CHAPTER ELEVEN: Tuesday, January 15, 7:18 a.m.

Joan awoke in the tent. She could hear John breathing heavily from the other side. She then saw that he was sleeping peacefully. Unzipping the front of her tent, she saw that the sun was just beginning to break the darkness. "I know what I need to do, John," she whispered. She then patted him on his back.

He stirred slightly at her touch.

She then got out of her tent and went to her cart to gather some food for him. She selected several items and took them back into the tent and began writing a note for him on the backside of the cardboard she had previously used as a plate. She then bundled up and left the encampment in pursuit of Finch. She didn't know who he was, how exactly they could find one another, or if she could even trust him. What she did know now was that he was the key to helping John find his way back home.

As she trekked through the icy streets and sidewalks, she questioned her own lucidity because her intended first stop was to the streetlamp and camera where John had stopped the day prior. As she approached the camera, she swallowed hard. "If I were a praying woman," she whispered to herself, "then I would certainly pray right now to make sure I'm doing the right thing."

She stood directly in front of the camera's field of vision. "Finch…I don't know if that's your real name…or your first…or even your last for that matter…but if you can hear me, my name is Joan. John is my friend. I hope he's your friend, too, but I don't know. I don't understand how you could possibly even hear me from this camera up there on the post. This is crazy," she stated. She then looked down at the snow that surrounded her feet. After pausing a few moments, she added, "But if you can hear me, John's lost and needs your help. I'll get him to Our Lady of Angels Parish tonight at dusk. This is crazy," she concluded then turned to go back to the encampment.

She wasn't sure what she would tell John she had done or what she was going to say to get him back to the church that evening. Then a heaviness came over her at the thought of John no longer being there. She had already been through that once, so she knew she could survive the void he would leave in her life. She sat on a bench and watched the people bustle up and down the sidewalks. The sky was a beautiful blue with a few white clouds floating throughout. The bright sunshine caused her to squint as it reflected off the snow. She continued sitting, thinking about John, knowing deep in her heart that he was a good man and hoping she was doing the right thing.

She continued to sit, smelling the sweet aromas of freshly baked scones and bagels. She couldn't remember the last time she had actually eaten something that wasn't considered day old. She then began thinking about the life she had run away from…her family…her dead son. He would be forty one now. She wondered what he would be like as an adult. She wondered if he would be like John…quiet and honorable. She wondered what he would look like…if he would be as big in stature as John. She had always tried not to think about her son or the family she had left behind. Those thoughts always made her sad then mad, and she didn't like having that combination of feelings anymore. "Okay, girl," she spoke quietly to herself, "you better get yourself back home to make sure John ate and drank what you left him." She then got up off the bench and headed back to the encampment.

When she returned, she saw that John had finished everything she had left for him and had gone back to sleep. She decided to let him continue to sleep. It was good for him as long as he would wake up to eat and drink, she thought.

Later that evening as she prepared the ham and vegetables and oranges she had recently received, she decided that the direct and honest approach with John was best. "John, hey, it's time for dinner," she said as she pushed against his shoulder to awake him. She had made two plates for them by pulling apart a Styrofoam To-Go container she had found earlier that day. Each of them had ham, a slice of bread, carrots, and an orange. She was running low on water, so gave John the only bottle she had left.

John awoke with the torn apart Styrofoam container close to his nose. He smiled up at her. Rubbing his eyes and face, John then reached out and accepted the makeshift plate, examining the food she had prepared for him.

John's appetite had come back pretty well, she thought to herself. She watched as he ate the ham and bread and carrots. She then reached forward and took his orange and began pulling its peeling off and splitting it into its sections and placing the pieces back on his plate. She studied him as he picked up one piece of orange at a time and placed it into his mouth. He was a prideful man, she reaffirmed to herself. She had always respected that in him. "John, I'm not really sure that it was God who sent me to help you find your way back home as Father Patrick said. Hell, it's been many many a year since I actually even believed that there was a God who could hear me or who even knew I existed," she softly said.

