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Darkness Series
Part 21: The Light Ahead


“Mark!”

Hearing the voice from the doorway, the young man put down the book, suddenly feeling the girl bounce onto the bed. He barely held out his arms in time for her to leap into them.

“Does your head still hurt?” she babbled excitedly. “Are you okay now? Are you glad to be home? I’m really glad you’re back. Did you miss me? Will you tell me a story tonight? How come you’re in bed?” Suddenly she fell silent, before saying in a hurt tone, “Mark, you’re not looking at me.”

“I can’t, Charlotte,” he told her softly. “I can’t see now.”

“I told you about that, sweetheart, remember?” Nicole remarked from the doorway before walking into the room. Sitting down on the side of the bed, she placed Christopher into the young man’s arms. “How’s the head, Mark?”

“Getting better.” His arms tightened slightly around the baby boy. “Hopefully I’ll be able to get up for dinner.”

“Wonderful.” She smiled, her voice sharing her pleasure with the man who couldn’t see her face, before glancing at the cup on the bedside table and reaching out to fill it from the bottle that stood on the floor. Charlotte remained silent, but curled up next to Mark, her head resting against his upper arm, looking down at her baby brother.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Mark apologized softly. “But I can still tell you stories, and read to you, and play with you sometimes.”

“Daddy said that, too,” she admitted, in a small voice. “But you won’t be able to walk to the park with me anymore and push me on the swings.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Jarod remarked from the doorway. “Maybe not right away, but I think that, if his eyes don’t work for himself, we’ll get him another pair.”

Mark raised his head sharply. “You mean a Seeing Eye dog?”

“Exactly.” Jarod sat down and pulled Nicole into his lap. “I can’t imagine you wanting to sit around all day any more than I did, and the best way to get around is have a guide. Dogs are much better than people in that respect. There’s a three-month wait for the place I went to, so I put your name down this afternoon and by the time your turn comes around, we’ll know whether you’ll need one. If you don’t, we’ll cancel your application, but if you do then you can get the training and the dog.”

“And Charlie can be jealous,” Nicole added, laughing.

“I’ll make it up to him,” Jarod vowed. “Besides, he’s my dog, and whichever one Mark gets will be his, so I don’t think there’ll be a problem.”

* * *


Jarod collected the keys for the rental car and then led Mark out of the airport to the holding bay, keeping up a steady flow of conversation as he did so. Once they were settled into the vehicle, he paused for a moment before asking a question.

“Excited?”

“About getting a dog, definitely. And about being a little more independent, not,” he added quickly, concerned in case Jarod was offended, “that I’m not grateful for what you’ve done…”

“…but you’re looking forward to knowing that you’ll be able to do things yourself,” Jarod finished for him with a smile. “Don’t worry, I completely understand.”

“I know you do.” Mark smiled gratefully. “And I also really appreciate the fact that you didn’t make me listen to every ‘When it happened to me, I did this’ story. I know you’ve been through it, and it was incredibly helpful to be able to talk about how frustrated I was getting and how hard it was, to all three of you, but I do want to learn myself.” He turned his head in Jarod's direction. “And that’s especially the case with this whole ‘pretender’ thing. I can’t help feeling that Sydney and Nicole are going to keep comparing me to you, and I sometimes think you do it to, especially as I wasn’t in the Centre, so my life is what yours could have been…”

“Mark, stop, please,” Jarod protested, taking one hand off the wheel and placing it over Mark’s to prevent the young man’s hands from fidgeting in his lap. “Now listen, and try to believe me when I say that I’ve never thought about you in that way, ever. My life is now everything I could want it to be. I have a loving wife, two wonderful children and the people I love most closest to me, and that includes you. You’re as dear to me as either of my brothers, and you know I see them as often as I can. My past might not be ideal, but if it hadn’t happened the way it did, I probably wouldn’t have everything I do now, and I know that.”

“I… I guess so,” Mark admitted slowly.

“I can’t tell you for sure about Sydney and Nicole,” Jarod went on. “Dear as they are to me, I was never too good at mind-reading. I can only guess that they don’t make any comparisons between us. I can’t imagine Sydney doing it for the simple reason that he and I spent more than 30 years together, and you’ve only known him for four. I don’t think Nicole would either, because of our very different positions in her life.”

“That does make sense,” the young man conceded. “I just thought of it while I was in hospital and wondered a little.”

“You thought about it as much as you were able and tried to work it out from the way that all three of us treated you when we came to visit,” Jarod corrected, laughing. “Don’t forget, I have a pretty good idea of how your mind works.”

