Will stepped forward.
“I said, don’t move.” Barrett opened his eyes and frowned. “Perfect . . . until Stillman decided to stay on to pick up the pieces. No matter, I was already waiting anyway. What’s a little more time? It was nothing."
Barrett came from behind the altar and walked down a step. "Stillman got the book, though; brought it home. Then he stopped taking my calls and he returned my money. He returned the money!” Barrett backed up the step toward the altar, keeping an eye on Will. “And he sent the book to your father instead.”
“The pages are blank,” said Will.
“Of course they are,” said Barrett. He laughed then returned to the altar. He ran his hand over the book, pausing at the stone. “I saw the story in the paper months ago. There it was in the photo, the book with the sapphire clasp, next to frogs in dresses in a junk shop only two hours away. Tell me, what kind of place is that for something so sacred?"
Barrett leaned forward, both hands on the altar, head down. "They shouldn’t have pulled me out.”
“But they saved you,” said Will.
“Saved me?” Barrett shook his head. “They condemned me! I should have died in that pond.”
Will walked to the bottom of the steps. He looked up at Barrett. “You risked your life to save hers.”
“I failed," whispered Barrett. "I have failed her every day since. There’s not a moment that goes by that I don’t hear her screams. Don’t you see? I’m not meant to be here.” Suddenly he raised the small book above his head and shouted, “Faith is the key!”
The sapphire burned, radiating blinding light in every color. Tendrils sparked off the stone, surrounding Barrett, arms wrapping him in a luminous embrace. The intensity forced Will to shield his eyes.
Barrett’s eyes were wide and unblinking. He did not shrink in pain. Unable to bear the brightness, Will turned away. The thunder of a thousand voices speaking a thousand languages shattered the century old stained glass. Will ducked between the pews and covered his head as the shards rained down around him. Then, in an instant, the light and the sound ceased.
Will crawled out. There was no glass on the floor. He was alone in the church under Ita's pristine window. Will stumbled into the aisle and up the stairs. He knelt before the altar, eyes closed.
"Take me! Please, take me! Please . . .” shouted Will.
Someone touched his shoulder. "Will." The voice was clear, Deirdre's delicate brogue, sweet and uncomplicated.
“Take me with you,” he pleaded.
She sat on the steps beside him.
“I don’t belong here any more than Barrett,” said Will.
“You asked me for help. I came. Do you think God would abandon you? Your faith is strong, Will."
"I’m not strong," he whispered. "I opened the book. It didn’t work. I stood at that grave and I wished for death." Tears streamed down his face. “Why did you send it to me if I wasn't supposed to use it?"
"It was meant for you, Will, and everyone it touched. They prayed, too. Stillman and Barrett. Even Pritchard.”
Will’s brow furrowed. “It was you,” he said. “The museum. Dorothea.” He paused. “And the messenger. Oisin. God’s messenger . . .”
"Open your eyes, Will."
He looked at her. She wore a simple beige dress, her hair covered by a gray hooded cape, a soft halo surrounding her body. “Ita . . ." Will said her name, letting it echo through the church.
She stood. "I must leave now. And you must choose."
"I need . . . I need to see my mother . . ."
"Your mother is not with us, Will."
Ita's halo intensified. Will forced his eyes to stay open. “Where is she?” he shouted. “Please, where is she?” Ita’s light enveloped him then exploded, passing through his flesh as if he did not exist.
Jordyn ran back to the front of the church, climbed the stairs, and went inside. She searched the dark vestibule expecting to find Will where she had left him moments before. She cracked the sanctuary door and looked down the aisle. Will lay at the top of the stairs in front of the altar, lifeless, on his back like before, below the library window. She tore off her shoes and ran toward him. His jacket flew off her shoulders and dropped softly to the cold tile.
She knelt and leaned over him. "Emerson!" She shook his shoulders. He did not move. She put her forehead on his. Her hair fell onto his face. "Emerson," she whispered. Jordyn laid her head on his chest. She heard no heartbeat, felt no breath. "Will, come back. Come back to me," she pleaded. She closed her eyes and lay with him on the hard stone.
Will opened his eyes and whispered, "She's here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: CHRISTMAS DAY
Will rolled out of bed before dawn. He pulled open the curtains at his window. Fresh snow covered the street, thick and clean, still untouched by the plows. He showered and dressed, then headed for the kitchen where he sat sipping dark tea and stuffing his mouth with biscuits while he waited for Jordyn. Down the hall, his father cleared his throat.
Will crumpled the empty biscuit wrapper, the crunch of the foil extraordinarily loud in the quiet of the apartment. He tossed it in the trash and stood as still as he could, listening. His father cleared his throat again. Will walked to his father's door and knocked softly. "Dad?” There was no response. He knocked harder. “Dad? Please. Open the door.” There was no sound from the other side. Will leaned, back against the jamb, and whispered, "Dad, I need you." The knob turned. William Emerson, Sr. invited his son inside.
