Special Preview of Bridge Between Stars

Prologue

At the beginning of the end, before the God Lily and the end of the world, an old farmer and his dying wife were very much in love. 

At the end of a day like most other days, Melvin Bingham brought his tractor to a stop at the crest of a hill, and shut off the engine.  He could see the full acreage of his farm, stretching from where he sat to the cut bank gorge on the northern end, and bordered by the railway tracks to the east.  Tall, snowcapped mountains rose in the west, a constant reminder of the jagged wilderness just on the outskirts of their small, Montana town.

The old farmer admired his day’s work and mopped the dribbles of sweat on his forehead.  It made him feel young again, and that feeling was fine.

Well, maybe not young, but certainly less old.  Working his land made Melvin forget about the hands of the giant clock that never stopped ticking, marking each second and minute and year and lifetime.  He was getting near that moment when the clock would stop ticking for him, but would continue to march on for the rest of the world.

Melvin hated that clock, how it ticked and tocked and never stopped or slowed.  Sometimes those giant hands moved faster than normal, you bet your bottom button, but no matter how much you prayed and begged and pleaded, it would never slow.

The old farmer spent another few seconds looking out over his land, at the way the water misted across the dark greens of the sprouting wheat plants, the play of light and shadow across the valley. 

He felt a pang of nostalgia, remembering all the years he’d spent in these fields, nearly a lifetime planting, nurturing, harvesting and turning the ground to begin once again.

He sighed and flipped the tractor’s ignition.  The engine coughed and sputtered to life.  The tractor was old too, but still chugging.  He shifted into gear, turned the tractor around, and began driving back along the narrow dirt road toward home.

Toward Pearl.

He rounded a bend, and saw his old red barn, leaning slightly with age.  Near the barn stood the calico brick farm house his grandfather had built, a trail of white smoke rising from the chimney against the darkening blue summer sky.  The smell of smoke spiced the air, and he was filled with a brief flash of hope.   Maybe Pearl was having one of her good days and had climbed out of bed to stoke the cast iron stove.  He entertained that idea for a moment: Pearl standing over the stove with a fresh pot of tea and biscuits, hot and ready to be eaten with cold butter.  The butter would be fresh, purchased that afternoon, or the day before from the Gardeners down the way.  Melvin especially liked it when Pearl would cut up fresh herbs to add with salt to the butter, adding a touch of savory flavor to the biscuits.  Coming into the farmhouse, he would wrap his arms around her waist and pull her body close to his.  Her neck and hair would smell like nutmeg and cloves as he kissed her hello, and they would sit on the porch together with the biscuits and tea.

It was a picture that had been reality a thousand times before, and was one of his favorite memories. 

But now, the memory was wishful thinking.  Living on nostalgia.  The giant clock was ticking, and they got older, and Pearl got sick. 

The kind of sick that killed.

***

A few minutes later, Melvin opened the back door and stepped into the mudroom.  He removed his shoes and hung his jacket on the hook above the washing machine.  All the while, he waited to hear her voice, but never did.

Except for the crackling of burning wood in the stove, now little more than glowing embers left over from the fire he himself had built early that afternoon, the house was quiet.  Worn floorboards creaked as he went into the kitchen and filled the pot for tea.

“Mel?  Is that you?”

The sound of Pearl’s voice startled him, and he dropped the teapot into the sink.  He’d been hoping for the sound of her voice, but hadn’t expected it.  Melvin chuckled at his own clumsiness, but felt that same glimmer of hope and memory again.   He finished filling the pot and placed it the stove before going into the bedroom.

“Pearl, I didn’t know you were up,” he said, cheerily.

“Not up, just resting.”

She sat propped in the bed, a bundle of knitting on her lap, and smiled at him.  Her skin was a sallow, yellowish color, and what few strands of hair she had left were draped down the sides of her face.  Wispy little lines of white, much like the smoke from the chimney.  Through the sickness that was killing her, he could see the girl he’d sat next to in grammar school, way back when.  She was as beautiful now as the first moment he’d first seen her.  Eyes sparkling and a wide, contagious smile. 

It was the first time in a very long time that he remembered her looking happy like this.

“How are you feeling?”

“Old,” she said.  “You didn’t move the rigging yourself, did you?”

He shrugged, and she scowled.

“You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, Pearl,” he said, but couldn’t suppress his grin.  “What are you up to?”

She held up the knitting as he sat on the bed with her.  She had several skeins of yarn stacked in a little pile, all of them varying shades of blue and grey.

“Thought I’d finish up this blanket and give it to Tom for his new baby.  Have you heard from Tom?  His wife okay?”

“Tom and Mary are fine, last I heard,” Melvin said, “and their little one is fine too.  Eating well and sleeping through the night.”

