When Reese opened his eyes, it was to nearly blinding golden light filtering into the room through a window. Quickly, he threw a charcoal-grey wing over his face. It took him several moments to register the fact that he should not be seeing sunlight at all. There is no sunlight in the Grey Realm. Slowly, he pulled his wing away, squinting through his feathers.
Through the pounding in his head, he studied the room he had no recollection of entering. He had been lying among the covers of a large, luxurious bed, in what appeared to be a very large, very expensive hotel suite. Slowly, he rolled out of bed and wandered over to the window. It looked like New York City, but that was no surprise. Even after he'd Faded to the Grey Realm, he'd never actually left the city.
How in the world had he jumped from one Realm to the next? Because this was definitely Life. He knew it when he felt it.
Something in his reflection in the window caught his eye. There appeared to be something glowing on his chest beneath his shirt. He pulled the fabric up to look and found a mark—shaped a bit like a pair of wings—shining with a soft blue-white light. It was about two inches across and right over his heart. Brow furrowing, he ran his fingers over it. It felt like a collection of little scars.
"I apologize for that, Mr. Reese," said a voice from behind him. Reese spun around, automatically expecting an attack. His eyes widened when he saw the man (a seraph, part of his mind supplied) who had spoken. The memory of his last moments in the Grey Realm came back to him and he touched the glowing scar on his chest again. It was on the same spot that the man had pressed his palm.
"The glow will fade," the man continued, "The scar will remain, though." He didn't move any closer—or at all really, almost as though he were afraid to startle Reese.
"Who are you?" Reese asked with a voice raspy with disuse. He appraised the man in front of him, ready to bolt if necessary. He was short and held himself stiffly as though injured. Behind his thick glasses his eyes were sharp, but tired. Reese could sense that he was a seraph of the second order, but he wasn't very powerful. If push came to shove Reese would have no trouble overpowering him.
The man raised his eyebrows as though acknowledging Reese's appraisal before answering. "You can call me Mr. Finch," he stated simply.
"And how do you know my name?" Reese demanded softly, stepping closer. Finch didn't flinch, he held his ground, and part of Reese admired him for that.
"I know exactly everything about you, Mr. Reese," he replied. "I know about the work you did for the government… And the doubts you came to have about that work. I know that the government and everybody else thinks you're dead. And of course, I knew you were in the Grey Realm. So you see, knowledge is not my problem. Doing something with that knowledge? That's where you'd come in.
Reese narrowed his eyes, wondering where this was going. It would have taken extraordinary resources to know what this man knew; not to mention the amount of preparation it would have taken to Raise someone.
"Mister Reese," Finch continued, "Because of crime and corruption, tragedies happen every day. Like your friend Jessica. You were halfway around the world when she was killed. There was nothing you could have done to save her." At the sound of Jessica's name a stab of anger and grief raged through him and it propelled him across the room to grab Finch by the throat and pin him against the wall.
"What do you know about it?" he growled menacingly.
"It's the truth!" Finch exclaimed, obviously terrified. "You left the government because they lied to you. I never will. I think all you ever wanted to do was protect people!"
Reese could feel the fear coming off the smaller man in waves, but there was honesty there as well, and a blatant desire to do good—to do the right thing. Slowly, Reese released him and dropped onto the couch.
"You're not government," he stated quietly.
"No, I'm not." Reese glanced up at the almost bitter note in Finch's voice to see that the other man was still leaning against the wall. His wings were unfurled—a natural response to stress for a seraph. Part of Reese's mind also noted that they were quite beautiful. The two pairs of wings were cream-coloured with gold on the edges and tipped with black. They were also more graceful than what he'd have imagined the small man to have. The only flaw was in the upper right wing—some of the secondary feathers were completely missing. Reese thought that if he could see the back of the wing, there would be a scar. It had probably happened in the same incident that had caused the limp. Since the wings of a Seraphim were not truly physical—they were part of the Soul—it was extremely difficult to maim them. Even John, whose body was a lattice work of past scars, only had a handful on his wings and all of them were superficial. Whatever had inflicted Finch's wounds had to have a hell of lot of Power.
"You couldn't have saved Jessica," Finch said quietly. "But you could have if you had known in time." Slowly and carefully he moved to sit on the sofa across from Reese. The small man locked eyes with him and continued, "I have a list of people who are going to be in trouble—whether the victim or the perpetrator, I don't know. But it would give us a chance to stop bad things from happening to good people."
Reese studied the man in front of him. He saw the conviction in his eyes. There was sadness and guilt there, too, and a little desperation. Finally, the ex-op nodded. "Alright," he said quietly. Finch didn't smile, but he looked pleased.
Pulling a card from the inside of his jacket, he said, "Meet me at this address tomorrow at nine. You're welcome to stay in the hotel suite tonight." Without another word, he left the room.
Touching the still-glowing scar on his chest, Reese wondered exactly what it was that he was getting himself into.