A/n: This goes along with my oneshot White to Red. But you don't have to have read that one to get this. This one is pretty independent. I just found myself daydreaming about what the scene was like when she found him dead, and this issued. I wasn't very happy with it (I feel I could have done better), but it was fun enough to write.
I hated waiting. It was possibly the most sadistic task in the world. I held such an aversion to it that I ended up settling for less just so I didn't have to wait to get something better.
I'm not sure when my hatred for waiting began. Maybe it started when I was a child; standing in the open yard waiting for my father to get home from a concert or tour. Oh, how I hated when he left. I hated how slow the clock seemed to move those last few days before he was to be home. I found it sickly ironic that the clock seemed to move three times as fast when you were dreading something, but moved barely a millimeter when you were waiting for something good to happen. Life was hard enough; couldn't the time just back off a little?
If it wasn't waiting for my father that got me, it had to have been when my mother was in the hospital. In her last few months, they kept giving us a time quota. "She won't make it for much longer," the doctor would murmur gravely to my father, "surely she'll be lucky to make it for another week."
And the race for time would begin. That panic filled me. Raised Christian, I was beginning to have doubt. I found myself constantly wondering if my mother would really go to Heaven. I had a deep fear that Heaven was just something people made up long ago to ease the pain of death. I shunned this thought. I didn't want to think that when my mother died she would just disappear; that she would just not be.
I waited. I waited for a sign. I waited for someone to come and take me by the shoulders and tell me that everything I was raised knowing was true; that my mother would be eternally happy. But, I wondered, why would she die if it were true? Surely God knew I loved her?
I spent a long time waiting. No sign came. I began to get very upset. It wasn't right! It couldn't be! I clung to my mother day and night. I held her hand tightly in mine. I held it so tightly that her wedding ring cut my palm. I let it. I wanted to make sure that I would have something to remind me of her, if she did just not be. It was highly disconcerting that what bothered me the most was where she was going opposed to the fact she was dying.
When the doctor said she had a day for sure, I waited. I sat with her in her hospital room, and held her hand. I cried internally for her. I wanted her to stay. I wanted to her to be happy. I wanted her to continue to be. I couldn't voice my fears out loud. I was ashamed at my lack of faith.
I waited for two days in that room. The whole while, my mother cried. She didn't want to go. I didn't want her to either. Those were the worst days of my life. I was filled with inner turmoil. When she died, I wouldn't let them take her body away. I waited. I waited for a sign. I kept waiting. I was afraid that she wasn't really gone, that her soul was just sleeping in her body. I didn't want her to wake up buried in a casket.
They only let me wait for a few hours in the hospital room. They took her away. But I kept waiting. Walking to visit her grave, I'd lie on the ground and cry. I missed her. I missed her so much. But I was scared for her too. I pressed my ear over her grave, hoping not to hear her screams. I never did. I felt a sense of peace after a while, and gained some faith back.
As I grew, I wasn't to tell anyone about that inner turmoil except my future husband.
My fear of waiting just got stronger from then. I couldn't wait for anything. I couldn't wait to be a star, so I got a contract at age fourteen. I couldn't wait to be married to the one I loved, so I got married at age twenty in a Vegas drive-thru marriage ceremony.
Things fall into the cracks when you move in haste. I never regretted becoming a star. Not once. But I did wish I had gotten to be a normal teenager. I never regretted getting married. But I did wish I had some pictures, or a dress. I wished my father could have been there.
I also should have brought into account how much waiting I would have to do when I married an actor. Every time he had to leave, it was painful. It was like I was a little girl again, waiting for my father to get home. The clock moved like it was stuck in cement, and three hours before he was due home, I would take an old quilt and sit in the grass in the front lawn. Usually he would only be gone for week long things, but my husband had left to film for three months.
Three months.
Three months of waiting.
Try three months of hell.
And here I was in a familiar setting. I had an old quilt wrapped around me to keep the cool air away, and I was sitting underneath the stars. The cool air helped me unwind a bit, and the uneasy feeling I associated with waiting faded a bit. I glanced at my watch. A smile flitted across my face, and I couldn't resist a soft sequel of excitement. One more hour! One more hour until his plane lands! Only one more hour, then I can see him again.
A weight that was constantly on my heart seemed to lose a few pounds at that thought. Soon he'd be here in the flesh, and I could hold him.
My fingers tapped the grass in impatience. I glanced at my watch. With a groan of disbelief, I read the time. It had only been three minutes since I last looked at it. I looked at it again. That couldn't be right! It felt like thirty minutes!
