by Monica James
My palms are still pressed to her wound, but there is so much blood. Just as I’m about to yank off my sweater, she raises her arm, and with the softest of touches, slips the hood from my face. Her beautiful hazel eyes focus, and she rewards me with a weak smile. “Thank you.” She swallows deeply. “I think…we would have been great friends.”
I don’t understand what she means until her eyes slip shut, and she stops breathing. She’s dying. Every inch of my body howls in anger, and I fiercely attempt to bring her back to life. I perform CPR, breathing my life into her. She has to live. I never thought my heart would work again after Rose left, but now it’s breaking for the girl I never knew.
Her beau is finally the man she needs as he pushes me aside so he can take over. But he’s minutes too late. I almost pluck out his eyes and strangle him with my bare hands, but stop when I hear sirens wailing. “You got this?” It’s not a question, more a threat.
He nods.
Looking down at someone I’ve only just met but feel an inexplicable connection to, I know there is something I must do. “You live, goddammit. You have to live. You belong in this world.” Jumping to my feet, I tear down the alley, ready to take the law into my own hands.
My legs pump beneath me as I run faster than I’ve ever run before. Nothing else matters but finding the motherfucker who shot her and inflicted a world of pain. I’m blinded by my rage, but follow my gut and turn left, heading into a bad part of town. If I’m going to find this scumbag, it’ll be hidden amongst the squalor.
A group of destitute people stands around flaming drums, warming their dirty hands. They don’t bat an eyelash as I charge past them. They’re most likely used to the drama. I sprint farther and deeper into this foreign land, the smell akin to death. I pull a sharp right, and just when I think I’ve gone the wrong way, I see him. He’s running for his life literally because when I get my hands on him, I’ll kill him.
He turns over his shoulder, his eyes widening when he sees me following in hot pursuit. He kicks over a burning barrel, uncaring that he’s just destroyed the source of warmth for a lady and her three kids. I jump over it, never losing sight of the asshole. He ducks and weaves, but I’m with him every step of the way. The icy ground gives way, and he clumsily slips, spilling forward onto his front. His ineptness is my advantage, and I pound onward, tackling him as he attempts to stand.
We both tumble forward, but he breaks my fall as he lands onto the pavement face first. He’s like a rabid animal as he attempts to fight me, but I’m running on pure rage. Pressing my knee into the small of his back, I fist his mangy, long hair and slam his forehead into the concrete once, twice, celebrating the punishing sound. He tries to scramble away, but the blow has left him disorientated, and he fumbles, allowing me to punch him repeatedly in the flank.
His pained grunts are my reward as all I can see is that bleeding angel dying in my arms. He’s still fighting me, attempting to throw me off. He’s strong, too strong for someone who is sober. I have no clue what drugs he’s on, but they’re enough to fuel his adrenaline, and by some miracle, he bucks me off before scampering away.
I fall backward but regain my balance quickly, livid that this asshole is still alive. The words “I think we would have been great friends” play over in my mind, angering me all over again. Because of this motherfucker, I’ll never be able to feel her touch again.
I scurry after him, ready to put him down like the dog that he is, but when he rolls over and reaches into his jacket pocket, it’s too late to turn away.
The metal from the gun barrel catches the shine of the full moon before I see a spark, hear a thunderous roar, and feel a piercing pain. It takes me a few seconds to realize I’ve been shot. I drop to my knees, my kneecaps shattering under the weighty force, but who needs kneecaps when you’re dead?
I collapse into a heap, attempting to raise my hands to press over my wound, but I’ve lost the movement in my limbs. Blood seeps out all around me, and all I can do is helplessly watch my substance hemorrhage out of me.
I’m on my back, a position so similar to that of the girl whose name I will never know. The heavens look down at me, shaking their heads at the predicament I find myself in. Maybe I was never destined to find Rose. Or to know who the mystery girl was.
Fuck that.
I’ll be damned if I die without at least knowing where Rose is.
