The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (38 page)

Daniel looked about into the cold, snowy night.  Jacob shoved his hands into his pockets and stamped his feet for warmth.

Jacob spoke up.  “Miss Kennedy, are you sure you want to stay out here like this?  Mr.  Gantly looks poorly and you could catch your death.”

“It’s okay.  You can go now.  Like I said, if you don’t see me in 15 minutes, leave for the hospital.”

She opened her purse to take out two 10 dollar coins.

Both men held up their hands in refusal.

Daniel said, “No thank you, Miss Kennedy.  You’ve already paid us handsomely.  God’s speed and Merry Christmas.”

Both men tipped their hats, paused a few seconds, then turned and returned to the carriage.

She watched as it lurched ahead and gathered speed.  It stopped about 10 yards away, but it was only a shadow in the distance, blurred by the scrim of falling snow. 

Now that it was time to light the lantern, Eve didn’t move.  She was suddenly paralyzed with terror and doubt.  She looked down at Patrick in a pleading way, feeling foolish, feeling trapped, feeling such raw emotion that it sickened her.

Then she heard bells—the shaking of little crystal bells—the persistent rhythm of bells.  She heard a high peel of laughter and when she saw the one-horse sleigh approach, she could scarcely believe it.  In awe—with the wondrous eyes of a child—she watched as a sleek, silver, one-horse open sleigh, whose runners were curved up artfully, slid by.  A woman dressed in a red cap, her hands tucked in a white muff, had thrown her head back and was laughing gleefully.  A bearded man was at the reins, dressed in a fur-lined coat and hat, sitting tall and happy.  It jingle-belled off into the night, like a positive Christmas omen.

The festive spectacle helped to break Eve’s troubled mood.  Alive with new purpose, she reached into her pocket for the matches.  She pulled one out.  It was about two inches long.  Very carefully, Eve lifted a glass panel on the lantern, took a breath and struck the match on the rough wooden surface of the park bench.  It caught, flared and fizzled.  Eve swallowed and reached for another.  She struck it and cupped her head over the flame to protect it from the wind and snow.  But before she could insert it into the lamp, it vanished in a string of smoke shredded by the wind.

Eve cursed and reached for another.  She only had three more.  This time she struck the match closer to the lantern, but the match didn’t catch.  After striking the match for the third time, she gave up.

Patrick’s face was now the color of snow.  His lips were a pale blue and he was calling out incoherently. 

With her breath smoking rapidly, Eve reached for the second-to-last match.  She leaned her body close to the bench and to the lantern to protect the flame.  In an aggressive motion, she swiped the match lightly against the surface.  A spark ignited.  The match flashed and burned.  Nearly frantic, Eve cupped the flame and slowly guided it through the open glass panel toward the wick.  She held her breath as the wick and the light met.  Another sharp wind blew, and the flame flickered and danced.  Eve held the match steady, her hand trembling, her eyes fixed and wide. 

Suddenly, the wick caught—a feeble light, struggling for life.  Eve’s breath caught as she willed the little light to grow, and she watched and prayed and coaxed it on. 

A glorious buttery glow grew and expanded, and the light spilled out into the hectic night, illuminating Patrick’s face like a blessing.  Eve nearly fell into grateful tears, clasping her hands together in a thankful answer to prayer.  Then she quickly wrapped both arms about Patrick’s shoulders and pulled him into her, pressing him as close as her strength would allow.

Snow fell, whipped by an erratic wind.  Eve stared at the lantern, holding Patrick tight, her eyes expectant.  She waited and waited.  Nothing happened.  How long had it been?  Seconds?  Minutes?

And then Eve was aware that someone was approaching.  She snapped her head left.  It was Jacob Jackson.  He was 20 feet away.  Eve turned desperately to the lantern.  She spoke to it, pleading with it. 

When she turned again to Jacob, something had happened to her vision.  He seemed to be walking in slow motion.  He lifted his right arm as if to wave, but it was sluggish, vague and out of focus.

And then the ground fell away, and swallowed her.  She was tossed into an unraveling silky black hole where there was no high or low, no left or right.  She called out for Patrick, and when she saw him, his face was bobbing in and out of yellow light, making him look grotesque, like something from a horror movie.  Then he disappeared.  She saw spinning lights, like millions of lightning bugs, blinking on and off, circling her, boosting her up and then slinging her off into what felt like vast distances.  She heard wind chimes and soft distant music, and there was a dog barking somewhere far below and then it was gone in a fading echo. 

