A Montauk Nightmare

We beat them to Los Angeles by more than a dozen hours. I paid for the largest private room possible. I couldn't stop crying and was useless until they arrived. I clung to my sister, who collapsed into my arms. I knew her, so I knew what she had done. Siobhan had been strong. She pushed down any fear, any weakness any doubts until she got Jen back to the States. Now she could surrender.

We stayed there for two days. Jennifer was tested continuously by the best doctors available. Dr. Khalil was their interpreter, acting as my intermediary. It wasn't her specialty, but she was a brilliant doctor. It was awkward having a woman with autism and significant social issues acting as an intermediary, but I trusted her completely. She kept me in the loop about what was happening and what the prognosis was.

It was bad. It was very bad.

On the third day, we flew to New York. She was moved into another private room, this time at Columbia Presbyterian. In spite of the lack of brain swelling, Jen hadn't woken in three days. Our family was with us and everyone spent time trying to distract William. As always, he gravitated towards his Aunt Daisy and Tommy's cousin Marisol.

Jen eventually woke up to find that nothing on the right side of her body responded to her commands. I couldn't hold back my tears as I sat their holding her hand trying to explain to her that I couldn't understand what she was saying. Her own tears slowly slid down her cheeks.

We brought her home and had the best contractors money could buy start building a rehab facility adjacent to the clinic. Two months went by and she showed marked improvement, but the doctors said she would never be the same as she was before her trip.

She cried for almost a full day when she realized that William couldn't understand her. I acted as an interpreter. Three days after her crying jag, I found our son sitting on her bed readingWhere The Wild Things Are to her. It was his favorite book, and he was half reading, half reciting. I stepped back out of the room and slumped to the ground against the wall, alone in my grief.

Pete stayed with us for a while. We needed at least one fully ambulatory adult here. He was spelled out frequently by the rest of the family. We paid Marisol to act as an informal caretaker for William when she was out of school. She worked on his Spanish and kept him distracted.

Mom and dad were with William and Jen while Shiv and I sat on the porch. She was staring at the water as she spoke. "I know what was at stake, but it seems so unfair that she had to pay the price for all of us."

"Bullshit."

My sister turned to look at me. "Okay, I guess you're all paying a price. You and William too. Your family."

"No, I meant it's all bullshit. I can't believe you're falling for this crap."

"What are you talking about? She clearly had a massive stroke. She's not faking it."

"Yeah, exactly. She had a stroke. You learn to allow for a lot of weirdness when your wife has undoubtably travelled from the past but think about the facts. She has some sort of brain trauma causing nose bleeds and severe headaches. Immediately following that she has some sort of visions about the end of the world. We never find out what caused her trauma.

She travels to Australia where some quack gives her some drugged drink. Two hours later she has a massive stroke. Again, she tells us later about more visions. None of it's real. The trauma caused the visions and precipitated the stroke. You can't really believe this 'life-sucking slug' story, do you?"

Siobhan sat there, thinking.

Weeks went by and I eventually noticed that Jennifer was late and spoke to Dr. Khalil. I assumed that it was due to the trauma or drugs. I was wrong. Jennifer was pregnant. Was I overjoyed? Concerned? Terrified?

I settled on all three.

Terror was at the forefront of that triumvirate as I spoke to Dr. Khalil. "What, uh, what... how dangerous is this for Jen?"

"We're monitoring her very carefully and now that we know she's pregnant, we'll step that up. Mr... Finn, from everything we can tell, her increased risk of another stroke due to pregnancy is minimal."

"What about the baby?"

"The fet... baby should be fine. There is little risk of hypercoagulation, but that's something we'll be looking out for. Finn, I promise that we will do everything we can to make sure that the baby and Jennifer will be all right."

With some trepidation, we informed the family about the pregnancy.

A day later a large box arrived at the front gate. It was addressed to Master William George Corrigan. The shipping label told us it was sent by a law office. William and Jen were with me in the living room when Pete brought the box in. He grabbed me a crowbar from the basement and I opened it up.

Inside was a smaller, wooden box. It was musty and had clearly sat in storage for years, maybe longer. Jen leaned forward, watching me. William stood at my side, bouncing on his toes. I opened this box.

Inside were a Stretch Armstrong, a skateboard, a GI Joe and some other toys, all decades old, still in their original wrapping. There was an yellowed and stiff envelope laying on top of the toys. I pulled it out, opened it and saw a letter in hauntingly familiar handwriting.

Looking around, I saw that Pete stepped out of the room. I read the note out loud.

To my dearest William, with love, affection and hope from across the sea of years.

I know that these aren't the most up to date toys, but I hope they bring you joy.

Merry Christmas.

Your adoring Aunt Cynthia.

I was dumbfounded.

"How, I don't understand. She had these stored and arranged for them to shipped decades later? That doesn't make sense. How did she know about William?"

Jen's speech was much clearer now, but still severely impacted.

"We talked about this. I told her in Dreamtime."

"You... But that's..."

What could I do? I couldn't admit that I hadn't believed her. Was it possible that it was all real? It was hard to refute the evidence that was now all over the floor as William grabbed toy after toy.

I decided I didn't care. I had my wife, my son and a child on the way. Whatever dark passage we had gone through, the sun was rising and we had made our way to the light.

JENNIFER

Christmas was near, and we were hosts to some fowl who hadn't flown south.

We stood on the pier looking to the sky. A paper bag clutched in my stiff right hand was full of stale bread for the ducks that had assumed residence in our neighborhood. They had taken flight upon our arrival, four of them, flying in unison.

Oddly graceful in their movements, they had shifted effortlessly from their frenetic flapping to comfortably gliding, smooth and effortlessly defying gravity.

William's little hand was in my left and Finn's was on the swelling of my belly. I let the bag fall as I awkwardly fitted my less than dexterous hand into my husbands while we watched the mallards climb the cloudless sky.

I appreciate Chloe's initiating this effort. As always, I need to thank the people that were kind enough to beta read and/or edit the story. Stefan, Chris S, Steve M, Alex, Stephen R and GirlintheMoon. I also appreciate the kind assistance of the people at Sports Illustrated

Although he'll never see it, Graeme deserves thanks for his input on the depiction of Illuka Grant. He lived with aboriginal people for years and his input was invaluable. With special thanks to JimBob44.

Looking for something else to read? I enjoyed Reconnecting the Dots by Kaje1234. It was his only contribution to Literotica, but it was a well told tale. Click HERE.