Malcolm Crowe stood outside the entrance to his house, his mind torn between two opposite emotions. There was a sort of triumph, a feeling of accomplishment, because he had done something he'd just recently thought he'd been able to do. He had helped someone, a child.
Yes, he was used to dealing with kids, they were part of his job. Helping them was also part of that job, something he'd grown accustomed to. This was different, though. The whole deal had been bizarre, yet resolved. Had been resolved in the name of two patients, one that he'd had over ten years before and the other that he'd had for only a short time.
Only one other patient before had matched Cole Sear's case. It had been his initial thought that they had withheld the same condition, now he was sure of it. The whole phenomenon, the whole idea that he could actually see what he saw, was beyond him, probably beyond anyone.
How could the unexplainable be explained? They had seen people who weren't living anymore. Now Cole knew how to deal with it, but Vincent He had been wrong about that, had been too late finding out what was happening. He had never forgotten what Vincent had said
His mind unintentionally flashed back to that day, about a year before, when he had found Vincent cowering in the bathroom. The man had been stripped of nearly all of his clothes, had appeared to have taken his last bath weeks ago. The worst had been that utterly hopeless expression on his face, that cover of insanity.
Then there was what he had said. "You failed me" It hurt him every time he remembered that, because he knew he had. There was no way to help it, not anymore. It was the past, it was gone, and he knew he had to learn to live with it.
What he had to learn to live with was Anna. His wife had been so angry with him, and he knew why. Knew all too well that is was his fault. It was he who had been out late, he who had been working so long and for so much time lately. The work with Cole had been the most intriguing, had pulled him in the farthest. He had become so immersed with his work that he'd left Anna alone, and now he was paying for it.
He'd seen her with that other man, the one from the shop. It gnawed at him profusely that she would do that, and often he found himself wondering how far gone she was. How could she do that? How could she do it without even talking to him?
Never had he heard a word about it. All he knew was what he had seen. At first he had simply laughed at it, telling himself not to jump ahead of conclusions. As time progressed, and the other, as he had come to know him, had been around more, he had felt worse and worse about it.
He had to know the truth of it. Now it would be just them, and they could talk it out, face-to-face. There would be nothing to leave out, nothing to hide. It was time for the truth to come out.
A gust of wind swept past him, chilling despite the fact that he wore a trench coat, and he shook himself. Standing outside of the house wasn't getting anything accomplished. He reached for the doorknob and turned it. With a slight creak, the front door swung open, and the man walked inside. Easily, he swept off the coat, tossing it onto a chair against the wall.
Soft voices and laughter floated in from the living room, and he realized the television was on. Maybe Anna was up after all. He hoped so As he stepped towards the room, he knew she was watching one of the wedding videos, their videos, again. She had been watching many of those lately It was something he wasn't sure he understood.
Her father was talking, saying he wasn't going to embarrass her. He remembered that moment with a slight smile creeping onto his face. Right after he had said that, he had gone on to tell about something she had said when she was younger, something about not ever getting married. She had blushed profusely, and everyone had laughed about that for a while.
He stepped into the living room to find Anna curled up in a chair. His first reaction was that she was awake, though he realized almost right after that thought had passed through his mind that she was not. It had simply been what he was hoping for. Had he been indifferent, he was sure he would've realized that she was asleep.
Sighing to himself, he sat down on the furniture beside her his steady gaze settling on her quiet body. She was breathing silently and slowly, and he resisted an urge to wake her up. He had been hoping to talk, but Cole had told him something. He'd said if he talked to her in her sleep, she'd have to listen Maybe the kid was onto something. It was worth a try, anyway.
He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them, than allowed them to settle back on his wife. "Anna?"
For a moment there was nothing, and he felt uncertain. What exactly was he supposed to do? Than she replied, still sleeping. She spoke thickly, through the layers of half-conciousness, but it was her. "I miss you."
That didn't strike him as odd. They hadn't seen each other for any amount of time, as much as he wished that wasn't the case. "I miss you too."
"Why, Malcolm?" she continued it, and he realized there was something to the dream speak after all. Still, he was confused. Was that really a legitimate question? Or was it just talk?
"What what is it, what?"
"Why did you leave me?" she cut him off, and immediately he felt a chill fly through his body. She sounded serious, and he thought she meant it But what did she mean? He hadn't left her.
"I didn't leave you," his voice came out sounding confused, but he didn't care. His confusion ran too deep to allow anything as trivial as confusion to deter him from finding out what she meant.
There was no spoken reply. For a moment he thought it was over, that he'd have to give up and try another time. However, she suddenly moved, shifting her body to adjust to a more comfortable position. As she did, Malcolm saw that she dropped something. It fell to the floor with a metallic clink, than rolled under the chair and towards him.
It fell to the floor, and in an instant he saw that it was a ring, one that looked suspiciously like his wedding ring His head shot up, and his eyes fell on her hand. Her ring was still around her finger, so why was his on the floor? He raised his own hand, not even realizing that it was shaking freely.
There was no ring on it. The ring he had been sure he had been wearing only minutes before was gone. His mind searched for what was happening, and almost immediately an answer entered into him.
Cole's voice crept into his mind, and the image of the frightened boy laying in the bed at the hospital projected itself. "I see people they don't know they're dead."
"How often do you see them?" as he recalled his own words, he felt a band of fear gripping at his throat, and he stood shakily, unsure if his legs would be able to hold him. Beads of sweat ran down his face, despite the fact the room had grown colder.
