The wrong blood type. How did you get the wrong blood type? And how did it take this long to show up? I sat there, holding her hand. Willing her to wake up. The wrong blood type. She was going to die. They didn't have the right blood type on hand. They couldn't do a transplant and fix their mistake. Mickey had no chance. She was going to die. The best they could do was make sure it was painless. I felt numb. There was nothing I could do now. No money in the world could fix this. The only person that could fix this was God. And I was scared to ask for fear of rejection.
I stared at her face. It was so pale. So fragile. So tiny. So precious. So young. She had such a bright future. She had a family that loved her. She had a God that wanted to take care of her. Just ask, Bobb, I told myself, it can't hurt to ask. Yes. It could. I argued back, what if God says no. After everybody that lost loved ones because of me, isn't it only fair that I lose a loved one? Ruth had left. She couldn't handle it, she'd gone to pray. But I'd stayed here. I was not going to miss one last second of my girl's final minutes of life. I can't ask God to save her for me. He'd reject me for sure.
"Are you sure?" said a voice behind me. A small, male voice. I spun. There was a little boy in the corner of the room. He wasn't looking at me. He was staring at Mickey.
"Who are you? How did you get in here?" I asked.
He walked to the edge of the bed and stared at her face. Watching with me as she slowly died. I've seen death before, but this one was the hardest one to watch; yet the hardest to look away. How do people daily decide whether or not to be there when they lose all that is precious to them?
"Who are you?" I asked again.
He looked up at me, finally looking me in the eye with the most startlingly blue eyes, "Jeffery Salome."
I slid my chair closer to the wall, shaking my head as I went. He just stared at me, with those eyes. I've seen those eyes. I've memorized the intense look they were now giving me that they'd just been giving my daughter. Like he was seeing beneath the surface. Seeing into my soul. They were afraid. Just like last time I'd looked into eyes like these.
"No." I shook my head again, "How did you get here?" my voice rose an octave. There was no way he was her son. He couldn't be. She wasn't old enough to have a boy that old.
"God sent me." He said simply. Like maybe God sent little boys across states all by themselves after their mothers were murdered.
"Are." I stopped and swallowed, "Are you an angel?" I asked.
"No." he smiled, some of his fear fading from his eyes with that smile, "Just a messenger."
"Where's your Dad?"
His smile faltered and he looked back at my daughter. Finally he said, "They're in heaven."
"You have more than one?" I realized the answer as he said it.
"God is my Daddy and He's with my Daddy." He whispered. A tear streaked down his face and landed on Mikayla's hand.
I was quiet. I wanted to apologize, but somehow that wasn't enough to make it right.
"Bobb," he finally broke the silence.
"How do you know my name?"
He smiled again, "God speaks to me." He paused again, "Bobb. There's another step. It doesn't end here. Lucifer is at work and I need your help."
Lucifer. The devil. I shivered as I remembered my dream from earlier tonight, "She's dying." I don't know why I said it, but I did, "She's dying, Jeff. And I can't do anything to stop it." Tears streamed down my face and I began to sob silently, uncontrollably.
"I know." He whispered in a tiny voice that was barely audible, "But I can."
I looked at him. His face was covered in his own tear tracks, yet he stood tall and strong. Unfaltering. Everything I wish I could be was compacted in this one tiny, little boy.
"Bobb, go to the police. Tell them what you've done. Tell them you were the robber and you killed those people. You know it's what God would want...and I will help Mickey."
"How can you help her?"
There was a pause as he smiled a little smile, "She's my blood type." He finally whispered.
I just sat there. I knew he was right. I was forgiven by God, but I still needed to turn myself in.
"Just..." but I didn't know how to end that sentence, "Just let me see her get well."
He was quiet, and I thought he was going to refuse, "After they give her the blood and you've seen her you need to go straight to the police office." I nodded, "No go get the doctor." He was young, but he was smart, and he spoke with God's authority. I left, when I looked in the door he was holding her hand and stroking it with his thumb, tears falling down his face as he stared at hers.
I went to Wendy and brought her up to him. I'm not sure how he did it but he talked them into taking his blood without parental authority and giving it to Mickey.
While they were doing the transplant, I went into his room to see him. The last time I would see him.
I stood outside the cracked door, wondering if it was all right if I came in, but then I saw his hand wave and I opened the door.
"They'll be done soon. You must go to the police then Bobb. Lucifer will just keep coming for you till you do. It's another way of his to steal you from God and by going to jail you might be able to protect your little girl. But it's more because it's the right thing to do. It's what she'd want you to do."
"I will. I promise."
"Bobb." He said as I put my hand on the door, "Those people can go home if you do this...those people that you saw...the ones you thought had died."
I looked at him. "How?"
He shrugged, "God said they could."
It was quiet for a few minutes while I let that sink in, "Thank you." I finally told him.
"God has big plans for her." He told me, "And it was part of his plan for me."
"Well, thank you. You're the only one who knows how much this means to me."
"You're welcome." I heard him whisper as I left the room.
