Death Watch

by Jack Cavanaugh

Josh and Cheryl were both leaning forward as though the news would reach them sooner the closer they got to the television.

  “Maybe you should,” Cheryl said, with a worried glance at Stacy. “Do you mind?”

  “Child, I see people die every day. I don’t have to watch it on television.”

  She scooped up Stacy.

  “You like orange juicy, honey? Let’s go see if we can find you some.”

  “Dora? Wait. .,” Cheryl said, her eyes fixed on the television screen.

  The only sound in the hotel suite was the buzz of the lights. It was one of those moments when time slows and a dozen heartbeats squeeze into a single second.

  Hunz was stiff, but upright. No buckling at the knees. No timber like a felled tree.

  He opened his eyes.

  Cheers went up from behind the lights.

  Sydney didn’t join them.

  She’d learned her lesson with Lyle Vandeveer. She looked at the hotel alarm clock.

  10:47 a.m.

  But was it accurate?

  She waited.

  Hunz didn’t move. Was he thinking of Lyle Vandeveer too?

  Seconds ticked.

  A trio of voices from behind the lights urged Hunz to say something.

  He didn’t. Not for a while.

  The voices in Sydney’s earpiece chattered against her shoulder. She ignored them.

  10:48 a.m.

  Hunz was still standing. Still alive.

  He looked at Sydney and grinned.

  Professionalism, take a hike. She threw her arms around him.

  At Prentice Women’s Hospital, little Stacy jumped up and down on the bed clapping her hands, though she didn’t understand why everyone was happy. Cheryl and Josh hugged and laughed and cried. Nurse Dora brushed a few tears aside herself.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Sydney had no idea how long she’d clung to Hunz’s neck. She didn’t want to think about time right now. All she knew was that she hadn’t hugged him long enough.

  Voices chattered in her earpiece. Sniffles could be heard behind the lights, presumably Joanna, but it could have been Dorian.

  “We’re still on the air,” Hunz whispered, though he had a grip on Sydney equal to hers. “We’re on the air internationally.”

  The letting go was awkward. Sydney found herself less than inches from the face of a man she’d known for less than two days—but she knew him, didn’t she? She knew him better than some men she’d known for years. Still, they’d never touched, not even an accidental brush of a hand, until now.

  Her face warm, she stepped back.

  Hunz made the quick transition from joyous and amused to his professional broadcaster demeanor. He addressed the camera.

  “I’m alive!”

  A grin cracked through his hardened professionalism for a moment, but was quickly repaired.

  Sydney replaced her earpiece.

  What’s going on here, Carol? Did he have the Death Watch or didn’t he?

  Let’s hear what he has to say, Hal.

  Hunz could hear the voices, too. He ignored them.

  Sydney made no attempt to regain her professionalism. She was grinning like a joker, unable to do otherwise.

  “I suppose an explanation is in order,” Hunz said into the camera. He took a deep breath. “Frankly, I’m still coming to terms with it myself, but… here I am. That’s something, isn’t it?

  “Well, I can tell you this much: To the best of my knowledge, I’m the first man to beat the Death Watch. Good news, certainly, for I had pretty much concluded that my life on this earth had come to an end.”

  He took another deep breath.

  “The answer to the mystery behind the terror will surprise many, but not all. It did me. Even now, I find it difficult to believe that, for reasons I cannot explain, I would be the one to prove the solution true, let alone be the bearer of such momentous news. The bottom line is, as of today, no one need ever fear Death Watch again.

  “And while I am the first to profit from the solution, the answer came from a source even more unlikely than me. Actually, my colleague, Sydney St. James, deserves credit, for it is she who interviewed the source behind the solution to Death Watch. She then passed the information to me.”

  He nodded warmly in Sydney’s direction.

  Another deep breath.

  “The key to defeating the Death Watch,” he continued, “was delivered by a most unlikely messenger. A modern-day Elijah.”

