Darkness Series
Part 21: The Light Ahead
“Mark!”
Hearing the
voice from the doorway, the young man put down the book, suddenly feeling the
girl bounce onto the bed. He barely held out his arms in time for her to leap
into them.
“Does your head
still hurt?” she babbled excitedly. “Are you okay now? Are you glad to be home?
I’m really glad you’re back. Did you miss me? Will you tell me a story tonight?
How come you’re in bed?” Suddenly she fell silent, before saying in a hurt
tone, “Mark, you’re not looking at me.”
“I can’t,
Charlotte,” he told her softly. “I can’t see now.”
“I told you
about that, sweetheart, remember?” Nicole remarked from the doorway before
walking into the room. Sitting down on the side of the bed, she placed
Christopher into the young man’s arms. “How’s the head, Mark?”
“Getting
better.” His arms tightened slightly around the baby boy. “Hopefully I’ll be
able to get up for dinner.”
“Wonderful.”
She smiled, her voice sharing her pleasure with the man who couldn’t see her
face, before glancing at the cup on the bedside table and reaching out to fill
it from the bottle that stood on the floor. Charlotte remained silent, but
curled up next to Mark, her head resting against his upper arm, looking down at
her baby brother.
“I’m sorry,
Charlotte,” Mark apologized softly. “But I can still tell you stories, and read
to you, and play with you sometimes.”
“Daddy said
that, too,” she admitted, in a small voice. “But you won’t be able to walk to
the park with me anymore and push me on the swings.”
“I wouldn’t
be so sure about that,” Jarod remarked from the doorway. “Maybe not right away,
but I think that, if his eyes don’t work for himself, we’ll get him another
pair.”
Mark raised
his head sharply. “You mean a Seeing Eye dog?”
“Exactly.”
Jarod sat down and pulled Nicole into his lap. “I can’t imagine you wanting to
sit around all day any more than I did, and the best way to get around is have
a guide. Dogs are much better than people in that respect. There’s a
three-month wait for the place I went to, so I put your name down this
afternoon and by the time your turn comes around, we’ll know whether you’ll
need one. If you don’t, we’ll cancel your application, but if you do then you
can get the training and the dog.”
“And Charlie
can be jealous,” Nicole added, laughing.
“I’ll make it
up to him,” Jarod vowed. “Besides, he’s my dog, and whichever one Mark gets
will be his, so I don’t think there’ll be a problem.”
* * *
Jarod collected
the keys for the rental car and then led Mark out of the airport to the holding
bay, keeping up a steady flow of conversation as he did so. Once they were
settled into the vehicle, he paused for a moment before asking a question.
“Excited?”
“About
getting a dog, definitely. And about being a little more independent, not,” he
added quickly, concerned in case Jarod was offended, “that I’m not grateful for
what you’ve done…”
“…but you’re
looking forward to knowing that you’ll be able to do things yourself,” Jarod
finished for him with a smile. “Don’t worry, I completely understand.”
“I know you
do.” Mark smiled gratefully. “And I also really appreciate the fact that you
didn’t make me listen to every ‘When it happened to me, I did this’ story. I know
you’ve been through it, and it was incredibly helpful to be able to talk about
how frustrated I was getting and how hard it was, to all three of you, but I do
want to learn myself.” He turned his head in Jarod's direction. “And that’s
especially the case with this whole ‘pretender’ thing. I can’t help feeling
that Sydney and Nicole are going to keep comparing me to you, and I sometimes
think you do it to, especially as I wasn’t in the Centre, so my life is what
yours could have been…”
“Mark, stop,
please,” Jarod protested, taking one hand off the wheel and placing it over
Mark’s to prevent the young man’s hands from fidgeting in his lap. “Now listen,
and try to believe me when I say that I’ve never thought about you in that way,
ever. My life is now everything I could want it to be. I have a loving wife,
two wonderful children and the people I love most closest to me, and that
includes you. You’re as dear to me as either of my brothers, and you know I see
them as often as I can. My past might not be ideal, but if it hadn’t happened
the way it did, I probably wouldn’t have everything I do now, and I know that.”
“I… I guess
so,” Mark admitted slowly.
“I can’t tell
you for sure about Sydney and Nicole,” Jarod went on. “Dear as they are to me,
I was never too good at mind-reading. I can only guess that they don’t make any
comparisons between us. I can’t imagine Sydney doing it for the simple reason
that he and I spent more than 30 years together, and you’ve only known him for
four. I don’t think Nicole would either, because of our very different
positions in her life.”
“That does
make sense,” the young man conceded. “I just thought of it while I was in
hospital and wondered a little.”