John stopped chewing. He said nothing as he looked at her. What could he possibly say to her at this moment in time, he wondered. He remembered that she had lost her son and had been on the streets for almost as long as she had lived in her family's home during the first half of her life.

"So, I'm asking you to trust me," Joan continued.

"I do," John reassured.

"Okay, then tonight we need to get back to the parish…okay?" she asked.

"Okay," John answered, not asking her why. He did trust her. So, if she wanted him to go back to the church, then he would do as she asked. He thought she probably wanted him to talk some more with Father Patrick.

"Okay, then," Joan answered.

They finished eating, and Joan brought them each a piece of chocolate she had received from the parish the previous day. She pulled the wrapper off both pieces and handed one to John. "Now, you drink all that water…you hear?" she asked, patting him on his arm.

He tipped back the bottle and drank the water as she had instructed.

After they ate, they both went out to the barrel where a neighbor had started a fire. The wind had picked up, making the air feel colder than the actual temperature. As they stood there, Joan watched as the ashes flew around their faces and danced around them.

There was very little conversation among the homeless. They never felt the need to fill the air with meaningless blab. Joan followed some ashes as they floated and landed onto John's coat. She then realized that he hadn't buttoned it. She instinctively reached over and buttoned his coat from top to bottom.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

Joan didn't feel the need to respond.

They continued standing there with the community of people in the encampment. No one questioned John's presence. When the fire would get smaller, without verbally communicating, one person would scour around for more newspapers or trash to burn.

As the sun began making its way to the opposite end of where she had spied it that morning, Joan stood up on her toes and spoke softly into John's ear, "It's time to go."

John turned and followed her down the steps. Together they walked back to the church.

As the temperatures lowered, icy spots formed at places that had been cleared during the day. They were careful not to fall as they walked close by each other for balance.

They approached Our Lady of Angels Parish. John began heading to the door they had used the previous day.

"No, this way, John," Joan said as she took him to the front sanctuary doors.

John looked confused but followed her into the sanctuary.

The church was breathtakingly beautiful. They both walked down the center aisle toward the altar where candles were burning. A large ornate oil painting of the Madonna was hanging near the altar. It was beyond beautiful, John thought.

John had gotten tired from their journey in the snow to the church. He sat down on the front pew and closed his eyes.

Joan wasn't sure if he was tired or praying or maybe even both, so she remained quiet to be respectful regardless.

A little later, the sound of wind blowing through the front doors made both John and Joan jump and turn toward the sound.

It was Finch.

At first, neither one said anything as Finch made his way down the aisle toward them.

Joan could see that John was uncertain how to respond. She wasn't sure exactly who this small man was who was walking with a limp toward them—even though she was hopeful it was Finch, the man she had talked to through the streetlamp camera.

"Are you Finch?" Joan finally yelled before he was directly in front of them.

"It's Finch," John said almost immediately.

"John," Finch said as he got closer to them. "I have been very concerned. I've been trying everything and everyone to locate you. The Machine spotted you several times, but then I would lose you. I honestly thought you had been killed."

John wasn't sure exactly how to respond but said softly, "I've been lost."

"Oh my God, you look like you've been through hell," Finch answered.

"I think so," John responded.

Joan then sat down beside John on the front pew. Finch walked closer to them.

"He's better but needs some medical attention," she said to Finch.

"I see that," Finch answered.

"John, you need to go with Finch. He can make sure you get those fingers set right and that you get the proper food and medicine to get all better," she adamently stated to him, putting her hands on both sides of his face. "You have a lot of work left to do in this world," she concluded.

John just stared at her, saying nothing. He could remember bits and pieces of Finch but didn't know if he could trust this man he only remembered as Finch.

