It happened on a perfect day. When Amy thought back on it later, that
memory stood out the most sharply, the fact that the day had been
absolutely perfect. It was unthinkable that something terrible could happen
on a day when the sky was such a deep shade of clear blue and the sun shone
so warmly and the breeze was so pleasant on your skin. But it did happen.
And it started when a car pulled up next to the curb where she stood
talking to her friend Jessie outside the corner market.
"Amy? Amy, get in," a voice said.
She turned toward the car and was taken aback to see Dawson, a close friend of her family's, leaning across the passenger seat to open the car door for her. Amy hadn't even known he was in town from L.A. She started to smile in greeting, but something in his expression, in his eyes, stopped her and turned her blood cold. It was as clear as the sky on this beautiful summer day: Something wasn't right.
"Dawson? What is it, what's wrong?" she asked tentatively.
"Get in the car, okay, Aim? I'll tell you on the way."
"On the way where?"
"Amy, please?"
Swallowing hard, Amy turned to Jessie, who nodded for her to go ahead. "Call me later," Jessie said as her friend got into the car, sounding as puzzled and alarmed as Amy felt.
Dawson pulled away from the curb almost before she had closed the door and began speeding down the street. "OK, Dawson," she said, "Please tell me what's going on."
"It's Doug," he said, his voice cracking slightly.
Amy's heart seemed to freeze for a moment. "What happened?" she asked through numb lips.
"He was . . . he was on duty this afternoon, and there was an accident." Dawson cleared his throat before continuing, seeming to gather his strength to break the news. "He was . . . he got shot, Amy."
There was a long silence before she could bring herself to ask the next question. The words came out heavy as stones. "How bad is it?"
Dawson reached across the seat and placed a hand on Amy's. "I don't know for sure. But it . . . I don't think it looks good, sweetheart."
And that was all. She couldn't force another word, another question. Her thoughts seemed to just shut down on the spot, and all she could feel was a tightening in her chest, around her heart. This was ridiculous. Nothing could happen to Dougie. Dougie was invincible.
"Your dad's at the hospital with Joey and Pacey. They sent me to come and get you." Dawson continued talking, but Amy wasn't hearing him. She stared out the window as Capeside flashed past in a blur of colors and shapes, trying to make that pressure around her heart relent a little. She felt like she was being squeezed to death.
The walk into the hospital was also a blur, and when Amy caught sight of Jack, her adoptive dad, sitting in a vinyl chair in the waiting room with his head in his hands, she almost felt like turning and running back outside, out into the perfect day, denying this whole scenario until it simply fell out of existence. But she knew deep down that it couldn't work that way.
Joey glanced up when Dawson and Amy came into the room. There were tear tracks on her cheeks. "Jack," she muttered softly. "She's here."
Jack raised his head and looked straight at Amy, and her heart squeezed even tighter when she saw his red-rimmed eyes. He stood up and pulled her almost roughly into his embrace. With her face pressed against his chest, she said in a muffled voice, "He's going to be okay, Daddy."
He didn't even answer, just pressed his lips hard into the top of her head. With her arms wrapped around his waist, Amy could feel him crying, silent sobs that shook his entire body. She wanted to block that out, too, because acknowledging his pain made this whole thing too real. She struggled out of his grip and scanned the tight, pale faces of her loved ones.
"Can I see him?" she asked no one and everyone in particular. "I want to see him."
"The doctor's going to come back and let us know when we can go in, sweetie," Joey said quietly. She stepped over to Pacey's chair and began massaging his shoulders. He didn't even seem to notice, just went on staring at a spot on the cold white tile floor.
"What are they doing to him?" Amy asked. "Are they operating?"
Silence greeted this question. Jack had turned his back to the room and was staring out the window. Joey glanced up questioningly at Dawson, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. Even in her anguished state, Amy could read the unspoken exchange between them: "How much did you tell her?" Joey's look said. "Not much," Dawson's silently conceded.
Joey looked from Pacey to Jack and then back to Amy. "Amy, listen to me. The bullet that hit him . . . well, it went straight through him. He's lost a lot of blood. The doctors are doing all they can right now, but . . ."
She trailed off, and Jack turned from the window and came over to face his daughter, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. "It doesn't look good, baby," he said hoarsely, forcing the words out with a visible effort. "They don't think he's going to make it."
Amy stared at him blankly as his words penetrated her brain, and then she shook her head and started to back away. "No."
"Honey . . ."
"No! That's crap! That's crazy, Dad; why would you say that?"
"Amy . . ." Jack reached for her, but she jerked roughly out of his grasp.
"Get away from me. You're giving up on him. You're all just giving up on him! Pacey?" Amy turned her bewildered eyes on her uncle, Dougie's little brother; surely he knew how insane this was. Surely he knew that Dougie was invincible.
Pacey looked back at her without a trace of the sweet good humor that usually sparkled in his warm green eyes. "I don't know, Amy," he managed to say.
