A Question of Will

by Craig Spector

  Paul glanced up, saw the glow of St. Anthony’s, dead ahead. "Hang in there," Ellis called back, as they pulled into the bay. "We’re almost home."

  Kyra’s eyes fluttered open, gaze swimming. She saw her father hovering above her, tried to speak, voice rasping.

  "Daddy...?" she whispered, barely audible. A thin froth of blood graced her lips.

  "Hang on, baby," he told her. "Hang on."

  Paul gripped his daughter’s hand. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. For one brief, elongated moment, it seemed like the worst was behind them. She squeezed back, once. Then her fingers went limp.

  And just like that, she was gone.

  PART TWO

  DARKENING DOWN

  TWELVE

  Office of the Glendon County Coroner

  Post Office Box 27 * Glendon, NJ 08840

  5467 Main Street * Glendon County Justice Center * Glendon, NJ 08840 *

  (908) 555-9083

  AUTOPSY REPORT

  NAME [l/f/m]: Kelly, Kyra, Ann AUTOPSY NO: 99-A-012

  DOB: 12/23/83 DEATH D/T: 10/21/99 @2145

  AGE: 16Y AUTOPSY D/T: 10/22/99@0725

  PATH MD: M. WRIGHT, M.D., M.E. ID NO: 217731

  TYPE: COR COR/MEDREC#: 1417-99-A

  FINAL DIAGNOSIS:

  Manual Strangulation

  Circumferential ligature with associated manual furrow of neck

  Abrasions and petechial hemorrhages, neck

  Petechial hemorrhages, conjunctival surfaces of eyes and skin of face

  Scalp contusion

  Linear, comminuted fracture of right side of skull

  Linear pattern of contusions of right cerebral hemisphere

  Sebarachnoid and subdural hemorrhage

  TOXICOLOGICAL STUDIES:

  blood ethanol ñ concentration .02% by weight of alcohol in blood

  CLINICOPATHOLOGIC CORRELATION:

  Cause of death of this sixteen year old female is asphyxia associated with craniocerebral trauma. Homicide.

  The body of this sixteen year old female was first seen by me after I was called to the hospital on 10/22. I arrived at the scene approximately 0645 and entered the hospital morgue. I initially viewed the body in the morgue. The decedent was laying on her back, in a hospital body bag. The decedent was wearing a jacket and scarf, sweater and t-shirt and blue-jeans. A brief examination of the body disclosed a ligature around the neck. Also noted was a small area of abrasion or contusion below the right ear and on the lower left neck. After examining the body I left the hospital at approximately 0925.

  EXTERNAL EXAM:

  The decedent is clothed in a black button down sweater over short sleeve white knit colorless shirt, containing no designs or markings. The shirt was torn down the center line by EMT personnel while attempting treatment during transport. The upper anterior right sleeve contains a dried brown-tan stain measuring 2.5 x 1.5 inches, consistent with mucous from the nose or mouth. There are short white underwear with an elastic waist band. The underwear are urine stained anteriorly over the crotch area and anterior legs. Decedent was menstruating at TOD; vaginal examination revealed OB style sanitary napkin containing 6 ccs decedent's menstrual blood type A+, mixed with urine. Decedent was administered emergency tracheotomy en route to hospital by paramedic personnel, accounting for small puncture wound at base of throat. Decedent D.O.A.

  EXTERNAL EVIDENCE OF INJURY:

  Located just below the right ear at the right angle of the mandible, 1.5 inches below the right external auditory canal is a 3/8 inch area of rust colored abrasion. In the lateral aspect of the left lower eyelid in the internal conjuctival surface is a 1mm in maximum petechial hemorrhage. Very fine, less than 1mm petechial hemorrahages are present on the skin of the upper eyelids bilaterally as well as on the lateral left cheek. On averting the left upper eyelid there are much smaller, less than 1 mm. petechial hemorrhages locates on the conjuctival surface. Possible petechial hemorrhages are also seen on the conjuctival surfaces of the right upper and lower eyelids, but livor mortis on this side of the face makes definite identification inconclusive. [see attached photographs]

