Planning Futures and Funerals

“Come out come out wherever you are!” Bill calls out eerily as we creep through the house.

 I hear a sound to my left, coming from the closet. I glance at Bill and point at the closet with a tilt of my head. He gestures to the closet door closest to me as he quietly grabs the one closest to him. We swing the doors open and two bodies come tumbling out.

 “Aww, I thought you’d never find us!” Abi wails.

David shoves her, “It’s your fault for wanting to hide together! I could’ve won this for both of us.”

They start shoving each other back and forth, but Bill breaks them up.

 “Hey, be nice to your sister.” He tells David, giving him the ‘dad look’ he’s perfected.

 “Sorry…” He mumbles, kicking the rug.

 I squeeze his shoulder, “You two should go do your homework and get to bed, it’s getting late.”

They complain and shove each other more during the walk up the stairs to their bedrooms, despite me telling them several times to stop. After kissing them good night, I go to my husband’s and I’s room.

“Bill?”

I spot him sitting on the balcony, sipping on his favorite, ironically my least favorite, strawberry tequila.  “What’re you doing out here?”

“Oh, just enjoying the beautiful night. Come sit down, I have your favorite.”

I sit next to him on the bench, and he hands me a strawberry lemonade. “You’re the best.”

“I sure am dear!”

 We sit in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company. Finally, I’m the one to break the silence.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s rare.”

I giggle before I can help it. “Oh, shut up, I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about our kids. Abi is talking about wanting to be a major surgeon, and David is a math genius, with colleges already waiting to pounce on him, and he’s only twelve! I want to spend every second with them that I can. They’re growing up so fast… I’ve been keeping an eye on our bank accounts. We’ve paid off both of our cars completely, the mortgage is at the lowest it’s ever been, and although I do love my job, I was thinking about quitting. Being there when they leave for school, picking them up when they’re done with school, dropping them off at soccer and chess, taking them for hikes, I want to do it all.”

“Then do it.” Bill answers without hesitation. “That sounds wonderful for you and the kids. You’re right about our money, we have more than enough with just me working, and if needed I can always pick up a few shifts at the bar, they’re always pestering me about coming back. So do it honey.”

 I grab his hand and squeeze it, “I knew you’d agree. Thank you. I can’t wait to watch them grow up. I won’t miss a second of it.”

“Hey, honey, wake up. Wake up! Eliza!”

 I bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding as I try to get my eyes to focus. “What? What is it?” I ask hoarsely.

“I heard something.”

 Bill is already up and putting the code in the vault where his revolver is. I listen intently over the jackhammer sound of my heart and after a moment the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs pricks my ears. I leap out of bed and lock the bedroom door, just as someone tries to turn the knob.

“Hurry!” I yell at Bill as I do my best to hold the door closed while the intruders try to knock it over.

 He enters the code and grabs the gun. “Get out of the way!”

I jumped out of the way, tripping over a cord on the ground in my hast and falling to the floor, the breath knocked out of me. He shoots several times just as three robbers burst down the door. I see a bullet pierce one of the robbers and he starts cursing up a storm, gripping his arm. Just before Bill pulls the trigger again, another one of the robbers shoots him in the chest. A heartbeat later, three more bullets follow. Bill’s revolver fires just before he hits the floor, the bullet harmlessly piercing into the wall.

I can’t scream, I can’t move, I can’t even think. All I can do is stare at my husband, unmoving on the floor. I feel a robber roughly grab my arm and pull me onto my feet, but my eyes never leave the body of the love of my life, the world around me just an inconsequential blur. It’s not until a fourth robber yanks my two children into the room that I force myself back into my body.

“Don’t hurt them, please! I’ll give you anything you want!”

The robber who shot my husband shoves his gun in my face, “Where are all your valuables?”

I shakily point to the vault, which Bill must have accidentally closed while grabbing his gun.

“Open it.”

 He shoves me towards the vault. I try to enter the code, but I’m shaking so bad that I can’t even press the buttons. Finally, the same robber with his gun still in my face groans in frustration and pushes me back onto the floor.

“Useless woman.” He mumbles under his breath. “Just tell me the code!” I tell him the numbers, barely managing to remember them, and he punches them in, the vault creaking slowly open. After several long minutes of counting the money and inspecting the jewelry, he finishes his inspection, and grabs everything in the vault, shoving it into his bag. I glance at my kids, making sure that they’re uninjured, the terrified looks on their faces giving me courage and determination.

