A Second Chance

“NO!” Bryce’s eyes opened abruptly, cutting off the end of his horrific dream. His hands were knotted up in his sheet, and his whole body was covered in a cold sweat. His breathing came in shallow gasps, and he had only been quite this scared once in his life.1

Just a dream, he reminded himself futilely. It was just a dream. A nightmare. However, his convincing was in vain; he knew that the dream had been his past haunting him.2

He groped for the glass of water that resided on his bedside table; upon finding it, took a long, steady swig. It left him breathless but hydrated, and he flopped back onto his pillow and closed his eyes. But he knew he would accomplish no more rest; he couldn’t get his dream—and, correspondingly, every other dream he’d had lately—out of his head. As it always happened, the unwanted images flooded into his mind, and he was forced to replay that fateful night over in his head once again.3

Though the people here had tried their best to persuade him otherwise, he still held on stubbornly and persistently to the idea that it was his fault. He doubted they could do anything about that. He would always live with that guilt, that regret.4

Bryce closed his eyes. Lost in his memories, he wouldn’t be able to really see his surroundings anyway. He took a deep breath as the show began.5

***6

They were sitting together on the side of the road, eating M&M’s. That had been one of the things he had loved about her; she didn’t obsess over her weight and refuse guilty pleasures like the small chocolates.7

He could still taste the cheap chocolate in his mouth, though he hadn’t eaten them since. He could remember how her face lit up with a smile at his corny jokes. He could remember how pale she had looked in the pool of lamplight they were sitting in. All the details were perfectly preserved in his mind.8

In between bites of M&M’s, the two were asking each other questions; shortening the already meager list of things they didn’t know about each other. The knowledge they were acquiring would never be useful, but neither of them cared much. They were to engrossed in each other.9

“My turn!” She put down her candy and played with a strand of her hair as she thought. He watched her intently, intrigued—as usual—by her every move. Finally, she spoke again. “Got it. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?”10

He thought for a moment. There were so many imperfections, how could he choose just one? Eventually, after a little pondering, he responded, “The fact that I can’t give you everything you want.”11

She scooted closer to him so she could take his hand in hers. She drew meandering lines on his palm as she said quietly, “But I do have everything I want. He’s sitting beside me.”12

Bryce didn’t try to respond to that. He couldn’t drag his eyes from her face, which was still bent over his hand.13

As if sensing his glance, she lifted it to look at him. She flashed him a hypnotizing smile, and said, “Your turn.”14

But Bryce never got a turn to ask another question.15

Still staring at her face, he noticed her features become white, as if she was under fluorescent lights. There was also a strange, screeching noise which neither of them was making. 16

For a fraction of a second, both of them sat there, staring at each other’s bemused expressions. Neither could quite identify the sound.17

She was the first one to make the connection, and already it was too late. Her befuddled features morphed until they were arranged in a way that clearly depicted inexplicable fear. Her head whipped around toward the road. Bryce automatically followed suit, and froze.18

Coming toward them at an impossibly fast speed was a colossal truck. Bryce hadn’t been aware that eighteen-wheelers came in that size. However, he was not pondering the size, no matter how gigantic. He was frozen in shock and fear in front of the truck that was coming closer and closer. His mind was totally free of any thought whatsoever. He could faintly hear her voice screaming for him to move. A little smile broke through his oblivion. At least she was safe.19

Bryce knew that he was going to die. He couldn’t move, not even to save his life. But, strangely, that didn’t bother him. Because he had lived a good, if short, life. He was seventeen years old, and already had most of the experiences he had hoped for. They mostly revolved around her, the love of his life. The only love of his life, as it seemed.20

And suddenly her voice was right beside him. She wasn’t far away anymore. No, he wanted to tell her. Get back, be safe. She was screaming in his ear, and though it should have pained him, the only pain he felt was the worrisome anxiety for her safety. All the while, the huge vehicle got closer…21

