Benicio was rushing down University Avenue beside the man he had met in the pew of Saint Andrew’s United Church. “Where are we going?” he asked. “Who are you?”
“I’m Harold Grower,” he said. “I’m a worker bee.”
“You said you know Jake.”
“That’s right.”
Benicio tried to focus on making his feet work. He only had vague memories of Harold helping him up and dragging him this far. “Where are we going?”
“It’s only a little farther.”
“Wait,” Benicio begged. “What’s going on? Who are you? Where are you taking me?”
“My apologies, Father Valori. I know this must all seem unusual, but you need to trust me right now.”
“But who are you?”
“I told you — my name is Harold Grower. I’m a friend of the church.” He watched Benicio for a minute, then added, “and we are on our way to see Dr. Tunnel. It is quite urgent.”
“What church do you work for?”
“I don’t work for a church — I’m a friend of all churches.”
Benicio tried to run things through his mind. It felt like he was putting together a jigsaw puzzle but was missing half the pieces. “What about Matthew? Is he safe?”
Harold frowned. “That’s what we need to find out. We’re going to see him. We really must hurry.”
Benicio felt his legs go weak again. Harold quickly put a hand around his waist to steady him.
Benicio shrugged loose. “I’ll be okay.”
A few minutes later they reached the hospital.
“Jake’s son is here,” Benicio announced as though he were just remembering this detail.
“That’s right.”
The men hurried past the information desk to the elevators. Harold looked at a large directory posted on the wall. “Surgery,” he announced. “Third floor.”
There were crowds of people at the elevators. Harold looked down a corridor. “There,” he said, and pointed at a sign for the stairs.
Jake couldn’t see. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think.
Wyatt was dead. Little Wyatt.
He could have been at the hospital, earlier. He could have done something. Wyatt shouldn’t be dead.
He looked at Abby. She was holding Wyatt. A nurse was trying to comfort her, but Abby was deafened by grief.
Somehow, Jake stood and staggered away from the bed. He needed to move. He wanted to be away from Abby and the comforting nurse. He leaned heavily against the wall. He knew he should sit. He knew his legs wouldn’t support him for much longer, but he didn’t know how to move to a chair. Jake wanted to scream for help. He wanted to tell everyone that this wasn’t right. Someone had to fix this. Someone had to set things right.
The world couldn’t keep going. Not without Wyatt.
Jake saw Dr. Merrot. Then he saw Matthew. The boy was moving closer to the bed.
Dr. Merrot put his hand on Jake’s shoulder. Jake ignored him. He watched Matthew.
The nurse led Abby, still sobbing, toward the door.
Matthew walked right up to the bed. Then he climbed on the bed and straddled Wyatt’s body.
Jake pushed Dr. Merrot aside. What is Matthew doing? He took a step toward the bed then stopped.
Matthew leaned forward and kissed Jake’s dead son on the mouth.
At that moment, Abby turned to see Wyatt once last time. Her face flashed with distress and confusion. Her mouth opened as if she would scream, but no sound came.
The nurse turned to see the strange scene on the bed, but Abby, recovering from the shock, moved toward the bed. Jake stepped in and stopped her, folding her into his arms.
“What’s going on?” Dr. Merrot barked.
“Don’t,” Jake whispered to his wife. Gently he began to coax her away from the bed again.
Dr. Merrot returned to the foot of the bed. Hands on hips, he shouted, “Young man, get off the bed this instant.”
Then everyone froze.
A shadow had fallen across the room.
A large bearded man stood in the doorway.
“Now what?” Dr. Merrot said, clearly annoyed. “Who are you? You aren’t allowed in this area.”
The nurse who’d been helping Abby came to the visitor and tried to keep him from entering. He allowed her to put her hands on his chest, then he stopped. His eyes never left Wyatt’s bed.
“Sir,” the nurse said sternly.
The man slowly swiveled his eyes, to meet hers. “Okay,” he said without inflection.
What happened next was impossible.