What Were They Thinking?
35 The Abyss
LILY’S WEIGHT in my arms was suddenly lifeless. I carried her to the couch and beckoned the deputy to get some water. Jim squeezed my shoulder and left. He had to call the Frosts and the Woods.
“Go see John Clinton,” I called after him. “He has the calling tree. We’re going to need everyone.”
Deputy Robertson handed me a glass of water and I nursed Lily back to consciousness. He sat with Lily as I went to the office and opened my safe. For all I knew the murderer was still on the loose. I needed to protect my family.
Sam was still in surgery when we reached the hospital. All the way there, I held Lily in my arms and scanned the environment out the windows. We flew through the streets to the hospital with the lights flashing on the sheriff’s car. As we entered the emergency room my eyes were scanning the faces of everyone I saw, looking for a threat. I needed Joe. He could spot for me. But I didn’t have Joe. I had Lily, barely coherent in my arms, as we asked about my daughter.
“Mr. Cortales, a hospital counselor will be here in a moment to update you on the condition of your daughter. He knows far more than I do. I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.”
I was going to hear that a lot in the coming days. We sat in the waiting room as minutes dragged on. Waiting.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cortales,” a soft voice said. We looked up into the eyes of a brown-haired woman in a casual suit. She looked back through large glasses that made her eyes look unnaturally huge.
“Yes.”
“I want to tell you that Samantha has passed the first crisis point. We believe she is out of danger. The doctors are working to limit the damage to her shoulder. I don’t have an exhaustive detail of the damage, but doctors say that the shoulder joint was heavily damaged and they are preserving as much of the structure, nerves, and connective tissue as they can. I’m informed that she may be another two hours in surgery.”
“She’ll live?”
“She’ll definitely live but there is a lot of damage that will take time to repair and heal.”
“And Lexi?”
“Uh… Lexi?”
“Our other daughter. Alexandra Cortales.” The counselor looked at her clipboard and flipped through several pages.
“I’m sorry. There have been so many. Here. Oh, dear.” She stopped to look at us and tears filled her eyes. “We don’t have positive identity but one of the other victims identified a victim as Alexandra Cortales. I didn’t realize we had sisters here. I’m afraid, sir, madam, if the victim is indeed your daughter, she did not survive. Medics pronounced her dead at the scene.”
The wail that filled the air was multiplied when I added my voice to Lily’s. We crumpled to the floor. My little Lexi. My precious little daughter.
“It isn’t a positive ID until next of kin identify her,” the counselor whispered.
“Take me…” I started. Lily grabbed my hand so hard I flinched. “Take us to her. Please,” I begged.
It required another person to accompany us to the morgue. Before we reached it, a priest showed up beside us. There is no nice way to view a dead body. There is no acceptable way to see your daughter lying still and cold on a stainless steel table.
She looked so calm and peaceful. Not even surprised. Her makeup and hair were perfect. I wanted to shake her and wake her up. But she wasn’t there. Her spirit was gone. The priest administered the last rites as Lily and I knelt beside our dead daughter.
“Joe, I need my hound.” I could hear his intake of breath over the long distance line.
“Are you in Bloomington? It will take me about seven hours. Talk to me.”
“Some bastard killed my daughter. Alexandra is dead. I need to hunt him down.”
“I’ll make it six hours.”
“Come to the hospital. He shot Samantha, too. She’s in surgery.”
“Hold on, brother. I’m on my way.”
We learned more on the news than we learned from the police. The police had very little to say to us because we were neither victims nor witnesses. They only said they would need to speak with Samantha as soon as she was able. Doctors told us that they were keeping her asleep for a day to let the stitches set and keep the arm immobilized. We sat with her in her room, alternately kissing her hands and weeping. The six o’clock news told the story of a student with a grudge having opened fire on a sorority after running over others with his car. The report listed four dead, four wounded, and a dozen injured as they fled or were thrown to the ground. Among the dead was the gunman. And my daughter.
