MADRIGAL

Chapter 14

Jane didn't open her eyes at first. She was so weak and so tired, and the air was so cool and the bed was so soft, she didn't want to move. She wanted to stay here forever, still and quiet. She felt as if she was nothing and it felt good. Jane inhaled deep and slow the unscented air, and registered that a breathing mask covered her nose and mouth. Curiosity won over contentedness and her eyes eased open.

She understood that she was in a bed and that bed was surrounded by white curtains that rippled under an air-conditioned breeze. The pillow that cradled her head was so large it smothered her ears and blocked all peripheral vision. The ceiling was covered in decorative white tiles, dozens of ornate squares filled with flowers and flourishes. Everything was so pretty and clean. Everything felt nice.

Ernest's face hovered over hers. "Hey, there."

"Hey," she drawled.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good. Really, really good."

"Well, with all the pain killers you're on, I'm not surprised."

"Feel real good."

"Are you thirsty? Hungry? You haven't had solid food in days."

No food, but her mouth was really dry. It was always that one little thing that kept perfection at bay. She mimed tilting a cup. "Drink," her throat scratched out.

Ernest disappeared for a time, some shuffling noises, and the tip of a straw touched her lips. A few sips of iced water and everything was good again. Her skin was cool to the point of being numb. Thoughts eased into her mind and dissipated like smoke. She was empty of everything and free.

"I wanted to say thank you. I'm so sorry you were hurt in the process, but you saved a lot of lives."

His words felt wrong. She remembered different, bodies in cars, limbs misplaced, blood pooled everywhere. She winced from memory. "People died."

"A lot less than were supposed to. A lot more are alive because of you."

She remembered something unclear, a ghost of a recollection. "The child..."

"Is fine," he finished. "People jumped in the water to help. One said you handed him a baby; another went in to retrieve you. They had to revive you, and with your injuries, it was touch and go for a while, but you should be okay."

Their environment was too elegant to be a hospital. "Where are we?"

With a smiling mouth and saddened eyes, he said, "A splendid manor."

A new wave of lethargy washed over her and she relaxed back into her pillow. "We should stay here forever."

"You can't. You don't deserve this. You need to go back and live your life."

"I don't want to. I want to stay here with you."

"I'm fine. I will be. I wasn't able to see a future before, now I can. So many possibilities, but I don't see any with you in them, so I need you to go back." He reached in his pocket and withdrew some envelopes. "I need you to see the others. Give them a message from me."

***

The final death toll was sixty-two, less than in the foreseen Monument attack, and far less than there would have been had the nuke exploded. Weeks of unrelenting news coverage narrated a fictitious account of the warehouse raid. The infant, Brooke Frazier, was in fair health and was heralded as a miracle and a sign of hope from the tragedy. As the child of a single mother with no known relations and no clues as to an identifiable father, thousands lined up to adopt the orphan.