by B. K. Dell
Caleb’s mother said nothing. Tears filled her eyes and she threw her trembling arms around Jackson’s neck. He returned her embrace and they held each other and cried. The crowd, once rowdy, held its collective breath. Flashbulbs fired all around them.
When Cheryl Hobbs let go of Jackson’s body and her face came into his view, she looked like she was going to say something but didn’t. Instead, she presented her right hand for Jackson to hold. Jackson’s other hand had already subconsciously found Stephanie’s. Grabbing Cheryl’s hand, he made his way through the crowd with Cheryl on his left and Stephanie on his right.
The media cleared a path for them. In the distance, Jackson saw that the Attorney General had found this event significant enough to make an appearance. He was being interviewed by the press, no doubt describing his disappointment in the jury’s verdict, thought Jackson.
When he turned to look ahead, he saw the reporter, Michael Ponce. The sight startled him for a second. At first he did not recognize that it had even been Michael Ponce, although he had just seen him at the trial. He looked like a madman. The flesh of his face was being poisoned from the inside out. The bitterness and repugnance of his mind was spilling vulgarly out of his eyes. The sight of him was unsettling.
Jackson had seen Michael Ponce leave the courtroom long before he did, and wondered now if he was back on official reporter business. All the rest of the press had been asking unanswered questions that Jackson had not even bothered to listen to. He knew that Michael Ponce’s special relation to the trial would make evasion more difficult. Before he could even ask his first question, Jackson said preemptively, “Listen, Michael, not now, okay?”
Michael Ponce reached into his coat and withdrew a handgun. Aiming straight at Jackson, he fired off a shot before anyone had a chance to react.
Two officers quickly tackled Michael Ponce. Jackson fell to the ground, both hands suspended between Stephanie and Caleb’s mother, no strength left in his legs to hold him. Both women were screaming. The crowd cried out in shock. The cameras were filming every second of it. The police officers were radioing for an ambulance.
One of the policemen was already by Jackson’s side administering first aid. Stephanie held his hand, weeping uncontrollably.
When the ambulance arrived, the police were still loading Michael Ponce into one of their cruisers. They had Jackson on a gurney and into the ambulance in no time at all.
The press split up into thirds. One third of them followed Jackson’s ambulance. One third followed Michael Ponce’s police cruiser. One third of them clustered around the Attorney General.
“Will you be pushing to try this as a hate crime?” they asked him.
“Against which minority?” he asked, honestly confused.
“Christian,” one reporter offered.
“Christian is not a minority,” he said.
POSTSCRIPT
When Jackson opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Stephanie’s smiling face. “Heaven,” he said joyfully as she leaned in to kiss his lips.
“Then what would explain me?” Rider said as he nearly inserted his face between them.
When Jackson took in more of his surroundings, he realized that he was in a hospital bed. Stephanie put her hand on Rider’s face and pushed him out of the way so she could give Jackson another kiss. He touched her face tenderly, then she stood up straight. He turned to pan the whole room. Everyone was there: Stephanie, Rider, Trey, Brit, Teflon and his wife, Lorena.
“Terrence Brown is on his way back to Afghanistan to stick it to the enemy, but he left a message for you,” Trey cleared his throat. “He said, ‘quit your whining, it was only a bullet.’”
Jackson laughed, which made him wince. He was so happy to see everyone.
His eye fell on Teflon. He was holding his baby girl on his hip. Sophia was no longer a baby, but a toddler. “She’s so beautiful,” said Jackson. He had not had a chance to talk to Teflon at the trial and had not seen him since he got out of the service. He asked, “How is civilian life treating you, Teflon?”
“Actually, Jackson, everyone calls me Big Eddie these days,” he confessed sadly. His wife drew her body in to comfort him.
“What happened to Teflon? You’ve always liked Teflon.”
He shrugged, “It just didn’t stick.”
Jackson laughed again, even though it hurt. He turned to Trey and said, “Thank you. Thank you all.”
There was a murmur of It’s nothing’s and Don’t worry about it’s.
“Caleb’s mom was here,” Stephanie spoke up.
“Oh my God,” Jackson gasped. He looked to Stephanie, knowing that there was more for her to tell.
Stephanie squeezed his hand. “When she thought you couldn’t hear, she let you have it,” said Stephanie.
“She called you some names that even I have never heard,” Rider injected with a grin.
“She just had to get it out,” confirmed Stephanie, then tears filled Stephanie’s eyes, “She collapsed on the side of your bed. I have never seen anyone in that much…” Stephanie stopped herself from saying more.
“God help her,” whispered Jackson.
“He will,” said Rider.
“But, then she blessed you. When she pulled herself together, she blessed you and kissed your hand.” Jackson looked down at his hand. “She prayed over you. She asked God that you would live and be happy.”
A distant look filled Jackson’s eyes. He felt like he remembered some of that, like he had dreamt it.
“She gave you this,” said Stephanie and her trembling hand outstretched a package wrapped in felt. “Caleb was wearing it when he died. She wants you to have it.”