Mark grinned. “Yeah, you always have had.”

“I’d like to give you one piece of advice, borne of painful experience, though,” Jarod added. “This isn’t easy -- the training for a Seeing Eye dog. I went there thinking that I’d listen to what they told me to do and surprise them by doing it first time, the way I’d done for years. But I couldn’t do it, or not right away. And it was only when someone challenged my pride that I made the effort to work at it, the way normal people have to.”

“That must have been tough,” the other man teased thoughtfully.

“So tough that I never told anyone. Nobody knows except my trainer and you. But I thought it might be helpful if you knew, just in case things do feel like they’re getting too hard.”

“Thank you,” Mark responded sincerely. “You know how much I appreciate it.”

* * *


The trainer walked along the hallway, eyeing the details about his newest student and wondering where he recognized the name of the city that the man had come from. Dismissing it as he got to the door, he knocked firmly.

“Come in.”

Smiling, he opened the door, his blue eyes quickly coming to rest on the young man sitting on the bed.

“Hi, Mark,” he began. “My name’s Simon. I’ll be your trainer.”

“Nice to meet you.” Mark rose and offered a hand, which the trainer shook, small dimples forming in the young man’s cheeks. “I believe I’ve heard things about you.”

“Oh, really?” Simon arched an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Your fame precedes you,” drawled a voice and Simon spun around to stare at the man who sat at the table, his dark brown eyes twinkling.

“Good God!” he exclaimed in astonishment. “Jarod! What are you doing here?”

“Delivering your latest student into your capable hands,” the man responded, standing up. “Then I have to get back to work.”

The trainer looked around suspiciously before waving a hand in front of the other man’s eyes and watching him laugh.

“No,” Jarod told him. “You won’t find Charlie here, and I can see you perfectly well.”

“Can you stay for lunch?” Simon proposed eagerly. “I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to.”

“Sure,” Jarod agreed. “You have your first session and I’ll go for a stroll. I’ll meet you back here at midday. My plane doesn’t leave until four this afternoon.”

“Sounds good.” Simon watched him leave before turning to the younger man, who had listened to the conversation with an amused expression on his face, and offering an arm to guide Mark down to the room in which the classes were held.

* * *


“There he is!” Charlotte shrieked excitedly, and Jarod looked over to see the young man walking through the doors, his shoulders back, head held high, walking confidently, a yellow Labrador on the other end of the harness.

“You looked just the same,” Nicole murmured in her husband’s ear.

“Until you made a spectacle of both of us,” he joked in return, joining in her laugh before handing the baby boy to the child’s mother and going over to where his daughter was rapturously hugging Mark’s leg. “Welcome home,” he told the young man, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing gently before taking the bag from his left hand. “How was it?”

“Exactly like you said it’d be,” Mark responded, picking up Charlotte and hugging her. “Tough at first, but it got easier.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He looked down at the dog. “And who’s this you’ve brought to eat us out of house and home?”

The young man laughed. “She probably will, too. This is Lucy.” He put Charlotte down and then picked up the harness again. “How many of the mob came?”

“Just the four Crawfords,” Jarod assured him. “There wasn’t enough room in the car for anyone else.”

“Welcome home, Mark,” Nicole greeted him, coming up at this point. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“Even nicer to be here,” Mark told her sincerely after returning her kiss, wrapping his hand around the arm that Jarod offered. “I’ve been so keen to get back that I wondered if there was a way to make the plane fly faster.”

Laughing, the group made their way to the exit.

* * *


Mark heard the cars pull out of the driveway, listening to Lucy snuffling in her sleep, and tucked his hands behind his head, facing in the direction of the ceiling.

“Thinking about what to do with yourself all day?” a voice asked from the doorway and he sat up with a grin.

“Something like that, yeah.” Mark flipped up the cover of his watch, checking the time. “What are you doing, conscious at this hour, Nick? We should have another two hours before the snoring stops.”

Picking up a pillow from the floor, Nicholas threw it at his friend before sitting down and starting to scratch the dog between the ears. Mark tucked the pillow in behind his head, laughing.

“I hope, at least,” the blind man went on, “that you’re not dressed. That would be way too much to take.”

“I’m not,” Nicholas retorted. “Happy?”

“Well, at least I know the world didn’t end when I wasn’t looking.” Mark threw back the covers and put out a hand for his bathrobe, finding it immediately and wrapping it around himself. “I’m going to take a shower and I’ll be doing breakfast in twenty.”