  A deep manual furrow encircles the neck. The width of the furrow varies from 3 inches to 1 inch and is horizontal in orientation with little upward orientation. The skin of the anterior neck above and below the manual furrow contains areas of petechial hemorrhage and abrasion encompassing an area measuring approximately 2 x 1 inches. The manual furrow crosses the anterior midline of the neck just below the laryngeal prominence, approximately at the level of the cricoid cartilage. It is almost completely horizontal with slight upward deviation from the horizontal towards the back of the neck. The midline of the furrow mark is 8 inches below the top of the head. The midline of the furrow mark on the posterior neck is 6.75 inches below the top of the head. Fibres and abrasion pattern along furrow mark consistent with fibres of decedent's scarf [lab analysis pending]. The area of abrasion and petechial hemorrhage of the skin of the anterior neck includes on the lower left neck, just to the left of the midline a roughly triangular, parchment-like rust colored abrasion which measures 1.5 inches in length with a maximum width of .75 inches. This roughly triangular shaped abrasion is obliquely oriented with the apex superior and lateral. The remainder of the abrasions and petechial hemorrhages of the skin above and below the anterior projection of the manual furrow are non patterned, purple to rust colored, and present in the midline, right and left areas of the anterior neck. The skin just above the manual furrow along the right side of the neck contains petechial hemorrhated as well as several larger petechial hemorrhages measuring up to one-sixteenth and one-eight of an inch in maximum dimension. Similar smaller petechial hemorrhages are present on the skin below the ligature furrow on the left lateral aspect of the neck. Located on the right side of the chin is a 3/16ths by 1/8th inch area of superficial abrasion. On the posterior aspect of the right shoulder is a poorly demarcated, very superficial focus of abrasion/contusion which is pale purple in color and measures up to 3/4 by 1/2 inch in maximum dimension. On the left lateral aspect of the lower back, approximately 16 1/4 inches and 17 1/2 inches below the level of the top of the head are two dried rust colored to slightly purple abrasions. The more superior of the two measures 1/8th by 1/16th of an inch and the more inferior of the two measures 3/16ths by 1/8 of an inch. There is no surrounding contusion identified. On the posterior aspect of the left lower leg, almost midline, approximately 4 inches above the level of the heel are two small scratch-like abrasions which are dried and rust colored. They measure one-sixteenth by less than 1/16th of an inch and 1/8th by less than 1/16th of an inch, respectively. Three contusions visible on inner thighs and surrounding pubic region, measuring 3/8th by 5/16th by 3/16th by 1/8th of an inch. No overt evidence of vaginal laceration or abrasion.

  REMAINDER OF EXTERNAL EXAMINATION:

  The unembalmed, well developed and well nourished Caucasion female body measures 66 inches in length and weighs an estimated 117 pounds. The scalp is covered by long brunette hair which is fixed in a series of tight knit braids. No scalp trauma is identified. The external auditory canals are patent and free of blood. The eyes are green and the pupils equally dilated. The sclerae are white. The nostrils are both patent and contain a small amount of tan mucous material. The teeth are native and in good repair. Mucus membrane of upper lip lacerated consistent with contusion to mouth; lips and external tissue surrounding mouth swollen and bruised, indicating blunt force trauma to face and mouth. The tongue is smooth, pink and granular. No buccal mucosal trauma is seen. The frenulum is intact. On the left cheek is a pattern of dried saliva and mucous material which does not appear to be hemorrhagic. On the right cheek is a small amount of decedent's blood type A+, consistent with bleeding from tracheotomy. The neck contains no additional palpable adenopathy or masses. Trachea and larynx are crushed.

  Breasts are adolescent and well developed. The abdomen is flat and contains no scars. No palpable organomegaly or masses are identified. Examination of the ext
remities is unremarkable. The fingernails of both hands are of sufficient length for clipping and coated with clear lacquer; the right index and left middle fingernails are broken. Examination of the back is unremarkable. There is dorsal 3+ 4 livor mortis which is nonblanching. Livor mortis is also present on the right side of the face. At the time of the initiation of the autopsy there is mild 1 to 2+ rigor mortis of the elbows and shoulders with more advanced 2 to 3+ rigor mortis of the joints of the lower extremities. Post mortem lividity present in back, buttocks and lower extremities. Rectum is intact.

  No traces of semen/ejaculate found in vaginal area, mouth or digestive tract.