Jackson gasped quietly as he grabbed it slowly with both hands. He unwrapped one fold, then the next. What he saw when it was uncovered was a small metal cross with the date “June 27, 1944” engraved on it. He held it for a long time and his hands began to tremble. “TNT,” he whispered.
Stephanie reached out and fastened it around his neck. Sitting up enough for her to do that hurt him badly. When she put it on him, he realized that he wasn’t wearing his usual one. He panicked and instantly felt for his pockets. This was silly because he was wearing a hospital gown. His hands patted the top of his lap anyway – where his pant pockets would have been. He looked around to see what they had done with his personal items. On a small nightstand by the bed he saw his clothes folded neatly. He turned to find that his ring was still there.
With the hand of a magician, he pulled the ring from the pocket while keeping it hidden from Stephanie. He began to try to stand up. Everyone made attempts to stop him from moving, but he insisted, “I got it.” Jackson held out the ring and slowly lowered himself down on one knee. His broken body screamed out in pain, but he did not stop. His excruciating Marine training had enabled him to propose properly, even with a bullet wound.
He was shaking. Stephanie’s eyes began to tear up once she realized what he was doing. He said, “I don’t know if this is the right time, in front of everyone, and I honestly don’t know if I am in any shape to stay down here much longer…” Jackson laughed at his own physical pain. He felt a hand on his back. It was Rider’s. Then suddenly another – Brit. Then both Teflon and his wife. They were all showing him support, as if wanting to transfer their energy into his body. It somehow worked.
He said, “But I love you and I don’t want you to have to wait another second for me. I don’t want to live another second without being committed to you. Forever is just not enough time for the two of us to be together. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” Stephanie squealed as she grabbed his body and helped him get to his feet. Jackson let out a moan of ecstasy and agony as Stephanie hugged him much harder than would have been medically advised. She just couldn’t help it. The Marines in his room helped him to support his own arms and hug her back.
His joy could be heard by the whole room through the beeps of his heart monitor.
“Yes,” Stephani
e repeated sweetly, “Yes, forever, yes.”
ELEASHA POSTSCRIPT
As Stephanie wiped a tear from her eye, she thought that she heard a distant melody. Jackson lowered his body to the edge of his bed. The look in his eyes told her that he heard it too.
“What is that music?” she asked.
“I think it’s Journey,” said Rider.
Louder now, they could hear the music, and clearly hear the individual words. It was “Don’t Stop Believing.”
As the music played on, Jackson started to sing along.
Stephanie and Lorena joined in also. The girls put their heads together and pretended to have a microphone.
For the chorus, everyone joined in singing at the top of their lungs.
Two beautiful nurses came and put their arms around Brit and Rider. Then another two came in just for Trey. One of them had a cooler of ice cold bottles of Blue Moon. Stephanie pulled Jackson back up to his feet and the two of them started to dance.
Everything in the room stopped when Caleb Hertz walked in.
No one could believe their eyes. Caleb Hertz had a mischievous grin. He said, “Marines prank each other. It’s all in good fun.”
Everyone laughed and laughed. Jackson said, “You jerk, you really had us going.”
“You actually believed you shot me?”
“Yes!”
“Hey, guess who else was in on it?”
“No way!” said Jackson, correctly predicting who it could be the split second before Caleb’s mom and Stacy Oliver jumped into the room yelling, “Gotcha!”
Everyone was laughing uncontrollably as they all circled into a group hug. As they were hugging, Terrence walked in. “I thought you were at war?” asked Cheryl Hobbs.
“The war’s over!” yelled Terrence triumphantly. He had expected a chorus of cheers to this comment but everyone just watched him expectantly. He added, “We won!”
The whole room cheered. A chant began, “U…S…A! U…S…A!” and Terrence joined the hug.
There were men and women; whites, blacks and Hispanics; mothers and sons; fathers and daughters; gays, straights, and Marines; believers and non-believers; all loving each other and listening to 80’s music. The song was still playing loudly and the hug began to sway back and forth. Everyone sang without a care in the world, “Don’t stop believing! Hang on to that feeling!”
###
Note to Reader:
I hope you have enjoyed reading my debut novel. This book was published by Patriot Books, a small start-up from Texas, without the assistance of the large New York firms. You can help support this novel, and those to follow, by spreading the word about the work we are doing.
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God bless you!
Acknowledgements:
Special thanks to my beautiful wife Eleasha for the work she did reading, editing, and formatting this book, but most importantly for her creative input and for telling me which ideas were just awful. This work could never have happened without her constant guidance, encouragement, and therapy.
Special thanks to Sgt Ian McCromick, USMC, for helping me with facts about Marine life at basic training. Any inaccuracies are the result of creative license or my own bone-headedness.
Special thanks to those who have read the various drafts of this novel and offered their assistance and support.
Special thanks to Matthew Otto for providing the vocal talent and production for the audio book edition of Don’t Ask. Please visit him at www.freehandproductions.com