“I’ll see if I’m conscious enough to drag myself along to the dining room in that time,” Nicholas groaned, rolling onto his side on the now-empty bed.

“Oh, you will be,” his mother’s voice told him sternly from the doorway. “You’re going to help me clean the house today, so you’ve got exactly half an hour to be dressed and have had breakfast.”

“Aw, Mom,” the complaints began and, chuckling to himself and followed by Lucy, Mark escaped into the bathroom.

* * *


Taking the sheet out of the frame, Mark ran his fingers quickly over the raised dots to check that he had numbered the page, placing it down on a pile, surprised when it seemed smaller than he expected. He sat still for a second before turning his head sharply to the left.

“I’ll have the rest, thank you,” he stated tartly, holding out one hand, and Jarod laughed.

“But I’m enjoying it, Mark. Why deprive me of the fruits of your genius?”

“It’s not that,” he retorted bluntly. “It’s just something I told Charlotte a while ago. I thought I’d get it down on paper before I forgot it.”

“And do you have any more of these ‘somethings’ floating around?” the doctor asked. “If so, I’d like to read them.”

“They’re just children’s stories,” he objected. “For kids Charlotte’s age, not for adults.”

“But I never got to read children’s stories after I was her age,” the girl’s father reminded him. “I’d like to find out what I missed out on.”

Mark arched a dubious eyebrow. “You sure you’re not just checking to make sure I’m not telling her things that aren’t suitable for her?”

Jarod reached forward and placed a firm hand on Mark’s arm. “When have you ever known me not to tell you the complete truth?”

“Never,” he admitted. “But I can’t imagine why you find them interesting.”

“Because they’re wonderfully told and, unlike a lot of stories I read to my children at nights, I can really imagine these characters and the worlds they live in. That’s one of the most important parts of storytelling.” He placed the bundle of pages on the desk. “Have you thought about getting them published?”

“No.” Mark shook his head carelessly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m too impatient to wait for the months it’d take them to get back to me.”

“That’s what contacts are for,” Jarod laughed. “Getting around those queues.”

Mark turned, amusement in his eyes. “You were a book publisher, too?”

“No,” Jarod confessed. “And I never met one in my life.”

“So what am I supposed to do -- pull one out of thin air?”

”Rebecca Cartwright, one of your first patients, is the daughter of a director of one of the largest publishing houses in the country,” the older man remarked airily. “But if you really think it’s so difficult that you don’t want to bother…”

He stood up and wandered over to the door, but at an order from Mark, Lucy rose to block the man’s path.

“As you can’t go anywhere,” Mark commented lightly, “you might as well come back and tell me what you were going to suggest.”

Jarod looked down at the dog in disgust, then up at Sydney as the man appeared in the doorway, laughing. “I thought I escaped from this by faking my death. Never imagined that I had a sweeper in my own home.”

* * *


“We were sorry to hear about what happened, Dr. Lyneham,” a quiet voice stated and a firm hand shook Mark’s. “Bec, particularly, was very disappointed not to see you when she went for her latest round of tests. She wanted to come today, but I told her this was a business meeting. Still, she’d love it if you would come around to our house for dinner one evening.”


“I’d be glad to,” the young man responded. “And how is she? Still well, I hope?”

“Very, thank you.” The father’s voice was full of happiness. “Her latest test results were clear, and Dr. Crawford told us that she might only need one last round to make sure.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Mark replied with a smile, although Jarod had already told him this. “And I’m sure she is too.”

“No more than we are, I assure you,” Mr. Cartwright told him. “Please, sit down. The chair is two paces directly in front of you.”

Mark’s eyebrows rose at this clear description as he found the chair and sat down, hearing the man laugh. “We’ve had several people here in your situation, and it’s so much easier to provide a clear description than watch them fumbling around, embarrassing both parties.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” the young man agreed, smiling. “It’s a shame more people don’t think that way.”

“Indeed.” There was a sound of papers being gathered before the man spoke again. “I do want to say, Dr. Lyneham…”

“Mark,” he told the publisher.

“Mark,” the man corrected, smiling, “that although the change in your circumstances was a great shame for the medical profession, it’s been a very good one for us. We would be very interested in acting as publishers for your work. We believe your stories will have a ready market. I might add that my daughter is one of the most enthusiastic reviewers.”

Mark laughed. “I had no idea she would read them.”

