Early Thursday morning, I had dialed the number she gave me, only to reach a generic voicemail. By that evening, the number was no longer in service. Frustration, fueled by the entries Charlotte left in my journal, barreled me into a Friday I had no recollection of. Nathan said he found me on the roof of the apartment complex, yelling at the sky. There were no words in my yells. Just pain. Agony.

By Saturday, there was no news and no change.

I sniffed at the smell of alcohol that filled the living room. It was not from a drink, though I rather it'd been. The smell came from the swabs Nathan used to disinfect my arm. The two vials of blood he had earlier in the week were sent off to a friend in Chicago; he needed two more for a friend in New York. He'd assured me it was all for Science, but I didn't care how many tiny bottles he took.

I needed to find Rosie.

"Did you finally read it all?" Nathan asked as he propped his glasses on top of his curls. He wrapped a strap around my arm and tapped his fingers against my skin, in search of a vein.

I looked down at it, tightening my hand into a fist. "I did."

"And?" The needle pressed into my arm smoothly. After years of injecting into and drawing from my veins, Nathan was nearly a pro at it. I'd also grown numb to the initial poke. It was the strange pulling sensation after I'd never get used to.

"And what?" I tried not to think about it. My liquor cabinet was empty because of Charlotte's memories. A bag sat on the coffee table with newly purchased bottles—thanks to Nathan—but I wasn't allowed to touch it until he received two more samples. Ones without any amounts of alcohol.

"Don't get blood on the rug, Nate."

He snorted but ignored the comment. "What did it say?" Nathan placed a bandage between his teeth as he removed the needle and covered the small wound with a cotton ball. "Can you tell me what it said?"

I took in a deep breath as my puncture wound was bandaged, and I moved my arm to rid it of its soreness. "What can I say about it?" I said as I looked at him. "It doesn't tell me everything."

It was true. It didn't.

The entries stopped before Rosie was three, but there were enough to leave only a few empty pages at the end. Nathan's persistent eyes told me he didn't want to hear excuses, and I almost laughed, because it'd lead to an argument I'd never win. "I'll start, only if I'm allowed to open the rum."

"You fucking drunk," he sighed as he placed the vials in a tiny container and closed it tight. "Drink it, whatever. It's yours anyway."

Perfect.

I grabbed a bottle before he said another word. The smell overpowered that of iodine and bandages. With a full swig and a hard swallow, I wondered where I'd start. I could start at Rosie's birth and her time at the hospital—Charlotte wrote it so beautifully that I cried. Or, I could tell him about her first year, her first words; how she learned to walk at seven months.

Though, I knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear. He wanted to know the bigger picture, or what I could sum up from what was written. Why had Rosie sought me out after all this time?

"Charlotte found 'Christ' when Rosie was two," I said, staring at the white carpet beneath my bare feet. "There were pamphlets around New York, welcoming the new, the young or the old—followers of the true faith."

"Catholic or Christian?" Nathan asked as he wiped his hands with a wet napkin.

"Neither," I said as I took another drink and hummed as the rum burned down my chest. "They called themselves Evergreens. They were believers in the Angels of Christ in Heaven."

Nathan made a face as he moved his supplies back to a small cabinet under his desk. After, he grabbed a glass from the kitchen and helped himself to some of my rum. "What the hell is an Evergreen?"

"Not traditional church, that's for sure," I balanced the bottle on my knee, "and I'm not alone."

He spit back into his glass, his glasses flopping down on the tip of his nose. "You're not alone?"

"You heard me," I said. "Charlotte was afraid of being by herself. After Rosie was born, the feeling hadn't left. To raise a child alone in a world she knew no one in, she couldn't. She thought finding a church would ease the ache because a church would always have its arms open. What she didn't expect was to find a church run by people who never aged or died."

Nathan blinked in disbelief. To prove it, I went into my room, grabbed the journal, and returned to the couch to read her passage out loud.

