Christmas With The Brownes

“Merry Christmas Eve!” sang Vicki over the phone.

“Merry Christmas yourself.” I told her, a little annoyed. “Why do you insist on trying to make me into a Christian?”

“You’re such a Scrooge, More. Did you even let Trina buy a Christmas tree?”

I shrugged. “It’s her place too. What was I going to say? ‘Katrina, you can’t buy a tree because I’m agnostic?’ If celebrating Christmas makes her happy, then I’m happy.”

“Wow. I wish my Tony was as willing to compromise as you are.”

“I don’t compromise on everything.” I muttered. I was thinking about how me and Katrina could not decide on what kind of dog to buy. She wanted a big one to protect the house in our somewhat abandoned neighborhood. I wanted a smaller one that needed less food and attention. That seemed to be one of the many things we hadn’t been agreeing on lately. I hoped we weren’t growing apart.

“You two having problems?” asked Vicki.

Before I could answer, Katrina came home from work. Her face was flushed red, and she was biting her lips nervously. I knew that look. Something was up. “Vic, I’ll call you back.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“We’ve gotta talk.” Katrina told me abruptly, raking her fingers through her long, shiny black curls and kicking off her heels. She moved  into the living room without so much as a hug or kiss hello.

I sighed, rubbing my arm. “Should we be drinking for this?” I asked, half-wondering if she was going to tell me it was over.

“Hmm? Oh, no.” She said, sitting down on the loveseat.

“It’s just…you look like you’re about to tell me something really big. I want to make sure I can handle it.”

“Baby, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m so nervous about this.” She patted the spot next to her, and I sat down in the same place. We shared a reassuring kiss, which relieved me.

“What’s this about?”

“My parents have…invited me to dinner.” said Katrina, with effort.

“Okay, so you should go. I know you haven’t been so close to them in the past few months. It might give you guys a chance to move on.”

Katrina shook her head. “They want me to bring a date. They said they didn’t care who it was.”

Suddenly, I knew why we had to discuss this. “Katrina, your parents had you chase me out of their house the last time I went there, and that was when we were just friends.”

“They said it like they knew, More.”

“Suspicions are one thing. You still haven’t come out to them, have you?”

Katrina sighed. “There’s no time like the present.”

“On Christmas Eve? That would not be a good idea-”

“More, I’m tired of worrying about this! They know I’m with someone, but this is the first time I’ve never immediately told them about a relationship.” she took my hand. “I want to stay with you, Morgan. And I don’t care who knows it.”

“They’re the only family you have, Katrina. If you come out on Christmas, you don’t have any idea how that’s gonna affect you. Hell, I don’t even know how that’s gonna affect us in the long run.” I touched her face. “I just don’t want you to end up hurt, Baby.”

She kissed me. “It hurts more to keep this inside. I’m twenty-five years old. I shouldn’t have to hide the fact that I’m in love with another woman. It’s killing me, More. It’s killing us.” I nodded. She had noticed that things weren’t the same as they had been. “Please be with me when I tell them. Please, More.”

I nodded. “If you feel you have to do this, then I’ll be right there beside you.” I hugged her, not knowing if it would be the last time.

“Thank you.” she said, melting in my arms. “We should get dressed. I said we’d be over there in two hours.” She pulled back to look in my eyes, seeing my fear reflected back at her. “More, this isn’t the end of us. I promise. It doesn’t matter what they say. I just want them to know. From me.”

I sighed, still uncertain. “Let’s get dressed, then.” We went into our bedroom and started rummaging through our clothes. Katrina, although she was a knockout, was low maintenance, only dressing up for her job and the rare time we went out on a formal date. It took her awhile, but finally she decided on a long-sleeved stretch black dress that looked like it came straight out of 1989. It was probably the most conservative thing she had. Every other piece of clothing reflected her personality: playful, yet definitely mature. The sky colored blues, and lipstick reds of her wardrobe reflected that.

I on the other hand, was more put together when it came to clothes. I had all my clothes laid out according to the occasion: dark, neutral pantsuits for special occasion, interchangeable shirts and jeans/slacks for casual wear. I had a dress in my closet somewhere, but couldn’t remember the last time I wore it. I decided on a silver-grey pinstripe suit with matching flats. “You look really good, More!” said Katrina, embracing me after we all done.

“You don’t look half bad yourself.” I grinned crookedly. We shared a kiss before Katrina realized she would have to reapply her lipstick. She took a napkin and wiped her lipstick from my lips, and then I applied my own, and she reapplied hers. Katrina piled her beautiful locks on top of her head in about thirty different combinations before I finally convinced her to just leave it alone and wear it as usual. I made sure my short, barely-there hair was immaculately groomed.

