Hope from the Ocean: 62

Timothy was standing outside Leo Burdock's Fish and Chips.  The rain was just stopping, and he was waiting.    He expected her to turn the corner, any moment, holding their son's hand, and run to him to greet him.  They loved Burdock's: the thick, white, fried potatoes and the flaky, perfectly-breaded fish.  It was the place to be for the little family, and he watched for them, with anticipation.

His eyes scanned the street, left to right, searching for her, but also them.  They wouldn't come, in the middle of day, and try and make a statement?  The Men of 21 didn't operate that way, at least in the time he'd known of them.  With Johnny, it had been a field, a meadow outside of town.  Johnny was there, picnicking with his fiance, and stood to greet the man approaching him.  Lorna, her name was, had relayed it all to him many times, in great detail: the man, with a black, long machine gun, that seemed to be coming from his coat; a hail of bullets; Johnny's blood spraying everywhere, onto her, the blanket, the basket.  Johnny had fallen to the grass, his blue eyes open and staring up.

In Timothy's mind, Johnny's eyes moved closer to him until he was inside them, and then suddenly, back on the street, waiting.  Turning his attention back to the action surrounding him, he made out the image of Erin, in her red, fur-trimmed, short coat, and Eric, holding her hand, as they crossed the street toward Burdock's, running with a particular matching gait, to get to him.  He didn't call to them, but he waved.

Eric, running aside his mother, pushed his spectacles up on his nose, and attempted to keep up.  Erin, beautiful with her long, dark hair flowing from beneath her white beret-style hat, looked down to Eric and then up to him, smiling a beautiful, wide smile, as she made her way the last length of sidewalk toward him.  

He looked side to side, struggling to call out, but couldn't speak.  Suddenly, they slowed, as if on film, and continued to run toward him, but moved as if there was no movement; they were so slow to his eyes that they seemed to be still somehow, but all of their body movements gave the impression of running.

Muffled, popping sounds startled him to a scream that he could not make, as he watched her face change, slowly, from overt joy to terror as the first bullet struck her in the center of her torso.  Her head turned to the side to grab and pull in her child, as she went down, but the deadened cracks of the machine gun reverberated around him, and he could not move.  In a heap in front of him were Erin and Eric, both still and covered in blood.

His eyes searched the street to both sides, and the last image he caught was that of a small man, with a fedora, walking quickly away from the scene and disappearing into the crowd.

"Police!" he had finally screamed, but they didn't come.  Time began to move at a normal pace again, and he began to cry out, "Help me, please, help me, that's my family, that's my family . . ." and he made his way over to their crumpled bodies.  Touching the side of Erin's face, her head lolled toward the sky, and her eyes were open and transfixed.  Staring into them, he seemed to move closer, as before, until he was enveloped in their blueness. . .

He sat up in the bed, breathing so heavily that Dorian sat up beside him.  She said, "My God, Timothy.  What is it?  You're soaking wet."  She put her hand on his shoulder, "You're shaking."

He made an effort to bring his breathing back to normal.  It had been years since he had experienced this nightmare, and he shook his head and sighed.  "Put on the light, Dorie, please."

She did, and hugged close to his arm.  "Timothy, what is it?"

"A dream.  One I have not dreamed in years."

"It's just a dream, remember that."

"I know, but real to me, nonetheless."

"Do you want to tell me about it?  Sometimes, talking it out . . ." 

"It's the same one I've had in the past.  About Erin.  Her death, and the death of Eric.  I'm helpless, they're crossing the street to get to me, then the bullets, the shots."  He ran his fingers through his hair.  "They're dead, and there's nothing."

"My God.  This really happened."

"Yes.  This really happened.  It's the day I lost my wife and my son."

"It's over now.  The dream is over."

"Why am I having this dream now, Dorie?  What does that mean?  It's been years since I dreamed of that day."

"I am not sure.  But whatever it is, it's over now."

