When We Collide

by A. L. Jackson

  I was screaming, begging, I didn’t know. Everything tilted and spiraled, the field spinning in my vision.

  “Help!” It raked from my throat as I screamed. “Somebody help us!” My cries were drowned out by the helicopter that was suddenly overhead, and a blinding light flooded the field. Trees strained and bowed as they were pushed aside by the fierce gust. Blue and red lights flashed down the road from behind Troy’s truck.

  Still, I screamed, burying my face in the hair she’d always hidden herself behind. The long strands of auburn were matted, knotted with dirt, but to me they felt soft...so soft...smelled of the girl and the goodness and of my life. If I just got close enough, maybe I could disappear in her. Maybe she’d take my breath and live.

  I’d give it all.

  I always would have.

  “Get back!” The demand was shouted from six feet away, though it barely penetrated my ears.

  I clung to her and cried again, “Help her!”

  Footsteps quickened and I was dragged back. The Earth seemed to swallow me as I dug my heels into the ground and scooted away. Flurries of ash filled the air, a smothering haze as the chopper stirred the ground. A crushing weight constricted my chest. I felt as if I were being buried alive.

  No.

  Uniformed men and women swarmed the area, police and EMTs. Paramedics surrounded her, the chopper blades a constant thwump thwump thwump overhead.

  Need collided with my soul. It was a fear so strong I could taste it.

  Jonathan.

  I jerked my head to the vacant spot beneath the tree.

  Laboring to stand, I could barely make out the woman screaming at me to get back on the ground. I never considered stopping. I pushed forward, drawn into the dusky haze. Wind whipped at my feet and blasts of hot air blew against my face.

  “Jonathan!” I screamed as I stumbled into the edge of the forest. The name slipped and rustled through the leaves.

  My footsteps pounded in my ears. This time there was no laughter or mirth, no child’s voice teasing at my senses. There were no big-brown eyes staring back at me. There was only devastation and pain as I hurtled through the forest. Roots worked to hold me back, branches slapping my face as I flung myself into its depths, frantic as I searched. “Jonathan!” I screamed.

  The boy ran just ahead.

  I rushed, winding my arms around him as I pulled his back to my chest. His legs flailed, and his fingernails dug into my hands as he fought to get away.

  My mouth was at his ear, promising, “I’ve got you, Jonathan. I’ve got you. Shh...shh...I’ve got you,” I said again as I shifted him around.

  Jonathan crumpled in my hold and pressed his face into my chest. His tears wet my shirt that was stained with Maggie’s blood. I held my son as he wept, running my fingers through his hair, hugging him as close as I could. “I’ve got you.”

  I would never let him go.

  “I’ve got you.”

  Our spirits met in a tangle of too many emotions. Trust and love and grief. I knew Jonathan felt the connection we shared. I had witnessed it in his eyes the few times I’d been blessed with his presence. I also knew instinctively it was not the same, and the dreams had been given to me alone.

  I’d been called to be here this day.

  “I’ve got you.”

  I wound us back through the forest, clinging to my son while he clung to me. When we came to the field, I held Jonathan tight, my hand on the back of his head as if I could shield him from what was happening. Officers worked over Troy’s body. Measurements were drawn. Evidence gathered. An orange tag was staked in the spot where I had dropped the gun. I didn’t take the time to contemplate whether they’d question my motive.

  The only thing that mattered was Maggie.

  She was strapped to a stretcher, her hair hanging limp over the top. Paramedics worked in a controlled chaos, shouting, moving, prodding. The police chopper had gone, and a MedEvac flew in low overhead to take its place. It hovered and dipped, and then disappeared behind the trees to land on the paved road.

  I just stood there, my world falling apart while I tried to hold my son’s together. Her smile echoed in my mind, her caress an imprint on my skin. I’d lost her once. I didn’t think I would survive it again.

  And I prayed, the word silent on my lips.