We left in Katrina’s car, hardly saying anything out of nervousness. The fact that her parents lived in an upscale gated community in a rural-suburban community did not make me feel better. When we pulled up to her parent’s house, I could almost feel the negativity radiating from the two-story Victorian. I didn’t want to get out. “Don’t back out on me now, Baby.” Katrina pleaded. I got out of the car, and Katrina immediately held my hand. I couldn’t be afraid anymore with her holding on to me so desperately. We walked up to the front door and Katrina rang the doorbell.

Her mother opened the door, visibly worried as soon as she saw Katrina, and then absolutely shocked when she saw me. Her mother was a thin, fragile looking woman, so her sudden emotions looked they were giving her a heart attack. Her  butter pecan skin looked like paper over bones. I felt sorry for her. “Katrina, what is your friend doing here?” asked Mrs. Browne, looking at her daughter with large woeful brown eyes. Even her perky small nose seemed to be twitching.

“You told me to bring someone, so I did.” said Katrina.

“I was taking about a man, Katrina, but since she’s already here…and it is Christmas Eve…” Her mother opened the door for us to come in.

“Thank you, Mrs. Browne.” I said politely. She didn’t reply, looking at me fearfully her large brown eyes that reminded me so much of Katrina’s.

“Where’s Dad?” asked Katrina, before things could get any more uncomfortable.

“He’s in the living room, working as usual. I’ll go get him.” I got the impression she wanted me to stay exactly where I was until she got her husband, but I wasn’t sure why.

“Katrina-” I started to ask.

“My father will want to greet us at the door. It’s what he always does.” said Katrina quietly.

“We can’t even sit down?” I asked, referring to a beautiful gilt and white velvet ottoman and loveseat set that was sitting there in the foyer. From what I could see, the house was made up of rococo-style wall moldings and furniture, with an emphasis on pastel blue and green. Her parents had good taste.

Katrina shook her head. “Just for show. No one sits on those.”

“Katrina?” said Katrina’s father, approaching us. “Who is this?” He looked like he frowned a lot, his handsome features harshened by years of stress. If Katrina got her eyes and from her mother, she definitely got everything else from her father. They shared the same ambiguous beige-tan skin color, the same full lips, and as I was about to learn, the same potential for explosive emotions.

“My name is Morgan Richards, sir.” I said formally. I didn’t comment on our first meeting.

He stared at me. “And what are you doing here? In my house? On Christmas?” He also seemed like the type who lost his temper often. His words never rose more than his normal sound level, but the threat of anger was still there.

“I was invited by Katrina.” I said simply.  If he wanted me to leave, I’d go. I wasn’t going to beg to stay, and I wasn’t going to ingratiate myself to anyone.

“Oh? Can you explain this to me, Katrina?”

Katrina looked like she was going to faint. She was scared. “She’s my dinner date.”

“Vernon, please. I’m sure she doesn’t have a boyfriend right now, and she invited her friend who didn’t have anywhere to go for Christmas Eve dinner.” insisted Katrina’s mother, pulling on her husband’s sleeve.

Before I could protest being called a charity case, and before Katrina could clarify our relationship, Mr. Browne hurriedly agreed. “I’m sure that’s the case. Why don’t you go and get the meal while I show them in.” He looked at me, narrowing his eyes at me studiously. I didn’t so much as flinch. “Follow me.” Vernon showed us into a beautiful formal dining room with four place settings, but it could have easily sat sixteen or more. I sat across from Katrina in the middle of the table, and Vernon took his place at the head. “Katrina, go help your mother in the kitchen.” he told her, glaring at me.

“But Dad-”

“Go!” He ordered. Katrina hurriedly did what he wanted, leaving me alone with her father. He looked at me from what seemed a mile away, viewing me like some half-washed peasant. “What do you want with my daughter?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a simple question. Are you too simple to answer it?”

“You can’t provoke me.” I informed him. I’d dealt with worse before. He wasn’t going to trick me into making a fool of myself.

“I’ll ask you one more time: What do you want from Katrina?” He enunciated the last six words like sentences. I wasn’t impressed or intimidated.

“I’ll let Katrina tell you herself.” I said calmly.

“And what does that mean? Are you saying you’re involved in an immoral relationship with her?”

“Define immoral.” I said plainly.

Mr. Browne got up and stalked over to my seat. “Wrong. Corrupt. Disgusting. Sickening.” He leaned over to hiss in my ear. “Lesbianic.”

