Widow’s Walk

Chapter 1
Death. It was coming. Funny, during his life he had died and been reborn so many times, in so many ways. But the real thing, real death was coming now, right here on this widow’s walk. He was left to wonder what control he had ever had over the outcome, over his final fate.
Yes, it was time to die. He was certain of it. The wind and rain and hail and lightning were so intense, the thunder so deafeningly loud, that it could be only a matter of seconds before his eardrums shattered and his veins burst. It would be the explosion of the carotid artery, he imagined, that the coroner would ascribe as the cause of death.
He was aware of the storm-battered lady on the porch below, beseechingly gazing up at him—pleading, for her life and his. But he could do nothing, say nothing, not even look at her—though he desperately wanted to. He was frozen, but not with fear. He was afraid, but his paralysis came from far beyond the power mere fear had over him. He was a pawn in a titanic struggle, tearing at him from opposite directions and about to rip him apart no less gruesomely than the ancient rack. But even then, he knew that that would not be the end of it. There would be no end.
Frozen, until one side or the other got the upper hand. A pawn, yet the central figure in this battle. Wondering whether he could any longer have any impact on the ultimate outcome.
He heard her pleading wails again. How he wanted to put her mind at ease. How he wanted to hold her and comfort her. But he couldn’t. And he knew he never would again. Yet in the midst of his own struggle, he was determined to fight for her as well. Could it really have been less than three days ago, the Reverend Jim Donovan wondered, that he last stood so confidently before his congregation and told them how to run their lives. He chuckled—a pitiable chuckle the lady below could neither hear nor see.
Wait till they hear about this, he thought.
Three days. An instant that now seemed an eternity. Eternity, he thought. That’s what’s going on. That’s what the voice and the visions are about. That’s . . . There it was. The voice again. Loud laughter. Words. Heard, and hearable, only by him.
Suddenly a piercing pressure enveloped his neck as if it had been placed in a vice with the screws tightening. His head lurched up involuntarily forcing his eyes to stare into the cloudy morass of a turbulent, starless sky. He tried to close them, not wanting to see anymore, hoping that by doing so he could find peace—either in sleep, or in death. But they wouldn’t close. Like it or not, he would see what it wanted him to see.
His eyes remained fixated. He didn’t know for how long. But he knew it didn’t matter—that time, as he had always understood it, no longer had any real meaning. A day ago, a year ago, a decade ago—it was all the same now. For the Reverend Jim Donovan, the when no longer mattered. He had only to concern himself now with the what.
The clouds swirled before his motionless eyes. They seemed to be taking a shape, something familiar to him. No, not something. Someone. A face. A face he knew. Actually, a face he once knew. It was blurry. He knew he knew her, but he couldn’t make her out.
Then, sharply, her face came into focus. There was instant recognition followed immediately by the sensation of a mule’s kick to the stomach.
It was Rachel—seventeen-year-old Rachel Feinberg. He tried to avert his eyes. They would not move. He had no choice. He would have to watch.

SURPRISE! (web additional)
( 355 words)

Jimmy jerked back so hard his chair fell over backwards, causing his head to hit the floor with a dull thud. The pain was shooting and sharp. His eyes closed instinctively. He kept them closed until the pain in his head subsided a bit. Then, slowly, almost fearfully, he opened them.
Looking down at him, framed by a night sky and thousands of stars, was the beautiful, smiling face of Veronica Taylor. He could feel that he was no longer lying on a cold, hard floor. He was lying naked in the high grass. And Veronica’s naked body was lying partially on his as she looked dotingly down at him.
“This is going to be a great summer,” she said dreamily.
He just stared at her. He knew it wasn’t possible. But somehow here he was, in the field with Veronica, reliving—actually reliving—that first night. I must be dreaming, he thought. He closed his eyes again expecting to wake up either on the therapy room floor or in his bed. But when he opened them, she was still there. And he was still in Tennessee.
“Come on, baby,” she said. “We’ve got to get going before we really do fall asleep out here.”
Veronica stood up. Her naked body appeared like a painting against the backdrop of the starlit sky with the half-moon appearing to sit on her left shoulder.
Jimmy didn’t know what was going on. And he knew how the story with Veronica finally ended. But this part of the relationship with her was so perfect. He decided to put aside his fears, and his confusion, and just go with it to wherever it took him. Besides, he figured, what choice did he have? He was here, and for now he didn’t know how to get out.
He allowed himself to be pulled up and fell into an embrace with her. They kissed, and he felt the urge to do it with her again. But she was determined that it was time for them to go.
“I want more, too,” she said between kisses. “And we’ll have more. Just not tonight….”