  Hunz described the events leading up to Billy Peppers’s plunge from the roof of the hotel. To Sydney’s surprise, he didn’t stop there. Knowing that his words were being broadcast literally around the world, translated into every major language, Hunz described Billy Peppers’s fiery translation with a beautiful and accurate description of the angels.

  The chattering in his earpiece increased.

  Hunz pulled a piece of paper from his coat pocket. “As improbable as all this sounds,” he said as he unfolded it, “the death watch attack is a spiritual one; therefore, to neutralize it, we must use spiritual weapons. Just hours ago, I learned the truth. Minutes ago, the truth was confirmed.”

  Reading from the handwriting on the paper now:

  “’For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.’”

  Hunz’s voice broke. Until now he’d managed to run ahead of his emotions. They just caught up with him.

  Sydney stepped in. “A message that shouldn’t come as any surprise,” she said. “As Billy Peppers told me, ‘It doesn’t make sense to believe in a supernatural God and not believe in the supernatural.’”

  The camera lights switched off.

  “Save it,” Dorian said.

  For Hunz and Sydney the room went black. It took several blinks before shapes began to appear, and when they did, they were of the news crew packing up the equipment.

  “The station pulled the plug,” Dorian said.

  While the cameraman and Joanna stowed the lights for transport, Dorian took the microphone and the earpieces from Hunz and Sydney and coiled the wires.

  “You know, that was pretty low,” Dorian muttered. “I mean, handing out tracts at the airport, holding up signs at football games…that stuff’s annoying, but this? This was low, man.”

  In the bedroom, Hunz’s cell phone rang. He went to answer it. A moment later, Sydney’s cell phone rang in her purse. It was Helen. No hello. Just shouting.

  Hunz walked out of the bedroom, his hand over the phone. “Sol,” he said.

  They held separate conversations as the WBBT crew exited quickly without further comment.

  They cut them off!” Josh said, jumping out of his chair and pointing at the television screen.

  The WBBT anchors appeared on-screen seated behind the studio news desk. Hal and Carol exchanged nervous glances.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” Carol said with a self-conscious chuckle.

  Hal, a middle-aged man with thick silver hair, spoke directly to the camera.

  “On behalf of WBBT and our affiliates, we want to apologize for what you have just witnessed and state for the record that the views expressed on this program do not represent the views of this station or its owners.”

  Carol nodded her agreement. “Because of past abuses, we have attempted to introduce measures that would allow us to protect our viewers from this kind of unseemly behavior on live TV. However, in this case, a five-second delay has proved inadequate. And, for that, we apologize.”

  In the hospital room, Josh was beside himself. “Can you believe that?” he cried. “They’re apologizing that Hunz didn’t die!”

  Back to Hal at the studio. “Furthermore, we wish to apologize to all groups who find the content of Mr. Vonner’s commentary offensive, particularly our Jewish and Islamic friends.”

  Carol continued. “Please believe us when we say we were caught complet
ely off guard. Hunz Vonner came to us with impeccable credentials from the EuroNet broadcasting system.”

  “A highly respected international news source,” Hal added. He turned to his coanchor. “I don’t know about you, Carol,” he said, “but I feel like I’ve just been bushwhacked.”

  “Bushwhacked?” Josh shouted at the screen. He turned to Cheryl. “Bushwhacked! Did he just say bushwhacked? I can’t believe it.”

  Using the remote control, Cheryl clicked off the television set. She stared at the blank screen.

  She said, “I wonder how Sydney’s holding up under all this, poor dear.”

  Sol wants us back in Los Angeles, ASAP.” Hunz flipped his phone closed.

  “I’ve never heard Helen use language like that,” Sydney said. “What are we going to do?”

  “We should probably do what they say.”

  “Yeah.”

  Hunz looked at Sydney. “We’re not, are we?”

  “I don’t know about you,” Sydney said, “but I’m not leaving Chicago until I talk to Cheryl and Josh.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Don’t dawdle,” Dora said, waving them down the deserted hallway. Sydney, Hunz, and Josh stepped lively, their shoes squeaking on the polished white tile floor of Prentice Women’s Hospital.

