In spite of the warm climate and the shelter provided by the tent, Marissa spent a cold, restless night. Not even huddling into William's strong arms brought her any comfort. She could not tear her mind away from the blanket-draped form that resided in the plane.
Gary was dead, and she had killed him.
They all had tried to assure her that she wasn't to blame, that other factors had conspired to drive Gary to his death, but Marissa knew better. If she had not attacked him, or had at least given him half a chance to defend himself, then none of them would be lying there in the darkness, waiting to ferry his mortal remains back for a proper burial. At least she had been able to change that much. Gary would not have to suffer the anonymous indignity of a pauper's grave.
When the sun finally forced the soul-weary party to face the new day, it was to find that Dr. Tanaka was already up and tending to a large fire. As they watched, he tossed a canvas bag into the flames, making sure that the smoke drifted away from the tents and the plane.
"I had to clean him up," the swarthy physician explained with a shrug. "When . . . when all the muscles relax then the body kinda . . . kinda lets everything go. I didn't think you wanted to remember your friend that way."
Touched by this show of compassion, Marissa placed a trembling hand on the doctor's arm, favoring him with a tearful smile.
"Thank you," she murmured. "And thank you for all that you did for him. I know that you did everything that you could."
"It just wasn't enough," Dr. Tanaka sighed as he turned to help take down the tents. "Even if we'd made it to Sydney," he added with a sad shake of his shaggy head, "I'm not sure they could've saved him. The poor guy was just . . . I really don't know how he hung on as long as he did."
"Gary is . . . was . . . one of the strongest people I ever knew," Marissa told him. "It never seemed to matter how intimidating an obstacle might be. Eventually, he always found a way to do whatever it was he had to do, or the strength to accept the outcome of his few failures. He . . . he was a good man."
"I'm sure he was," Dr. Tanaka returned her smile. "We doctors seldom meet people under the best of circumstances, but he really seemed like someone I'd have been proud to get to know."
"Gary was . . . unique," William murmured softly, cautiously making his way to them. "I don't think I've ever met anyone like him in my life."
"How do you mean?" Dr. Tanaka asked, hoping to get to know more about the man he had treated . . . and lost.
William let Marissa guide him to a seat on a rocky outcrop as he marshaled his thoughts. How far, he wondered, did the doctor/patient confidentiality go in a case like this?
"He was a bundle of contradictions," the sightless therapist finally sighed. It hurt to speak of his friend, his cousin, in the past tense. "Gary was so willing to reach out to strangers, yet hesitant to open up to even his closest friends. It was easy to trust Gary, yet he was afraid to trust in return. He wanted, needed to heal all the hurts of the world, but carried his own pain so deep inside that he thought no one else could see it. But even a blind man like me could tell. He desperately wanted a home, family, something resembling a normal life, yet he couldn't if he felt that others would suffer because of his 'selfishness.' Gary was just a damned . . . good man," he finished in a choked voice.
The three of them sat there in companionable silence as the bundle of soiled linens burned down to ashes, none of them wanting to board the now repaired plane too soon and face that shrouded stretcher. Finally, the last traces of those ignominious remains were gone and the fire was covered with a few shovels-full of wet sand.
No more excuses; it was time to go.
The flight back to Fantasy Island was accomplished in grim silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. William had to wonder if his presence had impeded the search party too much. What if they had reached Gary before he was forced onto that damnable ledge? Or if they had, at least, found the right passage sooner? Had he really helped in that regard at all? He berated himself for not stopping Marissa's angry tirade, knowing that each word was cutting into Gary like a knife; also knowing that Marissa was beyond reason, that she had almost no control over the vitriolic expletives that spewed from her mouth. If only he had gotten to Gary before the younger man regained his feet and went stumbling off into the darkness that had enveloped his soul! William firmly believed that Gary would still be alive, if only his therapist had been able to see well enough to reach him in time.
Marissa was equally certain that all the blame lay squarely on her shoulders. She was the reason that Gary had wanted to come to Fantasy Island in the first place. He had wanted to give her a gift equal to his love for her, to show her how much he valued their friendship. What had she done but throw that gift back in his face and accuse him of dumping all of his responsibilities on her! She would never forget the look on his face as he lay at her feet, cringing as each spiteful word cut straight to his heart. Yet, as he lay dying, he had forgiven her with his last breath.
"Love you, 'Rissa."
