by Bella Jewel
I keep reading, but I don’t find anything else. My chest is heavy by the time I’m done—heavy with dread and pain. Seeing photos of those who lost their lives, seeing the victims’ families speak, makes me want to curl up and cry until there are no tears left. I feel so alone, so helpless, and so damned afraid. I want comfort, but I can’t find it. I want to be the girl I was before, but she’s gone. I don’t honestly know how I’ll get through this.
Well, I think I do, but he’s nowhere to be found.
I open up another search and type in his first name and the name of the police station the cops that were there that night are from. Nothing comes up. I try Heath; nothing comes up either. I search until my fingers hurt from typing, but I can’t find anything about the mysterious man who saved my life. I even resort to looking on Facebook and other social media platforms. It’s as if he truly doesn’t exist. I find the baseball stadium website and open the contact page, sending off an email as a desperate last resort.
Hello,
My name is Lucy Jacobson, and I was at the baseball stadium when the attack happened. A stranger sat beside me, and this brave man saved my life. I just wanted to find him and thank him, but I can’t seem to locate him. I was wondering if you could give me his last name, so I might be able to get in touch.
I only have a first name of Heath.
Please contact me if you have any information.
Warm regards.
It’s a long shot, because the fact of the matter is even if they have it, they’re probably not going to give any information out. I hope I put the right name down, and wonder only after I’ve sent it if I should have put Hunter as well. I close the laptop and sigh, pushing it to the side. I have to find him. I just have to. I need to know that I’m not going crazy.
I slide out of bed, not even attempting to sleep, and walk out into the living area. Mom, Dad and Gerard are all huddled, talking softly amongst themselves. They don’t hear me enter, so I stop and just listen. They’re talking about me, and I know I should make myself known, but I can’t help it. I need to know what they’re saying.
“I don’t think she’s doing well,” Gerard says. “And it’s starting to worry me. She really believes there was a man there, but everyone I’ve spoken to has said they have no idea what she’s talking about.”
“She’s traumatized,” my dad says. “She just needs time.”
“She’s trying to find a man who doesn’t exist,” Mom protests. “Time isn’t enough. I think she needs help. We need to have her talk to someone; it’s the only way.”
“I have to agree.” Gerard sighs. “I can’t keep listening to her speak about someone who isn’t real. I’m afraid of what it’s doing to her mind.”
“She lost a baby, witnessed something horrific, and is trying to cope. Maybe give her some time to do that before committing her to the nearest facility,” Dad snaps. “She’s not crazy. She’s witnessed something awful which you couldn’t even begin to imagine if you tried.”
“I’m not saying she’s crazy,” Gerard snaps back. “But you haven’t seen the way she talks as if that man is a real thing.”
“Are you so sure he isn’t?” Dad fires.
Gerard flinches. “Nobody seems to know who he is. I spoke to the police and they had a list of all the people who had tickets that day; he wasn’t on there. Nobody saw him. So the chances of him being real are slim.”
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t.”
“So you want me encourage my wife’s pursuit of another man?”
My dad growls. “She’s not done a thing wrong, Gerard. Don’t speak about her like she has.”
“She’s obsessing over a guy who’s made up. It’s crazy!”
“Okay, okay.” Mom sighs. “We need a plan that’s going to work. I still agree with Gerard. I think she needs help, regardless of whether this man is real or not, and I don’t think we can give it to her. She’s seen something awful, above all else, and that’s enough to push the issue.”
“I agree she needs to talk to someone,” my dad says. “But I won’t have her being called crazy.”
My husband thinks I’m crazy.
My mother thinks I’m crazy.
My dad is the only one who believes in me.
“I’m not crazy.”
They all spin around, eyes wide, and stare at me. Gerard leaps up. “Lucy, please don’t get upset. We’re just worried, and—”
“I’m not crazy!” I snap. “I remember everything very clearly. You might not believe it, but he’s real. He is. He came to see me in the hospital. He was there; I saw him with my own eyes.”
Gerard’s face drops. “Lucy, he didn’t. The nurse confirmed that.”
“He did. Maybe she didn’t see him, but he was there!”
“Lucy, I think you need help,” Gerard says, his eyes worried for me, his face tight.
“I don’t need help!” I yell, so damned frustrated. “I just need you to believe in me.” I turn and charge towards the front door.
“Lucy!” my dad calls. “Stop.”
I grab the keys and shove the door open, running to my car. I throw myself in and lock the doors. All three of them race out of the house, waving their arms and yelling at me to stop but I don’t. I throw my car into reverse and back out, disappearing down the road. As soon as I’m out of sight, I start to cry. Big, ugly tears that turn into loud, body-wracking sobs.
I find a quiet street and pull over, letting it flood out.
I’m not crazy.
I’m not.
CHAPTER 6
I sit on the side of the road for what seems like hours. My phone rings and rings, and I eventually turn it off. Once my tears have dried up, I stare out at the passing cars and old homes, wondering where the hell to go from here. I had a perfect life, an amazing husband, and a baby growing inside of me, and now it’s all gone and I don’t know how to get it back.
