It was in his imagination and Terry knew it. This was the only way his human mind could accept it all. He was acutely aware of everything that had happened, that he was most likely unconscious but damn, there was a good reason for it, wasn’t there then? He looked around. Terry was sitting in his favorite London pub, casual and comfortable, completely pain free. Across from him in the worn wooden booth sat Paul dressed as he’d never seen him before. Terry had to grin; Paul never took on human entrapments or mannerisms. Ever. The man slouched, wearing Chinos and a slightly rumpled white linen shirt, his wavy yellow hair tied back in a band at the base of his neck. And another surprise, watching the acting Master Guardian sip from his pint.

Beside him was less of a shock; Sera wearing jeans and a soft blue sweater she’d worn often when she lived as human so many years ago. And for the first time, looking into her face he noted the strong familial similarities between her and her real father, Paul. Heavenly genealogy seldom took on the same DNA qualities of humans, but Terry suddenly, clearly recognized the spiritual DNA at play; her soft golden ringlets wild at lovely pink cheeks, her intense blue eyes, the shape of her nose.

He was also acutely aware that the conversation had most likely been going on for hours, but only at that moment was he fully involved, mind, body and soul. Yes, the surroundings and atmosphere were within his limited human need for an environment befitting his current reality. It was all in his human imagination. But the conversation? That was as bloody real as it gets.

Paul sighed and slowly spun his glass on the heavily varnished tabletop, the sweating droplets smearing and snaking down the pint. Sera smiled sweetly. They were waiting for Terry. Maybe he’d finally caught up. Damn this human existence, everything took way too long for his liking. He cleared his throat.

“So, what’s left for me to do?” he eyed Paul, trying to keep the confusion from his voice and worried that it had already been explained … several times … clearly … and he’d somehow missed it.

Paul showed no signs of frustration, simply shrugged. “You need to get Michael over the line, Terry. You need to toss him back into the pool of his faith. Yes, you’ve brought prayer back and good job. Yes, he’d pondering things again, remembering his faith, but he’s not quite there.”

Terry blinked back that all familiar sensation of pending failure.

Sera took over, reaching across the table and grasping his hand warm in hers. “Michael must see the blessings of his life, the blessings ahead and how much he’s accomplished for us. He’s –”

“He has to understand that everything he has done … everything … has been in response to orders from above,” Paul interrupted and Sera sadly nodded.

“Mate,” Terry sighed heavily. “You gotta understand the human psyche here. Michael’s in his fifties, he’s gone through hell and suffered a lot for all this. In his head, the bloke carries guilt bigger than the fuckin’ universe. It’s heavy and it’s crippling. Michael Cromwell isn’t ever gonna be able to cross that line back into his faith … he believes he doesn’t deserve forgiveness for his deeds.”

Paul and Sera lowered their eyes and Terry continued.

“He’s never understood he was being guided from above, and now with his limited capacity to comprehend where God comes into play …” he shrugged, defeated. “Not sure there’s anything I can do to bloody change this.”

“Yes,” Sera whispered. “There is something you can do, Terry. The only way to revive his faith is to give him unquestionable, solid proof that he can’t deny.”

“Shove it down his throat if you have to,” Paul added.

“Shove what down his throat?” Terry snorted, shifted in his seat with agitation.

Paul grinned. “Proof.”

It all faded into darkness, the only thing remaining; the flavor of a fine stout teasing at the back of his tongue. Misery returned to every inch of Terry’s body and he recoiled against it, fought to hold it at bay. Having failed that, he resorted to taking inventory.

Muscles cried out and he felt the searing throb of many opened wounds, a few surely stitched together, places where the whip had sliced and mangled flesh nearly exposing the bone at his ribs. He noted the beeping sound of a heart monitor. Why were they monitoring his heart? What else? What else? He forced his throat to swallow, pleased to discover that he wasn’t on life support, wasn’t that far gone, no tube restricted the action and no oxygen hissed into his nostrils. What else? A prickling ache in his arm; intravenous, probably antibiotics or saline as he was surely dehydrated. What else?