Feeling betrayed by all of them, Amy turned and fled the waiting room. As tears streamed down her face the only coherent thought in her mind was that she needed to see Andrew. Her best friend, her rock, her boyfriend. The one person left in the world who would understand just how impossible it was for one of her dads to die on such a perfect day.
"Amy? Amy, get in," a voice said.
She turned toward the car and was taken aback to see Dawson, a close friend of her family's, leaning across the passenger seat to open the car door for her. Amy hadn't even known he was in town from L.A. She started to smile in greeting, but something in his expression, in his eyes, stopped her and turned her blood cold. It was as clear as the sky on this beautiful summer day: Something wasn't right.
"Dawson? What is it, what's wrong?" she asked tentatively.
"Get in the car, okay, Aim? I'll tell you on the way."
"On the way where?"
"Amy, please?"
Swallowing hard, Amy turned to Jessie, who nodded for her to go ahead. "Call me later," Jessie said as her friend got into the car, sounding as puzzled and alarmed as Amy felt.
Dawson pulled away from the curb almost before she had closed the door and began speeding down the street. "OK, Dawson," she said, "Please tell me what's going on."
"It's Doug," he said, his voice cracking slightly.
Amy's heart seemed to freeze for a moment. "What happened?" she asked through numb lips.
"He was . . . he was on duty this afternoon, and there was an accident." Dawson cleared his throat before continuing, seeming to gather his strength to break the news. "He was . . . he got shot, Amy."
There was a long silence before she could bring herself to ask the next question. The words came out heavy as stones. "How bad is it?"
Dawson reached across the seat and placed a hand on Amy's. "I don't know for sure. But it . . . I don't think it looks good, sweetheart."
And that was all. She couldn't force another word, another question. Her thoughts seemed to just shut down on the spot, and all she could feel was a tightening in her chest, around her heart. This was ridiculous. Nothing could happen to Dougie. Dougie was invincible.
"Your dad's at the hospital with Joey and Pacey. They sent me to come and get you." Dawson continued talking, but Amy wasn't hearing him. She stared out the window as Capeside flashed past in a blur of colors and shapes, trying to make that pressure around her heart relent a little. She felt like she was being squeezed to death.
The walk into the hospital was also a blur, and when Amy caught sight of Jack, her adoptive dad, sitting in a vinyl chair in the waiting room with his head in his hands, she almost felt like turning and running back outside, out into the perfect day, denying this whole scenario until it simply fell out of existence. But she knew deep down that it couldn't work that way.
Joey glanced up when Dawson and Amy came into the room. There were tear tracks on her cheeks. "Jack," she muttered softly. "She's here."
Jack raised his head and looked straight at Amy, and her heart squeezed even tighter when she saw his red-rimmed eyes. He stood up and pulled her almost roughly into his embrace. With her face pressed against his chest, she said in a muffled voice, "He's going to be okay, Daddy."
He didn't even answer, just pressed his lips hard into the top of her head. With her arms wrapped around his waist, Amy could feel him crying, silent sobs that shook his entire body. She wanted to block that out, too, because acknowledging his pain made this whole thing too real. She struggled out of his grip and scanned the tight, pale faces of her loved ones.
"Can I see him?" she asked no one and everyone in particular. "I want to see him."
"The doctor's going to come back and let us know when we can go in, sweetie," Joey said quietly. She stepped over to Pacey's chair and began massaging his shoulders. He didn't even seem to notice, just went on staring at a spot on the cold white tile floor.
"What are they doing to him?" Amy asked. "Are they operating?"
Silence greeted this question. Jack had turned his back to the room and was staring out the window. Joey glanced up questioningly at Dawson, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. Even in her anguished state, Amy could read the unspoken exchange between them: "How much did you tell her?" Joey's look said. "Not much," Dawson's silently conceded.
Joey looked from Pacey to Jack and then back to Amy. "Amy, listen to me. The bullet that hit him . . . well, it went straight through him. He's lost a lot of blood. The doctors are doing all they can right now, but . . ."
She trailed off, and Jack turned from the window and came over to face his daughter, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. "It doesn't look good, baby," he said hoarsely, forcing the words out with a visible effort. "They don't think he's going to make it."
Amy stared at him blankly as his words penetrated her brain, and then she shook her head and started to back away. "No."
"Honey . . ."
"No! That's crap! That's crazy, Dad; why would you say that?"
"Amy . . ." Jack reached for her, but she jerked roughly out of his grasp.
"Get away from me. You're giving up on him. You're all just giving up on him! Pacey?" Amy turned her bewildered eyes on her uncle, Dougie's little brother; surely he knew how insane this was. Surely he knew that Dougie was invincible.
Pacey looked back at her without a trace of the sweet good humor that usually sparkled in his warm green eyes. "I don't know, Amy," he managed to say.
Feeling betrayed by all of them, Amy turned and fled the waiting room. As tears streamed down her face the only coherent thought in her mind was that she needed to see Andrew. Her best friend, her rock, her boyfriend. The one person left in the world who would understand just how impossible it was for one of her dads to die on such a perfect day.