by DC Renee
But the fact of the matter was deep down, I knew. I knew.
I was going to die.
Nolan
IT WAS FUNNY the things you didn’t remember.
My suit. I knew it was dark, black even, but Lily picked it out. One of many suits in my closet, put on while in a trance. If you asked me to pick out which one it was out of the many I owned, I couldn’t tell you.
I couldn’t even tell you if it was one of my finer suits or a cheap one from the back of my closet.
My shoes were picked out much the same way. All I knew was that they were dark
I’d heard people say that days were blurs, flying by in their memories as just colors and shapes. Now I understood why. The first time I stood just like this … at the young age of eight, I remembered everything, too much. This time, I remembered nothing.
I didn’t remember if anyone cried, whether eyes were dry or shining with unshed tears.
I didn’t remember who held me tightly, trying to keep me together while I fell apart inside.
I didn’t remember who spoke, only that there were speeches, but whether they were from loved ones or not, I couldn’t tell you.
I didn’t remember who looked at me with pity, their embraces full of empathic sorrow versus who looked at me with relief, their hugs ripe with lies.
I didn’t remember the casket, not the color, not the design. I had been there, but I hadn’t been present when I picked it out.
I didn’t remember how many flowers there were, whether there were bouquets or wreaths. They were just a sea of colors surrounding me,
I didn’t remember picking the picture by the casket, but maybe I hadn’t been the one to pick it. Maybe it had been her parents, showing to the world how beautiful she was, how vibrant she was, how much potential she had, how much more life she had to live.
I didn’t remember seeing the casket lowered to the ground; I only registered when it was sitting below us, a layer of dirt covering it forever, separating us, keeping us apart.
I didn’t remember the funeral, only surviving it by going through the motions.
I remembered nothing … nothing that counted.
I should have remembered these details, the details surrounding this death. But it wasn’t every day you lost the person you loved most in the world. The person you promised to protect with your life. The person you swore you’d die for. The person you wanted to grow old with. It wasn’t every day a man failed in all these things and buried his wife.
Much like when I was a boy, it was a day that changed my life, a day that shaped the rest of my life.
I hadn’t cried before, not since the moment I watched her die. Not when I called her parents to tell them I’d failed to protect their daughter “from a mugging.” Not when I offered them a room to stay in, and they told me it was too hard to see her in every place of our home. Not when I began to plan her funeral. Not when Lily came to me like a mom to comfort me. Not at all. But when everyone had left my home after the wake, when my father stayed behind to make sure I was all right and wrapped me in his arms, I cried.
It hadn’t been real before. It had been like watching a movie play out, someone else’s life, not mine. The house had been empty for those few days, but it hadn’t been. It had been filled with family trying to keep me afloat, trying to help me through the “rough” days. I didn’t have time to process that she was truly gone. But now I did.
My dad pulled me into his arms, wrapped me tight in his embrace, trying to give me all the strength he had in him because I needed it. He let me cry on his shoulder, his own tears mingling with mine. I knew his tears were more for me, more for my sorrow, for my anguish, for my suffering, for my loss. I was his boy, and I’d forever be his boy. My pain was his pain. And right now, I was in the ultimate pain. Not to say he was heartless, but his loyalty and his love would always be to me first.
Which was why I didn’t hate him, no matter how much I wanted to. I didn’t. I understood where he came from.
“I’m so sorry, Nolan. I tried, I swear I tried. You know I did. I tried everything in my power. But time was running out …” He was right. It didn’t make it any better, but he was right.
As we stayed in this position for the second time in my life, roughly twenty years apart, I remembered the conversation we had, the one I didn’t think my father even remembered.
“Don’t fall in love, son,” he’d told me. “Don’t ever fall in love. Because if they’re gone … I won’t let this happen to you. I promise, I won’t let this happen to you.”
Looked like he failed too. And looked like I finally understood just what his words meant. Only now … it was too late.
“NO!” THE SCREAM echoed against the empty room as I woke up panting, sweat dripping down my face, plastering my thin T-shirt to my body, tangling the sheets against my legs.
Every night, it was the same. The nightmare, the reality consuming my thoughts, my dreams. I saw her in everything around the house when my eyes were open. I saw her at the dining table, waiting to try one of my dishes. I saw her on the couch, leaning forward, engrossed in her shows. I saw her walking down the hallway, throwing a look over her shoulder, eyes smoldering, begging me to follow her, and I did, every time. I even saw her in the bathroom, the door slightly ajar, the light filtering in as she brushed her teeth, her hip leaning against the counter.
It was painful, so incredibly painful, but at least I saw her “alive,” her mirage a sort of comfort to my cracking heart.
It was at night that the images became worse … haunting.
I relived her death.
I relived it when the sun began to set, bringing the shadows out to play tricks with my eyes. I relived it when I climbed into bed alone, her side cold and unforgiving. I relived it when I closed my eyes, the scene replaying before me as if it were happening over and over.
