#Wattys2015 The Ghost of James Fitzpatrick

Chapter 16

If Sarah wanted to cry, sometimes she cried in the shower, and tonight she did. She hated lying to her mom and Mrs. Miller, and keeping things from Lucy, but mostly tonight she cried for James. Crazy how much affection she felt for him, or how that was even possible. She did not like to think of James 'disappearing' and going God only knows where. Were there others like him? Were they all bumping into one another in some brightly lit "Hallway to Heaven"? Is that what waits for all of us?

Sarah wanted James to be able to sit and eat spaghetti with her family. Mom? Josh? I'd like you to meet my friend James. He deserved so much more than fading in and out of her room like a vapor, and why had he chosen to deprive himself of life? Why do so many people make that very 'final' choice? Was she so naïve and sheltered she was unable to see the real burdens and pain of those around her? What else was she not seeing?

Sarah walked to her room and closed the door. She began to unwrap her robe, then closed it about herself quickly, and walked into her closet, closing the door behind her. She emerged in a pajama top and bottoms, hung her robe on a hook on her wall, and climbed into bed. She reached for her lamp, took another look at the crucifix on the wall above her bed, removed her glasses and turned off the lamp.

"Goodnight James, wherever you are," said Sarah and she closed her eyes against the soft, pillowcase beneath her.

Sarah woke and immediately looked about her room for James, and he was there, sitting at her desk. He was slowly turning the pages of the scrapbook on her desk.

Sarah squinted, then picked up her eyeglasses from her bedside stand. James turned to look at her.

"Hi," he said.

"Good morning," said Sarah, "what time is it?"

"Early, but I hear your brother watching TV downstairs."

Sarah propped herself onto on one elbow.

"It's his Saturday morning ritual," she said. "I meant to show you that yesterday," said Sarah. "The scrapbook. It's sweet."

"I just saw it sitting here and my name was written on the cover, so..."

"Do you remember her?" asked Sarah. "The little girl from next door?"

"Sure, I do," replied James. "Margaret, she has red hair and she talks too much."

James observed the cover of the book and his name inscribed there with a blue crayon. He smiled a very little smile and shook his head in disbelief.

He stared at his own photo in the newspaper clipping and touched it softly.

"Strange," he said quietly.

"Margaret's mother said she cared for you very much. Her whole family did," said Sarah. She sat up in bed and put her feet on the floor. "Mrs. Miller wouldn't tell Margaret what happened to you. She told her you became sick overnight."

James turned to look at Sarah. He tried to make sense of what she was saying.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"She couldn't bear to tell Margaret you had..."

Margaret stopped.

"Had what?" he asked again.

"I don't want to say it," replied Sarah. "I don't care how that sounds, I don't want to say it, and I don't want to think you would do it."

"Do what?" James stood up and knelt in front of Sarah. He waited for her to say something.

"Do what, Sarah?" he asked her once again.

"Jump," she said finally.

James drops his head in disbelief. He gets on his feet and starts to pace the room.

"Oh my God," he said as he stood again. He looked down at Sarah. "Oh my God," he repeated, "is that what you think I did? Is that what Margaret thought?"

James began running his hands through his hair and pacing. His breathing is becoming rapid. "My mom? My brother?"

Sarah slowly stood.

"James, they found you in the water under the bridge," said Sarah. "Do you remember?"

"Remember? Hell yes, I remember Sarah." James bumps the side of his own hand with the heel of his hand.

"Why wouldn't they at least assume I fell? Why go straight to 'he jumped'? Jesus!"

Sarah felt herself becoming more frantic, then apologetic.

"I didn't know James. Mrs. Miller said something had upset you that day, that you'd left your house upset..."

James stopped pacing and shook his head.

"Here I am hanging out in my room, correction, your room, like I'm at a party or something, like I have all the time in the world, but I don't Sarah."

Sarah backed away a couple of steps and crossed her arms in front.

"I don't understand what you're saying right now James, but I want..."

"I need to write another letter to my mother, Sarah, a different one," he said, "right now. Just promise me you will find her, or my brother."

"I promised you I would James," said Sarah, "you can trust me."

James took a step toward Sarah and put his hands up to the sides of her face. Sarah froze, not sure whether he was going to kiss her or head butt her. She stared at him. His hands were soft, just below her ears.

Sarah felt confused and began to speak, "I don't know what..."

"I was pushed Sarah," interrupted James in a matter of fact tone. "I was pushed right off The Bridge by one of my teammates, who was pissed because I had something he wanted, so he got me. Right here," James said as he poked his fingers into his own chest, "it took a half a second, and the truth is, I should've seen it coming, because the only predictable thing about JJ Zwicki, was that he was unpredictable."

Sarah felt her blood leave her face, and her brain felt like it tingled, and she knew she hadn't been sleeping well, and she heard James say her name, but she had heard little else past the name "Zwicki." It was too much for her, and James helplessly watched her as she began to crumple. He caught her halfway down and set her gently onto the rug.

"Oh Sarah, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry." James is brushing hair from her face. "Sarah, wake up, I'm so sorry."

Sarah came to in just a few seconds, and covered her face with her hands out of embarrassment and shock.

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