Entropy and Sorrow's Kiss

"Yeah, bud."

"Well, so anyway, we did have a thing, no whips and chains, and it only lasted a few days. She basically tossed me, I think she didn't want me to go through all the crap and that was that, but I got a fifty four a few months back, and it was her. I spend another month or so with her..."

"Yeah? How's she doin' now?"

"Cremated," Burnett said, his eyes steady.

"Oh, Jesus Fucking Christ Alan. I had no fuckin' idea. I'm sorry, man. How you doin'?"

"I met Tracy. Life's never been better."

"Oh, man."

"She's pregnant, Dan," Burnett said, grinning.

"Yeah? I take it you're good with that?

"She's the best thing that ever happened to me, pal."

"Best thing that ever happened to Tomberlin, Alan. She fuckin' saved his life..."

"Yeah? I never heard that?"

"When he was a rook, he was a real wild man. Out of control. Drinkin' all the time, fuckin' everything in a skirt, big man with a gun – you know the score."

"We've all been there."

"Yeah, well, not like him. Anyway, then he meets Tracy and, like, within a month he's like goin' to church clean, ya know what I mean, a real straight arrow?"

"She brings that out in people. I know. There's something..."

"Pure."

"Yup. That's what I told her, too. Something special."

"You know it, pal," Tisdale said, holding up his bottle.

Burnett tipped his to Tisdale's, clinking them in a silent toast to Everett's memory.

"So, how long y'all been together?"

"Couple of months, I guess. Well, it's four now."

"Good times?"

"The best."

"When she due?"

"Early June."

"Well, I gotta go," Tisdale said, crawling out of the booth and dropping some money on the table. "Y'all have a Merry Christmas."

"You too, Dan. Later."

Burnett walked out to his car; Tisdale and the Assistant Chief were standing together, talking, and Burnett ignored them, walked quickly to his old Beemer, got behind the wheel and drove off.

+++++

She was just getting in from work when he pulled into the parking lot, and she had a bag of groceries in her hand. He parked, jumped out of the Beemer and ran to her, grabbed the groceries in one hand and took her hand in the other while they walked up to her apartment.

"You're getting in kinda late?" she said.

"Dan Tisdale wanted to talk, after shift change. Went to Adair's."

"God, I haven't been there in ages."

"Hasn't changed much. Waitresses are cuter, though."

She poked him in the ribs as they walked in the door. "You are such a horny devil, you know?"

"Who, me? You look great today, by the way. Terribly sexy."

"Yes, you, and thanks, but I've got a problem I think you can help me with."

"Sure, darlin'. What..."

"Well," she said as she sat on the sofa, "I must be a little horny myself. Is it me, or is it hot in here?"

"And this is a problem?"

She laughed. "Not with you! Never with you!

"Let me put the groceries up..." He put milk and orange juice in the 'fridge then emptied the other stuff on the counter and started to put them away when her heard her say something. "Sorry, couldn't hear you, doll."

"Ev, I think I'm bleeding..."

Burnett ran into the living room; the first thing he saw was blood running down her legs, then he saw she was slumped over on her side. He ran to her, pulling out his phone, then knelt beside her: "Tracy! Tracy!"

No response.

He dialed 9-11 and told the dispatcher who he was and what the emergency was, then he left the line open and felt for a pulse as he lifted her legs up onto the sofa and placed pillows under her head and legs.

"About four minutes out, Officer Burnett," he heard over the speaker.

"She still bleeding, very weak pulse," he replied.

"Got it."

"Call the AC, would you, and tell him what's going on. Tell him it's Tracy. Tracy Tomberlin."

"Understood."

He heard the sirens a moment later, then ran out to help the paramedics up to the apartment.

"She's about fourteen weeks pregnant," he yelled as they ran for the stairway. "Prior miscarriage."

The medics got to her and started working on her, hooked up an EKG and Alan moved back to a far corner of the room – deep in shadow, his hands to his mouth, trying desperately to get the walls up that would block the terror he knew was coming for him. Another medic was trying to get a line in her arm, more firemen were running up the stairs, then he saw a patrolman walking into the room and he felt like he was on the outside looking in and everything was spinning out of his reach.

