The Call

Saunders nervously fiddled with his hands, staring down at the hardwood floor before him. Nearby, an ebony grandfather clock sounded gently, its pendulum swinging back and forth in perpetuity; the time read 11:59 PM.

                “It’s alright, Mr. Saunders, you just have to give yourself some time…” said Saunders’ therapist.

            Saunders, a mid-40’s man, lifted his head weakly in response.

            “I don’t know if I can do this…” said Saunders, his voice shied, running his fingers through his graying hair. He shifted uncomfortably in the sofa he sat on. “The pain is too real, too close to the touch…” he added.

            The doctor gazed at Saunders curiously, a notepad and pen resting on his lap. He was perhaps a decade younger, dressed in a blackish-gray suit complemented with a black tie, and was sat on an armchair.

            “I understand the ordeal you must be going through, Mr. Saunders, but you called for this session, so we must proceed accordingly” said the doctor.

            Saunders looked down at the floor again.

            “Why are you here, Mr. Saunders?” said the doctor.

            A sudden distraught gripped Saunders, the lines on his face amplifying. He closed his eyes, and shook his head slightly.

            “Because I did something horrible…something I regret…something…” Saunders recalled.

            The doctor picked up his pen and notepad, readying them.

            “Don’t hold anything back, Mr. Saunders…” said the doctor.

            Saunders opened his eyes, and turned to look at the ebony clock; it read 11:59 PM.

            “He was just a boy…just a little, helpless boy…” said Saunders.

            The doctor leaned forward, looking at Saunders intently.

            “Tell me everything…paint the entire picture as you see it” said the doctor.

            Saunders slowly closed his eyes, allowing himself to free-fall into his memories.

            “There was nothing I could do…” said Saunders.

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            The hospital corridor was empty, save for Saunders and the medical doctor in front of him. They stood next to a patient’s room.

            The medical doctor gave Saunders a grave look.

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Saunders…we’ve done everything we could, but I’m afraid we’ve exhausted all our options for your son” said the MD.

            The words passed through Saunders like a bullet.

            Saunders walked past the MD, and looked into the room he stood by, where his 5-year-old son laid in a bed hooked up to a ventilator. A heart monitor next to Saunders’ son beeped faintly.

            Saunders looked pleadingly back at the MD.

            “There has to be something else we could do…please…anything” said Saunders.

            The MD reached for a document in a folder he was holding, presenting it to Saunders.

            “At this point, you have the choice of bringing your son back home. All you have to is sign this document” said the MD.

            Hope flashed in Saunders’ eyes.

            The MD continued. “We will continue to make your son as comfortable as possible, but I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before his body completely shuts down.”

            Saunders felt his stomach turn a bit, the hope he felt now a lump in his throat.

            “Which is why, Mr. Saunders,” pressed the doctor “you will also be given the option to unplug your son’s respirator at any point, at any time.”

            The MD offered Saunders the document and a pen.

            “Choose wisely, this is a decision that cannot be undone” concluded the MD.

             Saunders reluctantly took the paper, and signed it.

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            Time shifted, and Saunders found himself back at the therapist’s office.

            “I just wanted more time with him…I couldn’t just leave him alone in that place…” started Saunders.

            “Go on” the doctor gently pushed.

             Saunders once more looked at the grandfather clock---11:59 PM still---as his recollections dragged him deeper than before.

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            It was nighttime. Saunders sat in a crude chair, his face covered in shadows, a potent bottle of whiskey in hand. Still as stone, Saunders watched his son lay in bed attached to the machine that was preserving his life.

            Saunders had agreed to hospitalize his boy at home, but it made no difference in his son’s health.

            Saunders looked at the heart monitor next to the bed. The machine showed his boy’s vitals; monotonous, unchanging. Saunders knew his son was never going to wake up again.

            Instinct took over. Saunders chugged the remains of his drink, and stood up abruptly, facing the heart monitor.

            With a trembling hand, Saunders pushed the machine’s power switch.

            Saunders threw himself on his son, embracing him as the monitor suddenly sounded, changing its rhythm. Saunders wailed as his son steadily crept towards death.

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            “I killed my little boy! I killed my little boy!” Saunders screamed in front of the therapist.

             Time shifted one final time.

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            Saunders sat in the  room where he watched his son die.  Alcohol bottles littered the floor, making the air smell sharp and pungent.

            Saunders stared at the now empty bed where his son had laid; it was perfectly made. Saunders held something small, bringing it close to his face.

            It was a picture of him and his boy, holding one another, smiling.

            “Take me, too…” Saunders mumbled, whimpering. He clutched the picture tighter in his hands. “Please, just take me too!!!”

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            Saunders had to right himself in the sofa.  He was shaking violently.

            “Oh, God…my boy, my beautiful, baby boy…” Saunders said.

            The doctor looked at Saunders with utter sympathy.

            “Mr. Saunders…are you ready to let go?” the doctor said.  

            Saunders continued to tremble.

            “Yes...but I don’t know how…”said Saunders.

            Saunders felt a force pass through his body, as if the wind was just knocked out of him.

            Dong!...Dong!...Dong!...

            Saunders shot a frantic look at the grandfather clock, which was in full chime. It now read 12:00 AM.

            The doctor abruptly got up from his armchair, and extended his hand towards Saunders.

            “It’s alright, Mr. Saunders…you just have to give yourself to me” said the doctor.

            Saunders too got up from where he sat, and turned, looking behind him.

            In the sofa sat Saunders’ motionless body, hunched over slightly. His eyes were closed, but he looked peaceful.

            Death watched Saunders carefully.

            “You called for me, my child…” said Death, his hand still extended.

             Saunders turned and faced Death, slowly walking towards him, also reaching out his hand.

            From behind Death, a white light manifested, shrouding Death in a halo-like aura; it was blinding and brilliant.

            Saunders peered into the light, and saw his son; the boy’s arms were outstretched, waiting for his father.

            “…All you had to do was say yes” said Death.