You may not know it, but I am usually an upbeat person. I actually wrote this back when I blew up Helen's house, but I really wasn't going to publish it. After some gentle persuasion (wink wink) from a good friend (you know who you are), I decided to go ahead and do it. There are four parts, and each one is very dark.
*WARNING* This story deals with character death.
All characters belong to JE. All mistakes are mine. I make nothing from this.
Does a funeral for a Hero hurt more or less? All I knew was that there was an aching hole in the middle of my heart. He died for me. I don't think anything can make that knowledge go away. I had to be drugged so that I could get through the funeral. It was supposed to be mine.
As I sat through the service, I remembered that day. I had been chasing a skip. I can't even remember his name or face now. He had been arrested for possession of PCP, but he had no priors, so he was a low bond. I went to the apartment listed on his bond. When I knocked on his door, I could hear the baby crying. Before I could say a word, a shot rang out, and a bullet hole appeared inches from where I was standing. As I ran down the stairs to get out, I could hear him screaming, "I'll kill her!" Somehow, I knew he meant the baby.
When I got outside, I did the only thing I could think of. I got my phone out of my purse and called him. "Joe, I need help." My skip never made it out of the building alive, but neither did Joe. The baby was fine.
Joe and I never did get married. Neither of us could make the commitment. Now as I stood at his graveside, I realized that I regret that he never got to have the family that I know he thought about. I have nothing of his, and I feel empty.
His mother told me that she didn't blame me, but I know she was lying. The guilt and sadness and the incredible ache tear me apart. My Grandmother stayed with me for a month, holding me and rocking me gently as if I were a child again, as I cried myself to sleep every night. I didn't want her to ever leave, but she went back home, telling me that I needed some time by myself.
My first night alone was horrible. I cried myself into a fitful sleep, until the nightmares came. Terrible dreams of blood and death. I tossed and turned and woke up screaming. As soon as I went back to sleep, the dreams started again. After a few minutes, though, the nightmare started to slip away, and I slept through the night.
It took about a week for me to realize what was happening. Every night he came to me and chased the nightmares away. He never woke me. He sat in the chair by my bed and guarded my dreams. He was always gone in the morning.
Little by little, the nightmares started to fade. The first night I slept through without waking, in the morning my pillow was soaked through with tears. Even though I no longer woke up screaming in the night, he kept his vigil.
The anniversary of Joe's death was hard. I went to his grave and sat with him, remembering how much I loved him and how much I missed him. I told him everything that happened after he left us. His mother had sold his house, the memories were too painful for her. Bob went to live with his brother Anthony, but he lost a lot of his exuberance. He mourned for Joe, too. His Grandma Bella never got over losing him.
That night, I had the nightmare again for the first time in months. This time, when I felt the bad dreams start to slip away, I forced myself awake. I finally saw him, sitting in my chair, watching over me while I slept. I could tell he knew I was awake, but neither of us knew what to say. Finally, I held out my hand to him. He climbed into bed and held me while the tears came.