The child looked intently at his old weathered face as he stirred and opened his tired eyes; tired eyes that had seen plenty of this world. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead from the stifling humidity in the tiny room. She reached over and brushed away a lone tear from his crinkly grey skin with her tiny velvety fingers.
He looked into this stranger’s brilliant blue eyes.
“I’m dying aren’t I?” he asked the child in his frail voice, frightened by the understanding of his own words. Is this beautiful child sitting on my bed Death? he wondered.
“Yes,” she whispered softly. “But don’t be afraid, Abel, I will be here with you, I promise,” Tia answered, placing her hand on his heaving chest as he fought back his tears, fears.
He nodded gratefully, consoled by the knowledge that when he exhaled his last breath on this earth, on this night, he would not die in this bleak room alone.
“Would you like me to tell you a story, Abel?” Tia asked gently, sitting up, taking his big crinkly hand, and squeezing it tightly in her tiny ones.
His hand trembled in hers. These were strong hands once, he remembered, looking at them now. Hands that had lifted his son up high, so he could climb the big flame tree in the backyard. Hands that had taught him how to catch a ball and swing a cricket bat. Hands that let go when he taught his son how to ride his first red two-wheeler bike and catch his first fish. He missed his son, so far away now. He wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye. That was the hardest part. Regret crossed his face when he remembered their last conversation seven years ago. Seven years ago, seems just like yesterday, he mused.
“Yes, I would very much like to hear a story,” Abel said, closing his eyes. He dragged long painful breaths into cancer-blackened lungs as he listened to Tia’s soothing voice.
Wind chimes, he thought to himself.
Tia chanted quietly in his ear, her breath soft against his skin. She squeezed his hand.
“Take my hand, light of day diminish. Fades the sight to hearts held dear. Blue star shine jewel in night. Altair Aquila luminous light. To guide no fear near and far. To sight of Angels a death held dear. Amun.”
Images of Abel’s long life flashed through his mind like a movie on fast forward on a big widescreen television. His own birth, bright lights, his mother’s sweat-drenched crimson face as he was placed into her outstretched arms.
When he was seven, sitting on his favorite grandfather’s deathbed with a small redheaded girl, the same age that he had been.
More thoughts came quickly. His beloved wife Rose, giving birth to their beautiful son David—a birth and a death, happiness and pain jumbled together in a time span of moments. His wife’s dying breath following the moments that their son David had drawn his first.
He thought now about the girl that sat beside him. He had seen her face before, sitting on his grandfather’s deathbed all those years ago. He looked at her flawless ivory face, perfectly framed by her long red hair, then further, into her crystal-clear blue eyes. They appeared to glow like gems in the darkness of his room. She had held his grandfather’s hand, seventy years ago. Now she held his.
He searched Tia’s face for answers and found an infinite depth of peace there. Yes, it is her, she looks exactly the same, he realized. He closed his old eyes, knowing that it would be for the last time. He had found the answers to the questions he asked when he looked deep into Tia’s hypnotic blue eyes. She heard his thoughts. He sighed and exhaled a painful breath. There would not be many more to be endured. The constant pain that wracked him was now subsiding, leaving his wretched body limb by limb.
Back in Grace’s bedroom, Hope lifted her head slightly, the sultry breeze played with wisps of her fair hair that danced across her face. She smelt rain in the air. The sky lit up outside, thunder crashed, the rain fell, bringing with it instant relief from the stifling humidity. Her thoughts went further still. Away for a moment from the bed where Tia held Abel’s dying hand. Further. Thousands of miles away, across vast oceans to the sterility of a New Jersey hospital maternity ward.
Hope heard a woman’s guttural cry of pain. It was type of pain that only women suffer during the hideously long hours of childbirth. Her husband tried helplessly to comfort her and wiped her hot brow with a cool water-soaked cloth. Beth had never felt such searing pain.
“Just one more push, Beth,” the doctor encouraged in his Scottish accent.
