• • •
?
I bury my hands into my coat pockets and climb the stairs. Everyone seems to be in a hurry, probably trying to get where they need to be before the real snow hits. The older man seated next to me on the train talked my ear off about the storm for most of the trip. When he wasn’t giving me his snow accumulation projections for each town in the Delaware Valley, he was pulling up the Weather Channel website and tracking the storm’s path. According to my own personal weatherman, Philadelphia is in for over a foot of snow. The two point seven inches that I woke up to this morning was just a little tease of what is to come. I only have a few hours before the first flakes are scheduled to arrive.
Which means I need to get my ass moving.
I follow the swarms of people toward what I believe is the main entrance when my attention drifts to my right. I stop abruptly and stare at a massive bronze statue of an angel holding a man in his arms. My eyes land on the inscription at the angel’s feet. I am a few words in when I hear a voice from behind, one which I recognize immediately. I turn and face him…
“You’re going to do great, honey. But promise me you’ll make some time for yourself, to meet some friends, to enjoy college,” Dylan said. I inhaled the woodsy soap scent I had grown to love and squeezed him tighter.
“You know I’m not very good at that kind of thing,” I said.
“And what kind of thing are you referring to?” he asked.
“Trusting people…letting them in,” I said, sighing against his neck.
“If that was truly the case, I wouldn’t be standing here with you, now would I?”
I stepped out of his embrace and stared at him through my tears. His eyes were misty behind his glasses, and his salt and pepper hair was disheveled due to his nervous habit of always running his hand through it. “You’re my exception,” I said.
He smiled, causing the wrinkles around his eyes to deepen. “We’ll see about that.”
“Love you, Dylan.”
“Love you too, sweetheart,” he said, cupping my chin. “Now, get going. You don’t want to miss your train.”
His hand fell away, and he cleared his throat as if he was fighting to compose himself. I withdrew my train ticket from my pocket, grabbed the suitcase at my feet and walked to the boarding dock, but not before stealing one last glance of the man who had changed everything.
My eyes spring open and my head clears. This vision was the most lucid of them all, but it only brings forth more questions and a hollow feeling in my heart. I take two steps forward and stand in the same place Dylan stood in my vision. I know I have to keep moving. People are after me and that storm is almost upon the city. But standing here in front of the Angel of the Resurrection statue, I can almost feel Dylan with me.
I saw his face. Every weathered wrinkle. His blue, kind eyes. I felt the fatherly love he had for me as he hugged me, as he held me to his chest. The love that poured from his eyes when he looked at me. Dylan is my father. In every way that is important. Where is he? If he took me to the train station and saw me off, then he probably lives in the city.
But instead of feeling overjoyed that I remember Dylan, a wave of sadness washes over me. Something feels off. And that something makes the back of my eyes burn.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
I turn toward the voice and find a security guard eyeing me up and down. “Uh, yeah. I was just…leaving.” I bolt out the front entrance only to feel the frigid wind penetrate my jeans. I have to toughen the hell up if I’m going to make it through this day. I zip my jacket to my chin and head east toward center city. I use the tallest skyscraper as my guide.
Although most of the merchants have salted their walks, it is slow going. Patches of ice are everywhere and I have come close to falling on my ass a number of times. But I trudge on. Where? I have no idea. But I do know that I am starving. My stomach growls at the sight of the hot dog vendor docked at the curb. I read the sign advertising the deal of the day: Two dogs and a soda for three bucks. I have limited funds so that means beggars can’t be choosers. I hand over the money and I happily accept what will be my breakfast, lunch and most likely dinner. I take a whiff. Even through the tightly wrapped foil, the dogs smell delicious.
I find a bench and devour my hot dog. I am just about to dig into the second when a man sits next to me. He keeps his distance and positions himself at the far edge. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the holes in his shoes. I don’t want to stare, but for some reason the hot dog in my hand becomes less appealing than the stranger to my right. I turn my head slightly and study his stained jeans and ratty coat. There is no way he is warm or even close to comfortable, not with the blustery wind that likes to kick up every few seconds. His hands grip his knees and he kneads them with trembling bare fingers. “I have an extra. Take it,” I say, offering him the hot dog.
The man looks at me, at my new boots, intact, clean jeans and coat. He appears suspicious, but then he licks his lips and accepts the dog. “You should really get to the shelter. A storm’s coming,” I say, sipping on my Coke.
“It’s too far. My knees won’t make it.” There is a slight wheeze at the end of each word he utters. I can’t help but wonder if the man has bronchitis or pneumonia.
“The one on 23rd Street is right around the corner.” The words are out before I can think. How do I know about that shelter?
“That one shut down a few months ago. Building was falling apart. Say they’re going to fix it up, but I’ll believe it when I see it.” The man takes two quick bites of his dog.
“How about St. Thomas’s Church? They set up beds in the basement when the weather is extreme. It’s nothing luxurious, but it’s warm and dry.”
“How do you know that? You don’t look like someone who has seen hard times,” he says, staring at my new Target wardrobe.