“Oh, she insists on seeing as many of the children’s stories we get in as she can,” the girl’s father laughed. “And I understand that she means to beg to you to write a sequel for the story about Mali and his friends. That was her favorite.”

“It’s mine, too,” the author confided. “And you can tell Rebecca that another story in that series is already underway.”

“She’ll be thrilled,” Mr. Cartwright beamed. “And now to business. I have a contract here for you to take away and consider. It contains clauses relevant to your specific situation, and we would be very appreciative if you could get back to us about it within a week if you plan to accept. Any negotiations can go through me, but I’d prefer it if you’d call the office during business hours. I try to leave work at work.”

“With a beautiful daughter like yours, I’m not surprised,” Mark smiled, accepting the envelope as it was placed in his hand.

“It’s thanks to you that we still have her,” the older man responded, his voice cracking. “I was so glad to have this chance to show you my appreciation.”

“I was just doing my job, Mr. Cartwright,” the doctor replied, somewhat abashed by the praise.

“Roger,” the publisher corrected. “Now, shall we set that dinner date?”

* * *


Jarod looked up as his secretary appeared in the doorway with the mail, accepting it with a smile before looking down quizzically at the large parcel in his hand.

“Oh, Julia?”

The woman turned. “Yes, sir?”

He held up the package. “What’s this?”

“I don’t know, Dr. Crawford,” she admitted. “Perhaps lab results?”

“If it is, they’ve started publishing them in hard cover,” he told her, seeing the woman smile before she left the office.

Pushing aside the other letters, Jarod placed the brown-covered rectangle down on the desk and carefully unsealed the tape, removing the paper to reveal a brightly colored children’s storybook. His eyes widening, he sought and quickly found the name of the author, almost hidden in a pile of autumnal leaves that provided a floor for the rainforest depicted on the cover. Then his eyes were immediately distracted by the detail of the image.

Small elves peeped around tree trunks and through leaves, and Jarod found himself holding the book up near his face and donning his reading glasses so that he could more closely examine the fine detail. Everywhere his eyes turned, there was a patch of color that suggested another figure and he stared at the image in wonder, knowing how tempting it would be for a child, and finding it so delightful himself that it was an effort to move his eyes away and open the cover.

The same forest motif continued inside the front cover, showing a little path, which, as he turned back to check, had started among the small, unfolding fern fronds on the cover, almost unnoticed amid the rest of the detail. Turning the pages, he found each edged by the same rainforest motif, with a fairy or an elf peeping out from behind the foliage somewhere on the page, and with the path continuing right through the book. The back cover, when he finally reached it, contained a small house, perfect in every detail, and from the window of which a small figure could be seen, waving.

“Dr. Crawford?”

Jarod literally jumped at the voice before focusing his attention on the intercom. “Yes, Julia?”

Glancing at the clock, Jarod saw that the hour he had allotted himself for lunch was gone as he slid the book into the drawer and the receptionist continued.

“Your next appointment is here, sir.”

“Thank you.” He dropped the unopened mail into his tray. “Send them in.”

Casting one final glance at the book, he shut the drawer as the door to his office opened and the patient entered.

* * *


“Daddy, come see!” an excited voice shrilled from the veranda before Jarod had even managed to put the car into park, and, after collecting his things, he hurried up the path, gathering the little girl in his arms.

“What is it, Charlotte?”

“Daddy, come an’ look at the present I got!” She wriggled out of his grasp, grabbing his hand and almost pulling him along the hallway. In the living room, she stopped and pointed at a series of framed pictures that lay on the sofa. “Just see! They’re so pretty!”

Nicole turned from her examination of the same images, a concerned expression on her face. “I don’t know what they are. They appeared in the post today, all for Charlotte.”

Jarod’s face cleared as he looked at the pictures before turning to his wife again. “In the post, you say? Wrapped in brown paper, with no return address?”

“Why, yes, and…” She trailed off, staring at him. “Jarod, you didn’t. We’ve talked about things like this, buying the children anything they want.”

“Oh, it wasn’t me.” He opened the bag he hadn’t yet had a chance to put down and produced the book he had received. “But I did get something similar.”

Nicole stared from the shiny cover to the numerous pictures. Jarod placed his things down on the table, with care for the other frames that lay there, and then wrapped his arms around her waist as she began examining the book.

“Where’s everybody else?” he asked, watching his daughter, enraptured, plump down on the floor to stare at the pictures.