His bladder. It was shouting into his brain. Fuck all, he had to take a piss! His fingers twitched along smooth, cool sheets confirming that he was in a top notch facility, probably back in London. Hospital, not a clinic or temporary safe place. If that were so, there was more than likely a catheter. No time to worry over it, his bladder had made the decision and he groaned softly with the relief.

That accomplished, Terry willed his heart to beat stronger, his eyes to fight lethargy and open; something, anything to bring the attention of monitoring nurses from somewhere outside the room. Just as planned, it worked and Terry heard the door whisper open just as his eyes did the same.

What he expected to bring a smile to his face and perhaps a few cheeky words for a pretty nurse … was something else all together. A male orderly stood, fingering the IV and glancing at the monitors … and Terry instantly recognized him for who he was. The human trappings dissolved and the man’s beautiful face beamed, radiated. Massive black wings ruffled and spread wide and the man smiled, a wicked twinkle in his midnight dark eyes.

Yes, it could be a dream, a fearful imagining but Terry had just left the presence of angels and he knew damn well what was at play. “Get behind me, you fucker!” his voice croaked a hiss. “You got nothing here, Lucifer. Nothing.”

Lucifer elegantly tilted a bow. “Just checking up on you, Master Guardian Thorne. Just checking up on you,” and he laughed a quiet chuckle before completely vanishing, last to disappear, the tips of his wings.

It explained Terry’s fears, his worries over failing Michael and God. How long had that fucker been hanging around? Terry would never know, nor did he imagine Lucifer was fully gone. Why hadn’t he suspected this in the first place? He was a Master Guardian working on the human level … of course the bloody bastard was around. That fucker was always around.

No worries, it was like heading a reconnaissance, gathering intelligence. Once he knew the danger, he knew how to avoid it. Too bad this wasn’t an enemy he could destroy. No matter, it was an enemy he could manage.

***

“Ms. Walker?” A lovely young nurse stood at the door of the waiting room. All eyes rose, Michael held his breath and Dale reached over to squeeze Patricia’s fingers, support against what could easily be bad news. Thorne had been in a coma-like state for two days and the doctors weren’t hopeful.

Patricia slowly stood, as did Henry and Michael, all eyes penetrated the nurse’s and she actually stepped back from the intensity of it.

“Um … Ms. Walker, Mr. Thorne is awake and he’s asking for you.”

Could she call what escaped her mouth a sigh of relief? Hardly. It was more like a sob and Tress wrapped her arms around Patricia’s neck, laughing and letting tears flow. The prognosis had been so negative until that moment; the doctors so vague. Every silent hour that passed seemed to indicate the worst. They were fighting to ignore the possibility that Terry might never regain consciousness … and now he was awake and talking!

“Shh!” Tress smiled. “Shh, he’s fine. Come on, you don’t want him to bloody see you like this.” She handed Patricia a mirror and watched her fuss over her face.

Michael tugged the nurse aside. “I want to talk to his doctor,” he said quietly.

“Doctor Peters will be with you all soon. He’s examined the patient and also wishes to consult with his family and friends.” Her eyes trailed the strange gathering, not one of them a member of the patient’s real family, but their love and concern was palpable. “Just sit tight, sir. He’ll be here shortly. Ms. Walker, you can follow me to his room, we’ve taken him from intensive care. This way.”

Henry was the first to speak, taking control of what would happen next and no one in the room dared to question or interrupt. “Michael, we’ll take him to the farm. It’s a good, safe place to recuperate.”

“I’ll be ready to come along,” Tress smiled but Henry shook his head, turning to look into everyone’s eyes, especially Soe Lynn’s.

“No one else,” he hugged his wife. “Just Michael and me.”

Soe Lynn Thorne nodded, not clearly understanding but accepting that the man needed rest, not a crowd to contend with. She opened her mouth to support his decree when Michael bluntly interrupted.

“Henry, who the hell knows when they’ll let him out of here? Who knows what he’ll be facing? Don’t be making plans until we –”

Henry snorted, his hands out. “Don’t be a bloody fool. You and me, we both know that man will not stay here. We both know.”