“Oh that’s good,” Pearl said, beaming.  Pearl loved babies and children, and although they’d never been able to have any of their own, she took every chance she could to be around them.

“I’ll tell Tom to bring the baby around in a few weeks, so you can give him the blanket yourself.”

Her eyes darkened, but only for a second, and she was smiling again.  Melvin knew what had caused that darkening of her expression, and was sure they’d shared the same thought: if there’s enough time, that is.

It was a dark thought they’d both been thinking for some time now, and one that would send Pearl into a somber mood for days.  It was too early for her to go, and they both knew it.  The clock kept ticking, no matter how much they wished it wouldn’t.

But Pearl recovered from the dark thought rather quickly, and it wasn’t long before she was smiling and knitting away.

“So what’s got you so happy today?”

She looked up at him, and then nodded toward the wall behind him. Melvin looked, and saw that the television was turned on, with the volume turned low.  The channel was tuned to one of only six stations they received, and the news was currently being broadcast.  Closed captioning ran along the bottom, and Melvin saw the words NUCLEAR WAR and THREAT OF BIO WEAPONS IN SYRIA and EBOLA VIRUS OUTBREAK appear before turning back to Pearl, his eyebrows cocked with confusion.

Pearl laughed at his expression, and nodded again toward the television.

“It’s not on right this second, but it’ll be back.  They’ve been showing coverage all day.”

“What’s this about nuclear war?”

“Some skirmish in Korea.  Chinese are involved somehow, don’t really know.  Bunch of needless tension.  Boils down to men who think they are much more important than they are, thumping their chests and comparing who’s got the biggest privates.”

Melvin coughed, a surprised chuckle escaping.  The crude expression was something he would not have ever expected from Pearl.

She ignored his guffaw and kept talking. “But that’s bad news, and so is the business about the virus and bio terrorism, or what not, in the Middle East.  The news I’m talking about is good.”

Pearl’s eyes shined again, and she put down her knitting, placing the bundle of yarn into her lap and reaching for Melvin’s hands.

“They have a cure for cancer, honey,” she said, “and just about every other disease.  They’re calling it a miracle.”

***

“Deuslilium Sanguineum, or the God Lily, was found quite by accident,” the man said.  A title card appeared at the bottom of the screen that said: DR. REID GOMEZ, PH.D.  The man’s dark hair was long and tied into a ponytail that hung stiffly from the back of his head.  His dark skin was sun and wind damaged, clear signs that the man spent a great deal of time outdoors.

“The first traces of the plant were discovered on pieces of driftwood in a mangrove forest on a barrier island off the Florida keys.  It was discovered by a group of marine botanists from the University of Miami, who immediately recognized the plant as a non-native species.  The botanists returned the specimen to their lab and began their analysis.  It did not take long until the unique genetic structure of the plant was discovered and its potential as a medicinal herb fully realized.  But they needed the whole plant, as well as more specimens for further testing and analysis.  The students searched every known database to identify the plant species, but with no luck.  After a while, it became evident that the lily was a new species, and a search to find its origin was organized—

“Which is where you and Dr. Shepherd came into play,” a woman’s voice interjected from off screen. The camera panned to reveal an attractive blonde in a red dress, sitting opposite Dr. Gomez.

“Yes,” Dr. Gomez chuckled.  “That is where we came into play.”

“And the Ctha’nko,” the woman said, awe in her voice.

“Yes, the Ctha’nko.”

“Mel?” Pearl asked, speaking for the first time in several hours.

Melvin, sitting in the old rocking chair in the corner of their bedroom, tore his attention away from the screen and turned to his wife.

Pearl was in bed, sitting on the patchwork quilt with a pillow between her back and the headboard.  Her hands gently guided the knitting needles, and Melvin could see that her movements were visibly slowing.

“Yes, dear?” he asked.

“Could you get me a glass of water, please?”

“Of course.” He reached over and patted Pearl’s bare knee, her skin wrinkled and papery.  When he stood, his body felt stiff and tired.

Well, what do you expect, he asked himself as he ambled to the kitchen.  He’d been watching the television programs with Pearl off and on for several weeks now.  He had practically memorized the story of the God Lily, and how it came to be discovered.  Not only were the same programs rebroadcast on an almost daily basis, but new interviews and hastily produced documentaries on the Ctha’nko and the God Lily were being posted all the time.

It was the discovery of the century, and possibly the most important discovery of all time.  Not just the God Lily, but the people who’d cultivated and grown the plant—a primitive tribe of people who lived on an island that was previously thought to have been uninhabited.

The Ctha’nko.

The tribe was small, with fewer than a hundred men and women, and strikingly few children.  Until recently, they had never been contacted by the modern world.  They were the mark of innocence in a world of increasing tension and violence, the bearers of a miracle plant that some were calling a gift from God. 