She was riding a turgid, charging wave—wave after thundering wave—sailing, flying, reaching out for anything to grab onto as she was propelled through currents of cold and hot winds, through sounds of battle, through narrow, inky caves. 

She called again to Patrick, but her thin voice only came back to her in cries of anguish, then faded into bird song, the sound of the sea, the sound of thunder.  Eve strained her eyes to see, but saw only blackness and flickering light miles off in the distance, spinning, whirling, spheres of light whizzing by. 

And then her nose was assaulted by sweet smelling flowers, the rich pungent smells of earth and the stinging taste of mint.

Then, everything stopped.  Motionless.  Black.  Coldness.  Dead silence.  Eve felt for balance, but there was nothing to grab or hold on to.

Through a blinding blue light, Eve became aware of the vague outline of a shape advancing toward her.  She heard a voice—high and reedy—like a clarinet.  It came closer, its sound growing more pleading and urgent.

Eve was cold—cold to the bone.  Trembling.  Shivering.  Teeth chattering.

In her narcotic consciousness, she forced her eyes wide open, struggling to focus on the shape before her, struggling to find an anchor, a solid reality.

“You need help?” a voice said.

Eve looked up as the form slowly began to take on a definite shape.  It was a man or a boy.  He was squinting down at her.

“Whaaa?” was all she could manage to say.  Her tongue seemed twice its size and her lips felt like they’d been shot with Novocain.

“Do you need help or somethin’?  That dude next to you don’t look so good.  He’s like all shiverin’ and stuff.”

“Dude?” Eve asked.

“Yeah… He’s like all messed up on something.  You both drunk or somethin’?”

Eve blinked away her blurry vision and suddenly everything cleared.  She jolted awake with surprise, looking around, dazed but present.  It was dark and snowing, and it was cold.  People were streaming by, a kid on a skateboard, a couple playfully having a snowball fight.

Standing before her was a concerned young black man in his 20’s.  He wore a Yankee’s baseball cap, a bright red parka, jeans, and blue Keds sneakers.  He was holding a cell phone with head phones around his neck.

Eve’s attention shifted to her right.  It was Patrick!  He was there.  She looked left.  The lantern was gone.

“Do you need some help, girl?  I’m tellin’ you, he don’t look good to me at all.  If I was you, I’d get him to a hospital.  He shouldn’t be out here in this cold.”

Eve shot up, and then wobbled on shaky legs.  She was still dizzy.  She dropped back down hard on the bench.  She touched her head, as if to keep it from falling off her aching head.  “Yes, yes!  Thank you!  Yes, please!  Call 911!”

CHAPTER 34

In the ambulance, Eve sat nervously watching while two paramedics prepared Patrick for the Emergency Room.  As the siren wailed and the snow flew past the windows, the paramedics placed Patrick on oxygen and began IV therapy, already better medicine than he could have ever received in 1885.  Next she asked them the question that had been burning in her ever since she had awakened on the park bench.  What day and year was it?  Had she lived in 1885 in parallel time to 2016, day-to-day and week-to-week?

When Eve tentatively asked them the day and year, they looked up, briefly, their expressions contorted in concentration.  They saw her still startled eyes and wondered if she was in shock.

The taller Hispanic man answered.  “It’s Monday, December 14
^th
.”

“And it’s two thousand sixteen?” Eve asked.

Both paramedics gave her another once over and spoke at the same time.  “Yes.”

The younger one asked, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Eve said, almost at a whisper.

Eve then informed them that she was a nurse and clearly communicated Patrick’s history: an accidental gunshot wound that had turned into blood poisoning.  He’d taken no antibiotics.  He was trying to heal himself homeopathically.  They looked at her sympathetically and doubtfully, but promptly conveyed all the information to the awaiting ER. 

Next, Eve borrowed a paramedic’s cell phone and called a doctor friend, Dr. Simon Wallister, who had privileges at Mt. Sinai Hospital, where the ambulance was headed.  She asked him to call the hospital to help bypass the usual entry/insurance forms and fast-track Patrick to emergency treatment. 

Eve was aware that she would have to file a police report, since, by law, every gunshot wound had to be reported.  She quickly worked to come up with a plausible story to tell them. 

