Mendez Genesis

by Edward Hancock II

  Unobserved, Alex watched his own funeral, his daughter’s wedding day with Lisa’s despondent fall bridging the gap between. Everything happened in flashes, but Alex felt as though the fall was taking a lifetime. As if each day without Alex was one step closer to the edge for Lisa. Until finally she stepped a little too close and, unable to recover, fell to her emotional end.

  Alex reached out toward her, but was still unable to affect the situation. As with Ted’s murder, he was purposely an observer to Alex-yet-to-come. Urgency overtook him. There was little peace. There was despair, sadness, and loss. There was separation. Alex again felt a ripping inside, as if part of his soul was being ripped out. Much the way he felt on the day he received the news of Ted’s death, only this was not Ted. This was Lisa. This was the mother of his child. This was his reason for living. This was his future.

  Again, the cold blackness enveloped him. Alex tried moving but found himself weak and powerless to shift even the slightest degree. Alex found himself swimming back and forth between images of Ted and images of Lisa. Ted as he lay dying on the warehouse floor. Lisa’s despondent fall into oblivion. Christina’s lonely slide into divorce, drugs, prostitution and an early grave.

  His mother’s grief over Ted’s death. Uncle Julio’s alcoholism again brought on by Ted’s death.

  The blood on the warehouse floor.

  The blood. The pools of blood.

  The river of blood. The ocean of blood.

  Alex realized he was standing before an endless ocean of blood. There was no shoreline, but Alex could clearly see the flowing coagulant tide as the waves of crimson washed in and out, growing less calm with every cyclical fluid motion. Red waves with pink and orange caps – not white, as you’d see hitting the ocean during the warm days of summer. Rolling waves, thundering in, tickling Alex’s feet and ankles, but lacking in the serenity one often felt while staring out at the waters off the Gulf of Mexico.

  In an instant, the waves were knocking against Alex’s quivering knees. He stumbled and fell face first into thick, cold, soupy blood. Rising to his knees, Alex coughed, choked and spat blood from his nostrils and mouth. The tastes and smell of blood filled him. The waves grew increasingly rough, though Alex could discern no wind blowing from any direction. Alex felt himself being pushed to and fro. The undercurrent tugged at his feet which, Alex suddenly noticed, no longer touched ground. He fought hard against the increasing currents, battered down repeatedly by pinkish-orange waves.

  His mind screamed for help, though his throat would allow no sounds, except for the sputtering and choking caused by swallowing untold amounts of bloody ocean. Frightened, Alex flailed his arms and legs, trying to gain control over his body. Slowly, Alex noticed the waves begin to calm. The waters themselves seemed to warm and the waves lost their violence. Alex’s insides tingled, even tickled, causing him to smile unexpectedly and without truly understanding the reason for it. In the blink of an eye, Alex was no longer floating in an ocean of blood. Before Alex’s mind could digest his arms’ pointless flailing in midair, everything grew dark. The sky above Alex filled with clouds and he realized he was floating again on the vaporous entity that, he’d come to realize, was his Guide. His mind centered on a non-verbal communication bridging the gap between the reality of human frailty and the ethereal reality from which his Guide originated. Before him, the ocean of blood lay still – a safe distance away, still visible – posing no threat.

  A distant mountaintop hid an orange light, reflecting delicately off the light gray clouds that continued to form above. A screeching bird that, even now, went unseen suddenly broke the almost complete silence of the scene, save a gentle sound of whistling wind. Alex searched the sky, trying to catch a glimpse of the only familiar form of “life” he’d perceived in sometime.

  A flash of lightning came out of the sky, striking the ocean of blood in its center, pressing deep into the heart of the ocean, raising waves of blood higher than a hundred feet straight up. As they crashed back down upon themselves, the heretofore-unseen master of flight burst from the ocean, shooting straight up, seemingly tracing the path of the lightning bolt, in reverse. It climbed higher and higher, then suddenly changed directions and begin flying directly toward Alex.

