Saving the World (28 page)
Turkle groped for the pills, but coming up short. He lurched on the ground, desperate to survive.
Bryant felt the wind subside. The clouds broke apart and the sky lightened. In his fingers, he could feel Margo’s head move. Her eyes opened and she gazed up at the brightening sky and whispered, “You did it.”
Bryant felt a twinge of hope. “Are you healing?”
Margo shook her head gently. “I’m going home, Doc.”
“Don’t leave me here, Margo,” he implored. “Please, don’t go.”
She had little strength left, but she managed one last distant stare, then locked eyes with him. “They know about your call, Doc. They know you called to apologize.”
And immediately he knew. He dropped his head and the tears came rushing out. Hearing their names in his head. Kate and Megan. Knowing it was them who’d communicated with Margo.
“Megan said Cujo was a dumb name for a dog anyway,” Margo added.
Bryant’s chest fell onto Margo’s tiny body, clutching her tight, as if he could keep her soul from leaving. “Don’t go,” he pleaded.
“We need you, Doc,” Margo said in a quiet tone. “You need to be strong for us. There will be bigger battles ahead.”
And he knew right then that the word
us
somehow meant his family. Margo was going to be with them, and he wanted once last message to get across.
“Please,” he uttered, digging his head into the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the tears. “Please, tell them how much I love—”
“They know, Doc,” Margo said, her voice fading now. “They know.”
The sun broke through completely and Bryant had to squint from the glare. Sirens blared and helicopter blades thumped overhead. Margo’s body wilted in his arms and he held her close, breathing her in, sucking every last molecule from her essence. He wanted to wrap her around him and keep her with him.
Turkle’s body finally relented. His head was face-down in a pile of mud, his arms splayed apart unnaturally. Even with Turkle’s expired body next to them, Bryant cradled Margo, still trying to protect her, the guilt dripping out of every pore.
Footsteps came rushing up behind him. Two SWAT team members swept up Margo from Bryant’s grasp as he fought to keep her. He was entirely irrational, but somehow he needed her close. Finally, he lost his grip and watched them rush Margo to the waiting helicopter. He was completely immobile as the chopper elevated into the cloudless sky and disappeared into the horizon.
Bryant’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. What could he possibly tell her? I’m sorry? I was so obsessed with my own desires that I forgot about the one thing still that still mattered? He’d focused so much energy on destroying Turkle he’d dragged Margo to her death.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. When Bryant finally turned, Meltzer was looking down at him with a sad smile.
“It’s over,” Meltzer said.
But Bryant saw his world evaporate in the clouds, and he was just beginning to understand the depths of his solitude.
“Yeah,” Bryant murmured. “It sure is.”
Chapter 37
They’d sat in the hospital waiting room for hours struggling to keep their eyes open. By 3 a.m. it was Father Joe, Detective Meltzer, Frank Sullivan and Bryant all slouched back in their seats waiting for the final word. Everyone but Bryant. His mind was racing and his heart followed.
“Why haven’t they pronounced her dead?” Bryant finally asked out loud.
There was no response.
They were all together in the same row, watching parents drag their kids with earaches up to the receptionist then move to the other side of the room, away from the collection of serious faces.
Father Joe placed an arm around Bryant’s shoulder for comfort, but it felt more like a method of restraint.
Occasionally Meltzer would get up and pace, but otherwise there was little movement and less conversation.
Finally at 4:45 a.m., a large wooden side door opened and Dr. Scott Lipson came out wearing green scrubs and a paper mask dangling around his neck. His eyes were red from fatigue. He dragged a chair across the room and placed it directly in front of Bryant. His eyes never leaving Bryant’s.
Lipson sat down with a thud, his body finally getting some relief. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between his legs. He was the premier neurologist in the state and possibly the country, so when he spoke the words carried weight.
“She fought hard,” he said.
Bryant’s heart dropped. Any glimmer of hope dissipated with those words.
“She ever regain consciousness?” Bryant asked.
Lipson shook his head. “The bullet entered through the temporal lobe where all her special neuroplastic abilities were stored. Once that was gone there was nothing left to replenish.”
