Vickie belted herself in next to Graham and the boy took her hand as the bird lifted off. In the seat behind them Roger Mullen rocked his child, telling the boy he loved him, begging his forgiveness. In the cockpit, the pilot spoke into his headset, telling the dispatcher to notify the Children’s Hospital in Ottawa, ETA twenty minutes, he was transporting a male patient in critical condition. He turned to tell Vickie she and Graham would be staying on board during the drop off, he had to get the bird back to base ASAP. Vickie asked him to radio ahead for a squad car to meet them at the airport in Toronto and take them to the Credit Valley Hospital in Mississauga, where Graham’s parents were patients.
While Vickie was talking to the pilot, she saw Graham undo his seat belt and get up, almost losing his balance going to sit next to Roger. Belting himself in, he took one of Jason’s limp hands and stroked it, saying, “It’s over now, you’ll be okay.”
Mullen looked at Graham and broke down, making the most wretched sounds Vickie had ever heard.
* * *
It was full dark before Vickie Taylor got around to calling her boss. She used a payphone in the waiting area, her cell phone dead, gazing with lidded eyes through a narrow window on the fourth floor of the Credit Valley Hospital, a thin rind of moon riding the clear sky out there, traffic moving along smoothly below her on Eglinton Avenue. She was waiting for the operator to reverse the charges.
Laking came on now, his tone weary, telling her he was still at the cop shop in Arnprior, trying to arrange the Dolan woman’s transfer to a lockup in Toronto. He said, “You must be pooped,” and Vickie laughed, sounding a little crazed.
She said, “No worse than you.”
Laughing now too, Laking said, “What a day, huh?”
“No shit.”
“Where are you now?”
“Credit Valley. Graham’s back with his family. It was quite a scene.”
“Did you cry?”
“What do you think.”
“Pussy.”
“Asshole. Sir.”
Laking laughed. They were both on the verge of collapse. He said, “What about the dad?”
“On a ventilator. They’re giving him a fifty-fifty chance he’ll ever walk again.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. Four kids.”
“And Mullen’s boy?”
“I just got off the horn with the doc in Ottawa. She was pretty guarded. Said her best guess was the kid had been down that hole at least two weeks. Said he’d slipped into a coma from dehydration, malnutrition, and exposure. My impression was she couldn’t believe the kid was still alive. I asked her what his chances were and she wouldn’t say. She told me Mullen’s got family there with him now, though, so that’s good. And the wife’s driving in from Montreal.”
“Well, let’s pray for a good outcome.”
“Already done,” Vickie said. “Any word on Peter Croft?”
“Nothing yet. Last I heard he was still in surgery.”
“And Clayton Dolan?”
“In the root cellar, like the brother said.”
Graham had told Vickie the whole story in the chopper, and Vickie gave Laking the highlights now, telling him about the accidental drowning and the father’s decision to cover it up.
“Unbelievable,” Laking said. “If the son of a bitch had fessed up, none of this would have happened.”
“I know. It’s a shame.”
“Okay, Vick. I’ve got one last thing I need you to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Go home.”
Vickie smiled. “Ten-four, Rob. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, Vick, see you tomorrow.”
She hit the cut-off button and glanced at her watch, then dialed her home number. Her husband Michael picked up and said hello, asking her when she was coming home. Vickie said she was on her way and asked him to put their daughter on the phone. Michael said he’d just put her down and Vickie said, “Please, Michael, I really need to hear her voice.” Michael said sure and a few moments later a sweet, sleepy voice said, “Hi, Mom.”
Vickie said, “Hi, baby,” and felt tears film her tired eyes.
epilogue
October 20, 2008
ROGER MULLEN SAID, “THIS IS the man who saved your life,” but Jason showed no reaction. He’d filled out some in the weeks since they found him, but he was still pale, his gaze somehow vague and unfocused. The new clothes Roger had bought him hung on his brittle frame.
“He hasn’t spoken yet,” Roger said, a fretting sadness in his eyes, “but I believe he knows who we are, Ellen and me. We’ve been showing him pictures, telling him about his life...before, but it’s difficult to say if we’re getting through.
“Ellen’s been staying at the house. We’ve talked about trying again, but I don’t know. Even with Jason back, I’m not sure she can ever forgive me. It’s hard.”