I turned and looked at him. “Disgusting and sickening are incorrect synonyms for immoral. Lesbianic is not a word.”

“You listen to me good, you dyke!” he said loudly. “As soon as Katrina gets back in here, I am going to make sure she takes you back wherever the hell you came from, and I don’t ever want to see you in my house again. I tried to be subtle about it before, but subtlety seems to be one of the many things you lack.” he whipped his head around in the direction of the kitchen. “Katrina! Come here!” he ordered. There was no response. “Is this what she’s learned from you? Disrespecting her parents?” he yelled at me. “Katrina! If I have to come in there, you won’t like the consequences!”

I rolled my eyes. “She’s twenty-five. What could you possibly do?” He looked at me, a look that said he wanted to strangle me. Few people actually have real murderous intent when they look at someone with malice. He did. “Katrina! Come on, let’s go!” I called out. Still, no one answered.

“What the hell is going on in there?” asked Mr. Browne, he stalked his way towards the kitchen. I rose to follow him. “You stay right where the fuck you are until Katrina comes back, or so help me, the police will have you tossed out of here for trespassing!”

Not knowing what he was capable of, I stayed put. Mr. Browne went into the kitchen and was gone for several minutes. Worried about my girlfriend, I went into the kitchen. Mr. Browne was alone, sitting at the kitchen bar reading a piece of bright yellow construction paper. “Where’s Katrina?” I looked around the kitchen. There was no sign of either Katrina or Mrs. Browne.

“I don’t know.” Mr. Browne’s voice was flat, like the wailing bastard I had spoken with minutes before had been replaced with a robot.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I asked, my voice taking on some degree of panic.

“You should leave now!” There was something wrong with his voice. It had an odd strain it, as if he was trying to choke off his emotions.

“Not without Katrina.” I glanced at the yellow paper. It didn’t seem like something a man like Mr. Browne would have lying around. “What’s that?”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” he said, trying to calm himself, I could see he was shaking.

“You’re trembling. What’s on that paper?”

“Get out of my house!” He half-choked, half-screamed at me.

I jumped, but regained my composure. “Not without Katrina. That paper…give it to me.”

“I’ll handle this situation myself!” he barked.

“What situation?” I suddenly felt my stomach knot up. “You don’t know where Katrina is, do you? Or your wife.”

He inhaled painfully. “I do. That’s the problem.”

I quickly snatched the paper from him. It read, ‘Bull. You will make a decision. The first and second shares for 10 million Swiss francs. Bait The Bear and you will lose both.’ There was a bank routing number at the bottom of the paper, and a time limit: 2 a.m. “We have to call the police.”

“No. I’m going to get my daughter and wife back myself. This man will kill them.”

I blinked, trying to figure out what to say. My girlfriend was being ransomed on Christmas Eve? It was too surreal, like something out of a movie. Mr. Browne started leaving the room. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get them back.” he told me, not looking at me.

“You’ll need help.”

“You have no idea what’s going on.”

“I don’t care who you screwed over. I just want everyone safe.” I informed him.

“What makes you think I screwed someone over?” he sneered.

“I bet you fired someone today, didn’t you?” I knew it was the truth. Katrina told me he managed several stockbrokers and was absolutely ruthless. Considering the way he was treating me, I believed it.

“I don’t give screw-up passes to employees just because of the holidays. You can stand there and try to figure me out all you want. I’ve got work to do.” he left quickly, but I followed him upstairs. He walked down a long hallway into his bedroom. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Gladly.” His room could’ve been a hotel room in a five-star hotel. The canopy bed frame was made of black walnut wood, with a silk chocolate bedspread. The dressers matched the bed frame, for all I knew they could have come from the same tree. Everything in the room was in it’s own place, without any sign of disorder. I had to admit Mr. Browne had excellent taste. Off to the side was  another door, which I assumed led to the master bathroom. When he opened the door, I realized it was a small trophy room, with all kinds of medals and plaques. When he saw me looking, Mr. Browne abruptly slammed the door. I heard rustling noises, and the scrape of metal on metal. He opened the door quickly in another sixty seconds, dressed in Army gear, with a gun drawn and pointed at me. I held my ground as he approached me quickly, looking him straight in the eye even as he pressed the barrel of the gun against my forehead.

I could see the fight in his eyes. He wanted to kill me, but the task at hand was preventing him from doing so. “Why?” he asked me. “Why did you corrupt her?”