Marissa knew that those three words would haunt her for the rest of her life.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was a solemn group that trudged down to the lagoon as the plane made its approach. The bell did not send its exuberant clangor echoing through the warm tropical air, nor were smiles and laughter the order of the day. White coated attendants stood at the end of the dock where smiling maidens in gaily patterned sarongs usually waited to greet new visitors. The pilot had radioed them with the grim news as soon as the plane had lifted off.
All the denizens of Fantasy Island were on hand to greet a fallen hero.
"Such a waste," Tattoo sighed in his heavily accented English. He looked up at the two men on either side of him, a forlorn look on his round face. "Why did he have to die, Boss?"
"That is the real tragedy," Mr. Roarke murmured, heaving a sigh of his own. "There was no need of this. Of any of this." He glared over at Bowler Hat. "If Mr. Hobson's fantasy had been allowed to play out as he had wished, all would have returned home, alive and content."
"Don't stamp 'paid' on this account yet, old boy," was Bowler Hat's laconic reply. "The yanks have some silly motto referring to the opera."
"It's not over until the fat lady sings?" Tattoo offered.
"Quite," the Briton acknowledged, giving the tiny man a indulgent smile. He turned his piercing gaze on Mr. Roarke. "Now that Kathleen and her master are out of the picture for a while, other options are open to us."
"Such as?" Mr. Roarke asked archly. He was not eager to forgive his 'client' for what he saw as the needless suffering inflicted upon an innocent man.
"That will depend on a couple of things," Bowler Hat replied mysteriously. "Mrs. Brown's reaction to losing her friend, and how stubborn our Mr. Hobson is."
If he was hoping for a reaction, he got one. Tattoo stared up at him with his mouth hanging open in a look of bewilderment. Mr. Roarke glared at him, not finding any humor in their current situation at all.
"I think you will find that the dead can be most stubborn!" he hissed angrily.
"Then I shall have to be at my most charming, shan't I," the Briton grinned, not to be deterred. He turned to watch as the seaplane was tied up to the dock.
Marissa was helped from the plane, followed by William. The white-coated attendants quickly boarded, unloading the shrouded stretcher under Dr. Tanaka's supervision. Not that he was really needed, but he felt loathe to leave his patient unattended, even in death.
It was Mr. Roarke himself who assisted Marissa down from the plane, taking her hand in both of his.
"I am so terribly sorry," he told her, his face mirroring his sentiments. "To lose someone in this manner is tragic enough. For it to be a man of such caliber . . ."
"Thank you, Mr. Roarke," Marissa replied in a numb voice. "I . . . I need to use your phone. There are . . . a-arrangements that have to be made. His . . . his parents! Oh, God! I have to let Lois and Bernie know . . ."
"There will be time enough for that as soon as you and Dr. Griner have had a chance to refresh yourselves," their host assured her. "Hot showers and a light repast are being prepared as we speak. Come. Allow me show you to your cabins."
"That's most kind of you," William nodded politely, taking Marissa by the arm. "I think we need to compose ourselves before we make those calls. Don't you, Marissa?"
"I suppose you're right," the young woman sighed dismally. "I-I have to call my lawyer, too."
"Your lawyer?" Mr. Roarke queried, confused. "Ah! His will! They will need time to . . ."
"I have to arrange my divorce," she interrupted him in a choked whisper.
A stunned silence greeted this announcement. Marissa looked up to see all eyes focused on her, even William's sightless gaze.
"Divorce!" the blind therapist exclaimed. "Why? That won't bring Gary back."
"No," Marissa replied with a shake of her head, "but one thing I've learned from all of this is that no one can deal with the duties of the Paper and keep a family together, too. We kept pushing Gary to live his life, not realizing that he was doing the best he could, that all the pressure we put him under to start a family was just distracting him from what he had to do. He was trying to come to terms with everything and we just kept on keeping on! Gary knew what he was talking about when he said the Paper didn't want him to find happiness! Not in that way, at least. If I'm going to take over his responsibilities, then I can't tie myself down with a family."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Has she lost her mind?"
Andrew watched his charge with a sad smile. Marissa's revelation had shaken Gary to the core of his soul. Stunned, the recently deceased man reached out to touch his friend, whether to offer comfort or shake some sense into her, Andrew was not sure. Regardless, Gary's attempt to connect with his companion, his friend, came to naught. Frustrated, Gary grabbed for her arm again, only to have his hand pass right through her. Marissa's only reaction was a slight shiver as she absently rubbed her arm.
"She can't do that!" Gary exclaimed, still trying to get her attention. "Marissa, no! I know what you said, back there in the cave . . . b-but I thought that was . . . was just to make me hang on! You weren't serious! Were you?"