The next part happened to fast for him to really understand. He was pushed gruffly aside against his will. He wanted to cry out in protest, but he couldn’t seem to be able to find his voice.22

And then came the sound. He was lying on the ground, facedown, from the forceful push, and he would be eternally grateful that he hadn’t seen the impact. The sound was terrible enough, and haunted him constantly. It was a crunching, crashing sound. A noise that made him shiver to this day.23

His shocked oblivion was shattered by the sound. The real world returned to him, sharp, clear, painful. He gasped and jumped up from the ground, rushing over to the source of the sound.24

Bryce refused to take in the still form lying on the ground. First, he noticed the smashed truck and the broken lamppost that had slowed it. He saw the truck driving talking feverishly and animatedly into his cell phone.25

Then he was forced to see the still body.26

He hadn’t known that he was capable of the speed at which he ran over to her. The truck driver didn’t take any notice of him, already having made the obvious connection.27

He knelt down beside her and held her in his arms. A large cut spanned her forehead, bleeding freely. However, though this was bad enough, the front of her shirt was stained. Since it was already a vibrant shade of red, it looked as if she had merely spilled water all over her front; but Bryce knew that was impossible. He knew what the substance really was.28

The sound of his heart-wrenching sobs made her eyes flutter open. She winced as her hand brushed her stomach, but she gave a frail smile as her eyes alighted on Bryce’s face. She reached up to put her hand on his cheek, wiping his tears away; he held it there.29

“Don’t leave me. Please,” he pleaded quietly.30

Her breathing was short and shallow, as if she was having a hard time getting air into her lungs. A tear snaked down her face, and Bryce brushed it away with his free hand. Her smile was still diligently in place, but it had a touch of sadness to it now. “I don’t want to.” She had to take a breath to continue. “But I don’t think I have a choice.”31

Though he’d thought it impossible, Bryce’s sobbing became faster and more powerful. She hushed him, her hand catching the tears as they fell. “Shh, shh. Don’t cry,” she crooned as if to a small child. “I did what I wanted. I saved you.” A few of her own tears escaped, though her smile persisted. “I saved your life. It means more to me than my own.” Her smile became larger. “Use it well.”32

She reached up to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him down until his face was level with hers. She pressed her cheek to his, their tears mingling, her mouth by his ear. Pushing his hair away, she whispered three words to him in a whispery, low-on-oxygen voice. “I love you.” She moved his mouth over to hers, and gave him a short kiss before detaching them. She smiled again, her eyes locked with his. With a shaky hand, she reached up again to wipe his steadily flowing tears as best she could. She lowered her hand, and, still smiling, her eyes, which were persistently staring deep into his, went blank. 33

The paramedics had come moments later, but it was too late. She was gone, never to return.34

As the doctors tried in vain to bring her back to life, Bryce sat on the sidelines, trying to tune out the shouts of the medics so he could wallow in his own bubble of sorrow and pain. He was still sobbing, but they were quieter now. He stared intently at the ground, refusing to watch the paramedics’ futile struggle.35

Something caught his attention. It was a fluttering yellow thing that was stuck on a protruding something from the totaled truck. Intrigued, and glad of some small distraction from this living nightmare, Bryce got up to investigate.36

A fresh bout of tears fell from his eyes.37

Stuck to the smashed door was an empty back of M&M’s.38

***39

“Bryce?” Someone shook his shoulder; his eyes fluttered open.40

Looking down on him was the worried face of Mrs. Finchley, his personal nurse. That’s what they called her, though she was really his best friend. Since his parents had put him in here because of his depression, all his other friends had labeled him as “crazy” and promptly abandoned him.41

And this was the madhouse, wasn’t it? This was where busy families dumped their sick relatives to die. Not the physically sick ones—those they could deal with. It was the mentally challenged outcasts who ended up here, the ones who were whispered about and ridiculed for being different.42

