Broken Fate

by Jennifer Derrick

  Emily and Mr. Morgan return after dinner. I slide off the bed and settle back in the chair with my book, giving them time near Alex. He hasn’t been responsive for most of the evening, coming around only long enough to tell me he loves me and to briefly smile at his dad and sister. Even though I’m desperate to talk to him, to imprint his voice on my memory, part of me wishes for him to remain out of it until the end. That seems to be the most merciful thing I can hope for.

  When I have to reach up to turn on the table lamp to keep reading, I know that Alex has seen his last daylight. Death will come tomorrow before the sun is fully up.

  Emily and Mr. Morgan leave us alone around nine o’clock. Maggie is curled up on the rug next to Alex’s bed. She lifts her head and wags her tail as I approach. I climb up on the bed and settle in to wait. I’ll have to leave about twenty minutes before death time so I can get home and prepare to cut his line, but I will stay until then, even if he can’t talk or doesn’t even know I’m in the room.

  Alex surprises me, though. I’ve been reading for a couple of hours and I think Alex is asleep, but when I glance away from the book to look at the clock on his nightstand, I see that his eyes are open.

  “Hey,” I whisper. “Do you want me to get your family?”

  He shakes his head. His mouth is moving like he’s trying to speak, but nothing is coming out. I lean down closer to him to try to hear better.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Don’t waste the energy trying to talk.”

  He closes his eyes, and I can see him mustering his strength to try again.

  “How long?” he whispers.

  I feign ignorance because I don’t want to talk about it. “Until what?”

  “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t lie to me now. I know it’s soon. I can feel it. See it on your face.”

  “A few hours,” I admit. “Six thirty-two in the morning.”

  He slowly turns his head to look at the clock. “Almost one,” he says. “Five and a half hours left.”

  He turns his head again and stares up at the ceiling. I clutch his hand as the minutes pass, but I say nothing. What is there to say? Telling him that it’s going to be okay is pointless. He closes his eyes, and I think he’s drifted off again.

  “I want you with me,” he finally says, though his eyes remain closed.

  “I’m here,” I say, pressing his hand harder and kissing the back of it.

  “No. I want you with me when you cut my line.”

  I lean down to whisper in his ear. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Can too,” he argues.

  “Even if I could, what about your family? They’ll be here for the end, and you know they can’t watch me kill you.”

  “Don’t want them here.”

  “Well, it’s not like I can throw them out of their own house,” I say.

  “I know. Take me to our place. Do it there,” he pleads.

  “The church on the mountain?” I ask. It would be difficult but not impossible to get him up there in the dark, but how can he want that?

  “No, Oz,” he corrects me. “Take me to Oz. Let me die where we first kissed, under the witch’s nose. Our perfect day.”

  “Except that you were nearly killed by the Keres,” I remind him with a smile.

  “But you saved me.”

  “You know I can’t save you this time,” I say. If he is hoping for some Oz-related miracle, I don’t want him harboring false hopes. Asclepius was more than clear that there will be no miracles.

  “I know. But I want the memory of that day to be what accompanies me on my final journey.”

  “Don’t you think you should be here, where your family can say goodbye?”

  “Better to be somewhere else, I think. Better that they not watch the end.”

  I think for a minute. He has a point. It might be better if his father and sister are spared the final act, although I’ll catch holy hell for taking him away from them. Well, I can deal with that later.

  Beyond that, should I grant his final wish? He isn’t supposed to see me kill him. No human has ever seen their own line being cut. It’s unnatural to see death coming that way, not to mention just plain weird. Most people wouldn’t ask, would cower from the knowledge of their own death. But Alex isn’t most people.

  I don’t see how it really matters if he sees me cut his line, though. He’s already watched me cut thousands of lines. It isn’t like the process is a secret to him anymore. And he sure won’t be telling anyone about me after this night is over. If it’s his wish to meet death with open eyes and full awareness, who am I to deny him that right?

  “If you’re sure,” I finally say.

  “I’m sure.”

  “All right, then.”