“Sydney's still at the hospital,” Nicole answered, somewhat absent-mindedly. “Michelle left earlier this morning, but she’ll be back tomorrow, and Nicholas won’t be back ‘till next week. Christopher is napping. Mark went for a walk with Lucy and Charlie.”

“I bet he did.” Her husband chuckled softly in her ear. “Check out the author.”

Nicole turned to the title page of the book, her eyes fixing on the name, whose letters seemed to be made from the branches of a tree, and she smiled, turning to look up into Jarod's face. “We should have guessed Mark would do something like this. He’s been looking for a way to thank us ever since he moved in.”

The man’s eyes traveled over the dozen pictures. “These must be worth a small fortune.”

“And they’re exquisite,” the woman added. “The detail is so fine – the artistry is amazing.”

“Since when did you become an art critic?” he teased. “What will we do with them?”

“Hang them, of course,” she retorted. “They’re too wonderful to put away anywhere. We could put them upstairs, in the children’s rooms, and the playroom you had built on last summer.” She gave him back the book. “What about this?”

“I’ll hide it until tomorrow,” he told her softly. “Charlotte hasn’t seen it yet, and it can be a present for her birthday.”

“Better check that Mark isn’t going to give her a copy for herself,” she advised. “That one might be just for you.”

“Good point.” He slipped it back into his bag, carrying it into his office and then firmly shutting the door. Walking over, he sat on the floor and pulled his daughter gently into his lap, pointing at the pictures. “Who’s that, Charlotte?”

The girl’s head was tilted thoughtfully to one side as she turned to look at him. “I think it’s Mali,” she began thoughtfully. “Mark told me about him once and he,” she pointed to a small elf, “looks just like Mark said.”

“And who’s that?” pointing to a fairy, who was very clearly winking at Mali.

“Pinky,” Charlotte replied, in a tone that allowed for no argument.

Jarod's eyes traveled to the six pictures that, instead of being full prints, were a series of strips, and he could see the same characters at various places: peeping out from behind leaves, lying on flowers and nibbling on berries. Nicole suddenly laughed and pointed at a fairy standing under a flower, from which a drop of dew was about fall. Another strategically placed leaf covered her body, and a small elf was in the process of pulling away the barrier that protected her modesty.

“It’s incredible,” the man stated. “The detail is so minute. You could almost pick the flowers right off the frame.”

Nicole heard a small sound from the doorway, turning quickly in time to see Mark disappear into his room, and hurried after him. Opening the door, she found him sitting at his desk, removing the harness from his dog. At the sound of the footstep that denoted her entrance, he turned towards his Braille typewriter, but she walked over and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him.

“Thank you so much, Mark,” she told him. “They’re wonderful.”

He turned to face her, trying to look unaware of what she was talking about, but his eyes couldn’t hide the truth and eventually he smiled, somewhat shyly. “You like them?”

“Definitely.” She hugged him again. “The detail is just incredible. The artist must have gone to the most incredible lengths to put in all the detail when you told them what you wanted.”

“Yes,” he agreed with another tiny smile. “They must, mustn’t they?”

“Who was it?” another voice asked from the doorway, and Jarod walked in. “Someone working for the publishing house?”

“Well, they do now,” the young man responded cryptically. “But I guess they’d have to, wouldn’t they?”

Jarod rocked back on his heels as an idea struck him, eyeing Mark thoughtfully. “This artist wouldn’t be someone we know, would he?”

The author’s eyes danced behind his dark glasses. “He might.”

Nicole suddenly made the same leap of logic her husband had. “He wouldn’t happen to live here, would he?”

“Possibly.” Mark got to his feet. “Is dinner ready yet? I’m starved.”

Jarod placed a firm hand on Mark’s chest, stopping him from leaving the room. “Only honest, straightforward people get fed in this house.”

“Then ask me honest, straightforward questions,” came the cool reply. “They’ve been pretty cryptic so far.”

The doctor moved his hands so that one was on each of Mark’s shoulders. “Did you do those?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Mark’s lips twitched. “I wasn’t always blind, you know.” He chuckled. “Actually, the drawings came first. The stories sort of followed on from them. For years, I had ideas in my head for the worlds that the characters lived in, and when I had some spare time, I used to draw them.”

He gently broke out of Jarod's hold and walked over to the bed, kneeling beside it to pull out a flat box from underneath. Opening it, he produced a number of sketches, parts of the colored prints in the living room. Pages of hastily-drawn images followed, and then four large envelopes. These Mark put back into the box and shut the lid.