And those people were Bryce’s only companions, now, besides Mrs. Finchley—and they were actually very nice. The kooky lady who was fast asleep across the row’s name was Irene, and though she had a tendency to ramble on about how she’d forgotten to buy onions at the grocery, she had a plethora of interesting stories to tell. A little ways after her was an old man named Francis who, between intervals of confusing himself with various saints, would convey to Bryce the horrors of World War II. Then there was Sarah, who fancied herself to be Marilyn Monroe, but who had gone backpacking in Australia had still remembered the trip down to the last kangaroo.43

“Come on,” Mrs. Finchley whispered. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll make you some hot chocolate and you can tell me everything.”44

As the two padded softly on the familiar path to the kitchen, Bryce marveled at how Mrs. Finchley knew every little detail about him. In the four months since he’s come, he had confided in her about all his insecurities. At first, he had hated her, simply because she was a nurse, there so supposedly “help” him. In the month in between that night and his arrival here, his parents had sent him to a myriad of psychiatrists and doctors in a futile attempt to cure him of his state. None of them had been able to do their assigned job, and sent him away in no better shape than he had when he arrived. Eventually, he had begun to warm up to her, and now the two were very close.45

“So.” Mrs. Finchley began as she sipped her hot chocolate. “You had another dream?”46

Bryce nodded, stirring his hot chocolate with a spoon. “It was just the same. And after, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Just like always.” He sighed.47

“You know,” Mrs. Finchley said, “you control your thoughts. They don’t control you.”48

“Mine do,” Bryce replied. “I just can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t. It’s impossible. It can’t be done.” He was determined not to cry. He barely succeeded. “I guess that’s what happens when you murder someone.”49

“Bryce.” Mrs. Finchley’s voice was a firm, no-discussion tone. “You did NOT murder her. She made her choice. She loved you.” 50

The last words jarred Bryce’s mind; they rang with authenticity. Mrs. Finchley knew that she had loved him with a fierce certainty. The woman knew why she had thrown herself in front of that truck to save his life, even if it was a mystery to Bryce. 51

Mrs. Finchley claimed that love was to blame.52

“But if I hadn’t stood there like an idiot, she would still be here. We would be together, still. I wouldn’t be here.” He looked around the kitchen as if it were repugnant to him.53

She sighed. “It is a shame that your parents put you here, though I’m blessed to know you. It makes sense for you to be depressed after the death of your true love.” She sighed. “I know I was.”54

Bryce felt pity for the elderly woman. He had heard many times about her deceased husband, whom she described animatedly, using words such as brave, kind, unbelievable. He enjoyed listening to her stories; they depicted the life and times of the average man.55

Bryce put his hand over her wrinkled one, patting it sympathetically. She smiled sadly at him, and he reciprocated. His smiles were always tainted with a hint of sadness nowadays, and subsequently they were few and far in between. When a smile did light up his face, it was usually because Mrs. Finchley had prompted it.56

“I know that my husband loved me,” she told him. “I know it as well as I know that she loved you. I would have gladly put myself in front of that truck were it us in that situation. I would gladly have sacrificed myself if it meant saving him. I don’t even have to think about it. You know why I would do that? Yes, you do. It’s because I loved him.” She looked at him with her piercingly clear blue eyes. “If your roles had been reversed, would you have pushed her out of the way, therefore giving up your own life?”57

He was sure of his answer. “Yes,” he said without hesitation.58

“What makes you think she wouldn’t do the same?”59

“It’s…it’s not that I doubt her love,” Bryce said, “it’s that it’s my fault. I was frozen, I couldn’t move, but I’m sure if I looked deep enough I would have found the strength. But I didn’t. I just stood there, and she was forced to push me out of the way.” He took a deep pull on his mug of hot chocolate to cover his sudden urge to sob.60

“It was perfectly logical. Anyone in their right mind would be frozen in shock by an eighteen-wheeler coming toward them.”61

“Anyone in their right mind would have let me die.”62

“That may be. But when you’re in love, you’re NOT in your right mind. You’re…consumed. Can’t think about anything but your love, and she did what that love told her to.”63

