Chapter 12: December - "Don't Dream, It's Over"

Losing someone you love is a devastating experience, and even after decades of weathering life's travails, the human body is a terribly fragile creation. Grief is the embodiment of stress, emotional strain, and the body reacts adversely. The immune system may be compromised, a heart condition exacerbated. Couple overwhelming grief with a physical weakness and suddenly "dying of grief" doesn't seem like a cheesy plot from a Hollywood release anymore. Perhaps it's truly the side effects of grief and not the grief itself that kill, but the root cause and end result are the same.

Heartbreak was what had killed Jahn's father, no matter what medical mumbo jumbo and 'real' diagnosis the doctors gave. Both of his sons knew this; it stood to reason for them because their mother had passed away abruptly a month before. One day as healthy as any man of advanced age, the next crippled by the loss of his wife of forty years. Robert Halvers had followed Renatta Halvers into the dark, because he simply couldn't bear to be without her. Neither son faulted him for it, as the man's devotion to their mother had always been a cornerstone of family life.

Between bouts of unconsciousness, Jahn stared at the blank tiles of the ceiling with far less than half-interest. Thoughts of his father continued to hound him, a surety that his old man's fate would be his own. Did it matter? The lights had gone out. There was nothing left but bleakness and waiting. A pall had descended over his world and painted it black, that which was left cast in shadows.

Faces swam and out of existence, talking to him in conversations he didn't really remember. Roger, and surprisingly, his wife. Mary Reed. His boss, a few friends from work. Greg and Amy. Andrea. His ... fiancées ... friends and co-workers, people he'd met maybe once and barely knew. What were they doing here? Every pair of eyes seemed to bore into him, full of concern and understanding, silently assuring him that they were there for him, that he could take as much time as needed to get better and come back, safe and whole

Safe and whole. He'd lost two-thirds of himself, and the remainder was a heart attack victim in a hospital bed. Safe. He'd paint the word in sarcasm if he could muster anything more than dull apathy. Roger's visits were the only real light, the one thing he felt like staying awake for, though the cheery pep-talks he offered didn't infuse him with strength. "Rest, bro. All you need is time."

Jahn hadn't been able to help his response, his bleakness spilling over into the room around him. "Why bother? Dad had it right."

Shocked into silence by the suicidal overtones of his brother's response, Roger only stared at him, horrified. Strange, thought Jahn as his brother stalked out of the room, I don't think I've ever seen him cry before. Voices from the hallway told him that his brother hadn't gone far, was talking with a woman there. A nurse? No, Jahn recognized the voice – Mary Reed. Angry about something, but didn't she have a right to be? Both of her daughters, who she'd raised to become lovely, talented young women, were dead in a traffic wreck, of all things. Her grandchild, his child. There were specifics, but the only words he recalled were 'car' and 'accident'. The woman's voice was rising. Incredulity? Rage? Something else? (doesn't) (know) Words come to him like chunks through a straw.

Mary moved into the room with dread purpose, his brother close on her heels, but Jahn couldn't muster the enthusiasm anymore, and simply stared at the ceiling.

When she reached the bed, she leaned down, fists burrowing into the mattress and hissed, "Jahn." She was angry at him. That's right, he'd failed to protect her girls. Maybe she'd cut his balls off now.

A light slap to the side of his face got his attention and he turned his head to her reproachfully. Was that really the best she could do? He deserved worse.

"Listen to me. Jen and Fiona are alive."

Click.

All those friends and co-workers aren't here for you, they're here for them.

Just stopping by for a friendly word and well-wishing, that's all they were doing in your room. Realization hit him like an enervating electrical current.

Light that he couldn't recall being on the ceiling before seemed to burst with radiance, blinding him with intensity as the shock of realization washed over him like a hose full of cold water.

Alive? Alive. Alive. Alivealivealivealivealivealivealivealivealive ... Breath expelled itself from him in ragged measure, but there was no pain like before. Only

darkness.

"I want to see them," he insisted angrily to the pretty, young nurse, who looked anxiously in turn at the doctor. "Either give me a goddamn reason why not, or get Mary Reed and explain it to her. Bullshit on my heart, I'm only still here because I thought they were dead."

"You really need to res-" The nurse says, but the doctor ... Standish? Stanton? cuts her off. "I can arrange that, but you need to talk to Mrs. Reed first."

Mary was pushed a wheelchair into his room within minutes of being called on, but she intercepted him before he could get up. Not a difficult task – a week of immobility seemed to have atrophied his legs and there was a weakness in him.

Concern in her brown eyes, she touched her silver hair in a gesture of nervousness. "Jahn, they are alive, but you need to understand that it's bad. The car was totaled, and both girls were terribly hurt. They're ... stable ... but they are comatose."

At the widening of his eyes, she gave him a curt wave that was probably meant to forestall his fear. "The doctors have every expectation that they'll recover and that the comas will be temporary. Still ... the damage. Can you stand it? Your heart, I mean?"

With grim determination, he assured her that his heart was not a problem ... because Jen and Fiona were alive, and that made all the difference.

Mary was right about the damage.

Fiona had been driving, and was on the side that was first struck by the passing vehicle. Her left arm and leg had been broken, and she'd nearly lost that eye as well when the driver's side window had collapsed. She wouldn't lose it, but it had been a close thing, and she'd taken extensive damage from shards. These wounds would heal, her beautiful brunette locks would grow back despite the necessary shaving for stitches, but she would never get the last two fingers on her left hand back. His heart ached for her, and the loss of that ring finger felt like an omen.