"I'm afraid she was quite serious," a richly cultured voice replied.
The phrase 'cosmic whiplash' flitted through Gary's mind as he spun to face the new factor in this bizarre game. He was having a hard time getting his thoughts to focus on anything other than stopping Marissa from making the biggest, most tragic mistake of her life. His eyes widened as he recognized the mysterious man from 'the office that wasn't there.' He clearly recalled the elegantly engraved 'invitation' which led him to this nameless man and his obliquely phrased questions about the 'special subscription' that Gary received each morning.
"Y-y-you!" Gary exclaimed, jabbing a finger in the air, inches from that dark-suited chest. "You're him! Th-the guy with the hat and all those dumb questions! A-a-and, um, pictures! You had all those other pictures on the wall a-and then you didn't 'cause I went back and you weren't there, b-but these people in those dumb hats were following me and making notes and Joey Clams ended up in Dayton with this pooch and just who the hell are you?"
Even Bowler Hat had to blink as that rush of words washed over him, leaving him uncertain if Gary was chewing him out, asking a question, or both.
"As you have surmised," he murmured calmly, "I am an agent for the, um, organization which ensures delivery of your 'special subscription.' My purpose at this moment is to guarantee uninterrupted service. It's all well and good that you have people willing to take up the slack whenever you are . . . indisposed, as it were. But when you are so inconsiderate as to die before your appointed time, well, that puts us in a bit of a bind, you see. Your replacement is far too young to take over at this point so we must make do with a volunteer. Not to worry, however. We shan't employ your friend for more than a decade or so."
"A decade!" Gary shrieked. He continued, not letting the others get a word in edgewise as he paced restlessly, punctuating each phrase with abrupt, expressive gestures. "A decade? What about her marriage? What about babies? She wants babies of her own, and a family! You can't expect her to just . . . just put her life on hold until Lindsay Romick is old enough to take over! And what happens to Marissa then? Does she have to die, too? Can Lindsay get the Paper while Marissa is still alive? I didn't think so," Gary fumed as Bowler Hat sadly shook his head. "You can't do this to her! I won't let you do this to her! Y-y-y-you-you do whatever it is you have to do, wave some magic wand or whatever, and you fix this!"
Bowler Hat looked at Andrew with a raised eyebrow. This was going to be much easier than he had planned. They weren't going to have to convince Gary to take his life back. He was demanding it!
"I'm afraid that . . ."
"I don't care!" Gary snapped. "You guys dumped this business in my lap without one word of warning! You didn't just disrupt my life, you turned it upside down, inside out and sideways! It took me awhile, but I learned to deal with that a-and I'm perfectly fine with the fact that I'll never have the kind of life I used to dream about, just fine. At least I was free to make that choice, at first. But Marissa! She's doing this out of some misguided sense of guilt and this wasn't her fault! None of this! She didn't ask for that fantasy, and she certainly didn't ask to have Kathleen screw it up and mess with her mind that way! A-and it wasn't her idea for me t-to go running off and falling down that cliff o-or any of the other stuff that happened! I'm not gonna let her punish herself like this! I'm not!"
"And how do you propose to stop her?" Bowler Hat murmured. "You seem to have contracted a slight case of death."
That stopped him. Gary rocked on the balls of his feet as he gave the dapperly dressed man a stricken look. It was true. His lifeless form was even now being loaded into a hearse as Marissa explained her plans to Mr. Roarke and William. How could he help her, now?
"You . . . you guys play with time like a crossword puzzle," he stammered, grasping for a solution. "I've been to the Great Chicago Fire, The St Valentine's Day Massacre, and the Kennedy assassination. Wh-what's a few days, huh?"
"It's a little more complex than that, Gary," Andrew said with that gentle smile he usually wore. "You'd have to stay back, this time, and relive everything. I told you before that you might be allowed to recall everything up until the moment of your death. Once a turning point is reached, however, those memories would begin to fade. Soon, they would be little more than a shared dream, more vivid for you than for the others. But, if you repeat the decisions that led to your death . . ."
"I get the picture," Gary sighed. He looked at the man in the bowler hat, his expression a pathetic mixture of hope and pleading. "Can you do it? Will you do it?"
"I'm tempted to drag this out and see just what you'd be willing to offer in return," Bowler Hat murmured.
"You already have my life," Gary pointed out. "And my soul isn't worth a damn if I let my best friend give up her life. I don't have anything left to give."
