Silent Echo (18 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“You look good, cowboy,” says Mary.

I laugh, although that causes a great pain in my chest. She’s been around Numi enough to pick up on my friend’s terms of endearment.

The past two weeks have been rough on everyone I know, especially Numi. He is in the living room with my mother and Detective Dobbs. I can hear them talking quietly. Mary is sitting at my side.

“I look as good as a dead man can look,” I say.

I’d been bedridden for the past two days. Numi had called my mother and Mary, and all three had been here throughout those days. Detective Dobbs had only swung by today. No other friends came. I didn’t want anyone else here.

“You shouldn’t say that,” she says, and tries to smile down at me.

“Life sucks, you know,” I say. “Here I fall in love with the girl of my dreams, and I only get to be with her a few times.”

“Twice, if I recall.” And she pokes me in the belly. Yes, she and I had rekindled what we had started a few weeks ago, making love for the second time. A session that had nearly wiped me off the face of the earth.

“I love you,” I say, and mean it. It is the first time I have told a woman that I love her. At least, the first time that I meant it.

“I love you, Jimmy Booker. We need to get you better, young man. We have a whole life to live.”

I smile at her. It is a running joke we have. Truth is, there is no getting better to me. I’ve seen the signs, and so has Numi. I’ve declined hospice. Or, rather, Numi declined. Truth was, I didn’t need hospice care, not with Numi there every step of the way.

Earlier in the week, I’d gone through what is called a pleurodesis to help my breathing. The procedure helped some, but not enough. Still, I am grateful for those who have been there for me, especially the doctors, although, admittedly, if I never see another doctor again, I will die happy.

Or so I joke. Numi doesn’t like that joke.

Two days ago, I finally admitted to Numi that I had to stay in bed. He didn’t want to hear that, either, but only nodded and helped me into my sweats, and then into bed. He brought me food and drinks, but I wasn’t hungry or thirsty. I declined his offerings, and not too long after that, a deep chill came over me.

Numi had covered me with an electric blanket and had even gone as far as to lie next to me, holding me close to him. I had told him to quit being so gay, but I appreciated his help. More than he knew.

Nothing can beat the chill now. When I break out in a sweat and my skin begins turning bluish, mottling, according to the doctor who comes out to see me—he is a young guy who speaks too loudly from the living room—I hear him tell Numi that I am in my final days.

Always nice to hear that.
Secondhand.

Yesterday had seen me decline further, and that’s when the call had been made to my mother and Mary.

Today, I am faring a little better, but that could be due to the activity, although a final burst of energy is almost common for those on their deathbeds.

Enough energy for a final good-bye.

My lungs have gotten progressively worse, along with the pain. I am on more pain medication than I want to admit. Mary and I spend a quiet moment just sitting with each other. The moments remind me of our sessions,
when I didn’t always have the strength to speak, and she would tell me that that was okay, and we would sit quietly together. It had been those small moments that had made me fall in love with her. That and her cute nose.

“Get better, Jimmy boy,” she says. “I’m not done with you yet.”

I smile at her positive words. She, perhaps better than most, knows that there is no getting better for me. But I appreciate her optimism.

“Miracles do happen,” I say.

But now she can’t stop the tears, and her brave face is gone. She lies across me gently and holds me tight and runs her fingers through my hair and tells me over and over again that she loves me and will always love me, no matter what. I tell her the same, but my whispered words are drowned in her own, and so I lie there and absorb her love, and relish her love. Finally, she stands and wipes away her tears, smiles at me for a long, long moment, and then she turns and leaves.

A moment later, Numi steps in and closes the door behind him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

My friend does not look good.

I want to make a joke that I’m the sick one, but I let it go. Numi does not look like he’s in the joking mood. I’ve joked with him long enough. I’ve made light of my sickness long enough. Numi never once joked about my illness. Numi took it seriously. Took me seriously. Took our friendship seriously.

Numi is not handling any of this well. And why should he? His best friend is in his final days. And we both know they are my final days, no matter how much Numi wishes otherwise.

“How do you feel,
kemosabe
?” asks Numi as he sits on the edge of the bed.

He rests his hand on my chest and I let him. No longer do I try to shrug him off. Or move away from him. I don’t have the strength to shrug or to move, and now that I have had time to reflect on it, I realize that I appreciate his touch.

No,
I think, as his big hand spreads over my chest and pats me gently.
I need his comforting touch.

“I’ve been better,” I say.

Numi’s stoic face cracks in a small smile. “Yes, boss. You have definitely been better.”

“Have you been painting?” I ask, although I know the answer to the question.

“Not for many months, cowboy.”

“Do you miss it?” I ask.

Numi stares down at me a long time before answering. “I’m going to miss you more, brother.”

Now it’s my turn to smile. “Hey, that’s the first time you’ve acknowledged that I’m dying.”