  Was it a Raven? An Eagle? A phoenix of ageless mythology? Alex could not tell. It did not look like any bird he’d ever seen. It was reddish, maybe dark orange – though that could have been stains from the ocean of blood – with powerfully wide wings like those of an albatross. Its beak was small, dark orange and crooked down like a witch’s nose. Alex noted a single blue-green feather, like that in the tail of a peacock, raised on the bird’s head, just between its yellow-orange eyes. The feather itself seemed out of place. As the bird flew over Alex’s head, it seemed to spin upside down and then back, right side up, arcing its flight straight up again, as if continuing to trace the flight path of the lightning bolt from which it was born. The blue-green feather, which had looked so out of place on a reddish bird with yellow-orange eyes, floated gently down toward Alex. Though there was no light shining in its direction, the feather itself appeared to glint as if reflecting light like a mirror faced toward the sun. Down floated the feather until it was within Alex’s reach. Quickly he grasped toward it, trying not to damage the gift given to him. As quickly as he’d grabbed the feather into his hand, it was gone. Gone, too, was the ocean of blood. Gone was the vaporous shoreline on which he stood. Gone were the mountain and the clouds, which hid the sweet, orange setting sun. As if the hands of Fate themselves had released him, Alex suddenly felt The Light no longer supporting his stance.

  Alex fell prostrate to a ground he could not see and could scarcely feel. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision, as The Light blanketed Alex in comfort, awe, shame and fearfulness all at the same time. The mist again rose around him. Alex felt intense sorrow, bitter agony, anguished clarity, intensifying love and unquenchable desires for acceptance as if they were indistinguishably one. His powers of speech once again denied, Alex attempted to concentrate his mind on the opportunity afforded him. He thought of every question he’d ever wanted to know, from the time he was a little boy. As before, Alex began to feel a pull from within. His thoughts of Lisa were growing ever more intense. No question, no wish for wisdom, no concern could overshadow the passionate love he and Lisa shared. As if trying to convince the very Source of Creation itself Alex focused on his unwavering need to be with Lisa and to take care of her and Christina.

  Images of Christina, past, present and future melted into the flash dance of Lisa, child, adult, and aged. As with Lisa, Alex saw his daughter as she was, as she is and as she would be. Echoes from the past fought visions of the future as Alex began to sense greater urgency in his unfinished mortality. Images of Ted, lifeless and alive, melted into the scenes of Lisa and Christina, as if Alex himself was enjoying a utopian fantasy of life without loss.

  In his mind, everything was taken back. Everyone was there and they were happy. Ted was holding Christina on his knee, while baby brother bounced at the feet of Uncle Ted, desperate for his attention. Ted’s hair was thinner than Alex remembered, sporting a great deal of salt and peppering. Laugh lines melted together with worry lines to make Ted’s eyes appear to possess almost ancient wisdom. No one had died. No one was hurt. Confused, Alex wanted to smile, before… No! This wasn’t real! I can’t stay here, Alex thought. I have to go back. Ted, I love you but I have to go back! This isn’t real. I love you, Ted. Please forgive me.

  He squeezed his eyes closed with such force that he actually felt a strange pain sensation coursing through him. He felt as if he were losing his brother all over again. Only this time, it seemed to Alex as if he was abandoning the brother he’d longed to avenge. His heart ached. His mind filled with voices less benign than before as the echoes from the past began to take greater hold on Alex. There was a rumbling building as he felt the air surrounding him grow increasingly warmer. It seemed only milliseconds between comfort and intolerabl
e agony trading their cloaks over Alex’s existence. He could feel himself losing focus, growing weaker. He felt solitude, abandonment and death. His mind grabbed hold of an image he could not quite make out. It was a face, but not one he could readily recognize. Alex held on to it if only to hold fast to one image instead of the flashing lightshow that had suddenly become like thorns instead of welcome rose petals to his mind.

  Though the image itself appeared to try to speak, Alex could not explicate whatever meaning it was trying to impart. Alex thought it was the image of a woman, perhaps about twenty years old. Blinking and straining served only to confuse him. One moment he swore it was a woman, the next he was almost certain the image was that of a man, perhaps in his mid-thirties. Maybe, he thought for a moment, the image was Ted. No, he told himself. This wasn’t Ted. A teenage boy. A teenage girl. The Ted imposter. Not Ted.