"All the time. They're everywhere," came Cole's voice, with an image of the meeting he'd had with Lynn Sear. There had never been a meeting, now he realized it. He had simply thought it up. Somehow, he had thought it up.
His mind fought against him, insisting that it was impossible. He couldn't be dead, not when he'd been walking around. Not when he'd been talking with people. How could he be dead and not know it?
With a glance, he realized that he was standing in the entrance to the dining room. The table was set for one, as it had been before. Had she set it for one because there was no reason to set it any other way?
How could he be dead, though? The question seemed easy to answer. He couldn't be. Yet it seemed that he was. Cole has seen dead people, so was it in fact possible? The thoughts in his head whirled viciously, and he felt as though he were spinning as the boy's voice entered his head once more. "They only see what they want to see."
Another image swam into his mind, this one of his previous anniversary. He had walked into the Italian restaurant, only to be ignored by Anne. Was this why? When he thought back, he realized that she could have been alone, could have never seen him.
Continuing to shake, he began to back up. It was too much, too much to imagine Then he saw the case. The doorway to his basement office was blocked by a case stacked high with books. It was no wonder that he hadn't been able to open the door. If what Cole said was true, he had seen it locked, and had seen himself open it.
His eyes widened to an even larger size than they had been, and he felt them pulsing beneath his fear. He was dead; if this was true he was dead. Taking an awkward step backward, he nearly fell, but caught himself on the rail of the stairway, than leaned against the wall, pressing his back against it so he wouldn't fall.
Then he knew what had happened, and his mind once more jumped back to that day Vincent had broken into the house. He had pushed it out of his mind, had forgotten it to 'see what he wanted to see.'
In a flash of obvious anger, his former patient had pulled out a gun and fired a bullet at Malcolm before putting on through his own head. Malcolm had only heard that vaguely, though, because he had been on the bed, trying to hang onto his own life.
Anna had been there in a flash, had been ready to help if she could. She'd been worried, a look of plain dread imprinted on her face. He remembered her tears, remembered her worried words, but mostly he remembered pain.
The pain had been a bright, red-hot burst, and he had felt as though he were laying on a bed of needles, burning with fire, and being compressed at the same time. Still, he had tried to be optimistic. He had tried to keep up the belief that it'd be fine, that he'd make it through easily.
The pain had begun to dull, and he had thought it was good. "It doesn't even hurt anymore," he had told his wife as the world began to go gray. It hadn't, but soon he had been gone.
With that, he was back in the present. His reached his hand to feel his back, knowing what he'd find but needing to confirm it. His hand ran over something dried on the back of his shirt, and when he craned his neck he saw the crimson splotch he had expected.
So it was true. He was dead, had been dead. As he walked back into the living room, he shook his head in disbelief. It explained a lot, explained more than he had asked. He would've thought he could never believe it, but now he could. It was the truth, as strange as it seemed.
Stopping in the doorway to the room, he looked in at Anna. She was still sleeping peacefully in the soft glow of the fire, though she had been shivering. So it was colder. He hadn't felt it, but Cole had said something about that, too.
He understood so much, had realized so much in such a short period of time. It was right for her to have that other man to comfort her, someone to be with her now that she was alone. Inside, he felt a sort of respect replace the contempt he had felt.
She was so beautiful, sitting there without an idea as to what had been happening. He knew he had to leave, knew that it would be okay because she wouldn't be alone. As much as it hurt him to think of her with anyone, he knew it was for her good. There was something he needed to tell her, though.
Again, he walked over to her and sat down, looking at her longingly. He wanted to be back with her so badly. This was the next best thing. He wasn't quite sure what to say, but found as he went along that he knew inside.
"I think I can go now," he began, though he wasn't quite sure where too. All he knew was that he wouldn't be with her anymore, and that was what he needed to say. He'd be somewhere that no one alive had ever been.
"I just needed to do a couple things," he continued, quite sure that she heard him. Truly, he knew that he had needed to do a few things, and he was glad he had.
"I needed to help someone," he spoke slowly, thinking of Cole. Thinking of how it had worked out, how he had been able to communicate with them, to help them. "I think I did."
He felt choked, as though something were stuck in his throat. Saying this to her had caught the emotions inside of him, and he wanted to convey just how much she meant to him. It hurt to be unable to hold her, to comfort her by speaking to her while she was awake. Still, he had a feeling she understood, and he hoped she felt how he did. He thought she did.
"And I needed to tell you something," he forced his voice to work for him. He wasn't finished, and he couldn't stop until he was. She had told him that very night he was shot that he had put his work before everything. He hadn't thought much of it than, but now it hurt him, and he wanted to make something clear. "You were never second. Ever." After another look at her flushed face, he added, "I love you."
She still hadn't replied, but he knew she had heard, could feel that she had. He wasn't finished, either. Not quite. He had told her what he had wanted to say, but he wanted to say goodbye before he left for good.
"You sleep now," his voice was soft, and had become clear. The choking feeling had left, though he felt it inside. "Everything will be different in the morning."
It would, he knew it would. For him, he wouldn't be living, or not living, in a world partly created by his own mind. She would no longer have to deal with feeling his presence. He believed him being there had affected her inside. She had felt him, and it had hurt her. Now she wouldn't have to live with that.
Again, he was unsure of what to do. Anna, who spoke with the same sleepiness as before, only this time it was with something that seemed to be love, saved him again. Malcolm was sure that it was. "Goodnight, Malcolm."
That reached him, and the choking feeling became stronger. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he replied. Now he knew he could go. He wasn't sure where, but he was ready.
With that, he closed his eyes, and felt a blanket of calm surround him.
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