Forcing my limbs to obey, I limply reach into my jacket pocket, my fingers brushing over the envelope which is now stained with my blood. I’m on the cusp of unconsciousness, but I push on, determined to see this through to the end. My vision begins to fade as the world veers toward murky shadows. I shake my head, clenching my teeth together, adamant to stay awake.
Just as I slide out the yellow envelope, the only color in my blackened world, a hand seizes my wrist and denies me my last rights. I try to fight him, but I can’t. My body is like an overcooked string of spaghetti.
I watch through my right eye, as I’ve lost the vision in my left when he opens the envelope and simpers a reptilian smile. “I think this lady is my jackpot.” He must have seen her info within. No doubt, he’s planning on blackmailing Henry with what he knows. Dropping to one knee, he lifts my shirt. “Too bad you’ll never find out where she is.”
My attempts to fight him are laughable.
“Too bad you’ll never have a taste of that apple pie either.” His insult toward the girl angers me more than not finding Rose. It’s pathetic but defiant, nonetheless. I spit in his face, grinning weakly when my bloodied spittle trickles down his cheek.
He wipes it away with the edge of his sleeve before standing and kicking me sharply in the ribs. For good measure, he adds another two blows to my face. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. I refuse to allow his face to be the last thing I see, so I stare into the universe, making peace with the fact that I’ll never see my son again. I know Grace will look after him like he’s her own. Tears lap at the foreshore, but I refuse to cry.
Footsteps sound in the distance, and I realize that I’m out here all alone. Just as I close my eyes, ready to accept my fate, I’m jarred wide-awake when I’m shaken by both shoulders. “Kid? Can you hear me? Wake up!”
The voice is doubled and slowed down. “For Christ’s sake! Jude!” My vision is clouded, but unless I’m hallucinating, I’m almost certain Henry is at my side. “What happened?” he screams, pressing one hand over my wound as he calls in his location to dispatch.
“How…did you know…where…I am?” The breaths between words are drawn out and quite possibly jumbled, but Henry understands what I’m trying to say.
“I followed you. I knew you were up to something when you pulled onto I-90. But I stupidly sat and watched your truck, certain you’d lead me to where you were going. I saw you chasing that scumbag, but I was too…late.” For the first time ever, I hear remorse.
Whether it’s because I have a newfound forgiveness in my last minutes on this earth, I clutch at Henry’s wrist, which is pressed over my faltering heart. “Chase him. He knows…he knows where Rose is.”
“What?”
I don’t have time to explain. I suddenly grow cold. “He has an envelope. It has the information you need. You were right…I was up to something. I always am. But I found your…girl.” I can’t refer to Rose as mine anymore because she isn’t; she hasn’t been for a while.
Henry lifts my shirt and hisses. “Jesus Christ, kid. I leave you; you’ll die.”
My head lolls as I try to shake it. “Go…I’m already…dead.” This is what Henry has wanted since Rose left. I don’t know why I’m telling him as we’re archenemies, but I guess this is what I have to do to make peace. “Go!” I press when he hesitates. “Find her.” There’s no point in both of us being dead inside.
Henry slowly loosens his hold and gently lays something soft under my head. “Help is on the way. Don’t you die. You’re a stubborn son of a bitch. Don’t let me down now.”
I appreciate his concern altho
ugh it’s come about ten years too late. But I suppose better late than never.
As Henry stands, I make my final plea. “There’s a girl, she’s been shot. Around the corner from where my truck is. Promise me you’ll save her first.”
“What?”
“Promise me.” My heart is failing. I can feel my body shutting down. “Send the paramedics there first. There were sirens but send more.”
“Kid…”
“Do it.”
With a hesitant sigh, he calls it in. “There’s been a shooting at the corner of Appleby and Heights. Send every goddamned ambulance this town has.”
My teeth chatter, my vision is virtually gone, but I’m not frightened. I settle into the ground, adjusting myself to be as comfortable as I can. “Sheriff?”
