If I Die

Chapter Twenty Three - If I Die

"If I die before I wake..."

Pause. Another murmur. "If I die..."

Somebody patted his shoulder. "I think you're jumping the gun, Rodney."

He considered opening his eyes, then decided against it. Wherever he was, it was warm and fuzzy, like curling up under a duvet during a cold Canadian winter, watching the snow ploughs move up and down the street through a steamed up window.

There was nothing to be done. No answers needed finding, no problems needed solving, no one needed saving or to know the square root of two thousand nine

hundred and seventy eight.

Except those words were stuck in his head, like scratched vinyl.

"I pray the Lord..."

"Typical," said the voice. "Spouting poetry in his sleep."

A second voice, and a touch against his wrist. "That's not poetry, John. It's a prayer." Then softly, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."

Ah. That was it.

"Huh," the voice continued. "Never saw McKay as the religious type."

"He does have a tendency to surprise us."

The voices were comforting, like listening to a talk radio show, some Sunday lunch time hour. Soft and soothing. Spoke to him of home.

"You don't have to wait here, Elizabeth. Carson will tell you the minute he wakes up. You should get some sleep."

"I could say the same to you, Major."

Now I lay me down to sleep…

He settled back into the warmth, any restless driven out. Someone had found the last piece. Everything - or at least, anything that mattered – was now exactly where it ought to be.

my soul to keep.