The Gift It's getting dark, Paul thought absentmindedly, noticing the jet black sky above On a usual day, Paul Ryan never lacked for things to do. He had a wife, Emily, with whom he owned a newspaper. He had a rather complicated family, including a meddling mother who liked to pop into In truth, though, Paul's headaches were starting to announce themselves without Barbara Ryan attached to them. The migraines were most likely caused by the dreams. After being prescribed medication to help him sleep, Paul had begun experiencing disturbing nightmares from which he could not wake. However, he could never remember anything about these dreams…save for the tightly wound-up feeling of entrapment. He knew Emily sensed the problem when he stalled from taking his pills until the point where he found himself under her watchful eye. Of course, there was also no possible way for it to escape her attention that he was waking up every morning in a cold sweat. Still, he did not dare confirm to her what was really happening. She needs to go on thinking that it's the temperature in the room, otherwise she'll drag me back to the hospital for more tests, Paul reminded himself as he walked into As he was absentmindedly trailing with his finger the DVD titles that were lined up along the first shelf of the store, a young female voice called humorously from the other side of the room, “Need help finding anything? I know this place like the back of my hand…” Paul turned around and saw the girl, who he vaguely recognized as Maddie Coleman, smiling at him brightly. Why she was smiling like that was beyond Paul's guessing abilities. She skipped over to him, her brunette tresses bouncing over her shoulders, and remarked, “Unless you're the type that would love for Halloween to last all year long, you might want to take a step back from the classic horror and thriller films.” Instead of listening to her, he bent over slightly so that he could actually read the names. “Night of the Living Dead, Nightmare on Elm Street…hey, wait a second, I think I might have actually read a review of this one not too long ago…” His fingers plucked a case out from the thriller section, and showed it to Maddie. She raised an eyebrow in a thoughtful manner. “The Dark Knight. Not a bad choice for someone who doesn't seem to have been to a movie within this decade,” she mused. A bit offended, Paul nonetheless muttered, “You noticed, huh?” “It's so obvious,” she grinned. He shrugged. “It's not like I'm backwards, you know. I go online and read the newspaper and even play a video game every now and then.” Ignoring the defensive note in his voice, Maddie asked, “So you're going to go with the Batman movie, then?” “I don't know,” he confessed, turning the case over to read the cover description. “The blurb doesn't really give a whole lot away.” Looking torn between impatience and amusement, she said, “That's kind of the point. But given what my brother Henry said about you, it sounds like a good fit as far as movies go.” Suddenly suspicious, Paul demanded, “Why's that? What did Henry say about me?” Maddie said lightly, “Oh, you know, he used words like ‘dark' and ‘broody.' And since the movie is about the dark and broody Batman saving people from descending into their own insanity and killing each other…come on, it's totally not an insult, Paul,” she insisted as he immediately shoved the film in between two other DVDs on the thriller shelf. Sighing, she asked, “Why are you here? Isn't there something else you'd rather do?” “Emily is working, so I guess not. Well, there was actually supposed to be a weekend visit with my daughter Eliza, only her mom called at the last minute and had to cancel because of some family crisis that she apparently couldn't get away from, and couldn't have me walking in on either without causing a disturbance,” Paul explained breathlessly. Maddie stared at him blankly before saying with false brightness in her voice, “Oookay! Is there anything in this store you're even remotely interested in watching?” As Paul started to look around the room, Maddie followed him. She wrinkled her nose when he passed over the classic Hitchcock section in favor of the modern romance and drama portion of the store. The film buff that she was, she managed to give him a critique of every title he randomly withdrew from the rack. And he listened to her every time…until he came across The Deep End of The Ocean. Maddie had yanked the case away from him before he managed to read half of the description. He snatched it back, prompting her to wrinkle her nose and groan, “That's it, I know a hopeless case when I see one!” While she stomped off throwing her