“Yeah?”
“Light me a cigarette, will you? It’s not like it’s going to kill me.” I try to laugh, but all that escapes me is a wheeze.
I hear Henry rifle through his pockets, and then the unmistakable sound of a lighter being lit. Moments later, I feel the smoke being placed between my lips. “Thanks.”
“Goodbye, Jude. Your death won’t be in vain. I’ll find this lowlife and make him pay for what he did to you. And the girl.” Henry’s parting words are somewhat calming.
Sucking on my cigarette, with my diminishing vision my only friend, I lay alone, staring up into the heavens. I could curse the Gods and beg for mercy, but the truth is, this is the first time in a long time I’ve felt free. Free from the sadness which took permanent residency inside my soul. Of course, I’ll miss Angus, but I know he’ll grow into the remarkable man he’s destined to become. He’s the one and only thing I’ve done right in my life.
I can no longer feel my body. I’m weightless. This is it—the end.
No one can predict their death, and even if I had a crystal ball and could see into the future, I still wouldn’t change a thing. I gave my son the best life I could, taught him what I thought was right to shape him into someone who will do me proud. He’s my legacy. The best mark I left on this world. I gave Henry a reason to go on. And lastly, I met someone who, for the briefest of moments, made me have hope for tomorrow.
Before my eyes slip shut, I see a glimmer, a shooting star. A smile cracks my blood-caked lips.
Make a wish.
Henry
“That stupid motherfucker!” I curse, refusing to weep. I don’t even like the kid. Why am I sad? I run in the direction I saw that vermin go, desperate to find him because according to Jude, he knows where Rose is.
I don’t know how Jude found her, but I don’t care. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, for over a year. This will bring my Jillian out of her permanent slumber. We both died the day Rose left, and it’s my job to bring her back. She took so much of us when she left. This is the only way I can show Jillian how sorry I am for all that I’ve done. I’m not proud of my actions, but I’m ready to make amends for the many errors of my ways.
A sense of right overcomes me. I not only need to find this bastard because of Rose, but I also need to find him and make him pay for what he did to Jude.
I take a right, and I see him. This is it—my salvation starts now.
“Stop! This is the police! I said―” Oh fuck, shit.
No.
I wheeze, clawing at my chest, unable to breathe. I’m dying…again…I died twice? Three times? I’ve lost count. “Jude! No!” A sharp scream rips from my throat, the guttural sound overruled by my harrowing sobs. I attempt to run, but I’m pinned down.
I need to fight for him. I need to save him.
“Victoria!” His voice is my compass, always guiding me when I’m without direction. “Breathe…stay with me.” Those words now take on another meaning. They’ve saved me since the beginning. “Shh, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
“You’re here?” I stop struggling.
A kiss is pressed to my temple. “Yes, always.”
I don’t know how long it takes, but when the room stops spinning, I crack open my eyes, afraid of what I’ll see. It shouldn’t surprise me that the first thing in my blurred vision is Jude. He’s crouched down in front of me, his hair standing on end, his eyes red raw.
“Oh, thank god.” He scoops me into his arms, hugging me so tightly I almost can’t breathe. That thought leaves me winded as I remember another time when I was left gasping for breath.
Jude kisses my hair, my cheeks, my eyelids, finishing with the seam of my mouth. “Are you all right?” He presses his palms to my cheeks, searching my face for clues.
What I just witnessed tackles me from behind. I slouch against Jude, drowning in fresh tears. A sob escapes me. “I saw you die.” My entire being mourns. “You died saving me.” I shake my head, unable to accept this as truth. “No.” The ache of realizing he’s dead rips at my soul once more. “I’m responsible for all of this. I’m the one who deserves to be dead.” I gasp. “Henry? He’s de…?” I finally manage to half choke out.
Jude nods sadly, lowering his inky eyes. My heart breaks. It gets torn into a million irreparable pieces. Nothing makes any sense. But I know this is only the beginning of things to come.
