Epilogue
"Everything dies baby that's a fact,
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back…"
Bruce Springsteen; 'Atlantic City' 1982
"You OK, baby?" Aisha asked as BA groaned and rolled over in bed. She knew the answer to her question already; of course he wasn't OK, hadn't been for a while now, not for three weeks, not since it happened.
BA growled and sat up, the moonlight as it shone in through their open bedroom window glinted off his gold and she heard the familiar tinkle as he moved. "Gonna get milk," he muttered hoarsely.
"Sure, darling," Aisha said. "Don't open a fresh one until you used up the started one first!"
He waved his hand in acknowledgment as he left the bedroom. Aisha sighed deeply and lay back on to the pillow. He blamed himself, she knew. She could see it in his eyes, something deep inside him had died that awful day.
She remembered with a shudder the news on CNN, the reporter standing in the parking lot at some motel up in the mountains, rambling on about inter-racial gang violence spreading throughout the state. She hadn't really been paying attention, not until Boscoe Junior had said, "Isn't that Uncle Face's Viper?"
She had looked up then and watched with a sick twisting in her gut as the full horror of what had occurred unfolded before her like an unimaginable nightmare. BA had come in from the garage, stood by the couch, shaking his head slowly, clenching his fists, whispering 'no' but it was all too true. The phone had shrieked harshly into life at that moment and it didn't seem to have stopped since, neither did the endless organising, the polite condolences, the whispering behind hands and the pressing media questions. If Aisha hated it, BA did more so but he had found the strength to get through the funeral somehow. It was now, after it became apparent that things never would be the same again, that she knew he found it so difficult to bear.
And especially in the middle of the night when the guilt came; scratching at the window, shimmering under the door and hovering over the bed. He blamed himself. She worried what to do. It was not in BA's nature to walk away – he had to make someone pay for his pain. And in doing so she feared he would bring the whole of that monstrous gang with its malevolent muscle down on to her fragile family.
Aisha had argued with him, tried to make him see he had done all he could; he had warned Peck of the danger, offered his help. It wasn't BA's fault that Peck had been a stupid stubborn fool. Why the hell hadn't the conman come clean? Why the hell hadn't he told the rest of the Team? Not for the first time, Aisha cursed Peck's name. How was she supposed to pick up the pieces, cope with the only surviving member of the A Team? How could she make BA see the fact that he had to give up his anger, let it go and carry on living, that he had a duty to his family even if he had lost three people who were very important to him? She sighed how could she help him fight the ghosts of his past and re-engage with the living?
Downstairs, BA carefully removed the milk and took a long deep gulp, feeling the cool liquid running down his throat and sticking to his upper lip.
"Oh mud sucker, you got a milk moustache!" A familiar voice came from behind him.
BA growled, initially the incongruity of the moment did not register with him. "Don't you…." He began and then the impossibility hit him hard. He stopped, shock rocketing through him as he swung around to see three ghostly figures in his kitchen. All were there but not there, he could see distinctly through them all and yet they appeared as real as they had when they were younger. Each one though eerie and surrounded by a bright light appeared to be happier than BA remembered, somehow.
Ghostly Murdock was dressed in his leather jacket and baseball cap as he sat on the kitchen top beside the bread board, one foot hitched up so he could lean his head on his knee, the other dangly down almost to the floor. He was regarding BA lovingly, eyebrows lost somewhere in his cap, waiting for the big guy to catch on.
Behind him, standing by the door, cigar in mouth and blue eyes gleaming brighter than the fridge light, Colonel Hannibal Smith was chuckling softly. And sitting courteously at the table as if waiting for dinner, dressed in smart jeans, check shirt and a black leather jacket, Templeton Peck smiled his million megawatt smile.
BA growled and sniffed his milk suspiciously. Then he ran his bejewelled hands across his eyes to try to make the vision disappear but it did not. "You really here?" he barked belligerently. "Or is this milk older than it smells, giving me hallucinations?"
