Gabriel was in a much better mood when Sara Michaels showed up promptly at one the following day. He had gone walking the night before, to the river, down Frenchman Street, then across Rampart over to Louis Armstrong Park, grateful for the cooler night air, appreciative of the fact that as an immortal, he could walk into areas that weren’t safe for the average man at night. The park was dark and desolate, the perfect place to be mugged, but Gabriel enjoyed the solitude it brought him, the joy in knowing that while everyone else stayed away, he could walk alone.

He had spent his whole life on earth walking alone. That hadn’t been his job. He had been sent to Watch. Guide. Protect. But he had failed on all counts and knew there was no forgiveness, no redemption for him. He could never make amends large enough to recompense the wrongs he had committed, though he wanted to at least try in Anne’s case.

It was a triumph, a goal well met that he was living a chemical-free life, and he fought hard against the temptation to slide back into bliss, the fog where he was smart and right and everything was easy and calm. That fight took everything he had and there was nothing left for sorting out a path to redemption, which was why he had never attempted to confront the truth in Anne’s case, had never wanted to know if ultimately he had been the man who had taken her life.

He was ready to face that truth now. And even if he didn’t and couldn’t seek true redemption, an entrance back to the kingdom of God, he wanted to be released from his punishment. He wanted to be more than a Watcher. He wanted to participate in humanity, something thus far he couldn’t do, because every woman he touched craved him as an opiate. They all spiraled down into desperate despair when he couldn’t give them enough, was never enough, and he had chosen to isolate himself entirely rather than bring that fate on any woman. But he didn’t want to be alone anymore, and he wanted to be released.

He thought maybe the answer to the future lay in the past.