The Mission

by Naomi Kryske

  When she closed the door after him, she expected the flat to be quiet, but it wasn’t: She could hear Bear breathing. She remembered waking in the night – when Colin was next to her – and being reassured by the sound of his breathing. Many mornings when she woke, she knew without looking that he had gone to work because she didn’t hear his breath. She would never forget that awful day in the hospital when his chest had been silent. She sat down next to Bear and buried her face in his fur. He didn’t pull away, but after a minute she realized that crying was a terrible way to welcome him, so she wiped her tears away.

  Simon answered her call after the second ring, alarm in his voice. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she assured him. “Simon, I just adopted a dog, a big, black, sad dog. Nick Howard took me.”

  He wanted to shake Howard’s hand. Jenny couldn’t leave for Texas now. “He’ll walk with us then,” he said.

  “See you Saturday,” she answered and hung up. Then she made quick calls to her family, Joanne, and Beth to report the news. Her mother was a little disconcerted to hear that having a pet would prevent her from coming home.

  She talked to Bear while she made his dinner, sprinkling a little garlic powder on top to make the food more appealing. He ate a little, but without the unrestrained gusto most dogs had for their food. He lapped some of the water and then stood quietly, waiting for her next instruction. She took him with her while she made her sandwich and watched television. She attached the leash to his collar before taking him downstairs to the backyard. At bedtime she led him to the doggy bed, but he remained standing. When she came out of the shower, she couldn’t find him at first. He was lying by the front door, so she made a pallet for herself on the floor next to him, and since she hated seeing him on the hard floor, she put his bed there. With one hand on his side, she could feel him breathing as well as hear him, and for the first night in a long time, she didn’t need a sleeping pill.

  CHAPTER 10

  Jenny spent the next forty-eight hours trying to teach Bear to love her. She practiced all the commands with him – sit, stay, down, come – rewarding him with a treat for each correct response. She fed him and brushed him. Always she talked to him. At night she was still unsuccessful in getting him to sleep in his doggy bed in the bedroom, but in the morning he raised his head when she woke on her pallet, and in the afternoon his tail gave a half wag when she attached the leash to his collar. She hoped the exercise would improve his appetite; when Nick had made her walk, it had had that effect on her.

  The third night Bear was sitting in the bedroom when she came out of the shower, so she moved his bed from the front door to the bedroom. He sniffed it, hesitated, sniffed again, and lay down. She felt like cheering.

  She climbed into bed and listened. He was still there; she could hear him breathing. As she pulled the covers over herself, she realized she hadn’t dreamed about Colin since Nick had first arrived. She was just as lonely for Colin as she had been before, but with Bear, less lonely in the flat. Was that progress? She didn’t know. In an attempt to clarify her thoughts, she made a mental list: Good Things That Have Happened Since Colin Died. It was short: I’ve discovered that Nick is a human being; I’m closer to Colin’s mum; and I have a dog. She fell asleep trying to think of a fourth.

  The next day she double-knotted the laces on her tennis shoes and walked with Bear into the Heath past the bathing ponds. The trees’ skeletal branches reached out but grasped nothing, and ice coated the leaves under her feet like the plastic slipcovers in photo albums. It had been warm when she had seen the ponds for the first time with Colin. Tears started to well up in her eyes, and she sat down on a nearby bench to recover. After a moment she heard a soft whine and felt a weight on her knee. Bear had rested his head there. She slipped off the bench and wrapped her arms around his neck, not caring what passersby might think. Progress, for Bear at least, but she realized how cold the ground must feel on his feet, and she felt guilty for thinking only of herself. She cut the walk short and led him back to the flat.

  Later that afternoon Father Goodwyn came by. “I’ve not been able to reach you in some time,” he said. “I’ve been concerned.”

  “You were right to worry,” she answered. “I was really low.”

  And terribly thin. He’d not brought food this trip and wished he had. “Let’s make tea,” he suggested.