 “Please, let them go. They’re just kids. There are two good condition cars outside you can take! And expensive electronics! You can even take me, for a hostage or whatever else you need!”I plead with them, but they ignore me except for the robber that got shot, who comes over, gritting his teeth and still gripping his arm, and kicks me in my gut, sending me rolling across the floor.

I barely hear Abi and David cry out as the pain sends stars dancing across my eyes. I barely feel a cold, hard barrel against my stomach through the pain, and the last thing I hear are gunshots and screams before darkness takes me.

At first, there’s pain. So much pain.

And then a tiredness that blocks out even the pain, beckoning me to follow it into the bright light. A weariness like I’ve never felt before hits me with a train, and I feel like I’ve never slept before in my entire thirty-six years of life. Exhaustion pleads with me like an old friend to come sit down beside it, on a bed made of clouds and a pillow made of feathers.  But as much as I want to listen to it and sleep for eternity, I fight it. I fight it for my children, for hope that they’re ok. And I fight for my husband, for hope that he’s alive. I hear voices phase in and out and screams that I somehow realize come from me, despite them not having my voice. I hear someone plead with me to stay awake, but I’m losing the fight at a steady pace. Finally, the fight draws to an end, and I’m the loser. Everything turns black, sleep finally taking me to that bed made of clouds.

 After what feels like decades of darkness, I finally wake up. I struggle to open my eyes, my eyelids feeling as heavy as bricks. After a few seconds of struggling, I manage to force them open.

 “Hi, how’re you feeling? Any pain?” Someone asks gently.

 I turn with trouble towards the sound and see a nurse holding my hand. I try to sit up, but she carefully but strongly pushes me back down. “Where are my kids? My husband?” I ask hoarsely.

She looks at me, tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, they didn’t make it.”

 I feel the whole world crashing down around me as I struggle to breathe.

 “Make it where?” I ask, foolish hope staying with me, whispering in my ear that they simply aren’t at the hospital with me. “Where did they not make it?”

“They died, Eliza. I am so, so sorry.”

A feral scream rips through the air as I claw at my chest, wanting to rip myself out of my skin. The nurse carefully pulls me into her, embracing me like a mother. “It’s ok, you’ll be ok, I’ve got you…” She whispers, rocking me back and forth as I grip onto her for dear life.

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It’s been four years to the day since that fateful night, and I will always be eternally grateful for that nurse, who cared for me like a mother for years of recovery. In some ways, I’m still in recovery. In fact, I may be in recovery for the rest of my days. Sometimes, late at night, I’ll wake up clutching my stomach where the bullets pierced through my body, and I feel the pain all over again. The physical and emotional. At least now, the physical pain isn’t real, but the emotional pain always will be.

 The police found out the identity of one of the robbers, the one who Bill had shot, but they never found him or them. Claimed that they must have left the country. But I claim they never even looked. I carefully arrange flowers on the three graves in front of me, staring at the names on them: Abigail Clark, David Clark, and Bill Clark. A small smile graces my face as my eyes land on the last gravestone’s name. Bill would have loved the spot I chose. He’s right next to an amazing fishing pond with the most beautiful lily pads and great big pine trees. The air is crisp and fresh, no matter what day it is. This is the plot of land he had been planning to buy for years, now, we’re ironically all here together. I think about him often. When I see fishing poles in a store, when I catch a whiff of Old Spice aftershave, and whenever I see a strawberry tequila, I think of him. I don’t remember the big things about him, like how he had brown hair or was tall, but instead, I remember the little things. How he used to pick out the best melons, what he said every time I made him his favorite meal, the little crease he got just over his eyebrow when he was worried… I think about him when I’m least expecting it and that earth shattering anguish washes over me all over again. I think of my kids often as well. At my niece’s high school graduation, I barely made it through the ceremony before breaking down in tears in the bathroom. And every time I see a teenager, I’m reminded all over again that my kids will never get the chance to be one. Abi would be fourteen now, and David sixteen. He’d probably be starting college.

 I try to bury those thoughts as often as possible, all the ‘what ifs’ just brought unnecessary pain. I could do a lot of things, but I could not change their fate. And that was the thought that killed me a little every day. I walk to my small cabin, just a few acres away from my family. Right outside of my house is a huge garden, with flowers, vegetables, fruit, you name it. I never used to like planting of any sort, but now I love it, and I do it every free moment I get. It keeps my mind and body busy, something I desperately need. Not to mention how much it helped me during those long years of healing. I grab a watering can and start to hum a tune. I also love planting because of the beautiful flowers.

The rose garden is my favorite, it even almost makes me forget about the four bodies and the revolver buried six feet deep under them.

Almost.

The End