  Please.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  William ~ Present Day

  I sat in a plastic chair beside the emergency room bed, twisting my fingers through my son’s hair. His breaths were uneven, shallow then deep as he slept through the exhaustion and trauma. When the paramedics in the field had first attempted to get him onto the stretcher, Jonathan had fisted his hands in my shirt, begging no. It tore at me and filled me the same, knowing Jonathan needed me. I’d coaxed him, convincing him they just had to make sure he wasn’t hurt and promising I wouldn’t leave his side. With my hand on his chest, Jonathan had finally conceded. The ambulance ride had been taken in silence, Jonathan’s hand in mine the entire time. I’d felt the tremors rolling through him as the shock was finally expelled from his body.

  Now he slept in the quiet room, awaiting discharge. He was uninjured—all except for the emotional trauma that I wasn’t sure could ever be healed.

  I released a tortured breath, and shifted closer to lay my head on the bed next to my son’s. So innocent. I traced the back of my hand down the soft roundness of his cheek. When I’d fallen in love with him, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it had been the same as it had been with his mother—in that first moment when my spirit had stirred in awareness. It’d been a moment I’d fought to deny with both of them. They both had seemed such an impossibility.

  Outside the door, Amber spoke with the staff, stepping in as next of kin when the hospital realized I had no legal rights to speak for Jonathan. Troy was on his birth certificate, and his mother was still in surgery somewhere upstairs.

  Inching closer, I touched my forehead to Jonathan’s, just needing to feel the connection.

  Everything hurt. It was a throbbing that emanated from my soul and reached out to consume my heart and mind, burned beneath my skin. I was stripped bare, left abraded and raw. It destroyed me to imagine what Maggie had been through, what she was going through now. Destroyed me to imagine life without her.

  The door cracked open. Light streamed in from behind and cast Amber’s face in shadow. She entered slowly, every step tentative as she crossed to the other side of the bed. She and I had said little. When she arrived, she’d appeared almost numb, as if she refused to accept what Troy had done. Now that stupor seemed to have cleared, and her eyes were watery as she stretched out a hand to caress Jonathan’s back. I lifted my head to look at her.

  “They signed the discharge papers. Jonathan can go,” she said. Her lip trembled and the tears broke free. They slid down her face along the edge of her nose, her head inclined as she wove her fingers through Jonathan’s hair. She seemed unable to meet my face. “She loves this little boy so much. She’d do anything for him.” Sorrow filled her face, and her mouth crested with a mournful smile. “Whatever happens...” Her words broke. She swallowed and finally turned the force of her gaze on me. “You know you saved his life, don’t you?”

  I flinched. How many times had I heard a news story of a man taking the lives of his family then turning the gun on himself? At times they’d seemed almost unbelievable because I couldn’t fathom that kind of insanity. But we all knew that’s what this had been. Troy had no intention of any one of us making it out of that field alive.

  “Listen...” Fidgeting, Amber diverted her attention to the floor as she seemed to gather herself before she turned back to me. “I need to know what your intentions are...with Jonathan if...” She fisted her hand in front of her.

  Neither of us wanted to have this conversation. Neither of us wanted to acknowledge the possibility.

  My voice was rough. “He’s my son.”

  More tears came, though she nodded.

  “Okay then.” She
sniffled and gestured toward the door. “We should go.”

  Picking up Jonathan, I cradled him in my arms. He felt heavier in his sleep, the full burden of his weight placed on me. I brushed a kiss against his forehead.

  It was just past three-thirty in the morning when we entered the emergency surgery waiting room. It was empty except for Blake and my mother. They watched me from across the room as I settled into a chair. I shifted Jonathan to rest his head on my shoulder when he stirred.

  My mother’s expression was anguished when I met her face, longing and sympathy predominant in the way she tilted her head. Her dampened eyes roamed my son, although she stayed where she was. Blake leaned against the wall, motioned at me with his chin. We all knew now was not the time for introductions.