Michael swallowed hard. He didn’t know anything of the sort. Yeah, he knew men like Terry Thorne. He knew he’d push to be released and push to get back up to top form. But what Henry was insinuating was ridiculous. Michael turned away, actually left the hospital to stand outside and smoke a cigarette. It was fucking ridiculous. After all, a man who’d gone so far to impersonate a dead man would also know that dead man’s history. Calling the name Sera could have easily been a bit of information so well seeded into Terry’s brain, it just fucking fell out.

But even pragmatic Michael Cromwell knew better than that. Unconscious men don’t act on implanted information. Hypnotized men might … but under those circumstances? No. Terry was in dire straights, severe pain that had knocked out his lights. Even a brainwashed man could only mumble the truth while unconscious. There is an element of left brain activity and inner dialogue that controlled such things. While unconscious, the intellect portion of the brain totally shuts down. And Terry Throne was most certainly unconscious, down for the count, not even remotely able to forward a sham.

But how he called Sera’s name haunted Michael. It was the same desperate sound he’d heard come from the original Terry Thorne’s lips as they buried the poor woman. But being haunted and facing facts were two different things and if it took the rest of his life, he’d figure it out. After all, whatever was driving Henry to think the impossible wasn’t within Michael’s capacity. Not anymore Maybe once it might have been, but those days were long gone. He dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot.

***

Patricia walked into the room and blinked several times. Not two hours earlier, she had sat in the ICU beside Terry; he was motionless, almost dead. Now he sat up sipping coffee, an empty tray of food on the wheeled table, casually pushed aside as he looked up at her and smiled. Her heart skipped several beats. He looked … perfect.

What should have been a rush of relief translated very differently. Anger, frustration, all the emotions of the horrible long vigil bubbled to the surface and she couldn’t even believe what she did next. Her feet stomped to the bedside and her hand briskly slapped his shoulder.

“Damn you!” she hissed.

“Ouch?” Terry twisted his brow in mock indignity. “What the bloody hell was that for?”

“You scared the living shit out of me! Damn you!”

“Ah … sorry.” He smiled and tugged her hand. “Come here, love, sit. I wanted to see you first. We gotta talk, baby.”

She lowered to the edge of the bed and sighed, fighting tears. “God, I was so scared, Terry.”

“I know, I know. But sweetheart, I told you about this … about my life … how it is. I warned you that this kinda thing could happen.”

“It’s not the same as living through it. Jesus!”

His fingers trailed her jaw, his eyes taking in her lovely face. “Good. It was good for you to experience. That company you own deals with people in that position all the time, now you understand what they’re going through, right?”

Her lips met his and he kissed her tenderly. “Fuck all, you’re so bloody beautiful, Patricia. If there was another way, if it was different, I’d never leave you.”

“Leave me?” she pulled away, licked the flavor on her lips, narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Terry was silent, let his eyes speak and he watched her shoulders slump, her energy deflate.

“I know, Terry. I know. And I did tell you that I never wanted you to see me if you didn’t want to. We have that agreement,” a tear slithered down her cheek and he caught it with the pad of his thumb. “But don’t think you have to leave me because I had a hard time with this. I’m smart; I’ll learn how to manage this kind of thing. I swear I will.”

“Of course you will. You can do anything, baby.” His heart ached, but this was what he had to do, no two ways about it. “I need you to understand something. I won’t be around much longer, love.”

“What are you talking about? Look at you, you’re fine, you’re alive. Terry, my God, you’re starting to scare me again!” She stood to pace but his hand snagged hers and he pulled, a grimace of pain rippled across his face and she slowly sat again at this side.

“I need you to listen to me,” he said softly, kindly. “I won’t be around much longer. It’s my work, love. I need to go where I’m called. You know that.”

She huffed with frustration. “I think you should quit this stupid work of yours, Terry Thorne. It almost cost your life, for Christ’s sake! You need to quit, be your own boss, run your own show.”

His head slowly shook. “Patricia … love … you gotta know … no one runs their own show. There’s always someone higher callin’ the shots. And it’s almost time for me to move on.”

“But you’ll come back, right? Eventually you’ll come back to London. You’ll call me … right?”

Terry sighed. “Baby, I’ll never see you again. It’s how it goes.”

“Fine,” she stood but couldn’t bring herself to leave. “Fine.”