hands up in the air exasperatedly, Paul finished reading the DVD jacket. It did not sound so bad. It had Michelle Pfeiffer in it, in any case. The story plot was about a mother who'd lost her young son, only to find him again years later. At least it won't encourage more nightmares, he thought as he took the movie over to the rental counter… *********************************************************************** At Fairwinds, Paul did not receive the reception he'd hoped he would. Instead of Emily giving him a, “Hi honey, where have you been? I missed you!” and embracing him, she was barking on the phone, “No, I don't care what she thinks of my ethics in journalism. Well, that's tough, but I don't answer to her anymore. Actually, it's perfect karma—employer fires employee, employee comes back and puts employer out of business. Hello, are you still there? Hello—.” She sighed and slammed the cordless phone on the desk. “Must have lost him at the karma part,” she grumbled. “Who was that?” Paul asked cautiously. Strands of her cropped blonde hair flew out of place as she whirled to face him. “Eeee! Where have you been? No, never mind that! You'll never believe the latest scandal I just heard from Hunter! Lucinda is responsible for letting WorldWide fund a drug that endangers infants! Oh, I've totally got her number!” she squealed. Although he normally found Emily endearing in reporter-mode, her enthusiasm was almost frightening. Focusing instead on her first question, Paul cleared his throat and said, “Really? That's great. Anyways, I thought you could use a break from work, so I rented a movie…” “What?” Emily stared at him as though his face had just sprouted tentacles. Paul tried again. “Movie? You, me? Popcorn?” Why did the idea sound so stupid aloud? Hastily, he gave her an out. “I'm sorry, bad idea. I know you're busy.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes as another migraine began to trickle in from the back of his head. “No, it's fine. Give me an hour, okay? Then we can do the movie night thing together,” Emily said slowly, the kindness in both her tone and words surprising him. “Really?” he asked weakly. She nodded, and it was then that he noticed the concern in her eyes. Great, my wife is so worried about me that she's signed on for a chick flick evening, he thought with regret. He wouldn't have it that way. “Okay, look,” he began firmly, “you don't have to babysit me. It's supposed to be a boring movie, and I'm fine watching it on my own.” “No, I know you are,” she acknowledged with a bittersweet smile. “You're always fine doing things alone. You never want to bother anyone with your problems…but I'm not just anyone. I'm your wife, and I've been so wrapped up in work lately that I haven't been playing the wife part very well. And I know that Eliza isn't coming over tonight…so, if you want a movie night, then you're getting a movie night.” She wrapped her arms around his back in a tight hug, and pulled him into a tender kiss. *********************************************************************** Emily ended up taking longer than she had promised to finish typing the front page headline story about Lucinda Walsh compromising WorldWide. By the time she was ready to join him at eleven o' clock, Paul was lying on the sofa, already a quarter into watching the movie. He barely noticed her until she crawled on top of him, laid her head on his chest, and murmured, “Hey, what have I missed so far?” He yawned. “The family was at—either a mall or an airport, I can't remember—anyways, the baby disappeared,” he drawled. “They got Whoopi Goldberg's character to file a missing child report, and there must have been a flash forward in time, because now…” He lifted his head a bit and realized from her steady breathing that she was already fast asleep. Unable to reach for a blanket now that Emily's form was keeping him pinned on the sofa, he had to remain content with the warmth of her body heat. Paul continued to watch the movie until his own eyelids began to feel heavy. It was not long before his mind felt like it was floating. Somewhere along the way, everything went dark… “Ice cream?” Paul offered the little girl next to him a small vanilla cone. She reached up and giggled, accepting the treat. While she licked the top, Paul winked at Emily, “See? I knew she'd like it.” Moments later, though, the ice cream rolled off of the sugar wafer cone. The little girl pointed to the ground and burbled, “Uh-oh!” A resigned Emily sighed to Paul, “It's okay, I'll get another one. I'll be right back, so don't lose her…” She headed back for the ice cream parlor. Upon seeing her leave, the child's face