  EVIDENCE:

  Items turned over to the Glendon Police Department as evidence include: fibers and hair from clothing and body surfaces, ligatures, clothing, vaginal swabs and spears; rectal swabs and smears, oral swabs and smears, paper bags from hands, fingernail clippings, jewelry, paper bags from feet, white body bag, sample of head hair, sample of pubic hair, eyelashes and eyebrows, swabs from right and left thighs and right cheek, red top and purple top tubes of blood.

  Signed: Dr. Marcus I. Wright

  Marcus Wright, M.D.

  Pathologist

  END OF REPORT

  THIRTEEN

  Beyond paramedics and police, hard-lit corridors sharp with stainless steel echoes and the stench of human suffering; beyond priest and paperwork, the scrape of ballpoint on paper and click of silicon keys; after the tears and howls of grief and rage; beyond the great shameless whirlwind of death in the belly of the machine, one thing remained.

  Paul had seen it a thousand times before, from the cool distance of the professional. After a big fire, there was always something left: a scorched bit of wire or faint chemical residue to explain its origins; a photograph unscarred, some memento mercifully unsinged by the flames. And no matter how total its fury, or how far the pyre clawed into the night, the morning after always came.

  And with it, the survivors: victims, shell-shocked and reeling, adrift and isolated in a nightmare from which there was, and would be, no waking. Shambling like zombies, sifting acrid wreckage, searching for some fragment of the life just lost.

  The weaker ones clung to cindered shards and pitiful remains, unable to process the sheer magnitude of their immediate suffering or imagine any future beyond its blackened borders, no less the long road that lay ahead.

  But the strong ones...

  The strong let the weight of it fall fully upon them. They squinted through the smoke and ash, picked and prodded smoldering debris, searching the rubble for something, anything, that might somehow be saved. Fighting back tears, muzzling their emotions, they kept going. And in so doing, ultimately found that upon which they might build again.

  But strong, weak, or in between, they all shared one common element at the molten core of their experience, one tie that inextricably bound them. Paul had seen it before, but it had never been truly his. Until now.

  That thing, was pain.

  And, as with them all, Paul’s had a name.

  FOURTEEN

  Daddy... ?

  Paul jerked awake in the darkened living room. For the moment it took for consciousness to bleed through the last tortured fragments of dreaming, it was possible to believe Kyra was there. He didn’t want to wake up. Kyra’s voice chimed again, mischievous.

  Daaa-deee... Wake UP, Daddy!

  Paul opened his eyes. Kyra’s digitized voice peeled girlishly from the little travel alarm clock on the table. It was a Father’s Day present, all sleek black portable LCD wizardry. It could record a ten-second sample and store it on a little chip, then play it as an alarm. Paul had first seen it while cruising the Sharper Image store at the Glendon Galleria, and commented to Julie that it was just the ticket for sleepover shifts at the station. But it had been Kyra’s idea to go back and get it, and to record her own special wake-up call. That was Kyra for you. She remembered.

  Daaa-deee... Kyra’s voice peeled again, sing-song, a little silicon ghost. Forever sixteen. Forever impatient.

  Paul sat up, started to reach for the snooze button, stopped. He couldn’t bring himself to turn it off. Kyra’s voice sounded again, looping.

  Daddy...?

  Paul shut the clock off. He had passed out fully clothed in his black velour recliner, the VCR remote control clutched loosely in one hand. Across the room, the TV was still on, screen glowing blue, volume mercifully muted. At his feet lay an empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a pile of videotapes, splayed randomly across the floor. Their titles were rendered in Julie’s tidy handwriting... Kyra’s first Christmas!!, Trick or Treat!, Kyra’s 3rd birthday, Kyra gets her license! Easily a hundred more stood behind him, stacked in a six-foot high glass-doored case. The Kelly family history, on high chrome VHS -- every holiday, every birthday, a thousand fleeting moments -- all filed, compiled and neatly indexed.

  All that remained.

  Just then Spock came over and nudged him, long canine snout prodding his knee. Behind drawn blinds, the first cold tendrils of sunlight reached through an exposed gap between sash and frame, crawled inexorably across the rug. Dawn. Paul dreaded it.