Jordyn switched off her clock radio in the middle of The Christmas Song, having heard every version ever made about a hundred times by now. She checked herself in her bedroom mirror. She picked a speck of lint off her trousers and pushed a pearl button at the cuff of her blouse into its hole. She ran her fingers through her hair fussing with the loose curls until they fell, tousled over her shoulders, as if by accident. She fumbled through her makeup bag, pulled out her contact lens case, and flipped open the side marked R. The brown iris stared up at her. She closed the case, flipping it over a few times in her fingertips before she tossed it onto the nightstand next to Oisin’s rose. A petal dropped to the floor.
Will hadn’t spoken to Jordyn since the night of the Black and White. He waited for her in the entryway of his building, pressing his nose to the glass in the door. He made smiley faces in the condensation. Ten minutes passed.
Jordyn jogged up the steps to Will's door, red scarf wrapped to her nose, her cheeks flushed, pink and full of life. Will opened the door.
Jordyn pulled the scarf down. “Sorry. I’m late. El. Snow.”
“Nice scarf. Nice eyes. Is that lip-gloss?"
She smiled at him. "Come on, let’s go.”
The neighborhood still slept under the gray dawn light. Will and Jordyn kicked the snow into delicate poufs as they walked. Neither spoke.
They rounded the corner at Clark Street. Jordyn raced up the block. She turned to face Will, backed up a few steps, and grinned. Will stopped in his tracks, tucked his hands into his pockets, and shrugged. “What?”
Jordyn ran a few steps ahead and crouched down. She scooped together a fist full of snow and compacted it into a near perfect sphere.
“I see," taunted Will. "Give it your best shot. Show me what you’ve got, California.”
Jordyn pressed the snow into a hard ball. Will tucked his shoulders, cowering, trying not to laugh. He held his arms out in self-defense. She gave him a sideways smile and let the snowball fly. It landed hard on his shoulder with a distinct fop. Snow spattered his chin with an icy and unexpected sting. Jordyn giggled.
“Funny, Quig. Very funny.” Will waded into the biggest snowdrift he could find. He shoveled up a loose handful of snow, packed it fast, and flung it in Jordyn’s direction. The ball disintegrated in the air.
“Nice try, Emerson!"
"Dry snow. Makes lousy snowballs." He scooped up another handful, packing it into a lumpy, but more stable ball. He took aim. By the time the snow grazed
Jordyn’s shins, Will was already prepping his next snowball. Jordyn brushed the snow away, covertly forming another ball. She popped up and whipped it, sidearm, at Will. It spattered across his knees. He did not move. The snowball dropped from his hand, sinking into the drift at his ankles.
Jordyn’s brow crinkled. “Emerson?”
“Oh, Jordyn . . .” Will paused. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” he said, gaping at the storefront behind her.
Jordyn turned sharply, coming face-to-face with her own distorted reflection in a dirty, cracked window. The sign above her head creaked as it swung in the morning breeze, the gold and black lettering faded and peeling.
She cupped her hands to look through the window. The room was dark. Her lips tightened into an angry bow. She flicked a chip of gold paint off the window frame then rested her head on the cold glass. She traced a small three-lobed knot at the center of a circle onto the grimy window then wiped the glass clean. She stepped back and closed her eyes then inhaled the winter air deeply and emptied herself of all expression.
She opened her eyes. Will stood beside her, his reflection distorted in the cracked window. He opened his mouth to speak. Jordyn put her fingertips to his reflected lips before he could form the words.
“Molly’s is gone. He’s gone,” she whispered. Jordyn slammed her palms hard against the cracked glass. “No!” she shouted. Gold flakes fell from the windowpane and fluttered, shimmering to the snow-covered sidewalk below.
Will grabbed Jordyn’s wrists and pulled her to his chest, holding her tight. She buried her face in his coat, her body heaving with each sob. She leaned on him, heavy with sorrow and disappointment. He held her until she stopped. She stepped back, composed herself, and took his elbow. They walked to St. Ita in silence.
When they turned the corner at the front of the church courtyard, Will stopped in mid-stride. "What?" said Jordyn.
At the far end, leaning with his back against the fence, Oisin watched the cars pull into the church parking lot. Jordyn searched Will’s face.
“I’ll see you inside,” he said. “Go.”
Jordyn let go of his elbow. Will walked up the stairs and disappeared into the church.
Jordyn watched Oisin for a minute. He turned to her and smiled warmly. She walked to him, hands in her coat pockets. Her brow crinkled. “I thought . . . I thought you were gone.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was time for us to leave.”
Oisin raised his bare hands to her wind chilled cheeks. She closed her eyes, giving in to his touch. "Trust me?" he asked.
Jordyn opened her eyes.
"There’s something you need to see," he said. “Trust me.” Jordyn nodded.
Oisin held out his hand. She took it without hesitation. The sky turned to night. They stood at the top of the stairs in front of a stone rowhome.
"This is my house. How?" asked Jordyn, eyes wide. She tried to open the door. An ambulance wailed in the distance.