  Alex focused on the image, blinking, wrenching his body around and around trying to find a better vantage point from which to observe it. As the image of the man’s face came into focus, Alex felt the strange sense that he should know the identity of the being before him, but he could not place the sandy blond locks of hair, nor the low booming voice, still trying to send forth an as yet indecipherable message. Instinctually Alex surmised that the message from the imaged face was not meant for his ears to hear. His soul had heard the message. The message was one of death. The message was Death itself. Alex felt a prickly sensation eating at his very essence. Death’s piranhas were starting their feed, and Alex was powerless to reach the shoreline of the River Styx. Before his mind’s eye, the phantasm image began to fade, replaced by the eerie yellow eyes of Death’s servant – the very servant that had seen fit to take Alex away from everything and everyone that he loved.

  Alex could see the grungy warehouse thug swinging the shiny object. He saw his own fall, happening in slow motion. He smelled the stench of dead rats, bugs, dirt, and body odor. He was overcome with the taste of his own blood, sweat and fear – fear had an all too distinct taste to it. Even the most steel-nerved cop tasted fear; however, most enjoyed feeding on it. For most cops, the taste of fear seemed to spur them on to adventure, excitement and danger. For Alex, the taste of fear did exactly what it was supposed to do. It frightened him.

  Flashes! Bright lights. Death!

  The warehouse. Ted! Gunshot!

  The feather. The moonlight glinting off the pipe. Lisa! Christina!

  The eyes! The feather.

  Death must come. The eyes.

  Christina. Tina. Lisa. Tina? The feather in his hand. Glinting azure peace.

  Death must come.

  “Life!”

  Chapter 4 ~

  Within seconds of the alarms, Alex’s room filled with doctors and nurses, each feverishly doing his or her part to breathe life into his spent body. Lisa went frantic, screaming for them to help her husband, though most of them ignored her as they attempted to accomplish her wishes. A tall, brawny man in a white coat took Lisa gently by the arm and encouraged her to exit the room.

  “We need to let them do their job, Mrs. Mendez,” said the man’s soft voice. His voice had a trusting quality, which mildly soothed Lisa enough that she willingly exited her husband’s chaotic hospital room. A couple of familiar-looking plastic chairs adorned the hall right outside Alex’s room. Weak and nervous, Lisa walked slowly toward them, collapsing into an emotional heap. “He’ll be okay,” Lisa heard someone say. It was that same comforting voice. Sobbing, Lisa raised her head and looked toward the man in the white coat.

  She read his name badge. “Dr. Michael St. James.” Immediately, Lisa was reminded of Michael, the Archangel. Though she was not a religious woman, the story of Michael was one told to her almost as a sort of bedtime story, meant to encourage her young mind to follow the laws of God and encourage of love of religion that, frankly, hadn’t really stuck. In her mind, she conjured up the story of Michael, if for no other reason than to perceive a moment of rest in her subconscious. Given the power to battle Lucifer, during his uprising in Heaven, Michael’s office seemed, at least to Lisa, to be almost like Secretary of State or Vice President of Heaven.

  “Okay, Mr. Vice President,” Lisa sighed to herself, inaudible. “How ‘bout you help me out here?”

  “Your husband will be fine,” Dr. St. James repeated. Lisa nodded. “I’m Dr. St. James,” he confirmed. “But you can call me Mike.”

  “Lisa.”

  “No, really, Mike will do just fine,” he said, smiling. “Lisa doesn’t quite suit a man of my size.” Dr. St. James was quite large. Not hulking, but he was, Lisa guessed, maybe 6’2 and a well-built man in excess of 200 lbs. He had a chiseled face that, despite its sharp lines and contours, carried with it a softness that went beyond the gentle spirit of a doctor with Mr. Rogers-like bedside manner.

  “No, I mean I’m Lisa,” she whispered, her chest spasming, as she fought back fits of tears.

  “Lisa Mendez,” he said, softly, “I know. Just lightening the mood a little. Not the best timing, I know. But all those bells and whistles in there can really scare a person. I just want you to know that everything possible is being done for your husband right now. He’s in the best hands.”

  “So why aren’t you in there helping?” Lisa asked.

