[Two to Write] Night's Final Hour - Chapter 55
Benjamin Delacroix
“Every man is afraid of something. That’s how you know he’s in love
with you; when he is afraid of losing you.” - Unknown
Scott Stevenson was a much more difficult man than I had originally
planned. His lists were unorganized and uncertain, his loose ends the
worst I had seen in years, and his commitment to the task at hands was
mediocre at best. Nonetheless, we worked on trying to tie up his loose
ends, we struggled to make amends of the mess of a life he’d led on
Earth and we fought to find his closure. To say that it was a struggle
to focus on Mr. Stevenson’s problems with my perplexing over Miss Ivy
would be an understatement. Between the two of us, it was difficult to
accomplish any task or goal.
Miss Ivy’s untimely death plagues my mind even now as I try to fulfill
my promise to Scott. I am supposed to be tracking down some of his old
friends and peers from a few years ago because he feels the need to
apologize to some of them, but my thoughts continually stray back to
Miss Carter. How is it that she has come to pass? In what manner? At
what time? And the question, which I have seen too many struggle with
too often, torments my brain as well: Would it have been possible for
me to prevent such an occurrence if I had been in a mood of different
sorts?
“Have you figured it out yet?” Mr. Stevenson’s young voice protrudes
into my thoughts, a sudden and rude interruption.
“What is it, per se that you speak of good sir?” Rolling my head back,
I look at the man sideways.
“Have you figured it out yet? Why I’m still here? Hanging around an old
cemetery and visiting all these places like you do?” He lounges against
an unmarked tombstone and I can only hope that it will not soon belong
to Miss Carter.
“No, Mr. Stevenson, I have not quite figured out what it is that ties
you to this plane. Now, if you would be ever so kind as to close your
mouth and let me concentrate, maybe I can figure it out for you.”
“Well, I’m just saying” The boy lops about the area, sighing heavily.
“I’ve said all my goodbyes, thanked the people I needed to, and
accepted my death. What more can I do?”
“Do you realize what you just said?’ I ask the boy who shakes his head
in response. “What you have done is repeated, verbatim, the list of
things that I told you could be holding you to this plane. The list
that I told you earlier?”
“Did I?” He feigns surprise.
“You did indeed, save one.” With a solitary finger in the air, I catch
on to what must be holding Mr. Stevenson here. “Have you made amends
for your faults, Mr. Stevenson? I do believe I also mentioned that you
had to make amends.”
“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily say that I hadn’t made amends.” The boy
mumbles on for a half hour or so about how he may or may not have made
his amends and I begin to grow frustrated. As I am about to focus the
attention of the young man, Miss Carter walks into the cemetery. Her
entrance goes unnoticed by Scott as he yammers on still. She stops in
front of us, but does not speak. Behind me, I can still hear Scott’s
voice rambling on.
“Scott Stevenson,” my tone sharp, I spin my head in the direction of
the young man. “For once in your life, shut your mouth and wait until
someone invites you to speak.”
My focus returns to Miss Ivy as she stands with a many a newspaper in
her hands. Shuffling through the black and white prints, she shrugs.
Her face is a bewildered one, searching for understanding and finding
only confusion. I cannot begin to understand what it is she means to
say.
“I couldn’t find anything.” She sets the papers upon my gravestone and
sits down. “I searched in every paper this town has and there is no
record of my death. I even checked the bookings at the church, but no
funeral has been scheduled.”
“Miss Ivy!” Her face turns up at the sound of my excitement, but she is
not smiling. Instead, a look of surprise covers her face. “Can you not
see that this is a thing to rejoice about?”
“A thing to rejoice about, Benjamin? I’m dead and no one has bothered
to report it or record it in anyway.”
“No, Miss Carter, not at all.” I sit beside her on my tombstone. “It is
quite the opposite. You are not dead, not at this moment. It is my
belief that you must be near death, on the verge of it in some place -
likely a hospital or care place of sorts, but not dead. Not yet.”
“Near death is hardly better than dead, Benjamin.” She says sadly,
watching the weeds below us blow in the wind.
“You are quite wrong Ivy.” As I cup her face with my hands, I tell her,
“being near death is a great distance away from being dead. If you are
near death, then there is hope and that is what keeps us going in life.
The hope that, one day - maybe tomorrow - things will change and it
will be better. The hope that, at some point, we will meet someone who
makes this existence worthwhile. The hope that, to someone, our near
deaths sound like heaven to one person because it means they have not
lost us. You and your near death give me hope. Ivy Mae, you will live
because I will not see you die.”
“Benjamin.” She pulls her head away from my hands and I find myself sad
to watch her do so. “You cannot know these things. There is no way that
you can guarantee that you can save me -”
“I can indeed.” Kneeling in front, I look up at her face. “I will save
you, Ivy, because I will not see you pass out of my life. This
existence and this non-earthly plane of inconsistencies, I cannot
control. I cannot ensure that you stay in my plane, Ivy Mae, so you
must go back to your own. I will not let you die because I cannot bear
to lose you.”