A flicker of compassion crossed that stoic countenance as Bowler Hat contemplated the truth of Gary's words. Service to the Paper required more sacrifice than most were willing to give yet, once he had truly accepted the burden, Gary Hobson had devoted more of himself than any of his peers or predecessors. Truth be told, this was not the first time he had sacrificed his life. It was one of the things that made his situation . . . unique, which allowed for a great deal more leeway than might be given to other 'subscribers.'
"You're right, of course," Bowler Hat replied softly. He stretched his hand out to the distraught man. "Give me your hand and close your eyes."
Hesitantly, Gary did as he was told. Placing his right hand on that outstretched palm, he shivered at the coolness of it. It made him wonder if this strange man was truly . . . human. Closing his eyes, Gary tried to prepare himself for the whirling vortex he dimly recalled from an earlier 'trip.'
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The first thing he was aware of was the darkness. It was not the same intensity of dark that he had so recently endured, but more along the line of not having opened his eyes. Next came the feeling that he was lying on something hard, cold, and rough. As he gradually returned to his senses, Gary found that he ached everywhere, like when he had been hit by that car several years before.
While he was still trying to decide if moving was a good idea, Gary felt something cold and wet against his cheek, accompanied by snuffling noises. Without further warning, something warm, rough, and definitely icky raked his face from chin to forehead.
"Eeww!" Gary groaned, wiping at his face with one hand. It came away wet. Finally managing to pry one eye open, he found himself looking into a pair of moist, soulful brown eyes set in a broad, hairy face. Shaggy hair brushed against him as the affectionate bovine moved in for another kiss.
"Aw, gross!" Gary protested, trying to push the wooly creature away. He felt as if he were covered in yak slobber!
"Are you okay, Mister?" an anxious voice asked. "Maybe you'd better lie still until the EMTs get here."
"'M okay," Gary mumbled, still trying to dissuade the amorous yak. He looked up to see a tall, gray-haired man kneeling over him. Then it all came rushing back. The escaped yak, a delivery van and . . . "Wha . . . oh, yeah. Um, a-are you okay?"
"Me?" the driver of the van snorted. "I'm not the one who jumped out into the middle of the road, waving his arms like a maniac, and got clipped by a loose door! What the hell were you thinkin', Mack?"
"That it's time to get my head examined," Gary sighed as he pushed himself to a sitting position. "Again. Would you please get out of my face?" he added, giving the yak another shove.
"Animal control is on their way to get that beast," the driver assured him. "I really think you should lie still. You could have one of those concussion thingies. Or a hematomato, even."
"What I've got is a headache," Gary reluctantly admitted. He looked up into the worried face of his self-appointed watchdog. "Was I out long?"
"Just a couple of minutes," the guy shrugged. "But you were really out of it! And you're gonna have a real goose egg, from the looks of it." He gently tilted Gary's chin so that he could get a better look at the lump forming over his patient's left eye. "Man! That door musta slammed right into you!"
The ambulance chose just that moment to make its appearance and Gary quickly found himself on the receiving end of more professional inquiries.
"Any dizziness, nausea, or what the hell is this on your face?" the first medic to reach him asked with a look of disgust. He had started to check Gary's pupils, only to encounter a sticky blob of yak saliva on his patient's forehead. It was dripping down from his hair. "Oh, that is gross!"
"That's pretty much what I said," Gary mumbled. "To answer your questions: yes, a little dizzy at first, no nausea until I got a face full of yak breath, and that gunk is yak drool. I think the beast was saying 'thank you', or 'kiss off.' I'm not sure which."
The beast in question chose that moment to show her appreciation for his actions on her behalf. Shouldering the two paramedics aside, she leaned in to give Gary another slobbery 'kiss.'
Flash!
Gary looked up as he tried to disengage the affectionate animal to see a familiar face grinning at him from over the top of a camera; a camera that he had once paid eight hundred dollars to get out of hock. Miguel Diaz raised the viewfinder to his eye and took several more shots in rapid succession.
"Aw, c'mon, Diaz!" Gary pleaded. "You wouldn't! Would you?"
"I can see the headline now," the swarthy photojournalist replied with a beatific smile. He raised his head as if reading from a marquee. "Dr. Doolittle lives! Grateful 'patient' showers him with affection!"
"Film at eleven," the paramedic laughed. Taking a pack of gauze and a bottle of sterile water from his partner, he proceeded to clean Gary's face, taking extra care around the swelling on his forehead. As he did so, the other medic set about getting their reluctant patient's vital signs. "You need to get this looked at by a doctor," the senior medic murmured, his expression serious. "They'll at least need an x-ray to rule out a skull fracture."