Even Melvin, who had not been particularly religious throughout his life, was beginning to consider the possibility of a higher power at work here.  In Melvin’s humble opinion, it was a miracle.  The Ctha’nko, and their plant, would save the human race from disease and sickness.  They appeared from nowhere, on an island that was previously thought to be uninhabited, and they had the God Lily.  The answer to so many prayers.

The answer to his own prayers.

At the sink, he turned on the water and filled the cup to overflowing.  Outside, the wheat was nearly full grown, thanks mostly to an unusually wet summer.  With Tom still at home with the new baby, Melvin had been unable to keep up with the watering.  Even when he did have the energy, he found it so difficult to tear himself away from the news—any news—about the Ctha’nko and their miracle plant, that he rarely went outside anymore.

Instead of farm work, Melvin watched and waited and hoped.

It hadn’t taken long before the God Lily was cultivated for mass production.  New drugs were being tested every day, and it was only a matter of time before the pills would be given to the public.

And hopefully to Pearl, because her time was ticking and they both knew it.

Melvin knew that he needed patience, knew that the God Lily would be available to all.  It was a miracle for all to share. An answer to his prayers.

And it would save her.

It had become an obsession.  Every minute of the day, he thought of little else.  The flower would save Pearl, and it would save the world.

They just needed a little more time.

Melvin turned off the water and returned to the bedroom, where Pearl had set aside the blanket she was knitting.  It was more than halfway done.

A few years ago, she would have finished in less than half the time she’d already been working on it.  Her fingers were slowing as the cancer crept into her bones and throughout her body.

The clock ticked, its hands moving with steady consistency around its face.

***

Summer grew hot, each day a long slog as the sun marked time in the sky.  Around the beginning of September, the temperatures began to cool.

Melvin sat near the bed in the worn rocking chair, watching the television with Pearl.  The blanket she was knitting was almost done, but it’d been weeks since she’d had the strength to work the needles.  Seeing her try, with her slow and painful movements, was almost worse than seeing the unfinished blanket in the knitting basket, but Melvin couldn’t stand the idea that she was done with knitting for good.

Every morning as he climbed from bed, the mattress springs and his joints creaking in unison, he would put Pearl’s knitting basket within easy reach.  Every day, he would watch and wait for her to pick up the bundles of yarn and wooden needles to resume her project.  He waited and hoped and prayed that she would again have more good days than bad, but it seemed less and less likely as time marched on.

Outside, the wheat was golden and ready for harvest.  Sometimes he would stand in the open doorway and gaze out over his fields as they waved in the wind.  The early autumn skies were a deep blue, in stark contrast with the waves of yellow crop.

He knew the fields needed to be worked, but he couldn’t find the motivation.  As Pearl grew more tired and sick, Melvin became more desperate.

Days became weeks became months.

Human testing with a pharmaceutical derived from the God Lily had proven successful.  It not only altered the genetic structure of many types of cancers, but of other diseases as well.

In a rare show of cooperation and altruism, private pharmaceutical companies worked with world leaders to produce the drug at a marginal cost that all could afford. Demand skyrocketed, and there was simply not enough of the drug to meet the demand.  A lottery was established to randomize who received a prescription for the miracle drug, until there was enough of the miracle drug to provide for all.

As Pearl lay in bed dying, Melvin sat at her side each day, watching as prescription lottery numbers were read on global news stations at 5:00 PM Eastern Standard Time.  Before and after Pearl’s number was not read, they learned more about the Ctha’nko.  Countless programs, documentaries and interviews were aired, teaching the world about the people who’d saved them.

On the television screen now, an aerial shot depicted the island home of the primitive people.  Across much of the surface of the island, though shrouded in heavy mists, the faint outlines of a circular pattern could be seen, beginning first in the thick jungle that covered most of the island, then extending out over a body of water.  It was a spiraling structure made of interloping trails and crisscrossing pathways that seemed to narrow toward the center.  But because of the heavy fog and the fact that the Ctha’nko would not allow any outsiders access to the structure, the very center of the structure had never been seen.

Scientists called the circular structure the Ctha’nko Altar, given its religious—almost fanatical—significance in the Ctha’nko culture.  The Altar’s appearance was strikingly similar to the Nazca Lines and Stonehenge.  Some even made a connection between the Ctha’nko Altar and modern crop circles that occasionally appeared around the world.

But Melvin did not see that connection.  To him, crop circles were modern hoaxes, but there was something special about the Ctha’nko Altar, something that demanded respect and reverence.  The more he considered the altar, the more he was convinced that it was the way the Ctha’nko communicated with their god.  Possibly the God, if he or she truly existed, which Melvin was finding to be more and more of a possibility.

How else could the God Lily be explained, but for a higher power?

And the lily would save Pearl.  He just needed a little more time, and she would be given a prescription for the drug.  Her sickness would become a dark memory, and they would continue to grow old together, watching, hand in hand, as the clock continued its march.  It wouldn’t matter, the passage of time, because they would be together.

