by Tom Lewis
“I hate you!” Cassie shouted through the door, then kicked it. She stormed over to her closet, grabbed a handful of clothes, and heaved them on the floor. Then she plopped down on her bed and let her rage boil, as that voice in her head told her how wrongly Alison had treated her.
She has no right.
She’s just jealous of you.
She can’t stop you.
Just do it...
And the voice was right. How could her mom stop her if Cassie decided to sneak out? Call the cops? She didn’t have the balls.
Fuck it, Cassie decided, rising to her feet and heading over to her closet. She was going to sneak out anyway. If her mom found out, tough shit. What was she going to do, ground her twice? How’s that one working out for you, Mom?
Cassie dug through her closet, pulling out the sluttiest, gothiest outfit she could find — a slit dark skirt, torn fishnets, and concert shirt. She quickly slipped into the clothes, then hurried into her adjoining bathroom where she lathered on makeup worthy of her goth-babe outfit.
When she finished, she stepped back from the mirror and gave herself a once-over appraisal.
She was going to rock this night.
She turned from the bathroom and crossed her bedroom to the window. She slid it open and climbed through, taking care to make as little noise as possible. Might as well postpone the fight with her mom as long as she could.
She crept across the narrow sloping roof to the edge and eased over it onto a trellis mounted to the side wall. She scrambled down it to the lawn out back, then hurried over to the corner. She peeked around it, and, seeing her mom was still inside, she raced off into the night.
Six hours later, Cassie Stevens would die in a car crash.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Tale of Two Deaths
The oncoming car belonged to Maggie Dunne. She and her seven-year-old daughter, Katie, were returning from Maggie’s parents’ home in Boston when the rain hit. She had considered turning around at one point but decided to press on through the storm. Surely the roads would be empty at the late hour, and on this miserable night.
What she never expected to encounter was a car driven by reckless teens on a drug-and-alcohol binge.
It was a decision she never forgave herself for.
Mere seconds passed from the time she rounded the bend till the moment of impact. It was barely enough time for her to lay on the horn and glimpse her daughter sleeping peacefully in the seat beside her.
Then they hit.
The OnStar service alerted first responders of the collision, and they arrived within ten minutes.
As she drifted in and out of consciousness, Maggie had only faint impressions of her rescue. The flashing colored lights. The paramedics. The incessant rain...
Then she was being pulled from her car and laid on a stretcher. Voices assured her she was going to be okay. She was staring up at the dark outlines of trees, her face pelted with rain, as they carried her to the ambulance and slid her in back.
Where was Katie?
“My daughter,” she moaned in a strained voice barely above a whisper. She struggled to sit up but was gently pressed back down by a medic.
“They’re taking care of her, ma’am,” the medic sought to assure her. “Please, just lie back.”
The medic knew this was a lie, but it was what she needed to hear. She was bleeding from multiple wounds, with possible spinal injuries, and her blood pressure was falling fast. There would be time for the truth later.
Someone had to survive this night.
The young girl, Katie Dunne, was already with God.
****
Cassie’s heart stopped during the ambulance ride to the hospital. The medics frantically continued to administer CPR, while calling ahead with the Code Blue. The operating room was prepped and ready by the time they wheeled Cassie in.
They would need to revive her in minutes; or else, the night would claim another victim.
Surgeons and nurses sprang into action. They hooked Cassie up to a ventilator and administered epinephrine, while technicians wheeled over a crash cart. The heart monitor showed a steady flat line and filled the room with its sharp tone.
Seconds passed.
The paddles were quickly gelled, the defibrillator charged, and the paddles pressed on her chest.
Her body bucked with the shock. The heart monitor spiked momentarily, then returned to its flat line.
They were going again.
Again her body bucked... followed by the flat line and that terrible tone.
It was on the third attempt that Cassie’s heart restarted. With a sharp gasp, her body bucked, then came to rest. But this time the monitor continued to rise and fall with a steady rhythm, and the clear ventilator mask fogged with her breath.
Cassie Stevens was back.
A wave of relief swept the room as they watched her heart continue to beat on its own. They had saved a life that night.
But in the excitement that followed her resuscitation, one thought never occurred to anyone —
Where had she been during those minutes of death?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Coming Home
Cassie spent the week in the hospital under observation. She was badly bruised, with broken ribs and cuts from the shattered glass, but she was alive. Somehow she had made it back from that night.
Alison had rushed to the hospital the moment she received the call about the accident. She had nervously paced the waiting room till Cassie came out of surgery, and agonized the entire time over the fight she had with Cassier earlier that night. Those couldn’t be the last words they ever said to each other.
She prayed for the first time since Rick’s death and promised to be a better mom if God just gave Cassie a second chance.
She collapsed into a chair with relief when a doctor told her that Cassie had been revived. Cassie had been moved to intensive care, but her prognosis looked good. The doctor suggested that Alison go home and get some rest. She looked like hell.
