CHAPTER FIFTY TWO


The park was just one block of grass, swings, sandlots, and a walking path
that cut around it with trees alongside the path. If the path didn't wind around
the park and sometimes through it in a more complex weave, a person could stand
at any point and see the entire park.


Albeit: the one block radius was a larger than normal block.


It was still a small park, but that day was just like all the others. Parents
chased after their kids. The kids chased after their dogs. And the dogs chased
after anything else the wind pushed across the park.


It was entertaining to watch at times, but I rarely went to the park for
enjoyment. In fact, I'd never gone to the park as someone who was just going to
enjoy a day in the park. I always went to search for someone or I went to pick
targets for quick hands. The park wasn't correlated as enjoyment for me. It held
the shadows that most of us had hid in and now wanted to ignore their existence.
Those back corners of every park were lit so sunnily during the day, but they
turned into regrets and haunts at night.


And I wasn't going with the intent to enjoy the park on that day either.


I was going to work, but a different work.


And maybe it was because of the distinction that the grass looked a little
greener. The sun shined a little brighter or maybe it was just me.


For whatever reason, I was blindsided when I rounded a corner and there sat
Viiwa on a bench. Alone.


She looked up too and met my eyes.


She'd been crying, but I didn't see the blame from before.


I halted, unsure, but she waved a hand over and said, "Come sit. It's
time."


I sat and waited. I tucked the journal to the side.


Viiwa caught the motion and asked as she gestured to the journal, "What is
that?"


"It's a journal." I had been on the edge, but I leaned back against the
bench.


It was sturdy. It was made of wood and the white paint was chipped at the
corners. The screws looked like droplets of silver on the wood.


I knew so many others had sat where I sat then. So many with their own
stories to tell.


Viiwa had a story, but I knew some of it. I wasn't going to ask, but she
could share if she'd like.


"He is gone." Viiwa said instead, choked. "I knew he was gone before I even
thought about packing a bag and coming to Pedlam, but it wasn't until I saw you
through the screendoor—I knew that he was really gone then."


"You told me to get him back." I said faintly.


A child ran free from his mother. It's laughter squealed and the sun smiled
down.


"I told you…because…I was angry. I still am angry, but he came to me last
night. I felt him—Joseph is gone. He—" She broke off.


The trees billowed in the breeze. And the wind sent one of her tears to rain
on my cheek.


Viiwa didn't notice what had happened. She held her hands together in her
lap.


"He loved you very very much." I told her. "He told me all about you when I
saw him in New York."


She nodded. It looked like she was rocking herself in place. Soothing
something that couldn't be soothed. "I know it." She whispered. "I remembered
that night. He cooked lobster. We went to a banquet and then—we had to stop and
get lobster that night because you might show up. I didn't like you then. I
figured for someone who could make him buy lobster for them and not show—what
kind of a person was that? I saw a different—he was like a little kid that
night. He was so giddy, but you never came."


"No…"


"Got leftover lobster for a week straight after that night. Joseph never said
anything about it. He said that he didn't think you'd show anyway, he'd just
been hoping."


"That night…" I turned and faced her. "That night I was—hiding—from the same
person that took Munsinger."


She raised her ashen features to me and said swiftly, "Then God help you,
child. God help you."


The wind picked up pace. It whipped between us and drowned out the children's
laughter.


"I…got involved with Marcus a long time ago. I kept—I wasn't stupid. He
trusted me and I was able to keep my two lives separate. He never knew about
Munsinger, my nephew—none of it, but…that girl that died, Zara, some guy that
she was narcing for thought it was a good idea to get some money. They told
Marcus about where I was. She told him about Munsinger and that's how Marcus
found out about all this other stuff. I never meant…I kept them separate." I
whispered.


