The Dying Wish

Chapter 2 - Revelation

"Rise and shine, Amy!" A man with a booming Oxfordshire accent shouted into the darkness, startling Amy awake.

The grey, black-out Pom Pom curtains were flung open, revealing a giant of a man in her bedroom.

"Dad, it is 8:00 am on a Saturday. Why do you have to wake me up so early?" Amy grumbled as she buried her head in the mountain of cushions at the head of her bed to avoid the sun's bright rays and her father's overexcitement.

"Because we have places to be, things to do and no minutes to waste," Hank said with a Cheshire Cat grin as he planted his bony backside on Amy's bed.

Hank Tiller's appearance had always reminded Amy of a weasel. While he is undoubtedly handsome, his neck is long, and his facial features are scrawny. It was from him that Amy had gotten her thin, straight nose, her brown uncontrollable hair, and the smile creases at the corner of her mouth. But she hadn't obviously inherited his brown-greying beard, sapphire blue eyes, and the three deep set lines embedded on his forehead. The first two lines appeared in his early twenties, some several years after his parent's deaths, and the final line came immediately after his wife's demise eight years ago.

"No, but seriously how are you feeling this morning? You don't have any more aches and pains, do you?" Hank asked, trying to disguise the fear in his voice but evidently failing. He brought a slender hand to Amy's head, checking to see if she had a temperature.

"No more than yesterday," Amy reassured, removing her father's hand, with a brief affectionate squeeze.

Hank could breathe again, knowing that his daughter had not gotten worse overnight. "That's a relief," he said, groping at his jowls. "Because we are going go-karting!" He excitedly clasped Amy's knee through her pink and white tartan quilt cover.

Amy's mouth had formed into an unmissable o shape. Not the reaction her father anticipated.

"Or if go-karting is not your thing Aimes we could always go to that observatory and look at Saturn and the stars like we have been meaning to since you were six," Hank suggested, wanting to please his dying daughter, no matter what.

"Dad, I would love to do both of those things. But we have plans already."

One of Hank's bushy brows raised suspiciously. "Huh, really? Do I have an equally handsome doppelgänger or something, as this is the first I've ever heard of us having plans? We have always been the spontaneous type." He gave a toothy grin.

Amy gave a small smile as she tried to psyche herself up to tell him the truth. "Please, don't get mad, Dad, but I kind of invited your brothers and sisters to come and visit."

Hank's face dropped. "A-all of them?" He barely managed to spit out.

"All of them," Amy repeated, waves of guilt washing over her. "I'm sorry, Dad, I should have asked you first. It's just we haven't seen them since Mum's funeral. You need support just as much as I do right now." She paused for a moment. "Especially when I'm gone."

"I know. I know," Hank replied, jumping to his feet. "T-this is a good thing," he said aloud in an attempt to halt the rising panic inside of him. "You have done what I have been too scared to do for the last eight years."

He walked unsteadily to Amy's condensation-covered window and began staring intensely at the cloud-filled sky, half praying to whoever was up there to send a natural disaster.

"Dad, if this is too much, I can always cancel. There's still time. They aren't arriving until 12:00."

"No, Amy, I am fine. It is just a bit of a shock, that's all." He turned back round to face her, tears pricking his piercing eyes at the memories of what Luke had said to him on the day of Alina's funeral.