Shadow Man

It's there, Mommy. You stopped trusting it, but she needs you now. And I don't mind that you need her. You asked me that in your dream, but you woke up before I could answer you. Love her, Mommy. I don't mind. Alexa's face appears in my mind; Matt's brown eyes, pixie smile, mailman's dimples. I'm not afraid to look at her now. The hands pull away and I feel her receding behind me. Before she goes, she whispers one final thing: Don't you understand, Mommy? You're not perfect. Do what you feel, and it'll be the best you can do. Your best is all you'll ever have to give. The dragon snarls, and the whirring becomes a scream, building in me like a hummingbird aflame, growing into a hawk, and then an eagle, and--

My hand stops shaking.

I raise the gun and pull the trigger without thinking about doing it. I don't hear the crack of the shot. It is all visual for me. I see Bonnie's face jerk back as Hillstead's head explodes and the knife falls from his hands, and I know that I have killed her with him. I feel a scream begin to build in me, my hands go to my head, but then Bonnie is moving toward me, hobbling with her bound feet. She turns her left cheek to me and I see Hillstead on the floor, a bullet hole through one eye, and I understand. I had made the shot. It was close, my bullet had grazed Bonnie's cheek, but it had found its mark. She was fine. He was dead. My hand is trembling as I holster my weapon. James and Alan come rushing up the stairs, followed by Tommy. Alan is weeping as he unties Elaina and gets a blanket around her, while James and Tommy ask me if I am hurt. I don't reply.

I look down at him, dead on the floor. The man who provided Sands with access to my home, who was ultimately responsible for the death of my family, the scars on my face. I think about the swath of destruction his actions left behind him. In the end, he proved his own point.

Death is always just a step away.

But then again, so is life, and all of its champions.

57

C ALLIE ASKED THAT three people be here for this. Me, Marilyn, and Elaina. Bonnie is here by default, which seems fine with Callie. Two days after Peter Hillstead died, Callie woke up. It's been another two days since that, and the doctor is preparing to test her feet for sensitivity. Callie is doing her best to cover it, but I can tell that she is terrified. She looks terrible. Pale, tired. But she is alive. Now we'll find out if she's going to walk again.

The doctor holds one of those instruments everyone has seen but can't name--like a revolving spur on the end of a handle. He is poised to run those sharp points across the bottom of her feet, and he looks up at Callie. 'Ready?'

Elaina grips her hand on one side of the bed, I on the other. Marilyn stands to Elaina's left. Bonnie looks on, a worried expression on her face.

'Tickle me, honey-love.'

He runs the spur across the sole of her left foot. Looks at her. 'Did you feel that?'

Her eyes widen with fear. Her voice is small. 'No.'

'Don't panic,' he tries to reassure her. I can tell this is not working, because her hand is crushing mine. 'Let's try the other foot.' He runs the spur across it, we wait . . .

And then a twitch. The big toe moves. Callie holds her breath.

'Did you feel that?' he asks again.

'I'm not sure . . .'

'That's okay. The toe moving is an excellent sign. Let's try it again.'

He runs the spur across the bottom of her foot. This time, the toe twitches immediately.

'I--I felt it!' Callie exclaims. 'Not a lot--but I did.'

'That's very, very, very good, Callie,' the doctor says, soothing.

'Now I want you to try something else for me. I want you to try and move that toe for me, the one that twitched.'

Callie's hands are sweating. I can feel the smallest tremble.

'Come on,' Elaina soothes. 'Try it. You can do it.'

Callie is looking down at her big toe, an intensity of concentration that an Olympic runner couldn't match. I can feel her mental strain as something palpable.

The toe moves.

'I felt something that time!' Callie says, excited. 'More of a . . . connectedness. Does that make sense?'

The doctor smiles. It is a big smile, a huge smile. None of us have allowed ourselves to relax into relief yet, but I can feel the possibility building. We need to hear the words from his mouth. 'Yes. That makes a lot of sense. And it is very good news. There is only a five percent chance that you'll experience some impairment. Nothing that physical therapy can't handle, but I don't want you to worry if it happens. If that occurs, it'll be a matter of retraining your body to accept the messages between brain and legs.' He pauses. 'But I feel confident in saying this: You are not going to be paralyzed.'

Callie's head goes back against her pillow and she closes her eyes, the room is filled with a chorus of 'Thank God's; it's a hurricane of relief. Then we all stop.

Because we hear the wail.

It is the sound of someone releasing something crippling and huge and awful, a keening, and we all turn to see where it is coming from. Bonnie. Little Bonnie is against the door of Callie's room, face red, tears practically bursting from her eyes, fist against her mouth. Trying to hold in a volcano of grief that is demanding release. I am shocked into speechlessness. I feel as though someone has cut my heart in half with a straight razor.

Of us all, it is Bonnie who feared for Callie the most, and the sheer unexpectedness of this makes her grief all the more overwhelming. That, and my understanding of it. If Callie had been crippled, he would have won, in Bonnie's eyes. She is wailing for her mother, for me, for Elaina, for Callie, and for herself.

Callie's voice cuts through the air, a soft arrow. 'Come here, honeylove,' she says, with a gentleness that makes me want to stagger. Bonnie rushes over to her bedside. She takes Callie's hand and closes her eyes and weeps against it as she rubs her cheek across the knuckles, over and over and over. Cherishing Callie's life and crying for her own world, all at the same time.

Callie murmurs to her, wordless, while the rest of us remain mute. We couldn't speak if we wanted to.

Callie had asked to see me alone, for just a few moments.

'So,' Callie says, after a space of silence. 'I suppose just everyone knows about me and Marilyn now?'

I grin. 'Pretty much.'

She sighs, but it doesn't sound like a sigh of regret. 'Ah, well.' She's quiet for a moment. 'She loves me, you know.'

'I know.'

'But that's not why I asked you to stay in here with me,' she says.

'No? Then why?'

'There's something I need to do, and . . . well, I'm not quite ready to do it with Marilyn yet. Maybe never.'

I look at her, puzzled. 'What?'

She motions me closer. I sit on the edge of the bed. 'Scoot in a little bit closer.'

I do. She reaches out with her hands and gently grabs the sides of my arms, pulling me into her, until she is hugging me. It takes me a moment to get it, and then I do, and I close my eyes and hug her tight.

She's sobbing. Silent and wordless, but with everything she has. So I hug her and let her cry, and I don't feel sad. These aren't those kind of tears.

58

IT IS FIVE O'CLOCK, and James and I are the only ones left in the office. This is a rare