"One of your own turned on you. It happens." Viiwa clipped out. "I know all
about your life. Joseph told me all about you guys, long ago. You met him on a
corner or something and you tried to hustle him. Those kind of people—to
survive, they do what they have to. It's like a law or something. Everyone gets
all hurt when you've gotten sold up the river, but it's just people trying to
better their lives. They're trying to survive. Your girl was just…she was trying
to survive."


It was true. So many died. I'd found a few myself and their belongings were
always stolen. A dead body didn't need their socks or money or bottle of
bourbon. They didn't need their sweater that they had wrapped around them, the
sweater that they had stolen from another dead body.


And Zara had gotten involved with the wrong type, just like I had, but I'd
done it because I was an infallible human.


As Zara had been.


"He was better than me." I murmured and shifted back in the seat. I glanced
at the trail that I'd just come from. It was a walking path that was framed by
two lines of trees on both side. Some were old, some young, and some in the
middle. They all stood at different heights with different leaves to present to
our eyes.


I continued, "Munsinger didn't want anything to do with me after I tried to
hustle him, but he took one look at Cherry—and those two were inseparable for
months and then…he found out about Gray or—he found out who Gray's father was
and that was the end. Munsinger was better than all of us. He never…he loved
with so much passion and…"


"He had such a temper." Viiwa smiled.


I smiled. "He did."


"He had regrets, though, you know." She shifted closer to me, but still
watched her hands. "He regretted leaving Gray. I know he thought about that
little boy. He had a picture—he told me it was Gray, but it wasn't. I think he
just found a picture and wanted something to pretend it was Gray. He loved that
little boy so much. I thought…I thought he really was Gray's father for the
longest time. And then…'


"You found out the truth."


"Yeah, but Joseph never told me different. He said blood didn't matter. I
wasn't really surprised when I heard those messages on the machine. I knew he
was going out for Zara's funeral and a part of me just knew in the back of my
mind—I knew that he was going for good. Of course," She crossed her arms and
shook her head. "I didn't admit that to myself until it happened. Who wants to
accept that pit in your stomach is true? Not me."


Another tear slid down her cheek.


"Jace has your ring." I said abruptly.


Viiwa glanced at me, startled. Her make-up was smudged. A black smudge
proclaimed her tears' trail. "What?"


"Marcus left a riddle for us and…in the box was your ring."


Viiwa held up her hand. She turned a silver band over and the diamond
sparkled now. She'd had it hidden, on the inside of her palm. "This is my ring.
I wouldn't have it any other way."


"But…"


The one left behind by Marcus was Munsinger's ring. It was his grandmother's,
the same grandmother that had—the artist who led the stalwart viewers from dull
images of sand and dirt to a masterpiece of angels.


But she had her own ring. "Then why…"


Marcus had chosen Munsinger's grandmother's ring for a reason. It held
history and a heritage.


Viiwa smiled fondly at her ring. "We were supposed to get married in…god,
four months away. Joseph wanted a quick wedding, but I couldn't do that. I
needed to tell my parents first. They hadn't met Joseph yet, you see, and I knew
he'd be getting some used to—that's why I went to see them alone, but…he even
made all the wedding invitations. He dropped yours off, you know. He said that
you'd know where it was."


"What'd you say?" I asked sharply.


"Glory's Basket. The Hope for the Homeless, right? Isn't that what Joseph
said it was? It was…"


It is.


"It's," I cleared my throat. "a sanctuary. It's the only place that—there's a
rule that people can't steal there. It's a museum, but the rumors say that the
basement is too complex. It's a maze down there and the museum left it alone.
They couldn't use it, but people on the streets started using it to hold their
valuables. It's kind of a bank vault for the poor and there's supposed to be
statues and all these wonderful relics down there that the museum couldn't move
upstairs. I guess they'd damage the basement and they didn't want to do that so
they just…left it alone."


Viiwa smiled, "It sounds wonderful. I can see why Joseph loved that place. He
used to go there a lot."


"You mean…" Jace had told me that it was true. "I always thought it was just
a rumor. I didn't think it actually existed."


