Chapter 3

Jack watched the rain flood his windshield wipers as they desperately tried to serve their purpose. It was useless. He was sitting in a pool of water that rose almost three-quarters up his tires, and his motor was stalled. It wasn't as if he was worried about a collision though he was parked in the middle of an intersection (the roads were deserted). His mind spun as he tried to rev his engine to life again. Sam. Jack was directly underneath the street sign that read Seventeenth Street. The engine coughed and weakly then was quiet again. He was stuck.

A sense of determination settled over him. He needed to get to Sam, nothing else mattered. She could be hurt, or worse. Jack didn't want to think about it. Grinding his teeth together, he kicked open his door and tumbled out of his car. Immediately half of his body was soaked in water, both from the lake accumulating around his legs and from the waterfall plummeting from the sky. He pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders then trudged forwards in a painstakingly slow run. The force of the water pushed against him like human arms, holding him back.

One block. That was all he needed. He could see the watery outline of a flickering, neon sign reading Dalloway's. He could see it, but he couldn't reach it. Jack leaned against the wall of a brick building when he reached the sidewalk, panting with his hands on his knees. His body was weak and shivering from the anxiety of the evening, and it ached to collapse but he fought on.


Martin crushed his Styrofoam coffee cup in his hands and threw it in a filthy trash bin. He could tell the woman behind the counter was flirting with him. She batted long, clumpy eyelashes at him and popped her gum noisily. He needed somewhere to sit and think, although he doubted what little service his brain could provide.

He turned and asked the woman gruffly if she knew of a coffee shop nearby that was open this time of night. She perked up and smiled and said yes. There was an old fifties diner on Eighteenth with some Irish name.

Martin blinked. "What did you say its name was?"

"I don't remember exactly," she giggled, leaning forward so that her sunburned chest was exposed to him. "It was Irish, though. Did you know I'm Irish? On my father's side. That's all I really know about him, anyways. He left when I was eight. Said he had some other family…
"Listen, it's really important that I know the name," he interrupted her, setting his hands on the scratched glass counter. "Please." She popped her gum with a loud crack before sighing.

"I think it's Gallow's or Dallow's or something—" He slammed his hands on the table loudly.

"Dalloway's!" Martin exclaimed loudly, causing the girl to jump. She nodded breathlessly eyed him suspiciously. "Thanks." He ripped out his walled and shoved a bill into her tip jar. It was only after he left that she noticed a grinning picture of Benjamin Franklin on its front.


Jack finally reached higher ground when he reached the restaurant, and maneuvered past the chain link fence at the entrance. The neon-green Dalloway's sign flashed emerald hues on his wet skin as he ran past the building, bellowing hoarsely into the downpour.

"Sam!" he shouted as loudly as he could, "Sam, are you there? Sam! Answer me!" Silence echoed through the front of the lot. He spun around wildly and ran behind the diner, clutching onto the brick wall for strength. Jack's legs nearly gave out in relief when he saw a black four-door parked near the trees that were aligned next to the cracked-pavement. He could barely see a form splayed across the hood of the car, but the darkness nearly blinded him.

Jack ran with his hands extended in front of him through the rain until he felt his fingers collide with the cold exterior of a car door. He felt towards the hood of the car with trembling fingers and felt completely saturated fabric underneath them. Jack moved his fingers slowly upwards and drew them across deathly cold skin.

"Sam," he whispered, his voice breaking. Jack turned her pale face, illuminated in the darkness, towards him and felt her pulse. It was faint, hardly there, but there nonetheless.

He grasped her shoulders and hoisted her to an upright position before scooping her into his arms. Then, he shook off his coat and wrapped it around her. It was wet, but not soaked, and she needed all the warmth she could get.

Jack felt in his pocket for his cell phone to call 911. He had just dialed the number when he heard a whisper almost completely lost in the drumming of rain, but he heard it anyway. Jack brought his face close to hers to hear her.

"I would I were alive again to kiss the fingers of the rain…" Jack froze, his brows knit in confusion. Her lips moved soundlessly, but the words echoed through his mind.

"What are you saying, Sam? What are you trying to tell me?" He murmured. "Sam, speak to me, sweetheart…" Sam coughed, and spat up some water that had lodged in her lungs. Her eyes were closed but she spoke again, louder.

"To drink into my eyes the shine of every slanting silver line…" Jack's heart was bursting with frustration. What was she telling him? What did she want from him? He was helpless as the woman shivered beneath his hands. "For soon the shower will be done…" Her head nodded off to the side, and Jack knew she had slipped into unconsciousness again. His eyes searched her face desperately, but nothing relieved his panic.

"What are you telling me…" Jack murmured anxiously, smoothing her wet hair against her face.

" 'Renascence.'" The voice made him jump. Jack spun around and saw a dark shadow with its hands in its pockets standing behind him.

"What?" Jack panted.

Martin stepped into the light of the flickering green light. "It's from 'Renascence.' Millay wrote it." He took a shaking breath that he prayed was well-hidden. "It's her favorite poem."

The two men held a powerful silence. "Martin, I'm sorry. I didn't think she wasn't alright to drive. I thought she'd go straight home…" Martin shook his head with a melancholy smile.

"It's you, Jack," Martin said, his shoulders slumped in acceptance.

Jack swallowed. "Just take her home, Martin. She'll wake up and she won't remember any of this…"

The echoing of faraway sirens thrummed in the thick atmosphere, and both men turned towards its source. Jack could barely see red and blue lights flashing in the distance. Martin crossed the distance between them and stood beside Jack. He looked down at Sam and cupped her cheek with his hand, kissing her forehead. A knot was forming in his throat.

Jack watched her quiet face and a calm settled on his mind. He had long prayed for this day, though he had known of its impossibility. All the jealousy and bitterness that had grown inside of him had suddenly disappeared. He watched Martin quietly as he took a step back from the woman and nodded at Jack.

"Don't lose her," Martin murmured, his voice unsteady. "She doesn't know how much you love her." Jack looked up at Martin with a heavy expression.

"There's so many complexities," he said, appearing to Martin amusingly as a nervous young man for the first time in love, "I don't know how it will work…there's Marie, and my kids, and her life, and….its so complicated."

Martin draped his coat over his shoulder, his wet shirt clinging to his frame. "Actually, it's quite simple. You love her, she loves you. End of story."

"I tried before.."

"Try again." Jack looked down at Sam and nodded. "Good-bye, Jack." The sirens blared louder as the lights poured down the street. Jack saw Martin's retreating back for a moment more before it disappeared. Sam moved beside him and he took her face in his hands. Her eyes open slightly.

"Jack?" She mumbled weakly. His lips twisted into a fragile smile as he kissed her ice cold hands. The medics streamed out of the ambulance and ran towards her. "Don't leave, Jack."

"I won't," he told her, keeping her hand in his as they lifted her onto a stretcher. "I promise."


Martin watched the ambulances pull out of the drive with a quiet expression on his face. Just like that, she was gone, though he realized she was never really his to begin with.

His heart, like the rest of his body, was numb, but he felt the rain on his skin. Martin looked up into the sky; it was letting up. The storm had passed. Slowly, the sirens died out and the lights faded into darkness. He turned and walked back the way he had come. He suddenly had a craving for a very strong, very dark cup of coffee, and he knew just where to look.

Finis.


Author's Note: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and feedback I received for this story! I enjoyed writing it, as short as it may be. I will try to update my other work as soon as I can. Thanks again! --LV