 “Mel?”

Her voice was weak, and Melvin felt a dull ache in his heart.  His eyes lingered for a moment on the television—Dr. Shepherd, one of the scientists studying the Ctha’nko, was discussing the Ctha’nko Altar in detail, explaining that the Ctha’nko seemed to believe that their ancestors were confined at the center.

“Darling?”

“Do you remember when we used to can peaches?  It was ‘round this time of year, I think.  It was always so hot outside, and Stanley’s Supermarket would get the big bushels of peaches.  Some of the girls would come from town and help out, and they’d take quarts of peaches home with them.  Do you remember how sticky the countertops and floors got?”

She laughed, and it became a cough.  He chuckled along with her, patting her hand. He remembered their marathon peach-canning days as if it were yesterday.  The smell of the fresh fruit, the taste of juicy yellow flesh.

“I do remember,” he said, and waited for her to expand on her thought, but she never did.  Instead, her head lolled to the side, and she smiled.

***

With a startled cry, Melvin woke when it was dark outside, the sun long set over the western mountains, with hours still before it would rise in the east.  At first, he thought Pearl had died.  The panic instantly spread a numb tingling through all of his limbs, and he rolled to his side.  He laid his fingers on her chest and leaned close enough to touch her cheek with his forehead.

Pearl was warm, and her chest moved ever so slightly with each breath.

As his mind cleared, an image lingered from the dream he’d been having before he woke.  A circular pattern was burned in his mind, wide at its edges and narrowing in the middle.

The Ctha’nko Altar.

The pattern came with an idea.

Melvin slid from beneath the covers and into his slippers. His body ached with age, but he ignored the pain.

Melvin draped the thin bathrobe over his shoulders but did not tie the belt.  He walked slowly through the house toward the front door, stepping in all the right places to avoid the squeaks of the floor boards.

Outside, a biting breeze rustled the dead wheat.  Snow and cold were coming with the onset of winter.

Melvin pulled the robe tight and walked across the yard to the old wooden barn.  It seemed like a cathedral in the dark, its mass looming above him and touching the heavens.  He stood and looked at the barn for a long time.

It could be more than just a cathedral.

And he would save Pearl.

He opened the barn door, found his tools, and then began pulling planks of wood off the exterior walls of the barn.

***

Melvin continued to work until the sun rose and beat down with its persistent light and heat on his back.  His robe had torn on a loose nail several hours before, and he’d tossed it aside into the skeletal remains of a bramble bush and kept working.

His hands started bleeding when all the boards he could reach on one side of the barn were pulled down.  Melvin took his shirt off and ripped away strips of cloth to wrap around his palms.  He spread his arms and stretched the muscles in his back and shoulders.

I should check on Pearl, he thought, and then decided to finish this part of his plan before going back inside.  He surveyed his progress.  Half of the boards on one wall of the barn were ripped away and stacked in two piles, chest-high.

Probably enough for starters.

He hefted two of the boards and set off for the nearest field.  The dried husks of wheat crunched underfoot as he carried the wood into the middle of the field and tossed it to the ground.  Melvin knelt and took one of the grain heads in his hand, studying the florets and grains of wheat.  In a way, he was surprised and pleased that the crop had fared so well without the typical watering routine. The grains were still good and could be harvested if he hurried.  He wouldn’t be able to get to all of his crop, but he’d be able to harvest some.

After this, he mused.  After I’m done saving Pearl, I’ll harvest the wheat.  Just need a little more time.

Just a little more time.

The next few hours passed as Melvin continued his trek from the barn to the field and back again, carrying a load of boards with him each time.  By the time he finished transferring all the boards into the field, there was a clear path through the dried stalks of wheat, trampled beneath his bedroom slippers.

Melvin took a few of the shorter boards and fashioned a circle on the ground.  Then he took some more and began laying the boards in a spiral out from the circle.  Melvin knew he would need more planks of wood.  Many more, but the barn walls had a sufficient supply.

He kept working, laying boards in a circle that widened the further it got from the center, until the light once again sank behind the western peaks.  The moon started its course through the clear night sky, and he collapsed, his body twisted with cramps and age and exhaustion.

I’m saving you, honey, Melvin thought as he fell.  His dried and cracked lips moved to whisper her name, to tell her that it was all going to be okay because he’d solved the problem, but no sound came out.

Sleep washed over him like the ocean surf, and he slept in the dead field of wheat.

***

A full day passed before he awoke, and the sky was a brilliant pink sunset when he did.  Airy wisps of clouds stretched from one horizon to the other.

Pink sky in the morning, sailors take warning—the old rhyme his mother would say came to him in a flash of memory.

Pink sky at night, sailor’s delight.

