Miracle in the Mist (22 page)

He sat up, placed his pillow against the headboard, punched it once, then leaned against it and stared at the painting Carrie had given him. As before, a moonbeam slanted through the window and fell on the canvas as though spotlighting it for his benefit. The breeze moving the trees just outside the window made the silvery light shimmer across the canvas, falsely animating the one-dimensional painting.

Once again, as he gazed fixedly at the painting, he noticed a faint movement among the trees.
Sandy
? He sat up and watched it intently. His heart rate increased. He held his breath, fearing he'd frighten away whatever was happening.

As he watched, a flash of white appeared to flit in and out among the tree trunks. When Sandy, if indeed it had been Sandy, didn't appear as she had before, he decided it was nothing more than a trick of the flickering moonlight. He blinked, thinking that, when he opened his eyes, it would be gone.

But it wasn't. The tantalizing, phantom wisp continued to tease at his imagination, never fully revealing itself, but always there, moving around, darting in and out, disappearing and reappearing. Frank blinked repeatedly, this time trying to dispel the taunting ghost, but it didn't go away.

He slid to the foot of the bed and reached for the painting. As he did, the room began to spin crazily. He felt as though he were trapped inside a tornado. Colors, blurred, swirled around him. Nausea rose up in his throat. He swallowed repeatedly to control it. Just as Frank was sure he'd lose it, the spinning stopped.

Dizzy from the motion, his eyes closed, he dropped back onto the bed. But it wasn't his bed. Whatever it was, it was cold, hard, and wet.

Very slowly he opened his eyes and looked down. He was sitting on a big rock covered with snow. Dazed, he stood unsteadily and then raised his gaze to see where he was. What he saw caused him to suck in his breath sharply and fight back the sudden burning in his eyes and throat.

At first glance, the scene before Frank seemed chillingly surreal. Steam poured from the crushed radiator of a black sedan that was smashed accordion-like against the broad trunk of a large oak tree. Snow was falling at a blinding rate, muffling the already-deadly silence and turning the car white. On the opposite side of the road he could just make out the indistinct outline of another vehicle, a white van perhaps, parked on the snowy shoulder of the road. A man stood outside the vehicle alternately wringing his hands and running them through his hair. Faint footprints in the snow led from him to the smashed car and then back to the van. He began to pace, stopping periodically to look up the road.

Quite suddenly, the stillness of the night exploded with the scream of a wailing siren and the intermittent
whoop whoop
of police cars. Red and blue lights flashed against the wall of falling snow. Headlights cut through the darkness. Moments later, the entire scene had come alive with the sound of raised voices yelling instructions, emergency vehicle doors slamming, an ambulance backing up to the crash scene, and several New York State Trooper cars spewing forth uniformed officers.

Like having a brick heaved against the side of his head, Frank realized what this scene was—the accident he'd had with Sandy. With a cry of anguish, he turned away. A familiar hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"You must watch and see the truth of that night if you are to ever free yourself of your guilt, Frank."

Frank looked up into the tranquil face of Alvin. "I know the truth. Because of me, Sandy is dead, and so is my unborn child. What more truth can there be?"

The Traveler smiled. "Ah, what more, indeed? At times the real truth lies just below the surface until that moment in time when we see it with a clear eye."

"Riddles and more riddles," Frank spat. Sick to death of the vagaries of Renaissance and not in the mood to play Alvin's game, whatever it was, Frank spun to walk away. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. The accident scene was gone. Nothing remained but snow, a deserted road, and that huge oak tree. He shook his head and blinked. "Where—"

Alvin patted his shoulder. "You'll understand everything very soon, Frank. Right now, there's someone I want you to talk to." He swept his large hand through the air.

From the ground a wisp of snow began to swirl upward. Like a tornado being born from the bowels of the storm, it grew larger and larger, until at last it stopped, and the snow fell away.

The air seemed to grow thin. Frank's knees gave way.

Alvin caught him by the arm. "I trust there is no need for introductions," he said. A moment later, the Traveler had disappeared in another swirl of snow.