She had pushed with every uterine contraction for the last forty-five minutes. She had endured over twelve hours of labor before that and now truly felt she had no more to give. Within seconds of these thoughts, Beth could feel her womb torturously squeeze and rise forward within her. Her face contorted as she screamed through the tearing pain as another contraction engulfed her abdomen once more.
Instinctively, she stifled her scream, closed her mouth, and bore down using what she believed to be her absolute last drop of energy. Immense burning pain caused Beth to lose her focus, her control. She hissed through clenched teeth, her clawing fingers gripped aimlessly at bed linen, her husbands arm, marking him. Her entire body stiffened in sheer agony.
Suddenly the burning, the tearing sensation and the pressure were going. Her baby was being born right at that moment and she knew it. She exhaled and opened her once tightly closed eyes just in time to see the doctor smile and her tiny purple baby unfold into his strong and guiding hands. The infant’s face was covered in a thin filmy membrane, remnants of the amniotic sac.
“Right on cue,” the doctor announced, examining the ticking clock on the wall. It was six a.m., the thirteenth of January, 2001. Outside, snow fell, blanketing New Jersey in a thick layer of white.
A cold chill ran down Beth’s spine, her face drained of blood.
“What’s wrong with him?” she gasped, terrified that her child had been born dead.
“Ahh, not to worry, Beth,” the doctor replied in a jovial, reassuring voice. He wiped the membrane from the child. “Some babes are born a caulbearer. Some consider it a lucky omen to be born with a veil, a hood as it’s sometimes called, over the wee bairn’s face. It tends to run in the family, in the bloodline, so to speak. Nothing to be alarmed about, I can assure you.”
The doctor clamped the umbilical cord and with the confidence borne from experience, cut the cord with scissors, separating mother and infant. A few gentle spurts of fetal blood trickled over the blades of the sharp scissors. The fetal blood was the perfect color on the blades before slowly turning the customary crimson color in newborn infants. He passed the child carefully into the hands of a young African American nurse named Lucina standing by his side, and grinned at her confidently.
The child gurgled and gasped in her hands as he drew his first long breath deep into unblemished lungs. He cried out fearfully when the frigid air filled his new lungs, burning them.
He was ‘pinking-up’ before her eyes, and she knew he was healthy. His tiny lungs just seconds before squashed by the birth canal, were now inflating with oxygen-rich air. His heart now pumped his own blood throughout his entire perfectly formed body. His grey eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to adjust his blurred vision to the light-filled room. It was so bright in contrast to the soothing, watery darkness of his mother’s womb.
Lucina smiled down at the frowning child, all arms and legs kicking in the air, before passing the infant into the outstretched arms of the weeping mother.
After thirteen hours of labor, Beth was exhausted but elated at the tiny miracle she now held tightly at her swollen breast. Both mother and father wept tears of joy for their first-born son.
“He’s beautiful,” Lucina said as she lent in and soothed his cheek with her warm palm. Comfort filled his fearful mind, relaxing his tiny pink face. “What will you call him?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Abe, after David’s father, Abel,” Beth said looking up into her husband’s beaming face. He was in awe, overwhelmed by this tiny miracle that lay squirming in the arms of his wife. His son.
David kiss
ed Beth’s forehead gently, stroking her sweat- drenched hair.
“As soon as Abe here is up to travelling, we are going to Australia, so he can meet his grandfather, Abel. We haven’t spoken to my father for a while so I, my wife and I, thought this would be the perfect time to mend fences, put the past behind us.”
Lucina nodded as she watched the joyful parents counting tiny fingers and toes on tiny pink feet. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her nurse’s uniform. “Your father is so proud,” she said softly.
Back in Australia menacing clouds continued to clash. Lightning flashed, fracturing the darkness.
“Godspeed, Abel,” Tia whispered into his ear. His trembling lips grew into a peaceful smile. The last image that crossed his closed eyelids was that of the newborn child. The Image of his only grandson, Abe and the child’s parents, Beth and David—his beloved son.
