Alex took another step, then gestured to Aloe, who came up to her. They both leaned forward; then Alex pulled a small flashlight from her jacket pocket and shone the light down the alley. Her face went stricken. “Mr. Nelson!” She dashed forward, and Aloe cast a confused glance back at the girls before following her.
Bitter and Blessing looked at each other, Bitter’s heart grinding to a painful stop in her chest. She had to have heard wrong.
“The watermelon man?” Blessing asked. “Can’t be.”
They came up to the others, and Bitter felt like screaming because Alex had been right. It was Mr. Nelson lying on the ground, his head cradled on Alex’s thighs. His salt-and-pepper hair was coiled tight to his scalp, and his beard clung to his cheeks and jaw. He was wearing blue-and-white-striped overalls and one boot, and his other foot was covered in a white sock that seemed stained with blood. When Bitter looked closer, she could see that his overalls were darkened around his midsection too. His eyes were closed. Alex put her fingers to his neck.
“I can barely get a pulse. Fuck!”
Aloe was kneeling next to her, moving his hands gently over Mr. Nelson’s body. “He’s still alive. We need to get him to a hospital right now.”
He’d fed Bitter pie. He’d invited her into his home and fed her pie, and now he was lying alone in a dead-end alley. Her hands began to shake. There wasn’t a Lucille without Mr. Nelson. He was there with his truck parked in front of the library every summer, posted up on a folding chair with a book while a wealth of watermelons stood stacked next to him. Just like in his house, a few minutes with him could turn Lucille into a place that was hopeful and beautiful, where you could almost forget what it was turning into.
“Should we move him, though?” Blessing asked. “He looks badly hurt.”
Aloe grimaced. “He’s not going to make it out here. You still got a pulse, Alex?”
Alex’s face was drawn tight. “Barely.”
The panic was loud in Bitter, throwing itself against her ribs. There was no reason Mr. Nelson should be out here, injured and alone in an empty alley, unless it had something to do with the ongoing chaos. He couldn’t die. He had to be okay. Ethel was waiting for him, hopefully safe in their house. Bitter could remember how soft his voice was whenever he mentioned his wife. He had to go home to her. There was no other option. “Maybe Vengeance can heal him,” she found herself saying, and everyone looked at her, confused. “It healed my arm back at Eucalyptus, when I called it out.”
“Your angel’s out there with Theron and the others,” Blessing pointed out.
“I know, but—” There was that ache in her stomach, the tug she’d felt back at the Assata house when she was near Vengeance. “I think we’re connected. I think maybe I could call it?”
“You better hurry up, then,” Alex said curtly. “He’s fading fast.”
Bitter nodded and closed her eyes, focusing on the slightly sick feeling in her belly, like something was off balance. She pulled up an image of Vengeance in her mind, scaled head and yellow eyes, egg-white spine and long claws, its whole length of smoke. The ache in her stomach intensified, and for a second Bitter could almost feel Vengeance’s awareness of her, even from blocks away. “Please come,” she whispered. “I need your help.”
A sharp pain shot through her, and Bitter groaned, doubling over. Aloe rushed to her side. “B, you okay? What happened?”
The air in the alley shook as a guttural voice ripped through it. “She called me,” Vengeance said. All of them gasped and jumped back. The angel was a few feet away, its seven yellow eyes narrowed as it looked at them. “You interrupt the hunt, child.”
“Is it still a hunt if you already caught Theron?” Blessing asked, then flinched as Vengeance looked at her. Aloe was breathing in short, sharp gasps, and Bitter remembered that this was his first time seeing the angel. She reached for his hand, but Aloe was backing away from Vengeance, stumbling until he was pressed against the alley wall.
“It is still a hunt until the prey is dead,” Vengeance was saying.
Bitter stepped forward. “I need you to heal a friend of ours,” she said, pointing to Mr. Nelson. His head was still resting on Alex, his eyes still closed, his mouth slightly open. “We don’t know how he got hurt.”
Vengeance looked around the alley, its gaze sweeping the street outside. “There have been … skirmishes,” it said. “There has been some collateral damage. Your police only understand brute force. It is regrettable.”
“You’re not even looking at him!” Bitter was starting to get upset. “Can you just heal him, please?”
Vengeance glanced down at Mr. Nelson. “That human is dead,” it said. “I cannot heal him.”
Bitter stared at it. “What?”
Alex pressed her fingers to Mr. Nelson’s neck, then inhaled a sharp breath. “It’s gone,” she said, her voice trembling. “His pulse is gone.” Aloe burst into motion, moving in to give CPR, his hands pressing on Mr. Nelson’s chest, his mouth blowing breath into his lungs.
“His spirit is not coming back.” Vengeance watched them, tilting its head slowly to one side. “Why do you continue?”
“Because we’re not fucking monsters,” Blessing yelled, tears filling her eyes.
“Heal him,” Bitter insisted, refusing to look over at the old man or Aloe’s desperate attempts. Mr. Nelson could not die. Her voice rose in a hiss. “I know you can heal him. He was alive just a moment ago!”
“Now he is not.” Vengeance looked down at her. “This is the way of mortality, little gate. He has crossed over.”
Bitter felt a loud madness seeping into her head. “Then bring him back!” she screamed at the angel. He had fed her pie. Eddie loved him. “Bring him back!”
Vengeance stretched its dark mouth. “Angels cannot resurrect.” It raised its head and looked off into the distance. “Worlds burn when we return. There is always blood.”
Rage was blurring Bitter’s vision, thickening her veins, cutting the bottom of her tongue. “He was innocent! You’re supposed to protect the innocent!”
The angel glanced back at her. “Blood is blood,” it said. “There are no new worlds without sacrifice.” Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, Vengeance vanished, and the four of them were left in the alley, alone with the body of a man who had done nothing but bring sweetness into their lives.
Aloe had to drag Bitter out of the alley. Her rage was incandescent, rolling off her in furious, grieving waves.
“We cyah leave him there!” she yelled. How on earth would she explain that to Eddie? How would any of them explain it to Mrs. Nelson, his Ethel? That they’d left him alone and cold in a deserted alley, like no one loved him. Alex had taken off her jacket and draped it over his face, a leafy green shroud, but it wasn’t enough. None of it was enough. Mr. Nelson deserved so much more.
“We’ll come back for him,” Aloe promised. “You think any of us want to leave him here like this?”
Bitter didn’t care. “I hate Vengeance,” she spat out. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! How could it say all of that? It could have saved him!”