I entered one of our warehouses and stopped short, watching as Annalise stood before me, looking around at the various boxes consuming the space. I hadn’t lied to her when I told her that we did deal with imports and exports. It brought in a considerable amount of money, but it wasn’t our “specialty.” That was dealing in government secrets. I realized, watching her look around in wonder, that this was her first time at one of the warehouses, taking in just what we accomplished on a day-to-day basis.
“They’re filled with everything from coffee to cars,” I told her.
She gasped and turned toward me, clearly not having heard me walk in. “It’s overwhelming,” she said as she traced the closest box with a finger. I could see why she’d think that way, but this was something I was used to. Just another day “at the office” for me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
I saw as her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I got your text to meet me here.”
“What text?” I asked, but as the words left my mouth, I knew immediately something was wrong. Before she could respond, I raced toward her, grabbing her. “Run,” I said and began to drag her.
“What?” she asked, her feet not moving to the rhythm I was trying to force them to. “Nolan, what’s going on?”
“We’re being set up. I didn’t send you a text,” I told her, still trying to pull her along.
“I did,” I heard the booming voice from the entryway, and I stopped short.
“Dad?” I questioned as he walked inside casually. “What’s going on?” I vaguely registered that it made sense he sent the text to Annalise since he’d been the one to send me a text to meet him there.
“I asked you to come because I have something important to discuss.”
“Okay?” It wasn’t a statement, more of a question. “And Annalise?”
“She needs to be here to hear this too.”
“Then why the hell did you send her a text from me?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to scare her into thinking it was something serious and worrying her.”
“And is it something serious?” she ask
ed, interjecting.
“Yes,” my father answered gravely.
“This seems like an odd place for a serious conversation,” I mused. If it were anyone else in the room with us, I would have left a long time ago, running to save our lives. But this was my dad, and even with the unease filtering through my body, I stayed rooted to the spot because I trusted him.
“I wanted privacy, and with the way things are lately with the family, you never know which place is safe. I don’t anticipate anyone interrupting us here.”
I nodded and saw Annalise nod beside me in understanding.
“Well?” I asked. My dad had moved closer to us, and we naturally gravitated toward him as well. “What do we need to talk about?” I asked as we stood just feet apart, almost like a stand-off, Annalise and I on one side, my dad on the other.
“They want you both dead,” he said after a minute, his words heavy with obvious pain and sadness.
“And we’re fighting them,” I retorted.
“Not anymore,” he said with a small shake of his head, eyes filling with unshed tears. “Majority decided.”
“What are you saying?” Annalise asked beside me, her voice trembling. I squeezed her hand tighter, trying to give her comfort, but knowing that it wasn’t enough.
“You know,” he responded. We both did. They really wanted Annalise dead, but if – no, not if, since I refused, that meant I was to die too. Technically, my dad was supposed to be the one to kill us, but even with this ominous situation, I knew he wouldn’t. He’d kill himself before hurting me. “You’re all I have left, Nolan,” he said, looking at me. “After your mom died, you were the only reason my heart kept beating. I can’t lose you,” he told me.
“We’ll run,” I answered.
“You know that’s not possible. They’ll chase you until they find you.” He was right.
“We’ll figure out a way. You won’t lose me.”
“You have to understand, Nolan, that you are my son. No matter what, you will always come first for me. Your life will always be valued above anyone else’s. I can’t lose you. I’m sorry,” he whispered the last words, his eyes still trained on mine, begging me, pleading with me to understand as the scream tore from my mouth.
“No!” It reverberated against the many boxes as I watched in slow motion as my dad pulled the gun from his waistband and fired the shot before I could blink.
I felt her fall, her hand ripping from my grip. Without looking, I knew. I knew.
My dad chose his son’s life over his son’s love.
“Lise!” I cried out her name as I fell to the floor beside her, pulling her limp body into my arms.
“I’m sorry,” I heard my dad repeat over and over in the background, taking care not to come close. At that moment, I didn’t care what his reasons were, I only cared that he’d played judge, jury, and executioner with my life, with my wife.
I rocked her form in my arms, my tears drenching her body, soaking her with my agony.
“No!” I screamed. And I screamed some more until my voice no longer could. Until my tears dried, until I knew, without a shred of doubt, I’d just lost the love of my life.
I’D HELD ANNALISE’S limp body, my pain and rage palpable. After a while, I no longer felt anything, just a numbness that had taken over me. It was then that my father stepped forward, having stayed to the side the entire time.
He lifted Annalise from my arms carefully, setting her down on the ground gently as if anything stronger would hurt her. I would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it if I had any capacity for feelings left. As if I were a child, he lifted me from off the ground and helped me hobble toward a chair.
“The family must think this was you, Nolan,” he said as he held the back of my neck, forcing me to look straight into his eyes. They were filled with almost as much pain as mine, the regret and anguish visible in the depths of his eyes. I hated him for what he did, but I also didn’t. I knew why he’d done it—to save his own child—but how was I supposed to cope with that? With my warring emotions? “Nolan,” he said my name, making sure I was listening. “Do you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying? If they think I did this, they’ll come after you too.”
