This was a necessary chapter in the story, it was hard to write. Next chapter we get right back to business with the past. Trust me, it just gets more exciting and I can't wait!!!
WARNING: little language below.
Chapter 9
*Present day---2100 hours---Santee Medical Center*
The steady beeping of the heart monitor lulled me awake from the deep slumber. I was back in a damn hospital bed . . . back in the flimsy hospital garb as well. The Fluorescent lights were dimmed in the small room but I was still able to make out the drowsy figures of my father and another man sitting next to me. Both were dead asleep with their heads tucked into their arms.
"Dad?"
Quickly, he jerked up his head from his folded arms. A red mark surrounded by slimy drool stained his tired face. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he wiped the slobber from his face with his shirt and a groan.
"Hi honey, how are you feeling?"
He reached over with a partially numb hand to caress my cheek. It was comforting to feel his loving caress on my face. Wherever my father was, I knew without a doubt I was safe.
"Fine I think . . . the last thing I remember was blacking out in the hospital lobby which would explain why I'm still here"
"Lizzie, you were pretty feverish and for the past hours you've been mumbling incoherently. We're all worried about you . . . including this boy next to me"
Looking more closely to the still sleeping figure, I took in his military blondish hair and the tattoo "EM" peeking out barely from his olive crew t shirt. I looked down at the tattoo on my own arm, the initials "PM" was there . . . Patrick! He was asleep right by my foot, perfect location for me to kick him awake. With a jolt, he stood up defensively into a warrior stance. My father and I just couldn't help cracking up at the humorous sight of an Army Ranger Officer panicking. Dropping his defenses, Patrick sternly looked down at me and dad; his eyes said everything.
"Nice welcome home I get! So this is what I get for traveling over 3,000 miles to see my very alive sister. I thought you said she was sick and weak in bed dad . . ."
"You know your sister son, she's full of surprises even in the most dire of situations. She is a Martin after all"
His dour frown immediately transformed into his charming smile and his blue eyes sparkled with happiness. Without another thought, he rushed to the other side of the bed to give me a bear hug.
"I missed you sis"
And indeed I had missed him too, the last time we had seen each other was over a year ago at his Citadel graduation and commissioning for the US Army. In fact, that had been the last time the whole family had been together. Shortly after he had completed Army training, he was sent over with the Rangers to Iraq.
"What are you doing here? What about your tour of duty overseas"
"Well dad here sent an emergency message over the Red Cross saying you had been attacked and were mortally wounded. It didn't get to me till two days ago. My squad was about to go out on a mission when my command took me out and sent me back home for a week"
Admonishingly I glared down my father; this was in no way necessary. Of course, he returned the stare and sighed.
"Elizabeth, when you first got here the doctors had no hope for you. It's a miracle how well you've recovered in such a short time. But now with today's fainting act, I don't know when they'll release you"
I groaned frustratingly while running a hand through my hair and straightening up in bed. I was ready to go home this morning and I'm ready to go home now. Despite the passing out, I actually got a decent amount of sleep and felt well rested for the first time in weeks.
"I'm glad you're here Patrick, truly I am. I just wish they were under different circumstances. You know how dad likes to exaggerate and compared to the guy who did this to me, I'm doing much better . . . not even close to being six feet underground. Either way though, it's good to have you back home bro. Have you been by anywhere else? I'm sure there's some old girlfriends that would love to see you again with your new spiffy uniform"
Suddenly, Patrick's eyes dimmed and he sat on the bed. Taking my hand in his, he murmured,
"Liz, I'm sorry about James"
I had forgotten about James Wilkins, my friend and possibly soon to be husband. With all the events of the past week I had never thought to ask my father about him and oddly enough my father had not even bothered to tell me. I wondered what happened to him that night, and with the look on Patrick's face it did not look well.
"Patrick . . . not now"
My father stared angrily at Patrick; his eyes were solemn as well. My father knew and hadn't told me . . . I should've known.
"You haven't told her dad? Are you serious?! It's been days since it happened! When were you going to tell her . . . when she read it in the paper or saw it on television?"
"Dad, what is he talking about?"
"Honey, I didn't want to tell you with everything you had gone through. I thought it best to wait till you were out of the hospital and back home. I'm sorry. I just wanted to protect you."
"Protect me from what???"
"Elizabeth, James is dead. His funeral is tomorrow"
NO! No, no, no, no, no, no, it can't be . . . it can't be. I won't let it be. Bitter tears stung my eyes and rolled down my cold cheeks. I didn't even get to say goodbye. A cold sword plunged itself into my warm heart, sending daggers to every corner. The coldness spread to my soul and consumed my mind. I could hardly feel the knot in my throat as I heaved out,
"How?"
There was no response, and I looked up from my tear soaked hands to see my father looking away and my brother suppressing tears.
"HOW?!! ANSWER ME!!"
With a tear in his eye, my brother spoke softly.
"He died the day after your attack Lizzie. He was severely wounded with two bullet wounds"
Anger flustered in my heart and heated the plunged sword. Please God, don't let it be true. My father took my other hand.
