Between Hurt and Happiness

Chapter 1

She lifted the blanket that suddenly felt too heavy, and sat up on the edge of the bed. Hazy from what little sleep she had found, which-according to the clock-wasn't much. The phone is what had woke her, and she was reluctant to answer. This is why minimal sleep was all she could ever muster; a casual, but welcomed break from her living nightmare. Staring at the phone nestled in the receiver, she knew who it was-the only person besides telemarketers that bothered to call her number. Even they took a break during these hours, but not Detective Collins, no one would ever accuse him of being courteous. He was the Detective that had been with her through this hell that started two years ago, and his calls never brought answers to any of the questions that she had. The case was long over, there were never any leads, and it might as well have been a cold case from the beginning, but Mr. Collins still called. At one point during those years they could have almost been considered friends, but those days were long over. He probably just pitied her now, and that is something that she could simply not allow. She did not care to hear what he had to say, and honestly 2 a.m. was not the time to be checking up on anyone. Usually ignoring a few rings brought silence, but this time the damned phone wouldn't stop. She decided to answer, "Mrs. Johnson?" he asked. "Yes, Detective, how are you this fine evening?" He knew she hid behind the sarcasm, and he also knew she despised him for bringing back the pain with each and every call. He always thought about that before he dialed her, but there was nothing to do without her. But, the new information he had to share with her now would change everything. "Melodie, sorry to wake you," he said, knowing the gesture had been nice, but also empty. She assured him that he hadn't, only because she didn't feel up to the endless apologies.
    "I can't and I won't," is what she said to Detective Collins, before slamming the phone down. She was done arguing, done protesting every word that he had tried convincing her was the truth. He was, in her opinion, too bullheaded for his own good. He says he knew what he had seen, but it didn't matter, he had neglected to investigate, failed to ask any questions. Apparently he had called to dump more questions on her in the dead of the night. Like she said she couldn't believe it, even if she could she wouldn't.  She needed something, a cigarette, isn't that what melts stress away? Hell, she had never touched one up until now, and wasn't about to start a pack a day habit over nonsense. A strong drink would be nice, but even if she kept the stuff on hand she wouldn't attempt it, she was already lightheaded, and so a drink would only make matters worse. Maybe a hot shower would strip her of worry, wash away the thoughts threatening to take whatever sanity still remained. She stood, not sure if her legs could carry her. Every step tormented her, every breath lingered too long before the next. She stepped carefully, aware of the dizziness. She stopped once she reached the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror caught her attention, she stared at the glass surface, but at who? Her young 22 year old image could easily pass for a woman of 35. Her hair, much to her surprise, hadn't yet found the gray that usually accompanies the aging that showed everywhere else. Looking deep into those eyes, she tried to find any trace of the person she was before. Tears had finally started, the face she had been studying blurred. It came, God, she'd known it would, but unfairly and without any forewarning. Could a heart literally break in two? That was all she could think of as she leaned against the wall behind her, hoping it would brace her. It didn't, and she collapsed into a broken and betrayed heap on the floor. She gasped for the oxygen that should be filling her lungs. She felt as though she were drowning, crushed beneath a weight that didn't seem possible. That phone call had caused every bit of this anguish, every bit of the torment her body seemed so willing to allow her to feel.
He was alive-that is what Detective Collins had repeatedly tried to tell her-to convince her. She refused to believe it, she was still trying, but her heart was forcing its way through her disbelief. How? After all she had gone through, after all the heartache that had torn through every vein, feeling as if it could rip apart her very being. Ever since that day she had wanted him, and everything he had ever been to her. The love they had shared was so raw, it still burned in her chest to this day. They were a perfect match if ever there was one; nothing was forced between them, they were like two individuals melting into one. The way he could make everything she said or did seem as if it were a thing of exquisite beauty. His eyes, those deep pools of blue; the way they lit up and seemed to swallow her whole. He clung to every word she had ever spoken with so much intrigue. The way his arms wrapped around her, as if nothing in the world could break his barrier, her shelter, her safe haven. Sometimes, when he talked to her late at night, she would lay her head on his chest. Engulfed in the rise and fall of his breathing, she was riveted by the vibration that carried his voice of course, but especially, most of all, she was entranced by his heart. The drumming sound that kept the man she loved alive, until it didn't, until it stopped.
Two years ago she had sat through the memorial service in a fog caused by despair, and the knowledge of future once so bright, now stolen; along with the heartache that followed them both. A chapter in her life is all he had been, one she could never close. She wondered now if this was why she hadn't been able to move forward. The fact that this man-that she loved so deeply, had vowed her life to and been widowed by-was still alive what was keeping her from healing? Could it be true, could he possibly still be alive? "Sam" was all she could bring herself to whisper as she dissolved into tears.