The grit from the city ground and crunched as his boot-laden feet stomped down the road, his eyes scanning the towering skyline of monotonous gray metal and cement. Something small and shiny caught his eye, a bit of aged copper peeking out from beneath the grime of the street. He stooped over to inspect. "Ah...it's on heads," he muttered, smiling slightly as he picked up the penny, absently wiping it off with his thumb. He whistled a bit, flipping the lucky penny into the air before snatching it back, finally laying it to rest in his pocket.
As he walked, sometimes he would reach in and feel the penny, moving it around to feel its entirety, as if to make sure none of it had disappeared.
Just like her, he thought wryly when he realized what he was doing.
A shadow crept over him, and he looked up, his brows drawing together. The church loomed overhead, stained glass windows decorating the entire façade. An exquisitely carved set of wooden doors was hidden beneath one of the arches, and it was to these that he moved, not at all surprised when they creaked open when he was mere steps away.
"We've been expecting you. Do come in," said the priest. This man, too, matched the city's bleak appearance, with his black clothes, white at the cuffs and neck. A thin gold chain hung from the priest's neck, the crucifix hanging heavily, looking as if it weighed more than the block of metal truly could.
He sighed. She had told them all that he would be searching for her, that much had become certain. Still, he had visited every church, prayed from every seat, lit every candle at least once - some of them twice - asking her God to forgive him and to bring him to her - or her to him.
Today would be no different.
He followed the priest, their steps echoing in the great chapel hall. There were no other visitors today, being noon in the middle of the week, but he liked to do this sort of thing with no one around to see. The priest left him at some point, and he automatically went to the candles, lit a handful, bowed slightly to the representation of her beloved prophet - he, personally, found it disturbing - and then backed into the first pew, sitting himself heavily on the elaborate wooden bench.
His eyes closed, and it wasn't long before his mind was gone.
Today it was a desert. The rolling dunes of sand were beautiful, breathtaking to behold, but the heat was almost unbearable. Still, he took his first step into that torture as he had taken all of his steps since he had begun this journey.
She had told him the distance was not doable, that he should give up on her, leave her be. And then she had been gone, with no warning as to why. He was determined to prove himself to her, and if that meant getting sand in his shoes, blistering and wearing away at his skin, then he would.
He had no idea how long he walked, his steady gait eating up the miles as his wandering mind nibbled away at the hours. It had to have been half a day, at least, perhaps longer. He couldn't tell if the sun had moved, but it was of no matter to him.
The next dune rose up before him, towering and offering another obstacle, its slope slippery with the fine sand of the desert. Still he trudged onward, until something made him stumble. He lost his footing and rolled down the hill he had just come up. He didn't curse, or even offer any kind of complaint, merely got himself to his feet and brushed off his clothes. Something was felt crawling in his hair, and he offered only a slight sigh as he plucked the scorpion from his hair, grasping it by its tail. It protested, trying to sting him, but he simply set it down beside him, letting it go free.
He blinked, and was once more in the church. A quick glance at the windows told him only a few minutes had passed. He stood, glancing once more to the candles, and then turned and left the church, making his way back down the city street, toward his car.
That had been the last of the churches, and for a moment, he was at a loss of what to do. He stopped beside his car, resting a hand on the hood, his fingers tapping idly as he thought. A slow smile lifted his lips, and he opened the door, settling in and starting the engine before he put thought into action.
An hour or so later, he was back on the highway, bags full of candles and matches, even a couple of stained-glass ornaments scattered about the backseat of his vehicle. If there would be no more churches for him to visit, then he would simply make his own church of his car.
He would find her, no matter what it took.
There was no way of knowing how many days he drove, nor hours per day. He stopped only briefly to take care of simple functions - eating, drinking, restroom, gas, and sometimes he even thought to pull over and sleep. Never once did he turn the radio on, nor utter a single word. He focused entirely on the road, and sometimes not even then, looking instead as if he were watching something far off in the distance.
It was during one of these that she appeared, beautiful as the day she had left. She hadn't aged a single day, it seemed. The distance that had seemed so great and imposing now shrank at the sight of her. Anything was doable, it seemed.
He reached out a hand to her, his eyes closing and a smile once more gracing his lips. "My love," he said.
It was then that the strangest sensation of all came over him. He felt disconnected from his body, a last moment of sweetness and adoration passing through him, and then he was opening great white wings, large enough that they seemed to blot out the sun. He flew, the distance forgotten. He was exactly where he wanted to be.