"He was so small, so . . . he was like Sam.  Little glasses.  Little shoes.  I'd forgotten, how he looked, almost.  He was so like her."

"I'm sorry.  Losing a child, it's impossible to imagine."  

Suddenly, he got a burst of urgency, as if he needed to do something, and rummaged through his pants that were on the floor next to the bed.  Dorian said, "Timothy, please, it's going to be all right."  He found his cell phone and grabbing it, he began to dial.  "It's late, almost two in the morning!"

"Creena.  Are ya awake?  Come down to Dorian's please, it's an emergency, Dear Sister."

He hung up the phone.  Dorian said, "What's going on?"

"I just need to talk to her.  Something, important.  In the dream."

***

"Todd, what's that noise," Blair said, startled.  He was already sitting up, and fumbling in the dark for the light, when he heard something in the room crash to the floor.  

Blair, panicking, screamed, and Todd, hearing her, was finally aware enough of his surroundings to flick on the nearest lamp.  Standing in front of them was Aiden, swaying slightly, carrying a passed out Tina like a doll.  "Ay, Matie, I never meant ta wake ya.  We were just having a few downstairs."

"Aiden, you scared Blair.  Seriously, what the Hell?"

"Ah, I know, it was a bit insensitive, but I didn't want to cause a disturbance.  Just bringing the lady up to bed."

Todd realized the situation, and said, "Well, where do you propose to sleep?  There's only one other bed."

"That's for the lady, no doubt.  Blair, if ya will, help me attend to her so that I can get me shuteye in the tub."

Todd said, "A gentleman?"

"Always, especially with the sisters of me friends."  Aiden looked up sincerely, and for a moment, Todd was certain there was something more familiar about him than just the time in the past.  

Todd said, "Blair, you okay?"

"I'm fine, Todd," she said, getting out of bed and going to her sister in law, to undress her the most she could to make her comfortable for sleep, while Aiden retired to the bathroom with a blanket and pillow.

Todd said, "She's out?"

"One too many daiquiris, I guess."

"Hmf.  Tina."

"Yep.  That's your sister."

"Blair, what do you think about what happened?"

"Nothing.  He was being polite, a gentleman.  He would need her permission to sleep in the bed with her.  So what of it?"

"Not that."

"What, then?"

"He said he knew me, from the past.  He said he saw me here, when I was here in 1994.  He was a barkeep."

"Okay."

"He said he saw me, getting a gift from a woman.  It was Marty.  He saw her give me a gift."

"Was this the cross?  The silver one?"

"Yeah.  He said he saw me, but I don't remember seeing him.  Could I know him from somewhere else?"

"Like where Todd?  You're scaring me."

"No, Babe, no.  I don't want to scare you.  I just mean, he just, seems . . .I feel like I've seen him before, but I don't remember seeing him that day.  You know what I mean?  Something in his eyes.  I've thought it for a while."

"Maybe you just forgot.  You forgot a lot of things, after you were shot, Todd, remember?  It took you a long time to remember things that happened.  You could have seen him, and forgotten."

"I could have," he said, laying back.  "Things were, tough then."

"It's possible.  How else would you explain it, Todd?"

He said nothing.  Instead, he put his arm out to her, inviting her to his chest.  When she accepted, he found her hair with his hand, and ran his fingers through her golden strands.  He said, "Let's just go to sleep.  It will all come together, eventually."

She waited, and then she said, "Todd, do you think there's something to be afraid of?"

"No.  But I'm not sure everything is as it seems."

***

"My goodness, I was fast asleep, Broham, what's going on?"  The clergywoman was in her robe and slippers, with her coat over her.

"A dream.  The same one I had for years, it came back.  Just tonight.  Now what do ya suppose that's about?"

"I don't know.  What are ya thinking?" Sister Rebecca Katherine asked.

"Not sure.  But this one, it was a little different from the others."

"Ya used to have these dreams, all the time, when it first happened.  I remember ya telling me about that."