“What are they?” Jarod asked curiously.

“They’re for the next parts of the story,” Mark admitted. “I’ve already got the drawings down. Now I just need to get it written -- if the first one’s enough of a success that the publishers want to bother.”

“I think it will be.” The surgeon clapped Mark on the shoulder. “It’s such a marvelous story, and the pictures only add to that.”

“I didn’t think you’d be able to resist reading it,” the young man laughed. “How long did some of your patients have to wait today?”

“Luckily, I had a cancellation,” Jarod confessed as his wife also laughed. “I read it then.”

* * *


Mark ran his fingers over the three covers, reading the Braille dots, before replacing them on the bookshelf in his room with a thrill of pride. Scenes for the next book were already in his head from the rough sketches he had made years earlier, all begging to be written, but he wanted a breath of fresh air before he began.

Going into the hallway, he could hear soft mutterings from the living room and, as Lucy appeared at his side, brushing against his legs with a friendly lick to his hand, Mark deduced that Sydney must have come home from the hospital. The psychiatrist had been unable to resist the allure of working without the pressure that he had lived under at the Centre and had taken on the patients allocated to him with enthusiasm. Jarod enjoyed the joke immensely and Nicholas suspected that the part he liked best was the reversal of their former roles.

As Mark closed the front door after himself, he heard the front gate click, and then felt the arms of a tall six-year-old fling themselves around his neck. Mark released his hold on Lucy’s harness, returning the embrace.

“How was school?”


“Good,” Charlotte chirped cheerfully, before kneeling at his feet to make a fuss of the dog. “Are you going for a walk?” she asked in a muffled voice, her face apparently lying in Lucy’s ruff.

“I am,” he agreed. “Want to come?”

“Sure.” She opened the door of the house and, by the sounds it made, threw her schoolbag along the hall in the direction of the kitchen, before turning back and slipping her right hand into Mark’s left. “Will you tell me what happens in the next book?” she begged. “Please?”

The author grinned. “We’ve had this discussion before,” he reminded the girl as they headed for the park. “I’m not telling. You’ll have to wait and see when it comes out. And you get a copy before all your friends anyway.” He pulled the girl into a hug. “I’ve never heard you ask your dad if you can read one of his books, and his sell equally as well as mine.”

“But his are boring,” Charlotte complained. “Yours are exciting – all about magic and fairies and elves and things.”

“I’ll tell you what,” he suggested. “When your dad comes up to read you and Chris a story tonight, ask him to tell you about those things and see if his stories are as good as mine.”

“They won’t be,” she said confidently, skipping along beside him. “He doesn’t have an imagination like yours.”

As they entered the park, Mark bent down to remove the harness, almost immediately hearing the jingling of the tags on the dog’s collar grow fainter as Lucy ran off and Charlotte chased after her. The man felt his way slowly to a bench and sat down, pulling a book of out the small backpack he carried and beginning to read it.

* * *


Mark felt a drop of cold water splash onto his hand and lifted his head, flicking up the cover of his watch to find that they had been in the park for more than an hour. Standing, he slid the book into his backpack and picked up the harness, shaking it to make the metal jingle. He waited for Lucy’s familiar warm body to brush against his side, but when he remained alone, the man tried to hear anything through the rising wind. Suddenly, the high-pitched howling of a gale stopped. In the silence, Mark felt his skin prickle and took several cautious steps towards the middle of the park, raising his voice to repeatedly call the dog’s name.

The silence continued, and even the last voice, on the far side of the park, died away into the roar of a car motor, just as the wind picked up again. Mark began hesitantly walking in the direction he believed was the playground, trying not to panic, alternately calling for Lucy or Charlotte. His voice died in the strong wind, blown away almost before he could frame the words, and his hands, dripping with the steadily falling rain, were stretched out in front of him in an attempt not to walk into anything. Mark could feel the minutes ticking away as he found himself at a fence and began slowly making his way along it, bumping into trees and getting his face and hands badly scratched by both the wire and overhanging branches.

Finally he located what he hoped was the correct gate, stepping through it into a puddle, feeling the water soak into his shoes and wet his socks. Certain by now that Charlotte and Lucy had left for home, although why they would have gone without him was something he couldn’t understand, Mark stopped to put the harness into his bag and, lowering his head against the driving rain, stretched out his hand for the fence to start for home.

* * *


The car stopped at the curb and Charlotte got out, pulling Lucy with her and seeing Michelle at the door, watching for her anxiously. As soon as she appeared, Michelle hurried down the path, waving to the people in the car as they drove off and then bustling her inside the house.