"Great," Gary sighed. "I can say hello to Polly while I'm there. I'm sure she'll love to hear all about this."
"It'll definitely make her day," the medic grinned.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
By the time Animal Control arrived, the medics had just finished their assessment and received orders to transport. While Gary was happy to finally be free of his bovine admirer, he was relieved to know the shaggy beast was on her way back to the zoo.
Lee, the senior medic, took pity on Gary and helped him clean off the bulk of the slimy drool. It took more than one bottle of water to get that mess out of his hair, and Gary felt he would be spending a lot of time in the shower before he really felt clean again.
Dr. Carter was on duty and almost bit through his lip trying to keep a straight face as he conducted his examination. After completing the exam and ordering labs and a CT scan, the young resident excused himself. Seconds later, Gary could hear his laughter echoing throughout the hallways.
It was a disgruntled Gary who lay back, awaiting his trip to x-ray. This was not exactly how he recalled the incident from before, although it was disgustingly close. Miguel had not been there that first time and no embarrassing pictures had been taken. Hadn't that guy, Andrew, told him that his memories would be intact? Yet Gary could already sense that his memories of . . . something were beginning to fade. Had he reached the point they (?) had spoken of, the point where he had to make different choices or be doomed to repeat the events that led to . . . something bad? Absently, trying to distract his mind from the random images that only led to more confusion, he pulled the Paper from inside his jacket and started to open it to the page that had previously held the yak story.
There, on the front page, just as Miguel had promised, was a color photo of Gary receiving his 'reward' from the grateful yak. Making a face to match the one captured in the picture, Gary paused to skim over the article, pleased to note that . . . 'Caroline'? Who would name a yak, of all things 'Caroline'? Anyway, the hairy beast had been returned to the privately owned petting zoo from which it had escaped, no worse for her adventure. Gingerly shaking his head, Gary turned to page fourteen, where the story had originally appeared.
There it was.
'Have you ever had a dream fulfilled?' it read. 'Do you believe that wishes can come true? Have you faith so strong that the lame can walk and the blind can see? Then come to a land of mystery and enchantment, where all things are possible, even the impossible. Come to Fantasy Island, where all your dreams can come true.'
Gary felt a chill run up and down his spine as all the jumbled images clicked into place. The Island, Mr. Roarke and Tattoo, his fantasy, and . . . Kathleen. He slowly sat up, staring at that harmless seeming ad with a sense of foreboding. He still wanted Marissa to see, still wanted . . . needed to give her a gift to honor their bond of friendship that would express how deeply he valued it. Was this still the way he wanted to do it? What if he worded his request differently? And should he tell Marissa before he made his plans, or surprise her with them? Perhaps he should talk it over with William first, which raised the question of telling William about the Paper. In that other time, the blind therapist had been thrown by the revelation, but had quickly recovered and asked only if others had seen it. Would such still be the case?
Gary's mind was still a muddle of indecision by the time the orderly came to wheel him to radiology. There would be time enough to settle this, he finally told himself. 'First I have to get out of the hospital.'
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Gary returned to McGinty's later that evening with a clean bill of health, and a slight headache. He also carried the unmistakable aroma of 'eau de yak.' He gave Marissa a cursory greeting as he rushed for his loft, halting in his tracks when he spotted Dr. William Griner sitting at the bar.
"Doc!" he exclaimed, delighted and a little puzzled. This had definitely not happened the first time around! "It's . . . it's good to see you! Um, wh-what brings you to my humble establishment?" Gary asked, smiling proudly at his quick recovery.
"I needed to talk . . . what is that smell?" the therapist asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
"Gary, have you been crawling through the sewers again?" Marissa asked, making her way over to them.
"No, I haven't been . . . um, Marissa Brown, this is Dr. William Griner," Gary quickly introduced his two friends, hoping to change the subject. "He's the therapist that Dr. Zimmerman sent me to wh-when I hurt my back. We, um, he's been helping me with a few other issues, too."
"Really!" Marissa beamed, extending her hand. "I was a Psych major in college," she told him.
Gary quickly brought their hands together and stepped away, intending to continue his quest for a hot shower.
"Well, you two should have a lot to talk about so I'll just . . ." He stopped again, wincing as William grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. He could almost hear that shower calling his name.
"I really need to talk to you, too," William murmured. He released Gary's arm, making a face and wiping his hand on the bar towel Marissa handed him. "But it can wait a few minutes. Go get your shower."
Gary needed no further encouragement.