Alison returned home, but rest was impossible. She called work and arranged to take the next few days off. She was ready to quit if they refused.
Alison was back at the hospital the next day, and the day after that. Cassie’s condition was upgraded to stable, and Alison was there when she opened her eyes for the first time since the crash.
Alison arrived early to pick Cassie up on the day of her discharge. There was so much they had to say to each other, and Cassie could finally express the remorse she had felt that night.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” Cassie said as they drove home. “All that stuff I said that night, and the way I’ve been acting... you didn’t deserve any of that. And I’m not gonna be like that anymore.”
It was the most heartfelt thing Cassie had ever said to her, and Alison felt a tear well up in her cheek. “I’m sorry too, Cass. I haven’t been there. I guess I got so used to your dad taking care of you, I forgot how to be your mom. How about we both try to be better to each other.”
Cassie smiled and gave her a nod. “Deal.”
Cassie relaxed back in her seat and let her mind drift back to memories from that night; at least what remained of those memories, since most of them were clouded in a haze. There had been the rave, with its thumping techno music, dizzying lights, and sea of twirling glow sticks. The smell of alcohol and vomit. The drugs...
But what puzzled her was her detachment from those memories. Had they even been her memories, or had they been... the Other’s? It almost felt like she was a spectator to them, rather than a participant.
It was like that for all her memories from the past few months. Ever since that thing had entered her, the line between its memories and hers was blurred. If there even was a line.
But it was no longer in her. At least she no longer felt it in her. Ever since the crash, her thoughts and mind and body belonged to her again. She felt free and liberated in a way she never could have imagined just a few months ago. And she was determi
ned to keep it that way.
Alison turned onto the gravel drive leading to their house and parked out front. They headed inside, where Cassie was greeted by Rex. He was six now, and full grown, but still acted like a pup when he was excited. And he was excited at the moment. Cassie gave him a hug, being careful not to bump her ribs, then headed upstairs to her room.
Cassie was surprised to find her bedroom clean. All of the mess she had made that night was gone, and the clothes neatly folded and hung on hangers.
She walked over to her dresser and looked at the miniature juniper bonsai that sat on top. She’d named it Dodger, and it had sprouted new leaves while she was gone.
Her mom had done all of this while she was gone; even after the way Cassie went berserk on her that night. Cassie felt those guilt pangs again over the way she’d been acting the past couple of months. And even before that. As she thought about it, she honestly couldn’t remember the last time she felt like Cassie, but it was probably all the way back to the time before.
A knock on her door snapped her from her musings. “Yeah. Come in.”
Her mom entered and walked over. “Hope you don’t mind. I cleaned it while you were gone.”
“No. That was really cool of you. Thanks. And thanks for watering Dodger.”
“Couldn’t let the little guy get thirsty while you were gone.”
Cassie nodded. “I’m sorry again for the way I’ve been acting. And all that stuff I said.”
Alison gave her a gentle squeeze. “Hey. It’s all behind us. You and I are both moving onward. Cool?”
Cassie smiled. “Cool.”
“So how would you like to take a drive with me?” Alison asked.
“Where are we going?”
“I thought it might be nice to go see your dad.”
****
Cassie spotted the vase of fresh flowers next to her dad’s gravestone as she and Alison walked up.
“You brought him fresh flowers,” Cassie said.
Alison nodded. “I came here the day after the hospital told me our daughter was going to be okay. I figured your dad probably had something to do with it.”
Cassie nodded. “I think so too.”
“I saw the birthday card you left for him,” Alison said. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought it home. It was getting a little weathered.”
“No. That’s fine.”
“That was really thoughtful of you to do that.”
“I just wanted him to know I was thinking about him.”
“I’m sure he does, honey,” Alison said. She set her hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “He was always your biggest fan, Cass. Along with me.” She gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Thanks, Mom.”
They stood in silence for a while as a pleasant breeze stirred through the grass. Then Cassie noticed a faint scent carried on the breeze.
It was the sweet, gentle fragrance of daisies, but Cassie couldn’t think of any place around here where they grew. She turned her head to look around for the source, and saw another person in the cemetery.
She was a little girl, with soft blond hair, standing near a gravestone twenty yards away. She wore a pure white Communion dress, and in her hand she held a bundle of daisies.
She was watching Cassie.
“You ready to get going?” Alison asked.
“Huh?” Cassie snapped from her momentary daze and looked at her mom. “I’m sorry. What’d you ask?”
Alison looked at her curiously. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just...” Cassie’s eyes wandered past that other grave again, but the little girl was gone. “...thought I saw someone?”
“We should probably get going,” Alison said, giving Cassie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I need to stop by the store so we have something to eat.”
“Okay,” Cassie said as she continued to stare at the other grave.
CHAPTER NINE
Father Sean
“To everything there is a season...
A time to be born, and a time to die...