“You thought
about it as much as you were able and tried to work it out from the way that
all three of us treated you when we came to visit,” Jarod corrected, laughing.
“Don’t forget, I have a pretty good idea of how your mind works.”
Mark grinned.
“Yeah, you always have had.”
“I’d like to
give you one piece of advice, borne of painful experience, though,” Jarod
added. “This isn’t easy -- the training for a Seeing Eye dog. I went there
thinking that I’d listen to what they told me to do and surprise them by doing
it first time, the way I’d done for years. But I couldn’t do it, or not right
away. And it was only when someone challenged my pride that I made the effort
to work at it, the way normal people have to.”
“That must
have been tough,” the other man teased thoughtfully.
“So tough that
I never told anyone. Nobody knows except my trainer and you. But I thought it
might be helpful if you knew, just in case things do feel like they’re getting
too hard.”
“Thank you,”
Mark responded sincerely. “You know how much I appreciate it.”
* * *
The trainer
walked along the hallway, eyeing the details about his newest student and
wondering where he recognized the name of the city that the man had come from.
Dismissing it as he got to the door, he knocked firmly.
“Come in.”
Smiling, he
opened the door, his blue eyes quickly coming to rest on the young man sitting
on the bed.
“Hi, Mark,”
he began. “My name’s Simon. I’ll be your trainer.”
“Nice to meet
you.” Mark rose and offered a hand, which the trainer shook, small dimples
forming in the young man’s cheeks. “I believe I’ve heard things about you.”
“Oh, really?”
Simon arched an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Your fame
precedes you,” drawled a voice and Simon spun around to stare at the man who
sat at the table, his dark brown eyes twinkling.
“Good God!”
he exclaimed in astonishment. “Jarod! What are you doing here?”
“Delivering
your latest student into your capable hands,” the man responded, standing up.
“Then I have to get back to work.”
The trainer
looked around suspiciously before waving a hand in front of the other man’s
eyes and watching him laugh.
“No,” Jarod
told him. “You won’t find Charlie here, and I can see you perfectly well.”
“Can you stay
for lunch?” Simon proposed eagerly. “I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to.”
“Sure,” Jarod
agreed. “You have your first session and I’ll go for a stroll. I’ll meet you
back here at midday. My plane doesn’t leave until four this afternoon.”
“Sounds
good.” Simon watched him leave before turning to the younger man, who had
listened to the conversation with an amused expression on his face, and
offering an arm to guide Mark down to the room in which the classes were held.
* * *
“There he
is!” Charlotte shrieked excitedly, and Jarod looked over to see the young man
walking through the doors, his shoulders back, head held high, walking
confidently, a yellow Labrador on the other end of the harness.
“You looked
just the same,” Nicole murmured in her husband’s ear.
“Until you
made a spectacle of both of us,” he joked in return, joining in her laugh before
handing the baby boy to the child’s mother and going over to where his daughter
was rapturously hugging Mark’s leg. “Welcome home,” he told the young man,
placing a hand on his arm and squeezing gently before taking the bag from his
left hand. “How was it?”
“Exactly like
you said it’d be,” Mark responded, picking up Charlotte and hugging her. “Tough
at first, but it got easier.”
“I’m glad to
hear it.” He looked down at the dog. “And who’s this you’ve brought to eat us
out of house and home?”
The young man
laughed. “She probably will, too. This is Lucy.” He put Charlotte down and then
picked up the harness again. “How many of the mob came?”
“Just the
four Crawfords,” Jarod assured him. “There wasn’t enough room in the car for
anyone else.”
“Welcome
home, Mark,” Nicole greeted him, coming up at this point. “It’s lovely to see
you.”
“Even nicer
to be here,” Mark told her sincerely after returning her kiss, wrapping his
hand around the arm that Jarod offered. “I’ve been so keen to get back that I
wondered if there was a way to make the plane fly faster.”
Laughing, the
group made their way to the exit.
* * *
Mark heard
the cars pull out of the driveway, listening to Lucy snuffling in her sleep, and
tucked his hands behind his head, facing in the direction of the ceiling.
“Thinking
about what to do with yourself all day?” a voice asked from the doorway and he
sat up with a grin.
“Something
like that, yeah.” Mark flipped up the cover of his watch, checking the time.
“What are you doing, conscious at this hour, Nick? We should have another two
hours before the snoring stops.”
Picking up a
pillow from the floor, Nicholas threw it at his friend before sitting down and
starting to scratch the dog between the ears. Mark tucked the pillow in behind
his head, laughing.
“I hope, at
least,” the blind man went on, “that you’re not dressed. That would be way too
much to take.”
“I’m not,”
Nicholas retorted. “Happy?”
