Hey, I'm so sorry for the delay… lots of Les Miserables referencing in this chapter. Enjoy!
Despite the night spent in an uncomfortable position, I was awake by seven and cleaning out the apartment, disposing of all the alcohol bottles and hunting up some edible food. As a result, I was sitting on the couch with the blinds up and my shades on, reading the newspaper, when John left the room, barefoot and rumpled. "Good morning." I called—he turned his head to regard me out of sleepy dark eyes.
"Good, then it wasn't a dream." He commented with a yawn.
"What was?" I smiled and scooted over as he joined me with a cup of black coffee.
"I remember falling asleep on you. I woke up and you weren't there. I'm glad you didn't dream it all." he explained.
"Me too." I flashed him a grin, which got larger when he replied in kind. Ember jumped onto John's lap with a mew, batting at the man's fingertips playfully.
We sat in silence for a while, before he asked, "How was New York?"
I groaned. "Nobody could decipher my father's will—it looked like a whole lot of gibberish and a note that said 'Look to the abaissé society.' Everyone was looking up all these random charities because abaissé means 'abased' in French—I would have followed suit if I hadn't accidentally read the note aloud."
"So what did the note mean?" John asked.
"Dad was always a Les Miserables fan. The 'abaissé society' was a reference to the students' name for themselves, the ABC society. A French pun. But afer I realized he was referring to Les Mis, the decryption key became clear."
"Let me guess—24601."
"Right. Starting with the first word, 'I', you skip two, take that word, .skip four, take that word, skip six, take the next two words, skip one, then take that word and start again from the 'skip two' bit."
"That sounds confusing." John commented. "So what did it say?"
"Half a page's worth of nonsense said, 'I bet nobody will get this far, but if they do, I leave everything to the person who found this message first. Tell my daughter Enjolras wants to speak to her.'" I chuckled at the memory of the surprised looks. "That meant I ended up inheriting everything Dad left behind."
"What did your dad mean by 'Enjolras wants to speak to her'?" John asked.
"He left a letter—letters, actually—in his copy of Les Mis, at page 437 of Volume I, the beginning of Book Four, at the description of Enjolras. He knew that was one of my favorite passages." I slid my hand into the pocket of my duster, touching the packet of letters.
John nodded, stroking Ember gently. "I liked your old man."
"He liked you too." I smiled at my best friend. "He told me to take care of you."
"I don't need to be taken care of." He protested.
In reply, I arched an eyebrow. "Then what was last night? It sure as hell looked like you needed to be taken care of."
He made no reply, but gave me a quick, affectionate hug. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too," I gently brushed my cheek against his, then felt his fingers tracing the outline of the sunglasses on my skin.
"Why're you wearing those?" he murmured.
"Something weird happened in New York during a golem exorcism. It went wrong, and the golem was going to hammer me into the ground when this blast of light hit us both and I blacked out. When I woke up, the golem was slagged and I had these." I removed the sunglasses and gave him an eyeful.
He held my gaze for a while, then flashed a wry gin. "They won't be calling you Greeneyes now, not with those gold flecks."
"Most people are afraid of my eyes—bright green was unnerving, but now gold on emerald scares the shit out of them." I noted bitterly.
"I like it," John protested mildly. "Gold on green, framed and centered by black—" he tugged on a piece of my hair. "—it's very you. It's beautiful. Don't wear the sunglasses."
"As you wish." I put the sunglasses into my duster pocket, then smiled at him.
We lived together like that for the next few weeks, just recharging, enjoying each other's company, and building our life back to what it had been before.
One afternoon when John was out, I left for the small church where Chas had been buried. I wasn't Catholic—John and I differed on fundamental principles of exorcism, but we both acknowledged the merits of the other method, and so we worked together fairly cohesively.
I was nearly sunset when I pulled my bike up outside the church. The graveyard's old caretaker directed me to Chas' grave—he looked a little uneasy at the sudden appearance of a stranger in a black trenchcoat and shades, but he let me in anyway.
Chas' headstone was simple, a block of granite with his name and the dates on it. In the niche for flowers, I saw something small and silvery. Kneeling, I stuck a hand in—and came out with John's silver cigarette lighter. It still smelled faintly of cigarettes. Carefully, I put it back.
The grass was soft around the grave—slipping off my coat, I sat down beside the headstone. "Hey, Chas." I spoke softly, watching the sun set. "How're you doing, little buddy? I just came home… I would've come sooner, but John needed me."
I sighed, leaning against the headstone. "I was looking forward to coming back to you and John, ya know that? I wanted to come back and go back to work with you guys, driving around in that crazy taxi… but I come back to a grave and a man trying to drink himself into oblivion."
"Oh, Chas… why? Why weren't you more careful? Why were you so eager to get into our line of work? You knew you couldn't match John or I in terms of sheer power, you knew that… so why?"
I rubbed a hand over my face sadly. "I don't know. If I'd been here, could I have save you? I might have been able to keep you alive."
A soft wind ruffled the grass and teased at my hair. I sighed again, climbing to my feet and shrugging into my coat. "I gotta go, Chas. But I'll come back and talk to you, I promise."
Gently patting the headstone, I laid the white lily on the grave and left the graveyard without a backward glance. The wind played with my duster edge, whipping the leather around my legs as I walked away.