A much refreshed and more relaxed Gary Hobson sat with his therapist and best friend in his office an hour later. William and Marissa had already discovered and reminisced about their mutual past by that time, and had managed to catch each other up on more recent history.
"I can't believe you've been back in the city all this time and you didn't look me up!" Marissa protested.
"Our young friend here has kept me hoppin'," William chuckled. His face grew serious as he reached out to touch Gary's arm. "This time, however, I'm hopin' you can help me."
"I-in what way?" Gary asked nervously. He had been busying himself with serving coffee for his two friends. He waited as William took a sip from his cup and carefully set it back down.
"I'm not usually a big believer in what some would call the supernatural," the therapist told them candidly. "Dreams are a window to our subconscious, if you believe the learned gentlemen of academia. My mother believed that they could foretell the future, if we interpreted them correctly."
"Um, where exactly are we going with this?" Gary asked, noticing Marissa's startled look out of the corner of his eye. "Are you asking me to interpret a dream you had?"
"No," William replied with a shake of his head. "I'm asking you to be careful. Last night, I dreamed that you, Marissa, and I were on this tropical island. Please recall that I had no clue that Marissa still lived in Chicago, let alone that you two were such close friends. To confuse matters even further, you were blind and she could see."
Marissa almost dropped her cup when she heard this, setting it down with a clatter.
"Oh, my lord," she whispered. "I had the same dream! That's why I felt this . . . this shiver when Gary introduced us. I-I already knew who you were a-and that you were his therapist and . . . you're cousins! On your mother's side. One of the Chandler twins settled in North Carolina or something like that!" She frowned as the rest of it escaped her. "Blast! There was something about a room with a clock over every door, but I just can't remember any more than that."
Gary tried to keep a firm grip on his reactions, knowing that Marissa, in spite of her sightless condition, could read him like a book. A shared dream, Andrew had said, only some would recall more details than others.
"Did, um, did we have a good time on this island paradise?" he chuckled nervously.
"You . . ." William paused, his brow wrinkling in confusion. "Something really bad happened to you, Gary. I can't seem to grasp the details, now, but I think you were in a great deal of pain. And you told me some bizarre story about . . . a newspaper?" he added uncertainly. "Yes! Tomorrow's paper, today! That's how you keep getting into all these strange and dangerous situations!"
"And today certainly qualified as strange," Marissa chuckled, recalling the story Gary had told them about the yak. "Did you get her number?"
"No, I didn't . . ." Gary's voice trailed off as he shot his friend a disgruntled look before turning back to his therapist. "That . . . that's something I'd been meaning to bring up in our sessions. The Paper, I mean."
William turned his astonished visage toward Gary.
"You mean it's true?"
"Um . . . yeah."
"Oh, son, we need to have a looong talk! Not that I don't believe you!" William hastened to add. "I just need to get a better handle on this. For the longest time, I was working under a false premise, that you had some sort of 'hero complex.' By that, I mean that you went out looking for people to save from imagined dangers. Having some type of . . . foreknowledge changes the whole picture."
"You thought I was crazy?" Gary asked, bristling at the news.
"Not for a minute," William assured him. "Just troubled. You have always seemed to have a lot on your mind, with ample justification for an impending nervous breakdown. Yet, at the same time, you were always very much aware of the reality of your situation. You, my young friend, are a jumbled mass of contradictions. I might have to write a paper on you someday; to be published posthumously, of course."
The three friends spent the next hour discussing the dreams, to which Gary never once offered his own experiences. It was enough, for him, that the three of them had been drawn closer together. Now, if only he could figure out what to do for that upcoming anniversary!
The impromptu meeting broke up when William's receptionist returned to take him home. As he arose to leave, he heard Marissa shift in her seat, probably turning toward Gary.
"By the way, Gary," she murmured softly. "I've been meaning to ask you something. Who's Geran?"
William chuckled as he pictured Gary looking like a deer trapped in the headlights. As he headed for the door, he said, "You're on your own with this one, son,"
Gary squirmed under Marissa's sightless gaze. Even though he knew that she could not really see his face, the young barkeep could not shake the idea that Marissa was staring at him, waiting for an answer.
"You can't repeat what I'm about to tell you," Gary told his friend. "Not to anyone. Even Mom and Dad don't know about this. It's absolutely vital that know one else knows about this. I-I mean, well, Jake knows, but he found out by accident. S-so I have to have your solemn word . . ."
"I swear, Gary," Marissa promised him. "On the Bible, the Torah, or any other religious text you can name. Now, give! Who's Geran?"
