The Long Flight Home
      Chapter 13
 

Thick clouds moved across the face of the moon, casting reflective light off the water, on to the docks where Danny sat, half obscured in the shadows of the Santos Receiving Warehouse. Even though the night had turned bitter and cold, he did not seem to notice. The wind whipped foamy caps on the lake waters, their phosphorescent waves marching to pound against the dock supports with rhythmic force. A stack of crates served as his ringside seat to the maelstrom of the elements.

Flashes of light lit the heavens, as if the energy of the Universe had reached it's final zenith and needed to purge itself. He watched the light gain in frequency and duration, a sure signal of a fast approaching storm. The white capped water began to churn, it's force heard in the squeaking and moaning of the docks as the water greedily rushed in and out beneath where he sat.

It had been two weeks since Pilar's funeral, and he'd still been unable to move beyond the grave. Something anchored him to that fallow patch of earth, to the still marble mausoleum, like a dirge that's played it's mournful tune over and over, never ceasing, never tiring. He'd made a promise to himself as he'd left the cemetery that night that he would forever close his heart to this world and it's pain, yet, his wounds ran deep, laid open for all to see. He would gladly welcome the scars of indifference, but for now he felt as if his life energy was bleeding out of him, drop by agonizing drop.

At first, he'd been indifferent to the profound grief around him. Casa Santos had become a living tomb. His mother moved as if in a dream world, her usual perfection clothed in garments of sorrow. Her hollowed eyed look, and pallor gave her an eerie radiance. Flowers filled every room, baskets of lily's, roses, gardenias, and blooms of every imaginable color and size. Their cloying perfume sickened him, their presence gagging him with the reminder that they were a tribute to death. A bottle of Wild Turkey had seen him through the pre-dawn hours after Pilar's funeral, a bottle of Jack Daniels the daylight hours. Even with his hands covering his ears, the sound of voices and sobs continually assaulted him. The face of Pilar haunted him, a beatific smile lighting it, a lingering sadness flowed from her eyes.

His own heart had begun to fragment during the day's following not only Pilar's funeral, but Jimmy's internment. Jimmy had no family to speak of, at least none had come forward to claim his remains, and so Carmen had had him cremated and laid to rest on a hill in the cemetery overlooking the Santos crypt. He had been a loyal employee, doing his job with minimal instruction, and never questioning Carmen or Danny's orders. Ultimately, he had given his life trying to save Pilar's, and the young woman with her that night, Michelle Bauer. His loyalty would forever be etched into the minds of the Santos's, and Carmen had made provision for his graveside to have perpetual care. She even had men looking to see if Jimmy had family somewhere who could be contacted about his death, and who could be rewarded for the devotion that the son had shown to his employers.

Days had come and gone and Danny had stayed locked in his room, lost in a void of hopes and dreams that remained unfulfilled, their failures mirrored in his defeated posture. He'd emerged only to wander the grounds, but there were memories of Pilar everywhere, from the tattered remnants of a rope swing still clinging to the branch of an oak tree, to her rose garden, meticulously maintained by the groundskeepers. Her spirit was ubiquitous, and when he was able to fall into fits of sleep, she was with him, her scent filling his room, and giving him momentary relief from the living hell that permeated his soul. Carmen had begged him to eat, and to rest, but like a lost spirit, he existed restlessly in the shadows.

Ray had come at the urging of Carmen, and when he had seen the extent of Danny's withdrawal, he had become frightened at what his cousin might be capable of. He had seen the dead look in Danny's eyes as he had sat with the family as they had opened the yellow Coroner's envelope that held Pilar's personal effects. As the contents of the envelope had been loosened, so had a fury in Danny, it's tumult come and gone in the instant of time that it took for the contents of the envelope to fall gently into Carmen's lap. Pilar's Rolex watch lay crushed and bent, the brilliance of the diamonds surrounding the face, muddied and in some spots missing. She had worn dangling hoop earrings that day, now only one remained. A tennis bracelet of rubies, and two etched gold ones lay cold in Carmen's hand. Only one other piece of jewelry remained, a signet ring, embellished with a distinctive design. Danny had had to hold himself back from grabbing the items and flinging them away from his mother. The truth of their existence wounded him more than even the sight of her coffin had done. She had worn these items, so lovingly given to her, as a daily reminder of her ties to home, and those that treasured her. Now, they were nothing but worthless metal and stone, no human warmth to give them life.

