Chapter 79
Chapter 79
S he opened a closet door and there, folded and neatly stacked, were his clothes. Complete with bullet holes. Alongside lay his empty Milt Sparks 55BN holster absent his Sig 220, which Frank took somewhere along the way. But what almost had me convinced were his boots. The laces had been cut, as if someone had to get them off in a hurry. One lay on its side, the bottom of its sole exposed.
I shook my head again. I’d been down this road before. On the beach. It hurt too much the last time. I couldn’t do it again. Something in me was playing a trick on me. Some place of pain just could not or would not let him go.
I sat up, unable to make sense of my world. Gunner was staring at me. And staring at the man in the bed in my dream. And because dreams are weird and don’t make sense unless you’re dreaming them, he climbed up on the bed, sniffed the man’s face, licked him gently, then curled up alongside his left arm, resting his face on his thigh, whining.
Next to the bed, resting on the nightstand, lay seven spent bullets in a stainless bowl. Evidence of the extraction.
The letter. That was when I remembered the letter. Bones had told me in his postscript: “If you slip, don’t worry—the water’s deep beneath you. But it’s also flowing with a force like you’ve never known, so hold your breath because it’s about to take you on an underwater ride that not even Disney could imagine, and it will either drown you or save you.”
Did the water save Bones?
I melted into a puddle, crying a long time. Deep sobs. My shoulders shaking. And she stayed with me. When I had cried all I thought I could and then some more, she said, “He talks about you. About Freetown. Angel. Ellie. Casey. And Shep, I think. And”—she petted Gunner—“he talks about you.”
I shook my head, not wanting to wake. Trying to will the dream to continue. “How?”
“My father taught me to sail. Have since I was a kid. I had spent the day in a protected cove, reading, trying not to think about the last week. At sundown I was raising my anchor when I saw a man emerge from what looked like a cave dragging a body into the water. One sank; the other floated. I grabbed the one floating. Here we are.”
I nodded. “That was Frank. He was . . .”
“The darkness?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She eyed the man. “But he loved him.”
“Brothers.”
I turned back to the man beneath the sheets. Never had I known greater disbelief. “Is he gonna be...”
She finished my sentence. “Okay?”
I nodded, knowing the dream was coming to an end.
“Don’t know. Some days are good. Some days not so much. I’ve never seen one person carry and shed so much hurt. So much... pain.” She eyed the stainless pan and the bullets. “I don’t know how he’s made it this far. He’s flatlined three times but always manages to return. I’m not even sure he knows I exist.” She paused. “I’ve been around the block a few times. Seen a lot I wish I hadn’t. But in all that time, I’ve never been so aware of such a deep reservoir of love in one human being as in this one.” She studied him, almost as if she’d done it for hours on end. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
That was good. Keep her talking. I couldn’t wake if she was talking. I nodded slowly .
“Can you tell me his name?”
I nodded. “Ezekiel Walker. But we all call him Bones.”
I tried to speak again but couldn’t. It was too much. But not as much as what was about to happen.
The man’s finger twitched. Then again. Then, in what is still the most amazing moment of my life, his indomitable, tender, magnificent hand squeezed mine. Tight.
I’d never felt that in a dream. Dreams don’t squeeze back.
Then in the second most amazing moment of my life, his lips moved. When they did, I heard the faintest of whispers. Not understanding, I leaned in, pressing my ear to his face. When I did, he said it again. This time louder. At first I couldn’t understand. Too garbled. The words swam around my brain, and when they finally settled, I heard them and my eyes opened.
“Tell me what you know about sheep.”
That was when I wondered if the dream wasn’t a dream.
I pressed my forehead to his temple and gently pulled him to me, whispering, “They’re totally lost without their shepherd.”
Then a strange thing happened. A tear landed on my left arm. Her tear. She, too, was crying. And dreams didn’t cry.
Feeling the image fade, knowing my dream was ending, I felt the man’s body warm. I felt heat. I tried to stay in the dream, but I’d lost it. He was fading. I couldn’t see him anymore. And just before he left, that man, that magnificent teddy bear and rescuer of the lost, the epicenter of everything good in this world, the keeper of the record, the keeper of the light, reached up out of the liquid grave in which he’d buried himself and hugged me. Those big, muscled arms wrapped around me, and I watched in wonder as the darkness in me disappeared.
Somewhere in there I woke up.
Only to realize I’d not been dreaming.
Then Bones.