Half-Past Dawn

by Richard Doetsch

  “Please, Mia. Breathe. Breathe, dammit.” Jack locked his lips over hers once again and gave her the breath of his life.

  “You can’t die. Let it be me, please, let it be me. Let me trade my life for yours.”

  He forced more air into her lungs and quickly set about pumping her chest. He tore open her shirt, laying his hands just below her bra strap, and looked at the wound. It was above her heart, mercifully missing the vital organ. Maybe, just maybe…

  With a heaving gasp, Mia exploded with life, hacking, coughing, an eruption of water shooting from her lungs. Jack lifted her, taking her into his arms, holding her in his lap.

  “Jack…” she whispered.

  “Shhhh…”

  Mia looked up, her eyes drifting up the rock face to the cliff so far above. “How could I have survived?”

  “The water must have broken your fall.”

  She reached her hand up to the bullet wound, wincing at the contact. Jack pressed his hand over it, trying to stop the flow of blood.

  “How did you…?”

  “Frank’s dead.”

  Mia looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “He was shot.”

  “I know he was shot. Everyone knows he was shot. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know,” Jack said, his head tilted to the side, confused.

  “You do? After all these years, to finally release all of that guilt…”

  “I don’t understand. What you mean?”

  “Jack, Frank died fifteen years ago. Are you OK?”

  And as if caught in a whirlpool, Jack’s mind began to fracture and reconstitute. Frank “Apollo” Archer, shot by those two kids, dying in Jack’s arms… Yet Jack saw Frank that very day, was with him all day until he died minutes ago up in the mansion, the same scenario… shot by two… pinned down… a bullet through his heart.

  “Oh, my God,” he whispered. “That can’t be…”

  And he thought about his father, his regrets for never speaking to him, never telling him how he felt, how he loved the man in spite of everything. He never got to tell him all of those things before he passed away six months earlier.

  And the letter he couldn’t remember writing to Cristos, the one he kept in his pocket, the one where his handwriting disappeared.

  His dog in his kitchen this morning, killed in front of him more than twenty years ago when he was seventeen, run over before his eyes in the driveway. If only he was there a moment sooner to save him…

  Things from so long ago, lost to time, things that could never reappear.

  All dead… But Frank was seen by others, had interacted with everyone. He was no ghost, no figment of Jack’s imagination. Frank helped him save Mia, helped hunt down Cristos. Jack glanced over toward Cristos’s broken body, and his mind snapped, for Cristos was not there. There was no blood, no sign of him ever falling on the rocks.

  And he thought on Ryan’s words, on Emily’s suggestion that it was all in his mind. The tumor. Was it causing the delusions, causing him to see the dead, to imagine those he lost around him? But Jack couldn’t be losing his mind. Mia was there before him. And then he thought, if they were dead, did that mean that he…

  “Jack, don’t you fall apart on me,” Mia begged, seeing the pained look in his eyes.

  “Mia, Ryan said I would become delusional, see things. The tumor must be pressing-”

  “What tumor?” Mia said in shock.

  “I tried to tell you, early in the week. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to say…”

  “What, Jack?”

  “I’m sick.”

  Mia looked at him, confused. “Jack, you’re not sick. You’re as healthy as could be; you just had a full physical a month ago.”

  It was Jack’s turn to be confused.

  “Jack,” Mia whispered, her eyes filling with tears as if revealing the death of a friend, her heart breaking with her every word. “It’s me. Don’t you remember?”

  “What? No, the file, in my desk…”

  “That’s my file, Jack. It’s me. I’m the one who is sick. I’m dying!” she cried. “Maybe six months…”

  Jack stared at her, his mind a jumble. And he held her tight, his mind becoming unhinged with grief. “No, please…”

  “Oh, Jack, please don’t lose it. You have to survive for the girls. You have to be strong.”

  “No. Mia, you have to survive. I saved you.”

  “Oh, Jack. I will fight, but you remember what Ryan said the chances are?”