Danny had left Casa Santos that night, and for some reason he had found himself at the docks, with a gun in his hand, and intentions on his mind. He absently noticed that the air temperature had dropped, yet oddly, he did not feel it's sting. The metal barrel pressed to his temple was warm, not icy as he distantly thought it should be. The pungent smell of gasoline and tar pitch from the docks assailed his nostrils, along with the faint odor of gun powder. It was this smell that transported him to thoughts of the past and his father. A bittersweet smile played about his lips as his concentration became lost in a kaleidoscope of images of himself as a young boy, a boy who had had to crane his head back to look up at a tall, smiling man, a man who had held his small hand within the large capable grasp of his own. His father… Why must he remember him tonight? Where were these memories surfacing from? Would his pain never end?

The young boy recalled the pure joy of being with the father. With his eyes closed, he felt the jostling movement again of a ride on his father's shoulders, could feel the exhilaration of being swung in the air, sensed the contentment of sitting at the knee of his papa as he worked in his leather bound study. Dragging his eyes open, he starkly wondered where that little boy had gone. Where was the innocent joy, the belief that the world existed only within the sphere of what he could touch, and taste, smell, and hear?

He knew where it had gone. It lay buried within the walls of a stone cold crypt, the flame of it's beauty extinguished in the darkness and dankness of the lifeless marble home that now housed not only his father and brother, but his beloved Pilar. The pain of it all tore at his gut, burning in it's intensity, a visceral reminder that he was nothing but bone and muscle, water and mineral.

Passing his hand down the side of his face to clear from his mind the young happy boy, he quickly and deliberately pressed the trigger of the gun, never flinching as it clicked in response to the pressure of his finger upon it, his eyes maintaining a steady gaze on the agitated, wind whipped water in front of him. He felt the barrel advance, yet death eluded him.

The weakened light from the moon created shadows in front of him that shifted, growing and diminishing in size, hypnotizing him. His brother Mick appeared in his mind's eye, cocky and virile, a dangerous smile lifting the corners of his mouth in a mock grimace. Mick understood how Danny had gotten to this place in time. Hadn't Mick been the one who had always rode the coat tails of the devil? Hadn't Mick been the one to taste insouciance and found that it was the dish he'd liked best? He taunted Danny now, as he had as a child, urging him to finish it. Mick's grimacing smile turned into a leer, his eyes ablaze with a knowing light. As Danny pressed the trigger once again, the click reverberated inside his head, and as the laughing visage of Mick slowly disappeared, he heard for the first time, his blood rushing in his veins, and once again death remained beyond his grasp.

He couldn't think of Pilar anymore, nor of his father, nor Mick. The wounds of her death, and theirs were raw, ran too deep, and were like lesions upon his heart. As he readied to pull the trigger of the gun once again, a light shining upon the storm tossed lake caught and held his attention. He followed it's glow, it's fragile quality spilling down from the sky through the rapidly gathering cloud masses. He spared a momentary fanciful thought that it might be the light from a star, but the reality of it was, that it was the glow from the lighthouse, it's beacon sending out a lifeline to those out upon the storm tossed waters. It's whiteness a welcome sight to those in need of a savior. Something akin to a hoarse laugh forced it's way through his throat, the irony of the guiding light not lost on him, in his circumstance. Focusing his gaze upon it, he pulled the trigger of the gun again, expecting that this would be the end he was so desperately seeking. Once more, he not only heard a loud click, but felt it's pressure on his temple. He felt his blood rushing through his veins, and for the first time in day's he also felt the staggered tattoo of his heart, beating in his chest.

Something disturbed Michelle as she slept. Abby could see the quickening of her eyes darting back and forth behind her closed lids. Her movements were restless, yet that she was responding to anything, gladdened Abby. The past week had been a mix of heaven and hell. The week before that Abby could remember nothing. Ed had arrived soon after the "miracle" of Michelle's return to them. He had come, a haggard man, too little sleep, and grief etching his face into a mask of pain. He had looked down upon his beautiful daughter in disbelief, his years as a doctor not preparing him for the damage he had seen. He had immediately consulted with Jake and his team, and had kept close tabs on Michelle since then. Looking back, Abby tried hard to think of what she and Rick, Ed and Aunt Meta had done to keep themselves from falling apart, and for her, it was the strong belief that Michelle had a higher purpose in life to fulfill, and that she would somehow find her way back into the open embrace of her family. Abby had barely existed outside of this sterile room, the blips and hiss of the life sustaining machines her company, and thoughts of God, her relief. Michelle had lingered in her enforced coma for another week, her body still too damaged to function without the respirator and the myriad of tubes and drips feeding her the vital drugs and nutrients she needed.

