So You Can Say Goodbye

            I stopped going to school after that conversation.  Every time I looked at my mother his words echoed through me.  "You can't save this one!”  His cold, stormy eyes haunted my thoughts.  Every moment with her seemed like the last.  I didn’t want to lose her yet; I was three months from turning sixteen, and I needed her to make it but somehow knew she wouldn’t.

            The hospice nurse and the doctors agreed to increase her morphine dosage when the spasms got worse.  The T.V. played at a normal level now: she couldn't hear the soft sounds any better than the loud noises.  When I held her hand, her grip didn't feel as strong.  She clutched her stomach for dear life most days, but I hoped what I saw was nothing more than a bad dream.

            Chandler stopped coming into our mother’s room.  Our father kicked me out at night.  That's why he, the man in the trench coat, came to me that night.  Two weeks after he told me my mother couldn't be saved, a cold wind surged through my bedroom even though the windows were closed and locked.  It woke me up from the first decent nights’ sleep I had in weeks.

            He stood at the foot of my bed wearing the same face I saw when he helped the woman Bugsy murdered on the street.  Bugsy was arrested and charged for the only crime he’d ever committed himself two weeks after, but I was always more concerned with the trench coat man.  I pulled the blankets closer, and hugged them to my chest.  The wind seemed to wrap around me, and I felt a little self-conscious about wearing a revealing tank top and shorts in front of this beautifully dressed man.  "Do you mind?”  I asked.  He raised a questioning brow.  "It's freezing gin here," I stated.  The cold rush vanished as quickly as it resonated.

            "I am here," he started in his deep voice while his eyes lingered on me and the comforter covering me.  His brow rose again.  He must've noticed the question lingering on my lips while he wasn't moving his.  As soon as I notice his mouth it awkwardly formed the words, "to take her."

            Fear shot through my body causing my toes to tingle; maybe the chill that hung in the air even though the wind that caused that sensation ceased almost five minutes ago.  "Why are you in my bedroom then?”  Bravery never seemed to be my strong suit, but something about him made me feel invincible and fragile at the same instance.

            He blinked several times before averting his eyes.  "To give you time to say goodbye.”  His mouth didn't move over those words, but they still ripped my heart from my chest.  "She'll come with me tomorrow on the way to the hospital."

            "Why are you telling me these things?"  Appreciation ran through my veins, but my curiosity over powered it.  My curiosity took over everything except my trembling body.

            "Because," he answered while raising his eyes to meet mine, "I do not condone unnecessary human suffering."

            I took in a sharp breath.  He leaned forward on the footboard of my bed while his lips parted.  "I'll see you again a month after I collect her, but I will not visit you again."

            Cold wind swirled around me before he vanished.  His words hung heavily in the air.  I swung my legs over the bedside and crept out of my room, down the hall.  My fingers caressed Chandler's door for a moment before I made it downstairs.  My father stood in the kitchen staring blankly out the window while he sipped a cup of tea.  He left the door to their bedroom open.  I walked into their room and over to my mother's bed, squeezed her hand, kissed her cheek, and whispered, "I love you, Mom, goodbye."

Author's Note

Does this seem realistic enough, or should I add more of a freak out scene for when she finds out about her mom?

Lane at 16 is pictured.