Smith nodded and stepped forward. "Oh yes, BA, we're really here." He took a long draw on his cigar and puffed out a lungful of smoke contentedly. "Faceman found the best cigars in heaven," he said placing his hand on Peck's shoulder and squeezing it supportively.
"What can I say, it's a gift," Peck muttered modestly.
"You can't be in my kitchen," BA spat. "You dead!"
"Technically, yes!" Smith agreed. "But, as you know we were never hot on technicalities – they make the plan too problematical! Keep it simple has always been my motto."
"We wanted to come and say not goodbye, but simply farewell, until we meet again," Murdock said dramatically.
BA screwed up his eyes. "What you mean, fool?"
"We mean, BA," the Colonel responded. "Some bonds bind us tighter than anything you can imagine. Friendship and love can be stronger than everything else in the whole universe. We went through a lot together – we were a true team. We cared for each other deeply – how could all that energy, all that power just disappear?"
"We don't want you to worry about us, BA," Peck said, slowly climbing to his feet as Murdock slid from the counter. "You have to carry on living." The three men stood in a line in front of their disbelieving friend who could quite clearly see the far kitchen wall through them.
"You're upset about what happened at the diner – believe me we were pretty pissed too!" Murdock said. "But we don't want you doing anything stupid, putting yourself and your family at risk. Let the police deal with it. Let the good ol' LAPD come through for once."
"It's a circle of violence," Peck said. "Only you can stop it. I screwed up, misjudged the situation, we don't want you to do the same. You were always stronger than me, BA. Whereas I got so entangled in the mess I couldn't get out, you got the courage to walk away. I never had that." He sighed. "It's too complicated today, too much to control. I just don't fit in anymore; I liked it better when we knew who the bad guys were at least!"
"And stop mourning us, BA," Hannibal said. "We're good and we're here waiting for you."
"You saying I'm gonna die, man?"
"Of course BA," Hannibal smiled as the big man tensed. "But if you leave the Brotherhood of the goddamn Black Coyote alone not for a long time yet."
"You got things to do, BA," Peck said. "Family to look after."
"Grandchildren pretty soon too!" Murdock wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. "And you better call one after me!"
"HM?" Peck whined. "How can he call one after you when you won't even tell us what your proper name is?"
"Grandchildren!" BA spat in disbelief.
"You still got a long life ahead of you, BA. You adapted to the world far better than any of us ever did. You've made a place for yourself, carved out a life whereas we three only ever longed for the past; we were happiest there. But you, you've got a future. Live it to the full!" Smith said. "But be assured, we'll be waiting for you when the time comes."
"Heaven's not as peaceful as you might think," Murdock said cryptically. "Still need to kick a few asses!"
"And we'll be keeping an eye on you and yours," Smith said. "Making sure you get no nasty surprises!"
BA let out a long sigh. "I miss you guys," he disclosed finally allowing his feelings to show.
"We will never be far away, BA," Hannibal promised. "The A Team will never die!"
Aisha was amazed to hear BA humming softly to himself as he climbed back into bed beside her.
"You OK, honey?" she asked.
"Great!" he beamed.
They lay quietly for a while and then BA cleared his throat. "Aisha?" he started. "You know that you told me that Boscoe Junior has been spending time with a girl. Do you think it's time we had a talk about the birds and the bees? I'm way too young to be a grandfather!"
Aisha let out a squeal of disbelief. "BA what brought that on?"
BA gulped, his forehead crumpling with worry. "You can never be too careful," he said. "Kid's start young these days.
Aisha rolled her eyebrows. "Yes; but Boscoe Junior is only ten!" BA could have sworn he heard the sound of two all too familiar giggles in the darkness. He grimaced stoically and ignored them!
They cuddled together and Aisha smiled, sensing her man was more relaxed than he had been for weeks. "I'm glad you're feeling better," she said.
"I just realised something that's all," BA responded.
She regarded him questioningly. "What?"
"The A Team ain't never gonna die - some things are just too good to lose!"
THAT'S ALL FOLKS!