Melvin rolled to his hands and knees.  The thin skin of his chest was a deep crimson, burned with a day’s worth of sun, and it hurt mightily.  Otherwise, Melvin felt better than he had in years.

Rejuvenated.  Younger.

He stood up on his knees, then climbed to his feet and admired the circular structure he’d built.  His own altar.  It wasn’t finished yet, but another day and night, and maybe it would be done.

Pearl.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d been in the field, but he knew that he hadn’t seen his wife for some time now.  Melvin started toward the house, then thought better of it.  He turned and knelt before the altar.  He took several deep breaths, choosing his words carefully.

“I’ve never been one with words,” he said slowly, “and I don’t know your name.  I just know that you’re the Ctha’nko God, and maybe you’re my God too.”

Melvin hesitated in his prayer, unsure of what to say next.  He felt like a child praying for the first time. And for all he knew, it was the first time he was praying to this particular God.

“All I have to say is thank you.  Thank you for sending the lily.  Thank you for sending the Ctha’nko.  I’m trying to save my wife.”

Another long pause, and he heard the song of night birds.  A train rumbled by on the tracks that bordered his farm.

“Please, help me save my wife. That’s all.”

With that, he stood and went back to his house.

“Melvin!” Pearl called at the sound of the front door opening.  The sound startled him, and he jumped.

“Honey?”

“Melvin, come here, come in!” she said, more energy in her voice than he remembered ever being there.

When he entered the room, she was sitting up in bed, knitting the blue blanket for Tom’s baby.  He wondered absently what had happened to Tom.  It had been weeks now, maybe months, since he’d heard from him.  Maybe Tom and his wife were stuck in front of the television too, watching all this business about the Ctha’nko and the God Lily.

The television was tuned to the same news station they’d been watching since the beginning.  On the screen, they were discussing plans to bring the Ctha’nko leaders to the United States where they would be welcomed by the President of the United States and other leaders and dignitaries.

“Is everything okay?”

Pearl’s eyes twinkled.  She looked up at him, not noticing the severe sunburn across his bare chest and face.  She seemed not to have noticed that he’d been gone.

“We won.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“The prescription lottery.  We won.”

“How?” Melvin ran his hand through the thin strands of white hair, wincing at the sting of burned skin.  He sat on the bed, joy and gratitude filling his chest.

“When?”  

“Last night, they called my number.  I almost didn’t listen, but they called my number and I called them.  It’s the cure, Melvin.  The God Lily, and we won.”

He shut his eyes, squeezing tears from their corners.  His heart swelled, and for just a moment, he felt peace and hope.  The clock would keep ticking, and it would mark the end of her time at some point, but they would be together for a little longer.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

Melvin opened his eyes and smiled as wide as he had on their wedding day.  He reached across the quilt and took her hand in his.

“So happy,” he said, and then leaned across the bed to kiss her fingers.

“I want you to show it to me,” she said, and pulled back to study her face.  “You’re building it, right?  I had a dream that you were.”

He nodded.

“Take me to see it.  I don’t think I have the strength to walk yet, but maybe you could carry me?”

Melvin said nothing because his heart was so full.  She was going to live.  His many prayers had been answered, and they would be together.

“How long until the prescription arrives?” he asked, knowing the process could take a while due to security considerations.

“We have enough time to finish the altar.  To give thanks.”

When he lifted her, he could hardly feel the sunburn as her frail body pressed against his.  Melvin carried her outside and into the waning daylight.  The sky was still pink, turning a deeper shade of purple, and she gasped at the vibrancy of the colors.

“It’s been so long,” she whispered and kissed his ear.  He felt an old stirring in his body.  She hadn’t kissed him like that for so long, and it brought back a flood of memories.

“I love you, Pearl.”

She accidently dropped the blanket she’d been knitting, and neither of them noticed it fall to the ground in the center of the yard between the house and what was left of the barn.

They entered the field, walking along the path he’d already beaten. 

Another train, this one heading south, rumbled along the railway tracks to the east, crossing the elevated bridge over the Cut Bank Creek river.

A swirling mist had already started to form above the field where he’d begun building the altar.  It hung like a blanket above the golden stalks of dead wheat.

The giant clock continued marking seconds and minutes and hours, and Melvin carried his bride to the altar.

One

She was never very good at this life anyway. 

Tiny pills spilled from the bottle into the palm of her hand, a faded blue on her calloused skin. The color of a newborn baby’s eyes. Two and three at first, so small and unassuming, and then more.  She tried not to think about the blue in her kids' eyes when they first opened and looked up at her.   All three of them had been that same shade.  The color of new life, unmarred.

Ami remembered staring into those eyes, tears in her own, and the moment seemed to last forever, Greyson sitting on the edge of the bed, his body close.  They held their babies together and studied those eyes. 