All the activity on the other side of the room, around the sofa, stopped a few minutes later; he saw their knowing looks, the shaking heads, and he knew it was over. Everything was over. All his dreams were over. His love, his life. Over.

He slid down the wall, put his hands over his face and sat there with a silent howl of agony frozen on his face.

Seven Days Later

There was a knock on the door, and Burnett almost heard it.

After the funeral, after all the rituals had come and gone and the world seemed content to leave him alone with his memories, Alan Burnett went back to his apartment and sat for a while on the sofa where Tracy died. Someone had tried to clean the apartment, the sofa, the carpet, but her blood was still there, still – barely – visible. He ran his hand over the stain, this last precious part of her, then he closed the curtains and lay on the sofa, his head lay were she left him.

He turned away from the world that day, and his body began the process of turning in on itself. He lay there one day, then another, his eyes open, sometimes registering the passage of time as shadows moved across the room, other times unaware of anything but the beating of his own heart.

He was supposed to report for duty the third day, and when he didn't there were a few raised eyebrows, a few calls made.

He thought he heard the phone ring once, but he could hardly be expected to talk on the telephone at a time like this, he said to himself, smiling.

Later that afternoon, there was a knocking on the door, the shadow of a man looking through the window, then there were sirens, a crashing sound and light and air flowing into his veins as an IV tried to reconnect him to the here and now, and then there was darkness as he fell away into the memory of her.

+++++

He remembered the days in his night. The days of his life on the street, the nights too, but he was more afraid of the dark now. They came for him at night. The voices. Those two voices. The Keeper of Flame, and his companion. They seemed to fight over him at times, but there were other times when they seemed to need him to rest.

Days passed, and nights too, and one day he felt himself being dressed, then being helped into a wheelchair. He was in a car, driving through the city, then somehow he was in the sky, streaking above clouds and into the night.

He has seen many things, done many things, but has he learned anything?

I think he has. I think we may leave him now.

I am not so sure.

We must let him try. One more time.

More cars, more wheelchairs. An elevator. A strange room. A syringe, a painful burning in his arm, then sleep. Always blissful sleep.

It is day again, and he is in a wheelchair, only now his is aware of the light, aware of the day's warmth on his face, but there is snow falling outside, snow falling on a fairytale landscape, and he smiles because he knows now that he is dead, that he is in heaven. He hears a voice, vaguely recognizable, but still distant and far away, then the clicking of heels on tile, then someone pushing him to the window.

He is looking down at the floor. The most gorgeous legs he has ever seen walk around in front of the wheelchair and he hears curtains being drawn open, faint light caressing his face, and he raises his face to the light and looks out on a city covered with snow. In the distance he sees something so impossible he starts to cry.

"Look!" he says, as he raises his hand and points to the Eiffel Tower. "Look!"

And she is there, caressing his face, and there are tears in her eyes.

"There is time enough for us here, Alan. Remember? If you'll come back to me," he hears the woman say. "There is a life out here worth living, and I need you. Come to me, come back to me, now."

He looks in her eyes – those luminous eyes, "You loved me, once, didn't you?"

"From the moment I laid eyes on you, Alan. Yes, I do."

"I loved you too, didn't I?"

"Yes, my love, you did."

"Come back to you."

"Yes. Come back to me."

"I ran away."

"Yes, but you're safe now."

"I remember. You are Elaine."

Her hands are on his face, and she is kissing him gently, softly, running fingers through his hair.

"Where are we?"

"The Rue Saint Jacques."

"Paris? This is Paris?"

"Yes."

"I thought it was heaven."

She smiled.

"And then I saw you standing there. Now I know this is heaven."

"It will be, darling. I know it will be."

He looked into her eyes, then down at her legs, and he smiled.



(C)2015 ABW|AdrianLeverkühn


[Author's note: Alan Burnett's story started in 2007, in Part II of Heaven's Rending. His story was peripheral to the main arc of (Carpenter's) story, and was centered on the Joan/Diane element also seen in this version; as with the third part of Up In The Air, I wanted to go back and revisit those characters, draw them out, find a new resolution. Most (if not quite all) of this version is new material; most of the original 2007 material was substantially rewritten as well. As always, the earlier version remains posted for the curious, and again, this is a work of fiction – all characters and incidents developed are fictitious. Hope you enjoyed. A]