Bryce was quiet. He finished his hot chocolate and handed her the mug. “Thank you for the hot chocolate, Mrs. Finchley. It was delicious.” He rose to deposit the cup into the sink. “I’m tired. I’m going to go back to bed.”64

“Alright.” He had expected her to protest, and her willingness surprised him. “But remember. It’s not your fault. The only reason you’ve heard it so many times is because it’s true.” Her attention returned to her mug.65

Bryce didn’t think he would be able to sleep again, but he hadn’t been in the mood for advice, no matter how well-meaning. Mrs. Finchley was his best friend, but right now he wanted to be alone. Alone with his haunting thoughts.66

He got back into his bed, curling up under the cover like a little kid and not caring in the least. He closed his eyes restlessly, listening to the steady breathing of his fellow patients. They were all so content, with no idea of his internal and perpetual agony. They were happy.67

If only he could have given her a proper goodbye. If only he could talk to her now, told her everything. Talked to the real girl, not the broken version that he’d held in her last moments. If only he could go back. If only…68

Bryce was still sobbing quietly as he slipped into unconsciousness.69

***70

He was standing in that same road. The same road that he’d been on that night. The one that they’d eaten M&M’s on the side of.71

There were, however, a few minor alterations. First of all, it was daytime now. The sky was a clear, perfect, cloudless blue. Second, he was standing in the middle of the road, for some strange reason. For just a second, he felt a jolt of fear that he would get hit by a car. However, the feeling dissolved a moment later; he had a strange, intuitive feeling that no cars would come.72

The third difference was that the road stretched on forever in both directions. In reality, the road had had a corner in one direction; it was nothing but an addition to a much larger thoroughfare. Now, he doubted he would reach the end if he walked for miles.73

He wondered idly why he was here, and not suffering his usual nightmare. It was possible, of course, that his subconscious was simply toying with him, and in a moment the lights would switch off and he would begin the dream he so dreaded. Or maybe…74

“Hello, Bryce.”75

He froze, mentally and physically. This was not part of the scripted nightmare, but it was in that voice. The voice he so wanted to hear. Slowly, he turned around.76

She was standing there, as he knew she would be. A smile lit up her face. She looked so happy to see him. And she wasn’t bloody and gory as she had been last time he saw her—she wasn’t the image that wouldn’t vacate his mind. She was wearing those same clothes, but they were spotless now. She looked so real, not the blurry, dream version that had stalked him for five months. So real…77

She was walking toward him now, and his feet, all of their own power, were propelling him in her direction. When they met, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. He did the same, and they shared a happy, sad, and rib-crushing moment.78

But all moments must end, and after too short a time, she detached herself from him. She backed up a step and promptly plopped down on the ground. “Sit,” she said, the smile still on her face. Bryce did so.79

“How did you survive?” he asked in a whisper, unable to tear his eyes away from her face. “I held you while you died.”80

“Bryce, I AM dead.” Her smile was sad now, but a smile nonetheless. “But I thought you needed me now. You were slipping into darkness.” Her eyes became misty, her smile gone. “I couldn’t let that happen.”81

“I’ve been in darkness since you…left. Why didn’t you come earlier?”82

“Because, technically, I’m not ALLOWED to come. But I couldn’t have you waste your life away.” She shook her head to emphasize. “But I’ve been with you, always. I’ve never left your side. They tell me to let go; that I can’t obsess over you forever. I disagree.” She grinned, looking more like herself.83

“But I want to be with you.” A tear escaped his eyes. “That’s why I’ve been slipping. If I die, we’ll be together.”84

“I didn’t die so you could commit suicide.” She told him sternly. “I died so you could live. I don’t want you to die young, like me. I want you to have a life. I want you to find love.” The last part was quieter than the rest.85

He felt a jolt. “No!” he almost shouted. “I could never do that!”86

She gave a little, humorless laugh. “Not right now, you couldn’t. But you might change your mind. You never know. Things can change like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Trust me, I know.”87