  “Because,” he said, placing a hand on the back of Lisa’s chair. He paused, looked thoughtfully toward the ceiling, and continued, “Everyone has a job to do. Including Alex.”

  The very mention of her husband’s name sent chills down Lisa’s spine, reminding her of the horrible sounds signifying her husband’s fate. It is amazing, she suddenly realized, how you can so easily tune out the soothing call of a heart monitor, mimicking a beating heart. How loud the world becomes when that beating heart falls silent.

  “Besides,” continued Dr. St. James, “I’m out here helping.”

  His gentle smile did serve to ease Lisa, if only mildly.

  “How do you know you’re helping?” Lisa asked, half joking through choked back tears.

  “Oh,” he said, looking shocked. “I’ll let you be if—”

  “No,” Lisa said softly, “I, um, thank you for—well I don’t know what for, but thank you.”

  A couple of young looking women in scrubs and lab coats scurried into Alex’s room followed by an almost immediate departure of a middle-aged man wearing similar teal scrubs. Lisa could hear intense chaos every time the door to Alex’s room opened. Several times, she heard an authoritative voice barking orders to the others in the room.

  “He’s in good hands,” Dr. St. James reassured her again. The next couple of minutes were silence. It seemed, to Lisa, to be taking forever. The door had stopped opening and no one exited or entered the room for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly, the door to Alex’s room carefully opened once more. This time, Lisa heard no alarms. No beeping and no barking of orders. Though this should have calmed Lisa, the silence served more to battle any confidence she might have built up. Her stomach grew unbelievably nervous and Lisa felt certain that she would vomit any second. Her head swam and her vision blurred. She wanted to pass out. A small Asian-looking doctor walked calmly out of Alex’s room. Lisa couldn’t remember seeing this doctor enter his room, but in all the commotion, she couldn’t have been certain what she saw. A giant lizard in a ballerina costume might have possibly walked passed her unnoticed. Still, it unnerved her not to recognize the doctor approaching her.

  “Mrs. Mendez?” asked the frail-looking Asian doctor.

  “How is my husband?” she asked, still unable to stand.

  “Mrs. Mendez,” he continued, his expression unreadable. “There’s been some complications.”

  Lisa forced herself to stay quiet. She needed to know more. She wished the guy would just spit it out, but she was also a cop and she knew how this worked. Doctors had their own way of doing things and, Lisa thought to herself, it’s best to let him do it.

  As if waiting for Lisa to interrupt, the doctor paused for a few seconds before
continuing.

  “Mrs. Mendez, we were able to revive your husband, but…” Again he paused.

  “But what?” she begged, her eyes filling with a mixture of anger and fear.

  “But your husband was clinically dead for at least six minutes. His body went into seizures and his heart stopped. His brain activity basically ceased for several minutes and, well, while that’s not a horrible amount of time these days, the fact is he’s got other injuries as well. The fall. His spine…”

  “I know my husband’s injuries you idiot!” Lisa snapped. “Is he going to be okay?”

  The doctor sighed, seeming offended at Lisa’s outburst. Half aggravated, Lisa thought, he continued, “He went several minutes with no blood flow to the brain, Mrs. Mendez. We won’t know for sure until he wakes up but Alex may have suffered severe brain damage. The swelling around his brain has gone down somewhat, but the swelling around his spine hasn’t improved since he was brought in. Even if his mind functions properly, which is not guaranteed, the loss of blood flow to his extremities won’t help. We’ve been fighting to just stabilize him, Mrs. Mendez. And we’re not having much luck right now. ”

  “Are you saying my husband could die?” Lisa finally asked.

  “What I’m saying, Mrs. Mendez is that if your husband wakes up, the chances of him being the man he was are not very good. He’s in a comatose state right now. We don’t know what parts of the brain might be damaged. We don’t know if his spine can repair itself or if there’s anything we can do to help him. We can’t know until we can get some actual responses from Alex, alert and coherent. I don’t want to deal in ‘what-if’ scenarios Mrs. Mendez, but you need to be prepared for the worst.”

  Lisa felt flushed. She put a hand to her face and wiped her eyes. Blinked blurry tears.