“Goodbye, my son,” Abel whispered. Tia took his big hand; blinding white light engulfed his frail body and lit up his dark room like a beacon. Abel’s body vibrated in the stark light as he lay on his bed. Quickly the wrinkles of old age smoothed on his weatherworn skin, the firmness of chiseled muscles of youth returned to his withered limbs. His mind vision flicked, like a florescent light coming on behind his eyelids. He was twenty-five again. He was standing on a sun-streaked beach at dawn holding hands with a young woman. Her long windswept fair hair blew across her face, concealing her identity from him.
He pushed her hair back so he could see her. His hand paused on her cheek. Her eyes were the prettiest green he had ever seen. But he had seen these eyes before, a very long time ago.
“So, we’re grandparents,” the woman said, her radiant face smiling up into his handsome one.
“At last,” Abel said looking back at Rose, taken from him so many years ago. “I have found you—hallelujah!” he shouted, then ever so lightly, kissed Rose gently on her lips. His vision flicked again, he held his wife tightly in his arms. He would not let her go again. The image in his mind began to slowly fade. He held her tighter. Gone...
The New Jersey hospital room was still now, all but for the cooing of proud parents for their son. David stopped counting tiny toes and looked up, confused by what the young nurse had said.
“What do you mean, my father is so proud?” he turned and asked the young nurse, Lucina, but the room was empty.
Just then an older nurse burst noisily through the swing doors. She carried a medical chart and a folded blue baby blanket.
“Hi, Beth, David, and this I believe is baby Abe,” she said, marching over to the bed and stroking his little cheek.
“My name is Dorothy,” she continued. “Now let’s wrap your Abe up, shall we, keep him warm, it’s another freezing day outside today.”
“The other nurse… where is she?” David asked Dorothy as she quickly wrapped his son.
“Lucina, not sure, could be anywhere on the ward, lots of babes being born here today,” she said, not taking her eyes off the child that now rested quietly wrapped firmly in his warm blue blanket at his mother’s breast.
David kissed Beth’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon sweetheart, I’m just going out to let everyone know it’s a boy.” He left the room as Dorothy chatted quietly with his wife.
“I have a son,” he announced proudly to a group of his friends that had gathered in the bustling waiting room. They congratulated him. The women hugged him; the men slapped him on the back and offered him the customary cigar. He declined, remembering how the nicotine had ravaged his father’s lungs over the years.
He glanced up and noticed the doctor discussing a medical chart with a young male intern further down the cold hall.
“Gotta go talk to the doc,” he said to his friends, excusing himself. “I’ll be back.” He rushed off down the hall toward them.
“Here he is, the proud new father,” the doctor said, taking David’s hand and shaking it firmly. “No big nights out for you for a while,” the doctor said, smiling jovially.
“Doctor…”
“David, how many times have we been drunk in the same pub?” the doctor asked his good friend. “You can still call me Sammy, even here,” he said, his arms indicating the hospital surrounds.
David nodded. “Yeah, I know, sorry. It’s just that, the nurse in our room, Lucina, she said something and I just wanted to ask her about it.” Sammy watched David intently but remained silent. “Lucina, where can I find her?” he asked, looking around.
“Just saw her leave,” Sammy said, turning to point down the corridor toward the clean glass exit doors.
“When will she be back?” David asked, glancing over Sammy’s shoulder toward a window. He noticed that the snow still continued to fall gently on the rooftops and earth outside. Momentarily he thought about the hot humid Januarys he had experienced this time of the year growing up in Australia. He longed for some of that natural warmth now.
“Won’t, today was her last day,” Sammy said. “Is there something I can do, another nurse maybe?”
David averted his eyes away from the cold outside. “No, no, nothing like that, it’s nothing really, just something she said. I should get back, got tons of calls to make.” He took Sammy’s hand and shook it firmly. “Thanks Sammy, I owe you big time, my friend. Gotta go call my dad in Australia, we have decided to name our son after him.”
