The Tip of The Iceberg

Was this her punishment? What kind of God punishes for love?

The truth was she did not dislike one son over another. Her heart favored one over the other, but no less or more love for either.

Can a mother be faulted for this by God? 

After all, according to the Bible, God himself had a 'chosen' people.

She stopped her ridiculous self-punishing musing on the subject. Self-pity served no purpose and neither did self-loathing. She had to think clearly, act decisively, not wallow in a pit of emotional quicksand. Dorothea came to a conclusion.

Curiously, she opened and searched her purse to take stock of its contents. Her cell phone was missing, perhaps it was left in the car. She had her car keys – which meant she drove to this location on her own instead of being driven by the sleepwalker stranger she woke up besides.

Where had she parked the car? 

She located her credit card, fifty dollars in cash in denominations of two twenties and a ten-dollar bill and, to her heart's delight, a parking ticket to the garage located on 450 Park Ave, New York City. So, she was in Manhattan and hopefully not far from where the car had been parked. She straightened up. Combed her hair with the fingers of both hands. Removed a tissue from a packet in her purse, wiped her face. She was determined to go home with a story, one acceptable for Jack. She had been a woman never to avoid telling the truth, but in this case, there existed an exception. 

'God forgive me. Until I find a way to forgive myself.' Because there was no way between heaven, hell and beyond that she was prepared to further degrade herself by destroying a wonderful marriage and the man to whom she was wedded; dishonor the memory of her dead son just to fit the bill of honesty. She was not willing to risk losing everything and as well there existed the possibility she would be falsely labeled certified insane by some state hired shrink looking to make a reputation for himself and by proxy profits to an already ridiculously lucrative pharmaceutical industry made more so by prescribing medications for her to ingest for the rest of her life.

'No!' 

If she had to lie to save her family and herself from such an undeserved scandal, then so be it – lie she must. She and her God would bear this ugly truth dealt with she felt in the afterlife as opposed to the now-life. Dorothea walked down the stairs to the lobby and out into the cold late night.

Though they ran on forest ground, the pounding of their pursuers footsteps behind them sounded like they were being pursued by a herd of angry elephants. Leonard did not know the hunters' identities, it didn't really matter at this time, but he sensed that he and the woman's life were in mortal danger if caught and coupled with that emotion he felt something additional. Oddly enough entangled within the background of those violent feelings directed toward him and the woman was the unmistakable emotion of love. How very strange indeed. The chasing footfalls grew louder, nearer. Leonard's primary concern however was more for the woman than himself, but she was running from him as well when all he wanted to do was help her. In fact, his desire and concern for her went beyond want, it was as primal an instinct in him as breathing was to the survival of his existence. If need be, he would willingly sacrifice his own life to save hers – but feared she was unaware of his intention.

Or was she? Did she want to be saved?

Able only to see her from the back, for she did not dare turn around, Leonard was unsure exactly who she was but from deep within himself he felt she was the most important person in his life. And she kept running, faster.

Leonard tried calling to her to warn of an impending danger he sensed she was running toward, but words escaped him though his mouth opened it produced only silence. It frustrated, frightened and angered him that he could not communicate to her. The faster he tried to run to gain on her the less ground seemed to be gained as though he were on a treadmill – until the woman suddenly dropped from sight as if swallowed by the earth itself.

In an instant, with the approaching footsteps still growing ever louder behind them, drowning out all other sounds, Leonard stood on the edge of a quicksand pit. The woman had fallen into it and was sinking, slowly. The back of her still remained all he could see, and she was not struggling, nor did she seem afraid of her precarious situation. Leonard felt more afraid for her than she seemed to be for herself. She maintained instead an almost eerie, surrendering calmness. Leonard desperately looked around for something in which to use as a lifeline to toss to her – a branch, anything, but nothing was available. His desperation turned now into panic, and he called out to her and this time words did not betray him.

'Miss…hey, miss…'

By now the woman had sunk up to her shoulders in the dense, liquid sand. She began turning her head towards him and it was painstakingly slow, for he wanted so desperately to see her face when all she offered was a profile, which looked hauntingly familiar to him. Then she spoke, calmly, consoling and yet disturbing all the more because she smiled... 

"It is too late to save me my son. Save yourself…" And before her face could come into full view…

With a blinding bright morning sun beaming hot on his face through the motel room's open curtained window Leonard was rudely awakened from a coma-like slumber and his nightmarish dream. The hard, urgent pounding on the door reverberated through the small room and felt like mini tremors from an earthquake. Under normal conditions Leonard would've woke up and spent a few groggy seconds trying to figure out where he was and how he got there.