  It was the second time Sydney had stepped foot in the hospital. Both times had been an experience.

  Yesterday, not long after Hunz’s broadcast, when they walked through the sliding glass hospital doors into the lobby, they were recognized immediately. Over a dozen people populated the lobby, filling out admission forms, waiting for news of loved ones. Some booed when they saw Hunz and Sydney. Others were more articulate with their opinions.

  “Shoulda known. Nothin’ but a cheap stunt.”

  “You owe me, man. The station promised us a death.”

  “Yeah. And what do we get instead? Billy Graham!”

  Now, the morning after the broadcast, Sydney made her second entrance into the hospital as an adventurous and sympathetic nurse sneaked them into Cheryl’s room.

  Dora Evans didn’t put much stock in visitors’ hours or the rules restricting the number of people allowed in a pregnant woman’s room.

  “Don’t dawdle! Don’t dawdle!” she said, with the vigilance of a sheepdog.

  “Good morning,” Cheryl greeted them from her bed. “Just in time.”

  The off-duty news trio circled her bed. She held up a hand. Josh seemed to know just what to do. He took it and got a squeeze.

  Stacy lay next to her mother in the bed, asleep.

  From the door, Dora said, “Keep it down, okay?” She started to leave, then stopped to say, “If this don’t beat all. I’ve seen death watch vigils for terminal patients plenty of times, but this is the first life watch vigil I’ve ever seen.”

  She closed the door. The two couples and Stacy were alone.

  “Should we wake her?” Sydney asked.

  Cheryl lovingly straightened the bangs on her daughter’s forehead. “No, let her sleep,” she said. Tears came.

  “Oh, honey.” Sydney took Cheryl’s free hand. “Are you scared?”

  Cheryl smiled bravely. “A little,” she said.

  Hunz checked his watch, comparing it to the wall clock.

  9:26 a.m.

  “Two minutes,” Cheryl said. “The time on the letter was 7:28 a.m., but that was Pacific Time.”

  “Are you ready for this?” Hunz asked.

  Cheryl knew what he was asking. They’d had a long talk during his visit yesterday.

  “Can a person ever be 100 percent certain?” she asked.

  “You have to put your trust in the One doing the rescuing,” Hunz replied.

  Cheryl nodded. “Then I’m ready.”

  9:27 a.m.

  Cheryl looked up at Sydney. “I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if it wasn’t for you,” she said.

  Sydney kissed her hand. “Who would have thought God would use Wonder Wheel to bring people together,” she said.

  Cheryl smiled. She looked at each of them in turn.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you all for being here.”

  “Thank Hunz,” Sydney said. “He’s the one who negotiated an extra night’s stay in Chicago with our producer.”

  “Negotiating is too noble of a word to describe what I did,” Hunz said sheepishly. “Making excuses is closer to the truth. It bought us last night and a couple of hours this morning.”

  “However you arranged it, thank you,” Cheryl said.

  “Josh, what about you?” Sydney asked.

  “It was easy for me.” Josh shrugged. “I just told them I had a death watch notice and they placed me on extended leave. New KSMJ policy.”

  They watched the last thirty seconds tick off in silence, Cheryl holding Josh with one hand, Sydney with the other. Hunz had reached out, consciously or subconsciously, and was touching sleeping Stacy’s foot.

  9:28 a.m.

  Cheryl gasped as the wall clock’s red second hand continued its sweep into the morning.

  “Welcome back to the living,” Hunz said.

  Stacy woke.

  “Mommy?”

  “I’m here, honey,” Cheryl said. “I’m here.”

  The last thing Sydney told Cheryl before leaving the hospital was that she would return in a month to assist in the birth of the baby. Hunz told Cheryl he’d try to arrange to get some time off to look after Stacy. He said she was going to need a playmate to help her adjust to the fact that she would have to share her mommy.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  “Hunz, wake up!” Slicing through the upper atmosphere somewhere over Colorado, the Dassault Falcon streaked toward California and, for Hunz Vonner and Sydney St. James, a day of reckoning at KSJM studio.