Then, earlier this past week, the SICU team had made the decision to remove Michele from her suspended state of animation. As she had been weaned from the powerful drugs that had put not only her body, but also her brain to sleep, Abby had noticed the marked change. The respirator still breathed for Michelle, but in response to outside stimuli, her body twitched, her arms and legs moving of their own accord, and occasionally, she opened and closed her eyes. Each time any of these "awakenings" were witnessed, Abby noted them as a sign that Michelle was coming back to them, little by little. Rick had brought in a boom box and played her favorite music constantly. Bill, Matt, Vanessa, Reva, Josh, and even Jesse and Drew had come with well wishes and prayers. Bill stayed often, even when visiting hours were over, talking to Michelle and reminiscing over childhood memories. The once sterile room filled with cards, and Mylar balloons. Abby had taken delivery after delivery of flowers home, leaving only one sterling rose, it's perfection offset by the exquisite cut crystal vase enclosing it. Abby had asked who had brought it, but no one seemed to know, so she had left the delicate bloom on the cabinet next to Michelle's bed.

Her thoughts swinging back to the present Abby noticed that Michelle's distress was rising. Michelle began to flail her arms, groaning with the pain it caused her right arm and leg which now had been cast. Restlessly, she reached towards her mouth, trying to pull out the respirator. Abby immediately ran to the door of the room, shouting for the nurses on duty. Seeing that Michelle's anxiety level seemed to be rising, her nurse bound Michelle's arms gently, administering a sedative to calm her. Paging Dr. Robison, she reassured Abby that what had happened to Michelle was not uncommon in patients who were recovering from comas, but Abby felt that something had precipitated Michelle's agitation, and she prayed for serenity for her.

Michelle's dreams were alternately filled with gladness and grief. She existed, suspended in time, watching her life unfold before her. There was the pure delight of childhood, the innocence of feeling and giving love, unconditionally. Years danced by her, the warm presence of her grandmother Bert filled her heart, and the smile of her mother filled her being. The teasing light in her brother Rick's eyes, drew her into their warm depths like an embrace. Long remembered walks with her father through the heavily forested woods gave her a sense of belonging.

Somewhere in her reverie, she became separated from her father, disconnected from herself, her sense of direction gone. The woods became menacing. She found herself lost in a maze of leafy branches, their arms reaching towards her covetously. In a panic, she called for her father, but there was no answer. She beseeched the help of her grandmother, and entreated her mother to save her from this unknown. Somehow, she knew Rick was close by, and Abby, yet she could not see them through the veil of bleakness that obscured her vision. She ran through the woods, her heart pounding with each step she took, it's sound unfamiliar somehow, as if transported from a great distance. She began to panic, her limbs becoming heavy with fatigue, and burdened by the enormous sorrow she carried. The leafy canopy above her reached with downward tendrils, trying to snare her within it's grasp. She blindly staggered forward, light folding back into itself, until only an inky blackness spread in front of her. She screamed, no sound emerging from her mouth. The muscles of her throat were flexed to scream again, when she heard a faint whispery voice upon the stillness of the air. She strained to listen, the whisper sounding closer, until it came to swirl about her, cloaking her in it's serenity. It's softly resonant tones calmed her, it's depth and timbre soothed her.

Suddenly, from the darkness a hand emerged, strong and confident. It summoned her to take hold of it, to grip it tightly and not let go. She stepped forward moved by some unseen force to accept it's strength, to grasp at the hope it offered. She placed her hand in it's heat, the long fingers curling around hers in a crushingly gentle manner. She knew this hand, it's sinewy power giving her the calm she needed to confront the demons chasing her. She felt herself being pulled into the beckoning blackness, yet she no longer felt afraid. She moved willingly, strength seeping once again into her wearied body. She began to walk forward with the knowledge that she was not alone, that he was with her.

