THE ANGST ADVENTURES THAT ACTUALLY AREN'T ABOUT JONNY
QUEST
"If Only"
by
Debbie Kluge
Rain had been
falling for what seemed like days.
Jessie Bannon stood at the picture window looking out on a world that
seemed endlessly gray and empty. The
sky was gray. The trees, devoid of
leaves and dripping dismally, were gray and dreary. The grass was long dead and the sidewalk and road, visible from
the window where she stood, glistened wetly with a grayness that seemed to
mirror the corners of her soul.
Around her,
the silence in the room was like a tangible presence. She knew if she turned she would see the emptiness like an
animal, just waiting to pounce on her.
She had told herself repeatedly that she should move from this place . .
. do something constructive. But there
was nothing left. No will to move
forward. No strength left to face
anything. And so she waited. The numbness rarely left her any
longer. And when it did, all that was
left was a pain so overwhelming it could bring her to her knees.
If only . . .
Somewhere in
the back of her mind a memory stirred.
A memory of light . . . of laughter . . . and of joy. A time when everything seemed possible and
she knew she could never lose. But as
quickly as the memory came, it was gone again, as elusive as the gray fog that
surrounded this house. There was no
point in remembering those times, anyway.
They were gone forever. She had
shut their memory out as completely as she possibly could. The memories only tore away the numbness and
left her open to the waves of pain that those other memories brought.
Unbidden, one
image jabbed at her with such force she gasped. His eyes had been so blue . . . he had been laughing. She couldn't even remember why, now. But it had lit up his entire face, turning
his eyes that brilliant sapphire that could melt her soul. And she could hear his voice . . . not the
words, they were gone . . . but the tone remained. And the sound of his laughter.
In that
instant, she knew what was coming.
There was no defense.
The memories
and the waves of pain hit her simultaneously.
Images began to flash in a kaleidoscopic effect, flashing before her
closed eyes with an insistence she couldn't ignore. Her mind echoed with the sounds of anger . . . of arguing and the
slamming of doors. And she relived her
rage as he stormed out of the house, furious at doing what she wanted of him
that night. Furious, but giving in to
her anyway. And she remembered her fear
when the knock came much later that night . . . the sheriff standing on the
doorstep in the rain. "I'm sorry,
Dr. Quest . . ."
If only . . .
She tried
desperately to make the rollercoaster of memories stop. But she knew they wouldn't. They never did. They just continued on and on and on until they reached the end .
. .
The endless
surgeries. The desperate attempts to
try to repair the damage. The months
that turned into years of endless struggle.
She stayed through them all. But
he never spoke to her again. Never
spoke to anyone again. He sat now, forever
locked into the life support system, staring sightlessly out at the rain, his
blue eyes washed out to the color of faded denim.
And in the
seas of overwhelming pain that surrounded her, she knew the truth. This was her fault. Her temper . . . her insistence . . . her
need to have her own way had caused it all.
He had not wanted to go out that night.
It was dark and rainy and the cliff road was dangerous. He told her that. But she wanted her way.
And in the end she had gotten it . . .
If only . . .
She looked out
again to the rain drenched landscape and knew she was at the end. She couldn't do this any more. She had caused too much pain to too many
people. She couldn't fight any
more. As she turned away from the
window her eyes fell on the bottle of pills and the glass of water that sat on
the nearby table. She stood silently,
staring at it for a long time. A way
out. No more memories, no more accusing
looks, no more pain.
"A
coward's way out . . . " a voice whispered at the back of her mind. For an instant her mind flicked to her
father and mother, to Dr. Quest and Hadji.
What would this do to them? But
then the thought was gone . . . lost in the miasma of pain that was her endless
existence.
As she looked
at the pills lying in her hand she knew that it was simply a life for a
life. And she was so tired. She simply couldn't do this any more. As she picked up the glass, she looked out
the window one last time. The grayness
of the world . . . and of her life . . . hadn't changed, and she knew it never
would.
If only . . .
The End
© 1997, 2001 Debbie Kluge
DISCLAIMER: The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest
and all characters, logos, and likenesses therein, are trademarks of and
copyrighted by Hanna-Barbera Productions, Inc., and Hanna-Barbera Cartoons,
Inc., a Turner company. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in
this story. All other material, copyright 1997 by Deborah A. Kluge. All rights reserved. Characters and stories are in no way
affiliated with, approved of or endorsed by Hanna Barbera or Turner
Productions. This is created by a fan for other fans out of love and respect
for the show, and is strictly a non-profit endeavor.