Out of the Shadows (31 page)

He returned the expression and then entered the four-digit code into the lock’s number pad. When the small scanner became illuminated, he placed his shaky thumb on it. The door’s locking mechanism released, and he wrapped his fingers around the handle. “Charise,” he started, his voice choking in his throat.

“What, Child?”

He wished there were something he could say to her that would make her understand how much he appreciated everything that she had done for him, even how much he
loved
her for it. But no adequate words came to his mind, so he simply said, “Thank you.”

He pushed down on the handle and entered his father’s room.

Charise watched the door close behind him, left with a strange sense that he wasn’t actually saying “thank you…”

…but rather “goodbye.”

*     *     *

Henry’s wet shoes once again stepped onto the soft burgundy carpet of the room. The wall sconces remained on, warming the space. The mahogany paneling that lined the lower half of the walls and the dark purple-striped wallpaper above it were still intact. There were no cracks in the walls, and the ceiling remained over him. It was odd that the room seemed untouched by nature’s previous fury.

He took a few deep breaths, building the courage to cross the den. He passed the brown, leather couch and the small aquarium. He passed the oak desk with family photos and the shelves full of books.

He approached his father’s bedside, seeing him still strapped down with thick leather belts. Robert James London lay calm, watching as his son approached. Henry pushed the IV stand out of his way, placing it next to the other machines. The only sound in the room was the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor.

He placed his hand inside the old man’s and smiled. “Hello, again, Father.”

“Henry,” was his father’s weak reply. “I’m glad… you came back.”

“I have something that I need to say.”

Robert waited, a knowing look on his face.

Inhaling deeply into his lungs to calm his nerves, Henry finally said, “I’ve been living a lie, Father.”

The frail man waited for more.

“I have so many wonderful memories of growing up with you and Mom.” He remembered his first step, bouncing on his father’s knee, his first day of school, his graduation. Henry’s lip quivered looking down at the old man. “But none of it is real.”

Robert lay there, closing his eyes for just a minute, clutching his son’s hand.

Henry’s memories seemed to fizzle away from his mind upon admitting the truth. He now saw a baby’s first step where there were no parents around; sitting by himself in front of the television as a toddler, watching another child being bounced on a knee; his first day of school where he walked through the doors alone; his graduation that his father did not attend.

Henry cried now, accepting the truth. “I know that Mom got sick when I was young, and I wish I could say that you did your best.” He took a deep breath, trying to lessen his rising emotions. “But you didn’t.”

Robert’s eyes became intense. “Son…” he tried to explain.

“I have so many memories of the childhood I should have had. God, I wanted it so badly, Father.” A few of Henry’s tears dripped down onto the fine linen sheets. Every muscle within his body started seizing up, sending shivers of raw emotion down his spine. He shook with nerves as he found the courage to say what came next. “But you were never there for me.”

Robert reached a weak, shriveled hand up to his son’s face. “Henry, I tried… so hard… to save your mother.”

“Mother couldn’t be saved!” Henry argued, almost angrily. But he held himself back, because this encounter wasn’t about the anger he felt.

Robert paused, a deep sadness filling his eyes as he considered his son. “Neither could you.”

His father’s words illuminated the thing that Henry had only recently begun to suspect, and the confirmation caused his resolve to finally crack. He broke down in front of the old man before him, an unstoppable flood of understanding cascading down his face.

Robert’s once-fiery eyes stared into Henry’s as he said, “You’re right, son. About everything. And I’m sorry.”

Henry wiped his face and once again took his father’s hand in his own. “I know. That’s why I’m here.” He smiled through his wet eyes and red cheeks. “To tell you it’s ok. And that I forgive you.”

A tear emerged from the corner of Robert’s eye and rolled down the thin skin of his face.

Henry exhaled, suddenly feeling a weighted burden lifted from his shoulders. His mind felt freer than it had in a long time. His heart became full and overwhelmed in his chest, like it could burst at any moment. “I forgive you,” he said again. He stared into the old man’s intense eyes, and he watched as the fire faded. The rhythmic heartbeat slowed and became a single pulse on the quiet heart monitor.