  Jack’s heart was breaking anew. Everything he had struggled for, everything he had gone through to save her…

  Mia looked up into his eyes with her warm, caring heart. “You saved me today… and you’ll go on saving me, day after day, until you can save me no more.”

  Jack held her close. He had fought so hard to change fate, but it was all for nothing.

  His senses were suddenly filled with the smell of Mia, the odor of her perfume, as if it filled the air around him. Her smell from the powder room that had sparked his memory, that he smelled on her pillow at night, that was forever part of her.

  Jack looked at his wrist. He saw the large cut he had sustained coming down the cliff face. And as he looked at it in the light wash from the lighthouse, he became aware of a stunning reality. The tattoo that had so frightened him, that had scared Cristos, was gone. No evidence was there of the Cotis artwork. Not a drop of ink, not a word, just his arm bleeding profusely.

  And the light from the lighthouse softened, becoming moonlight…

  Jack’s eyes flashed open. He found himself lying on the riverbank, the raging Byram River just feet away. Moonlight danced off the wet leaves and rocks, the thundering river painting the soundscape. There were pieces of the car washed up on the shore by his feet, packages and bags from the rear of the Tahoe. The air was filled with Mia’s perfume, her signature smell, as if it inhabited the world around him.

  And as he turned his head, he saw Mia lying facedown in a shallow eddy of water. He scrambled to her, turned her over, draping his body over hers.

  Ignoring his pain, he ran his hands around her face. “Mia? Please, Mia…”

  He laid his mouth over hers, breathing for her. He pumped her chest as he had done moments ago on the beach. Praying with every compression, “Please, God, please don’t let her die. Take me, take me instead.”

  He glanced over to see the crumpled wreckage of the Tahoe, both airbags deployed.

  He turned his eyes back on her and found her staring up at him.

  “Jack,” Mia whispered. Moonlight reflected off the stones in the blue necklace that he had clasped around her neck just fifteen minutes earlier, its explosion of color filling his eyes.

  “Jack, are you all right?”

  Jack looked into her eyes. She was alive; somehow he knew she would live.

  Jack’s memory was clear, unhindered. And he saw the last moments.

  The SUV hit the bridge pavement… the rear wheels lost their traction… the Tahoe went into a sudden fishtail, he held tight to the wheel as it skirted left to right and back again. He pulled hard to bring the vehicle under control. Mia’s left hand shot up and gripped the passenger strap above the door. Their collective breath caught in their throats as the car spun headfirst toward the guardrail… crashing through, diving toward the raging river. They knifed into the rushing current, water exploded upward, and despite the airbag deployment, Jack’s head smashed into the steering wheel, and all faded to black…

  Jack looked at the car door washed up on the riverbank beside them, at the objects that littered the muddy ground around him, the raging river having washed it all up onshore. There were soccer balls and tennis rackets; the girls’ blue and brown bears, their hair matted, covered in mud; there was the half-open birthday present for Joy, the expensive black purse he got for her birthday next week; Mia’s shopping bag from the department store, the rose-red lipstick sitting in sharp contrast to the muddy ground; three bottles of Mia’s favorite
perfume shattered, shards of glass twinkling in the moonlight as the fragrance permeated everything around them.

  And all of the pain flooded in, as if a pause button had just been released on his nervous system. His head was throbbing, the cuts on his face feeling as if they had been doused with acid, his chest on fire with a pain he never knew could be so severe.

  Jack finally looked at his chest. A shard of metal protruded from the left side, running clear through. His left arm was mangled and bloody. There was no sign of a tattoo, no sign that anyone had written on him… no sign of being shot.

  The contusion on his head was severe; he didn’t need an X-ray to tell him that his skull was cracked, to tell him that his wounds were fatal.

  As the pain grew, overwhelming him with agony, he began to falter, his eyes struggling to remain open, his breathing heavy, focused as if he could fight off the inevitable. Despite his strength of will, he finally collapsed onto his back.

  It wasn’t until 4:30 a.m. that the broken guard rail was noticed by a passing vehicle.