"Yes."

Dorian came into the room, robed and slightly disheveled.  She had a cup of tea in her hand, and extended it to the nun.

"Ah, thank ya Dorian.  I appreciate it; me bones are chilled."  She sipped, and Dorian returned to the kitchen to prepare another cup.  "What is different, this time, then?"

"It's hard to explain," he said, "but I'll try and get the words out."

"All right.  I'm patient.  If there's something I can do, Broham, just ask."  She continued to sip her tea.

"In the dream, I saw all the same things.  But at once, I flashed on Johnny, his eyes, and Erin's.  Both.  Close enough to disappear inside the blueness."

Dorian, hearing the last part of his sentence, shuddered a little.  She handed him the warm cup, and used hers to warm her hands.  She sat on the chair, leaving the two of them to ponder the dream's meaning.

Sister Rebecca Katherine said, "That sounds ominous.  What do ya think you're telling yourself?"

"When ya put it that way, it makes more sense.  It's hard to remember sometimes that these dreams are just my own mind's way of talking.  I don't know.  I can't think of what it meant, but I've never had the dream take that turn before."

Dorian spoke up, her voice breaking the silence.  "Something about the eyes, then.  Erin's and Johnny's.  That you're immersed in them, or that something about them needs to be noticed, taken heed of?"

The nun looked to Dorian, and a feeling of recognition came over her.  "Ya might have something there."  She looked back to her brother.  "She may be right."

"I know what I have to do."  He said, and he stood, going to the other room.  Both Dorian and Sister Rebecca Katherine jumped up off their seats and loudly complained about his abruptness.  He came back out of the bedroom fully clothed.  

"Oh, now, what are ya planning?" the clergywoman asked, standing with her hands on her hips.  

Dorian was wringing her hands.  "Timothy, calm down . . ."

"I know what has to be done.  I must go and speak to Jimmy, see if I can get information there.  Otherwise, I'll go and seek out the members of the RA21 to get my answers."

"No, that's dangerous!"  Dorian said, pacing.

"Find out what, Dear Brotha?  What are ya spooked over?"

"It's Aiden.  I knew from the start, there was something about him . . . that he may not be who he claims to be.  My son and his wife are out there, with him, in Innishcreg.  What if we're wrong about him?  What if Shaun was right, and the blade meant something?"

Dorian sucked in her breath, "Blade?  Oh, no.  No."

"Now, easy, all of ya."  The nun said, rather decidedly.  "Why must we assume the worst?  The man never acted in malice.  He had plenty of opportunity to commit some evil."

"Ya had a knowing, the other day.  Ya didn't want to tell me.  Ya admitted it, but ya didn't want to say so."  Timothy reminded her.

"Yes, I did.  But it was not like this.  Not a danger to us, or to them."

He pulled his coat on.  "I'll need to find out.  I must.  To be certain.  I must get to the bottom of the man's past before something happens."

"Shall I call Todd?"  Dorian asked, as Timothy went to the door.

"No.  I'm not sure of it, and I don't want to frighten Blair, not now, with the babby on the way."

The nun chimed in.  "I agree, let's wait," and Dorian's head snapped around to the other woman's comment.  "It's fine, just go with God."

Timothy left, and it was silent for a moment.  Dorian said, "You know something.  You never would have let him go out of here, half-cocked that way, if you didn't know something.  And you'd never stop us from warning Todd, either."

The nun plopped onto the sofa.  She sighed.  "I don't know something.  In fact, I don't know much of anything.  But what I feel, is a different story.  He has to find out, for himself, on his own, in his own time.  Otherwise, he'll never be able to accept what comes."

Dorian sat heavily on the couch next to Sister Rebecca Katherine.  Both women sat, silent, and slouched, as if defeated.  

"What does he have to find out?" she asked, much calmer and almost to herself.

The nun fixed her nightgown, and reached for her tea.  Sipping it, she matter-of-factly said, "Who Aiden really is."

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