The scary thing is, I don’t even know if I want to.
I’m pulling out onto the street before I even think about it, driving the streets until I end up at a police station. I stare at the front doors and wonder what the hell I’m hoping to get out of this. They’re highly unlikely to give me anything, so I should just turn away, but I can’t. I don’t think I’m going to be able to move on until I can see Heath and find out the truth.
Only then will I have a chance of making things better.
I get out of the car, locking it and stuffing the keys into my pocket as I approach the front doors. I stop when I reach them and glance at my reflection. My face is puffy and red. I look awful. It doesn’t matter.
I push the doors open and step inside. There are no people to be seen, not even a woman at the reception desk. I shuffle forward, peering down the halls to my left. No one.
I ring the bell on the desk. A minute later, a pretty blond woman comes out, her hair flowing around her shoulders, her blue eyes shining, a smile on her face. “Hi there,” she says, her eyes dropping to my no doubt red nose. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” I say, my voice strong, even though I know I look like a weak, pathetic mess. “I’m looking for Heath.”
Her face twitches just slightly. Anyone who wasn’t looking for it would have missed it. “I’m sorry; we don’t have anyone here with that name.”
She’s lying. Her eyes darted to the left for just a second. “That’s not true. I know he works here—he told me.”
She shifts a little to the right and rubs a hand over her blouse. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t have a Heath here. Perhaps you have the wrong station?”
“Stop lying to me,” I snap, crossing my arms. “Why are you all protecting him?”
She glances down the hallway. “Let me get my station manager.”
She walks off and a moment later returns with an older man. He’s lean and tall with stark green eyes that stand out against his olive skin.
“Hi there. How may I help you?”
I glance at his name badge. “Michael, is it?”
He nods.
“I’m Lucy. I was at the baseball stadium when it was held up recently. There was a man there. He helped me—his name was Heath. He worked here. I’m looking for him.”
His face doesn’t change. He’s better at lying than his receptionist. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anyone here by that name.”
“God dammit,” I scream. “Why are you all lying?”
“Ma’am, perhaps we can sit down and calm—”
“You know what?” I growl. “I’m going to find him another way.”
I turn and rush out of the building but not before I catch sight of the officers who were there the night it happened, staring at me from inside an office. They know. They all know, so why the hell won’t anyone help me? Where the hell do I go from here?
~*~*~*~
TEN DAYS LATER
It’s been another draining week and a half since I went into that police station in a poor attempt at finding information about Heath. By the time I got home, Gerard had already been informed that I’d been there because they had called him out of concern for me. Once again, we got into another blasted fight about a man that doesn’t exist. Since then, we barely speak. Each day that passes we grow further and further apart.
I’m trying, but every time I think things are getting better, he asks me if I still believe my mystery man is out there and we fight again.
I know I should just let it go, but the emptiness in my chest is growing rapidly, and each day it just gets worse and worse. Sometimes I lie alone at night, wondering if I’m losing my mind. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I imagined it all. I wrote it all down, even searched the death and missing person lists, just to try and prove to my family and myself that he was real. Nothing showed up.
Today, we’re having a memorial for our baby. It’s nothing much; we’re just going to go down to the park by the cemetery and say a few words. Gerard says it’ll help us let go, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let go of the tiny life I lost, no matter how early my pregnancy was. Still, remembering her and giving her what she deserves is the best thing for everyone.
“Are you ready?” Gerard asks, coming in the front door. He went back to work yesterday, saying he couldn’t take any more time off.
That had hurt more than I care to admit.
Why didn’t I realize sooner just how much his job means to him? It always comes first.
“Yeah,” I say softly, wrapping my big coat around me and following him to his car.
We drive in silence to the park. When we arrive we both get out, walking to the thickness of some shady trees and I kneel, pulling out the spade I brought from home and digging a small hole. Then I place the tiny rose bush I purchased yesterday into it, covering it over until it sits there, alone amongst the big trees. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I run my fingers over the leaves.
“I’m so sorry. I love you,” I whisper. “Rest easy, baby.”
Gerard watches me, and when I turn to look at him, he’s staring at the plant with no expression on his face. He’s been doing that a lot lately, and I feel awful. He’s shutting down, and I’m doing nothing to stop it. Not a single thing. I should be supporting him, helping him through this too, but right now I can barely hold myself up.
“Are you going to say anything?” I ask.
“There isn’t really much to say.”
Who is this man? “Okay,” I say softly, standing. “Maybe we can get some lunch before you go back to work?”
He looks pained, but keeps staring at the rose bush. “I can’t. I’ve been out of work for almost three weeks now, and there is so much to be done. I barely had the time to come here for this.”
“This?” I say, my voice full of pain. “This is our child.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, his face scrunching. “I just meant that things are hectic. I’m sorry.”
“Things are always hectic,” I mutter.