  It was just after 5:30, the glow of dawn on the horizon, when Mia and Jack were rushed to the hospital.

  CHAPTER 45

  SATURDAY, HALF-PAST DAWN

  Ryan McCourt raced from his home to find his friends in the emergency room. He looked at Mia’s X-rays, the CAT scans and MRIs side-by-side, two versions, the ones from ten days ago when he had told them of her diagnosis and the ones moments old. He compared them, up close, side-by-side. Dumbstruck, he quickly pulled them down. No one would believe it, for there could be no explanation.

  Hope Keeler’s six-year-old eyes drifted open; she could hear the sound of the crashing waves on the sandy beach as she lay in the oversized bed at her grandmother’s house. And as the first light of morning washed through the slatted window shades, she saw her father standing there in the early-morning light.

  “Hey, baby,” Jack whispered, the sound of his voice painting a broad smile on Hope’s face.

  And with the sound of his voice, Sara stirred and rolled over. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Daddy’s going away for a bit.” Jack smiled.

  “Where?” Hope asked.

  “Not far, but always remember I’m with you,” he said as he reached out and touched their hearts.

  “Where’s Mommy?”

  “Mommy’s fine. She’s sleeping. You do me a favor and tell her I love her.”

  Hope and Sara nodded in unison.

  “Give me your hands,” Jack said as he took their small hands in his. Unfurling their fingers, he gently kissed their palms.

  “A kissing hand, Daddy?” Hope giggled.

  “A kissing hand, baby. When you miss me or need me, you just place that against your cheek, and you’ll feel me right beside you.”

  Hope placed her palm against her cheek and smiled. “It’s warm.”

  Sara mimicked her sister.

  Jack smiled. “It always will be.”

  Jack sat on the edge of Mia’s hospital bed and ran his fingers through her hair.

  Her eyes slowly drifted open. “Hi.”

  “Hi back,” Jack said.

  “You’re alive.”

  Jack smiled.

  “Ryan said…” Mia choked back her tears. “How’s it possible? What did you do?”

  Jack touched the blue stone necklace around her neck. The words from Marijha Toulouse’s note echoed in his head, peace and love, healing and long life…

  Jack stared at her a moment, memorizing her face. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the lips, all of his emotions pouring forth. He kissed her cheek, ran his hand through her hair.

  “You know I can’t stay,” Jack whispered as the early rays of sunlight washed over his warm face.

  “No, please, don’t leave me…” Mia could barely breathe through her quiet sobs.

  “Mia,” Jack said softly as he took her face in his hands. “It’s OK.”

  “Don’t you do it,” Mia pleaded with tear-filled eyes. “Don’t you leave me, Jack. I can’t survive without-Please.”

  “Mia,” Jack said, his abbreviated smile creasing his cheeks, “you’re going to live. You’re going to be fine for a very long time. You need to love our girls, teach them the lessons that I would have. Teach them of me and my heart. But most of all, tell them of how I loved you so they may understand and find that most precious of things someday.” Jack looked into her eyes. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “Give me your hand.”

  She laid her hand in his, her palm open, facing up, and he kissed it with love, gently, forever, as if he was pouring his soul into her. And as forever came to an end, he grasped her fingers, curling them around the warmth he left within her palm. He enclosed her hand in his, holding tightly, and smiled.

  Mia watched, crushed with grief, as he began slowly to slip away. Their eyes locked, his warm smile fading… and he was gone.

  EPILOGUE

  Reality is all a matter of perspective,” Jack’s father said as they stood on the beach in front of their house, staring out at Trudeau Island. Jack was all of ten, holding his father’s hand.

  Jack nodded.

  A warm breeze flowed off the ocean as the sun crept up from the horizon, morning’s first light painting the sky.

  “Are you ready to go?” Jack’s father said.

  “No,” Jack said. He was an adult now, walking beside his father. “Why did you come back?”