  I laid my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, welcoming the reprieve the darkness rendered. Behind the seclusion of my lids, the visions were bright, filled with the only girl I’d ever love. She danced ahead of me with our son’s hand in hers. They turned and smiled. Their faces shined, brimming with love and goodness.

  I sought out her spirit, refusing to let go of my prayer.

  Please.

  A nurse came out a few minutes later to give us an update. Maggie was still in surgery and they expected she would be for a while. There was very little information she could give.

  The waiting was harrowing. Hours passed, and the window at the far end of the room dawned with light. Anxiety and fatigue contended, twitched at my muscles and tugged at my mind. I slowly rocked, held my child closer.

  Please.

  At six twenty-four, a man dressed in blue scrubs finally emerged through the door labeled Emergency Surgery. He appeared haggard, his shoulders slumped and eyes weary.

  “Family of Maggie Clemons?”

  Shaking, I stood, unable to feel my legs beneath me. The only sensation I had was my son in my arms and the need in my heart. Amber came to my side, and my mother and brother rallied behind us as the man crossed the room.

  “I’m Dr. Braswell.” The surgeon glanced between Amber and me. “Maggie pulled through the surgery.”

  I turned my face to the ceiling, blinking back the tears I could do nothing to stop. Relief flooded as a hurricane, full force, an inundating surge that almost knocked me from my feet. I exhaled the rush of emotion, a choked cry that sang of both praise and torment.

  She made it...she made it.

  Blake placed his hand on my shoulder in a silent show of support.

  I brought my attention back to the doctor whose expression didn’t evidence the exquisite relief I felt.

  “She has a long way to go.” The surgeon’s brow creased, and he angled his head as if searching to see that we understood the seriousness of what he was trying to convey. He continued on, speaking softly and slowly. “Her injuries were severe, but she got here within the one-hour window after injury which significantly raises her chances of survival, plus the gunshot came from a distance where the buckshot had begun to spread.” He used his hands to demonstrate, spreading them wide across his midsection. “Had the shot come from a closer range, she most likely would not be here right now. She’s been transfused for massive blood loss, and lacerations to her intestines have been repaired. Her biggest risk now will be infection. She’s, of course, still intubated after the surgery and will be in the recovery room for about an hour before she’s transferred to intensive care on the fourth floor. If you want to wait upstairs, they’ll let you know when you can see her. Can I answer any questions?”

  I had what felt like a million of them tumbling through my mind, all adding up to one thought—Just tell me she will be okay.

  Instead of voicing it, all I could manage was a small shake of my head and a mumbled, “Thank you.”

  The man nodded and extended a tired, sympathetic smile that appeared truly genuine. “I promise we’re doing everything we can.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  I pushed open the door. Another hour of waiting had passed, though this one had been filled with a hope that had blossomed and grew to penetrate every nerve, every cell, and every breath.

  Subdued light glowed from beneath a cupboard mounted on the wall, illuminating a relatively small room. In the middle, a bed sat higher from the floor than normal, and machines were cluttered around it. I slowly approached. Tubes trailed from bags to fill her veins, others pumped toxins from her body, and more beeped as they monitored for life. Most prominent of all was the ventilator that rhythmically inflated and deflated her chest. But really, I saw none of those things.

  I could only see the woman who had haunted my years and now possessed my future.

  I swept back the hair that was matted to her forehead and pressed my lips to her clammy skin.

  So broken.

  The first time I’d seen her, I’d recognized it. Across the flames that had crackled and lit, I’d witnessed it in her eyes, had felt it pierce me somewhere deep. I’d known it in her smile, in her words, and in her touch. I’d seen it when I returned, when I ran her down and unleashed my anger on her in the middle of my parent’s street. I’d felt it when I held her in front of her mother’s back door.

  I also knew she was the bravest person I’d ever met.

  She’d been terrorized her entire life.

  And still she’d taken the chance.

  I took her hand and whispered near her ear, “You can’t leave before you get the chance to start.”

  Epilogue

  Sunlight seeped between the trees swaying in the gentle breeze. Yellow and red leaves fell from branches and flitted to the ground, the October air cool and crisp.

