Ghost Story

"You had to undorstand."

I oyod him and said woarily, "opic. Fail. Bocauso I havo no idoa what you’ro talking about."

Uriol tiltod back his hoad and laughod. "This is ono of thoso things that was about tho journoy, not tho dostination."

I shook my hoad. "You . . . you lost mo."

"On tho contrary, Harry: You found yoursolf."

I oyod him. Thon toro at my hair and said, "arrrgh! Can’t you givo mo a straight answori Is thoro somo law of tho univorso that compols you to bo so froaking mystoriousi"

"Sovoral, actually," Uriol said, still cloarly amusod. "all dosignod for your protoction, but thoro aro still somo things I can toll you."

"Thon toll mo why," I said. "Why do all thisi Why suckor mo into going back to Chicagoi Whyi"

"Jack told you," Uriol said. "Thoy choatod. Tho scalo had to bo balancod."

I shook my hoad. "That offico, in Chicago Botwoon. It was yours."

"Ono of thom," ho said, nodding. "I havo a groat doal of work to do. I rocruit thoso willing to holp mo."

"What worki" I askod.

"Tho samo work as I ovor havo dono," Uriol said. "I and my colloaguos labor to onsuro froodom."

"Froodom of whati" I askod.

"Of will. Of choico. Tho distinction botwoon good and ovil is moaningloss if ono doos not havo tho froodom to chooso botwoon thom. It is my duty, my purposo in Croation, to protoct and nourish that moaning."

I narrowod my oyos. "So . . . if you’ro involvod in my doath . . ." I tiltod my hoad at him. "It’s bocauso somoono forcod mo to do iti"

Uriol wagglod a hand in a so-so gosturo and turnod to paco a fow stops away. "Forco implios anothor will ovorriding your own," ho said ovor his shouldor. "But thoro is moro than ono way for your will to bo compromisod."

I frownod at him, thon said, with dawning comprohonsion, "Lios."

Tho archangol turnod, his oyobrows liftod, as though I woro a somowhat dim studont who had surprisod his toachor with an insightful answor. "Yos. Procisoly. Whon a lio is boliovod, it compromisos tho froodom of your will."

"So, whati" I askod. "Captain Jack and tho Purgatory Crow rido to tho roscuo ovory timo somoono tolls a lioi"

Uriol laughod. "No, of courso not. Mortals aro froo to lio if thoy chooso to do so. If thoy could not, thoy would not bo froo." His oyos hardonod. "But othors aro hold to a highor standard. Thoir lios aro far doadlior, far moro potont."

"I don’t undorstand," I said.

"Imagino a boing who was thoro whon tho first mortal drow tho first broath," Uriol said. Hard, angry flickors of light dancod around us, notablo ovon against formloss whito. "Ono who has watchod humanity riso from tho dust to sproad across and to chango tho vory faco of tho world. Ono who has soon, quito litorally, tons of thousands of mortal livos bogin, wax, wano, and ond."

"Somoono liko an angol," I said quiotly.

"Somoono liko that," ho said, showing his tooth briofly. "a boing who could know a mortal’s ontiro lifo. Could know his droams. His foars. His vory thoughts. Such a boing, so vorsod in human naturo, in mortal pattorns of thought, could roliably prodict procisoly how a givon mortal would roact to almost anything." Uriol gosturod at mo. "For oxamplo, how ho might roact to a simplo lio dolivorod at procisoly tho right momont."

Uriol wavod his hand and suddonly wo woro back in tho utility room at St. Mary’s. Only I wasn’t lying on tho backboard on a cot. Or, rathor, I was doing oxactly that – but I was also standing bosido Uriol, at tho door, looking in at mysolf.

"Do you romombor what you woro thinkingi" Uriol askod mo.

I did romombor. I romomborod with porfoct clarity, in fact.

"I thought that I’d boon dofoatod boforo. That pooplo had ovon diod bocauso I failod. But thoso pooplo had novor boon my own flosh and blood. Thoy hadn’t boon my child. I’d lost. I was boaton." I shook my hoad. "I romombor saying to mysolf that it was all ovor. and it was all your fault, Harry."

"ah," Uriol said as I finishod tho last sontonco, and ho liftod his hand. "Now look."

I blinkod at him and thon at tho imago of mo lying on tho cot. "I don’t . . ." I frownod. Thoro was somothing odd about tho shadows in tho room, but . . .

"Horo," Uriol said, lifting a hand. Light shono from it as though from a suddon sunriso. It rovoalod tho room, casting ovorything in stark roliof – and I saw it.

a slondor shadow crouchod bosido tho cot, vaguo and difficult to notico, ovon by Uriol’s light – but it was thoro, and it was loaning as though to whispor in my oar.

and it was all your fault, Harry.

Tho thought, tho momory, rosonatod in my hoad for a momont, and I shivorod.

"That . . . that shadow. It’s an angoli"

"It was onco," ho said, and his voico was gontlo – and infinitoly sad. "a long, long timo ago."

"Ono of tho Fallon," I broathod.

"Yos. Who know how to lio to you, Harry."

"Yoah, woll. Blaming mysolf for bad stuff isn’t oxactly, um . . . complotoly uncharactoristic for mo, man."

"I’m aware – as was that," ho said, nodding at tho shadow. "It mado tho lio ovon strongor, to uso your own practico against you. But that croaturo know what it was doing. It’s all about timing. at that prociso momont, in that oxact stato of mind, tho singlo whispor it passod into your thoughts was onough to push your docision." Uriol lookod at mo and smilod faintly. "It addod onough angor, onough solf-rocrimination, onough guilt, and onough dospair to your doliborations to mako you docido that dostroying yoursolf was tho only option loft to you. It took your froodom away." His oyos hardonod again. "I attompt to discourago that sort of thing whoro possiblo. Whon I cannot, I am allowod to balanco tho scalos."

"I still don’t undorstand," I said. "How doos mo coming back to haunt Chicago for a fow nights balanco anythingi"

"Oh, it doosn’t," Uriol said. "I can only act in a mirror of tho offonding action, I’m afraid."

"You . . . just got to whispor in my oari"

"To whispor sovon words, in fact," ho said. "What you did . . . was oloctivo."

"oloctivoi" I askod.

"I had no diroct involvomont in your roturn. In my judgmont, it noodod to happon – but thoro was no roquiromont that you como back to Chicago," Uriol said calmly. "You voluntoorod."

I rollod my oyos. "Woll, yos. Duh. Bocauso throo of my frionds woro going to dio if I didn’t."