Jude brushes away my tears with his thumbs. I chew my lip to stop the torrent. His breath is warm like a sunlit summer’s day. “Are you ready to see the rest?”
My brain chugs through the darkness, and I slowly process where we are. We’re in an elevator.
“There’s more?”
Kissing my lips tenderly, he stands, offering me his hand. “There’s always more.”
The doors slide open as I slip my hand into his. Logically, this shouldn’t be happening. But this stopped making sense long ago.
The only thing that makes a lick of sense, however, are three simple words which aren’t so simple after all. “I love you.”
I’m rendered utterly speechless. This heroic, remarkable man loves me? I’m no one special, but he, he is heroic and brave. He is utterly epic. “I was right,” I whisper. He cocks his head. “We are great friends.” I confirm a statement I don’t even remember making. It’s so unfathomable. But I can’t even begin to digest what I just experienced because I know there’s so much more to come.
I smooth out the lines between his brows. “But we’re even better lovers. I love you, too. In this lifetime and also the next,” I add, hoping to express that our connection knows no leaps or bounds.
A victor’s grin lights up his face.
I’ve never felt safer in his arms—arms, hands, heart, and soul, which sacrificed their life for mine. “Promise me you’ll save her first.”
I throw my arms around his nape, burying my face into his chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me just yet.” Those words are filled with nothing but remorse.
Regrettably, I untangle myself from his form and look to the right. My eyes abruptly snap to Jude. “What the hell?”
He replies by slipping his hand into mine and leading me into the last place on earth I’d think we’d ever come.
I now understand why Jude suggested I wear a cap. The bright lights hurt my eyes. So do the sorrowing stares of the clusters of people around me. I lower the bill as I huddle closer against Jude’s side.
Our shoes squeak along the glossy white floor, disturbing the eerie feel lingering in the air. The staff passes us, talking in a language I can’t understand. It’s bedlam, but there’s also a stroke of stillness. It’s a feeling I can’t quite explain.
I follow Jude, who seems to know where he’s going. I dare say, just like the graveyard, he’s been here many times before. We go by countless windows, but the curtains are drawn and the doors sealed tight, so I can’t look inside. But the smell, that antiseptic tang, is a vivid reminder of where we are.
As we round a corner, Jude pushes open a double set of swinging doors. His puckered brow exposes that we’re here—wherever here is. I enter slowly, unsure of what I’m about to see. Jude gestures with his chin for me to go onward. I do.
If it weren’t for the sound of my footsteps, I’d believe I was frozen solid, but I’m suddenly drawn to a room at the end of the long white corridor. I don’t quicken my pace. I take my time. Inhaling a slow, deep breath, I continue my wander, bright lights and voices flickering before me. The closer I get to the room, the more vibrant my surroundings become. I want to cover my ears and black out my eyes, but I don’t.
I can feel Jude behind me, but he’s lagging feet away, allowing me to process my fate at my own speed. The sterile rooms all have numbers above the frames of the beige doors. They’re all counting down.
This is the final countdown.
Ten…
Nine…
Eight…
Seven…
Six…
Five…
Four…
Three…
I stop at door number two. “I’m afraid,” I whisper.
“I know, but I promise, it’ll be okay.” His reassurance offers me the strength I need.
He strokes the length of my neck with two fingers as I peer over at door number one. I wonder what prize lies behind the wooden frame. I force my feet to move, closing the distance on a place I suddenly have recollections of visiting before. My steps become heavy; my breathing harsh.
A memory, one I don’t remember making, crashes into me of a doctor flicking open my eyelids, then shining a light from side to side.
“She’s non-responsive.”
“Blood pressure is sixty over forty. Shit, we’re losing her.”
Flashback after flashback assaults me.
“Get her into an operating room now!”
I gasp, clutching at my chest, as it feels like a million butterflies are longing to fly free.
“She’s flatlining!”
“Clear!”
A pain shreds through my body as I jolt upward, the force breaking two ribs.