Gabriel felt Paul's hand curl over his shoulder, fingers digging into the thin curve of muscle and bone.  He heard his name on Paul's tongue, listened to the man's voice, sharp and low and reverberating with acid in the words, though he understood it was not at him.<i>Find what you came for</i>.  What had he come for?  Nothing still here.<br/><br/>He wouldn't take anything from the house.  Nothing should be disturbed, because if he moved something, if he started kicking up dust and memories, ghosts might come back.  Gabriel simply pulled the door shut again and locked it back up, before turning to go down the hall where he'd started, to retrace his steps.  He didn't want to move anything, didn't want to rustle up the past any further than it was already in his head.<br/><br/>The front door had to be worked again, but it locked solidly behind them, and they could breathe the marginally nicer air on the dilapidated porch.  Gabriel lightly tapped the doorframe with one fingernail, nearly humming in the back of his throat, then went down the steps towards the car.<br/><br/>He stopped midway in the yard, just standing there, and started to laugh again-- little sounds, small and faint but growing.  They turned into a brilliant, rippling noise, and the boy tried to hold them back, but he couldn't anymore than the wide smile on his face.  It was not the smile he gave Paul, not the one of love and adoration; this was bitter and twisted on the edges, sharp as a ragged piece of metal.<br/><br/>"I can't believe the fucker died in church."  Gabriel looked up at Paul, green eyes wide and bright in the sun.  "He should've died in there.  Should've been rotting on the couch with a beer in his hand."  Another burst of laughter, humorless and empty.<br/><br/>"I should've killed him when I left."