“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said as I reached down to help the poor girl. A couple of doors opened further down the hall and I saw inquisitive eyes pop out, peering at the commotion. I looked back down at the girl, now trying to prop herself up. She began to apologize quietly, the shock and surprise evident in her tone, and I was about to say how sorry I was, that I was the klutz who was at fault, when she lifted her head to look at me. Our eyes met and instant recognition enveloped us both. Inside my chest, I felt my heart stop.
4.
“Hello Jim,” she said, holding a hand out. I took it and helped her back to her feet, my eyes unable to leave hers. I opened my mouth to speak but no words would come out. She giggled a little, then as she stood, winced and reached down, rubbing her knee. “You always did know how to make an entrance,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Hello Tami,” I finally managed, although it came out in an almost whisper. She began to pick up the spilled dishes, one shattered cup and a few bits of broken crockery scattered down the hall. The peering eyes had receded back into their doors as I retrieved the broken pieces of china. I brought them back to her, the tray now back to an almost pre-Jim state.
“Tami, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for leaving?” she replied, cutting me off. I groaned inside, remembering our last conversation, 18 long years before. I nodded my head, my gaze now shifting to the floor uncomfortably. I’m hesitant to relive the events that shaped both our lives back in the early post-Lucifer days, but I will do my best to fill you in on a bit of back-story. It’s the least I can do, considering you’re reading my story at all.
She began to walk past me and down the stairs, and would have continued walking if I hadn’t reached out and grabbed her arm. At first, I didn’t think she would stop, but she did, standing on the first step for a moment without turning around.
“I would really love to catch up, Tami. Please?” I let go of her arm as she turned to look at me. She smiled again, that joy still in her eyes. Even after all these years, it was the one thing I could always picture when I closed my own. The happiness that lived in there.
“Yes, that would be nice. I finish at 7, if you want to chat, I’ll be waiting out the front. Don’t be late.” And with that, she turned and headed down the stairs, the tray balanced on one hand, the other gripping the hand rail. Even though her face was smiling, her tone was as stern as a brick in the face. I watched her walk down the stairs then turned and slowly walked to my room. Given the events of the past couple of days, I hadn’t even considered running into her. I surprised myself with the realization that Tami Kennedy hadn’t even crossed my mind. She had been as distant from my memories as the rest of this town. After I left all those years ago, the nightmares eventually subsided into the fabled place of ‘best forgotten’, and her along with those memories.
I unlocked my door and went into the small room that served as my temporary home for as long as I could make it work. For the time being, a room with a bed was all my wishes desired, and in the dark, gloomy room, the outline of the bed looked like paradise. I closed the door behind me, kicked off my shoes and fell forward onto the mattress. Without realising just how tired I was, I had time enough to remember her smile from a few minutes ago. Time enough to see her laughing eyes; to recall the sweet smell of her perfume; to see the lines of her face; her long brunette hair. Time enough to realize that I still loved her, before sleep stole me away.
5.
The dream that invaded my sleep that morning was a mixture of fact, fiction, horror and tragedy. None of it contributed to a restful sleep and all of it ensured I would wake in a hot and sweaty mess a short time later. At the forefront of my nightmare, every nightmare I had since my early 20s, was Harry Lightman. Although this was the younger more athletic version that I had chased along the Kennedy driveway two decades before. Harry was chasing me, carrying Tami’s severed head in one hand and my Mother’s in the other. And my Mother was calling out to me at the top of her voice, almost screaming.
“YOU PROMISED TO PROTECT US, JAMES. YOU PROMISED!” she cried. I turned as I ran, seeing the bloodied spittle fly from her lips, her bared teeth snarling at me. Her hair hung in ragged clumps, blood matted bits clinging to her cheeks as the rain fell in biblical proportions. Occasionally, lightning lit the sky in great spiderwebs that sketched their way across the dark, the severed heads temporarily illuminated in all their revulsion. My feet tangle as I go sprawling into the mud, my hands coming to a halt submerged in a puddle. My face is mere inches from the water’s surface and as I’m about to lift myself out, Tami’s face surfaces slowly beneath mine, her eyes closed, her face peaceful as if in a deep sleep. I reach out to touch her cheek and
