Boat of bodies.
Marc and Will, their upper bodies covered with blood-stained white sheets, wet from river spray, rainwater, and their own blood, lie in the bottom of the boat like fallen soldiers being carried home by their unit. Taylor sits on the floor beside Marc, her hand on his hard, unmoving chest, Shelby not far away, her small hand on her mother’s back. Across from them, Keith crouches near Will, the wind blowing the occasional teardrop out of his resigned eyes onto the sun-squint skin at the crinkled outer corners of his white-creased crow’s feet.
—You sorry you missed all the action? Daniel whispers to Sam.
She smiles.
—Thank you for coming to make sure I was okay, he adds.
—I’d do it again and again, she says. And again and again.
113
Gulf Coast Regional Medical Center. Panama City.
A small, ordinary hospital room—inside of which something extraordinary unfolds.
Reconnection. Reunion. An award, fragile restoration, but a restoration nonetheless.
Formerly conjoined twins—one lying in bed breathing her last breaths, the other standing next to her, holding her hand—joined by their estranged parents.
Taylor. Trevor. Ron. Rebecca.
None of them ever imagine they’d ever be in a room together again—and believing Trevor to be dead was the least of the perceived obstacles.
Though it had been Taylor who called and asked them to rush over to join her for Trevor’s final moments, Ron and Rebecca both act awkward, tentative. Unsure. As if uninvited.
—We’re . . . Rebecca begins, pausing to wipe away the tears starting to roll down her pale, prematurely old face. We’re . . . truly sorry. We never meant . . . any of this.
—We did the best we could, Ron says. We weren’t prepared. Mistakes were made.
Taylor was actually okay with everything until he said mistakes were made. Mistakes were made? You’re fuckin’ right mistakes were fuckin’ made.
—Mistakes were made? she says, surprising herself at the amount of restraint she’s able to exert.
—That sounds like . . . Rebecca says, turning toward Ron. Like we’re not taking responsibility for making them.
—Not what I meant, he says. We made mistakes. We weren’t prepared for . . . what happened and we . . . I mean, how could we be? How could anyone? We loved you both and didn’t want either of you to die. We believed God would . . . We couldn’t choose, couldn’t . . .
Rebecca nods.
—We are sorry, Rebecca says. We truly are. Please forgive us . . . Taylor.
Taylor looks at her, this sad, lost lady and nods. She’s too weary to fight. Too sad too. And she can’t help but think how pleased Marc would be with what is transpiring here.
A sort of former family is a sort of family again.
Trevor’s eyes blink open above her belabored breathing.
—Mama? she whispers.
—I’m here, baby, Rebecca says, rushing over to take her dying daughter’s hand.
Ron joins her, placing his hand on his wife’s back, and though he seems to consider touching Trevor too, doesn’t actually reach down and do it.
—My daughter who was dead, he says, is alive again. And reaches down awkwardly and touches her hand as he begins to shed tears of his own.
And for a few moments, Trever’s final ones, parents and their previously conjoined twins are rejoined.
114
Night.
Late.
Lithonia Lodge.
Candlelight.
No power. No water. But safe.
Julian and Shelby in her bed, on their sides in the middle of the bed, inches apart, a cast on his leg from where Ethan’s round broke the bone.
—I’m so sorry, Julian says.
—You kidding? For what?
—The things I thought. Way I acted.
—Whatta you—
—I thought you’d bailed.
—I never would.
—I know. That’s what I’m saying. I lost faith. Put you in more danger ’cause I’s so fuckin’ pissed. I’m retarded.
She smiles.
—You are kind of, she says.
He laughs.
—Forgive me?
—Before you asked.
—Can you love a retard?
—More than anything, she says, and closes the distance between them.
115
Down the hall.
Alone.
So very alone.
In bed.
Tears.
Can’t sleep.
When Taylor rolls over, Marc is lying there.
She starts smiling and crying. Instantly. Simultaneously.
Both on their sides. Middle of the bed. Intimate. Whispering. Inches and worlds apart.
—I miss you so much, she says.
—I’m right here.
—I’m so sorry. I should’ve never . . .
—What?
—Let you love me.
He smiles that warm, sweet, strong smile of his.
—You didn’t have a choice in the matter.
She laughs, and it causes her to cry harder.
—I’m so sorry I didn’t stay and save you.
—It wouldn’t’ve made a difference.
—I didn’t know you were hurt.
—I know.
Neither says anything for a beat breathing one another’s breaths, looking into one another’s truths.
—You changed my life, she says.
He smiles.
—I reconciled with my parents, she says. We all got to say goodbye to Trevor.
He nods.
—I’m taking in Carter T. Lee, she adds as more evidence of his impact on her.
—Who?
—The last of Dr. David’s patients.
—Say it for me, he says, as he has so many times before. Say I am so loved. Say it out loud.
—I . . . I can’t.
—Yes you can.
—But you’re gone.
—I’m right here. Always.
—No one’s ever loved me like you did.
He nods.
—Like I do. And they never will, he says.
—No one can even tolerate me.
—Say it, he says. Say, I am so loved.
—I . . . am . . . so . . . loved, she says, sobbing now.
He looks at her even more intensely.
—You made me believe that, she says. You’re the only person who ever— Do you wish we’d’ve never met?
—Of course not.