instantly crumpled in distraught. “Ohhh, no, please don't be sad,” Paul implored her as tears streamed down her eyes. “She come back?” the girl sniffled. He smiled reassuringly, “Yeah, of course she'll be back.” He turned away to point to the parlor. “She'll be back with an ice cream cup instead of a cone this time, hopefully. What do you think of that?” Paul looked back and realized he was talking to no one. The girl was gone! Panicking, he tore through “What does she look like?” asked a burly-looking man wearing a black turtle neck, who was at the cash register. Grateful for the man's cooperation, Paul looked in his wallet for a picture. He had one of Emily, another of Eliza. Uncertain, he pulled out the latter picture and showed the bookseller. He frowned. “Who's this?” he asked. “This is my daughter—” Paul's voice trailed off. Eliza was barely one year old… The man asked shrewdly, “Are you sure this is the child you're looking for?” Paul shook his head, so he asked again, “What does she look like? Do you remember?” “No…” From behind, he heard Maddie Coleman's voice asking, “Need help finding anything? I know this store like the back of my hand…” Whipping around, there was no one in the store. For some reason, Paul felt an unbearable tightness in his chest. He was having trouble breathing. “Has anyone seen my daughter?” he cried desperately, sinking to his knees. “Paul? Baby, wake up!” Gasping for breath, his eyes snapped open to the burning glare of morning's light. Confused, Paul felt the sting of hot tears sliding down his already sweaty face. He winced, and felt Emily's cold hand gently stroke his forehead. Her hair was all mussed from sleeping on the couch with him, but even in the anguish lingering from his nightmare, Paul thought she looked radiant. Emily must have slept well. With a haunting gaze masked by the strength of her fortitude, she gave him a small smile of relief and said, “I'm definitely picking the next movie we watch.” Sighing, Paul sat up slowly and rubbed the excess moisture out of his eyes. Emily, who had been on the floor next to the sofa, rose to a stand. After a long pause during which neither of them knew what to say, she shook an index finger at him. “Okay…you know what? I can't do this with you any more. I can't pretend everything's fine…” her voice began to choke from straining to remain calm. Paul looked down at the carpet before muttering, “Is your mother in today?” Her face flushed with emotion, Emily snapped, “Don't change the subject! I know that you don't like doctors or hospitals or shrinks—I can't blame you for avoiding them, but we have to figure out what's wrong with you–.” “I agree.” The words were so soft that he wasn't even sure Emily had heard them. “No more waiting,” she went on firmly. “We're going to – what did you say?” She broke off uncertainly after Paul muttered something else. He cleared his throat, still looking away from her. “I said I'll make an appointment with anyone and everyone available. Dr. Bob, your mom, even a neurologist. I've had enough, Em.” He looked up to see a surprised Emily picking up the cordless phone off of the desk. She handed it to him. “My mother's working today. Try her first.” Wearily, Paul dialed the number to Oakdale Memorial. There was no turning back and running now. *********************************************************************** The blinding light Susan Stewart shined into his eyes was worse than morning sun, Paul decided. He wondered if she was getting a kick out of torturing him in the check-up office. So far, she'd stuck a needle in him to draw blood, put an ice-cold stethoscope on his chest, and asked him so many questions about his migraines it caused another headache. “Well, it sounds like you have anemia,” she announced, setting aside her clipboard. Refraining from rolling his eyes, Paul nonetheless groaned on the hospital seat. “So, what you're saying is that I'm not getting any sleep at night because I'm tired?” “Well, what do you think?” she said impatiently, sounding very Emily-ish. “I think that you must really loathe me to not give a proper diagnosis!” he blurted to Susan. Susan did not think twice about rolling her eyes. “It works both ways, buddy,” she snapped. “I can't diagnose or recommend treatment if you refuse to take the sleeping medication I prescribed you.” “I have been taking it,” Paul protested. “I only forgot about it last night! This has been going on for months, Susan. The only difference between being drugged and being drug-free is that I can remember my dreams without the pill. Either way, it's hell!” Susan frowned. “Would you like to try another prescription, then?” Paul