Paul was silent for the rest of their time in the funeral home, but once they were outside again, he accepted Gabriel's request.<i>Anywhere you need, angel.</i><br/><br/>The boy gazed at Paul with a contemplative stare, but the smile remained on his face.  As long as Paul called him 'angel', as long as the man claimed him, kept him near and called him his, things would be fine...<br/><br/>"I need to go home."<br/><br/>The drive wasn't long; the town wasn't big enough to have more than a couple dozen streets, and most of its inhabitants lived on the edges of the town limits.  The Isetti house was no exception, hidden away in the trees off a side road that strayed off another.  Gabriel knew each twist and turn, told Paul exactly where to go, until finally the pulled up the driveway to the house.<br/><br/>It might have been called cute when it was first built, but that would have been a lifetime ago, and in other circumstances.  Paint was peeling from the vinyl siding, the windows were cracked, and the yard was strewn with trash.  The house itself was a mobile home, bought and placed on the land some decades ago; it stood out sorely against the soft grey-green of the trees, the uncut grass bending in the slight wind.  An ugly thing now, waiting to be destroyed and allowed to die.<br/><br/>Gabriel sat in the car for a moment, looking at the house through the windshield, then finally got out and faced it without the glass.  It really didn't look much different than he remembered; a bit dirtier, but the same.  He didn't look at Paul, not wanting to see his reaction to the place, and instead headed up the broken paving stones towards the front door.<br/><br/>The front steps creaked, like crying out there was a stranger present, but Gabriel was no stranger here.  He put the key in the lock, turned, and remembered to shake the handle loose-- his father had never fixed it, and the door came open.  Gabriel could feel his heart in his chest as he peered into the dark, and then stepped inside.<br/><br/>It was unchanged.  Or rather, certain things had changed-- the mess was a different mess, the smell was different but still bad, and the furnishings looked older, even more worn-- but in its essence, the house was like he'd left it.  He flicked on a switch and the lights fluttered, weak and dingy but enough.  Empty beer cans by the sofa and recliner, a few pizza boxes, wine bottles by the sink, which was nearly overflowing with dishes.  Fly paper taped near the ceiling, in need of removal.  A layer of cigarette smoke and ash over everything, and ash trays scattered wherever someone might put something down.<br/><br/>The walls had the same yellow-orange wallpaper; it had been flowers once, but it didn't look like anything to Gabriel now.  The carpet, whatever color it had been, was dark and muffled Gabriel's steps.  He didn't know if Paul had followed him inside, part of him hoped he hadn't, but it didn't much matter...  This was his home, even if he wanted to deny it.  And Gabriel could not hide the truth from Paul.  He always knew.<br/><br/>The house was quiet, the tv off-- broken, more like, with the spiderwebbed crack along the front.  Maybe his father had gotten mad about something.  There was something broken or damaged wherever he looked, which was no surprise, and Gabriel moved silently from the living area into the dark little hallway.  He passed the miserably cramped bathroom, then stopped at a door with a lock.<br/><br/>It was the same key as the front door, and he did not need to work the handle to get it open.  This door had never put up a fight.  Inside was a jumble of items, storage for other useless shit and some old family things, and in the back, a pair of twin beds piled with boxes on top.  The window in this room was worse off, a long trail of ivy having broken in and made its way up the wall and along the ceiling.  There were some toys, cheap plastic things with too many tiny parts and corporate recalls, and some faded drawings on yellowing paper... a kid's room.  His room, his and his sister's.<br/><br/>Gabriel did not go in, just stood in the doorway, and let his eyes roam to see if there was anything he recognized, anything worth remembering.  Nothing.