“Well, at
least I know the world didn’t end when I wasn’t looking.” Mark threw back the
covers and put out a hand for his bathrobe, finding it immediately and wrapping
it around himself. “I’m going to take a shower and I’ll be doing breakfast in
twenty.”
“I’ll see if
I’m conscious enough to drag myself along to the dining room in that time,”
Nicholas groaned, rolling onto his side on the now-empty bed.
“Oh, you will
be,” his mother’s voice told him sternly from the doorway. “You’re going to
help me clean the house today, so you’ve got exactly half an hour to be dressed
and have had breakfast.”
“Aw, Mom,”
the complaints began and, chuckling to himself and followed by Lucy, Mark
escaped into the bathroom.
* * *
Taking the
sheet out of the frame, Mark ran his fingers quickly over the raised dots to
check that he had numbered the page, placing it down on a pile, surprised when
it seemed smaller than he expected. He sat still for a second before turning
his head sharply to the left.
“I’ll have the
rest, thank you,” he stated tartly, holding out one hand, and Jarod laughed.
“But I’m
enjoying it, Mark. Why deprive me of the fruits of your genius?”
“It’s not
that,” he retorted bluntly. “It’s just something I told Charlotte a while ago.
I thought I’d get it down on paper before I forgot it.”
“And do you
have any more of these ‘somethings’ floating around?” the doctor asked. “If so,
I’d like to read them.”
“They’re just
children’s stories,” he objected. “For kids Charlotte’s age, not for adults.”
“But I never
got to read children’s stories after I was her age,” the girl’s father reminded
him. “I’d like to find out what I missed out on.”
Mark arched a
dubious eyebrow. “You sure you’re not just checking to make sure I’m not
telling her things that aren’t suitable for her?”
Jarod reached
forward and placed a firm hand on Mark’s arm. “When have you ever known me not
to tell you the complete truth?”
“Never,” he
admitted. “But I can’t imagine why you find them interesting.”
“Because
they’re wonderfully told and, unlike a lot of stories I read to my children at
nights, I can really imagine these characters and the worlds they live in.
That’s one of the most important parts of storytelling.” He placed the bundle
of pages on the desk. “Have you thought about getting them published?”
“No.” Mark
shook his head carelessly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m too impatient to
wait for the months it’d take them to get back to me.”
“That’s what
contacts are for,” Jarod laughed. “Getting around those queues.”
Mark turned,
amusement in his eyes. “You were a book publisher, too?”
“No,” Jarod
confessed. “And I never met one in my life.”
“So what am I
supposed to do -- pull one out of thin air?”
”Rebecca Cartwright, one of your first patients, is the daughter of a director
of one of the largest publishing houses in the country,” the older man remarked
airily. “But if you really think it’s so difficult that you don’t want to
bother…”
He stood up and
wandered over to the door, but at an order from Mark, Lucy rose to block the
man’s path.
“As you can’t
go anywhere,” Mark commented lightly, “you might as well come back and tell me
what you were going to suggest.”
Jarod looked
down at the dog in disgust, then up at Sydney as the man appeared in the
doorway, laughing. “I thought I escaped from this by faking my death. Never
imagined that I had a sweeper in my own home.”
* * *
“We were
sorry to hear about what happened, Dr. Lyneham,” a quiet voice stated and a
firm hand shook Mark’s. “Bec, particularly, was very disappointed not to see
you when she went for her latest round of tests. She wanted to come today, but
I told her this was a business meeting. Still, she’d love it if you would come
around to our house for dinner one evening.”
“I’d be glad
to,” the young man responded. “And how is she? Still well, I hope?”
“Very, thank
you.” The father’s voice was full of happiness. “Her latest test results were
clear, and Dr. Crawford told us that she might only need one last round to make
sure.”
“I’m so glad
to hear it,” Mark replied with a smile, although Jarod had already told him
this. “And I’m sure she is too.”
“No more than
we are, I assure you,” Mr. Cartwright told him. “Please, sit down. The chair is
two paces directly in front of you.”
Mark’s
eyebrows rose at this clear description as he found the chair and sat down,
hearing the man laugh. “We’ve had several people here in your situation, and
it’s so much easier to provide a clear description than watch them fumbling
around, embarrassing both parties.”
“I couldn’t
agree more,” the young man agreed, smiling. “It’s a shame more people don’t
think that way.”
“Indeed.”
There was a sound of papers being gathered before the man spoke again. “I do
want to say, Dr. Lyneham…”
“Mark,” he
told the publisher.
“Mark,” the
man corrected, smiling, “that although the change in your circumstances was a
great shame for the medical profession, it’s been a very good one for us. We
would be very interested in acting as publishers for your work. We believe your
stories will have a ready market. I might add that my daughter is one of the
most enthusiastic reviewers.”
