"Beautiful-isn't it?"

            "Perfectly stunning," I replied in a near whisper.

            I was standing in front of Michelangelo's Pietà, a glorious work of art if there ever was one. The statue, a massive display of Jesus Christ in His mother's lap after His Crucifixion, was previously located in Rome before the pulse. Yet, after the United States had been destroyed, resulting in the upheaval of countries depending upon America for financial security, con artists and thieves had scurried to Italy by the masses. Famous artwork, which had been protected since its birth back in the times of Christopher Columbus, was soon stripped off walls, and marble statues were ransacked and thrown into trucks. The priests, who had diligently protected the arts for all of their lives, were shot dead in the road as bandits drove away. The Vatican City, a powerful center of the Roman Catholic faith, was stripped of all of its valuables and left for dead.

            The man standing beside me in the present time extended his hand, which I accepted ruefully. "William Jameson," he told me.

            "Daniel Carver," I responded, only taking my eyes off of the statue for a split second just so I could align my hand with his.

            In the time since I cracked in the alley after Lia's death, I gathered a sufficient amount of sanity to head for Upper Manhattan. I could never summon quite enough courage to return to the apartment, though, where I knew Jada and Taji would be, now alone in a world without any family besides each other. So, after stealing some classy clothes and cash, I rented out a rather ritzy hotel room and was starting my new victim prospecting.

            "Do you collect much artwork?" William asked me, clasping his hands behind his back. We were standing in his private collection of religious relics, which he was displaying for a limited time in honor of the opening of his new museum.

            "Not at this point," I told him, adjusting my sunglasses on my face. I wore them at all times, feeling protected behind the dark lenses. When asked about my eyewear, I dismissed it as weak eyes that didn't like the lighting.  "I've been living in Italy for many years, and as you know, the supply of art is limited over there."

            He smiled faintly at my black humor. "Yes, only thieves and scam artists can manage to collect anything of valuable over there."

            "I'm imagining that's how you came upon this fabulous piece of work, then."

            "Actually, it was given to me as a gift."

            "A gift?" I echoed, arching an eyebrow. My new persona of Daniel Carver was suave and cool with hardly any emotion whatsoever. He didn't know anger or pain, sadness or happiness. He was simply a filthy rich bastard looking for blood. "From whom?"

            "My wife."

            "Quite a fitting present. May I ask why she didn't keep it for herself? The Pietà is something that I surely wouldn't want to give away."

            William laughed under his breath, moving closer to the statue as if attempting to protect it. "Simply put, it was a last minute plea to our divorce decree."

            "I see."

            "She wanted me to stay. I wanted to go. She gave me this, and I left with it anyway."

            "And your wife? What happened to her?"

            He shrugged beneath a finely tailored camel colored suit, which made his mane of blond hair appear even brighter. "I'd prefer not to go into extremities, Mr. Carver."

            "Please," I insisted with a forced smile, "call me Daniel."

            "Very well, then, Daniel."

            There was a pause in the conversation as a finely dressed couple moved past in a whisper of rushing satin. I stared at the sculpture in front of us, studying the humanness displayed in it. Mary, better known to me as the Blue Lady, clutched Her fallen Son in Her lap. The flowing material of Her dress crumpled beneath the anguished body of Christ, and their hair curled over glossy skin. Her beautiful face was saddened, and it wouldn't have surprised me if She had started crying right then and there.

            "Now, Daniel," William said to me, moving closer so that we would not be overheard by other guests, "you seem to show quite a devout interest in my collection of heavenly works."

            "That I do."

            He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope, which he casually slipped to me. "I'm hosting a party this Saturday evening. You're more than welcome to attend, and perhaps you and I can discuss further details of these glorious artifacts."

            "I would like that very much," I acknowledged, inserting the card inside of my own black pocket.

            "Good, good," he replied, patting me on the shoulder. "I'll be looking forward to seeing you again."

            As he exited with nods and smiles to his other guests, I was left gazing upward at the mournful Blue Lady. All around me, Her face was displayed in the greatest glory ever known to man, whether it was in pastels or charcoal, marble or clay, and it was then that I felt the tiniest trace of happiness uncurl from inside of me. I had found my next servant for Her.