The Knight Of The Rose (43 page)

My slippers.

Ignoring my nakedness, I ran, falling to my knees in front of them. But when I reached down,

my hands grasped nothing except the vacant space of a shattered wish.

Just before my heart dropped, red shimmered again, a few steps away. I laun ched at them

with ungraceful speed, squatting down to grab them just as they disappeared into the dark again.

No! I cried inside, losing hope to the empty silence that had become my life.

My fingers fisted the hair behind my ears an d I folded over, weeping aloud, even though no

one would hear me. “I just want to go home,” I yelled up at the in different black. “Do you hear me?

Let me go!”

As the anger turned to fear, like a vacuum sucking a hole in my belly, I sat on the ground and

hugged my knees to my chest, whimpering to myself in the hollow silence.

I’m alive—but I’m never getting out of here.

More days passed, and without my mind or body or the solidity of my limbs to keep me sane,

I wandered through the dank eternity of nothing—searching for the li ght to take me home, praying

I’d find anything; be it heaven or hell.

Then I heard a high, short tone. A beep.

I looked up; it was st ill dark, but I’d never heard that sound be fore, nor the quiet pumping of

air that filled the background.

The beeps continued.

What is that?

The sound travelled through my ear canals and f looded my jaw, my collarbones and rushed

through my arms, bringing the solid feeling back with it again—solid and heavy and cold—so cold.

A blanket. I need a blanket.

I couldn’t move my mo uth. I wanted to speak, but something was stuck against my teeth;

something plastic, round and tight—forcing air through my lungs—causing an icy ache in my throat.

I wanted to pull it out.

The beep continued like an annoying ring in my ears, but with a rhythm that reminded me of

something.

Music.

I remembered music. I remembered a song—one I heard so long ago in a plac e that felt like

home, with a boy I know I loved, but could no longer see when I closed my eyes.

The constant beat of the beeps and the whooshing hum of the air pumping something

mechanical-sounding brought words to my mind; “Forever is no more a bitter end.”

As I opened my eyes, light f looded the ro om, creeping along the walls and f loor like t he

morning sun sweeping the grass in the early hours. It touched my toes, my ankles and flowed up over

my denim jeans and singlet top until, as I looked around me for the first time, the light illuminated

the leafy green trees and foliage-covered floor of a forest. I know this place…

The lake! This is the lake.

And that perfect song was the whisper on the breeze.

“David?” I remember him now.

Eternity.

My love.

The red rose.

The silky voice.

He came back to me? He was here. He was actually here.

It was like I could see him so clearly—sit ting just across the way, crouching over a blue

guitar and singing that song; his voice so heartbreakingly beautiful.

I remember this. I remember David.

The beeps—they picked up, but the song trailed behind—lost under the speed of the sound.

“David?“ I called out to him.

But he couldn’t hear me either, and he didn’t see me. Or perhaps he didn’t want to see me.

Perhaps he was still hurt because I chose Mike.

“Oh, David. I wish I could take it all back. I love you so much.” My voice reverberated, like

speaking into a small, tin container. Tears touched my face again; unfamiliar friends in a home they

once knew well. “I’m sorry.”

When the pain of losing him hit me all over again, my newly found knees buckled and I hit

the ground—face first; the smell of fresh dirt under my lips was strangely familiar, yet so vague, like

wheat or hot grass. David’s song echoed in the space around me and faded out as the beeps sped up,

and finally, drowned out the beauty.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” a stiff-sounding man said.

My body became stiff too, and tight; I could feel gravity again, but couldn’t use it.

“Once the tube is out, she may just slip away,” he added.

“But—” Someone burst into tears; Vicki, I think. “She looks perfectly fine. How can s he be

brain-dead?”

What? Brain-dead? I’m not brain-dead. I struggled against my confines—trying to get up—

stuck face-first on the black, hard ground.

What do they mean by brain-dead?

“The tests were conclusive, ma’am. I’m sorry. In some cases the patient can stay in a coma,

on life-support, for years to come. In your daughter’s case, it would be best for her if she didn’t.”