“I couldn’t,” he said stubbornly.88

“But I want you to,” she said sadly. “I love you that much. I want you to be happy. So if you find someone else, go for it.” She punched the air feebly.89

“That’s impossible.” He was stubborn, and earnest. “I could never love anyone but you.”90

“Same here.”91

They were silent for a moment. She got up and crawled onto his lap; he held her tightly as if he would never let go.92

Finally, she spoke, the vibrations of her voice reverberating off his chest. “You know, your friend Mrs. Finchley is taking wonderful care of you. Tell her I said thank you.” She paused. “Also, she’s right. I don’t blame you. I never could.”93

“I didn’t say you did,” he whispered, “I blame myself.”94

“Don’t.” Her voice was forceful. “It’s like she says. I made my choice. You can say it’s rash, but it was my decision. I loved you too much to watch you die.”95

“But I just stood there.” His voice was still hushed. “I could have moved. But I didn’t.”96

“No, you couldn’t. I saw your face. Moving was impossible for you.” She looked up at him. “And it all came clear to me then. I realized that even if I am dead, I still love you. I always will.”97

“I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m glad.”98

They sat in a silence that said more than any words could express for a few moments, just enjoying each other’s presence; a presence that they wouldn’t feel again for a very, very long time.99

She spoke then. Her voice was quiet; Bryce could tell that her eyes were closed. “I do have friends, here. They’re amazing, and one of them wanted me to give you a message to deliver to someone. My friend’s name is Nigel Finchley, and he wants you to tell his wife that he still loves her, and that he’s always with her, still.”100

Bryce shouldn’t have been surprised to hear this, but a gasp escaped his lips nonetheless. She laughed, her body bobbing slightly. “I’ll tell her,” Bryce replied.101

They resumed their silence, and as they sat Bryce noticed a small cluster of storm clouds congregating on the horizon. They looked menacing, evil, wicked, but he didn’t care about something so trivial as weather while he was holding her. However, she seemed to. Her body stiffened slightly, and when she spoke, it was in a monotone with even a hint of fear in it. “You have to go, Bryce.”102

Bryce was taken aback. “What? Why? It’s only a little rain, isn’t it?”103

“No, it’s not.” She shook her head. “But I can’t tell you everything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” She was standing now, and there were tears streaming down his cheeks.104

“You didn’t do anything.” Bryce was on his feet, too, wiping away her tears. She wrapped her arms around him, and he hugged her back. Bryce wanted the moment to last forever, but as a peal of thunder resounded through the sky, she retracted her arms. “You have to go. I wish you could stay longer, but you can’t.” She put her hand on his cheek, just like she had that night so long ago. She kept it there as she whispered a few whispered, “You said that you wanted to say goodbye to me for real. You wanted a second chance. Here it is.”105

Bryce took a deep breath and began. “I could never stop loving you. Even after you’re gone, I can’t get you out of my mind. I blame myself for your death, and I always will, but I…I suppose I’m glad that you don’t. I’m glad that you don’t blame me.” He closed his eyes. “I will miss you forever, but…I look forward to the day when I can join you, but that will hopefully be a very long time from now.” His eyes came open. “Goodbye.”106

She smiled sadly, and pressed her lips to his for a short moment. “Goodbye,” she whispered, “I love you.”107

***108

The sun on his face awoke Bryce. It surprised him; usually he woke in the pre-dawn due to his perpetual case of insomnia. He liked the feel of the warmth on his cold skin.109

A moment later, he was sitting bolt upright in bed, his dream breaking the temporary dam in his mind. It took an impossibly large amount of self control to not cry out and the memory. Partly in jubilance that he had seen her again, partly in pain at having her snatched away once more. The myriad of emotions flowing through him was so confusing.110

He was distracted by the sight of Mrs. Finchley entering the sunlit room. When she saw him awake, she smiled brightly and sauntered over to him. As she approached, he racked his brains to remember something. There had been a message.111