“I…I just know, is all.” That is the truth. I know where the shelter is or where it used to be, anyway. I know St. Thomas’s in Old City opens its doors to the homeless when the weather is abominable. I know if I walk another block and turn left on Walnut Street I will encounter Tony and Alecia’s Deli and be able to get a free cup of soup from the owners just because they feel sorry for those less fortunate.
How do I know these things but have no clue what my name is?
I stand and look at the man. He is in the process of crumpling the foil into a ball and jamming it into his pocket. His hands do not reappear, probably because they are like blocks of ice. I dig into my pocket and pull out a ten-dollar bill and offer it to him. “Take this. Use it to get to St. Thomas’s by bus.” Again he hesitates, but eventually he pockets the money and warns me to be careful. I tell him that I can take care of myself, and for the first time in a week, I truly believe that. Out here on the streets I feel safe, at home.
Which makes absolutely no sense.
I leave for the deli in hopes that the couple who I can picture perfectly in my head will recognize me. But when I get there, a young girl no more than ten or eleven and a middle-aged man wait on me. I ask them about the couple who run the deli. He gives me a sad smile and tells me that he took over the place after his parents died. I offer him my condolences and leave. Feeling defeated, I make my way to St. Thomas’s. I need someone to remember me, to tell me why I belong in this city, why it is so natural for me to break bread with a stranger who is down on his luck.
But the church is empty. Frustrated, I slide into the last pew and gaze at the crucifix above the altar.
“Who am I?” It is barely a whisper, but it somehow seems to echo against the walls of the beautiful church. I look around to make sure that I’m completely alone, but then my vision blurs and I’m transported to the past…
“He loved you so much, honey. You were his whole world.”
My former principal’s words were meant to comfort me. That’s what my head said. But my heart wouldn’t have it. Because it had been blown into a million pieces. I barely gave the kind woman a nod and
the next person was up. There were at least two hundred people sitting in the church and maybe another hundred in line, waiting their turn to pay their respects to a man who had left this world too soon.
He left me.
The only man I had ever loved. The man whose heart was so big, but so very weak.
Why hadn’t he listened to the doctors? They had told him to slow down, to take it easy, to not do anything too strenuous, but he hadn’t listened. And that was why he had dropped dead of a heart attack while jogging in the park around the corner from the townhome we had shared, at least until I had left for college.
“You were the reason he was able to move on. Before you came along…well, he was so sad…so sad,” another woman said. Again, I nodded and forced a smile. I had no idea who this woman was. Someone Dylan had worked with at some point, I assumed. He had no family, none left to speak of, anyway.
Except me.
I am his family. And he will always be my dad…my Dylan.
I had successfully been able to hold back the tears, but with each person in line, with each memory or thought they felt compelled to share with me, I felt the walls caving in around me.
“Let the knowledge that he is with his wife and his other daughter bring you some peace.” I looked into the eyes of Dylan’s childhood friend of over fifty years. They were kind and filled with so much sadness and overwhelming grief, but his words made me want to punch him in the face.
I knew that it was selfish. That I didn’t want Dylan to leave this earth to be with his wife and child in Heaven, because I wanted him to stay with me. But I couldn’t help it. He was only mine for ten years and now the wife and child he had lost in a car accident were going to have him for all eternity. “It does,” I lied.
And that’s how I made it through that day. I lied over and over again as I stood receiving each and every person who came to pay their last respects. I plastered on a smile, thanked Dylan’s friends and colleagues for coming, and told them that he was in a better place. I lied because the truth was just too much to bear.
“Nessa?” The never-ending line of people vanishes, and I am no longer standing just feet away from Dylan’s coffin with the crucifix at my back. “Nessa, are you alright?”
I blink a few times, just to make sure that the man, the priest in front of me, isn’t a figment of my imagination or the beginning of another vision. “You…you know me?”
The priest’s eyes fill with what looks like concern. “Of course, I do. Nessa, what’s wrong?” he asks, slipping into the pew beside me.
“Wait, say that again.”
“Say what?” he asks. “Your name?”
“Yes.”
“Nessa, Nessa O’Neil. Don’t you remember me?”
The salt and pepper hair and deep lines at the corner of his eyes make me believe he hovers around Dylan’s age, maybe a little older.
“Father…”
“Carlson,” he supplies. “Rob Carlson.”
I nod. “Father Carlson, I was…in an accident and I’m having difficulty recalling things.” His eyes widen and I instantly regret my words. Because the questions will start. And that can’t happen. The less he knows the better. For his sake. “My doctor says my memories will return and they are…just not at a pace I like.” He breathes what appears to be a sigh of relief, most likely because he thinks I’m under a doctor’s care. It isn’t a complete lie. Trent is a doctor and he treated me. “When did Dylan…die?” I barely choke out.
“This past June…a month after you graduated from Millersville University. I remember the service we had for him, right here in this church, clearly. The number of people who came to pay their respects…well, it was definitely an indicator of the kind of man he was, the way he lived his life, the way he loved you.”
“Tell me about that day,” I say.