"'January 4th, 2004—Abigail was wonderful. She welcomed Rosie and me with open arms. Answered all my questions. I would have never thought to find such a large group just like myself. I'm welcomed here. I am loved.'" I cleared my throat as I read the next part, "'Lamont, if only you were here to see this. We're not demons, but angels. We're granted eternal life to aid souls, so they may return to Heaven. We have meaning.'"

"Angels?" Nathan coughed the word as he rushed over to his computer. Of course, he started an internet search for the Evergreens and their church of Angels or God. "Angels," he said again.

It took but one search.

I leaned over his shoulder as we stared at a webpage dedicated to those of the 'Church of Evergreens.' There were no pictures of people but of flowers. Images of oceans and skies. Around them were words describing their church. Believers of Christ. True lovers of his Lord Almighty. Anyone who truly joined the church would become angels and had an entrance at the gates of heaven.

"This is shit," Nathan said as he hit his knuckles against the computer screen. "This is just some fake church."

I shook my head. "Charlotte believed it was real. Nate, they're very real."

"Like you?" he asked. "Old, ancient, like you?"

"Like me."

"And how did she know this?" Nathan's eyebrows were high on his head.

Again, I cleared my throat as I turned a few entries after the last. I paced in front of the couch. "'May 11th, 2004—I never once doubted Abby's words or those of Christ. But today I witnessed the truth to our immortality. To prove to our followers that we are truly born of the blood of our Lord, Victor took a knife to his neck. Many of the new followers ran to his side, but he did not fall. Instead, within minutes of bleeding, the wound closed and healed with a faint scar. I'd never seen it in person. It's disturbing that I found the sight of it absolutely beautiful. I could not have this any other way.'"

"He sliced his neck, and didn't die?" Nathan rubbed his chin.

"Rules out your bleeding to death?" I asked as I pressed my brows together.

"No, not really," he said as he searched the webpage for an address, a phone number—anything—but found none. "I don't think he sliced the right artery. Like—"

"He'd done it on purpose?"

"Right." Nathan swallowed. "But why?"

"To gain followers, maybe?" I closed the journal and dropped it on the table. "I've read enough books and have seen enough movies to know how that works."

Nathan snorted. "Cults, you mean?"

"Precisely."

I reached for the bottle again. I've always told Nathan everything, but there was something I wouldn't tell him. At least, not yet. This would keep him from grabbing my face and staring into my eyes. I hated that.

What I wouldn't tell him was that it was her name—Abigail—that had sent me into the longest blackout I've had in ages. I read her name and saw flashes of a woman with blue eyes; a woman I couldn't remember. She smiled, and pain started in the back of my head, one I couldn't drink away. In my head I'd heard her say, "Sleep, John,"

Who was she? Who was John?

"Do these people know that they're not angels?" Nathan turned off his computer screen. "I have the blood results to prove this isn't some holy shit."

"I don't know, maybe? Never met them."

"Maybe you have!" Nathan exclaimed, reaching for his sweater. "Maybe they're the key to everything!"

"No, but I'm sure Rosie is," I put the bottle back down on the table. "Where are you going?"

He tossed my hoodie on my lap and shook his hair. Near the door was a small square mirror, one that hung below a light fixture. He looked at himself in it, inspecting his teeth and giving his hair a second glance. "We're looking for this Rosemary, and we're going now."

I blinked, surprised. Nathan was never one for the dirty work unless there was no choice. Yet, as he zipped his sweater, I made no protest and pulled mine over my head.

"How do I look?" Nathan smiled.

I held in my laugh. "You look fine, but... I don't know where she is."

"We'll start at the café," he said as he dropped his keys into the back pocket of his black jeans and dug his feet into his sneakers. "We can grab a coffee, ask if she's been in there. If not, we'll look around town."

"You've thought this through, haven't you? It's only been twenty minutes."

"Geniuses work in mysterious ways." He grinned as he opened our door. "Now let's solve the mystery that's you."