I sighed and leaned back against the quilt. The sky was a beautiful ebony that made the few, faint stars stand out. I thought back to Tennessee for a moment. The stars were so clear when you lied out in an open field that sometimes you felt like you were at the movies. Surely nothing could be that perfect in real life…
The sound of a car coming down the street sent me jumping up. I strained my eyes into the darkness. The car was a white minivan. Dejected, I slumped back down into the grass. Well what did I expect? His plane shouldn't have even landed by now.
I breathed in deeply, and exhaled slowly. The cool air was supposed to help me clear my mind, but it wasn't helping. Annoyed, I grabbed the phone that was sitting on the grass beside me. I debated who to call. I knew who I wanted to call. However, using cell phones on planes usually isn't permitted.
I set the phone back down. That distraction method obviously wasn't going to work. The only person I wanted to talk to couldn't, so why bother?
I settled back against the quilt, and shut my eyes. I was very sleepy. I never slept well when he was gone. I never slept well when I was waiting. Here underneath the stars, I found my eyes getting heavier and heavier. I struggled with them for a few minutes, and then eventually gave up. My phone was on vibrate and high; it would wake me up...
The sound of a phone ringing loudly jerked me awake. I lay there, dazed, trying to sort out everything for a moment. I glanced down at my watch.
I shot up. I had been asleep for two hours! My eyes frantically searched the driveway. No car. I frowned. Surely he was here!
I carefully stood up and ran back into the house.
"Jake?" I called loudly, hopefully. No response. The phone went off again from outside. I quickly jogged back outside, and checked the caller ID. It was Lilly.
"Not now Lilly," I murmured at the phone, "I've got to figure out why he isn't here yet."
I carried it with me inside and let it stop ringing. I walked into the office and pulled up the airport website. After a few clicks, I was at the flights page. I scrolled down frantically. There. His flight was running a bit late. I studied the times closer. It would have already landed then…how come he hadn't called?
The uneasy waiting feeling was squeezing my stomach. I told myself to calm down. He's probably still sitting on the plane. It takes the pilot forever to come to a complete stop and let the passengers off.
The phones started ringing again. I was about to pick it up and yell at whoever it was when I saw it was a text message. Sighing, I flipped my phone open. It was from Lilly. I read it quickly: what flight was Jake on?
I quickly replied. I minute later, my phone was ringing again. It was her. I flipped it open.
"Yes, Lilly?" I asked patiently.
What I heard on the other end scared me. It was raged cries.
I was worried. "What is it Lilly? Tell me?"
There was a pause. She was talking to someone beside her. I couldn't understand her words.
"I'm so sorry." She murmured into the phone before Jackson picked up.
"Jackson, what's going on?!" I demanded.
His voice was grave. "Turn on your television."
I pushed myself out of the chair and ran down the hallway. I pressed the on button to the TV quickly, and watched nervously.
"Go to FOX."
I quickly grabbed the remote and flicked the channels until finding my destination.
"…at the Los Angeles International Airport where a horrible tragedy is being lived out at this very moment. Here's Susan with the story."
The camera switched from the man at the desk to a woman. The first thing I noticed was the smoke. Her yellow jacket had grime on it, and her hair was full of ash. The second and most significant thing I noticed was what she was standing in front of.
Behind her, a pile of burning iron and bent metal was burning. My heart was burning. I think it knew before my brain ever comprehended anything.
"I don't understand." It was a lie. I didn't want to understand.
Jackson stayed quiet and let me hear the newscaster.
"I'm Susan here at the Los Angeles International Airport in LA, California. At approximately nine thirty eight, flight number DL594 landed safely here at LAX. The plane was headed here from the Caribbean islands. Roughly ten minutes later, flight number AA215 headed from London pulled into LAX. Something happened with the engine or brakes, and the plane couldn't seem to stop. It kept going, until slamming into the upper left of DL594. From there, it pushed DL594 along the landing area until coasting to a stop. You can see behind me the horrible damage done to both planes. The incident, which happened about ten minutes prior to this broadcast, has already caused ten deaths and three serious injuries. Only thirteen have been pulled from both planes, with should both be carrying about two hundred fifty people…"
I couldn't breathe.
"Miley?" Jackson asked nervously.
My eyes were watering. My breaths were coming out in the worst raged gasps I've ever heard.
This wasn't happening.
Before I was even sure what I was doing, I was in my car. I couldn't think. All I knew, was that I was going to see him. He had to be safe. He had to be one of the first pulled out. He was in the first class! With a sinking feeling, the woman's words replayed in my head…into the upper left of DH594…
That was the first class section. Oh, my God.
I slammed my foot down on the accelerator. Jackson, still on the phone I hadn't removed from my frozen hand, yelled,
"What are you doing?!"
"I'm going to the airport!" I cried, sounding more hysterical than I thought I would. He was going to be okay…he was okay…I repeated these words internally like a prayer.