Henry squeezed the man’s hand tightly. “Father?”

The quiet, peaceful tone rang through the air, cutting through Henry’s façade of strength. Streams of anguish erupted from his eyes, running down his cheeks and soaking his father’s sheets. Heaving sobs rocked through his body, collapsing him to the floor. Henry sat on the carpet, still clutching onto his dead father, finally receiving emotional liberation.

A moment later, he stood and released the hand of the late Robert London. His mind was numb, and he felt as though he floated weightlessly over to the couch. As he collapsed onto the soft cushions, his body sank into the leather and polyester stuffing. He wished he could sink farther, so far that the couch would swallow him up in darkness. Henry longed for that darkness.

And then, as if longing made it so, he continued to sink, through the couch, through the floor, through the ground, through the earth. He entered the blackness, finally able to lose himself completely, not seeing who he was but only who he wanted to be. In that blackness, he was able to create a world of his own in which to live. A world where anything could happen.

And his mother and father were there to greet him.

*     *     *

Charise’s eyes snapped open suddenly, assaulted by harsh halogens from nearby wall sconces. She blinked, disoriented, the smell of ammonia permeating the air around her. She heard a loud, solid tone ringing out as her senses slowly returned, one by one. Her memory was the last to come back, and she sprang up from the bed she was on.

A thin, petite woman in aqua nurse’s scrubs quickly pulled her long, black hair up into a ponytail and ran to her. “Relax! Just relax; it’s over.”

Charise yanked the suctioned wires from her forehead and temples, and she flung her legs over the side of the bed, jumping down onto the carpeted floor, trying to beat back the wave of nausea flooding her stomach. “Karen, what happened?” she asked of the nurse. Charise straightened her long, white, doctor’s coat, glad not to be in that uncomfortable security guard attire anymore, and she moved quickly to the patient at the other end of the room.

“Dr. Jacobs,” Karen interrupted. “Please be careful! You need to rest for a few minutes!”

“I’m fine!” Charise waved her hand dismissively, although she didn’t feel fine. Henry lay before her, wires attached to his head as they had been to hers. She retrieved the stethoscope from around her neck, placed the ends in her ears, and listened for a heartbeat on him, despite the solid green line of his monitor. She spun on Karen, a fiery intensity in her eyes.
“What happened?!”

At the far end of the room, a man in a white lab coat sat at a console of computers that fed signals to the wires that had been attached to her head. He said, “I pulled you out at the exact time you instructed.”

Charise quickly glanced to the third bed in the room and saw the security guard Tom, sitting upright, rubbing his temples, fighting back his own discomfort.

The man at the computers continued, “But a few seconds before I did, he flat-lined,” he said, pointing at Henry, strapped to the bed with leather straps.

“Defib?” Charise asked of the nurse.

Karen shook her head, holding back tears. “He’s gone, Dr. Jacobs. I’m sorry.”

She stood and looked around the decorated room. The mahogany paneling, the purple wallpaper, the leather couch, the oak desk, even the aquarium – none of it felt homely anymore. But at least it had comforted Henry after his father had passed away.

Charise placed her hands in the deep, white pockets of her coat, trying not to cry. “Growin’ up like he did…” she shook her head and sighed, unable to continue her thought. “Turn off the monitor.”

The nurse switched off the machine next to Henry and removed the wires from his face.

“What happened, do you think?” the computer technician wondered.

Charise shrugged. “Patients with mental illness are on a lot of meds. Probably
too
much. Bodies get tired. They die younger than most.”

Jumping down from the bed, Tom approached them. “I’m never letting you do that again. You could have been killed.”

“That’s why I made you go with me, fool!”

“Charise, I’m serious. This can’t happen again. It was an awful idea from the start, and it didn’t even work.”

“His daddy’s death tore him apart, and I thought givin’ him the chance to say goodbye would be the first step toward helpin’ him!”

Karen stepped forward, a hesitant curiosity in her tone. “What happened in there?”

“Well, at first, things were fine,” Charise began. “Hospital was a perfect match. He went to see his father but…”

“Gary took control,” Tom interjected.

“Gary?” the computer technician asked.