Mark laughed.
“I had no idea she would read them.”
“Oh, she insists
on seeing as many of the children’s stories we get in as she can,” the girl’s
father laughed. “And I understand that she means to beg to you to write a
sequel for the story about Mali and his friends. That was her favorite.”
“It’s mine,
too,” the author confided. “And you can tell Rebecca that another story in that
series is already underway.”
“She’ll be
thrilled,” Mr. Cartwright beamed. “And now to business. I have a contract here
for you to take away and consider. It contains clauses relevant to your
specific situation, and we would be very appreciative if you could get back to
us about it within a week if you plan to accept. Any negotiations can go
through me, but I’d prefer it if you’d call the office during business hours. I
try to leave work at work.”
“With a
beautiful daughter like yours, I’m not surprised,” Mark smiled, accepting the
envelope as it was placed in his hand.
“It’s thanks
to you that we still have her,” the older man responded, his voice cracking. “I
was so glad to have this chance to show you my appreciation.”
“I was just
doing my job, Mr. Cartwright,” the doctor replied, somewhat abashed by the
praise.
“Roger,” the
publisher corrected. “Now, shall we set that dinner date?”
* * *
Jarod looked
up as his secretary appeared in the doorway with the mail, accepting it with a
smile before looking down quizzically at the large parcel in his hand.
“Oh, Julia?”
The woman
turned. “Yes, sir?”
He held up
the package. “What’s this?”
“I don’t
know, Dr. Crawford,” she admitted. “Perhaps lab results?”
“If it is,
they’ve started publishing them in hard cover,” he told her, seeing the woman
smile before she left the office.
Pushing aside
the other letters, Jarod placed the brown-covered rectangle down on the desk and
carefully unsealed the tape, removing the paper to reveal a brightly colored
children’s storybook. His eyes widening, he sought and quickly found the name
of the author, almost hidden in a pile of autumnal leaves that provided a floor
for the rainforest depicted on the cover. Then his eyes were immediately
distracted by the detail of the image.
Small elves
peeped around tree trunks and through leaves, and Jarod found himself holding
the book up near his face and donning his reading glasses so that he could more
closely examine the fine detail. Everywhere his eyes turned, there was a patch
of color that suggested another figure and he stared at the image in wonder,
knowing how tempting it would be for a child, and finding it so delightful
himself that it was an effort to move his eyes away and open the cover.
The same
forest motif continued inside the front cover, showing a little path, which, as
he turned back to check, had started among the small, unfolding fern fronds on
the cover, almost unnoticed amid the rest of the detail. Turning the pages, he
found each edged by the same rainforest motif, with a fairy or an elf peeping
out from behind the foliage somewhere on the page, and with the path continuing
right through the book. The back cover, when he finally reached it, contained a
small house, perfect in every detail, and from the window of which a small
figure could be seen, waving.
“Dr.
Crawford?”
Jarod
literally jumped at the voice before focusing his attention on the intercom.
“Yes, Julia?”
Glancing at
the clock, Jarod saw that the hour he had allotted himself for lunch was gone
as he slid the book into the drawer and the receptionist continued.
“Your next
appointment is here, sir.”
“Thank you.”
He dropped the unopened mail into his tray. “Send them in.”
Casting one
final glance at the book, he shut the drawer as the door to his office opened
and the patient entered.
* * *
“Daddy, come
see!” an excited voice shrilled from the veranda before Jarod had even managed
to put the car into park, and, after collecting his things, he hurried up the
path, gathering the little girl in his arms.
“What is it,
Charlotte?”
“Daddy, come
an’ look at the present I got!” She wriggled out of his grasp, grabbing his
hand and almost pulling him along the hallway. In the living room, she stopped
and pointed at a series of framed pictures that lay on the sofa. “Just see!
They’re so pretty!”
Nicole turned
from her examination of the same images, a concerned expression on her face. “I
don’t know what they are. They appeared in the post today, all for Charlotte.”
Jarod’s face
cleared as he looked at the pictures before turning to his wife again. “In the
post, you say? Wrapped in brown paper, with no return address?”
“Why, yes,
and…” She trailed off, staring at him. “Jarod, you didn’t. We’ve talked about
things like this, buying the children anything they want.”
“Oh, it
wasn’t me.” He opened the bag he hadn’t yet had a chance to put down and
produced the book he had received. “But I did get something similar.”
Nicole stared
from the shiny cover to the numerous pictures. Jarod placed his things down on
the table, with care for the other frames that lay there, and then wrapped his
arms around her waist as she began examining the book.
“Where’s
everybody else?” he asked, watching his daughter, enraptured, plump down on the
floor to stare at the pictures.