shook head. Shrugging, she suggested, “How about I throw in the air the mention of a psychologist? A therapist might do you some good, Paul.” Indignantly, Paul shot back, “Yeah, because therapy has worked so well for me in the past. Look, I'm not crazy.” Susan sighed and scribbled something on a post-it note. Handing it to Paul, she said, “Here's the name and number of a doctor here who can run a CAT scan. I really can't do anything else until your blood work comes back.” Just then the door swung open, and Emily came into the room. “Hi, Mom. Are you taking good care of my husband?” “Actually, we're done here,” Susan said, sounding relieved to be free of her hated son-in-law. “ Thanks, Susan.” Paul jumped off of the seat very quickly and escorted Emily out the door. As they made it to the stairwell, Emily pulled him back. “Hey, I was actually going to ask my mom to have lunch with us on her break before you ran out of there.” “Well, I'd actually love to manage to eat lunch. A Susan-free lunch at Al's Diner,” Paul suggested. “My treat.” He held out his arm. With only a momentary hesitation, she linked her own around it and let him lead her out of Memorial. *********************************************************************** “So what did she say?” Emily asked, settling into a booth inside Al's. Paul rubbed his aching eyes and sat down on the other side of the table. Although dim, the fluorescent lights inside the diner seemed extremely harsh at the moment. What was wrong with him? “Honey,” she said sharply. His shoulder raised in a feeble half-shrug. “I'm a loser, a worthless jerk who doesn't deserve you…” he grumbled, wincing as a small stab of pain pinched the side of his head. Emily's eyes widened, and she ranted immediately, “That's a ridiculous assessment, and anyone who thinks that about you is a self-righteous hypocrite who reads way too much Bible and not enough tabloids! I mean, there's absolutely no room for anyone in this town to talk about other people's flaws—” The corners of Paul's mouth flickered up in a brief smile, then turned down into a grimace as the latest migraine shot through his head. Still, he managed to comment amidst the pain, “I had no idea you felt that way about your mother.” “My mother? Who's talking about my mother? By the way, what did she say?” Emily repeated, the blank look in her expression morphing into anxiety. “I just told you,” Paul said, chuckling gruffly at Emily's dumbfounded look. A waitress interrupted to take their orders, and after requesting a small vanilla ice cream cone, Emily demanded, “Okay, so what else did she say? What is it going to take to get you through the night?” She had the fierce, determined glint in her eyes that Paul noticed whenever she was digging for information regarding a story. He jerked his head flippantly, ignoring an inadvertent crackling sensation that rattled from his neck. “Um, you know, anemia.” It was starting to get unusually warm in the restaurant. Paul tugged at his shirt collar. “Anemia?” she repeated in disbelief, then pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “Seriously? Okay, you know what? I'm just going to call my mother and find out from her–.” “Here's your sourdough-swiss patty melt and the vanilla scoop!” the waitress boomed upon her return. She set the melt in front of Paul, but while doing so the ice cream cone slipped out of her hand. It landed on the floor with a splat. Paul stood up as the waitress groaned in horror, “Oh, nooo! I'm so sorry, it's only my first day! I'll get you another one after I clean this up!” She looked apologetically from Emily to Paul, who was staring at the fallen cone. Although the room was starting to feel unbearably stuffy, Paul shuddered violently from chills. It was an extreme reaction for just a case of déjà vu. That was all it happened to be, wasn't it? So why was the room starting to spin? The tiles of the diner floor began to fade to black, and Paul tilted over to the side. Everything went dark before he hit the ground, but he could still hear Emily's shriek echo, “Oh my God! Someone call 911!” Then he heard nothing. ***************************************************************************** He walked on the crumbling sidewalk alone under the velvety black sky. It was a familiar When Paul reached the brick building, he was able to make out the sign above the doorway. It read in large, chipped paint, “Children of St. Anthony.” A metal plaque was pinned on the door itself, but all he was able to read from the embossed paragraph before the light went out was, “Donations may be made to this orphanage through–.” Paul blinked in the sudden complete darkness that