Page 110 of Envious Of Fire
Is this really his life again, or is it just more death?
Will he get to see his boy graduate in the spring? Go off to college? Marry the girl? Have children? Will those children call him Grandpa someday?
“This happens every day,” he continues to recite, recalling the words that were said to him over and over, “in hospitals, on operating tables, while people are sleeping, they die a little, and they come back, and I should not be afraid.”
He sees Kyle before him. Kyle, his best buddy, his guy.
He sees Kyle’s face full of tears, screaming out his name.
That doesn’t make sense. Why would he be so upset? Why would he be screaming out his name?
Brock finds it difficult to swallow suddenly. He touches his neck, feels an unfamiliar scar. His fingers play across the whole length of the scar, one side of his neck to the other.
Why is Kyle crying?
“I died,” he recites again, “and I came back. It was all a … Itwas all like a … like a … a …”
A knock at the door. Brock forgets the painting, rises from his chair, places one foot in front of the other until he’s in front of the door, pulls it open. A bellboy. “Sir, I’m sorry, we appear to not be able to get through to you on your phone. You have had a lot of messages, sir. A lot of people are concerned about your wellbeing. As we were unable to locate you, we …”
Brock loses track of the words, finding his eyes drawn to the way the bellboy’s neck pulses and flexes as he speaks.
“… had to speak to the owner of this suite, to your father, sir, and it seems he …”
The red flush of his cheeks, how soft they must be, how full and rich they must feel like when pinched between teeth.
How squishy they must be as they burst like gummy candy.
“Sir?”
Brock meets the bellboy’s eyes. “I want to see my wife. Her name is Jessica. My wife’s name is Jessica. I am her husband and she is my wife.”
The bellboy blinks. “I … well, yes, of course, sir.”
“I want to see my wife,” Brock repeats.
“That … Yes, sir. That was in one of your messages. She’s at a hotel right now, a hotel in Boulder City with your son.”
“My son.” Brock thinks about his charismatic, bright-eyed, top-of-the-class son, his champion, his pride and joy. The one thing he loves most. He’s smiling. “I would like to see my son.”
“They can be notified at once, sir. I’m sure they would love to come and see you. They’ve already been here several times looking for you, as I understand it. What would you like me to do regarding the other matter, sir?”
Brock nods, still smiling. “I would love to see my wife and I would love to see my son.”
The bellboy grows flustered. “Yes, and you will, sir. But—”
The door closes gently on the bellboy’s face as Brock walksaway from it, moving back to his chair, returning his focus to the ace of hearts on the wall, except now he thinks about Jessica and Asher and the moment he might see them again.
He once thought he would never see them again.
That it was the end.
That there was no coming back from the Great Darkness.
When the knocking comes once more, all the light in the room has changed, shifted, coming in through the windows at a different angle. He rises once again from the chair, walks up to the door, pulls it open.
His wife’s soft face, perspiration on her forehead, flushed in the slightest, misplaced strands of her hair curled down the side of her cheek, eyes wide and searching. She keeps saying some word over and over. It isn’t until she touches his arm that the word comes into focus: “Brock?”
“Jessica,” he says back, like a test.