  I unhook his IV morphine drip and oxygen, and disconnect his catheter, silently thanking Alana for showing me how all the medical equipment works. Wrapping Alex into his blanket, I gather him in my arms. When I get to the door of his bedroom, he puts a hand on the doorframe and I stop. He looks back over my shoulder for a long moment, taking in his room one last time. When he lays his head back on my shoulder, I feel the dampness of his tears soaking through my shirt.

  Through all of his misery, he’s never cried, at least not in front of me. That he’s crying now as he realizes that he is leaving his home and family for the last time moves me to my own tears. I try to check them but I cannot.

  Maggie pads down the hallway after us. I stop and lower Alex to the floor so he can pet her one last time. He is too weak to do much more than rest his hand on her head. She whimpers softly and licks his arm. I have no doubt that she knows Alex won’t be coming back. Dogs sense things that humans cannot. She looks to me as if for validation of her suspicion. I nod, and she nuzzles close to Alex. Tears are running freely down my face as I watch this final farewell, and I swipe them away with the back of my hand. Alex removes his hand from Maggie and nods once at me. I scoop him up again.

  “You’ll take care of her, won’t you?”

  “I promised, didn’t I? I’ll pick her up as soon as I can, unless your dad changes his mind and wants to keep her.”

  I carry Alex quietly through his house and out to my car. After I lay him gently on the backseat, I climb into the driver’s seat. I don’t want to wake anyone so I put the car in neutral and let it glide silently down the driveway, turning the ignition over only once I am on the street. I glance back at the house and see Maggie watching us from the living room window, saying goodbye to her master forever.

  “I have to stop by my house first,” I say, wiping away tears. There’s no answer from the backseat.

  Pulling into my driveway, I sprint into the house and down to my workroom. I retrieve Alex’s lifeline, a big flashlight, and the velvet box that holds my shears, dropping them all into my backpack. On my way out, I quickly snip eight lifelines that are waiting for me. I’ll box them later. After.

  I’m up the stairs and almost to the front door when Lacey calls from behind me, “Where are you going at this hour? And why are you making such a racket?”

  Turning, I see her standing on the steps that lead to our bedrooms. She’s in her nightgown, and she has bed hair.

  “Go back to bed,” I say.

  “Are you okay? You look like you’re in trouble,” she says, pointing to my overstuffed backpack.

  “I’m fine. Just in a hurry. I’m going to kill Alex.”

  “At his place? You know you can’t do that,” she says.

  “I know, but I’m doing it anyway. And I’m not going to his place. I’m taking him back to Oz.”

  “Your funeral,” she says and turns to go back upstairs.

  “Keep your mouth shut about it,” I threaten.

  “Of course,” she says as she disappears at the top of the stairs. I’m not sure I trust her to keep quiet, but I don’t have time to go upstairs and beat her into silence.

  I get back in my car and drive like an idiot. Half-blinded by tears, I cut
the drive to Oz down to an hour and a half by going way too fast and taking too many risks. Fortunately, the cops aren’t out at this hour.

  I use the drive to get myself together. I need to be strong to get Alex through this. I can cry all I want later. Right now, I have to be strong for him. My tears won’t do him any good and will only make him feel worse. It’s my job to make this easy on him.

  By the time we get to the park, I have myself under control, though I’m not sure it will last. I pull up behind the same rocks I hid the car behind before, shoulder my backpack, and carefully help Alex out of the backseat. He can’t walk, so I wrap the blanket tighter around him and carry him up the road toward the park entrance. As we enter the emerald-green gates, Alex lifts his head.

  I can tell that he is trying to see the landmarks in the dark, to mark our progress toward the witch’s rock. I haven’t turned on the flashlight since I can’t manage that and Alex, too, so there is only the light of the moon to show the way. Dorothy’s house and all the other cottages and homes stand out against the night sky, but the details of each are lost in the darkness.

  I have to slow down as we move further into the park. The remains of the yellow brick road aren’t even, and I trip and stagger over loose bricks every few feet. I have to be careful not to drop Alex. He’s in enough pain as it is.