“I ain’t acknowledging shit.”

I smile again, and so does he. Outside, through the closed door, I hear someone laugh lightly. The detective, I think. Nice of him to come. He has already stopped in to say hello, although, of course, I knew it was to say good-bye.

“You going to miss me?” I ask Numi.

“I sure as hell ain’t going to miss your racist, homophobic jokes.”

“You like my racist, homophobic jokes.”

He nods and gives me a full smile. “Some were funny. But I’m still pretty sure you have issues to work through.”

“A little late,” I say.

Numi doesn’t acknowledge that the fun is over, I can see. There are tears in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m going to miss your white ass.”

“Who’s racist now?”

But Numi covers his face with his big palm as a short, sharp burst of air escapes from behind his hand. I have never seen—or heard—Numi cry. Shed some quiet tears, yes. This is a first for me.

“I don’t want you to go, Jimmy,” he says, and hearing my name from Numi sounds almost foreign to me.

“I know you don’t,” I say.

He keeps his face behind his hand. “I tried so hard.…”

But he can’t finish his words and I do something I’ve never done before. I sit up and reach my arms around him, and he wraps his around me and holds me tighter than any man has ever held me before, and I don’t care. I don’t care that Numi is a man, or a gay man.

He is, I realize, the closest thing I have to pure love on this earth.

And as Numi holds me tight, I realize that I am having trouble breathing again. Also, I realize that my burst of strength is fading.

I release my hold on him and sit back, and the tears are streaming from his face freely. I feel them on mine, too. I do not let on that I am having trouble breathing again. And I definitely don’t let on that slow, swirling lights have appeared in the room.

Numi’s hand is back on my chest and as the lights swirl faster and faster, I realize that I am having a very, very hard time breathing. I reach for Numi’s hand, hold it.

“Numi,” I say, the word coming out in a short burst of air.

My friend has seen me like this before. He knows the drill. “Relax,
kemosabe
. It’s going to be okay. Relax, breathe.”

“Numi,” I say again. My lungs aren’t working. In fact, they are nowhere close to working. “I can’t…”

He’s patting my hand with his other hand, leaning over me. I feel something wet splash on my face and I know they are his tears. Complete and total panic grips me. I sit up, trying to get my lungs to work. The light in the room continues to swirl, and it seems to focus in the corner of the room, where the light is forming a shape. A small shape.

“Numi…”

“Breathe, brother. Relax. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Numi is holding me against him, holding me in this world. I feel his own heart racing, pounding through him and into me.

A small breath works its way into my lungs, and I suck it down, expanding my lungs. More air comes to me, and I can take a handful of small breaths.

“Good, brother. Good. You’re going to be all right.”

When I have calmed down enough, I press my lips into Numi’s ear, and whisper, “I’m sorry I was a jerk.”

“It’s okay, cowboy.”

I take in another lungful of air. “I love you, brother.”

Numi pauses before answering. “I know you do, Jimmy. I know you do.”

And the swirling lights stop swirling, and I hear a strange, strangling sound coming from my lungs, and the small figure made of light steps out of the corner of my bedroom, holding out his little hands, and smiling that familiar smile.…

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A big thank-you to my writing team: Sylvia Vasquez, Eve Paludan, Sandy Johnston, P.J. Day, and Elaine Babich.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J.R. Rain is the author of thirty-three mystery, supernatural, and romance novels and five short-story collections. He’s sold over one million books online.
Moon Dance
, his supernatural mystery, has been translated into four languages, with audio and film productions pending. The literary heir to Robert Parker, his novels feature challenging characters, complicated relationships, and page-turning modernist prose. The gritty realism in his mystery novels comes courtesy of years working as a private eye. A So-Cal native, Rain relocated to an enigmatic and shadowy island outside Seattle.

If you enjoyed
SILENT ECHO
by J.R. Rain, we hope you’ll like the following excerpt of
THE BODY DEPARTED
by J.R. Rain.

I stepped through the wall and into my daughter’s bedroom.

She was sleeping contentedly on her side. It was before dawn, and the building was quiet. The curtains were open, and the sky beyond was black. If there were any stars, they were lost to the L.A. smog. The curtains were covered with ponies, as was most of the room. A plastic pony light switch, a pony bed lamp, pony wallpaper and bedspread. Someday she would outgrow her obsession with ponies, although I secretly hoped not.

A girl and her pony—it’s a beautiful thing.

I stepped closer to my sleeping daughter, and as I did so, she shifted slightly toward me. She mewed like a newborn kitten. Crimson light from her alarm clock splashed over her delicate features, highlighting a slightly upturned nose and impossibly big eyes. Sometimes, when she slept, her closed eyelids fluttered and danced. But not tonight. Tonight she was sleeping deeply, no doubt dreaming of sugar and spice and everything nice.