“Let them,” I said hoarsely.
“No. This will not be in vain.” He was avoiding saying her death or what he did because he knew it would drive a knife farther into my heart, farther between us. I nodded.
“Okay,” he said, letting go of my neck and backing away. Then he set to work while I sat in the chair, my eyes trained on Annalise, willing her to rise from the dead from the sheer power of my grief and love. I watched as a flurry of activity surrounded me. Family was called in to take care of it all. “A mugging gone wrong.”
Then the police came. It helped that my family had people loyal to us on the force. Less questions, less lies.
My father took me home and told me I had to let Annalise’s parents know.
“I can’t,” I whispered. It was one thing to lie to the police, to cover up just how I’d failed, just how responsible I truly was for her death. It was another to do that to her parents.
“I’ll do it,” he said, his words filled with a heaviness even I couldn’t describe.
The only reason I didn’t truly hate him was because I knew without a doubt that it was killing him. That he was torn up inside in a way I wouldn’t comprehend.
He started to walk away, presumably to make the call to my in-laws when I whispered, “Pregnant,” so quietly that my dad didn’t hear the words only that I had said something.
“What?” he questioned, turning back around to face me.
“Pregnant,” I repeated, this time louder. “She was pregnant,” I told him. “We’d just found out and hadn’t had the opportunity to share the news yet.”
“Nolan,” he said my name as if I were a priest and we were at confession.
“We were going to invite everyone we cared about for dinner and announce it,” I told him. I was pouring salt on an open wound, but I couldn’t help it. He needed to know. He did for his son what I probably would have done for my future son or daughter. The irony that, in doing so, he took away that child of mine wasn’t lost on me, and I knew it wasn’t lost on him either.
“I’m so sorry, Nolan,” he told me, his voice cracking. “I’m … I did what I had to do to keep my son safe.”
I nodded because deep down, I understood, and I didn’t blame him.
This was on me. This was my fault. I’d done this to us, to Annalise, to my dad. My dad pulled the trigger, but it was my actions that forced the gun into his hand in the first place.
He left the room, quickly walking away, presumably so I wouldn’t see the devastation coursing through him, leaving me to my angry and painful thoughts.
Then Lily came into the room, her arms enveloping me instantly, and somehow my body found more tears to cry. I stayed in a state of numbness until the funeral, or rather just after the funeral. And then it all kicked in.
Then came the nightly memories of her death—the nightmares of reality. But interspersed with those nightmares came different nightmares—ones where she lived, and we watched our child grow—a beautiful girl who looked just like her mother. I had dreams of her at different ages throughout different occasions in life from simple beach vacations to high school graduations. These dreams were everything I wanted and more, but when I woke, the pain they induced was stronger than the nightmares of Annalise’s death.
It was a different kind of torture.
A different kind of pain.
The pain of what-if. A life I almost had … a life I’d never know.
I WAS DREAMING. That was all I did these days … float in and out of consciousness. Sleep was my salvation and my curse. If I was awake, I felt empty, the loss of Annalise and our unborn child a heavy weight on my soul. If I was asleep, I dreamed. The nightmares, the painful memories plagued me, but the happy times, even those what-if dreams provided a temporary relief to the agony I
felt.
I knew I was dreaming because I’d already lived through this memory and felt the emotions, but I didn’t care. I was happy to have it flash before my eyes once again.
I stared at Annalise, a curious expression on my face as I took in her smile and the way she watched me drink my coffee. She was up to something, but I wasn’t sure what. Things had been tense around us, the situation with Vanessa not dying down. In fact, it might have even escalated, but it had brought us closer together.
We were fighting, essentially for our lives, together.
Something had happened when I’d told Annalise the truth—she’d accepted it, accepted her fate, even accepted that I’d put us in an impossible situation. She went to the events we needed to show face at but kept her head down. She heard the whispers, the doubt, even the insults, but she ignored them, letting them roll off. And when we were home, just the two of us, she grabbed my hand and held it tight, she hugged me close, she told me she loved me, and she whispered words of forgiveness. And the intimacy was at our highest peak. Something had shifted, and as much as we were one before, we were somehow more so now.
Her mischievous little grin had me smiling in return.
“What did you do?” I asked, half-expecting a surprise to pop out of nowhere.
“Me?” she asked with mock shock as she pointed a finger at herself. “Technically, I didn’t do anything. Technically, it’s all you.”
“And what exactly did I technically do?”
“Are you enjoying your coffee?” she asked in response.
“What the heck did you do to my coffee?” I asked, lowering the cup from my mouth.
“No!” she yelled. “You can’t stop drinking.”
“Okay, now I really want to know what’s going on, and I’m definitely not sure I should be drinking this coffee.” More often than not, I was the one to make us coffee in the mornings. Lately, though, Annalise had started making me a cup and bringing it to bed before I was even up. The first time she did it, I asked her why, and she shrugged and said she was trying to be up earlier so she could be more productive and that included making coffee.
