“Deputy Chief Morrison, Dickers, and Trent Morrison are the main ringleaders. But we don’t have any actual faces to put to the bodies that did the raids. They were masked up and only had badges identifying them as police. No name badges and no way of actually proving who it was,” he says.
“But let me guess, Simon’s already working on pinpointing who they were,” I say.
“Yeah, as much as he can. But with the masks, helmets, and the bulkiness of the body armor… the intel we’ve got isn’t much. Even with cameras in the buildings,” he says.
“Why did you call? And why did Simon and Lucifer text me?” I ask.
“Because Michael’s will states you’re the man who’s to set up the cremation and spreading of ashes,” Gabriel says. “I’m just the go-through because I’m not fucking dealing with Coss unless I get to kill him.”
“Is this a punishment?” I ask him quietly.
“Nah, brother. This is because of what you did for Peter and Paul. We’ve all asked for you to be the one who takes care of things,” he says, and I can feel the emotion he has behind that.
“Got it, I’ll get it set up,” I say.
“Thanks, brother,” Gabriel says and hangs up.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath.
Michael. Another fallen. He would have been in the circle.
Warm hands gently take mine and pull me back from the dark well I feel my mind wanting to throw itself into.
“I’m so sorry, James,” Sophia says as she scoots closer to me, her hands pulling mine into her lap.
This right here.
This is why I love her.
She’s lost so much in the last week and had so many things forced on her… Yet here she is trying to give me solace and comfort.
Opening my eyes, I stare into her eyes. Stare into those depths of humanity.
She’s all that is right in my world.
I’m the ferryman though, I guess. I’ve taken so many lives… and helped my brothers cross the final river of death.
She’s the purity for my corrupted soul.
“James?” Sophia prods me.
“I need to make a phone call, Sophia,” I say quietly as I stand up from the couch and grab my phone.
“Is it the secret type?” she asks quietly.
I shake my head. “No, just the arrangements and rituals.”
Flipping through my contacts, I push on Father Coss’s name and wait as the phone rings.
“James, my boy,” he says cheerily into the phone.
“Coss,” I say, not bothering with any of the banter he loves to engage me in. “I need to make arrangements for a funeral.”
“Ah,” he says with a long quiet sigh. “Which of God’s children?”
“We’re not his children, Coss. We all fell out of his favor so long ago, we’re erased from the book of names. Michael will need the same arrangements as Peter and Paul,” I say with enough force that anger seeps into my words.
“It’s never too late,” he snarls at me. “And you know I detest these pagan rituals you force on me.”
“You’ll do it, you stupid old fuck,” I yell and spit flies out of my mouth. “You’ll cremate him and you’ll make sure the rites are said as you place the coins over his eyes. Don’t fucking tempt me, Coss. I’ll fucking end you.”
Pushing the disconnect button, I want to whip my phone across the house and let it shatter against the wall. I want to scream as I rip the furniture up from my living room and break apart every single thing I own.
I hate that man.
I hate when we die.
Taking a deep breath, I swallow the hatred that threatens to engulf and consume my world.
Arms wrap around me from behind, and my heavy, angry breathing slows as I feel Sophia’s head rest against my back.
Her slow, calming breaths gives me the anchor point I need to stop me from completely losing my mind.
Much of last night was a blur of emotions for me. Each death does that to me. I don’t know why. I should be used to them by now. But it’s as if every one of them hits me in a different way.
Each one hurts and enrages me.
I talked to Peter about it once. He was drunk as shit that night I picked his ass up so he didn’t get in a car wreck.
I remember the words that fucking broke my damn brain for days.
“You’re my brother, you’re my best friend, and you’re the Ferryman Charon. That’s why Matthew’s brought you into this part of the family. You’re going to make sure we’re all sent across the River Styx. He’s got you doing it because you grieve for all of us. Bart the Betrayer, Thomas the Watcher, Paul the Protector. All of us eventually. It’s because we can’t grieve for the fallen like you do.”
His words were slurred from his drinking, but he was clear of thought.