Terry didn’t reach for her again; he could already feel his connection with Patricia Walker ebbing away. “You are a formidable woman, love. You own a company that does important work and you will excel. Just make me one promise, will ya darlin’?”

Without wanting to, her heart was accepting and her head nodded.

“Promise me you’ll be happy, Patricia. You’ve given me a lot of happiness, its time to let yourself have some. Live well and … be happy.”

Terry watched her leave the room, nothing of her American swagger or emotional security blanket left; just a sad woman who’d accepted the loss of a lover. His head thumped back onto the pillow. “Fuck,” he groaned.

***

Henry was dead right. Within six hours, Terry was seated on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and signing the waver to release himself from the hospital’s care; to the doctor’s extreme dismay, of course. They’d had their argument and Terry was adamant. He felt weak but able and there was no time to fuck about.

When Henry announced that he and Michael would be taking him to Ireland, Terry didn’t even blink an eye. It was all in play, being orchestrated perfectly. He stood on shaky legs and nodded. “S’go, then.”

The flight was silent after Michael’s interrogation as to why Henry would use the International Risk Management private jet for the trip.

“Don’t you need this damn thing for emergencies?”

“This is as important as any emergency, mate,” Henry stated, dismissing the company pilot to fly the Cessna himself. Terry took the time to close his eyes and pray, to let his body rest away its aches and wonder how this would all go down.

At the farm, he was shuffled up to the guest room where Henry fussed to make him comfortable, bringing extra pillows from the linen closet, extra blankets, placing a pitcher of water, a glass and his meds on the nightstand. Then he stood, looking down at his guest in a way that made Terry’s heart skip a few beats.

Ah no, fuck no! Terry thought and swallowed hard.

Henry cleared his throat. “Got everything you need?”

The sounds of Michael down in the kitchen drifted up to them; clanking china, the cry of a tea kettle, the hushed rumble of the old fashioned percolator floating the sweet aroma of coffee to Terry’s nose. Did he have everything he needed? Yes. But oh there was so much he wanted. He hoped Michael would bring up coffee and tea, wanted to taste those luscious flavors once more before he’d never taste them again. When this was done, there was so much he’d never have again. The aches of his body would be gone, replaced with the light sensation of weightlessness, no substance … no gravity. His flesh would never again feel the brush of a breeze or the sting of the sun. The play of Ireland’s light, dancing through the window and spilling, alive and moving onto the hard wood floor would be lost to him. Sight will be bigger, wider, all encompassing … but no longer comforting in a way that the moon can sooth a sick heart. Human life would be gone again, replaced with the power of afterlife in the heavens.

Was he mourning? Perhaps. But this wasn’t his first time at the rodeo. He looked into Henry’s eyes. “Yeah, mate. I got everything I need.”

Henry drew in a long sigh and turned. His hand resting on the doorknob, he stood there for several song heartbeats. “Dad?” he whispered.

Tears stung Terry’s eyes. “Yeah, Henry?”

Slowly his son turned and looked deep into Terry’s eyes. He was silent but Terry could hear his thoughts as clear as a bell.

“I love ya, son.”

“Why are you here?” Henry sighed.

“For Michael. I’ve missed you. I’ve been watching over you and I’m proud of you, son.”

“Can I ask you something?” Henry looked like the boy he once was, twelve-years-old and afraid, unsure, pretending courage.

“Later, Henry. You can ask me everything … later.”

***

Where and how to start was not the problem, nor did Terry have time to flesh out a strong plan with contingencies and escape routes. The moment Henry left; Michael walked in, closed the door tight behind him and set a mug of tea and a mug of coffee on the bed table.

Thank you, Sera, Terry thought with a grin and reached with a groan for the coffee. Two, three, four sips and he noticed that Michael hadn’t moved, was still standing, his shoulders square and knees flexed, ready for attack. It made Terry grin more.

“What?” he asked.

“You comfortable?” a scowling Michael grunted.

“Yeah, mate. And you’re not.”

“I want it all out, buddy. All the fucking truth. Just who the hell are you and who sent you?”

Terry calmly set the mug aside and ran a hand through his hair. “Who do you think I am?”

“No semantics, mister,” Michael hissed, his very aura was flaming red.