  They both went into the kitchen. She set the water to boil then took milk from the fridge while he put the cups and spoons on the counter. “Jenny, you could have rung me. Even at night. In the Royal Army, I was available 24/7. Soldiers often sought me out at night. I’ve always wanted to be where I was needed most.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  He smiled. “My wife and I wanted to have a family, and that’s difficult to do when leaves are short and infrequent.”

  “Was she a soldier?” Jenny filled their cups and watched while he added milk and sugar to his cup. She squeezed a lemon wedge into hers.

  “No, a flight attendant. It took awhile for our relationship to develop, partly because of her travel schedule and partly because phone service, where I was, was inadequate and unreliable. We’re both very happy with our work schedules now.”

  They took their cups into the sitting room. “Are you often called away?”

  “Not so much, but when I am, my wife, who understands service, holds things together in my absence.”

  She felt a wave of sadness. “I haven’t held things together in Colin’s absence.”

  “But you have a companion now, I see.”

  She told him about Nick Howard’s intervention and introduced Neil to Bear.

  “God often uses people to carry out His will,” Goodwyn smiled.

  Had He used Nick “it-would-kill-me-to-smile” Howard? And a dog? For the first time in weeks, she began to laugh.

  CHAPTER 11

  Simon had been curious about Jenny’s dog. When he called by the flat for their walk, the dog had given a single restrained croak, as close to a bark as she had heard so far, she said. He was a handsome, well behaved animal and probably the reason she was less tense. She certainly smiled more frequently, and her story of “pleasing Mrs. Beasley,” as she called it, had made him smile also. “The adoption center made a home visit,” she said, “and I spent the entire time trying to send mind messages to Bear to wag his tail so they would know that he was happy with me.” Those messages hadn’t been necessary today; he wagged his tail at everything she said and followed her like a shadow. “I’m good at teaching creatures to love me, I think,” she had said. Yes, both he and the dog had been quick learners.

  On the serious side, she’d progressed. “I’ve discovered that after an avalanche, you can’t dig yourself out,” she said. “Nick rescued me, but my life is still so empty. Don’t laugh, but I decided to beat this grief thing. Take the bull by the horns! I started to make a list of actions, but I couldn’t think of any. And then I remembered what you always told me: that no one can do it alone and that the only way out is through. So I’m going to call Dr. Knowles, the psychiatrist.”

  He recalled Jenny, the victim, struggling to heal; Jenny the witness, the instrument of justice; Jenny the wife. Now she was Jenny the widow, struggling again. He wished there were something he could do. He rarely ate sweets but knew she loved them, so he stopped at a bakery on their walk back to the flat and bought her a chocolate croissant while she and the dog waited outside. The woman who sold him the pastry looked past him to the passersby on the pavement while he counted his change and scowled when he requested a napkin.

  “All for me, Bear!” Jenny had exclaimed, explaining that chocolate wasn’t good for dogs.

  Special Forces operations and then SO-19 hours rendered it impractical, but he had always wanted a dog.

  CHAPTER 12

  Alcina had thought that she had her anger under control. She had thought that seeing her target would give her a measure of progress, of satisfaction. However, her target had not e
ntered the bakery, and worse, her target had not been alone. Alcina was indignant.

  The man had come into the bakery. Her target had waited outside with a dog, a big dog. Was it his dog? Her dog? It was essential to know. Alcina had seethed.

  Because her target was not alone, Alcina could not follow her. The gathering of further information would have to wait. Alcina’s frustration had mounted.

  Was the man a friend or more? All her plans had centered on attacking a single target. Alcina’s anger intensified.

  The man made his purchase. Her target smiled at the man when he rejoined her. They left together. Alcina’s rage boiled over. She wanted to crush something. She allowed one of the yeast rolls to fall onto the floor where she did her best to grind it into the tile.

  CHAPTER 13

  Sunday, February 23: the anniversary of Colin’s death. Jenny dressed carefully for his memorial service, wanting to honor him, but the weather was so cold her uniform-blue wool suit and white blouse were hidden under her heavy coat.