“Witnesses say the incident would have been much worse if not for the heroic action of one of the victim’s escort, Brian Frost, who threw himself between the gunman and other potential victims, striking him with enough force to kill him and end the shooting spree. At the time of this report, Mr. Frost had been in surgery for seven hours and was listed in intensive care. Authorities say he was shot multiple times attempting to protect the other victims. Our limited investigation of this incident reveals that Mr. Frost is a student at IU and is the host and star of the popular cooking show, Young Cooking, which is also aired on this station.”
Fuck! Hayden must be here in the hospital with his wives as well. I whispered to Lily that I was going to go get us something to drink and left her holding Samantha’s hand.
I found Hayden, Marilyn, and Anna standing outside the intensive care unit. Brian was not yet being allowed visitors. We didn’t need to say anything but fell together in a hug. Huge Bart Wood hit us from one side and did his best to crush us in a hug as his tiny wife, Sylvia, did the same from the other side. We all wept together.
Our children.
When I returned to Samantha’s room, Joe was standing outside. Isabella was with Lily.
“Gabby wasn’t allowed to come up,” Joe said. “She’s in the waiting room and is comforting a young woman who was near hysterics because she couldn’t see her cónyuge.”
“My God. Hannah must be down there. I need to bring her up. She can’t be with Brian right now, but I’m sure I can get her up here to be with Sam.” I rushed down to the waiting room where my niece Gabby, now sixteen, was holding Hannah’s hand. I wasn’t sure Hannah even knew who was comforting her. Her eyes were blank and streaming with tears as she stared into space.
“Hannah,” I said.
“Papa Sly,” she wailed. Gabby forgotten, she threw herself into my arms.
“She’ll be okay,” I whispered. “I’ll take you up to see her for yourself. Gabby, will you be okay here alone for a few minutes? I’ll get your mom and Aunt Lily to come see you if you can wait.”
“I’m fine, Uncle Sly. I’m just going to sit here and cry for a while. That’s all. I need time to cry.”
“So do I, precious. I’ll send someone right away.”
With Hannah wrapped under my arm, I headed back upstairs to my daughter’s room. As soon as she was in the door, Hannah rushed to Samantha and grasped her hand.
“Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, my love. Oh, I love you, Sam. I love you!” I believe I saw Samantha’s face relax. Isabella cocked an eyebrow at me.
“Why don’t the two of you go down with Gabby for a few minutes,” I whispered. “I don’t know where everyone is but I’m sure the rest of the clan must be here by now.”
“Cafeteria,” Isabella said. “We’ll come back up in fifteen minutes.”
I petted my daughter’s head and then Hannah’s.
“She’ll make it, Hannah. She’ll make it because she loves you.”
“Will Brian make it because he loves us, Papa Sly? Please say he’ll make it.”
“I saw Papa Hayden and Mama Marilyn and Mama Anna,” I said. “Brian’s had a tough go of it and is in intensive care. He’s in worse shape than Samantha but he’ll make it. He’ll make it because he loves you and because you love him.” She laid her head against my hand and went back to focusing on Samantha. I crossed the room and perched on the arm of the chair Joe was sitting in.
“He killed Alexandra and destroyed Samantha’s arm,” I whispered.
“We’ll hunt him down,” Joe responded.
“Brian killed him… according to the reports. There’s no one to hunt down.”
“Did he act alone? If there was an organization behind him, we’ll destroy them all.”
“We’ll find out.” We sat there looking at the two girls, one unconscious and the other petting her hand and telling her about all the wonderful things they’d do when she got out of the hospital. “What am I going to do, Joe? He killed Alexandra. How can I live? A father isn’t meant to outlive his child. What will I do?”
“Keep the others alive.”
“What others?”
“Remember Terry Connelly? Back in Nam?”
“Yeah. Poor bastard ate his pistol.”
“Because he was the only one in his fireteam who made it out alive. He couldn’t live with it. That little girl holding Samantha’s hand? The guy who killed the murderer but didn’t save Alexandra? Samantha, who watched her sister die? The others who survived? We’ve got to keep them alive, mio fratello. You can’t let them become Terry Connelly.”