"W-well, um, do you remember us . . . Mom and me, telling you about . . . about what happened last month?" he stammered. "When I was shot, I mean."
"At that train station near Washington, D.C." Marissa nodded. "You saved Vice President Hoyne, his family and half the Cabinet, from what Lois said."
"Yeah," Gary sighed as he shifted uncomfortably. "Well, sh-she, um, she forgot to mention the Press Corp."
Gary could almost see the pieces fall in place in her mind. He watched Marissa's face as she sat back in her chair, her lips forming an 'O' of understanding.
"Meredith Carson works for the Washington Post, now, doesn't she?" the blind woman murmured.
"She's, um, she's Meredith Chisholm, now," Gary shrugged, suddenly finding something fascinating about his hands. "She . . . she was on the train a-along with . . . with her little boy. C-cute kid, a-about six. He, um, he doesn't look anything like his dad, but h-he does look a lot . . . a lot like his . . . his father."
Marissa was nothing if not astute. Tears welled in her eyes, as if she could feel the pain that gripped her friend's heart. Instinctively, she reached out to take both of his hands in hers, freely offering her support without recriminations or reproach.
"Oh, Gary . . ."
"Th-the only time I really saw him." Gary stammered, "was . . . it was right after I was shot, and he looked . . . he looked so scared, Marissa. There was this little kid, staring at me a-and . . . and then she was turning him away and all I could see were those eyes, staring at me."
"He's your son?" Marissa whispered in a choked voice, reaching one hand up to cup his cheek in a comforting gesture, not surprised to feel moisture. "Your little boy?"
"They were my eyes," he whispered, as if she hadn't spoken. "My son . . . my son looks just like me. H-he even has my eyes."
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By the time Gary had brought Marissa up to date on the subject of Geran, Meredith, and the full events of his recent excursion to the nation's Capitol, it was getting late. He wearily trudged up the stairs to his loft, feeling physically and emotionally drained, and planning nothing more exciting than to crawl in bed.
There was still the matter of a suitable gift. What could he give Marissa that could possibly mean as much to her as her friendship did to him? In spite of all that had happened, Gary's mind kept returning to that damnable ad. If he actually went to the island, would events unfold as they did before, or could he change things simply by rephrasing his request? It wasn't the matter of his safety that caused him such turmoil, but what his death would do to Marissa. He did not want her sacrificing her future in a useless gesture of atonement!
The cat looked up from its place on the bed as Gary entered the loft. Sinking onto the bed with a sigh, Gary reached out and gathered the orange feline in his arms.
"What do you think, buddy?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. "Should I make the call? Maybe this Mr. Roarke can fix it so things don't happen the same way. Or maybe he can at least give me some advice. Hmm? Do you think he can steer me onto a better idea?"
The cat's only answer was to butt Gary's chin with his head and let out a low moan.
"That's the ticket, then," Gary decided. "I'll call and explain my problem and see what he has to say. After all, a guy like that must run into weird stuff like this every day."
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An hour later, and half the world away, Mr. Roarke set his phone back in its cradle. Turning to face his guest, his careworn face broke into a relieved grin.
"Just as you predicted," the mysterious caretaker of dreams nodded. "His desire for an appropriate gift almost outweighed his caution."
"One of the attributes that make him so special," Bowler Hat murmured with a smug look, "is his infinite capacity for love. There was never the slightest doubt in my mind that he would risk all in his quest. We simply had to make him put things into perspective. What good would it do to grant her the gift of sight if it took away her dreams for the future? I really think that all will be much happier with our solution."
Mr. Roarke looked down at the jewel-encrusted pendant lying in a velvet-lined box on his desk. It was a filigreed heart of antique gold surrounding a down-turned triangle inset with precious and semi-precious stones. The entire pendant could easily fit in the palm of her hand and was striking in its simplicity and elegance. The chain to which it was attached was as delicate in construct as the jewel. A pair of matching earrings completed the set. Once the jewelry was properly prepared, it would make the perfect gift.
"Yes," Mr. Roarke murmured, looking up at his guest with a satisfied smile. "I do believe that he will be quite happy."
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One week later . . .
Gary nervously paced the narrow confines of his office, alternately looking from his watch to the clock on the wall. He was sure both of them had to be wrong. It had to be later than that! Where was that deliveryman? Didn't he know how important tonight was? Wasn't he told how vital it was that Gary have that package before five o'clock? He needed time to get his shower, get dressed, and stop by the florist. He had already confirmed their dinner reservations at the very same restaurant where they had eaten on that night eight years before. Everything was in place. Now, if that blasted . . .
