If Only

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.