Mrs. Finchley sat on the end of his bed just as he recalled. She would be so happy when he told her. Nearly bouncing with excitement, he waited for her to go through the formalities impatiently.112

“Hello, Bryce. How was your night?”113

“Good, thanks.”114

“You slept later today. That must be a good sign.”115

Though he knew there was much more small talk on the tip of her tongue, he couldn’t stand for another word. He blurted, “Yeah, I think it’s because of my dream. It was amazing.”116

She raised her eyebrows. “You dream? Tell me about it.”117

“I saw her. Clearer than in the nightmares—it was like she was really there, I could feel her. We were on the same street that…it happened on, but it was daytime. She told me that she was breaking the rules coming to see me, but that she had to, because I was slipping into darkness. She said that she’d been there all the while. I bet she’s here now.” His eyes swept the room, but could find no evidence of her presence. Disappointed, he returned to his story. “But…she had to go. Too soon. There were these clouds on the horizon, storm clouds, and she was scared of them. Before she left, though…” he choked up, and had to try again. “Before she left, she gave me a chance to say goodbye. For real. And she told me that she doesn’t blame me.” He paused to let that hang in the air for a moment before changing the subject. “And…she knew about you. She told me to thank you for taking such good care of me.”118

Mrs. Finchley blushed and smiled.119

“And she had a message for you, too. It…it was from your husband.” Her flattered expression turned to one of shock. “She said for me to tell you…” he furrowed his brow, trying to remember her exact words. “He still loves you, and he’s with you always.”120

Mrs. Finchley did not respond verbally. A silent tear slid down her cheek. Bryce let her revel in her reminiscing, knowing from experience that people sometimes preferred to be alone with their memories.121

***122

Outside in the facility’s luscious yard that day, Bryce went about his business with a new light in his eyes. His fellows observed him happily as he chatted idly with them, something he never did normally. Usually, the boy only spoke when asked a direct question, and though he was a good audience for their array of stories, he was a quiet one, never asking questions about the tales he heard. The elderly patients liked him, but had always thought that there was something dark and foreboding about him. Since he had never volunteered any information of his own, they knew nothing of his past and the terrible events that it housed.123

Now, his depression seemed to be all but cleared away. There was still a strange sadness in his smile, and a misty look would enter his eyes at some of their comments. However, for the most part, he appeared to be suddenly and miraculously cured.124

Bryce was enjoying his new feeling. It was strange and a little giddy. It was happiness; contentedness. Things he hadn’t felt since he had entered his little bubble of internal pain.125

The emotion was partly due to the fact that he’d seen her again, so clearly. She had forgiven him, told him she didn’t blame him. He still blamed himself, of course, but that wasn’t half as bad as thinking she believed it was his fault. She still loved him.126

The feeling also was also due to the fact that he could feel her presence. At some times, he could smell her sweet scent, or hear a faint echo of her laugh when one of his friends told a joke. This was strangely familiar; he was beginning to suspect that his subconscious, which had presented him with many unwanted gifts in the past few months, had known about her since it happened. Stupid, betraying subconscious.127

He was taking a moment to himself, laying on the ground under a huge oak and gazing up into its leafy branches. In his former state, he hadn’t taken the time to notice this beautiful tree, so he now made up for that time of ignorance by admiring how the sunlight looked through its immense limbs. He was lost in memories; this was the first time that he was able to reminisce about her without undergoing heart-wrenching pain.128

He was enjoying the weightless, painless feeling when a gust of wind rustled through the boughs above him, arranging their millions of leaves into a new pattern and tugging lightly at his hair, but not in an uncomfortable way.129

The wind seemed to whisper to him, bringing with it the smell of freshly opened M&M’s. “I love you,” it murmured almost incoherently, for his ears alone. The rustle of the leaves above him seemed to echo the words.130

Bryce closed his eyes. “I love you, too,” he whispered back.131