“All I do is love her. That’s all.” He hand was trembling as I told him, his thumb cocking the gun. “What are you going to do? Kill me and then blame it on the kidnapper? Killing me won’t make it any easier to get Katrina back.”

He clenched his jaw, and I thought he was going to pull the trigger. My only hope was that Katrina would be able to escape her kidnapper alive. I closed my eyes and waited. Mr. Browne removed the gun from my head. “Glad to see you can keep your head. You’ll need to.” Now that I could look away from the gun, I saw that he had an Army  backpack with him. He picked up the pack and shoved past me out of the room.

“You really wanted to kill me.” I stated.

“I didn’t kill you. So keep moving.” He said bluntly. Every part of me wanted to put him in a chokehold and watch the life bleed from his face, but if I started a fight with Mr. Browne, the chances of me ever seeing Katrina again were minute. Then again, with him being trigger happy, there was a chance I wouldn’t get to see her again anyway. I forced myself to think positively.

I followed him downstairs, and out into his garage. Inside was a Nissan pickup, a BMW convertible, and a Range Rover. He didn’t hesitate as he put his gear into the back of the Rover. I got into the front passenger seat, and Mr. Browne got behind the wheel. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll find out.” He said grimly. He pulled out, driving past the other stately million dollar homes that made up his gated community. The tension in the car was so thick it was almost physical. I wanted to think about ways to help Katrina and her mom, but I really didn’t have any idea what to do.

“What’s the plan?”

“If I need your help, I’ll let you know.” he told me as he pulled into a stately home driveway.

“That’s not good enough. I need to know what you’re going to do.”

“Your father was a military man, wasn’t he?” asked Mr. Browne without any emotion.

I felt like I had just swallowed my heart. “My stepfather.”

“Seals or Rangers?”

“Seals.” My voice had become quiet, almost imperceptible.

“I hope he taught you something. How to stay quiet. How to signal.”

“Yes.” That wasn’t all he taught me, but I knew Mr. Browne was a hard man, and he wouldn’t have cared.

He stared at me for several seconds before telling me the plan. “We’re going in through the back, barefoot. I can almost guarantee that son of a bitch has them on the second floor, in an attic or a room without windows. He’s unstable, and will kill my wife and daughter if he’s backed into a corner. Calling the police is not an option.” He looked at me expecting me to object, but I didn’t. “I know that house well from dinner parties. Follow my lead at all times, and step where I step.”

I hesitated, wondering if I should have been following his lead. He had put a gun to my head only minutes before, and I had no clue how good his military training was. Or even if it would hold up under this emotional strain. Still, there wasn’t any other choice. If he got Katrina or anyone else killed because he didn’t have backup, I’d never forgive myself. “Fine.”

He got out his pack and handed me gear: A knife that strapped onto my thigh, a can of mace, and a harmless looking length of rope. I had to take off my dress pants and jacket to put my gear on, but I had on boys shorts, so I wasn’t indecent. He also handed me a bulletproof vest, and put one on himself. After we took off our shoes, he took out a gun and attached a silencer to it. “Let’s go.”

He had point as I followed him into the back of the house. He walked naturally, trying not to draw any attention to what we were doing until he started using a lock pick to pick the back door open. He got it open pretty quickly, and slowly opened the door. He quickly pulled out his gun in front of him, but the kitchen was empty. He quickly crept into the hallway, gun still drawn, and I followed close behind him. We walked through the kitchen into the living room, which was also deserted and then, onto the stairs. At the top, lay someone sitting up against a wall, unmoving. Upon closer inspection, I found that it was a woman with perfectly styled blonde hair. I was quietly hopeful that she was just injured, but the bloody gash in her chest and her glazed over green eyes told me differently. Mr. Browne didn’t bother to check for a pulse and continued walking. I fought the urge to vomit and followed suit.

Now that we were on the second floor, I heard low whimpering. I felt my whole body tighten, and I silently removed my knife and held it out in front of me. Mr. Browne signaled to me that he was going to open a door. I nodded that I understood. Mr. Browne quietly opened the door, and checked it to make sure it was empty. He gave me the all clear signal, and we went inside. It was an empty bedroom, and from the paint cans everywhere, it was obvious that there was some construction going on. Mr. Browne immediately made a beeline for an closet, carefully opening the shuttered door.