  Night was somewhat more merciful, the only mercy left. His eyes were sunken pits, tender flesh beneath revealing a deeper darkness, almost bruised. A crust of stubble coarsened his features. His throat was hoarse, pasty. He had to remember to swallow. Pain as if from a great weight hung on his every breath, like some unseen force bearing down on him, pressing the life out. His vitals had been wrenched screaming from his form, mangled and poured back in. Everything inside him fit wrong, bled, burned.

  But he still had to walk the dog.

  Spock squirmed in place, the dobie’s eyes balefully focused on his master. "Hey, boy," Paul said softly. "We forgot all about you..."

  Spock wagged his stubby tail gratefully, ever forgiving, snout still planted on Paul’s leg. He had to pee, bad. Spock disengaged as Paul sat up. The easy chair groaned under his weight. The rest of the house was utterly still. Downstairs, the boiler kicked on with the sub-audible thump of gas flame igniting.

  Upstairs, in another universe, Julie stirred in narcotic release. They’d had to sedate her, so frenzied was her grief upon hearing. Paul had never seen her that way, in a billion nightmares he could never have imagined seeing her that way. But his universe had shattered into a billion bleeding shards, reformed into the image of his wife, screaming, tearing her hair, clinging to and clawing at him, as if he might somehow make this all not be happening... reformed, into the image of his daughter, cold and lifeless in the morgue... gone...

  Paul stopped, started choking up. Upstairs, Julie murmured again; inchoate, subconscious torment. Her parents, up from Atlantic City in the wake of the tragedy, were sleeping in the guest room. Paul heard her father hitch and snore, vaguely resented it. Somewhere in his mind he knew that wasn’t fair. The truth be told, they had done their best, arriving at their door within hours of getting the call. Eleanor, Julie’s mom, had proven herself again the source of her daughter’s control streak by immediately setting about to cooking and cleaning, as if the raw hole in their lives could be magically filled with food, order restored with Formula 409. Under ordinary circumstances she was a forcefully cheerful woman who spouted quasi new-age self-actualizing platitudes and wore her smile like a cross to ward off vampires, but her heart was in the right place. These circumstances were not ordinary. And Paul could not fault her for it.

  And as for Ted, well...

  To his credit, the trauma had seemingly forced a truce in the decades-long rift between Paul and his father-in-law. They had never been close; Ted telegraphed passive contempt to the man he judged unworthy of marrying his only daughter, which had mellowed into a sort of grudging acceptance with the passage of years, and the birth of the granddaughter he cherished. Kyra was the only grandchild they had, the only one they’d ever have. She had brought the two men as close as they’d ever come to accepting each other as family.

  And
now she was gone.

  The tears in the older man’s eyes had been unmistakably genuine, the embrace he’d offered Paul no less so. Paul had hugged him back, felt him shudder in anguish, in the most fleeting moment of vulnerability, of connection. "How could this happen?" Ted had asked quietly. Then they separated, and Paul caught a glimpse of the older man’s eyes. And he saw the answer, cold and clear as the encroaching dawn.

  Your fault...I blame you...

  The kitchen was dimly brightening as Paul shuffled through the doorway, squinting. The intrusive sun offered light but no warmth, obscenely clear and crisp. The Felix The Cat clock waved its tail and rolled its eyes from side to side, marking time, the same sly grin on its plastic face. An oilslick sloshed in Paul’s gut as he moved. Spock followed obediently beside, toenails clicking on terra cotta tiles as he kept pace. Something in his primitive doggy hindbrain had picked up on the vibe, warned him not to be too anxious. They moved through the mud room, and Paul undid the deadbolt.

  "Sorry, boy," he murmured. "Good dog." Spock wiggled impatiently as Paul opened the door, felt a stinging waft of chill air. Spock wormed his way past, slipped through the crack and bolted into the yard. Paul watched blankly as his pet went about his doggy business, sniffing and squatting and loping across the lawn. Yep, a good dog.

  He was eight, Paul thought. Past and present met, instantly collided in his mind. He remembered Spock the puppy, a gangly furball birthday present for Kyra. She was eight, too, the same age as the photo Paul kept in his helmet liner, the lucky photo that had seen him through countless disasters.

  Coincidence? His mind struggled to find a pattern. He remembered the trip to the vet to clip the dog’s ears and tail, the stiff white bandages that invoked his pointy-eared namesake. He remembered how Kyra had asked Paul if it hurt much, how pleased she was when he said no. Then she said, ‘he looks like Spock!’