Bryant gazed down at the floor and sank lower in the chair. He could feel his body trembling from his core.
“We stood around a while and held hands,” Lipson said. “We cried. We prayed. We did everything and then some.”
Bryant nodded. He understood how tough it was for Lipson to come out and talk with him personally about the last moments of Margo’s life.
“I was about to pronounce her dead when a brain wave spiked on the monitor.”
Bryant looked up, his hands shaking, his eye twitching.
“It happens sometimes,” Lipson shrugged. “In extreme cases the brain sends a final message to the body. It’s over. Goodbye.”
Bryant’s torso began to shudder so hard, Father Joe had to grasp him before he fell to the waiting room floor. His eyes were already blinking away the tears.
“I pronounced her dead at 4:29 a.m.,” Lipson continued. He sounded like he wanted to finish quickly before Bryant lost all control of his emotions. “At 4:31 another brain wave spiked on my monitor. I scrutinized my equipment, even calibrated them just to be sure, but once I examined her temporal lobe . . . it was tiny and very incremental, but . . . her neurons were regenerating. I don’t know what to say. In every sense of the word I was witness to a miracle. There is no other possible explanation.”
Bryant nearly jumped out of his chair. “She’s alive?”
Lipson grinned.
Epilogue
Six months later
Bryant and Margo sat in the very first pew while Father Joe began his sermon on miracles. The priest was in his Easter white vestments and beaming from the pulpit. Bryant had Margo’s fingers intertwined as they smiled broadly at Father Joe’s antics in front of the altar.
“Miracles,” Father Joe said, accenting his Irish brogue for effect. “Ah, they are so prevalent we can hardly notice them sometimes. Take the 1969 Mets for example. It’s commonplace to call them the Miracle Mets, but the accent goes on the word Mets, doesn’t it?”
Bryant rolled his eyes at that one.
“Good Friday was probably the most famous of miracles, but one of my favorites is when Jesus walked on water. Most people lose sight of the fact that Peter walked on water as well, until he took his eyes off Jesus to pay attention to the storm overhead. That’s when he began to sink. Of course Jesus saved him, but the real lesson here is to keep your eye on Jesus and you won’t sink.”
Bryant squeezed Margo’s hand and received a squeeze back. The bandages were gone and her hair was growing back, but they would never be sure how much brain damage she’d incurred from the gunshot wound. Her speech was improving and her long-term memory was returning as well. There was speculation she wouldn’t be able to use her clairvoyant talents any longer which made everyone happy. Finally the voices were gone.
“And so we must all keep our eyes on the Lord, or we will certainly sink,” Father Joe said into the microphone.
At that very moment Bryant thought of how embarrassed the priest would be if his parishioners knew that he wore nothing but his red underwear beneath his garments to prevent him from stuttering. An old OCD routine which he’d never been able to break. Bryant thought of bringing that up the next time Father Joe spoke about miracles. He smiled to himself.
Suddenly Margo gave him a hard elbow to the ribs.
It startled Bryant.
When he looked at her, she admonished him with the glare of a mother disciplining her child.
“I see,” Bryant whispered, rubbing his side.
“So do I,” Margo said, looking up at the ceiling. “So do I.”
The End
If you liked this book check out other books by Gary Ponzo.
Nick Bracco Thriller Series: Box Set (Books 1-3)
A Touch of Deceit (A Nick Bracco Thriller)
A Touch of Revenge (A Nick Bracco Thriller)
A Touch of Greed (A Nick Bracco Thriller)
A Touch of Malice (A Nick Bracco Thriller)
Acknowledgements
I'm always grateful to the people who assist me in my endeavor to write the best story I can write. First, Jennifer, Jessica and Kyle, for always being there for me. To my beta readers: Andy Montgomery, Rick and Michelle Douthit, David Aldrich, Ron Francis, Wayne Heigel, Sharon Schech, and Susan Leitz.
To my wonderful editor Jan Green, and Jeroen ten berge for creating such a terrific cover. I also want to thank the many readers who take time out of their day to contact me with their kind words and encouragement.
Thank you all very much.
Please feel free to contact me at [email protected]. I respond to all my readers personally.