Ed and Rick were present when Jake examined Michelle. He was amazed at the progress of the antibiotics in ridding her body of the life threatening infections that had swept through it. Her urine output had increased steadily, and her blood pressure had become more regulated. Her temperature, and her blood cultures were beginning to return to normal. All in all, the SICU team were shaking their heads at her rapid progress. The incident today with her grabbing at her respirator, gave them pause to believe that perhaps she was ready to breath on her own. With Ed and Rick's blessing, Jake had the ventilator removed from Michelle's airway. After a few hesitant moments, and an involuntary gasp, Michelle began to take her own breaths, stilted at first, but they quickly advanced to a rhythmic pattern. Ed, Rick, and the SICU team all breathed their own sighs of relief as color stained Michele's cheeks, a good sign that her blood was being oxygenated. She had come so far, yet she had so far to go. The outlook was positive, yet her injuries remained extensive, not to mention the possibility that she could have suffered brain damage in the accident, or even had had some type of stroke when she had gone into cardiac arrest. Everyone knew that time, medical care and prayer were of the utmost importance. They had time, thank God, and they had care. They also knew that the prayers of all of her loved ones, and friends were making a difference, and as they worked on her below, their concerns and petitions floated upwards to heaven, borne on the whispers of the breeze.

A sudden gust of wind swirled about Danny, pushing him backwards, the gun which had been held to his head with such care, now clattering to the ground, eaten up by the darkness surrounding him. The current had a cleansing effect, his pensiveness forgotten in the fury that was bearing down upon him. Waves from the lake were breaking over the docks, their power felt in the quivering of the wharf joists. A lightning storm seemed centered directly over his head, the sulfur charged air stinging his nostrils with it's pungency. He didn't know which way to turn. It wasn't that he was afraid of the storm, it was more that he was disoriented by it. He hadn't expected his plans to be interrupted by the rage of nature, his own being the only thing that had driven him, and consumed him these last weeks. He could see nothing through the black roiling clouds, even the powerful beam of the lighthouse was swallowed in the gale that had struck with such force. Paralyzed by the darkness, he reached out his hands, hoping to connect with something solid which might orientate him to which way his car was. As his hand connected with the blackness of the night, it collided with something, it's contact causing him to draw away his hand in surprise, but not before he had felt it's warmth, and a sense of peace flooded through him. He was at a loss, and for the first time since Pilar's funeral, he felt a sense of vigor and strength returning to him. He didn't know if it was the adrenaline of the storm, or if the presence he had felt was the cause of these burgeoning feelings. Just when he would have moved forward, a flash of lightening so brilliant that it lit the sky like day, showed him that directly in front of him were the churning lake waters, reaching up towards him, drugging him with their hypnotizing rhythm. He was poised at the edge of the pier. If he wanted to, he could end it this way, a sacrifice to the pagan elements. As quickly as the thought gained a hold in his mind, so did the remembrance of the presence, and the thought that it had felt like the delicate caress of a hand in his. He couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone, that out there someone needed him. His brief connection with what had joined him in the dark, gave him this strange knowledge. Who could need him? Who would want the help of a man, so finite, that he hadn't even been aware of his sister's last moments as he had sat above the scene of her grisly death oblivious to her suffering.

"She needs you", came as a whisper against the rage of the storm. Danny turned his head in the direction of the whisper, but he couldn't locate it's source above the din of the thunder now crashing down around him.

"She needs you, the voice murmured. She needs your strength, your goodness, and yes, your pain. You will heal her, she will heal you."

Danny couldn't catch all that was whispered on the wind, he even questioned the validity of his dreamlike thoughts. He only knew that the words breathed to him were now surging through his mind, as the storm surged around him. Making his way to his car through the punishing wind and the lashing rain, continual jags of lightning lit his path, sheets of it that split the heavens open with their intensity.

Once safely in his car, he sat immobilized, the events of the night pouring down upon him, just as the rain streamed down outside the cocoon of his car. He sat lost in thoughts of who "she" was, and just as he was about to start the engine of his Mercedes, a face flashed into his introspection, a fragile beauty marred by the destructive power of the accident that had claimed his sister. He remembered the quietude he had felt at her bedside, how he had been able to grieve with her, even though she didn't know he was there. Why hadn't he thought of her these last two weeks? Why hadn't he gone to check on her progress? He knew why, outright fear. She moved something in him, something he wasn't ready to accept, or change, yet for a brief time he had almost felt whole when he was with her.