The whimpering was getting louder, and I felt my stomach clench in anger. I swore that if Katrina was hurt in any way, I’d make that kidnapping bastard pay. My grip on my knife tightened as Mr. Browne silently cut through the soft plastered drywall of the closet’s interior. After making a cup-sized hole, we both peered through it. Although we were looking into another closet on the other side, we could clearly see into the  other bedroom, because the closet door was open slightly.  A man in a blood-soaked dinner jacket was sitting down on a bed. Mrs. Browne was sitting in a chair in front of him, tied to it securely. Katrina was sitting on the floor, her arms tied behind her back. The man had a gun trained on Katrina, no doubt because she looked like she was ready to claw his eyes out. Ironically, the whimpering was coming from the kidnapper. Even though the kidnapper had the women close to him, his right side was exposed to the closet. We had a chance.

Mr. Browne pulled back from the hole to think. After several frantic seconds, he pulled out a piece of paper and wrote on it quickly.

“His name is Mark Rouvoet. The deceased woman we walked by earlier was his wife. I suspect he killed her, and is blackmailing me so he can have enough money to leave the country. If something happens to me, give the police this note.”

He folded it up and handed it to me. I nodded at him grimly. He then wrote another note:

“As soon I make this hole big enough, I’m going in first and taking him out. If he survives, tie him up.”

I nodded again, and he continued cutting through the drywall. I tried not to think of what could happen if we couldn’t subdue the kidnapper. I just tried to focus on what I would do if the kidnapper wouldn’t fall. The moves I would make if he turned to the left, the right, or fell backwards or forwards.

Before I knew it, Mr. Browne was letting the soft drywall fall, and he was giving me my ready signal. He gave me a count of one, two, three, and on three, he was going through. I followed without hesitation. Mr. Browne kicked down the closet door and fired. Mark, in panic, started firing wild shots at me and Mr. Browne. I ran to Mark, and he shot me in my left leg. I felt like my lower body had just exploded, but I had just enough adrenaline in me to tackle Mark, knock him unconscious and hogtie him with the length of rope I had.

“You’re bleeding, Morgan!” said Katrina, somehow already out of her ropes.

“How did you do that?” I asked her, still on top of Mark just in case he was faking.

“My Dad’s an ex-Ranger, and he taught me a few things. I was actually waiting for this fucker to let his guard down so I could get him myself. I should have known you two would beat me to it.” I detected a faint smile on Mr. Browne’s lips, but it came and went so quickly, I wondered if I imagined it.

“Katrina. Language.” said her mother weakly, looking like she was about to faint as her husband was untying her.

“Sorry, Mom. Are you okay?” Mrs. Browne just broke down and started sobbing on her husband’s shoulder. I became aware that a steady stream of my own blood was staining the carpet. “Jesus, Morgan! Sit down and stay still. I think your artery is damaged.”

“Great. All this worry over you, and I’m the one who gets shot.” I sat down on the floor next to Katrina as Mr. Browne called the police. Katrina tied a length of robe around my leg to slow the blood. With my adrenaline wearing off, I was becoming more and more aware that my wound hurt like hell, but it wouldn’t have done any good to complain.

“You’re my angel. You know that?” She asked, kissing me.

“Now I do. Are you okay?”

“I’m a little shaken up, but I’m fine.” She adjusted the rope. “Baby, I don’t think you should talk anymore.” I could tell from her expression that she was trying to get her emotions under control.

“What’s wrong?”

“The bleeding…it’s not slowing. Dad?”

Mr. Browne put down his cell phone and took a look at my wound. “Do not move her. An ambulance is on the way.” He looked at me. “Take deep, slow breaths. A fast heart rate will make you bleed out.”

“Bleed out? I could die?”

“Yes. You could die.” He picked up his cell phone again. “Someone here is going to bleed to death if you don’t put a rush on that goddamn bus!” He shouted at the 911 operator. I was already starting to feel woozy, but I fought it.

“Baby, stay with me.” said Katrina gently. “Start counting backwards from one hundred.”

“One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight…” I kept going until I reached fifty, and then I felt my eyes start to close on their own.

“Morgan! Don’t stop counting!” She told me, shaking me a bit.

I was aware that I was sitting in a pool of my own blood, still warm. The metallic smell of it was enough for me to rally the strength to continue counting. At the count of sixteen, I felt my eyes start to close on their own. Am I really going to die? I asked myself. I had known it was a possibility from the beginning, but now I felt terrified. “Katrina, I love you…”

Katrina kissed me. “I love you too, More, but you have to keep counting okay?” her eyes were reddened, and tears were streaming from her cheeks.

“Fifteen…twelve…one…two…” I knew I wasn’t counting right, but I couldn’t concentrate.

“Morgan? I need you to tell me where we first met.”

I summoned enough strength to grin weakly. “We were in the college cafeteria, and…you dropped…a spoon.”