"Oh no. It exists and your wedding invitation is there. Joseph put it there
himself."


Something magical had happened that afternoon.


I'd left a home in grief and I stepped onto a path that had led me here. I
felt…something had changed. I just didn't know what.


"Thank you." I breathed out.


"For what?" Viiwa whispered and smiled at me. Her eyes were so dark,
yearning.


"For this, for letting me sit here." I said hoarsely. The wind grazed my
fingers. My journal was uprooted and it flung onto my lap. I caught it,
startled.


Viiwa laughed, huskily, and murmured, "Someone wants you to start
writing."


Someone.


I looked up and asked, quickly, "Do you know…do you know a lot about the Holy
Spirit?"


"She's God's voice of wisdom." Viiwa told me.


"She?"


"The Hebrew word for spirit is feminine. It's Ruach."


"What else do you know?" It was suddenly very important that I know this,
that I know everything she knew.


Viiwa thought for a moment, frowned, and then said softly, "Some think that
the Holy Spirit gives gifts like wisdom, joy, supernatural faith, the ability to
heal, um….wow—there's so much. I wouldn't know where to start, I mean—"


"Start with what you're thinking. I just need to know…I have to know
everything that you know."


I was Marcus' Holy Spirit. It meant something. Munsinger's ring meant
something.


He is gone. He is gone. And he is still gone


Munsinger was gone. I closed my eyes swiftly and held my breath, for just a
moment. I needed a moment.


"Uh…" Viiwa continued. "I don't…know. I…there's so much to know. The Holy
Spirit is thought to have seven gifts: wisdom, understanding, counsel, strength,
knowledge, godliness, and…holy fear."


"Does it…this might sound unbelievably stupid, but…can the Holy Spirit do
something? To people, other people?"


"Why are you asking this?" Viiwa asked, confused.


"I just…I have to know everything there is to know. It's….it's how I'm going
to find Gray. I have to know because someone sick thinks that I'm their Holy
Spirit so I need to know what I'm supposedly able to do for this person. I have
to understand it."


Viiwa thought for a moment and then she said, "Okay. I'll tell you what I
think of the Holy Spirit. I think the Holy Spirit is hope coming to us. I think
she brings us hope because the Holy Spirit is supposed to do magical things,
supernatural things, like give ultimate faith to a believer and it can…do so
much else."


"Like what?" I breathed.


"It has different pictures like a dove or tongues of flame or…wind above
water. So much. It's supposed…it's a thought that someone could—the
believer—would be almost holy in some ways, but still…the person would have the
ability to see things, give, use their life to help others, raise the dead, see
things—like visions—prophecy, and be able to see spiritual, physical and mental
conditions or struggles with someone. They see things that most others can't
see, but ultimately—it's the idea that someone who leads a Christian life is
given these fruits by the Holy Spirit." Viiwa broke off and laughed to
herself.


"What?"


"Of all the people, I'd never thought I'd be having this conversation with
you. I really hated you and now…"


Something had happened. Something had changed.


Huskily, I murmured, "Marcus left something for me with Munsinger's ring. It
said that… 'where your heart lies in the document for a beginning. A chapter
is closed for a chapter to open. Shadows laid to rest while this place opens
hope for a new beginning, a better world to tread among. He is gone. He is gone.
And he is still gone, but another shall rise and peace can be reborn." I
sat back, exhausted, and admitted, "I memorized it without even wanting to…it
just sticks to a person, sometimes."


"I have his last message memorized. I hear it in my dreams." Viiwa shared
with me. She reached over and gently padded my hand, as if reassuring me. "I
don't think it's too much of a riddle."


"What do you mean?"


"This document—it's somewhere that gives you hope. That's what I think it's
saying."


"How do you figure?"


"You're this Holy Spirit. The note's for you. What gives you hope for a new
world?"


Glory's Basket stood against the grain and proclaimed that there was order,
honor, and hope to better things.


