One (6 page)

Several moments went by with no answer. I wondered what I would want more, to have her answer and find that she was trapped in this place alone with me or receive nothing and hope that wherever she is she is safe. I also considered if only for a moment that I was the one that was safe and everyone else who may or may not be gone were in peril, I quickly dismissed that thought.

I was ready to walk away, but a thought occurred to me. If the fire continued to spread her home would be destroyed. Even if she were not home, everything she ever had would be lost. I broke down the door. I felt it was acceptable in this case. That was going to be my course of action until I turned the knob and the door opened.

“
Mrs. McCormick? Christine?” I called out.

There was no expectation of an answer, but Mrs. McCormick would never leave the door unlocked. Though the home was modest and they were not wealthy, the concern was for what you could never replace. The home was cold. I remember when Christine first introduced me to her parents. The tiny living room looking out onto the street, I sat in her father’s chair. It was old and worn, but soft and comfortable, like an old pair of jeans. Christine did not notice me sitting there until her father waked in asking who I was. The wooden floors, old and worn would creak when I tried to sneak in the house to spend the night.

There was a sound, it was muffled, and I could hear it coming from down the hall. My heartbeat increased as I ran past the bathroom the Christine’s door. It was louder, definitely coming from inside her room. Moaning or a muffled scream I couldn’t tell. The door was locked, there was definitely someone inside.

“
Christine, are you okay? Christine!” I yelled in a panic.

A scream, clear, haunting, sent me into a deeper panic. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing I could, a worn steak knife. I returned to her door, I braced myself ready to kick it in. A rage was building inside me. I would kill whoever caused Christine to scream like that. Her door was less durable than Ashley’s was coming completely off the hinges when I kicked it. The door made an echoing thud when it slammed to the floor. My knife was at the ready. Prepared to strike I screamed as I entered the room. She was nowhere to be found. The room was empty, but my mind could not accept that, the noise I heard, it was real.

A painful answer that is what the second scream gave me. Identical to the first I spun around finding where it came from. The television was on. A DVD menu played repeating the screams from a horror movie. I couldn’t contain my anger. I grabbed the television and pulled it from the stand smashing it onto her floor. The shatter of the glass and smell of burning wires brought with it a satisfaction as if an object could feel my revenge.

Exhausted I slumped down onto Christine’s desk chair. Holding my head in my hands I could feel despair creeping over me. Why was I unable to jump from my balcony? Was there a reason I was left behind? It couldn’t be to have memories of Jonathan or to watch my neighborhood slowly burn to the ground. To sit in Christine’s room, alone, just felt, unnatural. I could smell her. The scent of her was still in the room, like a ghostly presence, I could almost feel her.

I opened my eyes and stared angrily at the DVD player. My attention was taken away by her fish tank. It was a gift from her best friend Lola for her sixteenth birthday. Thirty gallons, it was the pride of Christine’s room. She cared for that tank and the fish inside as if they were her children. She would inform Lola about any new fish or changes to the tank. At one time, she had over ten fish, but I could not find even one.

I had to stand and check again. I bent over and searched the tank for any signs of the fish. No matter the emergency there is no way anyone take fish with them. A vision, like a flashback appeared in my mind. A sight from earlier, there were no pigeons in the sky, any dogs or even insects. Impossible, as it was the only conclusion I could come to was that whatever caused everyone to disappear also affected animals, insects, and all living things except me. It was painful to consider that. To begin to accept the unbelievable was unacceptable.

I needed to sit down. I returned to Christine’s desk and laid my head down trying desperately to figure out what to do next. If I was willing to accept that, everyone could disappear in an instant then I had to also conclude that, as an amazing feat as that would be it should be reversible. Although there were still the question of why was I the only one left? However, that was not yet confirmed.

My hand must have brushed against Christine’s computer mouse. Her monitor turned on, its bright light causing me to lift my head and look. She had her e-mail client open. There were several unopened e-mails, none of any consequence. Under her sent items was an e-mail sent to Lola at eleven fifteen with the subject line, new fish. Christine attached a picture. I opened it and saw a picture of the tank. Inside there were clearly eleven fish. There was no denying it, the fish were moved, but the question was how.

Then I saw something else. One letter was in her drafts folder. It was addressed to me and saved at eleven twenty eight. It did not have a title. I clicked on it and thought back to our conversation and the matter of importance she mentioned. Part of me did not want to read it, but that part was outvoted.

“
Timothy, I didn't want it to happen this way, not in an e-mail, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to do this face to face and for that I am sorry. After everything you've been through, we've been through; I'm ashamed I couldn't do this. With what I've done I should have been stronger than this, but after taking a hard look inward I learned that I wasn't. Please believe me when I tell you that I never intended to make your life any harder than it already was. Honestly, I hoped that I could have made it better.

After the incident with Jonathan I knew things would be harder, but I also knew that I was partly responsible. Taking a page from you I was willing to adapt and accept your changes even your new friends, but after what happened with your father I knew nothing would ever be the same.

To be caught between coming to grips with what happened and trying to rebuild your life, I knew it would be a long road back. I know you don't like to talk about the past, but even though you said you have adapted I could see that a piece of you was lost. All I wanted was to be there for you and help you during that time. It killed me being away from you for so long, but when we began seeing each other again I prayed things would return to some normality.