“You were so incredibly strong. You greeted every last one of them, stood there, shook hands, hugged and consoled Dylan’s friends as they grieved. Afterward, you and your best friend and a handful of only his closest friends went to Laurel Springs Cemetery for the burial.”
Jessie was there. At the church and later as we had stood at Dylan’s gravesite and placed roses on his coffin. She wasn’t in my vision, but I know that incredible woman stayed by my side that day, helping me through the most difficult moment of my life.
I want to hear her voice. I need her to tell me that everything is going to be okay. Where is she?
“Jessie, my friend who stayed with me that day…came to the burial…do you know where she is…her last name?”
Father Carlson sighs and scratches his chin. “I don’t recall Jessie’s last name but I remember you introducing her to me as your roommate from college.” I’m just about to thank the man for giving me this info, even though it really doesn’t tell me much, when he suddenly says, “I do remember your friend asking me to pray for her mom because she was sick. I told her I would, of course…”
I don’t hear anything after that because I’m too focused on the image that is flashing through my brain. One of me hugging Jessie in an airport terminal. We’re both crying. She is wiping away tears because she is leaving for Japan to take care of her mom and doesn’t know when she is coming back. I’m a puddle because I know how hard it is to lose a parent and because I know how much I’m going to miss the only real friend I have in this world.
I wonder if Jessie knows I was kidnapped. She most likely has contacted me, sent me a few texts, but Jessie is probably too busy caring for her mom to find it odd that I haven’t responded. It hasn’t been that long since Jessie left for Japan, a few weeks, I think. Maybe a little more.
Suddenly, I’m thankful that I can’t remember Jessie’s last name or her phone number. I don’t want to be tempted to call her, to link her to me. I don’t want those sick bastards who took me to find her. She is safe in Japan…far away from me.
I take a deep breath and my thoughts drift right back to Dylan.
“Laurel Springs Cemetery. Where is that? How far?”
“About ten miles from here, at least a twenty-minute drive, especially in this weather. Nessa, I think it’s healthy that you want to visit Dylan, but with the storm coming…”
“I’ll be fine. I promise,” I say, rising from the pew. He stands and stares at me. I am waiting for him to call me out and tell me that it is obvious I am feeding him a load of bullshit, but he doesn’t.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where are you living? Do you have enough money? Can I help in any way?”
Money.
I have money. Dylan made certain of that. No vision is needed to trigger my memory. But an image of me sitting in a leather chair in Dylan’s attorney’s office comes to me anyway. I can see Dylan’s last will and testament in my trembling hands. I was numb that day. The day I learned that I inherited everything, his townhome in Old City, which was located only a few blocks from here and the money he accumulated from wise investments over the years. But I wasn’t ready to accept it. Because accepting the house and the money meant that I accepted that Dylan was gone. And that was something I just couldn’t do. I told the kind man who was not just my father’s attorney, but a friend, to sell the townhome and put all the money into an account. Maybe someday I would access it, but in that moment I wanted nothing to do with it.
“Father, you’ve been so helpful. What you have given me…it’s more than I could have asked for.”
And that’s God’s honest truth. He revealed my full name, where I went to college, the town I was living in when I was snatched by my kidnappers. And I remembered Jessie and learned that I have the financial means to take care of myself.
“Nessa, if you need someone to talk to, if you just want to remember him, I’m here.”
I appreciate not only his kind words, but the fact that he doesn’t try to pretend to know how I’m feeling. I give the man a hug and thank him. Although I feel safe here, in this church, there is someone I need to see.
Chapter Seventeen<
br />
Griffin
Fucking snow.
The storm has arrived, making my search much more difficult. I have lost count how many times I have driven up and down these Philadelphia city streets looking for that silky brown hair I caressed this morning. That blue coat I bought her, the coat that made her beam and smile in appreciation. I pull over to the side of the road, shut the truck off and punch the steering wheel. I’m losing it. I need to find Clare. To protect her, to tell her how sorry I am. She didn’t deserve what I said to her. It isn’t her fault that she is in love with another man, that she dreamt of him. That he is the one she really wants. It still makes me sick to my stomach when I remember her uttering Dylan’s name while she was asleep in my arms, but I have to focus on what is really important. Her safety. I have to help her, even though after this is over, she will return to her old life…to Dylan.
Frustrated, I retrieve my phone. I click on the My Friends app and wait to see if that tiny dot has moved. It has remained frozen over the train station, the last place she had been when she powered down her phone and made it impossible for me to locate her. To my shock, the dot appears just miles from my current location. And it is moving away from the city, away from me. I shove my key into the ignition, adjust the windshield wipers to the highest possible speed and follow that glorious dot.
• • •
Nessa
I don’t know if it was divine intervention at play, but my visit to St. Thomas’s has unleashed more memories. And those random puzzle pieces that once taunted me? They are finally starting to lock into place.
I hail a cab and give the driver my destination. Sitting back in my seat, I power on my phone. Father Carlson was right. I am just a little over ten miles away. I have every intention of catching my breath and getting my thoughts in order while we make the twenty-minute drive to the cemetery. That is until my attention is snagged by the golden arches…
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