surrounded him. His fingers traced over the raised letters, then the door swung back open, releasing more light from inside the building. A small girl with auburn curls and a cherubic face stood before him. She could not have been more than four, Paul decided as he took in her cotton nightgown and porcelain complexion. Kneeling down, he said in a subdued voice, “Hi. I'm Paul…can you tell me your name?” She shook her head in frustration, the mop of brownish-red tendrils bouncing from side to side. “That's okay,” he said easily, covering his disappointment. “They probably told you to not to talk to strangers, huh?” He expected her to nod, or to maybe even slam the door in his face. Instead, she said the last thing he expected. “Don't have name.” She looked quite sad as she admitted this. “No family, no name.” Two seconds later, she broke down in tears. “No family, no name!” she wailed before turning around and dashing up the stairs. A peculiar wave of guilt hit Paul. Suddenly, in the midst of the confusion he was feeling, one thing was crystal clear. He was unsure what made him do it, but he followed after her, knowing without a doubt the little girl's name. How could he not have recognized her? And why didn't she remember him in turn? “Jenny! Jennifer, wait!” Paul shouted, not caring who he woke up. He dashed up the wooden staircase, and opened the door to the room he had seen her running into, the room that was alight once more. A bloodcurdling scream that he knew was hers sounded. The light from the room flooded in more brightly than a flash bomb, and he could see nothing but white, hear nothing but beep-beep-beep. As his eyes opened to harsh fluorescent lighting, stinging tears slipped out of their corners. He had to blink several times before his vision returned to normal. The bland color of the walls surrounding him meant that the bed he was lying in belonged to Had he been comatose? He knew from experience that Oakdale Memorial was perhaps the worst place to get treated for an unexplained ailment. This was the same hospital that had mistaken Carly Tenney's brain abscess for an incurable tumor, after all. And in spite of the fact that Susan Stewart had around twenty years of medical practice, she had attributed all of his symptoms to anemia. Anemia! Emily stirred, and the hand that was propping her head fell down to rest in her lap. Thanks to me, she must have been getting less sleep during the night than she was letting on, Paul thought guiltily as she blinked and covered her mouth with what could have been either a gasp of relief at seeing him or a yawn. “Hey baby,” she said, biting her lip while trying to smile. She jumped to her feet and went to sit beside him on the bed. Once more, he tried to open his mouth to tell her about his revelation, but his jaw was frozen in place. “Sssh… I know that you're loaded with painkillers right now,” she explained softly, stroking his forehead with her fingers. “It's going to be okay, though, so don't worry. Dr. Bob is going to operate and get rid of that lesion on your brain.” She sniffed and wiped a tear out of her shiny green eyes. With an abrupt chuckle, she continued, “You really should have done it last summer, but better late than never, right? Soon everything will be back to normal.” Normal…Paul couldn't remember what normal was like. “Normal” had not led up to the stormy night where he and Emily had lost their daughter. “ From outside, he could hear Bob Hughes' voice, muffled though it was. Looking through his window, Paul saw Susan approach the senior chief of staff. “You know, I've gotta tell you, Bob, I feel so embarrassed,” Susan was saying apologetically, although her tone was brisk. “I really should have known it was the lesion that was giving Paul all those problems.” “Mistakes happen, and there was no way you could have known in such a short frame of time what was wrong without a CAT scan,” Dr. Bob reassured her gruffly, as Paul strained his ears to listen to the conversation. “Why, just yesterday, a colleague of mine in Chicago was telling me a story about a young patient of his—only four years old, and she's been in a coma for two weeks thanks to an untreated brain lesion that was a side-effect of WorldWide's new vaccine. It's very sad.” “Let me guess—it's too late for an operation?” Susan sighed, shaking her head. “No, but it will be soon,” said Bob, sadly. “She's had no family since her grandfather died, and I heard he was the one who put her up for adoption in the first place. And the Children of St. Anthony has no money to pay for the surgery. They're going pull the plug t—.” “Paul, honey, it's almost time—see Dr. Bob?” Emily piped up