It gave me hope, that's why it had always been a myth until I'd been proven
incorrect by Munsinger and Jace.


"It's funny." I murmured.


"What is?"


"Glory's Basket. It's…a place of hope for me. It…Jace told me a long time ago
that I wanted to change things. It's why I chose to live on the streets or at
least—why I stayed connected to the streets when I didn't have to. He told me
that I wanted to better the world and Glory's Basket was always…it stood against
everything that the streets are. I mean…people kill, rape, steal, stab each
other in the back for bourbon—and Glory's Basket is supposedly something…"


"It's a sanctuary for who's looking for sanctuary." Viiwa said softly. She
leaned closer and said, "It's why Joseph put our wedding invitation there for
you because he knew that it was the right place for yours to be put. He told me
that place was your address—it was where your soul lived. I thought he was
literal." She laughed. "Now I know better, but it fits. And again, only someone
who comes to me and asks me, truly, about the Holy Spirit—I think that place is
a place for them."


"How do you know so much about that stuff?"


Viiwa chuckled to herself. "I'm a religion professor at NYU. Call it a
hobby."


"I can't believe that Munsinger knew that before he fell in love with you. He
was agnostic."


"Oh—we argued plenty about religion. It's how we met. I went to the Poets'
House for a reading by a Theologian Author. Joseph was there and the sparks
flew—" She broke off on a sob.


I waited.


She huddled closer to herself, closed in, and after awhile—she wiped the
tears away and smiled sadly, "He's probably here with us, sitting on this
bench—"


"Complaining that there's not room enough for his skinny butt." I smiled.


"God…" Viiwa choked off again.


I had my own tears in the corner of my eyes.


"You know," Viiwa patted my hand and stood up. "There's a lot of different
views about the Holy Spirit, but quite a bit of it is similar. I always liked
one that's just simple."


"What's that?"


"It's the whole spirit of God in action." She nodded. A tear slipped down. "I
like that one. Joseph would too."


"I'm sorry for—what happened."


"He is gone." She nodded and looked in the distance. "I wanted to have a few
of those with him." She gestured across the park, to where children played tag
and laughed and ran together. "It won't happen, not one of his, but…you find the
one that Joseph wanted to father. You find your nephew, you do it for Joseph.
Okay?"


I nodded and sat there as she stood and murmured, in farewell, "No matter how
much I want to ignore what I feel inside--he is still gone."


As she walked and disappeared around a corner, I hadn't noticed until then,
but I saw that she had dressed all in white.


I stood up and I left my journal behind. Maybe someone would find it and get
hope from it. It was my parting gift because I didn't need it. I had thought to
write my ideas down and everything else about Marcus' riddle, but all it took
was one conversation.


I knew where the Master was, but I had never been there.


As I stood up, I saw Kip in the distance. Then I saw another Panther and a
few more. Slowly, I looked around and saw that they had encircled the entire
park. They just stood there and watched me.


They were Jace's guardians for me.


Jace would be happy that I unraveled the riddle and knew where the book was
kept, but he wouldn't be happy when I went to get it alone.


For some reason—I needed to find the book alone. I needed to walk into
Glory's Basket with no one else, but myself.


And Jace would never allow that. Not any more.


So I did what I had to do.


I went back to the house that night. I asked Jace the exact location of
Glory's Basket and then when everyone went to sleep, I slipped out from
underneath Jace's sleeping arm, dressed, took a bag, and crept from the
house.


The Panthers had been told to go home after I'd returned from the park. And
Jake, who stood guard while Jace slept, was positioned in the front of the
house.


I left from the back.


And for a small sense of vengeance: I took Kale's car.


And the six hundred dollars that he had stashed in his wallet. I grabbed it
as I bumped into him in the crowded kitchen.


Why would someone carry that much cash? That was a question that I was going
to ask when I returned, but I figured that I'd have a few more other
conversations before I got around to that one.


But first--I needed to go to New York City. Again.