“Not a word,” she warned the girl. “Go straight in and change your clothes. No,” she continued as Charlotte began to speak. “Go. Now.”

Sydney came out onto the veranda and looked at where Lucy was pawing the gate. The dog’s coat was quickly soaked by the fast-falling rain and, as lightning lit the rapidly increasing gloom, the psychiatrist tried to get the animal into the house. When she failed to respond to his calling, the man went down to the gate and literally dragged Lucy up the stairs. She immediately tried to make a bolt out the door, but Sydney shut it firmly, looking up at Michelle, perplexed.

“What on earth’s wrong with her? I’ve never seen her like this.”

“Maybe the weather.” She shrugged as thunder boomed overhead. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll come good.”

Nodding, Sydney turned toward the living room as the phone rang, leaving the dog pacing in front of the door.

* * *


Mark was about ready to confess himself beaten. He hadn’t walked the streets on his own before he got Lucy and, although he had a vague idea of the layout, he had obviously made an error, because he was now in completely unfamiliar territory. After knocking on ten doors for help, to no avail, he gave up. Soaked through, he was shivering violently as he felt his way to a large tree on the nature strip and curled up underneath it, hoping that it would offer some protection, however meager. The rain continued to drip through the leaves and turned the ground near him to mud as he wrapped his arms around his legs, the bag on his lap and his head down, biting his lip as the shivering increased.

* * *


Jarod gathered his things and made a bolt for the house, running up the steps and stopping on the doorstep to shake the rain from his jacket and hair before opening the door. Barely had he got it open than a yellow streak shot past him and managed to leap the fence, racing away up the street. Jarod stared after the dog before turning to Sydney, who was halfway down the hall.

“Was that Lucy?”

“Yes.” The psychiatrist nodded. “She’s been behaving strangely all evening, ever since she and Charlotte were brought back from the park…”

Sydney stopped suddenly as he was unceremoniously shoved aside and Charlotte, her eyes red with tears, threw herself into her father’s arms.

“He’s out in the rain,” she screamed hoarsely, almost hysterical. “You have to go get him, Daddy, or he’ll get sick and die!”

“Who, Charlotte?” Jarod demanded in concern. “Who’s out in the rain?”

But she was sobbing against his shoulder as Michelle appeared in the doorway, her face wearing an expression of anxiety.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” she explained. “She’s been like that for hours, since she and Lucy came back from the park.”

“What about Mark?” Jarod asked sharply.

“Well, he wasn’t in the car with them,” the woman began, before her eyes widened in horror. “You don’t think he…”

As Sydney opened the door of Mark’s room, looking around quickly and shaking his head, Jarod pulled his daughter gently away from his shoulder. “Baby, was Mark at the park with you?”

Nodding, she hiccupped. “An’ when Judy’s mommy brought us home, she didn’t b’lieve me when I said Mark was there an’ we left him there an’ Michelle wouldn’t let me tell her an’ now he’s gonna get sick and die!”

“Oh, God,” Jarod breathed, looking back over his shoulder at the streaming rain, lightning flashing as thunder boomed unabatedly. Quickly lowering the girl to the floor, he turned and snatched up his jacket, throwing it around his shoulders as he grabbed Mark’s and gave his orders. “Get the bathroom hot and fill the bath. I want his bed warm, too. And the room.”

With a slam of the door, he was gone, as Sydney moved to get things ready and Michelle picked up Charlotte, trying to calm the sobs that had begun again as soon as she had stopped talking.

* * *


Jarod, after driving along most of the roads surrounding the park, finally saw the golden coat by the side of the road and pulled up next to the dog, who was nudging a motionless figure. When Jarod got out of the car, Lucy turned with a whine that seemed to suggest she was unable to understand why Mark wasn’t responding to her as usual. Dropping to his knees beside Mark, Jarod threw a jacket around him, cursing silently as he saw the look of surprise in the blue eyes that turned to him, making a guess at his fever and diagnosing mild delirium.

“Hello,” the young man said in a small voice.

“Come on, Mark,” Jarod urged, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go home and get you in a nice, hot bath.”

Obligingly trying to rise, Mark only managed to move a few inches before he slipped back against the tree as if his limbs had no strength in them. Suddenly grateful for his much larger stature, the surgeon virtually lifted the young man into the car, doing up the seatbelt over him and then letting Lucy into the back seat. Getting into the driver’s seat, Jarod saw that Mark had already drowsed off and he put the car into gear with forceful suddenness, almost flying through the streets and pulling up into his driveway with a protest from the vehicle’s brakes.