  Everything was quiet the first day we came up here, but that quiet was nothing compared to the absolute silence that reigns tonight. There is no breeze to ruffle the leaves and no bird song. I can’t even hear a hoot owl or the chirping and buzzing of night insects. The only sound is that of my feet sliding along the path, seeking safe passage. It is as if everything has gone silent out of respect for what is about to happen in this place.

  I finally reach the witch’s rock and lay Alex down on the bench where we shared our first kiss. He mumbles something, but I can’t make it out.

  “We’re here,” I whisper to him.

  I kiss his forehead and I think he gives me a small nod of acknowledgement, but it could be simply a reflex. There is no way to make him comfortable but I do the best I can, tucking the blanket around him and trying to roll enough of it up under his head to create a small pillow. That done, I sit down on the ground next to him and check my watch. It’s just after three in the morning. He has just a little over three hours left.

  I sit there watching his chest rise and fall, mentally preparing myself for the job I have to do. Strangely, up to this point, I haven’t given this part much thought. I’ve been so busy helping him live that I haven’t prepared myself to help him die.

  Of course I’ve known all along that I’ll kill him, but I assumed that I’d have the protection of distance. The plan was always that I would cut his line in the safety of my workroom where I would intellectually know that the deed was done, but I wouldn’t have to bear witness to the finality.

  Instead, it is just the two of us, and there is no hiding from what I am about to do. I unzip my backpack and pull out his lifeline. Running it through my fingers, I feel the softness and watch it shimmer in the moonlight. I’ve held millions of lines over the years, but I swear that Alex’s feels different somehow. I know it’s just my imagination, but it feels warmer. Softer. Almost like him. I return it to my pack, not wanting to look at it any longer.

  I sigh, realizing for the first time that despite eons of meting out death, I have only an abstract understanding of what death means to humans. To me, death means that a human is simply there one minute and gone the next. Each line I cut is simply another in a very long procession of lifelines. While I try to be compassionate toward those I kill, death has never been anything to me other than work. Cut the line, box it up, and send it to Thanatos. Repeat. Here, in the silent darkness of Oz, I am face to face with the finality of death and the very human fact that death brings pain to those left behind. And I’m not sure I can handle it.

  I check to make sure that Alex is okay. Satisfied that he’s comfortable, I walk to the stone bridge overlooking a now-dormant waterfall and stream. Leaning on the remains of the bridge railing, I let the tears come, hot and fast. I try to be quiet. I don’t want to wake Alex, but my sobs get progressively louder until I’m almost choking on my grief.

  Sitting down, I lean back against the stone, wrapping my arms around my legs. I push my fist into my mouth to quiet my crying.

  “I can’t do this,” I say into the darkness. “I can’t. I’m not strong enough.”

  No one answers me, but I don’t expect them to. There is no fairy godmother who can make any of this go away. No one else can cut Alex’s line. Too late I think that I should have brought Chloe with me. She would be supportive, if not helpful. But then I think that Alex wouldn’t have wanted that. He wanted to come here with me and me alone. He didn’t even want his family here to witness his last moments. Only me. He chose to place his last moments solely in my hands. He trusts me to help him on to the next world. I owe him my best effort, not this mindless sniveling.

  Struggling to my feet, I walk back to where Alex lies on the bench. I sit back down on the ground next to him and hold his hand. Dropping my head to my knees, I feel suddenly more tired than I have ever been.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispers from above me.

  “I’m not,” I lie.

  “Heard you,” he says.

  “Damn. Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  I think I hear him chuckle, but it’s more of a wheeze.

  “Is there anything you need?” I ask.

  “Only you.”

  “I’m here,” I assure him. “And I will be until the end.”

  “Thank you,” he says. He closes his eyes and drifts off again.

  Standing up, I lift Alex’s head and shoulders off the bench. When I sit down, I lower him onto my lap. I readjust the blanket around him, kiss him softly on the lips, and settle in to wait, already alone in the darkness.