I think I should get back to Angel.

“Scarlet,” you said carefully. “I’ll take you back to Angel, but I need you not to let go of me until we arrive. Understand?”

Scarlet lazily looks up at you and sniffs. She takes the back of her hand and rubs her mouth with it. “I honestly don’t think I’ll make the return trip.”

“You will,” you promise.

“How do you know that?”

“Gut intuition.”

“Alright,” her mouth clicked as it parted. “Get me dressed.”

…

Scarlet’s grip on your hand was tight through the journey back. So, even though she was mostly silent, her constant grasp assured you she was still alive, with remarkable strength. There were a few grunts and off-hand comments while climbing the slope in front of the house, but that's when you finally started to worry.

Constantly, you kept talking to her, bringing up random stories from when you were younger and reminding you about the ordinary, less violent memories you both had in common, inside jokes, and even a remark about the clear sky above. Scarlet seemed to like that last one a lot, but she kept her eyes up and talked about her love for nights like these. She adored summer nights. She mentioned going fishing with her dad once when it was August and caught nothing the whole weekend but had a fondness for the time.

About halfway there, she asked for you to stop, but you denied her request and asked if she needed to be carried. You felt your hand holding waiver, but you squeezed her back, silently telling her not to let go. She’d rather keep going than experience the physical pain and even mental embarrassment of having to be utterly dead weight in the situation.

“My mom— dad— both of’em owned a little bar and grill outside of a little town in Maine,” she stumbled, but you’re there to steady her. “One time, I cut myself accidentally while making tomato soup, and my mom renamed it Scarlet Soup. It was prevalent, you know?”

“Is that why you call yourself that?” You help her over the crumbling wall and ensure she doesn’t fall as she climbs into your arms.

“Yeah. I mean… I like cutting things; it was an ode to my mother,” she breathed slowly.

“How about your real name?”

She smiled weakly. “I’m not dead yet.”

…

There’s a brief argument when you bring Scarlet to Angel, but he realizes how **** the situation is after he sees him. All questions would have to wait. It gave you some time to recall the story you and Scarlet both agreed on, but you'd stay quiet until it was time to say anything.

The kids didn’t seem bothered by the ordeal, and you were surprised by Angel’s ability to operate on Scarlet. It was almost disturbing how well he was able to suit the wound. You helped a little bit, but Angel could have done it alone.

“There must have been some divine intervention to have prevented this girl’s life,” he said. “She should have died on the way back. That wound was bleeding incredibly badly.”

It was difficult to explain why, but you got the notion similar to remembering a forgotten schoolmate. Astrid had undoubtedly intervened to save Scarlet. An odd tinge of sadness itches the pit of your stomach, but you aren’t sure why. “Maybe God has more in the tail for her.”

Angel laughs, but it isn’t friendly. “You think God loves a lowly contractor like her? You think there’s one at all?”

“I try not to think about it. But I think Scarlet has a lot to say about the subject. But I’ve had enough close calls to think someone cares about me.”

He guffaws. “I bet she does believe something like that. Probably making sure she has a way out on the other side once she’s checked out.”

You take offense at his judgmental behavior but bite back the urge to start poking fingers. Perhaps he was right about her… she’s expressed a guilty pleasure in ****, the gross curiosity of the limits of men. “It’s about sending a message,” she remarked once. That's odd, considering she was now out cold by a single lucky bullet.

Angel clears his throat and approaches you. “Get washed up. Your hands are messy, and your work just got a little harder with your partner going out of commission.”

Your eyes shoot a quick glance over at Scarlet as she lies almost completely still in the cot. Your eyes fixate on her chest until you see it raise with her breath. A small sigh escapes your lips, and you return your gaze to Angel. “Yeah…How long is she going to be out, you think? She’s more in touch with the ways Amara wants things done. I’m just the extra hand, you know?”

Angel shrugs. “Scarlet’s not exactly the type of girl that likes to lay in bed, even when she’s supposed to be. I’d be surprised if she’s out longer than two days, even with that nasty little new hole of hers,” he looks back, sharing the stare that you’re having.

“Well, let’s hope I don’t get any acupuncture done to me while I’m out there doing her half of the workload.”

He hums. “Yes, yes… That’s quite concerning, I’ll admit. What *did* happen to her? And how did you make it out unscratched? I was going to ask the girl, but she was blubbering too much for me to make sense of it.”

“I wasn’t there to get the whole story, but it seemed like your clients had a couple of shadows following them. I killed one of the shadows, and I thought for sure they had dusted everyone,” you put on your best sad face and gesture toward Scarlet with a nod. “I thought I lost her too, but she was just playing dead. She nearly blew my damn head off when I turned around.”