I slide the car to a stop, then turn the steering wheel hard, jamming the tires sideways into the turf in an effort to anchor us. Then I sling the door open and race for the road. Jake gives a sharp bark and jumps out of the door behind me, then trots in my path as I run.
Four agonizing breaths later, bars appear on my phone. I dial.
“911. What is your emergency?”
“My son—” I can barely get my sentence out, the most important I’ve ever had to speak.
I hear a strident groan coming from behind me, then the crackling of dirt as tires grind against asphalt. I reel around.
The car is sliding downhill.
And through the windshield I glimpse Devon, head dropped back, body joggling loosely to every crack and bump in the road.
“No! NOOOO!”
I chase after the car, feet pounding pavement, but I’m no match for the gravity that pulls my son downhill. Still, I keep running as the car picks up speed. Tiny stones pop beneath the tires like spiteful messengers of tragedy. Jake lets out a mournful moan. I can’t hear Devon, but through the glass I see his mouth saying, Daddy. And though I keep running as fast as I can, I’m too slow to reach the car before it slams sideways into the tree.
“DEVON! NOOOOO!” I crumple to the pavement. My body collapses onto itself.
The white light goes off, this time as if exploding through my veins.
In a flash, I’m standing motionless and numb, mind dazed, as medics pry open the car door. They pull my son’s body out and lay him across the base of the tree.
Again, the light explodes.
Jenna and I are rigid with misery in a hospital hallway, speaking to a doctor. His mouth is moving, but the message comes out so slow, so thick and muddled, that I can’t understand it.
Until I do.
I let out an agonizing wail. Jenna collapses into tears.
And as I watch this event play out, the sudden yet inexplicable realization that I’ve experienced my son’s death twice—first at Donny Ray’s hands, and then at my own—destroys me.
Trying to offer comfort, the doctor reaches for my shoulder. I grab the pen from his lab coat pocket, then jab it into my wrist. And I keep jabbing. A river of red pours out of me and crawls along the floor. A river of pain, of regret . . . of loss.
And I feel my heart slow, my whole existence fragment. There is no sound, there is no light. There is unequivocally . . .
Nothing.
Nothingness that tumbles into an abyss, a deep, black, penetrating hole, as everything around me disintegrates into complete, encompassing darkness.
I disappear.
I am gone.
84
I’m back on the road, but now it looks different. On this road, the sun is shining, the air is clear, and I can see ahead for miles and miles. Tall meadows with grass the color of finely polished emeralds sway effortlessly to the decree of a gentle breeze. Distant mountains stand tall and proud, cloudless skies just above their peaks. I’m not sure where this road leads, but that hardly seems to matter, because I know it moves in the right direction.
“It’s pretty, Daddy,” Devon says.
I smile at him. “It really is.”
“And perfect.”
“Absolutely perfect.”
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“Let’s stay like this forever, okay? Just like this.”
A statement strikingly familiar, and yet I’m not sure why, as if it comes from some other place. Some other time.
“Sure,” I say. “We’ll stay this way.”
“Promise me, Daddy.”
“Promise.” I glance at him and the wisdom of youth shines back on me. I see purity, unblemished truth. And some part of me—one I can’t even quantify—understands that there is indeed so much beauty in truth, so much relief.
We continue on our journey, no further conversation, nothing but joyful silence holding us together. My son and I, joined by something that feels like happiness, like freedom.
A tree comes into view ahead, its peach-colored blossoms sprouting like wings from branches that reach toward the heavens as if in welcome. We move past the tree, and I steal one last glance at it through the rearview mirror, watching it fade into the distance.
“Daddy, look,” Devon says.
He’s pointing through the windshield, toward the sky, eyes wide with wonder. I follow his gaze and see that two birds have joined us on our journey. Winging side by side in perfect unison, their paired movement seems effortless and yet so magnificent.
So meant to be.
We watch together. A few moments later, the two birds lift up through the air. One curves gracefully to the right; the other continues onward.
“There we go, Daddy,” Devon says. “There we go . . .”
I smile.
But when I turn my head, I find an empty seat beside me. Now I, too, am traveling alone, and I know that my son really is . . .
Gone.
The flash of light goes off, but this time it fades to the rhythm of a gentle, beating heart.
85
“Christopher, wake up. Can you wake up?”
I have to wake up . . . Someone’s telling me I have to wake up.
My eyes flick open.
I wake up, or I come to life, or . . . I do something. I’m not actually sure. I’m not even sure where I’ve been. My mind seems so vacant, my body so . . .
I run my hands up and down beneath me.
Sheets. I’m in a bed.
My vision clears, and I see eyes. I study the face, a man’s, but I don’t recognize him. I lick my parched and cracked lips, try to swallow, but my tongue gets stuck to the back of my throat. It’s like I’ve been asleep for years, like I— “Christopher,” the man says. He steps back to observe me, and I study his face more closely.
A decent man with kind eyes.
“Welcome back,” this man says with his gentle smile.
I’ve been somewhere, probably for quite some time, but I don’t— “How long have I . . . ?” My question comes out weak and crackly, but before the man can answer, I fall away into darkness. I disappear.
I’m gone.
Again.
I blink a few times.
My body and mind feel . . .
Better? Just a little stronger, maybe?
The man is no longer here, and I wonder if he ever existed because nothing around me seems real—nothing is tangible.
I look to the doorway, light spilling through it, but my eyes can’t adjust. I can’t tell what’s on the other side.