“Sydney's
still at the hospital,” Nicole answered, somewhat absent-mindedly. “Michelle
left earlier this morning, but she’ll be back tomorrow, and Nicholas won’t be
back ‘till next week. Christopher is napping. Mark went for a walk with Lucy
and Charlie.”
“I bet he
did.” Her husband chuckled softly in her ear. “Check out the author.”
Nicole turned
to the title page of the book, her eyes fixing on the name, whose letters
seemed to be made from the branches of a tree, and she smiled, turning to look
up into Jarod's face. “We should have guessed Mark would do something like
this. He’s been looking for a way to thank us ever since he moved in.”
The man’s
eyes traveled over the dozen pictures. “These must be worth a small fortune.”
“And they’re
exquisite,” the woman added. “The detail is so fine – the artistry is amazing.”
“Since when
did you become an art critic?” he teased. “What will we do with them?”
“Hang them,
of course,” she retorted. “They’re too wonderful to put away anywhere. We could
put them upstairs, in the children’s rooms, and the playroom you had built on
last summer.” She gave him back the book. “What about this?”
“I’ll hide it
until tomorrow,” he told her softly. “Charlotte hasn’t seen it yet, and it can
be a present for her birthday.”
“Better check
that Mark isn’t going to give her a copy for herself,” she advised. “That one
might be just for you.”
“Good point.”
He slipped it back into his bag, carrying it into his office and then firmly
shutting the door. Walking over, he sat on the floor and pulled his daughter
gently into his lap, pointing at the pictures. “Who’s that, Charlotte?”
The girl’s
head was tilted thoughtfully to one side as she turned to look at him. “I think
it’s Mali,” she began thoughtfully. “Mark told me about him once and he,” she
pointed to a small elf, “looks just like Mark said.”
“And who’s
that?” pointing to a fairy, who was very clearly winking at Mali.
“Pinky,”
Charlotte replied, in a tone that allowed for no argument.
Jarod's eyes
traveled to the six pictures that, instead of being full prints, were a series
of strips, and he could see the same characters at various places: peeping out
from behind leaves, lying on flowers and nibbling on berries. Nicole suddenly
laughed and pointed at a fairy standing under a flower, from which a drop of
dew was about fall. Another strategically placed leaf covered her body, and a
small elf was in the process of pulling away the barrier that protected her
modesty.
“It’s
incredible,” the man stated. “The detail is so minute. You could almost pick
the flowers right off the frame.”
Nicole heard
a small sound from the doorway, turning quickly in time to see Mark disappear
into his room, and hurried after him. Opening the door, she found him sitting
at his desk, removing the harness from his dog. At the sound of the footstep
that denoted her entrance, he turned towards his Braille typewriter, but she
walked over and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him.
“Thank you so
much, Mark,” she told him. “They’re wonderful.”
He turned to
face her, trying to look unaware of what she was talking about, but his eyes
couldn’t hide the truth and eventually he smiled, somewhat shyly. “You like
them?”
“Definitely.”
She hugged him again. “The detail is just incredible. The artist must have gone
to the most incredible lengths to put in all the detail when you told them what
you wanted.”
“Yes,” he
agreed with another tiny smile. “They must, mustn’t they?”
“Who was it?”
another voice asked from the doorway, and Jarod walked in. “Someone working for
the publishing house?”
“Well, they
do now,” the young man responded cryptically. “But I guess they’d have to,
wouldn’t they?”
Jarod rocked
back on his heels as an idea struck him, eyeing Mark thoughtfully. “This artist
wouldn’t be someone we know, would he?”
The author’s
eyes danced behind his dark glasses. “He might.”
Nicole suddenly
made the same leap of logic her husband had. “He wouldn’t happen to live here,
would he?”
“Possibly.”
Mark got to his feet. “Is dinner ready yet? I’m starved.”
Jarod placed
a firm hand on Mark’s chest, stopping him from leaving the room. “Only honest,
straightforward people get fed in this house.”
“Then ask me
honest, straightforward questions,” came the cool reply. “They’ve been pretty
cryptic so far.”
The doctor
moved his hands so that one was on each of Mark’s shoulders. “Did you do
those?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Mark’s lips
twitched. “I wasn’t always blind, you know.” He chuckled. “Actually, the
drawings came first. The stories sort of followed on from them. For years, I
had ideas in my head for the worlds that the characters lived in, and when I
had some spare time, I used to draw them.”
He gently
broke out of Jarod's hold and walked over to the bed, kneeling beside it to
pull out a flat box from underneath. Opening it, he produced a number of
sketches, parts of the colored prints in the living room. Pages of
hastily-drawn images followed, and then four large envelopes. These Mark put
back into the box and shut the lid.