Tom nodded, “Henry used to get frighteningly violent. During those episodes, he called himself Gary. Eventually, we had to strap him down,” he motioned toward the leather straps binding Henry to the bed.

“You were there, too, Sweetheart,” Charise said, placing a hand on Karen’s arm.

“Me? But… how?”

Charise shrugged. “He wanted to see you again.”

Karen started crying and said, “What happened?”

The doctor waved her hand, “Don’t matter.”

“Henry’s mind became incredibly unstable, and he was literally tearing the hospital apart,” Tom continued.

Charise looked over at the peaceful Henry lying on the bed. She walked up to him and removed the four straps while staring at his still-youthful face. At first glance, Charise was sure he had passed on with a slight smile on his lips. “I don’t know,” she said more to herself than anyone else. “Maybe we
did
help him.”

She sat next to Henry on the bed and took his hand in hers. “Maybe this is exactly what he wanted.” She placed her other hand on the side of his face, leaned in close to his ear, and whispered, “You’re free now, Li’l Bobby.” She lightly kissed his forehead and allowed quiet sobs to overtake her. “You’re free.”

The End.

Faint stars speckled the black sky as a chilly breeze swept through the bay, disrupting the low haze that otherwise hovered, motionless and stale. The twin red-orange spires of the Golden Gate Bridge majestically protruded into the air, steel siblings that guarded the city, looming over the gateway of water that emptied into the Pacific Ocean. They glowed with warm luminescence from the spotlights and streetlamps lining the suspended roadway, and sparse traffic journeyed both ways, remnants of the day’s bustle of life.

An unusual stillness permeated the cold, wet air, as if the two steel titans were observing the attempts to cross from one end to the other, silent and pensive.

Trevor Kincaid’s brown hair whipped with the breeze, a disheveled mess on the top of his head. His black hooded sweatshirt was cinched as high as the zipper would allow, and his jeans struggled to shield his shaking legs from the crisp spring night.

He stood over the railing, grasping the metal behind him for stability as tears fell from his blue-gray eyes and matted his face with stinging moisture, leaving behind streaks of redness on his skin. His puffy stare remained fixed on the black abyss below him, which was filled with the violent sounds of churning waves crashing against the bridge’s support beams.

He was certain that there was no way out, and even if he had someone in whom he could confide, it was already too late. When he looked inside himself, he saw only despair. His fire had been extinguished. Where most people used the grand bridge as a means to cross from San Francisco to Marin County, Trevor intended to use it as a passage from one life to the next. He would be another statistic in the long list of poor souls that used the gaze of the twin gods as an escape from life.

Shivers wracked his weak body as he struggled to build the courage needed to complete his task. As he closed his eyes, his mind raced through the events of the past few years that led him to this hopeless crossroads. He saw his mother and brother, his best friend from college, his personal revelations that led to unbearable heartache.

And he saw his father.

His father had been the world to him – the thing that had fueled his purpose, that had given him the reason he needed to pursue greatness. But now…

Trevor had no desire to see the ebon ocean smash into focus the second before his body broke on the surface of the freezing water below, so his eyes remained closed. His father’s rugged, smiling face floated in his mind’s eye, and he took a long, deep breath – knowing it was his last – and he leaned forward, suspended out over the deadly waters.

“Please don’t,” came the man’s soft voice behind him.

Trevor snapped back to the railing, his eyes opening, jaw clenching in frustration from the interruption. The moment had been perfect. A serene solitude.

And now this asshole has come along and…

He spun on him and halted. The guy was around thirty years old and wore a form-fitting white T-shirt with blue jeans. His clean-shaven face had a pleasing demeanor, and his short hair was ceremoniously sculpted. Their eyes locking, Trevor felt a sudden calmness as the man’s green gaze pierced into him, as if he were being judged, his soul under close scrutiny.

He tossed away the man’s soothing aura and grew irritated. “Mind your own business.”

“I’d like to.”

“Then keep walking!”

The mystery man shook his head. “You know I can’t do that.”

