The Apocalypse Door,
Part 33
by William Todd

John opened his eyes slowly. He was groggy, but alive. A dull pain throbbed in his head, but it was more diluted than the last time he’d felt its blows. The pain in his ankle seemed on hiatus as well.

Blurry goblins scampered in and out of his sight, and they spoke in muffled voices. Some seemed soothing, gentle. Others had a more harsh tone, but none seemed menacing enough to feel afraid.

He moaned softly just to hear his own voice and licked at his dry lips.

One of the goblins stuck its big, misshapen head directly in front of John’s eyes and spoke. “Du vantagrask avateer?”

John closed his eyes shut then opened them back up and tried determinedly to get them to focus. Without causing too much aggravation to his injured head, he tried to shake the cobwebs from his ears.

“E-excuse me?” he asked with a voice of sandpaper.”

Slowly, everything came into focus. The soothing goblins were two nurses who, with great care, were checking his bandages, readjusting his elevated and bandaged foot and charting vitals on a clipboard. One, a jolly little woman with a white beehive hairdo and rosy cheeks who could have easily passed as Santa’s wife, had bent down in front of him and asked again, “Do you want a glass of water?”

“Thank you,” he replied.

He hadn’t died after all. He was in a hospital. He gingerly felt the top of his head to find that it had been wrapped in gauze and bandages.

“Ten stitches, slight concussion,” the nurse said reassuringly, evidently reading his thoughts.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Sandy! The priest! Where are they? There were others with me at the house.” His burst of words made throbbing currents of blood pound through his head. He cringed in pain.

She smiled softly. “If you’d like to see a priest, I can call St. Stephens and have them send Father Sutherland over. As far as the others at the house--” she motioned to the door. “There’s someone here to see you.”

John could not believe his eyes. In the doorway stood Sandy. She was caked with dry mud and her hair was matted around her delicate face, but she looked more beautiful than any Greek goddess come to life. Her eyes held more tears than the total accumulation of rain from the previous night, but they were held in check by the biggest, sloppiest smile he’d ever seen.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” the nurse said and gave John one last smile before exiting the room.

Sandy ran to him and threatened to break ribs with the tightness of her embrace. Warm tears ran from her cheek to his as she kissed him over and over.

John sputtered, “I-I thought you . . . But didn’t you . . .”

Sandy shook her head, no. “The priest beat me to it.”

“But I thought I saw the truck disappear.”

She smiled. “Yeah, down over the hill. Luckily, there was a path that I managed to squeeze the truck through until I was able to stop the damned thing.”

He drew her close and kissed her. He didn’t want his lips to ever part from hers. He whispered between tender touches, “I want this ordeal to be over, completely over. And I want to start again--with you.”

Her eyes brightened with the last remark, and she smiled through another kiss, but each then quickly faded. “There’s one more thing we need to do first,” she said. She got up from the bed and reached into her pocket. Carefully, she pulled out a muddied cloth and opened it.

The revealed black key quick-froze John’s blood and turned his lungs to iron. He almost fell form his bed in his attempt to put distance between it and him.

“I found it in the mud just before the ambulance and fire trucks arrived. The force of the priest broadsiding it must have knocked the key from the thing’s grip. I decided that the authorities probably didn’t need to find it, so I picked it up.” She refolded it, found gauze tape on the stand next to John and taped it securely within its grungy jacket. “So what do we do with it?”

Pulling her back close to him, he said, “I’ve already got an idea.”

Springtime breezes blew in the sweet fragrance of flower blossoms and new beginnings as John, Sandy and the twins watched as the contractors were preparing to pour the basement floor of the new house being built where the old one once stood.

Men below began directing the flow of wet cement from the mixing truck into its thirty- by forty-foot mold as Abbey and Johnny watched in awe. Johnny even offered to help them, but his offertory was cordially denied.

As the last of the basement floor was being poured, John pulled out a taped piece of cloth from his windbreaker and walked over to the rear of the cement truck from which the flow of cement was being controlled. While the workers were leveling out the wet floor on the far side, he tossed the tiny package into the basement, and it was quickly covered with the last splashes of cement.

Abbey approached him and took his hand as she stood by his side. “Is this going to be our new house?” she asked.

“It sure is, Sweetie.”

“Is Sandy going to live here, too?”

“If she wants to.”

“Do you want her to?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “I think I’m going to like living here.”

“We all will.”

The four stood for another hour watching their new home slowly come alive in front of them. But nearing lunch, it was time to leave--there was a McDonald’s french fry somewhere with Johnny’s name on it.

Before they left the construction workers to their creation at hand, John gave the key and its tomb one last look.

Forever buried but never forgotten.

©2004 StoriesByEmail.com

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