“What are
they?” Jarod asked curiously.
“They’re for
the next parts of the story,” Mark admitted. “I’ve already got the drawings
down. Now I just need to get it written -- if the first one’s enough of a
success that the publishers want to bother.”
“I think it
will be.” The surgeon clapped Mark on the shoulder. “It’s such a marvelous
story, and the pictures only add to that.”
“I didn’t
think you’d be able to resist reading it,” the young man laughed. “How long did
some of your patients have to wait today?”
“Luckily, I
had a cancellation,” Jarod confessed as his wife also laughed. “I read it
then.”
* * *
Mark ran his fingers
over the three covers, reading the Braille dots, before replacing them on the
bookshelf in his room with a thrill of pride. Scenes for the next book were
already in his head from the rough sketches he had made years earlier, all
begging to be written, but he wanted a breath of fresh air before he began.
Going into
the hallway, he could hear soft mutterings from the living room and, as Lucy
appeared at his side, brushing against his legs with a friendly lick to his
hand, Mark deduced that Sydney must have come home from the hospital. The
psychiatrist had been unable to resist the allure of working without the
pressure that he had lived under at the Centre and had taken on the patients
allocated to him with enthusiasm. Jarod enjoyed the joke immensely and Nicholas
suspected that the part he liked best was the reversal of their former roles.
As Mark
closed the front door after himself, he heard the front gate click, and then
felt the arms of a tall six-year-old fling themselves around his neck. Mark released
his hold on Lucy’s harness, returning the embrace.
“How was
school?”
“Good,”
Charlotte chirped cheerfully, before kneeling at his feet to make a fuss of the
dog. “Are you going for a walk?” she asked in a muffled voice, her face
apparently lying in Lucy’s ruff.
“I am,” he
agreed. “Want to come?”
“Sure.” She
opened the door of the house and, by the sounds it made, threw her schoolbag
along the hall in the direction of the kitchen, before turning back and
slipping her right hand into Mark’s left. “Will you tell me what happens in the
next book?” she begged. “Please?”
The author
grinned. “We’ve had this discussion before,” he reminded the girl as they
headed for the park. “I’m not telling. You’ll have to wait and see when it
comes out. And you get a copy before all your friends anyway.” He pulled the
girl into a hug. “I’ve never heard you ask your dad if you can read one of his
books, and his sell equally as well as mine.”
“But his are
boring,” Charlotte complained. “Yours are exciting – all about magic and
fairies and elves and things.”
“I’ll tell
you what,” he suggested. “When your dad comes up to read you and Chris a story
tonight, ask him to tell you about those things and see if his stories are as
good as mine.”
“They won’t
be,” she said confidently, skipping along beside him. “He doesn’t have an
imagination like yours.”
As they
entered the park, Mark bent down to remove the harness, almost immediately
hearing the jingling of the tags on the dog’s collar grow fainter as Lucy ran
off and Charlotte chased after her. The man felt his way slowly to a bench and
sat down, pulling a book of out the small backpack he carried and beginning to
read it.
* * *
Mark felt a
drop of cold water splash onto his hand and lifted his head, flicking up the cover
of his watch to find that they had been in the park for more than an hour.
Standing, he slid the book into his backpack and picked up the harness, shaking
it to make the metal jingle. He waited for Lucy’s familiar warm body to brush
against his side, but when he remained alone, the man tried to hear anything
through the rising wind. Suddenly, the high-pitched howling of a gale stopped.
In the silence, Mark felt his skin prickle and took several cautious steps
towards the middle of the park, raising his voice to repeatedly call the dog’s
name.
The silence
continued, and even the last voice, on the far side of the park, died away into
the roar of a car motor, just as the wind picked up again. Mark began
hesitantly walking in the direction he believed was the playground, trying not
to panic, alternately calling for Lucy or Charlotte. His voice died in the
strong wind, blown away almost before he could frame the words, and his hands,
dripping with the steadily falling rain, were stretched out in front of him in
an attempt not to walk into anything. Mark could feel the minutes ticking away
as he found himself at a fence and began slowly making his way along it,
bumping into trees and getting his face and hands badly scratched by both the
wire and overhanging branches.
Finally he
located what he hoped was the correct gate, stepping through it into a puddle,
feeling the water soak into his shoes and wet his socks. Certain by now that
Charlotte and Lucy had left for home, although why they would have gone without
him was something he couldn’t understand, Mark stopped to put the harness into
his bag and, lowering his head against the driving rain, stretched out his hand
for the fence to start for home.
* * *
The car
stopped at the curb and Charlotte got out, pulling Lucy with her and seeing
Michelle at the door, watching for her anxiously. As soon as she appeared,
Michelle hurried down the path, waving to the people in the car as they drove
off and then bustling her inside the house.