Shivering a little in the autumn breeze, Roger said, “I never got a chance to thank you for finding my son, so I’m doing it now. It breaks my heart that doing it cost you so much, but to have him back...there just aren’t any words.”
Roger took something out of his pocket now, the toy boxcar Peter had stolen. Shaking his head, he said, “I wanted you to have this. Erika told me how you got it. Sneaky bastard. I told her what you said, about being sorry, and she was glad. She said she’d come visit you soon.”
Roger rested the tiny boxcar on the base of Peter Croft’s headstone, gleaming black marble to match his son’s. Straightening, he stepped off the damp sod quickly, not liking the spongy feel of it under his feet. A gust sent autumn leaves cartwheeling across the triple gravesite, and Roger shivered again, his broad shoulders hunching under his jacket. He felt something cool touch his hand and realized it was Jason’s slender fingers lacing through his own. This was the first time since finding him that Jason had touched Roger on his own.
Looking down at Peter’s headstone, Jason said, “Dad?”
Roger felt the word vibrate in his son’s hand. Biting back tears, he said, “Yeah, Jase?”
“This man saved me?”
“Yes,” Roger said, “he did.”
He tightened his grip on Jason’s hand and turned away from the Crofts laid out all in a row in the earth. He’d already decided he’d never come back.
On their way out through the iron gate, cold spits of October rain struck the cobblestones around them. Quickening their pace, Roger and his son made their way back to the Suburban, the only vehicle in the small dirt lot. Roger opened the door for his son and lifted him inside. When he reached for the boy’s seatbelt Jason said, “I can do it,” and Roger ran his hand through his son’s curly hair.
He walked around the hood and got in behind the wheel, resting his hand on Jason’s knee as they drove out of the lot, thunder grumbling in the low autumn sky.
Word of mouth is crucial to any author’s success. If you enjoyed Here After, please consider leaving a rating and review on KOBO. Thanks!
Sign up for the author's newsletter and get Finders Keepers FREE
Did you enjoy Here After? Then you should read Captain Quad by Sean Costello.
If you're an optimist you've probably heard the expression, 'When one door closes, another one opens.' But for Peter Gardner, a young man fresh out of high school with a literal bank of doorways standing open to him, they all slam shut at once. A terrible accident leaves him quadriplegic, paralyzed from the neck down, shattering his dreams of flying, tearing his family apart, and ending a cherished relationship with his girl. Now, he wishes only for death.
But ironically, it is a brush with death which opens a new door for Peter. And when he 'steps' through, it is not into sunlight and promise, but into the darkest reaches of fury, torment and revenge.
So ask yourself this: "Do I have the courage to step through with him?"
PRAISE FOR SEAN COSTELLO
"Costello knows his way around the mystery/horror genre, and he keeps the action moving and the suspense ratcheted u
p tight. He is very much a writer to watch..."
--Margaret Cannon, The Globe and Mail
Books by Sean Costello
Eden's Eyes
The Cartoonist
Captain Quad
Finders Keepers
Sandman
Here After
Squall
Last Call
Horror Box Set
Thriller Box Set
Coming Soon...
Visit the author's website
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sean Costello is the author of eight novels and six screenplays, one of which has been optioned to film by David Hackl, director of Saw V. Depending on the whims of his muse, Costello's novels alternate between two distinct genres: Horror and Thriller. His horror novels have drawn comparisons to the works of Stephen King, and his thrillers to those of Elmore Leonard. In the real world he's an anesthesiologist, but, if asked, he'd tell you he'd much rather be writing. Sean is currently hard at work on his next novel.
As with my every effort,
this book is dedicated to my family:
Carole, Candace and Steve
Love...to those who possess it,
there exists nothing more priceless or powerful.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
epilogue
Also By Sean Costello
Copyright © 2014 by Sean Costello
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Red Tower Publications
Sudbury, Ontario
www.seancostello.net
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2014 BookDesignTemplates.com
Here After / Sean Costello—1st eBook edition.
Original print ISBN 978-1-896350-29-5
Cover photo and design: Amy Bradley www.amalyn.net
Author photo: Alfred Boyd
Sign up for Sean's Author Newsletter
Here After Page 26