—I was awful to you and got you killed.
—There is that, he says with a smile.
—See?
—You did neither, he says. And I have no regrets.
—Really? Truly?
—It’s funny . . . I always thought dying in the middle of writing a novel would just be the worst kind of . . . I don’t know, unfinished life. That I’d have such a sense of incompleteness, but I don’t. It was so important before and now . . .
116
Alone in her room––her real room––Shelby studies the framed photographs from Last Night in the Woods by Remington James, the book open on the desk in front of her.
Touching the wood and glass of the frame as she gazes at the pictures they hold, she traces the images, makes a tactile connection to them, to Remington. And in that moment she realizes she must finish Marc’s book the way Heather did Remington’s. She has to. She will.
Her focus falls on the image again.
Incandescent.
Luminous.
Radiant rain.
Arcing sparks.
Falling drops of fire.
Field of fireflies.
––I only made it because of you, she says, her words soft, barely audible in the silent space. I know that as surely as I know you were really there with me somehow.
She continues to touch both the book and the pictures as she speaks.
––I know you w
ere there then because of how not here you are now.
She pauses a moment, hoping to hear his voice.
––Please say something, she says.
He has. Remember.
She reaches over and removes from the wall the only image in the series not taken by Remington or one of his traps.
Reverently pulling it to her as if a relic of her new religion instead of just a snapshot taken by Remington’s grieving but grateful mother.
––You saved her too, she says.
Just before being rescued by a passing fisherman, Remington’s mom had grabbed his camera and snapped a picture of his final communication.
The image is that of a cypress tree trunk on the bank of the Apalachicola River, the letters MM carved into its bark.
A monument.
A memorial.
A remembrance.
Memento Mori.
Remember you’re mortal. Remember you’re going to die.
For Shelby, a grateful girl with a new lease on life and a new life growing inside her, a reminder to live––truly live––every moment of the rest of her life. Something she intends to do, a remembrance and memorial of her own she will make with every single breath.
Also by Michael Lister
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Books by Michael Lister
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* * *
(Remington James Novels)
Double Exposure
(includes intro by Michael Connelly)
Separation Anxiety
Blood Shot
* * *
(John Jordan Novels)
Power in the Blood
Blood of the Lamb
Flesh and Blood
(Special Introduction by Margaret Coel)
The Body and the Blood
Blood Sacrifice
Rivers to Blood
Innocent Blood
(Special Introduction by Michael Connelly)
Blood Money Blood Moon
Blood Cries
Blood Oath
Blood Work
Cold Blood
Blood Betrayal
Blood Shot
Blood Ties
Blood Trail
* * *
(Jimmy “Soldier” Riley Novels)
The Big Goodbye
The Big Beyond
The Big Hello
The Big Bout
The Big Blast
In a Spider’s Web (short story)
The Big Book of Noir
* * *
(Merrick McKnight / Reggie Summers Novels)
Thunder Beach
A Certain Retribution
Blood Oath
Blood Shot
* * *
(Sam Michaels / Daniel Davis Novels)
Burnt Offerings
Separation Anxiety
Blood Oath
Cold Blood
Blood Shot
(Love Stories)
Carrie’s Gift
(Short Story Collections)
North Florida Noir
Florida Heat Wave
Delta Blues
Another Quiet Night in Desperation
(The Meaning Series)
Meaning Every Moment
The Meaning of Life in Movies
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www.MichaelLister.com and receive a free book.
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www.MichaelLister.com and receive a free book.
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Also by Michael Lister
Jimmy "Soldier" Riley Noir Mysteries
The Big Goodbye
John Jordan Mysteries
Power in the Blood
A Compassionate Cop Vol. 2
Blood Betrayal
Blood Ties
Blood Stone (Coming Soon)
Special 20th Anniversary Edition of Power in the Blood
Cold Blood
Blood Shot
The Wedding
Merrick McKnight
Thunder Beach
A Certain Retribution
Remington James
Double Exposure
Separation Anxiety
The Remington James Box Set
The Meaning Series
Finding the Way Again
Meaning Every Moment
The Meaning of Life in Movies
Standalone
Burnt Offerings
A Compassionate Cop
Killer Thrillers Volume 1
Written in Blood Volume 5: Cold Blood, Blood Betrayal, Blood Shot
Watch for more at Michael Lister’s site.
About the Author
New York Times bestselling and award-winning novelist, Michael Lister, is a native Floridian best known for his literary suspense thrillers DOUBLE EXPOSURE, BURNT OFFERINGS, and SEPARATION ANXIETY, as well as his two ongoing mystery series, the prison chaplain John Jordan "Blood" series (BLOOD SACRIFICE) and the hard-boiled, 1940s noir Jimmy "Soldier" Riley Series (THE BIG HELLO).
The Florida Book Review says that "Vintage Michael Lister is poetic prose, exquisitely set scenes, characters who are damaged and faulty" and Michael Koryta says, “If you like crime writing with depth, suspense, and sterling prose, you should be reading Michael Lister," while Publisher's Weekly adds, “Lister’s hard-edged prose ranks with the best of contemporary noir fiction.”
Michael grew up in North Florida near the Gulf of Mexico and the Apalachicola River in a small town world famous for tupelo honey.
Read more at Michael Lister’s site.
The Remington James Box Set Page 60