“Ah, but you already know who I am, don’t ya Michael?”

“I know who you pretend to be! My fucking question is exactly who sent you here and why?”

“Maybe you should sit down, mate.”

“Don’t mate me! For all I know, you’re not even Australian. Someone put you up to all this, cut you to look like a man you sure as hell don’t deserve to be impersonating! What was the intent? To fucking infiltrate my cover? Expose me so I can’t work anymore?” Michael was pacing, his eyes glued to Terry’s.

“Michael, look at the big picture here. You intended to stop this work anyway, right? And I’m sure as bloody hell not responsible for the kidnapping and exposure that’s put your sorry arse outta work.”

“Who’s Beeker?”

“Can’t tell ya that, sorry.”

Frustration had reached its peak and if Terry wasn’t already injured, he was sure the fist that few into the wall would have gone through his bloody head. He didn’t react or respond, simply let Michael breathe through it, rub the bruised knuckles and calm his heart rate.

“Who are you?” Michael hissed.

“I’m Terrence Ira Thorne.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Michael’s bellow reverberated off the walls and down the hall but Terry sat calmly on the bed.

“I’m Terrence Ira Thorne, Michael. The same bloke who nearly took your bloody head off for givin’ my kid dope … the same man who forced you to learn to carry a rifle.”

“No! No! Who the hell are you?” Michael’s voice was crumbling.

“I’m Terry Thorne, Michael. The man who rescued you from that kidnapping in the Andes. It’s me, mate. I know it’s hard to believe but,” Terry sucked in a deep breath that wreaked havoc on his aching ribs. He groaned and pushed his hair back. “I can prove it, Michael. I can prove it.”

“No, you can’t because it’s fucking impossible.” Again Michael was pacing, his fist slamming into palm and eyes on fire. “Since the minute you showed up, everything’s been fucked! Everything. That’s what they told you to do, right? Fuck with me. Ruin me.”

“Michael,” Terry sighed with exasperation and tossed his feet off the mattress. He sat up, watching the man carefully and wondering how far his mind would go to refuse the truth. “Use your bloody head. Since I arrived, what the hell have I done? Nothin’ but help you, mate. Just help you.”

Michael slowed then stilled, his head spinning.

“You’re right about something, Michael. Someone did send me.”

Again Michael’s head shook, denial painting his face and his pace resumed, faster, more furious.

“I can prove who I am, Michael. Stop fuckin’ racing that pace and listen to me. I can prove it.”

“How?” he snorted. “How the fuck can you prove the impossible?”

Good. Good. This is good. Terry relaxed and took in a cooling breath of relief. “In the linen closet is a cubby, top shelf in the back left corner. Go and open it, there’s a lockbox inside.”

“Why, cause you put on there?”

Terry’s head tilted. “Just do it. Bring the box to me.” If he thought his knees would hold he’d have gotten the bloody thing himself, but there was always a reason for everything and Terry had to trust.

Michael hated this, hated being manipulated and fully believed that he had been just that; manipulated since the moment Thorne arrived at his door. He grunted out into the hall and tugged opened the linen closet, tossed towels out onto the floor, sure there’d be no cubby, much less anything inside. Damned if there wasn’t a small door in the back left corner. He had to pound a fist against the thing twice before it loosened and opened and inside, caked with dust and laced with cobwebs … a lockbox. Michael’s mind soared into overdrive. So what, so the fuck what. So somewhere the real Terry Thorne had told someone he hid a box and they planted it into this Terry’s head. So the fuck what.

He took it to the room and tossed it on the bed.

Terry grinned, groaned a grateful sigh and tenderly ran his hand to push ten years of dust away. “The key is in the master bedroom bureau, taped under the third drawer.”

Surprisingly Michael went to find it, or at least to prove it wasn’t there. Sure enough, a key dangled from rotted, crackled dry masking tape barely stuck to the bottom of the third drawer. Michael fingered it, rolled it in his hand, felt his heart shudder and quake. Slowly he returned to the bedroom but not before taking a deep breath and reestablishing his substantial scowl. He tossed the key onto the bed and it bounced. Terry slid both key and box across to Michael.

