Teary-eyed, Mary buried her face in his chest.
“Oh my God!” she sobbed. “I thought I’d lost you!”
“If you think I look bad, you should see the train.”
Behind Mary, a woman sat quietly against the wall, her folded hands trembling.
“Mom?”
Her almond hair had grayed and crow’s feet creased the corners of her eyes, but as she rose and walked timidly towards him, all Corwin could think about was how much she looked like home.
Mary straightened up and he took his mother’s outstretched hand.
“Corwin, I know that I don’t have any right to see you,” she said, “but I was so afraid.”
“I’m sorry for making you worry, Mom.” He squeezed her hand in his. “I missed you.”
“You’ve got a handful of hairline fractures in your skull,” reported Doctor Renner in his customary, no-nonsense tone. “We were able to reattach your left arm, but it will be a while before you can put any pressure on it. The good news is that in time, you should regain close to full motion. As for the bad news . . .”
“Is this the part where you show me the bill?” inquired Corwin.
The doctor chuckled. “You’re going to have some loss of feeling. And then there’s your right leg. I’m afraid that the damage was too severe. Frankly, it’s a damn miracle you’re alive at all.”
“A damn miracle? Is that your professional opinion?”
“Not many people take a head-on collision from a train and live to crack jokes about it. If the clearance had been any lower, they’d be spraying you off of those tracks with a fire hose.”
“Yet here I am,” said Corwin. “Thanks for saving my life, Doc.”
“You’re welcome, but it wasn’t just me.”
“I guess I’ve got a whole lot of thanking to do.”
“If you’re planning to bake cookies, my wife likes double-chocolate chunk,” Renner slyly informed him as he strolled out the door.
I feel like a wreck, thought Corwin. So why can’t I stop smiling?
The gratitude that welled up inside was too big to contain. He had been dead, and now he was alive! All the things he wished he’d done and the people he wished he’d spent more time with—now he had a second chance, and there was no way a little thing like the loss of a leg was going to stop him.
He was thankful for the doctors and nurses whose talents had saved him, for the paramedics that had gotten him to the hospital in time, for Mary who never left his side. He was thankful for all of them, but his gratitude didn’t end there. It overflowed! As absurd as it seemed, he had an undeniable urge to bow his head and whisper a heartfelt “thank you!”
To whom? Corwin wondered. To the universe? To God?
Ransom had once mentioned just this sort of sensation, as Corwin clearly recalled. In fact, there wasn’t a single word or moment of their adventure that he didn’t recall. The entire experience was etched into his mind. And that wasn’t all. Somehow, the crystalline memory he’d gained while in that elaborate dream world had stuck with him.
I’d make a fine research project for an enterprising neurologist.
He would have to tell Mary all about it, but that could wait. For now, Corwin just wanted to lie back and watch the clouds drift by outside his window. He wasn’t sure what he would do tomorrow, or what he would be, but today, just being alive was enough.
“How does it feel?” asked Maya as she finished adjusting Corwin’s prosthetic leg. His first day of physical therapy had arrived ahead of schedule.
“Like I should have a parrot on my shoulder.”
He gripped the safety rail and stood, testing his balance.
“You’ll have to take it slow at first,” said the therapist, “but you’ll get used to it.”
The length of steel and carbon-fiber that extended below Corwin’s right knee was a firm fit, sturdy yet awkward. It’s all mental, he told himself. The trick wasn’t relearning to walk, but learning to trust that the foot he couldn’t feel would nonetheless support him.
“I heard you were a frequent jogger,” mentioned Maya.
“Every morning,” Corwin said. “No more of that, huh?”
“Actually, we have prosthetics that are specifically designed for runners. You can even play sports, though I wouldn’t recommend soccer.”
Letting go of the railing, Corwin ventured a few steps on his new leg. This isn’t so hard. Walking in a straight line almost came naturally. However, as he turned, he pivoted just a tad too fast.
“Careful!” cautioned Maya.
His top half teetered, but he managed to hold his feet steady.
“I got it,” he said, raising one hand in assurance.
“You can’t afford to take any spills with that left arm of yours, so don’t push yourself, Mr. Invincible. This is going to take some time.”
Corwin’s former cast had been swapped for a smaller one with a neon-green sling supporting his arm. He could wiggle his fingers, which, all things considered, everyone agreed was a happy fact, but for the time being his left arm wouldn’t be good for much more. The thought of falling on it certainly wasn’t appealing, and so he graciously accepted Maya’s assistance in making his way to the treadmill.
She instructed him to climb on.
“Now let’s start with the basics.”
With Corwin’s right hand securely grasping the handle, Maya dialed the treadmill to its lowest setting. The black track slid towards him and Corwin kept pace, shambling with all the swiftness and grace of a peg-legged zombie. After only fifteen minutes his first session was over, but he returned to the fitness center the next day, and the day after that. The prosthetic became a part of him. Soon he was marching up inclines and down stairs. The sling went away, his cast shrank, and one morning in March it finally came time to hit the pavement.
The last gasps of winter were in the air, filling his lungs with frosty electricity. Corwin felt as though he could run forever.