Olivia was first, born not quite three years into their marriage.  She had stared back at her parents, contemplative and seemingly at peace with the sudden exit from the womb.  She had a full head of dark hair that would eventually bleach with sun and chlorine, often caked with salt and sand.  But her skin had always been dark, even just moments into this world, as if tanned by preordination.  Olivia—sometimes they called her O—would have been tanned, even if that wasn’t her natural skin color.  If given a choice, she would be outside, and even before she’d learned to swim, O chose the water.  Always in the water, swimming.  Their little fish.

The twins had come four years later in a writhing whirlwind.  Even inside, the boys never stopped moving.  Always wrestling, punching and kicking. She imagined them laughing and giggling incessantly as much before they were born as after.  Ami would often joke that she had a two-ring circus constantly playing out in her belly.  Mostly, the humor in that joke was drowned out by the hysterical fatigue in her voice.  She never did get the hang of sleeping with two kids playing soccer with her organs.

When the twins had finally decided to make their appearance, they had come quickly and with as much fanfare as they could muster with their tiny lungs.  Neither stopped wailing until they were tightly wrapped in soft white blankets, blue knit caps covering the thin peach fuzz on their scalps.  After months of lists, websites, and thick books full of name possibilities, they had settled on Finnegan (his pick) and Vangogh (hers).  Finn and Vigo for short, and right from the beginning, the names had suited the boys.

In those brief moments between the twins’ birth and Ami falling asleep, the pair of them had stared at her with knowing eyes, the exact shade of blue that Olivia's had been.  This time it wasn't just Greyson snuggled next to her on the bed.  On the other side, Olivia knelt on the mattress, leaning close and studying the new additions to their family.  Like always, the four-year-old studied the situation, contemplating the details before opening her mouth.

In that moment, with clear tubes stuck in her veins, the smell of sterility, and the beeps and bustle of the hospital's maternity ward just beyond the open door, Ami felt that her life was complete. If she died at that moment, it would have been after seeing her greatest work.

The final brush strokes, completing her life.  Pulling them all together.

Alone now, in her studio, those moments in the hospital were so long ago. 

Her brushes were washed and put away, the paint drying on canvas.  Her final piece, more subtle and quiet than those first few moments together as a family.

In the end, this was for them. 

Her final dedication to Greyson and the kids.

Ami wished she was with them.  Maybe reading a story to the kids, or snuggling with Greyson.

But it was better this way.  She was, after all, doing this for them.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed, rattling somewhere behind her, wherever she had placed it last.  Ami was sure it was Greyson, calling to check in.  He was usually great about giving her space, especially during the last few weeks of a major project.  Sometimes, when she was focused on her work and especially at the end of a project, she would go sometimes an entire day and night without calling home.  Her “finishing time,” she called it, and Greyson would assume that was the case and would respect her privacy.

But this time, she had been gone for longer than two days, longer than she'd ever gone without so much as a text.  Ami couldn't bear the sound of his voice, didn't want to picture his face as they spoke or hear their kids playing in the background.

She ignored the call until the phone fell silent, and tried not to think about what Greyson and the kids were doing at that moment—except for Olivia, who Ami knew was probably upstairs reading in her room.  Over the previous summer, she'd fallen in love with the Boxcar Children.  The orphans living in a train car.  Olivia devoured the books, one right after another, and then again and again.  For sure, Olivia was lying on her bed and reading.

The twins?  Well, Finn and Vigo had never really stopped the double-ring circus act, chaotic whirlwinds of blonde hair and the boundless energy that came packaged with boys, batteries included.  8:30 and it was past their bedtime.  Without her there to enforce the schedule, Greyson would probably just be getting dinner on.

Ah, she remembered, the broadcast.  Greyson had been following everything about the Ctha’nko and the God Lily, and all the events leading up to the broadcast.  Ever since the discovery, he'd been obsessed, inhaling every detail that was published, every image and video in the news feed.

"The last real discovery of its kind," her husband had said. "Like finding alien life on a new planet, or the lost city of Atlantis."

Greyson's eyes danced with the same excitement she imagined him having as a kid on Christmas morning.

"Now, you're just being silly," she said, attempting a laugh that sounded forced.

Of course, her thoughts were elsewhere.  Already thinking about those blue pills.

Funny how it all changes.

Ami poured a pile of the baby blues and lost count. 

It didn't matter anyway.

She set the empty bottle of sleeping pills on the worn table beside the sliding glass door and didn't bother tightening the red cap.  Under normal circumstances, she would be worried about the twins getting into the pills, but not tonight.  And not that she was good for her kids anyway, not anymore.  Come morning, they would be safe again.  Safe from the pain and hurt that she caused.  That she would cause.