Then there would be a flurry of questions by doctors, and insurance forms to fill out, and friends to call, and family to call, and colleagues to call, and more explanations and more forms to be filled out, and even more questions about Patrick Gantly.  After all, he didn’t exist anywhere; he was not in any database anywhere on the entire planet.  He didn’t have a social security number; he’d never worked, never owned property, never had a credit card and never had any identification of any kind.  He’d never attended any school, college or university.  He didn’t have any family or friends—except Eve—and there was no record of his birth.  According to the 21st century, Detective Sergeant Patrick Gantly simply didn’t exist.  He had, for all intents and purposes, just been born, except that he had no parents. 

How would she explain this to the police, her friends and her family?  Welcome back to the 21st century, Eve thought.  She’d just jumped out of one hot frying pan into another.

Eve decided to call Joni, her perky, red-headed dancer friend and dog walker, but as she entered the number, she felt a fluttering unease and anticipation building in her stomach.  Had Joni taken Georgy Boy and cared for him all these weeks?  Eve had been worried sick about her dog ever since she’d vanished.  She’d managed to push Georgy Boy mostly out of her mind for days, but now the full force of angst hit her. 

Joni picked up on the third ring.  The paramedic’s number wasn’t on Joni’s contact list and when she answered, her voice was low and wary.

“Hello?  Who is this?”

Eve steadied herself.

“Hello?  Who’s calling?  Who is this?” she said, more forcefully.

“Joni… it’s Eve.”

Dead silence.

“It’s Eve, Joni.  It is.”

“Eve?!” Joni said, her voice filled with shock.  “Eve?  What the hell?  Where the hell?”

“Joni,” Eve said, calmly.  “I’m okay.  I’m fine.”

“Where are you?” Joni demanded.  “What the hell happened to you?  We’ve been worried sick!”

“Look, I’ll explain everything later.  Right now, I need you to listen to me.”

“We thought you were dead, for God’s sake.  Everybody was looking for you: the police, the…”

Eve cut her off.  “Joni, please just listen.  Do you have Georgy Boy?”

“Yes.  Yes, of course.  He’s fine.  He misses you but he’s fine.”

Eve sighed out relief.  “Okay, good.  And my parents?  Are they all right?”

“Yes, worried sick, of course, but they’re good.”

“Okay, now listen.  I need you to meet me at Mt. Sinai Hospital.”

“Oh God, are you okay?  Are you sick?  Hurt?”

“No, no.  I’m fine.  Joni, I need money, credit cards and a phone.”

“I’ve got them.  I’ve got your wallet and your phone.  The police sent them to your parents but they sent them back to me, thinking you might show up and need them.  Your father said that.  I just can’t believe all this.  I can’t believe it’s really you.”

“Who found my wallet and my phone, Joni?”

“Some man found them on a park bench in Central Park when you disappeared back in late October and he called the police.  Long story short, I’ve got them.”

“Okay, great.  Bring them and meet me as fast as you can.  I’ll explain everything then.”

Eve handed the phone back to the preoccupied paramedic and settled back into her seat, gazing down at Patrick, worried, her arms folded.  After all they’d been through, would he survive?  Would the antibiotics save him or was it too late?

Eve felt utterly and completely exhausted.  She needed rest and a good week’s sleep, away from the stress of the last few weeks.  She hadn’t had one really good night’s sleep since her journey to 1885.  As her eyes slowly closed, she saw an image of Patrick standing next to her in that dark hospital room.  What had he said? 

“We know all we need to know, Eve Kennedy.  We will touch, and I promise you we will certainly kiss… and we will love.  I will never stop loving you, whether you agree to marry me or not.”

Eve shut her eyes and tried to shut off her mind.  Yes, what she needed most now was rest.  But she couldn’t rest, not until Patrick was stabilized and out of danger.

Inside the Emergency Room, Patrick was swiftly wheeled into a private room, as per Dr. Wallister’s orders, given a thorough examination, and then immediately placed on IV antibiotics. 

Eve lingered by his bedside for a time, waiting for Joni.  Fortunately, Eve was acquainted with one of the attending nurses, who helped delay the inevitable paperwork and registration until Joni arrived with Eve’s wallet and credit cards.

The two friends met in the hallway, just outside Patrick’s room.  Joni fell into Eve’s arms, tears streaming down her face.  They hugged and cried and stepped out of the way of rolling stretchers and busy nurses.