Chapter Seven

The very next day, John, Molly, Greg and William had planned to meet for dinner and "socializing." Of course, William had made the excuse that his stomach wasn't feeling well so he would skip dinner. It was yet another excuse—oh, who was he kidding? It was a lie—to add to the many others.

And it was another reason why this couldn't go on. These relationships couldn't go on. His brother had once told him that connections were a liability, and he was right. What was the benefit of a friendship if he had to lie? What was the point of a relationship if he couldn't feel it?

"William."

"Hmm?" William grunted out as he looked up at the other three.

Molly was watching him with concern. "Are you all right? Is your stomach—"

"Oh, no, I'm fine," William told them. "Just…thinking."

"Get lost in there, did you?" asked Greg, laughing a little.

William smiled good-naturedly. "Never. My mind palace is always perfectly organized."

"Mind palace?" asked John, half-confused and half-amused.

William nodded. "It's a memory technique. Imagine a place—your favorite haunt, your childhood home or a completely made-up structure—and deposit memories and facts there. You don't need to remember it all; you just need to find your way back to it."

"Wow…" said John. "So, that's why you're good at detective work? You just…know things?"

"Yep," William answered, popping the p at the end.

"Incredible," said Molly, staring at him.

William gave her a warm smile back, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment.

"So…" said John suddenly.

William broke his stare and looked at him.

"Tell us more about yourself," John prodded. "I feel like all I know about you is your job. Molly says you have a brother."

William nodded. "I do."

"And what does he do?" asked John.

William momentarily glanced at Greg—who shared an uneasy look with him—before looking back at everyone else and trying to think of something plausible.

"Can you not tell us about it, or something?" asked Molly after no reply had come for a while.

Not really knowing why he decided to, William jumped on that explanation. "No, I can't."

John frowned, smiling. "What, is he a spy?"

"Not exactly," William answered. In truth, we're all a lot like spies. He thought quickly before landing on an answer. "He works for the government."

"Really?" asked Molly. "Doing what?"

William gave a non-committal shrug. "Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you."

"Right," said Molly with a smile.

"Where did you two grow up?" asked John.

"Oh, here and there," William answered, wanting to keep to the truth as much as possible.

"Tight-lipped, are we?" asked John with a smile. He gave a nod. "All right, then. What exactly do you do as a messenger?"

"Well…" began William with a quick glance at Greg, who appeared to be trying to hide in his seat as the conversation turned to this more personal topic, "I deliver incoming parcels to my employer, I give out messages to the public, and in a lesser capacity, I watch over the company."

"So, you're like a PR man," suggested Molly.

"Basically," replied William.

"And in your spare time, you dabble in detective work," said John.

"Unofficially, yes."

"Unofficially," said John. "So, you're like a private detective?"

"No, no, nothing like that," William brushed off.

John rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're a consulting detective, because this is getting a bit ridiculous."

"I'm sorry?" asked William, a frown on his face.

"That's what Sherlock Holmes considers himself: a consulting detective," Molly explained.

"Hmm," muttered William. I really need to read those stories. "An apt description, but I don't actually solve any cases. Well, I do solve them on my own, but I don't go out and do anything about it." He nodded at John. "The other night was my first actual case."

"Really?" asked Molly. "As good of a detective as you are, and you don't do it professionally?"

William gave a shrug, trying to hide his disappointment. "I already have a job."

"Doesn't mean you can't change your career," Greg finally spoke up.

William looked over at him, understanding what he was suggesting.

Greg leaned forward as the other two watched him. "If you're good at something and you really enjoy doing it, why should you let something like a stable job stop you?"

William watched him for a moment, surprisingly lost as to an argument against that. "Well…it's…complicated."

Greg nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. "Look at it this way: if you suddenly found yourself without that job, would you really miss it all that much?"

That line of reasoning sent William's thoughts crashing to a halt. If he was suddenly human tomorrow, what would he miss about being an angel? The only two things he actually enjoyed were the sunrise and the library. If he were human, could he replace those things? Yes; he would be able to read books himself and listen to music. It wouldn't quite be the same, but all the wonders of humanity that could make up for it? There was no contest.

William's eyes tracked back up to Greg, who shared the same smile with him.

"So, you're gonna be a detective now?" asked John.

William gave a shrug, spreading his hands out in front of him. "Looks like." He brought his hands back together.

"I, uh…" began John, looking a little awkward, "I don't suppose I could…tag along, by any chance."

William gave him a short smile. "Of course. I'd be lost without my doctor."

John smiled as they got lost in another conversation, William with a lighter heart than he'd had in a long time. His existence had been a burden he hadn't known he had been carrying. He felt like Atlas, who had just had someone point out the planet perched on his shoulders. And knowing that there was a way to leave it all behind made that planet feel like a beach ball.

William stepped up to the edge of the Tower Bridge walkway, staring down at the bridge's roadway below him. He was really here. He was really going to do it. Only a few more moments, and he could say goodbye to this boring, lonely life.

William glanced up at the skyline, breathing in the fresh air—not that he could tell if it was, indeed, fresh or not. But that was one thing that would change very shortly. He would be able to smell, to taste, to feel—Oh, to feel! Feel the wind whipping at his face, feel the warmth of the sun, feel the cold snow falling, feel every little pleasure and pain a human could feel…

William's face began to face from its joyful anticipation from just a moment ago. He would feel everything. Everything. Not just the good, but the bad as well. Could he handle that? God knew he didn't handle change very well; just look at how he had reacted to the beheading of Anne Boleyn. Was he really, truly prepared for this?

William gave his head a shake, refocusing on the good. It didn't matter. It was worth it. It would all be worth it. Just suck it up and jump. He turned back to the task at hand, taking a breath and taking a step forward off the bridge.

As he drew his gaze downwards, his mind flashed through every pain and hurt he had been witness to in all his years. Broken limbs, stubbed toes, kitchen burns, gunshots, bruises, paper cuts, broken hearts, sunburns, bruised egos, dislocated shoulders, cancer, appendicitis, heart attack, stroke, death—

William let out a harsh gasp, pulling himself back from the edge and stumbling back. He pulled a hand to his face, covering his mouth as he breathed heavily, almost panting.

I can't…I can't…

It was too much. It was more than he could handle. His mind just couldn't take in that much input at once. He wasn't ready.

But maybe one day…he would be.