“Open it, mate.”

As the lock slid inside and the top opened, both men leaned in and glared into the box. Terry reached in and lifted a photo, chuckled. “So this is where this bloody thing was. I was wonderin’.” He turned the faded photo. Henry at ten years old standing with his mother, Felicity. Terry fingered the photo and set it aside.

“What’s this?” Michael picked up a velvet box.

“The wedding set for me and Sera,” Terry’s hand ran over his aching heart.

“And this?”

There it was; the envelope with Michael’s name on it and Terry blinked. “Open it.”

Michael fingered the edge, noticing that the adhesive edges were as browned and aged as the tape had been. “What’s in it?”

“It’s a letter I wrote to you … two days before I died. Never posted it, thought I had more … time,” Terry shrugged. “Open it.”

Michael’s hands were still, slightly trembling.

“Or I can recite the bloody thing if ya like, Michael.”

Standing, looking at the envelope like it might explode in his hand, Michael moved across the room. The address under his name was that of a London flat he did in fact rent ten years earlier. He tore opened the envelope and unfolded the paper. Seeing the date and clearly recognizing the handwriting, he slowly slid down the wall until he sat on the floor. Holding his head with one hand, he read.

Dear Michael,

Well mate, we sure been through a lot, you and me. You know I’m not so much the sentimental type, but there are some things I think I want you to know. Since I can’t seem to locate your sorry arse … again … old age and impending senility may be at play here, but I figured it’s time to tell you what’s on my mind.

First off, Michael I want you to know I love you like a son. I have cared for you and trusted you with my only son and that goes deeper than anything. I’ve worried over you for years, even long after you had any influence over Henry and I’m starting to understand why.

See, I think I’m supposed to, Michael. I think it’s meant to be this way.

I’m not a stupid mate and even since my retirement, I’ve been keeping a close eye on you. I have my strong suspicions about what you’re doing and even though I sure as bloody hell don’t approve, I can honestly say that when it all filters out, it’s always the bad guy going six feet under. And oddly enough, you resurface unharmed.

This leads an old man to believe that someone much bigger is worrying and watching over you too, my young friend. You see, when you reach my age and are looking down the vast hole of your own looming grave, a man needs to believe there’s a good reason for everything … and he needs to believe there are miracles out there … that there’s something taking care of us all, guiding us all, protecting us all.

I think someone very important is taking care of you, Michael. I guess what I really wanted to tell you is to trust in that, mate. Never give up faith in that. There are much bigger bloody things in the world than we can imagine … even men like you and me.

Take care, my friend.

Terry

Terry watched a tear roll down Michael’s face and he lowered himself to the floor too, leaning back against the bed with a sigh. “Now, mate, I’ve got the rest of the story. Are you ready to hear it?”

Michael looked up. “You wrote this,” he marveled.

“Yeah, I did. Where’s your faith, Michael? I’m thinkin’ that since I fuckin’ forgot to mail that bloody thing, maybe it’s my fault your soul is so fucked up.”

Michael’s head shook numbly. “Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, Terry. What I do, it sucks the guts out of everything. How could a man have faith doing this shit? Day in and day out? I’m a fucking killer, man. Nothing more than a goddamned hired assassin.”

“Are you ready to hear the truth, Michael?” Terry spoke softly, slowly then waited for Michael to nod. There was an innocence in his eyes, like a nipper begging for an easy answer, a way out of being punished. Terry crossed his legs and shifted his back for comfort against the irritating wounds. “Alrighty then.

“Michael, I was right. There has always been someone bigger watchin’ over you. Ever wonder about how strange it all was? You and me connecting like we did?”

Another nod.

“Well, turns out it was all by design, mate. You see, I too was watched over, protected and taken care of for many, many years. They used to say I had nine lives … and I had. I always managed to pull through. But you see Michael; there was a reason for that.” Terry pointed. “You, mate. You were the reason.

“Since I passed … well, died … I’ve been shown a whole mess of stuff. The plan was that I was being watched over to protect you and bring you back safely from that ordeal in the Andes. I kid you not, Michael, you were surely gonna bite the bullet in that mess, but if you remember, Morty and Dino pulled me out of mourning for Sera to get you out. Oddly enough, getting you free had become the only thing I was livin’ for at that time in my life. The fact is … it really was the only thing I was living for. After that extraction … I was on my own. Completely on my own, no more Guardian protection, no nothing. Blessedly my body did a slow wind down and I managed to die a nice peaceful death as an old fuck.