This wasn’t what Trevor had wanted. He wanted to slip away quietly into the night, with no one and nothing getting in his way. A discreet death. A permanent sleep. Leaving no mess for anyone to clean up. Now, everything was different, and it was the fault of this intruding man.

Trevor’s eyes seeped tears of terrible frustration as he pleaded, “Please. Just leave me alone.” There was no reason to go back. Everything was in order, his note propped on the mail table, his final rent check signed, and a voicemail left for his boss, Patti. His story was done, his journey complete, and now this stranger was rewriting the ending.

The man took a cautious step toward the railing.

Trevor’s hands clutched to the cold steel, and he quickly leaned forward, trying to keep the man at bay. “Stay away from me, or I’ll let go!”

He wondered why he had not simply done so like he had intended, and then he realized that he was no longer sure of his actions. He had allowed doubt to creep into his mind because of this man. He looked back down into the blackness below, trying to rebuild the resolve that he had had a minute ago.

“If you jump, I
will
try to save you,” the man shrugged matter-of-factly.

“You’re crazy,” Trevor replied, thick with irritation. “You’ll die if you do!”

The stranger nodded, holding out his sturdy hand. “Maybe. That’s why I’m hoping you’ll take my hand.”

His doubt was stronger than ever. He had set out with a mission: to end his suffering once and for all. He was supposed to be alone, no bother to anyone, but he wasn’t sure if he dared to test this man’s words or not. If he weren’t bluffing, then Trevor would be responsible for the death of another. Yes,
that
was from where his current trepidation stemmed. Guilt, not uncertainty.

“What’s your name?” the man asked.

He sighed. “Trevor.”

“What do you do with your life, Trevor?” the man in the white T-shirt asked, lowering his hand upon realizing the tortured soul wasn’t ready to take it.

Loosening his grip on the metal railing, Trevor glanced back at the man, taking note of the sincere interest on his face while he awaited the answer to his question. “I’m a cook at the diner down on—.”

“I didn’t ask what your job was. I want to know what you
do
. The thing that drives you.”

Trevor stared at this peculiar man for a moment, and then his eyes began to aimlessly wander as he thought about the question. His life had felt empty for so long that he wasn’t sure he could think of anything.

And then it came to him.

“I love to paint,” Trevor confided, a slight grin creeping its way onto his face, almost imperceptible.

The man smiled broadly. “I’d like to see your work sometime.”

“It’s not worth anything.” Trevor grew embarrassed and felt his cheeks flush.

“I bet that’s not true.”

Suddenly, Trevor remembered where he was and what he had set out to do, and this man now had become a grotesque annoyance. “Stop pretending you know me!”

The man raised his arms into the air and motioned broadly at the bridge surrounding them. “You’re clearly a man driven by passion, or you wouldn’t have chosen this spot. You have a fire inside of you, Trevor, and only true art is fueled by that kind of passion.”

Trevor looked down at the water some two hundred feet below, suddenly ashamed at his outburst. The man had only been trying to pay him a compliment, after all.

Silence enveloped them as Trevor searched for the right words to say next.

But the man spoke first. “Put your hand on your heart,” he instructed.

Trevor spun to look at him, confused by the odd request. “What?”

The man raised his hand and placed it over his own chest, giving Trevor a nod of encouragement to do the same.

With trepidation, he finally complied, and he was suddenly aware of the rhythmic beating within.
Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump.

“Do you feel that?” the man asked.

Trevor marveled at the strength with which his organ pumped blood through his body, effortlessly feeding his extremities with the essence of life. It was never really anything that he’d thought about before this moment, but now, he was in awe of it. One tiny muscle – responsible for his entire existence.

“
That’s
what drives you,” the man revealed with quiet intensity. “Instead of ending that, put it on a canvas.”

Trevor thought about how easily he could become lost in himself when he painted, like nothing else in the world mattered for those few hours that he sat on his stool, covering the stretched, white cloth with an array of colors and swirls that came alive with his brushstrokes.

“It may not seem like it right now, Trevor,” the man continued. “But you’re alive for a reason.”