“Not a word,”
she warned the girl. “Go straight in and change your clothes. No,” she
continued as Charlotte began to speak. “Go. Now.”
Sydney came
out onto the veranda and looked at where Lucy was pawing the gate. The dog’s
coat was quickly soaked by the fast-falling rain and, as lightning lit the
rapidly increasing gloom, the psychiatrist tried to get the animal into the
house. When she failed to respond to his calling, the man went down to the gate
and literally dragged Lucy up the stairs. She immediately tried to make a bolt
out the door, but Sydney shut it firmly, looking up at Michelle, perplexed.
“What on
earth’s wrong with her? I’ve never seen her like this.”
“Maybe the
weather.” She shrugged as thunder boomed overhead. “Don’t worry, I’m sure
she’ll come good.”
Nodding, Sydney
turned toward the living room as the phone rang, leaving the dog pacing in
front of the door.
* * *
Mark was
about ready to confess himself beaten. He hadn’t walked the streets on his own
before he got Lucy and, although he had a vague idea of the layout, he had
obviously made an error, because he was now in completely unfamiliar territory.
After knocking on ten doors for help, to no avail, he gave up. Soaked through,
he was shivering violently as he felt his way to a large tree on the nature
strip and curled up underneath it, hoping that it would offer some protection,
however meager. The rain continued to drip through the leaves and turned the
ground near him to mud as he wrapped his arms around his legs, the bag on his
lap and his head down, biting his lip as the shivering increased.
* * *
Jarod
gathered his things and made a bolt for the house, running up the steps and
stopping on the doorstep to shake the rain from his jacket and hair before
opening the door. Barely had he got it open than a yellow streak shot past him
and managed to leap the fence, racing away up the street. Jarod stared after
the dog before turning to Sydney, who was halfway down the hall.
“Was that
Lucy?”
“Yes.” The psychiatrist
nodded. “She’s been behaving strangely all evening, ever since she and
Charlotte were brought back from the park…”
Sydney
stopped suddenly as he was unceremoniously shoved aside and Charlotte, her eyes
red with tears, threw herself into her father’s arms.
“He’s out in
the rain,” she screamed hoarsely, almost hysterical. “You have to go get him,
Daddy, or he’ll get sick and die!”
“Who,
Charlotte?” Jarod demanded in concern. “Who’s out in the rain?”
But she was
sobbing against his shoulder as Michelle appeared in the doorway, her face
wearing an expression of anxiety.
“I don’t know
what’s wrong with her,” she explained. “She’s been like that for hours, since
she and Lucy came back from the park.”
“What about
Mark?” Jarod asked sharply.
“Well, he
wasn’t in the car with them,” the woman began, before her eyes widened in
horror. “You don’t think he…”
As Sydney
opened the door of Mark’s room, looking around quickly and shaking his head,
Jarod pulled his daughter gently away from his shoulder. “Baby, was Mark at the
park with you?”
Nodding, she
hiccupped. “An’ when Judy’s mommy brought us home, she didn’t b’lieve me when I
said Mark was there an’ we left him there an’ Michelle wouldn’t let me tell her
an’ now he’s gonna get sick and die!”
“Oh, God,”
Jarod breathed, looking back over his shoulder at the streaming rain, lightning
flashing as thunder boomed unabatedly. Quickly lowering the girl to the floor,
he turned and snatched up his jacket, throwing it around his shoulders as he
grabbed Mark’s and gave his orders. “Get the bathroom hot and fill the bath. I
want his bed warm, too. And the room.”
With a slam
of the door, he was gone, as Sydney moved to get things ready and Michelle
picked up Charlotte, trying to calm the sobs that had begun again as soon as
she had stopped talking.
* * *
Jarod, after
driving along most of the roads surrounding the park, finally saw the golden
coat by the side of the road and pulled up next to the dog, who was nudging a motionless
figure. When Jarod got out of the car, Lucy turned with a whine that seemed to
suggest she was unable to understand why Mark wasn’t responding to her as
usual. Dropping to his knees beside Mark, Jarod threw a jacket around him,
cursing silently as he saw the look of surprise in the blue eyes that turned to
him, making a guess at his fever and diagnosing mild delirium.
“Hello,” the
young man said in a small voice.
“Come on,
Mark,” Jarod urged, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go home and get
you in a nice, hot bath.”
Obligingly
trying to rise, Mark only managed to move a few inches before he slipped back
against the tree as if his limbs had no strength in them. Suddenly grateful for
his much larger stature, the surgeon virtually lifted the young man into the
car, doing up the seatbelt over him and then letting Lucy into the back seat.