Wait! No. I’m right here
, I yelled.
I’m not brain-dead. Vicki. Dad. Please?

“Wait!” Vicki said. “Just…don’t take it out yet. Pease? Give her more time.”

“Her father signed the forms, Mrs. Thompson. I’m sorry.”

“Greg?” her voice broke. “Greg, please?”

“Vicki. Just stop,” Mike said. “Please. She’s gone. Don’t make her suffer any more than she

already has.”

Mike? No. No.

Warm tears sprung from my eyes and fell from my chin to th e emptiness of the pitch-black

eternity. Don’t give up on me, Mike. I’m not brain-dead. I’m still in here. They got it wrong.

“Hand me that tray, please?” t he stiff-sounding man said to someone, and in my world I

clutched my chin as the feel of muggy, sweaty hands touched it.

Get it off. Stop touching me!

I couldn’t move. I could feel my body, my arms, my face, but couldn’t get his sticky hands of

me.

Please? Don’t let me go yet. Don’t give up on me.

David! Where’s David? He could read my mi nd, tell them I’m still here, help me, rescue

me—but he left me, gave me away, and he never even came to save me from...

A tugging sensation snaked up my t hroat and grated my insides like the ribbed curve of a

straw. My l ungs felt t ight, strained—like air was being drawn in through a thick cl oth over my

mouth. The room went silent for a breath, then, the beeps sounded in one dull, flat pitch.

“Greg, please?” Vicki whispered. “Please don’t let her go.”

The anguished sobs of t hose around me flooded my hear t.
Don’t cry for me; I’m not dead.

Please?
I focused on the beeps—willed them to move—but they rang out in monotone.

“Fight, Ara,” a smooth voice hummed, the melody of his tone dark with sorrow. Cool lips

brushed softly over my eyes...

Wait, cool? David?! Is that David—is he really here?

The air. It was so thick, I couldn’t breathe—couldn’t catch a gasp to scream out to him, to

David. He was there. Right there beside me.

David, stay. Don’t go—I need to see you. Please, please stay.

But nothing had changed. They couldn’ t hear me. David couldn’ t hear me—or he was n’t

listening.

“The ruby slippers,” my imagination suggested, appearing beside me in the darkness, locked

behind the mirrored glass she had always lived beyond.

Hope filled my world for a beat of my heart. Maybe if I could find them, they could get me

home. They were my only hope. I willed them to appear—closed my eyes and drew two crossed

lines over my chest with my finger as I wished with all my heart.

A flash of colour brightened the shadowy world behind me; I spun around and, in the empty

space, seeming so far away, the slippers appeared. But as I took a step toward them, they drifted, like

a bird on a wave of the ocean, slowly away from me.

No. No, come back. I chased them; forcing myself to run faster. Please wait?

The beeps rang out behind me; flat and l ifeless. Only s econds had passed, but i t felt li ke

forever because I knew David was ther e. I had to get to hi m, to tell him I loved him and that I’d

change for him—that I’d become what he is. There would never be another chance.

I forced myself against gr avity and leaped at the shoes—landing w ith a jolt thr ough my

elbow and knees as they hit the black, marble ground. But in my agony, I owned a smi le as I rolled

onto my back and looked down at my hands; glass, ruby—I got ‘em!

With only a small glimmer of hope that my feet still existed, I imagined them in my mind and

slipped into the shoes, then stood up without another thought, and tapped my heels together.

The whisper of my chant touched my lips—the thing that blocked the air before was gone,

allowing my tongue to move over the dry, metal-tasting cracks left in place.

Cool air rushed down my throat. I closed my eyes tight and crossed my fingers, clicking my

heels melodiously as I willed the beeps to move again. “God, please. If you’re up there, please...?”

Under my prayer I heard a sound; I opened one eye and looked around, sure it was n’t

possible. But then I heard it again. Small and faint, and so quiet between each one. But as my heart

skipped beat when the next one came, I smiled.