  Her parents were unable to attend, but her father had sent her a long article about one of the individuals highlighted in Ken Burns’ video series on the American Civil War. It told the story of a young Union Army major, Sullivan Ballou, who had written to his wife, Sarah, a week before the First Battle of Bull Run. In it he mentioned the conflict he felt between love for his country and love for her. Had Colin shared that feeling? Ballou was convinced that if he were killed, he would whisper her name with his last breath, and he had asked her to believe that the soft breeze on her cheek belonged to him and that the air that cooled her was his spirit. He had died on July 29, 1861, at the age of 32. Ballou’s letter was beautifully written and very moving, but Jenny couldn’t figure out why her father had wanted her to read it. Because he thought Colin had been loving and eloquent? Or did he want her to believe that Colin’s spirit was alive? Didn’t he know that the letter would break her heart all over again? Colin’s death had been too sudden and unexpected for last words, and Ballou and Sarah had had two boys. Although it must have been difficult for her to raise them by herself, she had not been alone in her years without him.

  Joanne came to Hampstead, and the Commissioner sent a car for them. “I’m not sure I can do this,” Jenny told her mother-in-law. “See the place Colin was killed. I’ll probably cry in front of everyone.”

  “Anniversaries are difficult, aren’t they?” Joanne answered. “The rest of the time we try to look forward, but anniversaries force us to look back.”

  Chief Superintendent Higham greeted them when they arrived at Oxford Street and escorted them around the corner to the exact site on Davies Street where the oval memorial plaque would be mounted. Colin’s sister, Jillian, and her family arrived a few minutes later. Jenny felt damp like the weather, because her tears were just beneath the surface. She hoped neither she nor the skies would spill over. She watched the breeze ruffle the bouquet of flowers Higham had given her and felt warmed, in spite of the chilly temperature, by his thoughtfulness.

  Police in cold-weather uniforms blocked Davies Street to through traffic. Beyond the barriers police cars lined the streets in every direction, and hundreds of officers stood shoulder to shoulder, removing their hats in a single gesture when the ceremony began. The customers at the Hog in the Pound peered through the windows, and pedestrians on the promenade across from the station entrance paused to listen.

  The Mayor of the City of London spoke first, recalling the event as an example of the stalwart hearts of Londoners. The Chairman of the Police Memorial Trust read the citation, which carried Colin’s name, the date of his death, and a summary of the incident which had caused it. His voice was a little unsteady on the final phrases, so he repeated them: “He gave all; he gave his best; he spared nothing.” Jenny’s tears began to press against her resolve to maintain control.

  The Metropolitan Police Commissioner spoke at length about the threat Colin had faced and the additional threat every officer faced in a terrorist world. “At the critical moment, he did not falter,” he said. He referred to Colin’s sacrifice and the sacrifices all officers and their families made for the public good. Jenny swallowed hard, determined to stem the tide.

  Father Goodwyn quoted Laurence Binyon, who had memorialised the fallen: “They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: / Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. / At the going down of the sun and in the morning / We will remember them.” He then closed the service with prayer, asking that God equip all Londoners, civilian or civil servant, to face the days ahead with the strength and courage that Colin had shown when history had called upon him. Jenny knew that, until recently, she had not faced her days with strength and courage, and in a surge of grief the dam broke. She felt Joanne’s arm around her shoulders and curved her arm around her mother-in-law’s waist. Maybe grief shared would be grief halved.

  A long line of officers came by to pay respects. Brian was there with Beth. Danny Sullivan and several of her other witness protection officers had attended. Nick Howard introduced her to Cath, a striking redhead, and asked about Bear. “He’s fine,” Jenny told him. “And thank you. Not just for Bear. For everything.”

  Simon stood to one side, finally stepping forward to give her a hug after the crowd thinned out. “He stepped up, Jenny,” he said. “Showed us all how it’s done. Be proud.” He handed her a handkerchief, which made her smile because he never had any handkerchiefs.