He had jogged these streets hundreds of times, never really seeing them. The city wasn’t, by ordinary standards, a beautiful place. Drab bricks and scarred concrete covered one block after the next. But to Corwin’s reborn eyes, each one of those scars told a story. Dreams were born and crushed here, feeding the fires of this vampiric machine, but the machine remembered. Every life it devoured was enshrined in some little way. A stain on a windowsill, a skid mark on the road; if he could see things as Ransom did, would he be able to glimpse the stories behind the scars?
His prosthetic leg flexed, its carbon-fiber curving to absorb his weight as he leapt over a line of ants that processed in single file between a garbage can and a crack in the adjacent building’s foundation. He imagined shrinking down and exploring the world beyond that fissure, uncovering a whole other city, a subterranean land uncharted by man. And perhaps the towers of that land would have cracks in their foundations as well.
Lights enlivened store windows as he passed between the park and the market. Half of the shops were already open, though it would be another hour before the crowds arrived. One shopkeeper recognized Corwin and waved. Like a lover, the city showed an intimate side of itself to those who woke with it, and every early riser shared a bond. They were all unofficial members of the same sleepless club.
The scent of coffee, bold and earthy, wafted through the doors of a corner café. Corwin could almost taste it, the beans mingling with the aroma of doughy, steaming bagels as the baker next door pulled hot racks from his oven. Young leaves garnished the oaks and sycamores in the park. The trees were coming back to life, just as Corwin had. Dewy branches sprouted new shoots on the dogwoods, their flower buds anxious for spring.
Each bend in the road arrested him with another view, hues vibrant and subtle, all blending and brimming with effusive detail beyond the skill of any painter’s brush to capture. Corwin found himself pausing, not from exhaustion, but simply to take it all in. How many times in his life had he stopped, turned off the music and actually appreciat
ed a sunrise? The eastern sky was a gold flood spilling between the high-rises. He propped his hands on his knees and stared.
Sliding glass doors parted for a woman and her daughter as they emerged from the grocer’s.
“Mommy, that man’s leg is weird!” declared the girl.
“Honey, that’s not polite,” said her mother, embarrassment flushing her cheeks.
The child’s blunt assessment gave Corwin a laugh.
Reaching into one of the shopping bags, she withdrew a cherry-red apple and innocently approached him.
“Here, Mister,” she said, holding it forth.
Corwin accepted the gift with a smile.
“Thanks.”
As his gaze met hers, the gears in his head ground to a halt. Her eyes were arctic sapphires, coldly burning with the wonder of undiscovered stars. They were eyes that he had seen before. Corwin took a stunned step back. She looked younger, but those eyes, that mousy brown hair, that voice like a bell . . .
She’s not Blue, his inner self said. There is no Blue. She doesn’t really exist.
His phone rang, breaking the trance.
“Good morning, Sunshine.”
“I knew you’d be awake,” said Mary.
“Life is too short for sleep.”
Corwin waved gratefully to the girl and her mother as the sidewalk’s invisible current pulled them away.
“It feels nice to tackle the great outdoors again, but I just had the strangest sensation.”
“Are you okay?” Mary’s voice was concerned.
“Yeah, it’s probably nothing, just a spell of déjà vu. Either that, or a rogue memory from one of my past lives.”
“Maybe your karma is catching up to you.”
“I hope not! Somebody once told me that karma is a dangerous thing.”
“Since you’re done doing time at the hospital, I was thinking that we should go out somewhere to celebrate,” suggested Mary.
“You read my mind,” said Corwin. “And there’s this place that I’ve been dying to try. When you get home from work, why don’t you slip into that green dress? I’ll make reservations and pick you up at a quarter to seven.”
27
The Last Great Adventure
Miles of spruce and fir trees rolled by. Sweeping down from the Appalachians, the forest spread its needles over rocky hills and valleys, treetops poking at the burnt orange sky. Mary sat absorbing the view while Corwin looked over the wine list. They shared the old-timey dining car with only a few fellow patrons. Another couple and a pair of businessmen spoke in reserved tones over the thrumming of steel wheels against the tracks.
“Well this is romantic,” remarked Mary, “. . . and unexpected. I didn’t think I’d see you near a train any time soon.”
“Near-death experiences aren’t so bad once you get used to them,” said Corwin. “I may even take up sky diving!”
“That sounds thrilling, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t lose any more appendages.”
“Must you always be so superficial?”
Mary giggled and Corwin found his eyes straying to the plunging neckline of her dress. She looked as lovely as ever, yet something was missing. The silver cross that she had worn almost every day since they first met no longer hung from her neck. Mary wasn’t devoutly religious, not like her mother, but whether for the sake of tradition or fashion, she was seldom without the necklace. Searching his memory, it struck Corwin that not once had he seen her wearing it after his accident.
“You really have changed,” Mary said. “And so have I.” She reached across the white table cloth to hold his hand. “I’ve been thinking a lot these past few weeks. Remember how you used to tease me about not being an atheist? You were always polite and playful about it, never pressuring me too hard. I’d laugh it off and push your arguments out of my mind. Without faith, I didn’t think there would be any meaning in my life. Maybe I was just afraid.”