“And then you gave me yours. What did you tell me?”

“Sporks are…better.”

“I asked you what a spork was. What did you say?”

“A…fork…and…a…spoon…mixed.” I was aware that my eyes were now fully shut.

“Stay with me Morgan! Please!” I felt her take my hand. I tried opening my eyes, but I could only keep them half-open.

“The ambulance will be here in five minutes. Keep her talking!” I heard Mr. Browne’s voice insistently.

“Morgan, what’s your favorite song?”

“I…like…all-” My eyes were completely closed, and I couldn’t open them.

“Morgan you have to keep talking!” I felt her press her forehead against mine. “Please God! Don’t let her die!”

I wondered if there was a God who could actually hear her, and silently prayed to whoever could answer me to look out for Katrina. “I love you Trina.” Was all I could manage before everything went black.

Things were only black momentarily though. When I opened my eyes again, I looked up to see Katrina looking down on me. “Wake up, Angel.”

“Katrina? Am I okay?”

“I’m not Katrina.” She said, smiling. I stared at her in shock. The woman in front of me could have been Katrina’s identical twin, but something about her was off. She wasn’t Katrina. “I look like your lover don’t I?”

Somehow I knew that was a genuine question. “Shouldn’t you know that?”

“I know what I really look like. But everyone sees me differently.”

I just stared at the woman. “I want to get up, now.”

The woman who looked like Katrina nodded. “Nothing is stopping you.” I sat up and saw I was in a strange place. It seemed I was sitting on a small mound of earth in the middle of a large ocean, with no other land in sight for as far as I could see. I couldn’t tell if it was nighttime or daytime because there was no sun, but yet I could see everything around me clearly. The woman was sitting next me, but it seemed she was sitting on the ocean next to my miniature island. I wasn’t afraid of falling off my island and into the ocean. I was more afraid of being alone there. Although the place didn’t look very threatening, I didn’t want to be there. I felt isolated and cut off. I was glad the woman was there with me. “What does everything look like to you?”

I explained my surroundings, and asked plaintively, “Am I in hell?”

The woman shook her head. “You asked the wrong question.”

“Am I dead?”

“Wrong again.”

I looked away, not sure what else I could ask. It was obvious I was either dead or close to it. Did my questions really matter, I wondered. When I looked at the woman again, I could tell she was still patiently waiting for more questions. “Who are you?”

“You should know. You prayed to me.”

“You’re God?”

“Some people call me that. Others choose to give me titles and call me by those.” She looked at me, as if she was studying me. “Good question.”

“Why am I here? Where is here?”

“You’re here because you choose to be here. Getting off your island is easier than you think.”

“But I don’t see any boat.”

“You wouldn’t need one to leave, Angel.” She said teasingly.

“You must find this really amusing don’t you? Playing with lives.” I was annoyed.

“I don’t play with lives. I simply offer choices.”

“Right. Like choosing between heaven or hell?”

“Is this heaven or hell?” she asked calmly without raising her voice.

“I don’t know.”

“You should. You’ve been here a long time.”

“I just got here.”

She shook her head. “You’ve only just realized that you’re here. You’ve been here a long, long time.”

“So I’m dead?”

She shook her head. “Wrong question.”

“That is so typical of you. What do you do exactly? You don’t really help anyone. You sure as hell didn’t help me when I was kid.” I looked at Her, trying to see if I had struck a chord, but She didn’t react. I stood up. “Fuck you! All you ever do is take! You took my Dad away from me, you took my grandmother away from me, and now you’ve taken Katrina away, and you’re sitting here telling me what’s wrong and what’s right?!” I was screaming at the top of my lungs, but she still wasn’t reacting. “I hate you!”

“Then why do I look like someone you love?” Her words took away all my breath. “If you truly hated me, you wouldn’t have asked me to watch over Katrina.”

“You heard me?”

“I always hear.”

“Well, if you always hear, why don’t you ever help?”

“It usually isn’t necessary.”

“Usually? Are you kidding me! What about when I was getting the crap beaten out of me by my stepfather? Did you hear me then, or did you go on vacation?”

“I heard.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything?”

“Because you were capable of saving yourself.”

“I was ten!”

She nodded. “But you told. You saved yourself.”

I shook my head, not wanting to believe it. “I don’t get it. I’ve got to get out of this place.” I took a step off the island and promptly fell into the ocean. I started sinking immediately, the water was so thick I couldn’t kick to the surface. After several seconds, I felt a strong hand pull me out and toss me back onto the island.
She had saved me.