anxiously, having finally noticed her mother and Dr. Bob outside the window. “You're going to be fine, and I promise I won't leave your side—.” “Sssh,” Paul managed to hiss through his teeth. “That's right, ssshh,” Emily soothed as she ran her thumb down the side of his face tenderly, while Paul struggled to listen to the conversation between the doctors. For the love of God, please shut up, Emily, Paul silently commanded while she chattered on, totally clueless that their daughter's life was at stake. Damn my father, Paul cursed in his head, thinking of the man responsible for all of this. It was classic James Stenbeck, to have a pregnant woman injected with a vaccine that would stall a baby's breathing long enough for a night of tragedy and hell on the expecting parents. It had been assumed that the last unthinkable act James committed before his death was implanting a thought-altering computer chip inside Paul's head. Now Paul knew that the assumption had been inaccurate. Stenbeck is still torturing from the grave, he realized. Quick action was needed now, as he didn't know how long Jenny had before she was taken off life-support. Instinctively, his right hand curled into a fist. It was a good sign of mobility, so Paul tried to speak again. “Eh…Ehhm. Em!” he croaked. “Try not to talk,” Emily chided. “The doctors will be in any second.” Paul coughed to clear his throat, and rasped, “Stop the procedure!” Emily blinked. “What? Oh, never mind. It's just the lesion talking, my love. You want this surgery. You'll die if you don't have it in the next twenty-four hours…” “I just need twelve,” Paul said in a low voice. “Please, Em, just listen. This is going to sound crazy, but a few months back, I went to Emily looked at him nervously. “Paul, you're not making any sense. Whatever it is, it can wait until you're out of the OR.” “No-it-can't!” Paul said impatiently through clenched teeth. “It was Jennifer. Our Jenny. She's not at the cemetery under that headstone, she was at the Children of St. Anthony this whole time—.” “Okay, you need to stop,” Emily said with shaky breaths. She jumped to her feet, the color draining out of her face. “You're confused, that's what's going on. This is just like when you were having those weird visions of the future.” “Which panned out as the real thing!” Paul interjected before plowing ahead firmly with explaining. “You were talking about the WorldWide scandal just a couple of days ago, Em. The drug that slows down heart rates of infants, remember? You had been in for a check up mere hours before you went into labor—,” Paul raised his voice to drive his point home, “Bob was just telling Susan about the four year old little girl, given away by her now-deceased grandfather, after she had had been exposed to THAT SAME VACCINE!” Emily shook her head frantically and paced. “N-no, no! It's not, it's not possible!” she stammered in disbelief. “YES IT IS! It is absolutely something my father could pull off!” Paul said excitedly. “But we don't have time to discuss this. I heard her screaming just before I woke up, and Dr. Bob was telling your mom that the doctors are taking her off the machines, either tonight or tomorrow, unless someone pays for immediate surgery.” Emily shuddered. “I want to believe this...” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “God, you have no idea. But I can't. I just can't.” “Then let me bring her home,” Paul pleaded. “I'm the only one who can find her, but I can't do it if I'm on morphine and Percocet for the next day and a half. Em, you have to get me out of here!” “No way! I'm not losing you along with Jenny,” she said fiercely, shaking her head again. “I know it's a gamble! But think of the chance you have to get us both back! You have to trust me!” His wife buried her face in her hands. From behind them, she moaned, “You know, I'm always on board for the Leap of Faith train. But this is really pushing it…” With that, she stood and marched out of the room. Paul's heart sank. “Hi, Mom, Dr. Hughes,” Emily greeted the people outside Paul's door. “Hello Emily, we'll be with Paul in a minute—,” Dr. Bob began to say. “No, actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I was hoping we could get him to a specialist in From inside, Paul could see Susan's brow furrow in confusion, along with Dr. Bob's frown. “I would have to advise against this, Emily. We're short on time, and there's no telling when Paul will have another seizure.” “Look, I'm sorry, but I'm not asking. I'm insisting.” The adamant tone in her voice jump-started Paul's adrenaline rush. It came in handy because within the span of two minutes, Emily had won the argument and