  “You know. Somebody’s got to watch out for you and because…” David looked at Jack and smiled. “because you’re my son.”

  The funeral was on Wednesday. Mia sat in the front right pew, her girls at her side. Frank’s widow, Lisa, was there, Jack’s mother, Mia’s parents, and Joy Todd.

  Ryan McCourt gave the eulogy, speaking of faith, hope, love, and, as he looked at Mia, miracles.

  Jack was buried in the Banksville Cemetery near his father. Only immediate family and friends were there as his casket was lowered into the earth under the warm rays of the summer sun.

  Jack’s final act, his gift of love, had somehow saved Mia. She didn’t know how, whether it was a miracle, magic, or faith, but somehow Jack had saved her. Mia reached up, wrapped her hands around the blue necklace, and smiled.

  As the crowd began to disperse, leaving Mia and the girls to say their final good-byes, Joy walked over to Mia’s father. She took a moment, drying her eyes, allowing her presence to call his attention.

  “Mr. Norris? My name is Joy Todd. I was Jack’s assistant. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Norris nodded.

  “This is from Jack.” Joy handed an envelope to Norris. He stared at it, confused, as Joy walked away without another word.

  Sam Norris walked into his study. It was after 10:00 p.m. Mia and his two granddaughters were asleep upstairs. They would all be staying with him and his wife for the foreseeable future.

  He reached into the breast pocket of his sportcoat and withdrew the envelope, tearing it open. He read the note once through and turned his attention to the large mahogany box that Jack had made and that Mia had filled with cheap fishing gear, giving it to him for his birthday-the night of their fateful accident.

  He picked up the eighteen-inch-square box, turning it around. It was of excellent construction, pure, nearly invisible seams. He regretted not complimenting Jack on the impressive work. There was always such regret for things left unsaid when someone passed away.

  Norris lifted the lid of the box and looked inside; he pulled out the lures and line and stared at the brass plaque that Jack had affixed: Forever Young-7/1/38 to Eternity. He let out a half-smile and closed it. He laid his hands on the left rear leg and the front right leg as the note had described. Each leg was only a half-inch tall, raising the case barely off the table.

  He pushed them at the same time and heard a subtle click. He then reread the letter. And this time, did the same thing with the other two legs. A second click sounded from the inside. He lifted the lid as the written instructions stated, and the front of
the case slid forth, allowing a large drawer to pop out like magic. Norris reached in and withdrew a large glassine bag marked Evidence.

  There was a second note inside. He withdrew it and began to read. Dear Sam, If you are reading this, then something has happened. We never know the path of fate. Reality is all a matter of perspective. And sometimes the unexplainable occurs. We cannot see the road that our lives will take, but the contents of this box may beg to differ. These items along with a gift of a blue necklace were sent to me by a Cotis priest. He and I had an appointment, but for now obvious reasons, he never arrived. It seems he has died, a matter that is currently under investigation. He had implored, speaking to me about his son, Nowaji Cristos, who was executed for the murders near the UN nearly eighteen months ago. As his son was executed as a result of my conviction, I felt I owed the man at least five minutes of my time. Over the phone, he spoke of knowing the future, of things to come, of warnings I should heed, a statement I immediately dismissed and surmised would be the topic of our future conversation. The day after his death, I received these items…

  Norris thumbed through the two red leather books. The pages in the first were all in a language he couldn’t comprehend, while the second was half foreign, half English, with dates and times in a diary fashion. And on the final page were five names.

  He closed them both.

  Norris picked up the single detailed drawing; it was of Jack dead on the riverbank, a drawing from five days ago… predating the accident and his death. I am unsure who killed the priest, but there is a nagging fear I have. I ask that you look into this matter, using your utmost discretion, keep these items safe, and watch over Mia, as I know you will. I have and will love her forever and always.

  Your son-in-law,

  Jack

  Norris looked at the writing on the top of the drawing. The lettering was cursive and rich, in an odd but beautiful language. His eyes fell on the text below it. It, too, was hand written, in cursive lettering, written in English.