For a brief moment, Ami considered the way the sun would bleed out over the ocean as it rose from the darkness of night.  If a storm was coming in, the skies would be a deep purple.  A purple azure she would have called it, and Greyson would have insisted that her description of the sky was impossible.  But he wouldn't argue hard.  Colors were her thing, and if she wanted to make up an impossible color, he would respect that.  It was, after all, her colors that provided the basis for their livelihood.  Ami painted, and Greyson was her agent and broker, selling her work to wealthy collectors and institutions.

Aside from her husband and kids, she would miss painting the most.  The way the brushes felt in her fingers, the smell of canvas and wood, the limitless possibilities.  Some people read books or watched movies to escape their lives, sinking into the worlds created by others to forget their own problems and fears.  Ami painted to escape.  She painted to live.

But none of that really mattered any more.  The stars had aligned, her lot cast.  She cupped the baby blues in her hand, playing the cards she'd been dealt.  Ami opened a bottle of water and placed two pills on her tongue.  They immediately began to dissolve into a bitter paste, and she took a sip of water to wash them down.

Rain spattered the glass door, streams of water crisscrossing downward, melding together and splitting apart, distorting the world beyond.  The storm was soft at first, the sound of falling water gentle and smooth.

Outside, steam rose from the hot asphalt, and the air thickened with humidity.  Dark puddles reflected the neon blue, orange, and green lights from flashing billboards and city lights.  Street lamps bathed the city in a color that reminded her of lemon tea with a splash of cream.  Hot and warm and soothing.

Ami ignored her own reflection in the glass and stared out at the world she was leaving behind.  Or, what little of the world she could see.  Ami stood at the sliding glass door that opened to a small balcony, overlooking a narrow alley that opened up on Dixie Highway in the heart of the Wynwood Art District in Miami.  During the day, and if the weather was clear, she could see a sliver of ocean between several buildings.  You had to know where to look, but the ocean was there, just beyond.

Greyson would laugh and say that they had gotten a steal for an ocean view loft in Miami.  It was a joke, of course, but she liked the view.  It reminded her of the many times they had visited the beach as a family, less than a block from their apartment.

Ami took another three pills and swallowed them with water.

The twins loved the sand, running up and down the slopes and playing with the waves.  Together, they would build animals in the sand, giant turtles or swooping dragons, and then like lumbering Godzillas they would destroy their sculptures and start all over again.

Olivia was always in the water, diving and swimming, snorkeling and exploring.

She and Greyson would sit together on towels, him reading and her just watching the kids play and enjoying the peace that the sun and water brought her.  Ami loved the way the light reflected off the water, how the color of sand changed as it became wet and then dried, the movement of the kids and the smell of salt in the air.

Ami opened her eyes, not realizing they'd been closed.  She swayed on her feet and grabbed the doorframe to steady herself.  The pills were working, faster than she'd expected.  She slid the remaining pills from her palm and into her mouth, but didn't drink any water.  The bitterness melted and spread, dripping down her throat.  She closed her eyes and thought of the letter she'd written to Greyson.  A single sheet of paper, folded into an envelope that rested on her easel.  The letter was propped against her latest piece, a large canvas painting she'd been working on for the past couple of weeks.  She hadn't decided on a name yet, but was thinking of calling it Giraffes.  But then again, it would have to be Greyson who would decide on the final name.  To decide if it should be sold.  If she had her say, Ami would have wanted to hang this painting on the wall that ran along the staircase in their apartment.  It would look nice there, bringing color to an otherwise drab section of their home.  Not to mention the kids; they would love Giraffes.

A wave of nausea swept over her, followed quickly by a darkness that briefly clouded her mind. 

It would be over soon, and Ami wanted to sit down and wait for the end.  She wanted to think about her kids and the happy times they shared, as the curtain closed.

I'm sorry, Greyson.  This is not how I wanted things to end ...

Ami stumbled toward the purple chair in the corner of her studio, almost falling as the drugs coursed through her body.

Tall buildings at night, yellow light against the darkening purple azure.  Bridges connecting the buildings.

Giraffes.

Ami collapsed into the chair, sinking deep.  Her favorite chair, and one she'd slept in many times. 

But never like this.  Her arms and legs felt weighed down, her eyelids refusing to stay open.  Her head nodded.

Olivia, Finn and Vigo swimming, laughing, playing, reading, sleeping, running.  Olivia's hair wild and untamed, the twins smiling, always laughing and playing.  Finn, Vigo, snuggling with her in bed, one under each arm, pushing against her body and sharing her warmth.

Greyson.

Ami thought of their first trip together.  The stars and satellites.  Infinite worlds across the layered planes of the universe.   The memories melded together as her breathing slowed, and it became harder to inhale.  The images in her mind, the pictures she had wanted to keep forever, began to fade.  Ami fought to keep the curtain open just a little longer, to see the smiles on her kids’ faces, to hear their laughter one last time.