Corwin gulped, his conscience laden with an unexpected sense of guilt.
“But not anymore?”
“It took you getting hit by that train for me to see it. There was no meaning in that accident, just senseless, random violence. Why would God allow such a thing to happen to someone who was only trying to do a good deed?”
“At least I lived through it,” offered Corwin.
“Just barely, and no thanks to God.”
Breathing unsteadily, Corwin struggled to put his thoughts in order. He wasn’t sure what was stranger, the change in Mary’s convictions or his own conflicted feelings about it.
“I noticed that you’re not wearing your cross.”
“I’ll never wear it again, Corwin.”
“You’re serious about this? You’re honestly becoming an atheist?”
“Aren’t you happy? I thought that this was what you always wanted.”
“I, uh . . . It’s just that this is a big decision. You’ve been a Christian all your life.”
“I’m ready to start a new life. All I need is you.”
As she stared passionately into his eyes, Corwin’s heart melted. The person that he loved more than anyone else in the world was saying goodbye to God. Would she be happier? More cynical? She would definitely be changed. Mary was saying goodbye to a part of herself, and Corwin feared that it was a part he would miss.
Two sizzling slabs of beef, delicately seasoned, journeyed from the kitchen to where the other couple sat at a nearby booth. Once their sharply-dressed waiter had finished attending to them, he moved on to Corwin and Mary’s table.
“Good evening,” he said. “My name’s James and I’ll be serving you tonight. Would you care for some drinks to start off?”
“I’d say tonight calls for champagne,” purred Mary.
Corwin gave the wine list one more look.
“We’ll take a bottle of the Charles Heidsieck.”
“An excellent choice,” said James. “If I could just see your IDs, please?”
It had been a while since Corwin was last carded. One year, eight months, his memory told him. As he fumbled with his wallet, a small, laminated card slipped out and fell to the floor. He bent to retrieve it and felt a sudden chill. On the card was the artful scene of a dove in descent. It was the same holy card that the taxi driver had given him in his dream.
But that’s impossible!
He tried to rationalize. Someone must have slipped him the card at some point in the past. He had glimpsed it and forgotten about it, only to have his unconscious mind dredge the memory back up while he was knocked out and medicated into the Twilight Zone.
That has to be it.
The only problem was that he had no recollection of ever receiving any holy cards, and Corwin’s brain was even better at remembering than it was at rationalizing.
He snatched it up and handed his driver’s license to the waiter. After taking a brief scan, James returned it.
“I’ll be right back with that bubbly.”
Corwin flipped over the curious card in his lap, finding “A Prayer to the Holy Spirit for Discernment” printed in gothic type.
“I’m surprised that you’re not more excited,” said Mary, studying his face.
“You do know that your mother is going to kill me?”
“The choice is mine, not hers.”
“But have you thought it through? I mean, a decision like this . . .” Corwin chewed his lower lip. Am I really about to say what I think I’m about to say? “Maybe you should pray about it.”
“What?” Mary’s expression couldn’t have been any more dumbfounded if Corwin had pulled off his skin to reveal that he was an alien impostor.
“There’s no harm, right? If the Big Man doesn’t exist, then you’ve wasted a minute or two, but if he does, maybe he’ll send you a sign.”
“Are you feeling alright?”
“You know what? I’ll even say a prayer with you!”
“Corwin, I’d rather not.”
He revealed the card, extending it towards her.
“I know this sounds weird coming from me, but somebody gave me this holy card, and–”
Her arm lashed out like a rattlesnake, striking the card from his grasp. It pinwheeled across the aisle, and just then the windows fell dark, the air humming as the speeding train plunged into a tunnel.
“I don’t pray.”
The voice that issued from Mary’s lips belonged to nothing human.
Corwin sprang out of his seat.
“You’re not Mary!” He yanked up his right pant leg, revealing not steel and carbon-fiber, but flesh and bone. “I never really woke up!”
“Imbecile!” The demon’s features warped as she stood erect. “Did you think you’d get a second chance?”
Gone were the dining car’s other patrons. They hadn’t fled, but simply vanished, as if they’d never existed at all.
“Ransom!” Corwin called.
No one answered.
“The angel cannot help you here,” spoke his date, her hands transforming into claws.
Corwin would have given anything for a soulrender. That this accursed monster had dared use Mary’s face set his anger aflame, but armed only with his fists, he knew that he was sorely outmatched. And the demon knew it as well.
Vicious claws raked towards him. Corwin grabbed the nearest thing at hand—a table cloth—and swept it between them. Tableware flew and the fabric tore, but it also billowed, concealing him for a split-second. He sidestepped and kicked. The blinded demon crashed into a booth, more annoyed than harmed.
“The more you resist, the sweeter your pain will be.”
She lunged again, faster than before.
So this is it.
The door to the kitchen swung open and a chef in white hurled a meat cleaver. Corwin leaned to the side as the shrieking demon toppled forward, the cleaver embedded in her back.
“My compliments to the chef!”
Glad for a weapon, he pulled the chef’s blade free, and while doing so noticed two black-suited men hurriedly making their way through the rear car—more agents of the Collection Branch. His first instinct was to run, and already his feet were backpedaling.
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