It breaks my heart to see him lying over there in so much pain. I wish I could wipe the beads of sweat off his brow or hold his hand and tell him everything is going to be okay; but I know he can’t see me, that he doesn’t even realize I’m here. I tried to call out to him once. I shouted as loud as I could, “Carl, it’s me. Josie. I’m here sweetie. I’m with you.” But all he did was press that bloody shirt tighter against his side and grit his teeth through the pain.
And he looks so much smaller now. A lot more so than when I first met him; and I don’t mean simply the weight he’s lost from going so long on so little. It’s something else: almost as if there’s something more than just blood leaking out of him; it’s like he’s deflating right before my eyes and there’s nothing I can do.
For what must be the thousandth time, I think this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. Carl shouldn’t be here in this old shack with dust motes turning lazy circles in shafts of sunlight. His life shouldn’t be spreading across the floor in an ever widening puddle and he shouldn’t be dragging all the clothes from his rucksack in some feeble attempt to last just a few breaths longer, a few minutes more.
I’d hoped he would eventually make his way somewhere that resembled the way things used to be. A fortified town where he could have a little house and spend time gardening in the Spring, perhaps. I pictured him sitting on a porch swing at night, looking up at the stars overhead, and maybe thinking about how he had finally found the kind of life we had always dreamed about. I’m not even sure places like that exist anymore… but, if they do, that’s exactly what I’d wanted for him. And now I have to face the harsh reality: he’ll never be able to obtain that type of life. Or any life at all, for that matter. He’ll end up like me. Or worse….
I’m no fool. I know why he can’t see me. I know I’m dead. I remember when he closed his eyes and shot me: the way his hand trembled and the single tear that cleared a swath of clean skin through the grit and grime on his face; his bottom lip quivered and I remember being afraid that he wouldn’t actually be able to do it.
I was trying to part my lips, to let him know that it was okay, when he lowered his head and stiffened his body. The void washed over me instantly but I could hear my thoughts echoing, as if they were receding down an infinitely long tunnel: Thank you, my sweet… thank you….
I’d always thought I would be reincarnated when my time in this body had come to an end. I thought my spirit would inhabit another shell and I’d begin the entire cycle anew. And who knows? Perhaps, eventually, I may have.
But for a while there was only the darkness; I’m not sure how much time had passed in this realm while I was sleeping in the great unknown. I only know that at some point I began to feel a tugging. When I was a child, there was a stream that ran through my backyard and I used to dip one leg into the cold water, just up to the kneecap, and feel the current as it surged around me. The sensation I felt in the void was similar to that, like there was a force acting against me, pushing from one direction while pulling from another. Thought began to return and there was a joy that can’t be described to anyone still trapped within their fleshy prison: surely, my time had come… I was being reborn.
As suddenly as the darkness had originally descended, so was it lifted and I found myself in this little shack. I took in the paneled walls, the dust covered floor, and the planks nailed over the windows. I somehow knew that I wasn’t a small baby and that, instead, I’d been called to this place for reasons I couldn’t quite comprehend.
Until I heard the coarse voice moan from behind me. Once I turned, I knew exactly why I had been drawn to this particular place at this particular time. He needed me… even if he wasn’t aware I was with him.
I stood there, watching him helplessly, and he’d tossed one t-shirt to the side and replaced it with a fresh one by the time I noticed the child crouching in the shadows by the empty bookshelf.
The boy can’t be older than five or six, but his eyes burn with the rage of a one who’s experienced a lifetime of pain and remorse. What’s left of his lips are drawn back in a constant snarl and his shoulder-length blond hair is matted with blood. Most of his clothes have been ripped and tattered, revealing scratches and welts that crisscross his body.
“Carl, run!” I shout, even though I know my words can never penetrate the veil that separates us. “Damn it, Carl, it’s right there!”
The boy whips his head toward me as if suddenly aware of my presence. For a moment, the anger is gone from his eyes and his mouth moves as if trying to find words. Something about him reminds me of a startled animal and, as we stand here studying one another from across the room, it begins to dawn on me that this child can see and hear me. Carl can’t, but this bruised and battered little boy can.
“But I was tired, ya know?”
Carl’s voice is hoarse and paper thin. Not the deep baritone I had known, but still enough to draw the boy’s attention back to him.
The boy pounces from his hiding place and is at Carl’s side with the speed of a striking snake, his fists flailing through the air as a throaty growl rumbles from somewhere deep within his small body.
“Leave him alone! He’s not doing anything to you! Leave him alone!”
I’m almost to Carl’s side before I realize that the boy doesn’t actually appear to be hurting him. The child is practically a tornado of rage and fury but his little fists seem to simply pass through Carl’s chest like mist through a screen. Carl doesn’t react to the boy’s presence any more than he does my own and I stop short as the meaning of this dawns upon me.
“Who are you?”
The boy leaps away from his prey as if I had just poked him with a hot iron. He glares at me and backs away almost as if afraid to turn his back.
“I won’t hurt you. I want to help.”
The child’s eyes dart from me, to Carl, and then back to me again and I can sense the tense energy pent up within his small body.
“What’s your name?”
In all the talks we had, Carl never mentioned a son so I feel safe in ruling that out. He never actually mentioned any type of kids what-so-ever, come to think of it.
So I am left with nothing but questions: who is this boy? Why has he been drawn here… and why does he seem to harbor so much hatred for the man I have only known as the sweetest and most noble person I have ever met?