Jackson freaked out. "What?! No! Stop! Don't go there! You can't do that! What if you find…"
He stopped short. But I understood. What if I went there and he was one of the ones dead? What if I saw him like that?
And for a moment, I got a mental picture. My stomach churned. My head spun. I was dizzy. Tears evaded my eyes and dripped down my face.
"Jackson," I whimpered, "Oh, my God…Oh, my God…"
"I know," He whispered, "but you've got to stay strong. You've got to. He's probably fine."
I could see the airport up ahead. I had gotten there sooner than I thought. I could see the fire straight ahead. The area was blocked off by a curb and a long area of land. I slammed on my brakes, parking the car in the middle of the road outside of the airport. I threw open the door. In the rush of things, I left my phone in the seat.
I was possessed. My legs moved at a speed I'd never thought possible. I covered the large amount of land surprisingly fast. When my feet hit the runway concrete, my stomach churned.
The planes were right on front of me, burning. I couldn't see anything.
"No. Oh my…no…" I was murmuring things as I pushed through the horror stricken crowd. I came up to the police line. I didn't even look at it twice. I stepped over it.
"HEY! Lady get back here!" An arm grabbed me. My head whipped around to stare the police man straight in the face.
"Let g-go of me." I sobbed. Something in my face made his expression falter. His hand slackened for a moment. It was a long enough moment. I yanked my arm out of his grip and pushed through the crowd.
The fire was so bright my eyes hurt. The heat burned at my flesh, and the smoke made me cough. I glanced around. The ambulances were on my right.
The wind was terrible. I could barely move against it. I fought my way to the paramedics. Please be here…please be okay…I chanted.
"Lady! Who let you back here!" A police man screamed at me from behind the line. I ignored him. I was at the ambulances. The symbol on the side was hard to read in the flickering orange light.
My eyes scanned the stretchers lined up. Thousands of hurt and moaning people's faces haunted me.
None were familiar.
A scream was clawing up my throat. I released it, feeling my sorrow strengthen. No one heard my scream. I highly doubt anyone even really saw me. They were all looking at the bright Angel of Death that night.
I didn't know what to do. I turned to the paramedic closest to me.
"Jake Ryan!" I yelled. I couldn't tell if it was tears or sweat rolling down my face, "Please. Have you seen him? Please."
"Go away, I'm busy!" He hollered over the roar. I was a desperate creature. I grabbed at his arms.
"Please!" I yelled, "I'm his wife! Please! He was in the first class! Please, please, oh, please!" I was in hysterics.
The man was turning pity eyes on me. He shook his head slowly.
"We haven't pulled anyone out of first class."
My head snapped to the burning plane. He was still on it?
I ran. I ran toward the burning monster. No one stopped me.
Up close, the heat was unbearable. I couldn't keep my eyes open more than a squint. My hands covered my face. I looked at the lump of iron, and stopped. What was I doing?
My knees gave. I slumped to the burning ground. I screamed and sobbed. Why weren't they trying to save him? Why didn't they care? I cared! Do they no know he is loved? Do they not know he had a wife, a mother and a father?
And suddenly, out of the head and smoke, something made me look up. A section at the top of the lump was emitting people.
People.
I jumped up. I strained my eyes. The flames highlighted faces. A woman, an old man, a teenager…yes! I knew that face! That hair!
My heard soared. He was walking! He was okay! God spared his life! He could come home with me, and everything would be okay! When I woke up in the morning, he would be there beside me!
And then, once they were a few feet away from the burning ball of metal, he collapsed on the ground.
No, no, no…he was fine!
I didn't run. I flew. My knees were due to give out any moment, but I still kept running. My feet didn't even touch the burning ground.
And when I was at his side, I crumbled.
It was him alright. It was the face I saw in my dreams and was tattooed in my heart. It was him.
I collapsed on the ground beside him. His breathing…it was barely there. His neck was bright red…it was sliced! My God! It was sliced!
"Help!" I screamed. No one could hear it over the blaze, "Oh, God, help me! Someone please! Anyone! Please!"
I placed my hands on his face gently. My throat burned.
"Jake," I whispered, "Please don't go. Please. Just stay with me."
His eyes cracked open just a little. I didn't know if he recognized me or not. Later when I thought back on this, I liked to think he did.
I stroked his bloody hair. It was sticky with it.
"Please. I love you. I'll get you some help."
I yelled again. No one came. I thought about getting up and running across the area to get a paramedic. But they were already dealing with people…and what if, what if he died all along?
That thought hit me deeper than anything else. No, that couldn't happen. But what if he dies here and it's my entire fault...