It’s back? The Beep. I did it, I did it. “Oh, ruby slippers, I love you.” I ripped them from my

feet and kissed the toes of each one, then l ooked up; it was dark, but I coul d feel my hand again—

holding something in the world beyond.

David?. . . David, is that you?

“Ara?”

It is David’s voice, no stranger at all—it’s David. He’s here. He’s really here.

“Ara.”

You can hear me?

“Yes,” he whispered, quieter than a mouse, then, in a loud er voice said, “Just stay with me,

please—don’t slip away again.”

Overcome with joy, my small hysterical laugh chimed around me. He can hear me. At last, he

can hear me.

“You’re going to be okay, Ar a. You’ve pulled through. You made it,” he whispered in my

ear. “Yes—” his voice became louder, projected to somewhere else, “thank you, Doctor Yamane.”

“Be sure to page me if ther e’s any change—although, in thes e cases, David, we hold little

hope that the patient ever wakes up.”

“Thanks, Doc,” my dad said. My dad? That’ s my dad. I mi ss him so much. “Mike, David,

I’m going down to get a coff ee—I’ll be back in an hour , okay?” he said softly; he sounded so tired,

his voice absent of the smile it always held.

David?

“Ara—can you hear me?”

Yes, David, I can hear you.

A cool gush of air blew across my face; “Oh, thank God!” Something wet and cold touched

my brow; lips?—a kiss? “Thank God,” he said again.

David? Help me. Please? I need to be out of the dark.

“I’m trying, my love. I’m trying so hard.”

I can feel you. My hand. I can feel you.

“Can you feel this?” David asked.

No
.

“This?” he asked again.

No. Nothing
…. Wait—what’s that? Soft. Silky. So smooth. It’s cold. I can smell…roses.

“Yes. Roses.” David laughed; I could pict ure his elated smile—the dimple, the gl istening

green eyes I thought I’d never see again. “Do you feel this?”

A silky touch smoothed down over my cheek, and a sweet, wate ry fragrance lapped the back

of my throat as I breathed it in. I reached up in my world and touched my face. My hands had no

feeling, but I knew I was holding something. When I looked down in the darkness, I saw a rose; a

full blossom—soft and milky-white.

“Yes,” David whispered. “It’s a white rose.”

Ouch! My subconscious mind jumped back, though my body stayed stiff like a corpse.

The rose slipped away from my grip and fell to the floor in the darkness around me. All the

blood in my fingertip pulsated to one spot where a throbbing sensation consumed my attention.

That hurt.

“I know. I’m sorry. It has thorns,” David said.

I watched as, in sl ow motion, blood dripped down onto the pet al of the lifeless flower and

rested there, folding the silken edge down slightly.

Beauty in blood—it was almost pretty.

David?

His voice was gone again, but I was sure he was still there. Or that, at least, someone was. Id’

never felt that before, but I felt like, down in my dark world, someone was watching, someone was

close. My finger throbbed harder, the sensation travelling up my arm, but the pain dissipated when I

heard a distant sound—something in my dark world. I turned my head to listen, straining my ears.

The vastness of black had always been hollow, like I was standing on a cliff top in the middle

of the night; there was nothing but s pace, and now, an eerie feeling that something more sinister

could be hiding within its depths.

Once I’d have welcomed that, welcomed anything. Only now, with the hope that David could

save me, the idea of anything other than me being in this darkness made my skin crawl. If I was the

only one here, lost , alone with who-knows-what wa tching me, then I would surely be the only one

they could see—the only one they would come for.

Had they stalked me. Watched me . Followed me all this ti me, waiting for hope to restore so

they could drain it from my soul—use it for their own purpose.

My ears rung with the silence. No breeze. No sound. No heat or cold. Just blackness and the

feeling I wasn’t alone.

Then, I heard a whisper.

“Who...who’s there?” I stared forward, my shoulders stiff around my ears. No one answered.

“David?”

“A-ra....” It’s whisper trai led off to a de ep, raspy breath and the e erie crawl of something

behind me slithered over my spine, creeping out over my shoulder and onto the ground in front of