Starting the engine, he put the car in gear and headed toward home, but for some reason, he made a U-turn and instead pointed his car towards Cedar's Hospital. Driving through the rain filled streets he felt the burden of the night lifting from his shoulders, yet a lingering shame filled him, his cowardice weighing heavily on his mind. What had gotten him to this place of seeming no return? What could have possibly motivated his dance with death, and why had a bullet not taken his life away? These questions disturbed him, but more frightening were the answers hovering beyond his grasp. As he pulled into the hospital parking lot, he looked up toward the floor that housed the SICU, and the only person who had given him shelter amidst the storm of his anguish, Michelle Bauer. Emerging from his car, he ran to the main entrance of the hospital, the wrath of the storm following his every step.

When he had reached the SICU, he hoped that with the lateness of the hour she would be alone. The night nurse who had been so kind to him before was surprised to see him. She commented on the fact that he had not been in to see Michelle. He guiltily responded that he had been out of town on business, but that he knew she must have been doing better, or he would have heard.

"We almost lost Michelle two weeks ago. Her heart gave out from the burden of the infections she was fighting, but just when all hope seemed lost, she suddenly responded, and came back to us. It was as if she had made a decision to stay, to fight, to live. Believe me, we were very emotional that afternoon."

Danny's audible gasp had the nurse looking at him strangely. "What day was this?", Danny managed to get out.

"It was Wednesday last", she said confidently.

Danny swayed, and if the nurse hadn't held onto him, he thought he might have fallen. Michelle had almost died the day they had buried Pilar. He couldn't completely grasp the enormity of his feelings. Too much had happened to him not only this night, but in the past weeks. Asking if he could sit with her, she took pity on his obvious strain, and his utter look of fatigue. She told him that since he had been away, and obviously hadn't heard of her close brush with death, that yes, he could visit with her. She knew that from past visitations with her he had seemed rested, and she couldn't deny him this time either. As she showed him into Michelle's room, she updated him on her progress, commenting on the fact that her respirator had only been removed that afternoon.

She left him at the foot of Michelle's bed, withdrawing as she had felt his energy focus on the still figure in front of him. Her fragile beauty was more pronounced, he reflected. As he touched her hand, it felt warmer. He wound his fingers through hers, pulling a chair to sit close to her bedside. He immediately closed his eyes, inhaling her essence through the feel of her heartbeat matched to his, not a hairs breadth separating their palms. As he began to nod off to sleep, his last coherent thought was that he was finally home.

At some point, Michelle realized that she was alone, the hand which had guided her with such care and concern, was slipping from her grasp. She felt lost again, alone in the void. She wanted to so desperately wake-up and have this nightmare over. She pushed her way through the darkness ahead of her, seeing the faint glimmer of light up ahead. She felt strange, tingly, as if limbs, long unused were regaining vigor. She felt an incredible rawness in her throat, and she was thirsty. Lastly, she felt immense pain sweeping through her, it's intensity almost causing her to stop in her quest for the light she so greedily ached for. For what seemed like ages, she struggled to reach the gleam up ahead, and then she was there. She tried opening her eyes, but they wouldn't obey. She tried again, this time a crack of light pouring into them, hurtful in it's intensity. As her eyelids fluttered again, flashes of brilliance struck them. She wasn't sure what any of this meant, only that she wanted to see the light that had beckoned her. Trying to open her eyes once more, she succeeded, but her vision was blurred. Where am I, she wondered? Why do I hurt so? Why am I so thirsty? As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, noises began to assail her ears, almost deafening in her fragile state. She hesitatingly focused on someone or something standing close to where she lay. Her groan brought the head of whoever was standing there, swiveling in her direction. Whomever it was stilled at her groan, almost it seemed, trying to blend with the shadows of the room.

"Please, water", she managed to croak. The figure detached itself from the dimness, and she heard the sound of water being poured into a cup. It was music to her ears. A hand holding the cup came into her blurred line of vision. As she tried to suck on the straw, the hand that was cradling it came into clearer focus. Something about it stirred her memory. It's shape was familiar, it's breadth and length of fingers signaling it's strength. Suddenly, she knew why it seemed so familiar. This was his hand, the one that had led her from the dark towards the light. It took all of the energy she possessed to look up at the face of the figure bending so close beside her that she could feel their warm breath upon her face. As her eyes skimmed upwards, she knew instinctively who it was leaning so near, and as her eyes connected with his, one word was forced from her throat, "Danny".

^{MFA Note: Breathe! Breathe!}