His face hardens now. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there that day, Lucy. If that’s where you’re going with this, then don’t. I suffer enough guilt.”
“How is this about you?” I yell. “Seriously, Gerard. I didn’t even imply that.”
“But you’re thinking it. Somewhere deep down you’re thinking it.”
My god. “No, I’m not. It wasn’t your fault you weren’t there; it was nobody’s fault.”
He shakes his head with a sigh. “I have to get back to work. I’ll get a cab back. You take the car when you’re done.”
“Are you seriously going to leave right now?” I cry, trying to keep it together. “This is important.”
“I know that,” he says, clearly trying to keep calm. “But so is keeping a roof over our heads.”
“You can’t even say two words for a baby you wanted so much?”
His eyes flash with pain, but mostly with anger. “I’m not going this. Not here. I’m going back to work, Lucy.”
With that, he turns his back to me and walks off.
“Gerard!” I call, but he doesn’t stop.
Who the hell is this man? He’s certainly not my husband. But I suppose I’m not his wife, either.
What does that make us then?
Strangers?
That thought terrifies me.
CHAPTER 7
I sit by the rose bush for what seems like hours, stroking the leaves, thinking about my baby and my life, but mostly about our marriage. I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear rolls over my cheek and drops onto a green leaf, sliding down until it drops into the soil and disappears. I swipe my cheek with the back of my hand and think about what Gerard said. Do I blame him for not being there? For making work more important than me? I don’t know.
“It’s a beautiful plant.”
I flinch as a voice I’ve dreamed about for so long fills my body with warmth. I don’t turn, scared it’ll all just be a hallucination. I can’t bear anymore disappointment. Anymore crazy.
“She deserves that much,” I whisper.
I’m probably talking to myself right now, but I just can’t seem to care.
“She does.”
“You are following me?” I ask. My fingers tremble, but I keep stroking the soft leaf.
“I’m keeping an eye on you.”
“Same thing.”
I hear him squat down behind me, feel his body heat radiate into my back, yet I still can’t turn around because seeing him will only make this worse. Yet I want to, so desperately. I want to see him with every single part of my soul.
“Are you still breathing, Lucy girl?”
Am I still breathing? “Can you breathe when you’re drowning?”
He goes silent.
“Why are you here?” I say, my voice shaky. “Why can’t I see you? Talk to you? Know that you’re a real person? Is your name Hunter or Heath? Are you actually my imagination?”
A soft finger touches a stray hair on the back of my neck and swipes it away. “My name is Heath, and no, you’re not imagining me.”
“Then why can’t I find you?” I whisper, my body trembling as his finger glides down to my exposed shoulder, trailing across my skin.
“Because I don’t want to be found.”
“Why?” I plead, desperately.
His finger glides over my neck, under my jawline, and then up to my cheek where it stops and strokes backwards and forwards. My breath is stuck in my throat, and my chest is so tight it hurts. For a minute, nothing moves.
“It’s just the way it has to be.”
“Everyone thinks I’m crazy. I . . . I’ve wondered if I am.”
His big hand cups my cheek and I turn into it, closing my eyes. My tears tumble down and over his fingers. “Don’t let people tell you how to feel. You have to stop looking for me and stop talking about me. You’re not crazy but they’re not going to understand this.”
“I don’t understand this,” I sob.
He moves closer until his chest is pressed against my back. His other hand comes arou
nd and cups my cheek until both his big hands are resting against my face, closing me in, keeping me warm, pulling me together for just a second.
“You don’t have to understand it. Just believe in what you know and stop trying to make other people understand. They’ll never understand. I have to go now.”
I try to turn. He grabs me by the shoulders and stops me.
“Please don’t go again,” I whisper.
“Try to keep breathing, Lucy girl.”
He leans in and his lips graze over my hair, barely there, and then his hands drop. I clench my eyes shut and sit like that for a few minutes. When I turn around and stare, he’s gone.
Just like always. He comes in moments.
Fleeting ones.
~*~*~*~
I slam the front door and shrug off my coat. Something jingles in the pocket and I reach in, pulling it out. There on a tiny key ring is a dandelion with some of its tiny white strands flying off. It’s beautiful. I’ve also never seen it before. I turn it over and see on the back is an initial. H. My heart pounds, and I clutch the trinket to my chest.
He put this in my pocket at the park today.
I smile, a tiny smile. The first in days.
“What’s the smile about?”
I spin around to see Gerard coming through the front door. I stayed out all day, so it doesn’t surprise me to see him coming in now. It’s probably five in the afternoon, or close to it.
“Just had a nice day,” I say, tucking the tiny key ring into my pocket.
“Did you stay at the park?”
I shake my head, even though that’s a lie. “I went to the store, to the mall—things like that.”
He smiles, but it’s barely there. “It’s good to see you’re getting out and about again. Have you thought about going back to work?”
I work at a local restaurant, and they’ve been more than understanding with my need to have time off. I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to go back yet, but I suppose I should talk to them about it, at the very least. “I’ll give them a call, but I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