Night's Final Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United
States License.
“Every man is afraid of something. That’s how you know he’s in love
with you; when he is afraid of losing you.” - Unknown
Scott Stevenson was a much more difficult man than I had originally
planned. His lists were unorganized and uncertain, his loose ends the
worst I had seen in years, and his commitment to the task at hands was
mediocre at best. Nonetheless, we worked on trying to tie up his loose
ends, we struggled to make amends of the mess of a life he’d led on
Earth and we fought to find his closure. To say that it was a struggle
to focus on Mr. Stevenson’s problems with my perplexing over Miss Ivy
would be an understatement. Between the two of us, it was difficult to
accomplish any task or goal.
Miss Ivy’s untimely death plagues my mind even now as I try to fulfill
my promise to Scott. I am supposed to be tracking down some of his old
friends and peers from a few years ago because he feels the need to
apologize to some of them, but my thoughts continually stray back to
Miss Carter. How is it that she has come to pass? In what manner? At
what time? And the question, which I have seen too many struggle with
too often, torments my brain as well: Would it have been possible for
me to prevent such an occurrence if I had been in a mood of different
sorts?
“Have you figured it out yet?” Mr. Stevenson’s young voice protrudes
into my thoughts, a sudden and rude interruption.
“What is it, per se that you speak of good sir?” Rolling my head back,
I look at the man sideways.
“Have you figured it out yet? Why I’m still here? Hanging around an old
cemetery and visiting all these places like you do?” He lounges against
an unmarked tombstone and I can only hope that it will not soon belong
to Miss Carter.
“No, Mr. Stevenson, I have not quite figured out what it is that ties
you to this plane. Now, if you would be ever so kind as to close your
mouth and let me concentrate, maybe I can figure it out for you.”
“Well, I’m just saying” The boy lops about the area, sighing heavily.
“I’ve said all my goodbyes, thanked the people I needed to, and
accepted my death. What more can I do?”
“Do you realize what you just said?’ I ask the boy who shakes his head
in response. “What you have done is repeated, verbatim, the list of
things that I told you could be holding you to this plane. The list
that I told you earlier?”
“Did I?” He feigns surprise.
“You did indeed, save one.” With a solitary finger in the air, I catch
on to what must be holding Mr. Stevenson here. “Have you made amends
for your faults, Mr. Stevenson? I do believe I also mentioned that you
had to make amends.”
“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily say that I hadn’t made amends.” The boy
mumbles on for a half hour or so about how he may or may not have made
his amends and I begin to grow frustrated. As I am about to focus the
attention of the young man, Miss Carter walks into the cemetery. Her
entrance goes unnoticed by Scott as he yammers on still. She stops in
front of us, but does not speak. Behind me, I can still hear Scott’s
voice rambling on.
“Scott Stevenson,” my tone sharp, I spin my head in the direction of
the young man. “For once in your life, shut your mouth and wait until
someone invites you to speak.”
My focus returns to Miss Ivy as she stands with a many a newspaper in
her hands. Shuffling through the black and white prints, she shrugs.
Her face is a bewildered one, searching for understanding and finding
only confusion. I cannot begin to understand what it is she means to
say.
“I couldn’t find anything.” She sets the papers upon my gravestone and
sits down. “I searched in every paper this town has and there is no
record of my death. I even checked the bookings at the church, but no
funeral has been scheduled.”
“Miss Ivy!” Her face turns up at the sound of my excitement, but she is
not smiling. Instead, a look of surprise covers her face. “Can you not
see that this is a thing to rejoice about?”
“A thing to rejoice about, Benjamin? I’m dead and no one has bothered
to report it or record it in anyway.”
“No, Miss Carter, not at all.” I sit beside her on my tombstone. “It is
quite the opposite. You are not dead, not at this moment. It is my
belief that you must be near death, on the verge of it in some place -
likely a hospital or care place of sorts, but not dead. Not yet.”
“Near death is hardly better than dead, Benjamin.” She says sadly,
watching the weeds below us blow in the wind.
“You are quite wrong Ivy.” As I cup her face with my hands, I tell her,
“being near death is a great distance away from being dead. If you are
near death, then there is hope and that is what keeps us going in life.
The hope that, one day - maybe tomorrow - things will change and it
will be better. The hope that, at some point, we will meet someone who
makes this existence worthwhile. The hope that, to someone, our near
deaths sound like heaven to one person because it means they have not
lost us. You and your near death give me hope. Ivy Mae, you will live
because I will not see you die.”
“Benjamin.” She pulls her head away from my hands and I find myself sad
to watch her do so. “You cannot know these things. There is no way that
you can guarantee that you can save me -”
“I can indeed.” Kneeling in front, I look up at her face. “I will save
you, Ivy, because I will not see you pass out of my life. This
existence and this non-earthly plane of inconsistencies, I cannot
control. I cannot ensure that you stay in my plane, Ivy Mae, so you
must go back to your own. I will not let you die because I cannot bear
to lose you.”
Night's Final Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United
States License.