  “It’s Josh at the hospital,” Sydney cried.

  Hunz sat up, groggy. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s Cheryl,” Sydney said.

  They were two hours into the flight. Hunz had fallen asleep shortly after takeoff. Not having slept much the last two days, he was exhausted. Sydney alternated her time between looking out the window—amazed at how peaceful the world appears at thirty thousand feet—and worrying about the scene that awaited her in Helen Gordon’s office. No matter how she played it out in her mind, it was ugly.

  The chirp of her cell phone had startled her. Hearing the sound of Josh Leven’s voice on the other end startled her even more. With the cell phone in one hand, she shook Hunz awake with the other.

  “What is it?” Hunz said, awake now.

  “Josh wouldn’t say. All he said was that he could only get through this once, so he wanted us both to listen.”

  In the time it took Sydney to rouse Hunz, a hundred scenarios flashed through Sydney’s mind. The one that kept surfacing to the top was Death Watch. Had they mistimed it? Had something gone wrong?

  She held the phone between them so that both she and Hunz could listen.

  “Josh? Hunz is here now. What happened?”

  “It’s a girl!” Josh shouted.

  “She’s not due for another month!” Sydney cried, happy and relieved at the same time.

  “The kid didn’t want to wait that long,” Josh said. “Cheryl went into labor not ten minutes after you walked out the door.”

  Sydney and Hunz exchanged happy glances.

  “Everyone’s healthy?” Hunz said.

  “Cheryl’s fine. The baby’s fine. Stacy’s fine, though she thinks the baby is some kind of toy doll. I’m the only one who may not survive.”

  “Well, you gave us quite a scare,” Sydney said.

  “Did I? Sorry. I guess I’m not very good at this. It’s a lot harder than reporting sports scores. I gotta go. Cheryl gave me a whole list of people to call. You were at the top of the list.”

  “Good luck,” Hunz said.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna need it. How am I going to do this? I don’t know these people. All I can think of is: ‘Hi, I’m Josh
Leven, sportscaster for KSMJ-TV. You don’t know me, but Cheryl just had a baby.’”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Sydney said.

  Slumping back against the plush leather seats, Sydney and Hunz basked in the good news.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” she said. “I was looking forward to being there for the birth.”

  “He didn’t tell us the baby’s name,” Hunz said.

  “What’s the female version of Hunz?”

  Either Hunz didn’t hear her, or he pretended not to.

  “You know, I’m new to all this,” he said, “but you have to admit this morning has been amazing. I can’t help thinking that God had it planned this way from the beginning.”

  Sydney listened.

  “A mother is saved and that same morning she gives birth to a child, possibly the first child of a death watch survivor in the history of the world,” he said.

  Sydney smiled. “I’m just glad Cheryl’s baby has been born into a world that doesn’t have to live in the shadow of Death Watch.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “Give me a break!” Sydney cried. “It’s three thirty in the afternoon!” Traffic on the Hollywood Freeway was the worst Sydney had ever seen. A tractor trailer had overturned just before Silver Lake Boulevard, blocking three lanes of traffic. Everything was at a standstill as motorists were funneled down an exit ramp, through a five-block maze of city streets, then back onto the freeway.

  At least that’s what the radio reports said was happening. From Sydney’s vantage point, it was a parking lot. Inching was considered progress.

  After landing at Los Angeles International Airport, she’d dropped Hunz off at his hotel. He wanted to change clothes before meeting with Sol Rosenthal. Having arranged to meet Helen in her office at 3:30 p.m., Sydney thought she had time to run home and freshen up. The circumstances behind the flight to Chicago hadn’t exactly given her time to pack a suitcase. And now, here she was, sitting motionless on the freeway when she was supposed to be in her assignment editor’s office.

  She had no other option than to pick up her cell phone and dial the station. It was a call she dreaded making. Punching the speeddial number for the station, she held the phone to her ear. It was dead. She checked the display. Dead. She pushed the ON button. The display flashed just long enough to see an empty battery icon. She hadn’t had time to pack, and neither had she had time to charge her phone.