I can’t dwell on the next three weeks. I can’t describe the anguish we felt waiting for my good little witch to wake up. Or what we felt knowing her sister wouldn’t. Donations and gifts poured in to both the hospital and university to defray the costs of treating those who survived. Those costs included psychological counseling for the survivors—all of them. Parents were survivors, too.
Samantha was in the hospital for two weeks before we were allowed to take her home to recover. We were given a plan for her recovery and rebuilding her shoulder. Hannah spent every night with her in the master suite we’d prepared for Sam and her cónyuge.
We brought Alexandra home the same day. A simple box of ashes. We had in mind that we’d scatter the ashes on the ranch but we knew everyone would want to be involved. And I couldn’t let go of them. Not yet.
In addition to the official counselors provided to us, there were people in our community who helped us. Whitney’s morning forms were attended by every person on the ranch and in the Village who could move. Even while she was on painkillers, Sam wanted to be in the field doing the moves she could do, swearing with every move that she would do whatever was necessary to protect and defend the ones she loved.
John Clinton, who had held the kids in his arms and comforted them the night Denise Raymond died, had a steady stream of kids in his house just to be held by him and Bea. Saul Gordon came up from French Lick twice a week just to have a quiet time and talk to anyone who wanted his all-encompassing love and care. And Lily and I. TK, Amber, and Addison moved in with us immediately after the incident… into the suite we’d prepared for Lexi and her family. Judy was often there with them. The girls just wanted to be part of the family, to be held, fed, comforted. And to comfort Lily and me.
I saw all those beautiful young lives and how fragile each one was. I found I wasn’t sleeping. I’d doze fitfully during the night and when I lay in bed wide awake would get up and prowl around the house, checking doors and windows to make sure everything was locked. I had to protect them. I needed to be vigilant. I hadn’t been there to protect my daughter. I couldn’t let these innocents be unguarded.
Three weeks after Lexi was killed, Brian awoke from his coma. It wasn’t pretty. His parents had been living in the big house in the master suite. I was sure Hayden had used all his vacation time and possibly all his sick time but he wasn’t leaving his son’s side. Courtney had been hit by a deflected bullet and had gone to Kokomo to be with her parents for a week, but was soon back to be with Jennifer and wait for Brian. Dani, sadly, had been hit in the face. After a day at the University Hospital, she was transferred to Indianapolis for reconstruction of her jaw. As soon as the surgery was finished and she was stable, Bart and Sylvia took her home to Louisville where her sisters waited on her hand and foot.
Brian was irrational. He didn’t know who had died and who lived. We dealt with Samantha’s whimpering nightmares, often going to her room to comfort both her and Hannah, but Brian’s nightmares were violent and unpredictable. A few days after he came out of the coma, Samantha insisted that she had to go see him, to show him that she was alive and he needed to be, too.
The weight of sorrow and guilt I felt in that room drove me to my knees. I knew what he was feeling and I hated him! He’d let my daughter die. He was supposed to protect her!
Even Samantha couldn’t stand to be with him for long. She cried all the way home.
I went to bed every night with Lily but as soon as she was asleep, I got up and prowled around the house. The girls had mostly moved back to their dorm in the barn, only occasionally coming to spend the night. At the same time, the others in their group would stop by, stay late, and then crash in Lexi’s suite. Judy, Monte, and Ross. Leonard, Susan, and Nancy. Amanda and TK, sometimes with Rich. Jennifer and Courtney came to stay with Samantha and Hannah at least once a week. Even they began spending a few nights a week in the Big House with their casa. As soon as school was out, Addison fled to Seattle and we weren’t sure she would be back. Her boyfriend had been killed while protecting her. Nancy went back to Mishawaka and there was a question as to whether her parents would allow her to return.