Sensing his hesitancy, she put one hand on the back of John's neck. "I know you don't know whether or not you can trust this man, but I think you can." As she spoke those words, she looked up at Finch, seeing his greatly confused facial expression. For his benefit she said to John, "Your memory will keep coming back. You just have to give it time."

"Okay…yes," John answered.

Finch then began to understand. His shocked expression was transparent on his face. "John, you work for me. We are friends…well, sort of. You can trust me," Finch said to John, glancing over to Joan.

John then stood. His body was still in pain, and he had not yet conquered the fatigue.

"You know where I am," Joan said as she smiled up at him.

"Yes," he answered.

"Anytime you need some help…or some shelter…or a home for that matter," Joan said, "you are always welcome." Her eyes remained affixed on John, not betraying her by depicting the deep emotional pain she felt at that moment.

John bent down and kissed Joan on the top of her forehead. He could feel the wave of emotion welling up inside him.

She gripped her eyes tightly closed, still trying hard to hold back her emotions. Clearing her throat, she murmured, "I think it was you who was sent to me, you know?"

John squinted at her, taking in what she meant. Slowly, the corners of his mouth turned upwards as he stared at her.

She smiled back then stated, "Go now...okay? Finch is here, and you're going home." She then looked down toward her feet then back up at him and smiled again, pushing back against the pain.

Reaching his hand down toward her, John placed the St. Christopher token into her mittened hands. "You take this…okay? It's yours now."

Looking down into her hand, Joan was unable to control her emotions. Several tears escaped her eyes as she whispered, "Thank you." She held the little silver token in her palms and studied it. She had never seen a St. Christopher medallion up close.

"He's carrying Christ across the river to safety," John stated.

Joan clinched it tightly in her hand. "I will take good care of it," she whispered.

The sanctity of the moment swaddled the three of them.

As the snow blew against the stained-glass windows, Harold came back to the reality of the world then stated softly to John, "Are you ready to go home?"

"Yes," John serenely answered.

Harold then turned to Joan as she continued to sit on the front pew and asked, "Would you like for me to drop you off so you won't have to trudge through this weather?"

"No thanks," Joan responded. "I have some long overdue business to attend to."

"Okay," Finch answered.

John and Harold started walking down the aisle toward the door.

As he approached the door, John turned around to take one last look at Joan. She was still sitting on the front pew. The altar candles burned brightly, framing her small form as she tranquilly sat on the pew. He breathed in deeply and smiled as he saw Joan's head bow down toward her chest. "Overdue business," John whispered, now understanding what she meant.

Finch heard but made no comment. He then led John out the door and to his car. "It's so good to see you again," he said as he started the car's ignition and pulled out into the street.

They quietly sat in the car for a few minutes.

Then a collage of images of Finch and him throughout the past year and a half fired into John's brain. He then remembered Finch-what Finch had done for him and what they do to help people. He remembered that it was Finch who gave him a sense of real purpose for the first time in his life. He remembered that it was Finch who actually gave him a sense of stability and permanence by giving him a home. He remembered that they were, in fact, friends. Then he breathed in deeply and asked in his usual facetious tone as he smiled at Finch, "Were you worried about me, Finch?"

That was the John Reese that Finch had grown accustomed to. "As a matter of fact I was," Harold answered. "Now, let's get you home and back up on your feet."

"Looks like I have a lot of overdue business myself," John said.

"Yes, John, you do," Finch answered.

Harold continued driving on the snowy and icy roads toward John's apartment on Baxter Street. He was determined to get his friend back home.

The people of New York needed John Reese.

THE END

A/N: Thank you readers who followed my story to the end. It did turn out differently than I had anticipated as I was just wanting a little story where Finch comes to get Reese to take him home, stressing that he now has a home and a place. I really liked the Joan character when she appeared in "Risk," so then I had the opportunity to develop her a little. The spiritual aspect at the end was a little shout out of respect to Jim Caviezel. But anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story and its message. I also hope you'll let me know if you followed this story to the end. Take care. -Jenny