Two-ring circus.  Her swimmer.  Their smiles and kisses and snuggles.

But none of that mattered.  Not anymore.

And besides, she wasn't very good at this life anyway.

The last of the memories, nothing more than lights and sounds and feelings, grew smaller. Ami held onto it as long as she could, kept the curtains from closing just a second longer, then it blinked out.  She floated in an empty space that unfurled forever, her mind and body drifting apart.  A sleeping place that never ended.

A scream, from far away.

Several seconds passed before the sound registered.  Someone was screaming. 

A little girl.

Olivia?

No, that was impossible.  Olivia was at home with her dad, safe.  She was in bed, reading about the orphan children in the boxcar.

"Mommy!" the girl's voice cried, and she sounded just like Olivia.  The little girl was screaming and calling for her over and over again.

"O?  Baby?" She lifted her lolling head, opening her eyes slowly.  Like a reverse marionette, the strings pulling her down, she struggled out of her chair and moved toward the screams.

"O!  I'm coming, baby!"  Her voice sounded a million miles away, still stuck in that sleeping place.

The room whirled about her, spinning as she crossed to the door.  Ami stumbled into Giraffes and the canvas, with her letter to Greyson, slipped from its place on the easel with a clatter. 

Hysterical screams in the hallway just beyond.

Worse than any nightmare, each step toward the door was sticky and slow.

Ami fell into the steel door, her head slamming against the metal and bringing a momentary clarity to her mind.  The purple clouds in her mind parted enough to allow her to turn the deadbolt and slide the chain.  Ami flung open the door, a buzzing bright light spilling into her studio and stinging her eyes.

"I'm here, O, baby I'm here."

Her door opened to the middle of the hallway and she stepped out, looking toward the sound that had drawn her.  Ami saw the apple first, propped in the center of the hallway.

Still life with fruit, she thought, almost maniacally.

At the far end lay a crumpled heap of wet yellow plastic that glistened in the harsh light.  Ami stared for several seconds before realizing it was a raincoat, draped over a body that lay motionless.  Drops of rain dripped from the coat to the darkening carpet.

Kneeling beside the body was a girl, screaming and crying and pulling at a lifeless arm.

Ami swayed, almost losing consciousness as her vision and stability waned.  She crossed the hallway to the wall opposite her doorway, her muscles wavering.  A drug induced haze faded in and out of her vision, and she struggled to make sense of the details.

The mother and daughter. 

Something had happened to the mother.

Beside them, a heap of grocery bags with food spilling out onto the floor.  A gallon of milk on its side, white spilling from the cracked purple lid.

And something else.

Something long and narrow protruded from the fallen mother.  Red and black feathers cut lengthwise and fitted to the end sticking into the air.

An arrow?

But that didn't make any sense.

"Hey," Ami called out to the girl as her screams became quiet sobs.  No longer pulling on the arm, but her head snuggling into the raincoat.  Ami tried to think through the haze, tried to ignore the havoc the handful of baby blue pills was inflicting on her mind and body. 

She recognized the girl.  She was with a family that lived several floors above.  Was her name Kara?  Ami couldn't remember, but it seemed right.  She took another step, leaning her weight against the wall.

"Hey!"  Ami called again, louder. "Kara?  What happened? Are you okay?"

Kara looked up at Ami, and her eyes widened.  The girl began to scream, looking past Ami at something behind her in the hallway.  Ami turned, drunkenly, and saw a figure fitting another arrow onto the string of a longbow.  A man, massive and towering, his head nearly scraping the ceiling. Except for a few roughly woven pieces of cloth, the man was naked.  Covering nearly his entire body, his skin was painted a dark, rusty crimson.  A black dye covered the lower half of his face and neck and appeared to bleed into the red.

Some kind of warrior, or assassin.  

But something about that idea didn’t seem right.  He couldn’t be real, and this couldn’t be happening.  The context of this warrior standing in the hallway outside her art studio warped her sense of reality.  It couldn’t be real.  Somewhere deep in her mind, she wondered if this was an extended and vivid hallucination, brought on by the pills she had taken just moments before.

Because Ami recognized this man from all the documentaries and programs, and that was impossible.

But he seemed real, and Kara seemed real. The milk on the carpet, the apples.

The warrior’s face stayed calm and without emotion as he pulled back on the arrow, the bowstring tightening until fully extended.

I'm dreaming, Ami thought, this can't be real.

Outside, distantly and above the sound of the pelting rain, she heard more shouts of terror.  A man screaming, his voice joined by that of a woman.  And then suddenly, the screams were cut short.

His muscles tensed, but the expression remained the same.  Empty and void of emotion.

The girl screamed, burying her face in her mother's coat.

Or, Ami considered, I'm dead already.

The man let loose the arrow.

Ami collapsed, falling to the floor.

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© 2017 Derrick Hibbard