“Here’s the poop, Michael. You too have ridden that same fuckin’ train. I had to save your life so that you could move ahead and do the things you were destined to do. And with this last job, it’s finished for you. It’s all now in someone else’s hands.” He watched Michael blink, could sense him scrambling for holes in the explanation. “Tell me somethin’, did you do it for the money?”

“No.”

“Did you do it for the thrill?”

Michael swallowed hard. “No.”

“What made you do it? Each and every time you received a covert instruction, what made you accept the mission? I know you, mate, you’re a good man. What made you do it?”

“I don’t know. Fuck Terry, I’d just look at the assignment, actually feel the danger my target presented and I … I … I just moved ahead.”

“Do you really think it was your idea to move ahead?”

Michael blinked.

“’Cause it wasn’t mate. Every assignment, every target was determined by the man upstairs.”

“The man upstairs?” Michael snorted. “You trying to tell me He is behind a scam like this?”

“Whoa, mate. Not a good idea to be callin’ God a scam artist,” Terry grinned, having often thought the same thing. “There’s always a divine plan, Michael. Do you really think you’re not a part of it? Maybe a big part of it?”

“Why me? Who the fuck am I?”

“One of the best he had for a long time, my friend. But now it’s done.”

“Done? Am I gonna …”

“What? Die?” Terry chuckled. “No, Michael. Now you’re gonna live, really live. There will be no more missions; no one will ever contact you again. You’ve done your job and now you’re … retired.”

Michael’s mind chewed on that for a while. If everything he was hearing was true, it sure as hell took the guilt out of it. Instead of feeling like ‘the devil made him do it’, he could now tell his heart ‘God made him do it’. But what a fucking cop out.

Terry could feel the vacillation and needed to interrupt that line of thinking quickly. “Mate, why do you think I’m here?”

“I got no fucking idea why you’re here.” The belligerence was back and Terry responded in like.

“You think for one bloody minute I wanted to come back? I wanted to leave my work and my life with Sera? I wanted to suffer physical pain like this? Fuck, mate. Think again!”

“Why are you here?”

Terry looked deep into Michael’s eyes. He was so close to winning this, so close to making it all right. Nothing was going to stop him. He whispered his answer so Michael had to lean closer to hear. “Michael Cromwell, I’m here to help you, to reignite your faith and to give you a message from the Boss Himself. He says ‘thank you’, Michael. He says ‘well done’. He says ‘enjoy the peace you’ve reaped and the comfort you deserve’.”

“You … you talked to Him?”

Terry grinned. “We all talk to Him, mate.”

“I mean … you talked, face to face with Him?”

“Yeah, and I tried to talk him outta sending me back down here. He won.”

“And Sera? You’re really with Sera?”

A smile curled Terry’s lips and his eyes half closed with joy. No words were needed.

“But, what about Patricia?”

“Ah … we won’t be talkin’ about that, now will we?” Terry’s eyes twinkled and he grunted to stand, failed and thumped on his arse then chuckled. “Help me up, mate.”

Michael stood and reached down. Terry took his wrist in his hand but before he heaved himself to his feet, he looked into Michael’s eyes; eyes finally aglow with life again.

“One more thing, Michael. You have pockets of faith deep in your soul, I know ‘cause I’ve seen it. You dig those up and hold them close. Don’t ever relinquish that again.”

As they moved out into the hall, Terry groaned and rolled his shoulders, cursing the misery but feeling stronger with every breath.

“Now what am I gonna do?” Michael mused and Terry turned a scowl.

“You’re gonna marry my granddaughter like you promised. And you be good to her, or you’ll have me to answer to.”

“Yes, sir,” Michael sighed, baffled by everything he now knew, amazed that he hadn’t seen it all before.  

Muscles loosened and pain slowly subsided; by the time they reached the kitchen, Terry needed no assistance. Henry stood, smiled sadly at the men.

