In the kitchen, Frank and Ray settled at the table with the books. Frank made it a whole half a page before he blurted out, "Toro, I feel like such a shit."
"Nobody's saying you aren't a shit," Ray said, fumbling his book open. "We're just saying on this occasion you have an excuse."
"But I was an asshole."
Ray cocked an eyebrow. "And that's such a departure for you?"
"Ray!" Frank thumped the table in frustration. "Why won't anybody let me apologize?"
"Because it's not your fault! Do you want me to apologize for almost drowning?"
Frank threw himself back in his chair. "Ugh. I just feel like I should have known something was wrong. Like I should - I should have fought it, or something. I mean how did I let that happen? I couldn't even get hypnotized when I wanted to quit smoking, remember? The chick said I was too skeptical."
"Were you in love with your hypnotherapist?"
Frank's cheeks flushed hot and he looked away. "No."
"Was she possessed by a mind-controlling demon?"
"No."
"Well, then." Ray lifted his shoulders. "Nobody's going to beat you up for this, Frankie. If you want that you'll have to get it from someone else."
Frank scowled. "You're so annoying."
"Yes," said Ray, going back to his book. "Forgiveness is a real pain in the ass." Then he sneezed explosively, coughed a bunch of times and groaned, clutching his chest.
"Dude," said Frank. "You sound like me."
Ray waved him off.
Bob came out of the garage, frowning. "You would think I would remember starting a weird, square fire," he said, sitting down. "But I just don't."
"It's the mind control," Ray reminded him. "It's not you."
"Mmm," Bob said. He rubbed his temples. He was sweating a little, and really pale.
"Dude," said Frank. "Are you all right?"
Bob waved him off. "I'm just a little dizzy."
Frank exchanged a glance with Ray. They both knew that 'a little dizzy' was Bob-speak for 'in incredible pain and about to pass out'. It wouldn't do any good to talk to him about it, though, so Frank got up and found him a glass of water and some painkillers, placing them silently by Bob's elbow before reclaiming his seat.
Bob waited until Frank had pretended to start reading again before downing the pills and draining the water.
"You need antibiotics," Frank tried, but Bob just scowled and hunched down behind a book.
"Craig and the kids are staying put for now," Mikey said when he returned. "He can watch what's going on, he has a feed of the security system in there."
"Of course he does," said Ray.
Mikey half-smiled and sat down. "He's not letting the kids watch, though. It would just upset them."
Bob looked up. "And being locked in a room with a strange man isn't upsetting?"
"You didn't see it," said Mikey, dragging a book towards him. "It's bigger than my apartment was back home. They're playing Mario Kart."
Ray turned a page with his fingertips. "I was thinking maybe there's something I can do," he said, resting both elbows on the table. "To suppress the demon so we can talk to Gerard."
Mikey's head snapped up and his face was so hopeful Frank had to look away. "Really?"
"I've never done it before," Ray said carefully. "But I think so. I need to read up."
Frank looked at Mikey. "He was sneezing and coughing before you came back."
"Frank!" Ray scowled. "I retract that forgiveness."
"You told me you were feeling better," Mikey said accusingly, reaching out to press his hand against Ray's forehead like somebody's Mom. Then he took it back and said sheepishly, "Okay, I have no idea what that's supposed to do. But you need to take care of yourself, Ray, come on."
"I'm fine."
"Okay," Frank amended. "Now you sound like Bob."
Ray rolled his eyes, but Mikey stared hard at him and Frank could see the minute Ray caved. He could also see that Ray didn't hate Mikey worrying about him as much as he made out. "Fine," he said. "I'll make some tea."
"I'll help," Mikey said approvingly.
They worked in silence for a while, partly, Frank suspected, because they were all feeling the heavy weight of impending doom on their shoulders and their tongues, but also in case Brian called out for them. Frank was reading a book that he suspected wasn't even entirely in English, but he turned the page and came across a drawing of an angel in armor, standing tall and proud and fierce, with a spear in his hand that he was holding to the throat of a dragon, this huge fucking dragon that he had pinned under his foot like it was nothing.
Michael defeats the dragon, the caption read. Frank was about to push it over to Mikey when a line of text at the bottom of the page caught his eye. "Uh."
Ray looked up. "Uh? What uh?"
"Uh Archangel Michael uh," Frank said, re-reading the words on the page twice just to be sure he had it right. He looked up at Mikey. "That's you, right? Field Commander of God's Army? He's your Saint?"
Mikey moved his shoulder slightly. "I'm not sure if he technically actually is a Saint, but yeah. Why?"
"'There are many legends surrounding the Archangel Michael'," Frank read aloud. "'Due to his duties, which include collecting and weighing the souls of the dead, it is a common belief that his face can only be seen by the dead or dying.'"
Mikey wrinkled his nose. "But you can see me."
"I always could," Frank pointed out. He looked at Ray. "But you couldn't."
Ray's eyes went big and round. He looked at Mikey over the top of his cup of vile-smelling tea. "I saw you," he said in a troubled voice. "I saw you from underneath the water, after I couldn't hold on anymore."
"Gerard said they had to give you CPR," Frank went on. "Maybe you technically were dead, or dying, and that's when you could see Mikey again."
Frank put the book down and started digging through the pile for another one - he knew this, he knew this, he hadn't forced himself to read Gerard's mind-numbingly boring books for nothing. "Aha!" he said triumphantly, when he found what he was looking for. "Remember that night in my apartment, and Gerard said your Saint had that magic floating cloak, or whatever?"
"But he didn't drown," Ray said.
"But he could have," Frank insisted. "He didn't because God didn't allow it."
"Okay," said Bob, "But that doesn't explain why I turned pyro. I don't remember any mention of Saint Robert doing that."
Frank chewed his lip. "But there are like a hundred Saint Roberts. We wouldn't know even if there was."
"Uh," said Mikey, raising his hand. He was looking in the book Frank had cast aside. "'Saint Robert of Newminster often visited his friend, the hermit Saint Godric,'" he read. "'The night Robert died, Godric described seeing his soul ascending to Heaven in a ball of fire.'"
Bob looked at him flatly. "Awesome," he said, then jerked a thumb in Frank's direction. "And we already know what happened to Death By Papercuts over here."
"Good thing Brian doesn't have a Saint," Ray said earnestly.
"Yeah, just that Blessed guy, right?" Bob took the book from Mikey. "Here it is. Brian Lacey: English, secretly friends with a priest, betrayed by his own brother, and he was..." Bob trailed off, then dropped the book on the table and ran for the door.
Frank lunged over the table and grabbed the book. "Martyred," he finished, looking up at Mikey and Ray. "Brian Lacey was hanged."