came in with a wheelchair. She threw him his rumpled clothes as he sat up Smiling weakly, Paul found himself dressing at warp- speed with Emily's assistance. Once he was in the chair, he noted, “You are an inspiration in the art of lying…” “Oh, I wasn't lying,” Emily remarked, pushing him forward. “There's no way you'd be going at all if there was no hospital involved.” “Duly noted.” “Paul?” she asked softly as she rolled him into the elevator. “Yeah?” “You'd better be right about this…” Paul pushed the button for the lower level, then held up his hand for an oath. “I give you my solemn word, if I'm wrong, you can shoot me again. Or just leave me on the side of the road and let the lesion finish me off.” “That would be letting you off easy, and I'd still be hurting,” Emily reminded him as the elevator shook a bit and opened to the parking garage. Then I just won't be wrong. I can't be…Paul thought, hating to imagine what losing Jenny all over again would do to Emily. ******************************************************************************** He knew he was right the moment they arrived at “Just help me find out where she is, and then it's straight to the OR for you, buddy,” she grunted, pulling his arm around the back of her neck. When they were inside, Emily said to the man at the front desk, “Hi, I need to speak with someone about paperwork giving consent to a patient's surgery. Right away.” Looking over at Paul, who was beginning to feel the room heat up and spin once again, the man nodded, “Someone will see your husband in about fifteen minutes.” “What? No, this isn't about my husband. I'm talking about a four-year-old girl who's about to get cut off from life-support because no one was paying for treatment. What kind of a hospital does that, anyways?” she snapped, sounding appalled. “Em…” Paul choked out as the room began to darken once more. “Can you provide the name of this patient?” said the rather heavy-looking man. He was wearing the black turtleneck, Paul realized as his vision dimmed. “Well, I named her Jennifer, but I guess the Children of St. Anthony wouldn't have known that,” Emily said sharply. “ I'm sorry, but unless you can provide a birth certificate or something documented, we're not allowed to give you access to patients. However, someone really should look at your husband, he looks like he's on death's door…” his voice echoed into Paul's ears. “Em…” Paul tried again, the sharp pain in his head dulling. The last thing he saw—maybe he imagined it—was a door number. “Level Four…Room 403…” he whispered. Then he was falling again, the abyss showing no more dreams or visions. Nothing but the uncertain darkness… ********************************************************************************** Beep. Beep. Beep. The obnoxious sound that the vitals monitor made in hospitals was among the many reasons Paul hated hospitals. That, and the fact that he tended to be a frequent patient. But when he woke up to find himself alone, he knew that no matter how often he insisted he could manage on his own, the fact was that he hated it more than anything in the world. Maybe that was why he had felt so connected to little Jennifer. She had spent the first four years of her life more alone than Paul could have possibly experienced himself. Was he making any sense, thinking this way? Had he imagined the whole thing, and nearly gotten himself killed in the process? The door swung open, with Emily holding a white paper bag and beaming, “Hey handsome, do you feel like a cream cheese Danish or a croissant this morning?” “What the hell happened?” he groaned, glancing momentarily at the ceiling. “In a nutshell? Your brain almost ruptured,” Emily chirped. “Really? Because you sound awfully cheerful for someone who almost became a widow,” he quipped. She grinned. “You lived, didn't you? And you're not the only one.” She whipped out her cell phone and showed him its screen. There was a sleeping child in her wallpaper…a child Paul would never again fail to recognize. His eyes watered as he stared at their daughter. “That's her?” He hardly dared to believe it now. “Is she okay? We were in time, right?” “Yeah…” she said throatily, her own eyes brimming with tears. “There was a hell of a lot of paperwork to fill out for her, but it was worth it. Isn't she perfect? The surgery was successful, so she'll be awake in a few hours.” Paul whispered, “Can we go see her?” For the first time in months, Emily's smiles were those of pure joy. “You have to ask? I already brought the wheelchair in…” And for the first time Paul could remember, he found himself smiling with Emily in pure, unabashed, untainted joy. THE END |