Sammy pulled David toward him and gave him a friendly hug. The smile on Sammy’s face faded momentarily. “That’s great, now get back to your wife and child, I’ll be in to check on you all soon.” He pulled away and gave David a friendly slap on the back. “Take good care of that son of yours, Dave, I have a feeling there’s something very special about your lad.”
David nodded and headed back down the long white corridor, reaching for the phone in his back pocket as he walked. His father would be so proud when he heard that they had named their son after him and that they had made plans for their son Abe to grow up in Australia.
He liked the idea of his new son growing up with a Grandfather. Maybe they could both teach Abe how to swing a cricket bat. He dialed his father’s number. After all these years he couldn’t wait another moment to speak with his father, hear his voice. “Come on Dad, pick up.”
Chapter 4—The Rainbow Room
Darwin, Northern Territory, Australia
“If bluebirds fly over the rainbow, then why can't I?” Grace sang softly to herself. She walked over to her father who was sitting at the kitchen table; he was reading Saturday’s newspaper and drinking coffee from a large round mug with the words, ‘Golden Eagle Home Delivery Service,’ written in bold print on the side.
The breakfast dishes were still on the table, he had promised Kate that he would do them while she was out grocery shopping. He figured they could wait until he had finished reading the sports section of the paper. He picked up a piece of discarded bacon off a plate and popped it in his mouth.
Grace stopped and stood by her father’s side for a moment looking up at him, a frown creasing her brow. Then she asked, “Daddy what is a mortaree?” She didn’t pronounce the word correctly, but her father knew what she had meant.
A boy in her school, Patrick Wheat, had died, and she had overheard a conversation the older students were having about it during lunch break.
Brian folded the paper and put it down, stalling. He thought about what he wanted to tell her, something an eight and a half year old would understand. He pushed back his chair, it screeched in protest against the tiled floor. He picked Grace up and sat her gently on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and looked down into her piercing grey eyes. Their mutual devotion for each other was obvious.
“You know Grace, in some hospitals they call mortuaries,” he pronounced the word slowly for her, “the place you go before you go to Heaven to be with the Angels, the Rainbow Room. That is where the little children go that have died, so their parents can sit with them and say their goodbyes. That is where the Angel waits for them. That doesn’t sound so bad, doe
s it?”
Grace rested her head on her father’s chest and contemplated his explanation. It didn’t sound so bad at all. She smiled and gave him a quick hug.
“I love you, Daddy,” she said, sliding down off his lap to return to her position in front of the television to eat her biscuits. I like biscuits; I wonder if they have biscuits in Heaven. They have angel cakes, fairy bread… She pondered on the idea of living on biscuits, Angel cakes, and fairy bread. Then, with a different line of thought, she wondered if parents went to a Rainbow Room and waited with the Angel when they died, so the children could say goodbye.
She considered this notion carefully until Bugs Bunny jumped up on the television screen and said to her, “What’s up doc?”
She giggled and looked over at Hope, who was curled up quietly on a lounge chair; she smiled back as she twirled a loose strand of silky blonde hair in her fingers.
She wished she could tell her father about her friend Hope, wished he could see her, how pretty she was, and smart. She wanted so much to share this secret with him, even if Hope was just a figment of her imagination. But still, she agonized over not telling him.
Hope, sensing Grace’s anguish, hopped down off the lounge chair and made her way over to sit by her friend. She crossed her legs beneath her, smoothed her crisp white Venetian lace dress over her knees, then leaned across and put her arm around Grace’s shoulders.
“Grace, your father will understand you not telling him, honestly. He has his secrets too, everyone does, and that’s okay.”
Grace nodded and felt a rush of relief wash over her, believing Hope when she said that her father would understand this secret. And Hope was never, ever wrong.
Another thought passed through Grace’s mind.
“Are you my Angel, Hope, are you waiting to take me to Heaven?”
“No Grace, I’m not that kind of Angel.”
When Darkness Falls - Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set Page 101