Frank was left to stare openmouthed at the figure before him—a woman in an ethereal, white, flowing gown; her dark hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves; her blue eyes sparkling up at him.

"Sandy," Frank finally muttered.

Seeing her in the painting had been one thing. Having her standing within feet of him was another entirely. Longing welled up in him. He stepped toward her, his hand outstretched, but when he would have grabbed her, his fingers went right through her image and clasped nothing but air. Disappointment and frustration welled up inside him. He wanted to scream out at the injustice of this latest of Alvin's tricks.

Then Sandy smiled the smile he'd known so well. "You can't touch me. I am without substance, Frank. A wisp of Alvin's imagination left behind to help you."

"Help me?" Frank laughed, but without humor. "How in hell can waving the specter of the woman I loved and killed under my nose help me?" He ran his hand through his rumpled hair. "You people have a really cruel streak in you."

His scathing words seemed to have bounced off Sandy like rain off a windowpane. "Perhaps you'll think differently after I show you something." She turned slowly toward the south, raised her hand, and pointed toward the deserted road.

Despite himself, Frank couldn't look away. As if magnetized, his gaze followed her pointing finger. In the distance, barely discernible through the thick snowfall, he could see the pinpoint of approaching headlights just cresting a rise in the road. He knew without turning that there would be a like set of headlights coming at them from the north. And he also knew what that meant.

He was about to relive the worst night of his life. Chills that had nothing to do with the cold snow raced over his body. He tried to close his eyes, but, as if they'd been glued open, he found he could not shut out what was about to happen.

Mesmerized, he watched the car, his and Sandy's car, creep over the hill's crest and then gain momentum as it careened out of control down the other side on the slick road. Unreasonably, Frank held his breath, hoping that this time the car would miss the tree and just end up in the ditch. But in his heart he knew that wasn't going to be the end to this.

He wanted to close his eyes and plug his ears to blot out the sights and sounds of what was about to happen, but his body still didn't seem to want to obey his wishes. He could not look away. He could not move.

Both vehicles hurtled toward each other, not knowing that tragedy lay only moments away. Instinctively, Frank opened his mouth to yell a warning, but like the rest of his body, his vocal cords refused to function.

"You can't change what's already been, Frank." Sandy's soft voice penetrated his anguish.

Inside, his useless voice screamed.
Stop
!
Don't come any closer
!
This can't happen again
!
Stop
! But no sound emerged. Instead he had to stand there, helpless, and watch Sandy die again. As if he hadn't relived it enough times in his dreams and as if it hadn’t lingered in the back of his mind through every waking hour of every day.

The two vehicles grew closer. The one he was driving swerved and then righted itself, only to swerve again in the other direction. He saw himself steering into the skid in an attempt to right the car and succeed. At that moment, the other vehicle came toward them, and he watched as his car veered the other way and headed for the tree.

As if someone had suddenly turned off the power on a TV screen, everything went dark. When he could see again, emergency vehicles littered the accident scene. He relaxed. In his gut, he knew that Emanuel was behind this entire scenario, even if it had been Alvin who had brought him here, and the Elder had benevolently spared him from having to see the actual accident.

"Did you really think Emanuel would make you watch that all over again?" Sandy asked from just behind him as though she'd read his thoughts.

A wave of shame washed over Frank. He had known Emanuel to be nothing but gentle and wise. He should have realized the Elder would have never caused him to relive that horror.

"Frank."

He turned to face Sandy. "Yes?"

She pointed toward the accident scene. From what he could tell, since the doors to their car were open and the EMTs were just closing the ambulance doors, both Sandy's body and his unconscious body had been removed from the wreckage and placed in separate ambulances. So what was it that she wanted him to see?

"Look at the van," she said, again reading his thoughts.

He directed his gaze to the vehicle that he'd swerved to avoid hitting. Painted on the side of the white van was a large, dark green oval. Inside the oval in white against the dark background were the letters
WHCRC
. Below the oval, smaller green letters read:
Westchester Handicapped Children's Rehabilitation Center
.