"Lizzie, he was the one who found you next to the river. The man who attempted to rape you must have had a partner waiting by their car. I can only guess that when he saw James going into the park, he followed him to make sure he wouldn't find you and his partner. When James found you, the partner must have attacked out of rage and he shot James twice in the chest. James somehow took the pistol from the man, and shot him in the head. I don't know how he did it Lizzie . . . how with his wounds he was able to carry you to his car and drive to the hospital. I'm sure he knew that with any time wasted calling an ambulance, you or he could've died. He called me on the way here; I kept him conscious and focused so he wouldn't black out. Don't you see Lizzie? He was the one who saved you. He was the one who brought you here to the hospital. He was the one who called me that day. Without him, you would have died."
No . . . because of me he died. Because of me, he'll never be a husband or a father. Because of me, he'll never grow old and live to see his grandchildren. Because of me, his parents don't have a son. Because of me . . . because of me.
"Please get out"
My heart and soul shuddered with wrath, and I shook in vehemence of what I've done. Both my hands turned into fists, and my tear stained face morphed into something ugly. When neither my brother or father moved, I punched the bed and cried out,
"Get the fuck out of my room!! I don't want anyone here!! JUST GET OUT"
Without further delay, they left the room in a flash slamming the door behind them. As I faded out, I heard doctors and nurses arguing with my family outside. I still can't believe he's dead . . . if only my anger could dull this cruel pain. With a painful realization, I knew that I did love him. Even if it was just in a brother/sister way, I did love James Robert Wilkins. And now he was gone, forever from my life, never to return again. A memory flashed to the forefront of my mind,
August 6, 1990, it was the day of my mother's funeral. My father had insisted on her being buried in the Martin family plot on the plantation. The whole town of Santee had shown up to mourn the wife and mother of this new family in town. All of the businesses were closed that day in reverence. I stood next to my twin brother and solemn father in front of her wooden casket. My six year old mind already knew the concept of death . . . father had told Patrick and I she had gone to a better place . . . that she was never coming back home from the hospital. In my mind, I was angry at her for leaving us. Why would she want to go someplace better when she loved us? Wasn't being with Patrick and me better enough?
The local priest recited a sermon and let my father say a couple of words. I hardly remember much about that gloomy day, but one ray of sunshine that brightened up the gloom. All of the mourners had left to go inside the house and Patrick had gone with father. I was left outside watching the men as they closed up the grave. With every toss of dirt, my heart broke a little more. The top of my laced black dress was soaked with my tears.
"Mommy, I need you . . . please don't go"
I decided to plead once more before she was buried forever.
"Please . . . please don't go mommy"
All of a sudden, a big warm hand tenderly held my little hand making me gasp and think for one second my prayer had come true until I looked up to see an older boy. He had curly brown hair and twinkling green eyes, and even with a sad look upon his face he was still beautiful. He squeezed my hand and looked down at me,
"My mom told me she's in heaven becoming an angel"
"An angle?"
I mispronounced with my childish voice. He looked up towards the sky and pointed upwards.
"God chose her to become an angel and so she had to leave. But she's still here watching over you and at night, you can see her star shining in the sky."
"Think so?"
"I know so."
"Thank you . . ."
"James"
"My name is Elizabeth"
I said with a chubby tear rolling down my grief stricken face.
"I miss my mommy James. Why can't I go with her?"
Trustingly and without hesitation I confided in him and with that he bent down on the ground and took me into his long arms, hugging me tightly.
"I don't know Elizabeth; maybe it's not your time to become an angel yet . . ."
I leaned back slightly to see a wondrous smile on his face that made everything brighten up instantly. With a finger, he caught a tear falling off my face and with his sleeve he wiped the tears away. At that exact moment, I knew everything would be okay . . . I don't know how I knew but with that smile before me I did.
That sweet little boy had helped me bury my mother that harsh August day. He had helped me . . . all through life. And how did I repay him? I killed him. . .
Now there was no one to help me bury James Robert Wilkins . . . my lifelong friend and brother. With that thought, I cried myself to gray oblivion.
****The following day----0800 hours----Wilkins Mansion****
The whole estate of the Wilkins family was somber and mournful as were all the persons on property. American flags at the entrance and in the backyard were set at half staff in commemoration of James Robert Wilkins. The family had a mausoleum that was centuries old in the back of the house where all previous ancestors had been buried ever since the American Revolutionary War. James would be added to those ancestors today.
The funeral procession had made its way through the entire town from the funeral home on horse and carriage. An American flag was draped over the coffin and Marines marched alongside in reverence. I stood with my father and brother, walking right behind the Wilkins. The hospital had discharged me this morning against their wishes but I signed some papers releasing them of any obligation. My father and brother made no argument knowing how much today meant to me AND my brother. James was a member of our family, not only a best friend but a big brother to Patrick. My brother and I both wore our military dress blues in respect of the situation. Everyone else was in solemn black.
Mrs. Wilkins was gone completely, the rest of the world did not exist to her only the lost son inside that cold coffin. I could hear her gentle sobs from behind and it was hard to keep myself from going up to her in comfort. Mr. Wilkins walked stoically next to her, eyes straight ahead on his son's coffin . . . not a tear. He held his wife's arm in his and they went hand in hand.