As his heart pounded against his hand, he felt for the first time in weeks that this man might be right. He suddenly became overwhelmed with cathartic emotion, and streams of relief ran down his face as he closed his eyes, fighting to hold his composure. He took a deep breath to calm himself and reveled in the crisp air filling his lungs. As he slowly exhaled, he allowed his eyes to flutter open, and he climbed back over the railing onto the sidewalk.

Taking a minute to himself, he held onto the cold metal bars for stability. Suddenly, his knees buckled, sending him to the ground, a small sob escaping his lips. He managed to stifle his cries and wiped his face with both hands.

Inhaling deeply one last time to bring his ragged breathing back to normal, he said, “I don’t know your name.”

When the man didn’t respond, Trevor looked up to find that he was alone. There was no one standing where there had been a moment before. He stood up straight, brow furrowed in confusion, looking both ways down the street. A lone car sped past, briefly disturbing the oppressive silence before the world became as quiet as the wind once more.

“Hello?” Trevor called out into the empty night.

A strong gust swept down the bridge, carrying an ominous presence with it and sending a fierce chill creeping up his back. Trevor felt that the two twin spires, although nearly two miles apart from one another, slowly crept inward, looming, their watchful eyes eerily peering, waiting for him to make his next move.

Deciding that there had never been a man at all, and that his brain had conjured what he had needed to save his life, he flipped his hood up over his head and shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, walking briskly back toward the city of San Francisco, keeping his gaze toward the ground. When he had snuck past the gate that kept pedestrians off the bridge at night, he had been lucky that the guard hadn’t seen him on the security camera. He was hoping his luck would remain on the way out.

Not paying attention, he startled himself by bumping shoulders with a man walking the other way, his slightly chubby frame and bushy moustache shrouded in a long tan coat.

“Sorry,” Trevor looked up to apologize for his mishap.

The man with the moustache ignored him and kept walking.

He continued down the sidewalk path at the side of the bridge but began to slow his gait when he noticed a young beautiful woman ahead, standing still and looking over the railing down into the water below. She appeared to be in her late twenties with long, straight hair that billowed gracefully with the breeze. He stopped and stared at her, transfixed by her poise.

Suddenly, she grasped the railing and quickly climbed over, first one leg and then the other.

Trevor removed his hood and advanced a step, eyes wide, quickly uttering, “What’re you doing?” He felt his heart begin to race in his chest, but this was a different kind of fear. Panic rose within him as he thought he might be unequipped to save this woman as he had been saved a few minutes prior.

She calmly turned toward Trevor, a dangerous emptiness filling her eyes. They looked eerie, taciturn, and listless. “I’m not really sure.”

“Here,” he advanced, holding his hand out to her. “Just give me your hand.”

“I can’t.”

“Yeah,” he panicked, trying not to outwardly project his distress. “Just… do it.”

Her eyes remained emotionally numb. “I’m ok. Really, I am.”

Trevor’s anxiety rose as he struggled to remember the things that had been said to talk him down from the ledge. “Shit,” he muttered, running his hands through his messy hair. Finally, he remembered and looked up at her. “What’s your name?”

“Lisa.”

“Ok, Lisa,” Trevor nodded, taking a breath to focus his thoughts. “Ok. What do you do for a living?” He realized immediately that this was not the question that had been asked of him earlier. “No, not for a living,” he quickly corrected, fumbling his words. “Just, what do you do? What drives you?”

Lisa remained calm as she observed Trevor’s panic. She slowly nodded and said sincerely, “It was nice meeting you.” She leaned forward, holding on to the railing behind her.

Trevor leapt toward her and yelled, “No! Please don’t! I can’t…” It was like his brain had emptied all memories of speech as he searched for the right thing to say next. He stuttered quickly, “I’d have to jump in after you!”

Lisa gently raised her arm and pointed beyond Trevor. “Are you going to save him too?”

He spun to find the man with the moustache who he had bumped into, a few yards away from them and also standing over the railing, staring at the blackness below.

Before Trevor could think of anything to say, the man let go of the railing behind him and fell without a scream.

“Oh, shit!” Trevor exclaimed, shaking from adrenaline and gasping for air. “Jesus! What…?”

“See?” Lisa said. “It’s fine.”