  As I always had been, I was drawn to her. My eyes swept across the lawn to where she rocked gently on my mother’s porch swing next to Grace.

  It had been eight months since the night that had nearly destroyed our lives.

  Her auburn waves tumbled over one shoulder, and her head was inclined as her mouth lifted in an unrestrained smile as she listened to whatever Grace had to say.

  With a look, Maggie still stole my breath.

  She glanced up as if she felt my gaze. That unrestrained smile softened and filled with an emotion that she reserved only for me.

  The one I returned was full of adoration.

  I’d never imagined it could really be this way. For so long, she’d been something forbidden, something I could never fully attain. A dream. A girl I’d been desperate for, but one who had remained so far out of reach.

  Now, she was mine, and I was hers, the secrets we’d whispered with our mouths and bodies no longer concealed or hidden away.

  Grace continued to speak, and Maggie smiled in a gentle way that promised later before she turned back to the conversation they were sharing.

  I couldn’t help the joy from forming on my face.

  “Uncle Will, you’re it!” Emma squealed, smacking the back of my leg as she ran by. I laughed and jumped back into the game. Emma dashed ahead, her smile wide when she glanced over her shoulder, black hair flying as she raced across my parents’ front yard.

  “Come on, Emma!” Blake called his encouragement from where he stood manning the grill. He tossed me a knowing grin. “Don’t let him get you!”

  “I’m right behind you,” I teased as I drew closer, allowing her to stay a foot ahead.

  She howled with laughter. “Run, Jonathan!” she screamed and reached a hand out toward him as she flew by. “Or else he’s gonna get you!”

  Diverting my path, I darted toward Jonathan whose eyes went wide from where he stood frozen before he turned and ran. A giggle started in his belly, a low and subdued rumble before it burst from his mouth. He threw his head back and laughed toward the sky. “No, Daddy! No!”

  My chest tightened, so full, so much.

  No, I never imagined it could be this way.

  It didn’t mean our lives weren’t filled with hardships, that each day there wasn’t a small struggle we had to overcome or a giant obstacle we had to face
.

  It just meant it was worth it.

  Maggie’s physical recovery had been long and difficult, but it was the emotional wounds that still plagued our days and haunted our nights. On some level, I knew they always would, though each day seemed to get a little easier than the last.

  When Maggie had been released from the hospital, we had moved into my old room in my parents’ house for about a month to give Jonathan a safe, neutral place to adjust. A quiet place for Maggie to heal. A place where Jonathan and I could learn each other and reclaim the relationship we’d never had.

  An old couch had been shoved against the wall below the window. For a month I’d slept alone on it in the few moments when any of us could actually sleep.

  Immediately, Jonathan had been placed with a therapist, someone to help him begin working through the trauma he had witnessed that night. Really, to help him work through the abuse he’d witnessed all of his life. It was then the nightmares had begun. It seemed once he finally felt safe during the day, the fears he’d kept long-repressed had sought release during the night.

  For both Maggie and me, they had unleashed the guilt from our mistakes—me for running, Maggie for staying.

  I had paced with the child for hours, back and forth over the creaky floor, holding him in the security of my arms while he cried. Then I would hold Maggie in my old bed while she wept after Jonathan had fallen back to sleep. She’d cry that she had done this to her child, while I promised her it wasn’t her fault. In her exhaustion, she would finally drift and I would stare sleepless out the darkened window, wondering why in the hell I hadn’t done things differently.

  Guilt was deceitful that way.

  I would often sit in the hall while Jonathan and Maggie were in their sessions, banging my head and wishing I could somehow remove all of their pain.

  That had been something I’d had to accept—I couldn’t just make it all better or make it go away.

  But I could love them and support them, show Jonathan what it was like to have a dad who loved his mother, a dad who treated her with respect and like the treasure she was. A dad who was there for his son and listened when he spoke and paced with him in his arms when he cried.