rubbing each other’s hand. Much as he tried, Ryan couldn’t keep calm forever. Eventually, Ryan’s smile faded, and he stared at the floor.

“You need to go now, don’t you?”

He drew the hand to his lips and gently kissed each finger. “The longer I wait, the less chance I have of getting back before dawn.”

“Are you….” Another question Will didn’t need to answer.

“Yes.” He met Ryan’s stare but didn’t waver. “There’s no other way. I don’t have any contacts here. And with three to finish in one night, I don’t have time.”

Looking like he sucked a lemon, Ryan stood up. “That’s not a good reason, Will.”

“Sometimes it is.” He gave Ryan a moment to think. “Don’t waste your sympathy on them. They’re not good people.”

Staring at the window, he didn’t respond. Will was about to go when Ryan sat next to him again. Their lips met, stayed together for more than a heartbeat, then parted. “Come back safe.”

April 3-4, 2010: Journal Entry 39-27

N
O
INNOCENT
died tonight, but I was busy. Three victims demanded vengeance, refused to move on, hoping I’d find them before the guilty died of natural causes. They got their wish.

The first two were easy. Drug dealers. The victims were an elderly grandmother of two and a fourteen-year-old honor student. Their families suffered from the loss. That’s why they wouldn’t let go. Two different families, two different killings, same pain.

I used to ignore the victims, but now their stories tug at me almost as much as their need for vengeance. A long time ago, I learned you can’t have feelings in this job. Job? I could almost snicker. Some job. Where’s the boss? I want to quit.

Barrington’s open file on me makes me cautious. Two unexplained dead bodies and no suspects would bring him to Philly. Close to my family. Too close to my family. So I give the police a reason. Turf war.

I convince one target that the other is encroaching on his turf. He and his associates decide to “set things right.” All I do is make sure they both are killed in the shootout. Easy cases for the police to close. Hard to see my hand in this. Ryan might be upset they died, but he’ll be glad it wasn’t me that killed them.

The third one is vexing. She was twenty when she died, more than thirty years ago. I should have felt her call before today. I’ve been back many times. Why now? I’ll find out soon enough.

Norristown. Once it was more than the run-down small town it is today. There are still good areas, but not where I’m standing. As a kid, we avoided these neighborhoods because we were snobs. Now it’s just dangerous.

The victim is calling to me. Her killer’s inside. When she died, he was in his early forties, a married father of two. Now he’s almost seventy-five. This feels wrong, but I have no choice.

I want to sigh, but it won’t do much good. Better to just get it over with and go home.

Home. Weird day from the beginning.

Once this had been a grand home. Now it’s run-down, chopped up into apartments. His unit is on the middle floor. He’s awake. That’s something at least.

Walking up the narrow stairs, I feel the innocent calling, almost shrieking in delight. Another first. I guess thirty years of waiting will do that to you.

A lockpick, a bit of luck and mucking with his mind, and I’m inside, unnoticed. He’s alone, watching television, a half-eaten sandwich on a plate near his arm. I don’t let him see me at first. Snap his neck and leave, simple.

So why can’t I do it?

I enter his mind and tell him I’m here and not to panic. A cataract in his left eye leaves his vision blurry, anyway. Mostly bald, he has that horseshoe patch of thin gray, almost white, hair that reminded me of Santa Claus as a kid.

“Who are you?” The voice is weary, without hope.

“Vengeance.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Vengeance.” No fear, no shock, just tiredness.

“You know why I’m here.” It’s not a question. He knows.

“Every night for thirty-one years I’ve expected something.”

“Tell me what happened.”
It
stirs, agitated, unsettled.

“A loveless marriage, two kids, dead-end job….” He shrugs and runs an arthritic hand over his bald head. “She paid attention to me, made me feel young again.”

“So why did you kill her?” Forty damn years and never anyone like this.

“She asked me to leave my wife. Abandon the wife and the kids and take care of her.” His eyes are distant. If I enter his mind, no doubt I’ll see him thinking of one of them. Which one? “Fool that I was, I told her I would do it. After we made love, she started to plan, talk about what she was going to do once the wife and kids were gone. Stupid kid, she knew nothing about alimony, child support, and the like. Needless to say, she didn’t take it so well to learn I’d be nearly broke once the divorce was finalized.”

“Thought she’d be a kept woman.”

He never looks up. “One way to put it. We argued, got mad, fought. In a fit of anger, I grabbed the first thing my hand touched: a brass lamp. At my trial, they said she died before hitting the ground.”

One question answered. “Where’d you do your time?”

“State Correctional Facility at Frackville.” Each word is intoned like it’s been told a thousand times. “I asked the bureau not to put me at Graterford. Too close to home. Why tempt the wife and kids to come see me?”

“Because you didn’t want them to suffer or so she couldn’t gloat?” I’m stalling, but this isn’t normal.

“The former. She blamed herself for being a bad wife.” It’s her he sees. “The kids blamed me, but she never did.”

“How long has she been gone?”

A bushy eyebrow rises. “You’re awful curious for an assassin.”

“I’m the Spirit of Vengeance, not an assassin.” Who am I trying to convince with that statement?

“Eight years in February. Two years before I was released.”

Wasted life. Realized too late what mattered. “She’s still demanding retribution.”

Surprisingly, he chuckles. “Sounds like her.”

A beer commercial plays as a backdrop. A month ago, he’d be dead and I’d be on my way home. It’s not last month.

I feel the anger, an attempt to pull me toward him, but I refuse. “I came to kill you tonight, but I won’t unless you are ready.”

“I get a choice?” Speaking these words, he sounds less weary.

“Perhaps.” The compulsion to act isn’t immediate, and I need time to think. “I may come back. No promises.”

“If you come back, make it quick, please.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. “It’s not like you get to dictate terms.”

“You seem like a decent sort, for a spirit of vengeance, that is.” Pushing himself up, he struggles to stand. “My granddaughter has forgiven me and brings her two youngest to see me. They don’t deserve to see it happen.”