A knock on the door almost gave Gary a heart attack! Practically leaping across his desk, he snatched the door open to reveal Robin with a slender package in her hand.
"This came by messenger a couple of hours ago," the brown-haired waitress apologized. "We were so busy; I just signed for it and stuck it in my pocket. I didn't remember until I went to take off my apron just now. I hope I didn't mess up any plans you had made."
Gary was only half listening as he gently took the package from her hand and turned to lay it on his desk. His hands were shaking so much, he was afraid that he would drop it. Wiping the sweat from his palms, he mumbled half-hearted assurances to the young woman as he removed the plain brown wrapping paper, to reveal an ornate, antique leather jewelry case. Gingerly, he pried open the lid and looked inside.
"Oh!" Robin gasped, catching sight of the contents. "Oh, Gary, it's beautiful! Who's the lucky girl?"
"It's not what you think," Gary murmured distractedly. "Tonight's a sort of . . . of special night for me and Marissa. It's . . . well, this is . . . is to let her know how . . . D-do you think she'll like it?"
"Of course, she will!" Robin sighed, eying the gift enviously. "It's very richly textured as well as colorful. May I?" she asked, reaching for the box.
Gary quickly closed the case with an apologetic smile. He had been warned that the recipient of the gift must be the first to touch it.
"Let Marissa show it to you later," he suggested. "She'll want you to describe it to her in detail, I'm sure."
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Very little about the restaurant had changed in the past eight years, Gary noticed. The lighting was still tastefully subdued, the waiters friendly and proficient, and the food excellent. Only the status of the two diners had changed. This time, Gary was free and single, while Marissa was happily married. This ironic twist was not lost on the young couple.
"I can't believe you remember the exact date and time of that dinner," Marissa chuckled as their desert dishes were being cleared. "I thought only women were that . . . focused."
"Oh, I remember a lot of things," Gary teased. "For instance, you thinking I was trying to proposition you."
"How could either of us forget that," the young African-American woman laughed. "I thought you were gonna choke!"
"I almost did!" Gary's voice turned serious as he slowly removed the box from his jacket pocket. "Marissa, we've been through a lot since that night. We've faced life . . . and death together, as a team. Oh, I know we've had our differences, but we never let them get in the way of what really mattered: our friendship. I've spent the last few weeks searching for some way to . . . to let you know just how much I've treasured your faith and support a-and this is the best I could come up with," he added, sliding the box under her hand. "I hope you like it."
Marissa didn't know what to say. This whole evening had been such a pleasant surprise. Gary had gone all out, picking her up in a limousine, a bouquet of fresh cut flowers in hand, and now this. Gingerly, she ran her hand over the box, tracing a manicured nail over the embossed designs. It felt like some sort of landscape, with birds, perhaps . . . or . . .
"It's a seascape with . . . with dolphins dancing and leaping all over the place," Gary told her.
"It's beautiful," Marissa murmured, entranced by the mental imagery.
"Open it."
Marissa ran her hands over the sides until Gary guided her to the hinged catch. She raised the lid carefully and reached inside, her fingertips gently brushing the filigreed pendant. Her eyes flew open in shock as images began to crystallize in her mind. First was a cleanly chiseled face with warm brown eyes and a dazzling smile. Love shone from those mahogany features, love for her.
"Emmett," she whispered, sure of his identity. Clutching the pendant in her hand, Marissa tried to call up other faces. One by one, she saw the faces of her mother, her long dead father, aunts, uncles, her sister, so many faces that she had never seen, or could not remember seeing, yet she knew them all.
The last image to join this cavalcade of love was the face that belonged to the hands now fastening the miraculous jewel around her throat. Reaching up, she caressed the face that she had once said looked 'like apple pie.' She could feel the warmth of his smile, and she could see it, if only in her mind.
"Oh, Gary," she whispered. "This is . . . I don't . . ."
"Happy anniversary, Marissa," Gary murmured softly. He felt no need to tell her of the full extent of his gift. Let her find out in eighteen years, when his time came to join his predecessors.
In the meantime, they had the rest of their lives to look forward to. Gary had no doubts that they would hit many rough spots, pitfalls, and dangers. There would be times that his life, his very soul would be on the line. As long as he had Marissa in his corner, keeping him warm with the strength of her faith and love, he had no doubts that he would eventually prevail.
"Happy anniversary," he repeated, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek. "And thank you so much, for being my friend."
The End
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