We entered the pristine iron gates to the Wilkins manor and followed the road to the back property. The townspeople behind me were crying . . . everyone was mourning this son of Santee. I couldn't cry today though, no I wouldn't. I had cried myself to sleep last night and I had cried in my dreams. Not today, I had to be strong for his mother.
We arrived at the graveyard, and the Marines unloaded his casket from the carriage. They carried it to the marbled coffin and set it down inside.
"Right Face. Forward March"
All of the Marines except for three marched off. The officer stood to the side while the sergeant and lance corporal prepared the flag. Gently, they bent down and lifted the flag up from the casket. From the distance another Marine began playing taps** while the flag was being folded. Once they were done, each took their turn saluting it before handing it off to the officer. Once the grave song was done playing, a column of Marines prepared their rifles to fire. The officer approached Mrs. Wilkins to give her the flag and I watched in sadness as she collapsed over the flag in tears. Mr. Wilkins tried to hold her and comfort her but she jumped forward off her chair to the coffin and laid her face on top crying for her son to come back. No mother should have to bury her child. With each shot that went off a strangled moan would come from her mouth. On the third and final rifle salute, Mr. Wilkins soothingly went to her and escorted her back to her chair whilst holding her ever so tightly.
After the family shared some words and the priest said a prayer, I watched in remorse as they closed the coffin over James Wilkins casket. Slowly and carefully, they lowered him down. All that could be heard was the coffin scratching against the earth ever so slightly. I was glad I did not get to see his body before they closed the casket up. I was glad I did not have to see his pale face or his lifeless corpse. I was glad.
After the funeral, the Wilkins hosted a small dinner in honor of James. It was during this time that I found myself walking outside under the stars at night and I ended up at James' freshly buried grave. His tombstone was simple yet elegant,
"Here lies a Son of America
Staff Sergeant James Robert Wilkins
November 13, 1981 – July 14, 2006
United States Marine Corps "
I simply could not hold the tears back any longer. They flowed down in a steady stream as I spoke softly to him.
"James . . . . . . ."
"He loved you more than anything, you know"
Gasping, I looked behind me to see the tear stricken face of his mother. I went to wipe my eyes but she stopped me.
"No please don't. It's good to know that my son was loved dearly not only by his family. You may not know but he told me of what he was going to do that night. He came to me that morning quite excited . . . just as he would when he was a little boy."
She stifled back a sob and I went to envelope her with my arms, caressing her back ever so tenderly. Mrs. Wilkins reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a box attached to a letter.
" . . . . Before he died, he told me to give this to you. He said you would understand. . . Elizabeth I know he died saving you. He never regretted it not once in his last hours and on his death bed his last concern was you and your safety. We don't blame you for his death . . . and neither should you. Promise me you will leave it here."
I looked into her watered eyes with a puzzled expression.
"Leave your bitterness behind. James would've wanted it. He made his decision and it was to love you. Don't disrespect him by carrying this weight all your life"
She kissed me on the cheek,
"We must all learn to carry on Lizzie and leave the dead behind"
With that she left me by his grave alone with the stars . . . stars. I remembered those words he had spoken to me the first time we had met.
"Are you up there James?"
It must have been a trickery of my eyes for I thought I saw a bright star shimmer in response to my question. Either way it comforted me.
Kneeling down on the fresh soil, I braced myself to open up the letter he had written to me in his last hours. Deep breath . . . deep breath . . . steady your heartbeat.
My dear Lizzie, (that will always be your name to me)
I'm not good with words so this will be short. I'm sorry I must say goodbye in a letter, it appears the good Lord needs me as his angel now so I don't have much time. At this time, you are a couple doors down from me in the same critical ward. I have been praying for your recuperation . . . dear God, to not let you die. I would give my life a thousand times over just so that you may live. I'm sorry I was too late to rescue you . . . I'm sorry I couldn't be there sooner. But you are safe now, and I feel as if I've done my life's purpose in saving you. I know you may never love me as I love you, but that doesn't cause regret or anger in me. For I loved you Lizzie more than you can comprehend, you were the sun to my day and my moon at night. This is why I could never bring myself to ask you to marry me. You deserve a love that I speak of . . . a love that consumes your heart's wishes and desires. I hope you will find it one day. And as for myself, I am ready to greet death and I have been ready for some time. It's an odd feeling that I cannot explain, it's as if God places everything at peace within your soul to make all of it easier to accept . . . to not be afraid anymore.
I debated having my mom give you this box but I decided for it anyways . . . let it be a reminder of the love we shared. Let it be a reminder of our friendship. I love you Elizabeth Katie Martin. Remember I am just a star away, and am always watching over you.
Your Friend and Brother,
James Robert Wilkins
Sniffling, I deftly opened the jewelry box to discover a silver necklace inside. On the chain was a gleaming star full of little diamonds. It was his star . . . and I would forever carry it close to my heart.
**taps is a military song played in honor of the fallen dead at funerals**