  After the service Jenny invited Joanne, Jillian, Derek, and the children to the flat for tea and tea cakes. She had ordered the pastries from a bakery on the High Street, and a thin olive-skinned woman with sharp features had delivered them and collected the payment. Bear, next to Jenny when she opened the door, had yawned at the woman and then made a single, short shrill bark. Jenny thought his reaction was a little strange. Bear rarely barked, and she hadn’t known he could make that high-pitched a sound.

  CHAPTER 14

  At long last Alcina had the information she needed. The target herself had unwittingly provided the address, even the directions to the flat. Bitterness added an edge to Alcina’s anger. The target’s flat had multiple floors. Spacious for two occupants and annoyingly ostentatious for one. Much larger than the one she and Tony had lived in even when he was earning good money. The dog had been at the target’s side when she opened the door to Alcina, so the dog lived there. There had been no indication of a man’s presence.

  An advance and a setback. Knowing where her target resided was a critical step forward. She would, however, have to figure out what to do about the dog. Was she equal to this? Yes. She would not be defeated by a mere animal.

  In the meantime she would put her mark on trial, like they had done to Tony. Greek mythology told the story of the Greeks’ siege of Troy, in which many forces had been involved. She was only one, but she could vary her type of attack and make herself seem plural. A quick solution was too easy; not wanting to tip her hand too soon, she would create fear through indirect contact first. Even small actions could be very satisfying. She would mount a sort of siege on her, repeated assaults over a long period of time. She couldn’t cut off her supplies, but she could disrupt her life and destroy her peace. And that would give her time to decide how to deal with the dog.

  When Tony was arrested, she had felt frightened and helpless. Throughout the judicial process, her helplessness had magnified, reaching an unbearable height with his conviction. Now, however, she felt powerful, powerful enough to succeed at a more complex challenge than she had anticipated.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Memorial Service Held for Slain Officer” and “City Remembers Met Hero,” the headlines read. Jenny skimmed the articles and then the pictures, paying closer attention to the photos of Colin than the one of the plaque or the gathering of mourners at the memorial site. She studied each feature, willing the black-and-white image to glow with color and smile at her. Weren’t memorial services supposed to help? She felt as if her scar of grief had rupture
d all over again.

  As she waited for her first session with Dr. Knowles to begin, she noted that he had added an aquarium to the reception area, but she wasn’t entertained. She watched the fish swimming in circles and felt she had been doing the same since Colin’s death.

  When she entered the consulting room, she showed him the newspaper clippings. She hadn’t seen the psychiatrist for over three years, since he had counseled her after her rape. What had been graying hair then was uniformly gray now, but the laugh lines on his face were still present, deeper even than before. She had often wondered how, when he dealt with anguish and sorrow every day, someone in his profession acquired laugh lines. When he finished perusing the articles, she began by questioning the idea of getting over Colin’s death. “He was such a big part of my life. I’m not sure I want to let him go.”

  “Remembering him is positive,” Knowles agreed. “Memories of lost loved ones can cause us to acknowledge them, to give tribute to their importance in our lives. However, I don’t recommend focussing on regrets.”

  “Of course I regret things!” she exclaimed. “He was killed!”

  “I’m referring to remembering the whole person, not just the way he died. I’d not like you to stay in the moment when you first heard he was gone or saw his casket buried. Jenny, memories are not intended to hold us back from living or to keep us in the same place. That’s a sort of prison. Living in the past is not living. There was a British psychologist who claimed that ‘All the fine art of living lies in a mingling of letting go and holding on.’ I would agree with him.”

  “I can’t forget those things,” she argued. “They’re part of me, and they still hurt.”

  “Yes, but you can limit the amount of time you spend thinking on them. Instead, seek a combination of negative and positive and gradually replace sad memories with memories of happier times. The author of Peter Pan said that memory gives us roses in December. I believe Colin would want you to have roses.”