Getting into the driver’s seat, Jarod saw that Mark had already drowsed off and
he put the car into gear with forceful suddenness, almost flying through the
streets and pulling up into his driveway with a protest from the vehicle’s
brakes.
Sydney was
already waiting on the veranda and he hurried down the steps as Jarod got out
and opened the rear door to let Lucy out first. The dog remained at his heels as
he dashed around to the passenger side, seeing Mark’s hand droop down as the
car door was opened. Lucy gave it a gentle lick, but there was no response from
her master, who remained insensible as Jarod leant over and undid the seatbelt.
Jarod slid
his arms under Mark’s knees and around his shoulders, lifting him out far
enough that Sydney could take some of the weight. Mark’s body hung limply
between them and there was no sign of him rousing as Sydney shut the car door
with a backward kick and they struggled into the house. The bathroom was as hot
as Jarod could have desired, and steam rose from the half-full tub as the two
doctors peeled off the sodden clothing, seeing Mark’s eyes open in surprise as
they gently lowered him into the water.
After ten minutes,
and with some difficulty, they managed to get him out, dried and dressed in the
pajamas Sydney had been warming. Mark was partly conscious now and managed to
take a few stumbling steps along the hall as they carried him to his room.
Nicole turned back the bed as they appeared in the doorway, and they laid their
patient against the warm sheets, pillows already stacked up so that he was
sitting at a 30-degree angle. Jarod moved the first-aid kit onto the bed and
took out a thermometer, nodding his thanks to Sydney, who left the room. As
Nicole timed Mark’s pulse and respiration, Jarod checked through the
antibiotics that his wife told him she had brought with her from the hospital
after receiving a call from Sydney. Lucy jumped onto the bed, curling up next
to Mark’s feet.
“What do you
think?” Nicole asked in a low voice as she lowered Mark’s wrist and tucked his
arm in under the warm blankets, pulling the covers up over his chest.
“I think
it’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t get pneumonia,” Jarod growled, seeing the
unusually bright glitter of the young man’s eyes as they close and the bright
red spots on the patient’s cheeks as he read the thermometer. “But at this
stage, he’s just in for a bad cold or possibly bronchitis.” He pulled a
stethoscope out of the kit and placed it on Mark’s chest, hearing a drowsy cry
of protest from the patient, to which he offered a murmured apology for the
coldness of the metal. “So far he sounds clear, though. But we’ll have to see
how he is in a few hours.”
Nicole took a
small notebook and pen from her pocket. “What will you want from the hospital?”
“Probably
only oxygen at this stage. More specific antibiotics, depending on what
develops, and a humidifier tomorrow.”
“No
hospital,” the young man murmured at this point, and Jarod bent over him at
once.
“It’s all
right, Mark. We aren’t going to take you to hospital unless you get too sick
for us to take care of at home. We’ll bring everything we need back here for
you.”
Drowsily, the
patient nodded before a hand crept out from beneath the blankets. Jarod wrapped
both of his around it before sitting down in a chair beside the bed, looking up
at his wife.
“Is Charlotte
okay?”
“Not really,”
Nicole admitted. “She’s still upset. But I’m not sure she should see Mark…”
“Better now
than when he’s sicker. She can’t kiss him, but she needs to see that he’s here
and still alive, or else she’ll never sleep tonight.”
“I’ll get
her.” The woman finished writing the last points down before leaving the room.
Jarod took the opportunity to slip a hand under the covers, checking that no
drafts were seeping into the bed, before the door opened again.
Charlotte’s
eyes filled as soon as she saw Mark, running towards the bed, but Nicole put
out an arm to stop her.
“You can’t go
too close, sweetie,” her mother warned. “Mark’s a bit sick and we don’t want
you to get it as well.”
The girl’s
eyes traveled from her father to her mother, her voice a faint whisper. “Is
Mark going to die?”
“We hope
not,” Jarod answered honestly, after exchanging quick glances with his wife.
“But we’re going to need you to be very good for Uncle Sydney and Aunt Michelle
over the next few days so we can look after him. Will you do that for us?”
Nodding,
Charlotte buried her face in her mother’s waist and Nicole picked her up,
smoothing her hair.
“It’s okay,
baby,” she soothed gently. “You’ve had a nasty shock today, haven’t you? You
come and let Mommy read a story to you now before you go to bed.”
“Can I kiss
Daddy g’night?” she hiccupped.
Jarod eased
his fingers out of Mark’s and walked over to her, brushing back the dark hair
to plant a soft kiss on the girl’s forehead, feeling her lips brush his cheek,
before Nicole carried her off to bed and, with a sigh, Jarod returned to the
bedside.