Before I Wake (35 page)

“This is a first,” he whispered. “With a priest in the room next door.”

“It's what every good Catholic girl dreams of,” I answered, burying my laughter in the pillow.

It felt good to laugh with him. To be naked and smiling and sweating and happy. To be together.

“Shh.”

“He's asleep,” he whispered.

“How can you be so sure?”

“He would have pounded on the wall if he wasn't.”

That set us both off again, and I had to bury my face in the pillow. Simon rubbed my back and tangled his fingers in my hair.

“I love you,” he whispered.

I turned onto my side to face him. “I love you too.” I brushed my fingertips along his face.

“Do you ever…” He stopped himself cold.

“What?”

“I don't…this probably isn't the time.”

“You might as well say it now—it's out there.”

“I was just…Do you ever think about having another baby?”

His words knocked the wind out of me. I struggled to catch my breath.

“I wasn't even going to bring it up. I've just been thinking about it. I know, it's insane. After everything we went through the first time, and everything that's happening with Sherry.” He shook his head as if he didn't agree with what he was saying. “I just…”

“I used to think about it,” I confessed. “I haven't recently. Not with everything that's happened. That's still happening.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn't want to try to replace Sherry.”

“I don't think that's what it would be,” he said. “I wouldn't want to do that either. But this…I want to have a baby. I know that it sounds crazy, and I know that we've got a lot to work out between us, but it just feels right to me. I say the words out loud and they sound right.”

“Don't you remember the last time, though?” I asked. “All the tests, all the trying. I don't know if I could go through that
again. Not with everything else.” I thought of Sherry, sleeping downstairs for the first night since the attack on the house.

He shook his head, his eyes soft. “I know. I'm not saying that I'm even really considering it. I'd like us to…I just feel open to it, to the possibility.”

The possibility.

LEO

Father Peter floated like a shadow into the library, but the fat man Tim blocked his path. He stopped, and the two of them just stared at each other.

I hid behind a set of shelves where I could see both of them. I wanted to be close. I wanted to be there if Father Peter needed me.

I tightened my grip on the lighter.

I wanted to be close enough to see what he would do to these devils. The thought made me smile, made me feel warm after the cold wait.

The two men were still looking at each other.

I waited for Father Peter to strike out, to bring the devil down.

Instead, the fat man smiled, and Father Peter bowed his head.

“Gloating?” Father Peter asked him.

The fat man shook his head. “Just waiting.”

“I'd be gloating.”

“You usually do. But I'm not you. And there have been far too many innocent people hurt for me to take any delight in how things have turned out.”

“It's been a long time since you've won. I suppose you were due.”

Tim shook his head. “I don't view this as a game. Besides, it had very little to do with me. Henry's a very bright boy. Thinks for himself. And the family was strong. Stronger than I expected.”

“Much stronger. And it's done now.
He's
arrived, bringing the bright light and protective arms of the Church. He's at the house right now. If I had had one more night…”

“They would have been ready for you.”

“I suppose they would. Still—”

“I've long wondered,” Tim said, pointing at the coin in Father Peter's hand. “Is that one of them?”

Father Peter nodded, looking at the coin. “I spent a lifetime trying to find this,” he said. “Do you have any idea how hard that was? Searching an empire for a single piece of silver?”

“How do you know you found the right one?”

“Well, there were a number of them.” Father Peter smiled, showing his teeth. “But I could tell, right away. It burns. From the first moment I picked it up, it has burned me. But I can't put it down.”

Tim looked in my direction, then away. Had he seen me? I crouched lower behind the bookshelves, but it was like he knew I was there, listening.

After a second, Father Peter said, “You can't keep up this fight forever.”

“And you can?” Tim smiled. “How many times have we two met? How many alleys? Hillsides? Libraries? Sewers? A wise man once said that the best definition of insanity was performing the same action over and over again, expecting different results.”

Father Peter stopped smiling. “The same could be said of you. What makes you so sure you're right? And so sure I'm wrong?”

“The difference is that I made a mistake once, out of ignorance,” Tim said. “Everything I've done since then has been to try to make amends.”

“To earn forgiveness.”

“To protect the innocents.” Tim smiled. “And yes, to earn forgiveness.”

“Some of us have a higher calling,” Father Peter said. I had heard him say those words dozens of times. “There are things more important than oneself.”

“But that's your failing,” Tim said. “You made a mistake a long time ago, and you think you've spent that time trying to make amends, but you just keep making the same mistake again and again.”

“It's not a mistake. It's you who doesn't see. Who doesn't understand. I made a mistake, yes. I failed Him. But I have been given the chance to make amends.”

“By killing children?”

“By keeping the way clear for His return. By dealing with those pretenders and false prophets who draw people away from the true savior. I stand by my judgment.”

“You always have,” Tim agreed. “But has it ever occurred to you that one of those false prophets you destroy could be Him? That you're killing Him all over again?”

“Don't be ridiculous. I would know Him.”

“You didn't before.”

He frowned. “There were other factors.”

“How many times can you hang for that handful of silver?”

Handful of silver?

“Is that really what you think?” he asked. “I thought you were too smart to believe the slander, especially considering everything that's been said about you over the years. Do you honestly believe that I hanged myself out of guilt? Surely you know me better than that.”

And throwing down the pieces of silver, he went and hanged himself…

It couldn't be…

“Then why did you?”

Father Peter shook his head. “I hanged myself to try to find Him. He was always talking about the life everlasting. I thought that if I died, I might find Him there. I thought I would be able to ask for His forgiveness. Instead”—he shook
his head—“I had to find another way to atone.”

Tim looked my way again. “And how do you think you will be judged, on the day the trumpet sounds? You who have caused so much pain, so many deaths.”

