The alley was the same as always; dark and oppression. Only this time, Tony was alone. Suspicious, he began to turn, taking in everything and searching for the danger he was sure couldn’t be far. He spun all the way around once, twice. Completing his third three-sixty he stopped face to face with Brandy.

Suddenly he felt completely at ease and unafraid. “Hey,” he smiled.

“Hey yourself,” Brandy said with a whimsical grin of her own. She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and turned to sashay out of the alley towards a distant but unusually bright streetlamp.

“Brandy, wait,” Tony called after her, searching for some meaning to the encounter.

She stopped, looked over her shoulder, and blew him a kiss. “It’s okay, honey, you can let go now.” And then she was gone, vanishing in a mist that rose like a curtain around her, obscuring the light beyond.

Instead of waking with a start Tony merely opened his eyes. The dream was fading fast but the feeling of peace remained. A dull red 12:35 glowed in the dark next to the bed. On cue his stomach began to rumble and he regretted only picking at the roast Mrs. Bornemeier had insisted on making him for dinner. Sitting up, he turned on the bedside lamp.

The once broken angel caught the light and reflected it back to him almost painfully. As always it made him think of Kenny, and Margo, and ten boys whose battered faces he couldn’t quite recall. The feeling of serenity started to slip away. An echo of let go whispered through his head. He put on his slippers then reached past the brilliant sparkle to pick up the phone and hit number 4 on speed dial.

On the third ring a sleepy voice answered. “Hlo?”

“Asleep already, Probie? It’s not a school night.”

“Tony?”

“You know the funny thing about scars, McGee?”

“Scars?”

“With a little luck and a little aloe, maybe some vitamin E… scars fade. Doc, Lisa… we’ve all got scars.”

“Tony, are you okay? It’s after midnight…”

“Why do we keep reminding ourselves they’re there? Why do we pick at them?”

“Okay, now you’re starting to scare me.”

“No, no,” Tony soothed. “Don’t. I just… I wanted to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“What you said… what Kenny said before he died,” Tony paused and listened to the breathing on the other end of the line for a moment. “The night I took down his dad, before anyone else got there… Godwin told me he wanted to go to heaven but he knew he never would because he had a devil in his soul. That wasn’t written in his book, Tim. No one ever knew he said that but me.”

“I dream of angels but I live with demons.”

“Funny that Kenny picked that up from a TV show.”

“Do you need me to come over?”

“Good night, Probie.”

Tony could hear his name as he hung up the phone but his attention was already back on the angel. He picked it up gingerly and carried it with him, resolutely ignoring the freshly scrubbed wall and the smell of pine cleaner in the livingroom. Luckily the only aroma in the kitchen was the lingering scent of Mrs. Bornemeier’s famous pot roast. For the first time in a long time he truly felt hungry.

He took a second to turn on the oven before picking up a dish towel that lay next to the six jars of mayo that lined the counter. Folding the towel neatly he slipped the angel into the center, placed the bundle on the floor and crushed it under his heel, taking the time to really feel the satisfying crunch of the glass as he ground it back to dust. When there was nothing left between the folds but a scant handful of sand he picked it up and shook the remains down the drain. After rinsing the sink with cool water he disposed of the angel’s makeshift shroud in the trash can.

Not wasting another minute he took the roast out of the fridge and put it in the oven. He reached for a single plate but after another thought set the table for two instead. A glance at the clock told him the roast would be warm by the time McGee arrived.

The End