"That is your past. You can’t go in." Oisin stepped down onto the sidewalk. Again, he offered her his hand. "Please, Jordyn. Come with me."
"Do I have a choice?"
“We all have free will." She took his hand and they walked down the street. A short woman with long wheat-colored hair waited at the end of the block.
"Devin?" said Jordyn.
Devin smiled tenderly. "He hasn’t explained, has he?"
Oisin frowned. "Some things require showing, don’t you think?"
Jordyn stopped in her tracks. She tucked the red scarf tight around her neck. "Someone, please tell me what's going on.”
Oisin looked her in the eye. "Trust me."
“You keep saying that,” said Jordyn. She looked at Devin.
Devin shrugged. "It’s time to go."
They walked to the end of the block and into the lobby of the children's hospital. The woman at the reception desk did not look up as they passed by. They followed a bright red railroad track inlaid into the floor tile past the gift shop and the elevators. They walked by an empty waiting area, quiet except for cheerful tinging and clanging of a kinetic sculpture. Devin led them down the hallway to the ER waiting room, painted soft green with blocky trees and ladybugs perched on curvy blades of grass.
A young mother with a car seat hanging from the crook of her arm struggled with an exam room door. Oisin placed his hand near hers and pushed. Clear of the door, the mother tucked a pink blanket around her sleeping baby’s chin. The lines on her forehead softened. She smiled at no one in particular.
A gray-haired couple sat together near the nurse’s station. The woman folded and re-folded red and brown feet pajamas. The man looked at his watch. Devin took the seat across from them. The man reached for his wife’s hand and she exhaled.
An ambulance pulled into the driveway, lights flashing. Devin looked at Oisin. “It’s time,” she said and the three of them stood at the edge of a room busy with nurses wearing teddy bear scrubs and a doctor barking out instructions. A small boy lay on the exam table under a harsh halogen lamp. The boy’s father stood near the door holding a bottle with a pink label and no cap.
Devin held Jordyn’s hand. The doctor and nurses stopped cold.
Oisin walked to the bedside. He stroked the boy’s face and lifted him into his arms, rocking him gently as he sang an Irish cradle song, soft and sweet.
He laid the boy back on the table, brushed the hair back from his tiny forehead, and stepped away. A nurse turned the boy on his side. He gagged and the smell of bubblegum filled the room.
The halogen lamp went dark. The doctors and nurses, the boy and his family, and Devin were gone and Oisin stood in front of Jordyn.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said.
Jordyn ran her fingertips along the side of his face. “I’m not.” She wrapped her arms around him.
Oisin stroked her soft hair. He held her tight and whispered, "I have loved you forever.” And she knew it was true.
She stood with him, her soul laid bare in his presence as it had been for countless lifetimes.
Forever . . .
The word washed over her in crushing waves, unyielding, eternal. Her knees began to buckle. Oisin raised her up and kissed her lips. Jordyn kissed him back hard. He tasted like cardamom and honey and the dust of ancient stone cobbled streets. She didn’t feel the snow now falling in heavy flakes all around them on the sidewalk in front of the church.
Oisin kissed her forehead and watched as she opened her eyes, watched as she recognized the centuries of longing and of sorrow no longer hidden in his boyish face.
“You have to go,” said Jordyn.
“I do.”
Oisin twisted the ring off his finger. He held Jordyn’s hand and pressed his ring into her palm. He closed her fingers tight around it and placed her fist over her heart. He kissed her again, long and slow, then walked away, vanishing into the falling snow.
Jordyn uncurled her fingers and looked at the ring, the three-lobed knot inside a circle. She smiled and pushed it into her coat pocket, deep as she could.
Will waited behind the last pew. The altar servers lit the candles and walked to the back of the church with the priest. At the front, a guitarist strummed the first notes of "What Child Is This."
Jordyn slipped inside with the rest of the late-comers, excusing her way politely to Will's side. She took Will's elbow. “So much for a good seat,” she whispered in his ear.
He smiled. “Merry Christmas, Quig.”
“Merry Christmas, Emerson.”
After Mass, Will walked Jordyn to the el stop then headed home. His stomach growled. He took the back stairs, the quickest and most direct route to the kitchen, two at a time.
Will tossed his keys onto the table. They landed on a manila folder with a soft thud and slid off the table taking the file with them. The contents of the file scattered when it hit the floor. He collected the keys and, pausing to read a line here and there, stuffed the loose papers back in place until the file was once again whole.
&n
bsp; He rummaged through a cabinet until he found a fresh package of biscuits, pocketing a few. The stack of files on the counter stood at least ten high. He thumbed the edge of the folder, tucked it into his backpack, and left the way he had come.
An hour later Will rang Jordyn’s bell. She opened the door. He slipped the corner of the file out of his bag. She smiled sideways and pulled him inside.
*****
Connect online at:
http://www.emersonandquig.com
What's next?
Emerson and Quig: Book Two
Finding Jordyn
Now that Will and Jordyn have touched heaven,
find out what happens when hell comes calling.
Table of Contents
Assumptions
Assumptions Page 13