Perhaps that was too much to wish for. You parent's and mine told me I should stay away, that there was nothing I could do. I didn't want to believe that. While I knew there was nothing that could fill that void inside you, I did hope I could make life easier for you. I just wish I knew what happened that day. You seemed to be better then you were gone. Your mom wouldn't tell me what happened until later when I asked…

Please understand that I still love you, but I'm not strong enough to keep it together. I can't hide it away and I can't keep secrets, not like that. I knew that if I stayed around I would shatter your world and even though in my heart I felt it would be the best thing I couldn't do that to you or your family. I can't say I believe that what happened to you can be dealt with. It's not something you just adapt to. Even with what I saw firsthand I know the wound will never close, it will never heal, no matter what your family does. Maybe I should end this and just tell you…”

It just stopped, what she was telling me didn’t make sense. She talked about what happened between Jonathan and me, but she should have known that I never blamed her for that. I searched her computer looking for anything to help make sense of her e-mail. After my father’s death I remember not seeing anyone for a few days, but she made it sound as if I had gone away for a long time.

There was more now than just finding out where everyone was. I had to find out what Christine was talking about. She mentioned her parents as well as my mother asking her to stay away, mom would never do that. She often bugged me about not spending enough time with Christine so to try and keep her from me just didn’t add up. Maybe from her point of view I was too quick to accept what had happened. After she lost her grandmother Christine wasn’t the same for months. If she saw something in me based on how she thought one should grieve then perhaps that could explain some of it.

If there was a reason for me being left alone then what Christine wrote had to be it. Nothing in her room would help me find an answer. The only thing I could do was search for the truth and pray that one answer would lead me to the other.

In the absence of faith

The absent of emotion can bring clarity, but one cannot understand the truth of a situation without first understanding the emotion. Christine said those words one night sitting on her bed watching zombie movies. I argued that in dire circumstances it was the irrational side effect of emotion that was the ultimate downfall of the people involved. She believed that while uncontrolled emotion could lead to panic and illogical decisions, it is also emotion, coupled with the will to live that led those who fought to survive, to survive.

I never advocated being void of emotion, I asked for rational thoughts that would lead to rational decisions. What was the rational thought? I asked myself that as I continued searching the room. Stopping to smell the nightgown Christine wore to sleep, there was no way I could remove the emotional component from what I was experiencing.

A world emptied of all life, it was not rational, and it was not possible. If I continued to focus on how everything around me was impossible then I would never be able to discover what Christine talked about in her letter to me.

The best thing, I decided at that moment, was to try to find out if anyone else was left behind. Before any questions about my past could be answered I had to discover the truth of my present situation.

I left the knife behind, left Christine’s home, and returned to my motorcycle. The air felt even colder than before and the sky seemed to darken even though it was not yet three o’clock. I looked at to the sky, I wondered if the military was monitoring Chicago from space, but that would be on the assumption that this phenomenon was localized.

I started my motorcycle and took notice of how loud the sound of it was and how quiet my surrounding was. I decided to head back down North Avenue, east toward Clark Street. I could see the fire continuing to spread onto Wieland Street. I had my next destination in sight. Moody Memorial Church, across from the history museum it was the first and last church I ever went to. A towering monument to irrational thoughts and beliefs, if there were people left behind it would be there they would have found sanctuary.

I climbed the steps of the church and could not help but stare at the architecture. Romanesque, I believe that is what they called it. I had a better word, extravagant. The red brick and custom stained-glass was not a monument to God’s love, but a golden calf signifying greed, vanity and false hope. I remembered being brought here with my mother and father as a child. I placed my hand on the copper door handle and could almost feel that day, it was so warm and I so happy.

A Forgotten Soul

As I child it was a joyous occasion to go to Sunday school. Running to the entrance I was so small I could not even open the large wooden door. That day, however, while I still enjoyed going to church I wanted something else.

My father was a deacon. He would always stand out front talking to faces I could not see. My mother carried Ashley, holding her against her chest. At age eight the sea of legs and voices was the beginning of my understanding that you can feel alone even when surrounded by crowd.

“
Dad, I’m bored.” I whined to my father.

Tugging on his pant leg finally got his attention. He knelt down next to me, even when busy my father would always take the time to listen to what I had to say, to talk to me, at least at first he did.

“
Timothy, you shouldn’t interrupt when I’m speaking to someone. It’s rude.” He said sternly.

“
I’m sorry dad. Nobody is talking to me. I wish Jonathan was here.”

I had asked if Jonathan could come with us to church many times. I never got an answer, at least not one that I understood. Taking my hand and leading me toward the door I thought yet again I would not get an answer.

“
I wish he could be here as well, Timothy. I’ve talked with Jonathan’s father and he said that Jonathan couldn’t join us. Even though I know you wish he was here it is his family’s decision and we all have to respect that.”

I did not understand most of what he said. All I could hear was that his father said no. Normally I would just accept it knowing I would see him after church, but that day it was not enough. I wanted to know why. My father opened the door to the church, but I did not walk inside.

“
Why, did his dad say no? Jonathan goes everywhere with us, why can’t he come here? Is he on punishment?” I asked adamantly.

Pulling me to the side, I thought he was going to scold me, but instead he knelt back down and looked into my eyes. I saw a look that was unfamiliar, it was contemplation. He wanted to explain to me why Jonathan could not be there, but he wanted to do it in a way that I could understand.