He decided for me. Like he always had his whole life, he saved me the waiting. When I looked down again, the breathing had stopped.
I panicked like I never had before.
"No!" I screamed, pulling his body into my lap, "No, no, no! You can't do this! You can't! Please! Please don't leave me! You promised! You promised!" My sobs racked my spine painfully. I pressed my hands against his chest. It was the chest that I had leaned my head against for the past so many years. The chest that held the heartbeat that lulled me to sleep at night. No heartbeat. I pressed above his heart, trying to get his heart to start again. After what seemed like forever, I knew I was too late.
I heard commotion behind me. It was a paramedic and the news lady. My anger flared. Now they come?
I could see a sliver of his green eyes beneath his bloody eyelids. His hair was gross, and sticky. I pressed my face on his. He wasn't gone. He couldn't be. His soul was just sleeping.
"Please," I moaned, "Please wake up now. Don't do this, please. Don't leave me. Everyone leaves me. Don't be gone. Don't! Please, oh God, please. I can't handle it! I can't stand it! Please! I need you!"
I waited.
And I waited.
His heart never started up.
He never replied.
I screamed.
"Ma'am," I heard a far off voice, "you'd better let us take him, now. You're going to get burned sitting there any longer. I'm sorry."
He reached out, and I flinched away.
"Don't touch him! Don't touch him!" I wailed. I was vaguely aware of the camera on me.
I cried on his skin. My tears washed off some of the blood. I looked closely at his face. He didn't look peaceful. This just brought on a new bout of hysteria.
His bloody hair mocked me. It wasn't right. He wouldn't have liked that in his hair! When he wakes up he'll be uncomfortable!
I pulled my jacket off my white summer dress. I tried to get the blood out of his hair. I couldn't. The blood was dripping from his neck and staining my dress. Every drop blossomed out into a round circle of red. The ground around him was bright red. All his precious life was leaking out on the ground! But his soul was not! Where was his soul? Was it in Heaven? Or was he just gone?
No! He couldn't just be gone! He has to be somewhere!
"Where are you?!" I whispered in his bloody ear, "please, where are you? You're still here aren't you? You're still in this mangled body. I'm here. I didn't leave you. I won't let them take you. I'll wait until you can wake up."
He didn't move. The sliver of his eyes seemed to be telling me to get up. I gripped tighter to him.
"You can't be gone," I whispered, "you're right here. How can you be gone? How am I supposed to live without you? How am I supposed to go home? How can I do anything? Please tell me. Don't leave me like this. It's not time. It's not right!"
Suddenly, someone had their arms around my shoulders. I heard a familiar voice in my ear.
"Bud, you need to let go."
It was my father. The same man I used to wait for to come home as a child. But he always came home. That was one thing about waiting I'd always counted on: what you were waiting for always came. But Jake wasn't going to come home! I wasn't going to stop waiting for him to! I was damned to an eternity of waiting!
"No!" I pushed against is arms, "he's still alive, daddy. He is!"
I gripped Jake closer to me. I pressed my lips to his bloody hair and kissed his head over and over. He would wake up. The taste of iron tainted my mouth. My dad was crying.
"Please, bud, let's go. He's not going to wake up."
"He is!" I screamed.
I sobbed against his body. I knew that my dad was right. But I couldn't let him go. I couldn't let him be dead. I needed him. I loved him. I couldn't breathe without him.
Isolation hit me like a train. I felt myself growing weak. My hands lost their grip on his body and my head rested on top of his.
And I cried.
This would be the last time I'd ever hold him. This would be the last time I ever felt his face. This would be the last time I'd ever see him. Until I died. Then hopefully we'd be together in whatever was next. I'd just be waiting until then. Always waiting.
I stroked his face, memorizing the way it felt. I didn't know how something like that could be given up. It wouldn't stay in a memory. I'd forget his face after a year.
I ran my fingers through his hair, my heart strangling me as I did so. My breathing turned to weezing. And I kissed him one last time.
But it wasn't enough. I'd never kiss him again. Never. I'd soon forget this. No. he was my life…
Jackson picked me up. I'd never felt so helpless in my life. I stared at his body. I almost felt a little peaceful for a moment, until the paramedics tried to cover him with a tarp.
I tore at my brother's skin, and kicked. I had to get back.
"NO! Stop! Don't put that on him! You'll suffocate him! Murderers! Murderers! Murderers! Stop! Stop! Let me down! Don't let them do that to Jake! He's my husband! They are killing him! Please…does anyone care?! He was going to take me to Paris this summer! We were going to have a baby! He was going to teach me how to make that stupid, disgusting dinner he makes! They are taking it all away! They are taking him away!"
That night, my husband lost his life and I lost my mind and my heart. They always belonged to him anyway.