A time to kill, and a time to heal...”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1
****
“Then shall come to pass the saying that is written...” The elderly priest stood at the foot of the small grave, reciting prayers from his missal for the Rite of Christian Burials. His name was Father Dennis Jenkins, and despite his advanced age, his eyes continued to reflect a sharp mind and sound clarity of thought. These were matched by his innate kindness.
“Death is swallowed up in victory,” Jenkins continued, his eyes momentarily looking up from the missal to the several dozen mourners gathered around the grave.
They were at the Faulkner Cemetery, not far from the plot where Cassie’s dad was buried. The mourners had been greeted that chill fall morning by a dreary sky and light drizzle that only felt appropriate for the burial of the seven-year-old girl. She was Katie Dunne.
“Oh, death, where is thy victory? Oh, death, where is thy sting?” Jenkins recited the prayers verbatim from the missal, yet couldn’t resist a taunt in his voice as he pronounced this rebuke. Death could claim no victory over Katie. Jenkins was a simple, humble man, but of this much he was certain — Katie was with God and would spend her eternity in His bliss.
Jenkins had met Katie’s mother, Maggie Dunne, shortly after Maggie moved to Capetown almost six years earlier. She had been a young widowed mother at the time, raising an infant daughter on her own. Jenkins appreciated the hardships she was facing in a new town and had reached out to his parishioners to find her a job.
Over the years, he had become like a grandfather to the child, offering assistance to Maggie whenever she needed it, and providing free tuition for Katie at the parish’s elementary school. He had also presented Katie with her first Communion just six months earlier.
In all his years, he had never met a sweeter, kinder, more gracious soul than Katie, and he had been heartbroken to hear about her death.
“And with this promise of victory, we now commend the soul of Katie into the loving hands of our Lord.” At this point he paused and turned his gaze toward the sky.
“Eternal rest grant unto her, oh Lord. And may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace.” Then, bowing his head, he concluded with a final “Amen.”
Jenkins’ “Amen” was followed by a succession of “Amens” from the mourners.
Standing just outside the close circle of friends was another priest, considerably younger than Jenkins. The young priest was Father Sean McCready, but to everyone who knew him, he was simply Sean, or Father Sean, or, in the case of the teen girls in his religious education class, most of whom crushed on his tall athletic frame, thick hair, and firm jaw, he was Father-What-a-Waste.
Sean waited for the other mourners to depart before he approached Maggie. Condolences always felt so awkward and rehearsed, no matter how sincere they were, but he knew they were expected and even appreciated by the grieving party.
“I’m so sorry, Maggie,” he offered, joining her beside the small grave. “If there’s anything at all I can do...”
“There is, Father,” she said, with her eyes never leaving the grave. “You can tell me why He did this. Why God let my daughter die.”
It was harsh, and bitter, and brutally honest. And it was the way Sean had felt for the past several days since returning from that other funeral.
Abandoned. And empty.
He just shook his head. For a moment he considered giving her the usual canned responses — she’s in a better place, or God works in mysterious ways — but all of those felt hopelessly inadequate in the face of this level of grief. Maggie deserved honesty; and at that moment, it wasn’t something he could give anyone.
“I don’t know, Maggie. I wish I did; but I just don’t.” It was the best he could offer her.
And himself.
****
No one was more surprised than Sean that his life’s journey lead him to the priesthood. While he had
grown up in an Irish Catholic family, where Sunday Mass was a part of the routine, he had never felt particularly religious. Like so many Irish families, Catholicism was just assumed; it was as much a part of their identity as sports and beer. Irish kids went to Irish schools, attended weekly Mass, and more often than not, were on a first-name basis with the parish priests. But the rest of the week, they were indistinguishable from the other kids on the block.
Sean was the youngest of three brothers — Brendan, the oldest, and Conor, who was two years older than Sean. They were all tight, but Sean was probably closest to Conor, since they were closer in age and shared the same penchant for mischief that usually got them grounded.
They grew up in the small town of Kenneth Point, thirty miles south of Boston, where their dad, Jack, was a cop and their mom, Cheryl, a homemaker. The boys were tough and athletic, like their dad, and learned to protect themselves at an early age. But they also learned compassion from their mom, and none of their classmates would ever describe them as bullies. Their mom wouldn’t have put up with it.
Like his brothers, Sean excelled at sports and made the varsity teams his sophomore year for wrestling, baseball, and football. It was during summer football practice, where Sean played wide receiver, that he caught the eye of a cute young cheerleader named Amy Duval.
It happened on a warm afternoon, on the grass field that served as a football stadium for St. Augustine’s High School. As practice ended and the team broke for the showers, Amy spotted Sean alone on the sidelines, loading his cleats into his duffel bag. Her friends on the cheer squad had watched her sneak glances at him all summer, and it was time she finally made her move.
“Would you just do it already,” they pressed.
“Do what?”
Duh. “Talk to him.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say hi,” her friend Jenny said, and the other girls nodded in agreement.
“What if he doesn’t say anything?”
