Every tangible sense of Paul's presence-- his appearance, his scent, but most importantly his touch-- let Gabriel know the man was there, was with him and would remain so, and he found it easier to keep himself together.  He had not loved his father, or had not thought he did... but there was too much in his head, too much guilt and shame and fear, and other things he could scarcely name.  If he had come alone, there was the chance Gabriel would have left everything undone, or worse.  He could feel the itch in his arms, the scars whispering to him to take the edge off, just a little bit, just once more...<br/><br/>But then Paul's hand would reappear somewhere, and Gabriel could shut out those murmurs a while longer.  The car ride was quiet, and soon enough they were in town, if it could be called that: less than 1,000 people, Green River was almost a village, and about as sophisticated.  There was a post office, a grocery store, a handful of other necessary places such as a mechanic and what could be equivalent to a clinic, and little else.  The church was the most impressive building: built in the 1800's, it stood tall and proud over the main square, cloaking its surroundings in shadow.<br/><br/>Gabriel felt suffocated, his throat tight, but he showed no outward discomfort, showed nothing at all.  Since the death had been ruled natural, the body was already at the morgue in the funeral home (the only one in town and where all corpses were sent to be held, for police or others).  That was where they would go first, for paperwork and proper identification.<br/><br/>He quietly directed the way, a few easy turns and then they were there: Bloom's Mortuary.  A hideous little building, low and squat and somber, a giant dark toad in the grass.  Gabriel got out of the car and held back a wince as his feet touched the ground, though the sensation made him want to scream.<br/><br/>His head hurt, a pounding in his skull that had started low and dull on the plane and continued from there.  Nothing like withdrawal, however, so Gabriel could more or less ignore it, and when they both entered the building, the young man had his neutral facade back in place, that serene mask of indifference he wore so well.  Gabriel announced himself to the secretary, who called her boss from his office; when he approached, he looked just like his business.  Stiff, bloated, and a dusty suit.<br/><br/>"Ah, hello Mr. Isetti," he began, all sleek and oily.  When he offered his hand, Gabriel took it, but there was no life in either's grip.  "We are sorry for your loss at this time, sir; truly dreadful, yes, and we were not sure you would make it so soon, but--"<br/><br/>"I want to see him."<br/><br/>Mr. Bloom fumbled with his words, surprised by Gabriel's interruption.  He blinked watery eyes and patted the front of his suit.  "Yes, well, in time, but if you prefer to start on paperwork--"<br/><br/>"I did not ask."<br/><br/>Gabriel had never raised his voice, and he did not do so now, but there was something different in it that colored the air and gave it a sharp, metallic tang.  He was not asking, and he would see his father now.<br/><br/>Mr. Bloom seemed at a loss, but he put on his best customer service smile.  "Of course.  Your friend may stay in the reception--"<br/><br/>"He stays with me."<br/><br/>That smile faltered, then swerved into another bout.  "Very well, sirs, this way," mused Mr. Bloom, and he waved his hand lightly to lead the pair down past a pair of doors marked 'Private'.