“I have been true to Him. I have stood up for His name when all around me—”

“For His name,” Tim said. “But what of what He taught? What of the innocents you have killed in His name?”

“I've only known one miraculous innocent,” Father Peter said.

“And you've spent your lifetimes trying to atone for your betrayal, to protect His memory. A memory that doesn't need your protection.”

“You're not going to change my mind.”

“I know,” Tim said. His voice was sad. “And my work here is done.”

Father Peter nodded. “So what now, Ahasuerus?” he asked.

“Now we move on.”

“I thought so. When?”

“Tonight. Right now. We're all ready. I was just waiting to tie up a couple of loose ends. Waiting for you, for one.”

“As usual.”

“As usual.”

“Are you going to wait for Henry Denton?”

Tim shook his head. “He's gone. He's got a rough road ahead of him, but I think he'll find his way. He'll be able to find us if he still needs us.”

“And where are you headed to this time?” Father Peter asked.

“I'm not sure. We've been trying to figure that out. You?”

He shrugged. “I'll drift a bit. More of the same.”

They stared at each other for a long silent moment.

“I'd like this to be over,” Father Peter said quietly. It didn't sound like his voice.

He started to walk away, then turned back toward Tim again. “Do you think we'll ever be able to sit down together, you and I? Have a drink? Eat? Breathe?”

Tim smiled, but his eyes looked sad. “Next year in Jerusalem?”

He shook his head and turned away with his hand still raised. “Good night, Ahasuerus,” he said, but he didn't look back.

The dark of his coat looked like wings as he walked away.

“Goodnight, Judas,” Tim whispered, standing there alone in the darkness, watching him go.

Judas.

The name seemed to rip something inside me.

Judas.

My knees felt like rubber, and I had to grab the shelf to keep from falling over.

Tim turned to look right at me. I took a step back, trying to hide in the dark.

“Mr. Tanner, I presume?” he said. “Please come out from the shadows. Time is growing short, and we have much to talk about.”

SIMON

“I'm not sure about this,” Karen whispered as we crept down the stairs.

I don't know who had thought of it first, but we had sat up in bed and turned on one of the lamps and talked for hours, talked in circles. We had talked ourselves out.

“I'm not either,” I said, holding her hand.

In the end, we had got up and pulled on our robes.

At the doorway to the living room, I was stopped by the enormity of what we were considering. In the silvery light through the blinds I saw the shape of her body barely lifting the sheets. We couldn't. We just couldn't…

“Are you okay?” Karen asked.

“I'm not sure,” I answered. “You?”

“I'm not sure either.”

From the window came a light pattering, almost but not quite like rain. Without thinking, I drew the curtain aside. Karen joined me and we peered out, our breath misting against the glass.

Outside, the world was transformed. Wet snow was falling, not yet covering the ground, but spiralling and refracting under the streetlight, shimmering like a galaxy, like a benediction in our front yard. With what we were about to do, it felt almost sacred.

“That's so beautiful,” Karen whispered.

I let the curtain fall back into place, brushing the three stones that Karen kept on the sill, and turned to face our daughter, my eyes still dazzled by the snow-bright midnight.

Turning on the lamp, I noticed, for the first time, that Sherry had grown since the accident, that her body was longer in the bed, that her hair was longer too. I wondered how long she would keep growing. Twenty years from now, would we be standing alongside the beautiful young woman we had always imagined her becoming, knowing that she would always be the three-year-old she was the day of the accident? I shook my head against the tears I could feel forming. I couldn't cry. If I started to cry, we would never get through this.

Blowing into my hands to warm them, I gently stroked her hair. “Hi, baby,” I whispered. “How are you tonight? You had a big day today, didn't you?”

I wanted to explain to her, to reassure her that everything was all right, but how could I do that? How do you explain to a little girl that her parents' happiness depends on her? It was so unfair. If there was any other way, we wouldn't even consider this.

Instead, I started to sing, quietly, my voice tremulous and near to breaking. “Hush, little baby, don't say a word, daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird…”

Karen was fighting back tears.

“I'm sorry, baby,” I said to Sherry as I gently drew back her covers. “I know it's cold. It'll only be for a minute.” As I spoke, I was praying that she understood. At the same time I was hoping that she was completely unaware.

“Simon, I…” Karen's fingers dug into my arm.

“We don't have to do this,” I said.

She looked down at Sherry and shook her head. “No, I think we do.”

I met her eye and nodded. “Do you want…?”

She shook her head. “No, you. You first.”

I knelt beside the bed, leaning my head against the cool sheets for a long moment, trying to build my courage. Finally, I straightened up.

“And if that mockingbird don't sing,” I shifted her hand gently to my forehead, closing my eyes. “Daddy's gonna buy you a diamond ring,” I couldn't stop my tears. Unlike the daddy in the song, I could do nothing to help her. Instead, she was helping me. Us.

I kept her hand against my forehead for a full minute, holding in my mind the image of Karen's face at the very moment of Sherry's birth, the pure joy as the sticky, curded bundle of blood and breath was pressed into her arms, that moment when our eyes made contact over the slick head of our daughter.

Our daughter.

I don't know what I was expecting: a blinding flash, perhaps; a revelation, or a healing glow. I didn't feel anything except cold. But as I took her hand away, laying it gently on her covers, I felt comforted, as if someone had whispered to me, “It's all right. Everything's going to be all right.”

I chose to believe that.

As we traded places, Karen kissed me, quickly, full on the mouth.

For a moment she stood uncertainly at the bedside, then she untied the loose knot of the belt of her robe and allowed it to fall open.

“Hi, baby,” she said quietly. “Are you cold? I'm cold. I'm sorry. This will only take a minute.”