“I act when someone is incapable of saving themselves. Like you just were.”

“Thank you.” I said soberly. “But how do I leave if I can’t swim?”

“How is that I’m able to sit here?”

“You’re God. You tell me.”

“You already know.”

I looked at Her desperately. “Please. Have mercy.”

Her face softened. “Think and it will come to you.”

I thought long and hard. I tried to imagine a boat coming to save me. I tried searching my little island for some kind of tool, but there was nothing. I tried digging into the island, but the ground was too hard. Finally I gave up and looked at Her, realizing that the answer had been in front of me the whole time. “I can’t save myself. Will you help me?”

She smiled at me, and I was struck by how jubilant her smile was. She looked nothing like Katrina when she smiled, alien-looking, but at the same time very familiar.  She stood up. “Give me your hand.” I reached for her, and she pulled me off the island. She started to change form immediately, her face and body ever changing, becoming men, and women, never the same for more than an instant. Then she hugged me. “Love. Always love. And forgive.”

“Thank you.” I told her. Her hug was indescribable. I had never felt safer, more loved, or at peace.

“I missed you, Angel. Now go and never return to this place.”

The next time I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed. The bright afternoon sun was shining into the room from half-opened blinds. I looked to my right, and was Katrina sitting next to me in a chair asleep. I watched her sleep for a minute before I said anything. There seemed to be something in my head insisting that I tell Katrina everything about my past. For the first time in years, I stopped fighting it and listened. “Hey.” I spoke, in a voice that was weaker than I had anticipated.

Katrina opened her eyes blinking rapidly. “Morgan! You’re awake! I’ll go get the nurse!” she said, kissing me quickly.

“Baby. Stop.” I told her, holding onto her hand.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something. About why I zone out.”

She sat down in her chair heavily. “Will you be okay if you tell me?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” She looked worried but let me continue. “My Mom remarried after my Dad left her when I was about nine or so. At first my Step dad was a cool guy, always joking around with me and my brother. Taught us how to sneak around like a Navy Seal. Stuff like that. But then he changed.” I felt myself start to cry, but I continued. “He had been clean and sober for many years, but when his mother died, he lost it. He started drinking again, and then he would beat me if I so much as left a crumb of food on the kitchen counter. Things got really bad when I started taking singing lessons. He would make me practice in front of him, and if I missed a note, he would hit me hard with something, a belt, a shoe, whatever was convenient. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I deserved what was happening to me, so I just started letting my mind drift away when it was going on so it wouldn’t hurt as much. My teacher noticed bruises on my legs when my class took a field trip to the beach and I had on shorts. I broke down and told him everything. My Step dad was arrested, and got a few years in prison. My Mom divorced him.”

Katrina looked at me with concern. “Why didn’t your Mom see what was going on?”

“I always wore baggy jeans and t-shirts. She couldn’t see the bruises.”

“And your brother?”

“Colby got his first girlfriend around that time. They were always sneaking off together.”

Katrina took my hand and kissed it. “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through. I can see why you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I needed to talk about it. Thanks for listening.”

“Thanks for letting me in.” I looked at her strangely, and she explained what she meant. “I know it sounds crazy, considering how long I’ve known you, but sometimes it feels like you’re far away. You could standing right next to me, and it feels more like you’re waving at me from some deserted island.” My eyes opened wide at that. “What is it?”

“I think I’ll tell you later. Do I do that a lot?”

She smiled weakly. “More than I’d like you to. Did you realize you were silent the entire time we drove to my parents’ house?”

I blinked, trying to remember. “I guess I didn’t realize it.”

“And at Thanksgiving, when you knew your cousin was screwing with you, you didn’t say a word. You just cut yourself off from everybody.”

“You knew? I thought I had you fooled.” I said trying to make a joke. Katrina took on a sad expression. “I’m sorry. That’s just how I deal with things.”

“Deal with things by being honest with me. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you really think, or feel, or whatever.”

“I promise I will.” She kissed me and gave a reassuring hug.

“I’m going to page the nurse now, and then you have visitors.” The nurse came in, took my vitals, and called in the doctor who explained my situation.

“Fortunately for you, the bullet lodged in your soft tissue and didn’t completely exit your leg.” The doctor explained. “Otherwise you would have bled to death. As it is you might need a crutch or cane for a few days after I release you.”

“Guess I’m just lucky.”

“Or God was looking out for you.” said Katrina, nudging me. I didn’t argue with her. I knew it was most likely the latter reason.