No matter who was or was not at our house, I rose as soon as Lily was asleep and checked the doors and windows, listening at the garage, sometimes slipping out into the night to check the perimeter with my gun tucked under my arm or sometimes in my hand. When I returned from my perimeter check, I picked up the box of ashes that was all I had left of my daughter. I sat in my office with my gun in my hand. Protecting her.
It gradually dawned on me that I couldn’t protect my daughter any longer. She was gone. She was waiting for me to join her so I could protect her again. The gun in my hand was not there for her, but for me. In four weeks, the others had let the scars harden. Judy and Monte had left on a driving trip to pull their heads together. Susan had accepted the role of CEO for Designed by Leonard. The company had orders to fill. Hannah had to return to her director’s role and coached Elaine for her upcoming comedy special. We were all supposed to laugh at her antics while we were dying inside.
I looked at the gun in my hand, my daughter’s ashes in my lap. I raised the gun to my head.
“What about Samantha,” a voice whispered in my mind. I lowered the gun. The next night I raised the gun to my head again. “Lily needs you,” a voice whispered in my mind. I lowered the gun.
I wasn’t sure when I’d last slept. I’d been on vigil for days. I performed my nightly perimeter check, knowing from the start that everything was secure. Then I sat at my desk with my daughter’s ashes in front of me and raised my gun to my head.
“Daddy! Stop it!” I jerked around, expecting someone beside me. My daughter. But it was an empty room. Still, I could hear her voice in my head. “Samantha needs you. How would she live if you died? Mama needs you. Without you she would die. Amber, TK, Judy, Addison need you. They would die without your steadfast love. I need you, Daddy. I need you to be strong. I need you to forgive yourself and I need you to help Brian forgive himself.”
There was nothing in that God damned room! Nothing but me, my gun, and a box of ashes. But I heard her! I heard her and she needed me.
I stood in the doorway letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of his room. In my hands I carried the little box with Alexandra’s ashes. He was awake. I could tell in the same way that one predator senses the presence of another. We circled each other.
“Brian.”
“Papa Sly.”
“I hope you don’t mind the late visit.” I suddenly realized I was crying. “I didn’t want people thinking I was crazy. My little Alexandra wanted to visit you.”
He looked at me in the darkness, his eyes burning a hole in my heart.
“I know it was just a dream.” Brian rolled toward me as I sat beside his bed. “But it was so clear.” I stared at the box in my hands and placed it on the bed next to him. “Don’t open it. It’s not necessary. It’s all we have left of her. Her ashes.” I took his hand as he cried and placed it on the box with my own. “I heard her voice. I know the difference between being awake and dreaming. I know it was a dream, but it was so powerful. She said, ‘Take me to visit Brian so I can tell him I love him.’ Maybe you can’t hear her. But I had to come.”
We just sat there for a while, Brian and me and Lexi. I kept my hand on his on top of the box. If I couldn’t live with the loss, how could Brian. I don’t know how long we sat like that.
“Do you know how many men I’ve killed, Brian?” I whispered. “A lot. For a while I kept track. Then I stopped counting. I just woke up one morning and didn’t know how many people I’d killed. Men. And women. And children. I was sent to Vietnam in ’66. I was a scared kid, twenty years old. At least they trained me first. Every time I woke up, I was surprised I was still alive. I never intended to kill anyone innocent. But a woman rushing at you with a baby looks a lot like a Viet Cong with a bomb. I killed them.” What had brought this confession on? I had never talked to anyone about what I did in the war. I couldn’t. It had to be locked safely away or it might bleed into my life and take me. But I had to say this to Brian. “Fourteen-year-olds. Maybe less. Too many of them tricked units and then set off explosives. We were sent in to kill them before they could get to us. I took some mother’s child… Some father’s precious daughter… I killed them. And this is my reward. This little box of ashes. If my Samantha didn’t need me so much, I’d kill myself. But she needs us. We have to go on. Put that in your kit, Brian. Some days we continue on because the ones we love need us. We have to bear our guilt and live with our failings. And grieve with each other.”
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