Jezebel had departed and Rufus was walking alone with the Angel. It didn’t speak to him and Rufus felt uncomfortable in the silence. It was strange to walk beside a being with such warmth. To feel a prospect of love. It was not natural.

They walked through the hallway. Rufus kept wanting to scratch at his bleeding chest, but knew that scratching the open wound would only further damage his flayed skin. So he kept his hands in the pockets of his jacket and looked at his feet as he walked.

“Here you are, young Rufus. Your room.” The Angel stopped before a door labeled on a golden plaque with the number 10. It seemed peculiar that the door would be labeled with that number since the numbers on both its sides were neither nine nor eleven.

The Angel opened the door for him (there was no lock), and let him in. There was another Angel standing besides the large bed in the center of the room.

“This is the Angel Rekesh. Rekesh will address your wound. After it is done,it will wash you and leave you to rest. Rest until Jezebel comes to assist you to the dining room for supper.”

The Angel looked over him, at Rakesh, and they bowed their bald heads to one another. Azriella looked down at Rufus then, eyes gliding in their sockets like balls floating around in a bottle of clear water. Its skin was oiled and smelled like a clean lavender. Its head was lathered so tenderly with the oils that it sparkled and glittered under the crimson lights of Rufus’ bedroom. It gave it a clear complexion; like it was only a reflection of the Angel and not really the Angel itself.

It turned to the hallway, wordless, and beat its great wings together. Tendrils of gingerly air swept from under each wing and brushed against Rufus as the Angel fell upward, into the dark, painted ceiling.

“Hello, child.” The Angel Rekesh said. It also wore long, white robes. So simple that they might have just been a sheet of silk draped over the Angel’s male shaped body. It was darkly skinned with those same blue eyes that Azraella had, and that same bald head and expressionless face.

Rufus nodded in politeness and closed the door behind him. He took a few steps towards the Angel and then neatly collapsed, his head all the sudden feeling like a bag of stones. The Angel Rekesh caught him in time and pulled his limp body up.

There was something that filled him with an absolute comfort in the hands of the Angel that he might have wept. But he had wept too much already, and his tears were running dry.

Soft, cold fingers brushed over his face, cupping his cheek and brushing hair from his brow as the Angel’s echoing voice asked if he was alright. Rufus nodded. But he wasn’t alright. His head lay atop his neck like a boulder on a feather. His throat burnt with the flavor of vomit that was threatening to spill from out his tummy. And his vision was weakening, blurring together objects in the room and spinning his eyes in their sockets.

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The Angel tenderly carried him in its arms- sure footed as if Rufus had weight nothing to it. It draped him over his twin sized bed and slowly began to peel his clothes off, leaving him in his underwear. As it folded Rufus’ torn shirt and cast it aside, Rufus noticed how the blood was not inclined to stain its hands. It was as though the oil covering its skin was refusing to mix with the dirtiness of a human. Or of a demon. There was sand and dirt that ate at Rufus' skin as well as the blood, yet nothing seemed even to touch the Angel Rekesh.

It brushed nimble fingers over Rufus’ eyes and closed them, cool and clean, smearing him with lavender oil. Then it began to pray.

“O, missing Lord. O, he who has mercy upon all but himself.” Rekesh began. Its voice drifted through the room and ran through Rufus’ ears. It was strong and loud, though Rekesh’s lips were barely parted and its throat did not move with the vibrations.

“O, missing lord. . .” Rekesh’s voice trembled and it gave a sudden sob. “Be with my friend today. . . his pain is greater than he feels that he can handle. Send your blessing on he who is sick. Curse he who wronged him. His blood was not spilled in vain; it is for you. For you, is the blood. For he who will save us. Save him first; help me, if it pleases you, as I rid him of pain and welcome him to the cause. To your cause. His blood was spilled as a part of your plan.” Rekesh wept openly now. “Spare him of Satan. He is not yet equipt to return to his home down below. I beg of you; give me strength to mend. Give him power to heal. May you bless us all as we wait for your return. Amen. Amen. . .”

Rufus’ eyes were still closed, but he felt Rekesh’s tears fall on his arm, washing dirt away. They were crisp- cold.

The gentle voice faded with a cry as the Angel began to address the wounds. There was such silence from it that if not for the stinging of his wounds being cleaned with alcohol, Rufus would have thought the Angel to have left. Rekesh tenderly wiped at his chest, soaking the blood though cotton, gentle as a kitten, and just as silent. It washed out the wounds with chemicals that Rufus could not smell over the natural smell of the hotel. Then it picked him up again and led him to the bathroom connected to his bedroom. Rekesh removed Rufus’ underwear and lowered him into a bath of warm, cloudy water, Rufus’ eyes still closed. The water stung and bit at his chest, and he could faintly smell the blood pooling around him into the water, but Rekesh emptied the bath and filled it again, with water warm like a fire in winter. Each time running its hands over Rufus and scrubbing his body with sands and salts and soaps. Cleaning even the wound with a pain that left Rufus unconscious for several moments. Still, through the pain, there was such comfort, floating in the water like a womb, smelling the lavender of Rekesh’s oils and the cleanliness of the soaps. Hands pampered him and ran through his hair, brushing it and scrubbing it until the bright auburn strands fell in ringlets over Rufus’ forehead. Then the Angel emptied the tub and dried him, running the towel over him like a cloud.

At last, Rufus found himself in his bed again. The sheets were cleaned and the mattress so deep and thick that he melted into it. The Angel whispered a prayer above his head, bandaging his wounds. It asked Rufus something, but he was already asleep. He slept for a very long time, thinking of mommy and daddy and Jezebel. . .

It was a thick, misty sleep, without dreams. The kind that makes you feel like you are falling- but not in a startling way; But rather, in a melancholy, accepting sort of way. Like suddenly things were clearer. Easier. When you are asleep, everything is much easier.