Frank was speechless.

Just then a boy of about four years hobbled out of the van on twin aluminum crutches. Shortly after that, a car pulled up beside the van, and a middle-aged woman scrambled out and swept the little boy into a tight embrace. Even from across the road Frank could hear her sobs of happiness.

Sandy's voice penetrated his thoughts. "That's Mrs. Gray. Her husband was on the town council. He died last year of a heart attack. Her son has been her whole life ever since then. If anything had happened to that boy, I don't know what she would have done." Sandy turned to him. "Because of your sacrifice, she'll never have to find out."

"It was your sacrifice, not mine," Frank whispered, his gaze still on the mother and child being ushered to a waiting car and then driven away.

"No, Frank, it was you. If you hadn't swerved, a lot of children who already had far too many health challenges to contend with would have been injured or worse. I gave up my life, but you saved the lives of all those children."

"But you—" Emotion clogged his throat and cut off the last word before he could get it past his lips.

"Died," she finished for him. "Yes, I died because it was my time, my destiny to die so that those children could survive. When you accept that, then your burden will be lighter." She frowned. "And, Frank, you still have your own destiny to fulfill. Carrie is going to need you soon. You can't help her if you aren't free of this unnecessary weight you've chosen to bear." Sandy's frown disappeared and turned to a smile. "She loves you, and you love her. Don't waste that love by wishing for things that can never be. The best memorial you can build for me in your heart is to be happy. I won't be able to truly rest until you are."

The snow began to swirl at her feet. A sick feeling invaded him. Sandy was leaving. Desperation drove him.

"No, don't go!" Even as the cone of swirling snow grew higher and denser, Frank snatched at her hand to hold her back, but as before, his fingers passed through her.

"I have to, Frank. You have your entire life ahead of you. Don't live it by feeding on guilt for something you had no control over and regrets that will suck the happiness from your soul." Her last words came to him as a fading echo. The snow swirl spiraled upward like a mini-waterspout, and then evaporated into thin air. Sandy was gone.

Before Frank could digest Sandy's disappearance, he felt a strange warmth replaced the chilling anguish of losing her again. In his heart, he knew he had seen his wife for the last time. Oddly, instead of sadness, a serenity that grew in intensity flooded him. He'd always love Sandy and miss her, but she didn't regret sacrificing her life for those of the children. She regretted him feeling guilty. He wasn't honoring her by doing so. He wasn't honoring her, and she should be honored. Now he understood. Now he knew that at last he was ready to go on, to go to Carrie a whole man. He could help her through whatever she had to face—and they would leave the mist together to do it.

Chapter 19

When Frank awoke in his bed the next morning, he had to lay there for a time to make sure he truly was back in Renaissance. Had he dreamed the entire thing the night before, or had it actually happened? Had his subconscious created it to assuage his conscience?

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet hit something cold and wet. Looking down, all his doubts vanished. His feet rested in a small pile of melting snow. But more than just the material proof was the contentment that filled him, the lightness of a spirit no longer weighted down by unreasonable doubt and guilt.

Grinning, he climbed from the bed and quickly dressed, eager to find Carrie and tell her what had happened. In the outer room, he found Alvin sitting at the table with Emanuel. Both men looked somber.

"Is something wrong?" Frank asked, his good mood dampened by their expressions, and his thoughts going immediately to Carrie. "Is Carrie okay?"

Alvin and Emanuel exchanged concerned glances. "Carrie is fine, my boy," Emanuel finally said. "Please," he motioned toward the empty chair, "sit with us."

With trepidation Frank sat down. "If Carrie's okay, then what is it?"

Emanuel glanced out the window. Frank followed his gaze. A mist had begun to gather outside. As he watched, it slowly thickened. He could barely see Ellie's cottage across the square.

"I'm afraid it's time, Frank." Emanuel's voice was filled with compassion.

The Elder's meaning escaped Frank. "Time? For what?" He looked from one man to the other for an explanation. Neither of them seemed eager to fill him in. "Well? Time for what?"