Jen... "The baby?" he asked, terribly afraid for the blonde. Despite her initial fears, she'd begun to enjoy the pregnancy, looking eagerly to the day their child would be born. Jahn knew she'd make a wonderful mother, and the loss could hurt her far more badly than any physical injury.

"As far as the doctors can tell, alive and whole, but an extended coma could change that."

That was ... something. A chance. Those physical hurts she'd suffered had been smaller in scale than Fiona's. No permanent damage, though she'd taken similar breaks on her right arm and leg from the roll of the car, and retained a number of scars from the broken glass.

All of this could heal.

The two women had been given separate rooms at first, but the hospital had honored Mary's request to give them a shared room once their conditions had become more stable. Their mother had taken up her own watch between the girls when visiting hours allowed, and with only a little reluctance, gave up her spot to him. He needed this, and so did they, she felt.

As Jahn sat, he slipped one hand into Jen's, the other into Fiona's, and thought about what the future held for them now. He didn't know; nothing seemed quite as certain as when the trio had sat down together on that November day and told each other what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives. Talking aloud anyway, he spoke to his fiancées (so vulnerable, so helpless, so hurt) (i couldn't do anything for them). Talking about the future and how this didn't change anything, that they'd still have each other and the rest of their lives together. As much love-making as Jen could possibly want, as many long walks and deep conversations as Fiona desired, if only they'd wake, and come back to him. He probably sounded like a pervert, but didn't care.

On one level, he was aware just how pitiful, how pathetic and melodramatic he must sound to the nurses and others present, bargaining with higher powers for the lives of his lovers, begging them to come back to him, but on the other, he was simply apathetic to outsiders. Jahn wasn't sure he believed in any god, didn't know if recovery really meant a miracle, but he would do anything, be anyone he needed do, be as good a person as he needed to be, if only to ensure they came back to him from whatever purgatory they were now in. Religious dogma, hell. He'd be righteous.

Burdened with a heavy heart, but no longer the weight of two worlds, he left with Mary the next day, pronounced healthy by his doctor, given all the proper counseling and discharged. Assurances were made that he could visit any time he liked, within reason.

It was odd, but the first thing he noticed when he got home was the darkened house across the street, no car in the driveway. That was unusual, because the occupant always seemed to be home, pottering in his garage or working in his yard, a light always on to signal that there was someone in. Perhaps the recession was the cause, out of work.

A suspicion of something tugged at his mind all night, and when he noticed that same emptiness across the street while getting into the car the next day, he stared over his shoulder at it for a moment then turned to Mary.

"What was the name of the driver who ran Fiona and Jen off the road?"

Mrs. Reed shrugged the question off dismissively. "It was some worthless drunk who was killed when they went over into the ditch. I never thought to ask. Didn't seem important, with you three in the hospital." Quick to intuit the source of his curiosity, she widened her eyes in recognition. "You don't think..."

"I don't know, it's just a suspicion."

With trembling hands, Mary dialed the hospital, waiting to be connected to his fiancées' doctor, waiting even longer to be connected to someone who could actually answer the question. As she listened, her skin turned an unhealthy, blotchy shade of white. With a mumbled 'thank you, ' she hung up.

-- Turning to him, she said hoarsely. "Joseph Margrave." Jahn's hands clenched on the steering wheel, and the world shuddered around him slightly. It was a long while before they drove anywhere.

Whatever problems his heart might have, a little righteous outrage was the least of them, but Mary wouldn't hear of him leaving without her once she found out he was going to confront Donovan. Their ride was one of deathly silence.

A cold, sterile line of phone booths waited for Jahn, and he sat at one under the guard's direction, impotent rage boiling over. Donovan strode in, bearing that characteristic cold visage, but this time Jahn simply did. not. care. Must have shown on his face, because Donovan seemed taken aback by his expression, and the huge man's confidence shook even further when he saw Mary standing behind his daughter's fiancée looking every bit a woman of compassionless iron.

Demands for information spilled out of his mouth the moment he picked up the handset. "The hell are you doing here, and why's Mary with you? Where's Jenny?"

"Why'd you do it, Donovan?" Jahn asked, willing himself to be as cold as Mary. "Did you decide she'd just get over losing Fiona? Oops, a little accident to ensure she had the right future?"

Anger showed on the man's face, and he said, a touch of hysteria in his words, "Where's my daughter, you little prick?"

"Shut the fuck up. Was it because Jen was pregnant, and you decided to make sure that wouldn't happen with her sister?" Donovan flinched, as if slapped, and it occurred to him that the only way Donovan might have known her pregnancy is if one of his former watchers had told him. It was on their 'to do' list, but November had been such a busy month...

"Jenny's pregnant?" There was a touch of warmth for his little girl in the words, but it was overshadowed by the increasing fear on the man's huge face.

"It's up in the air," Jahn said, biting off his words bitterly. "Your buddy Margrave ran her sister off the road. Jen happened to be in the car."

Donovan's eyes went wide with horror, and he looked to Mary for confirmation. No pity in her dark brown eyes, she simply nodded curtly, cold and passionless. Jahn had never seen a man breaking down, wouldn't have counted his own heart attack as such, and knew as it happened to the behemoth in front of him that he never wanted to see it again. Like crumbling stone, the anger and fear slid off the bullish man's face, leaving behind a tableau of abject grief and what Jahn was sure was self-hatred. The sobbing noise that came through the phone, followed by a lost voice that reminded him painfully of Jen.

"Ish she d-dead? T-tell me she ain't!"