When the doctor left, Katrina’s parents came in to see me. They explained that the police had already taken their statements, and Mark Rouvoet was being held without bail for murder and kidnapping. I could go down to the precinct and give my statement the day after Christmas. “Thank you so much.” said Katrina’s mother, crying as soon as she saw me. “You saved us.”

“The real hero is your husband. He had everything planned.” I said, not wanting the take all the credit.

“I was off the mark. I didn’t even hit the bastard.” said Mr. Browne.

“Language, honey.” warned Mrs. Browne.

“Sorry, sweetie.” said Mr. Browne quietly. I suppressed a snicker. Maybe she wasn’t so fragile after all. “Can I talk to you privately?” he asked me.

I nodded, and Katrina and Mrs. Browne left. “I don’t know how I feel about you and my daughter. At first I wanted to hate you, but I can’t hate you after what you did earlier.” He looked at me, checking me out. “I could swear you’ve been in the military yourself.”

I took a deep breath. “When I was younger, my stepfather put me through something like boot camp. It wasn’t a good experience.”

“Maybe it was for the best. There’s no telling what could have happened if I didn’t have you as back-up. I hate to admit it, but I’m out of practice. I haven’t shot off a gun since Katrina’s been in high school.”

“I don’t know how to shoot. I never learned. If you had given me a gun, I probably would be lying here because I shot myself.”

Mr. Browne chuckled. It sounded harsh, like he didn’t do it very often. “I was thinking about getting back up to speed with my gun training.” He looked away before looking at me again. “Would you mind going out to the shooting range with me?”

I was so shocked that I didn’t say anything for several seconds. “Sure.”

“I’ll call you and we can set something up.”

“I’d like that.”

He nodded and started walking out of the door. “Heal up.” He said over his shoulder.

In walked my mother and my brother with some white carnations. “Hey you guys!” I said.

They both hugged me at once. “How do you feel?” asked my mother with concern.

“I’m fine. My leg is completely numb, so I guess that’s good.”

My brother chuckled. “It’s better than pain.” he told me.

I was quiet for a minute thinking about what I had just said, and how it related to how I reacted when things went wrong. “Maybe I’m wrong about that. Mom, and Colby, if I haven’t said it before, I know it wasn’t your fault what happened to me…earlier. Mom, I know I never call, I never let you know what’s going on with me. I’m sorry.”

My mother started crying and held me for a long time. “Thank you.” Colby didn’t say anything. He just left the room. Apparently he didn’t want me to see him cry too. Me and my mom caught up on a lot of the things that happened in the past few months. My relationship with Katrina and buying house, everything. After about an hour, it was time for her to go. “Call me when you’re ready to go home. Okay, Morgan?”

I nodded. “Okay, Mom.”

When my mother left, she hugged Katrina at the door, who was coming in with some food for me. “Merry Christmas!” They told each other.

Katrina set down and put the food down on a tray for me. “This is the Christmas meal we should have had last night.” She opened up the plastic container and revealed a large helping spiral-cut ham, stuffing, yams, cranberry sauce, and green bean casserole.

I took a bite of the green bean casserole. “Whoa that’s good!” It was obvious that whoever cooked the meal had made it from scratch and had used the best ingredients.

“My mom made it. Of course.” Mrs. Browne was a chef for a five star restaurant in the city. I could definitely see why, though I wondered how she could be stay so skinny.

“Tell her thank you.” I said before devouring the food.

Katrina winced when I finished. “I hope that counts as a Christmas gift. I haven’t been home yet, so I couldn‘t get your gift.”

“You’re my Christmas gift.” I told her with a smile. She took my hand and smiled back. “I’m just glad everyone is okay.”

“You feeling okay, More? I thought you’d be mad.”

“I’m feeling okay for the first time in a long time. Your parents no longer hate me, and I’ve cleared some things up with you and my own family. Things are great. When am I getting out of here?”

“Probably tonight. The doctor wants to make sure your blood pressure is high enough before they can release you.”

I sighed. “At least I’ve got you. And God.”

“You saw God?”

“It was really weird. I had to pass a test, and God didn’t look like Jesus at all.”

Katrina looked nervous. “I wasn’t going to mention it before, but the paramedics spent about five minutes resuscitating you.”

“Did I flat line?”

Katrina looked at our hands locked together. “Yeah.”

I thought about what ‘She’ had said about the wrong questions, and wondered if ‘She’ had been telling the truth. “I don’t think what God looks like really matters. As long we have faith in Her or Him, and love each other, I think that’s all that matters.”

Katrina kissed me. “I couldn’t agree more.”