Sydney was already waiting on the veranda and he hurried down the steps as Jarod got out and opened the rear door to let Lucy out first. The dog remained at his heels as he dashed around to the passenger side, seeing Mark’s hand droop down as the car door was opened. Lucy gave it a gentle lick, but there was no response from her master, who remained insensible as Jarod leant over and undid the seatbelt.

Jarod slid his arms under Mark’s knees and around his shoulders, lifting him out far enough that Sydney could take some of the weight. Mark’s body hung limply between them and there was no sign of him rousing as Sydney shut the car door with a backward kick and they struggled into the house. The bathroom was as hot as Jarod could have desired, and steam rose from the half-full tub as the two doctors peeled off the sodden clothing, seeing Mark’s eyes open in surprise as they gently lowered him into the water.

After ten minutes, and with some difficulty, they managed to get him out, dried and dressed in the pajamas Sydney had been warming. Mark was partly conscious now and managed to take a few stumbling steps along the hall as they carried him to his room. Nicole turned back the bed as they appeared in the doorway, and they laid their patient against the warm sheets, pillows already stacked up so that he was sitting at a 30-degree angle. Jarod moved the first-aid kit onto the bed and took out a thermometer, nodding his thanks to Sydney, who left the room. As Nicole timed Mark’s pulse and respiration, Jarod checked through the antibiotics that his wife told him she had brought with her from the hospital after receiving a call from Sydney. Lucy jumped onto the bed, curling up next to Mark’s feet.

“What do you think?” Nicole asked in a low voice as she lowered Mark’s wrist and tucked his arm in under the warm blankets, pulling the covers up over his chest.

“I think it’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t get pneumonia,” Jarod growled, seeing the unusually bright glitter of the young man’s eyes as they close and the bright red spots on the patient’s cheeks as he read the thermometer. “But at this stage, he’s just in for a bad cold or possibly bronchitis.” He pulled a stethoscope out of the kit and placed it on Mark’s chest, hearing a drowsy cry of protest from the patient, to which he offered a murmured apology for the coldness of the metal. “So far he sounds clear, though. But we’ll have to see how he is in a few hours.”

Nicole took a small notebook and pen from her pocket. “What will you want from the hospital?”

“Probably only oxygen at this stage. More specific antibiotics, depending on what develops, and a humidifier tomorrow.”

“No hospital,” the young man murmured at this point, and Jarod bent over him at once.

“It’s all right, Mark. We aren’t going to take you to hospital unless you get too sick for us to take care of at home. We’ll bring everything we need back here for you.”

Drowsily, the patient nodded before a hand crept out from beneath the blankets. Jarod wrapped both of his around it before sitting down in a chair beside the bed, looking up at his wife.

“Is Charlotte okay?”

“Not really,” Nicole admitted. “She’s still upset. But I’m not sure she should see Mark…”

“Better now than when he’s sicker. She can’t kiss him, but she needs to see that he’s here and still alive, or else she’ll never sleep tonight.”

“I’ll get her.” The woman finished writing the last points down before leaving the room. Jarod took the opportunity to slip a hand under the covers, checking that no drafts were seeping into the bed, before the door opened again.

Charlotte’s eyes filled as soon as she saw Mark, running towards the bed, but Nicole put out an arm to stop her.

“You can’t go too close, sweetie,” her mother warned. “Mark’s a bit sick and we don’t want you to get it as well.”

The girl’s eyes traveled from her father to her mother, her voice a faint whisper. “Is Mark going to die?”

“We hope not,” Jarod answered honestly, after exchanging quick glances with his wife. “But we’re going to need you to be very good for Uncle Sydney and Aunt Michelle over the next few days so we can look after him. Will you do that for us?”

Nodding, Charlotte buried her face in her mother’s waist and Nicole picked her up, smoothing her hair.

“It’s okay, baby,” she soothed gently. “You’ve had a nasty shock today, haven’t you? You come and let Mommy read a story to you now before you go to bed.”

“Can I kiss Daddy g’night?” she hiccupped.

Jarod eased his fingers out of Mark’s and walked over to her, brushing back the dark hair to plant a soft kiss on the girl’s forehead, feeling her lips brush his cheek, before Nicole carried her off to bed and, with a sigh, Jarod returned to the bedside.









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