“Come on, Henry,” Terry grinned. “I want some fresh air. I want a cigarette and I wanna take a walk along the wall.”

Michael watched them leave, his soul quickened but his heart sad, knowing it was finished and Terry would be gone again. Gone forever this time.

Henry was silent as they strolled the familiar dirt road along the crumbling wall. He and Terry smoked and said nothing, but there was a strange joy at having those moments with the father he respected, adored and fully loved. Nearly a mile out they stopped and Terry gazed down at the sea, at the glow from the coming sunset. He turned to Henry and smiled.

“Always loved this place, Henry.” His eyes turned to take in the farm, the lush green hills and the cool the breeze ruffled his shirt. Sensations he’d sorely missed, visions he’ll hold dear for eternity. And beside him the son he would never regret seeing again.

Henry sighed and looked to the farm. “This place has always been the best for reconnecting, hasn’t it?”

Silence.

“Dad?”

Slowly Henry turned and Terry was gone, only the indention of his footprints remained in the soft dirt road..

“I had so much I wanted to ask you,” Henry groaned.

“Later, Henry. You can ask me everything … later.” His father’s resonant voice slid through his soul and Henry looked to the skies.

“Sure, dad. Later is perfect.”

EPILOG

“But I don’t fuckin’ want R&R. Don’t need it, mate. I just wanna get back to work.” Terry paced and Paul smiled. He sat at the edge of the slashing fountain and watched the remnants of Terry’s human behavior. Of course, the bulk of that behavior was what made the man who he was, but he had fallen behind a bit and reestablished a level of belligerence that was once melted away. Paul’s head shook good-naturedly.

“Orders from upstairs, Terry. He says R&R … you take R&R.”

The debrief was briefer than brief. There was nothing the council didn’t already know, from Terry’s thoughts to his actions. He was dismissed with pats on the back and smiling congratulations and all he wanted to do was get back to his desk. But it didn’t look like he was getting what he wanted. Finally Terry groaned. “Fine. It’s foolish, but fine. Is there something big coming up he wants me rested for?”

Paul stood and together they strolled the lovely courtyard. “There’s always something big coming up. I’ll be covering for a few weeks until you’re reinstated, then I’m off again, back to blessed retirement,” he chuckled. They passed several new Elite Guardian trainees bustling to get to class on time, then entered the long marble hallway. “You know, there’s talk of a promotion for Sera.”

“Yeah?” Terry’s eyes brightened and he grinned.

“Yes, she may soon be sitting on the council. I think it’s time, don’t you?”

“I do. Does she know?”

Paul’s head shook. “Thought you’d like to tell her.”

“Hey, Paul … uh,” Terry stopped, ran a hand down his chin, a worried knot in his brow. “I came across Lucifer down there.”

“Did you? Just once?”

“Yeah, when I woke in the hospital.”

“Well, that’s good. He was at your elbow the entire time, you know … but finally recognizing him is a very good sign, Terry. It proves your soul’s entrenchment with the heavens.”

“He was there the whole bloody time? Where was my bloody perception?”

“Other things were occupying your attention Terry. Lots of other things.”

Terry’s mind slipped, slithered and wondered.

“She is fine, Terry. Patricia Walker will be engaged to Dale Paski by year’s end.”

“Well, I made a big impression, I see.”

“I’ll keep that statement from Sera.”

“Thanks,” Terry smiled then slowly frowned. “Lucifer. What’s his gig? What did he think he could do to me?”

“Distract you.”

Terry stopped and turned worried eyes. “And he did, didn’t he?” his mouth pursed with disgust.

“No, my friend, he didn’t. Every distraction was placed in your path by us. We figured if we control the flow of stimuli, he’ll be left impotent. It worked.”

“How did you know it would work?”

They resumed their walk up the wide sparkling steps and toward the private quarters. “Lucifer and me … we have history. Lots of history.” Paul patted Terry’s shoulder. “You have a good evening, Terry.”

History? Terry wondered watching Paul leave. History? Hell, probably from the beginning of time! Now there walks a man with all the pertinent intelligence about one hell of an enemy.

He shrugged, then smiled and turned down the hall, opened the door and felt his heart float.