Chapter 4: Hope Flickers, Darkness Falls

I followed him, floating all the way back to the bridge.

He collapsed next to my body, breathless, clutching his side. The world felt impossibly big and cold.

“Dad, I’m sorry.”

He whispered it, voice thick with guilt. “I tried. I really tried.”

He stared at my body lying under the bridge, eyes suddenly filling with tears, fat drops rolling down his cheeks.

He pressed his forehead to my chest, sobbing openly. “Mason’s so useless. I couldn’t protect you, and I let the bad guys trick me.”

He clutched his shirt, crying into my body. By accident, he pulled a lighter from his pocket.

His fingers closed around the cold metal. He blinked, remembering where he’d gotten it.

He paused. He’d taken it from the store because the carts were too full, so he’d just stuffed it in his pocket.

He turned it over in his hands, an idea forming.

His eyes lit up with hope. “Dad, are you cold?”

“I’ll make you a little stove so you won’t be cold.”

He gathered some dry branches from near the bridge.

He crawled around, searching every nook for anything that would burn. His hands were red and raw by the time he finished.

With a flick, a small flame sprang up. The dark tunnel was suddenly bright, and even my grayish face seemed to come alive in the firelight.

The flickering light painted the walls with dancing shadows. For a moment, the world felt almost safe.

The flame lit up my son’s tear-streaked face, and suddenly he cheered up.

He wiped his nose, forcing a smile. “See, Dad? It’s warm now. Just like home.”

Muttering to himself, “Dad, I want this white horse!”

His eyes sparkled with imagination. “Wow, Dad, the carousel is so pretty! Are those lights really stars?”

He spun around, arms outstretched, lost in the memory of better days.

“Come on, Dad, chase me!”

He giggled, glancing over his shoulder, waiting for me to play along.

Soon he lifted his chin. “I’ll tell you a secret: you’ll never catch me, because I’ve hidden so many little stars in my shoes!”

He tapped his sneakers, grinning. The lights blinked, casting tiny stars on the wet concrete.

I floated above, my heart twisting in agony.

I wanted to reach out, to hold him, but all I could do was watch. The pain was unbearable.

Those light-up sneakers he wore—I’d spent half a month’s salary on them for his birthday. He treasured them, cleaned them every day. But now, after all his running around, the toes had split wide open, rainwater flooding in. He had to take them off, pour out the water, and put them back on.

He wiggled his toes, shivering. But he didn’t complain. He just smiled, trying to be brave for me.

Above the bridge, a leftover drop of rain fell, landing right on the flame.

The fire sputtered, then died. The darkness rushed back in, swallowing us whole.

Darkness swallowed the tunnel again. My son seemed to snap out of a dream.

He blinked, confused, as if waking from a deep sleep. “Huh? What happened?”

“How could this be?!”

He shook the lighter, panic rising. “No, no, not now!”

He anxiously clutched the lighter, trying again and again until finally, the flame sputtered back to life.

His hands shook, but he managed to coax a tiny spark. Relief washed over his face.

This time, the flame lit a happy, warm scene in his head.

His eyes glazed over, lost in memory. “Mom!”

His eyes lit up. “Mom, the sweater is beautiful! Is it for me?”

He hugged himself, pretending to slip on an imaginary sweater. “It fits! Just like the ones in the store! Mom, you’re amazing!”

“And look at the table—so much food! Roast chicken, grilled cheese, blueberry ice cream…”

He licked his lips, imagining the feast. “All of Mason’s favorites!”

His small hands gestured excitedly in the air. “Here, Dad, Mom made you a drumstick!”

He mimed handing me a piece of chicken, eyes shining with joy.

My heart ached so badly I could barely breathe.

I wanted to tell him it was okay, that he didn’t have to pretend. But I couldn’t speak. I could only watch.

In reality, he’d given me all his clothes, left with only a thin T-shirt. The last meal Savannah had made for him was three years ago. And in front of him now was just a cold, gray wall…

He hugged his knees, shivering, but his smile never faltered. He clung to hope, even as the world turned its back on him.

But in this moment, even these fleeting memories became heartbreakingly sweet in his mind.

He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the fire and his imagination carry him away.

The flame went out again. This time, no matter how hard he tried, the lighter wouldn’t spark.

His hands grew numb, but he kept trying, refusing to give up.

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

His voice was small, afraid. “No! Don’t!”

He panicked, about to smash the lighter, when a flash of light streaked across the night sky.

He froze, staring up at the stars. “Ah! A star fell!”

He stared, poking his head out to look at the night beyond the bridge.

The sky was clear for a moment, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement.

He remembered what I’d told him: “When a star falls, it means someone’s going home.”

He repeated my words, voice trembling with hope and fear.

“Dad, are you going home now?”

He reached for my hand, squeezing it tight. I watched, powerless, wishing I could answer.

My spirit hovered above as I watched him fold my bruised, cold fingers over one another, pretending I was stroking his cheek.

He closed his eyes, smiling through tears. “Dad, your hands are so big and warm. With you holding me, I’m not afraid of anything!”

He nuzzled into my palm, as if I could still protect him from the world.

Moonlight shone on his dirty little face, and suddenly I felt a sense of dread.

A chill ran through me. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

All night, something had been off about him.

I floated in front of him, circling, and the more I looked, the more terrified I became.

His breathing was shallow, his skin pale. I tried to shout, but my voice was just a whisper in the wind.

His pupils were dilating, white foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

I saw the telltale signs, panic rising in my chest. He was slipping away.

When I saw his wrist, my spirit started to shake.

The bite mark was angry and red, swelling by the minute. My heart dropped into my stomach.

That soft, pale hand had a gaping wound from the dog’s bite.

The teeth marks were deep, oozing blood. I remembered the Doberman, the way it lunged.

All the symptoms together meant…

Rabies!

The word echoed in my mind, cold and final. There was nothing I could do.

Rage, grief, and despair crashed over me. In the void, I fell to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

I screamed at the sky, cursing fate, cursing myself. Why him? Why now?

What did I do wrong?

I replayed every moment, every choice, searching for an answer. But there was none.

Heaven took my life—why couldn’t it spare my six-year-old son?!

It wasn’t fair. He deserved better. He deserved the world.

“Dad, can I sing you a song?”

His voice was barely a whisper, weak but determined.

“If I sing, you’ll sleep well. When you wake up, you won’t hurt anymore.”

He nestled into my side, closing his eyes, the world fading away.

He snuggled into my arms, the stench of decay thick, but he nuzzled my chest contentedly.

He didn’t care about the smell, the cold, the pain. He just wanted to be close to me.

“Rock-a-bye, baby, under the bridge—Grandma says I’m a good kid.”

He hummed softly, voice growing fainter with each verse.

He giggled, pressing his cheek to mine. “When you become a star and I become the wind, I’ll blow to your ear every day and sing to you.”

He closed his eyes, breathing slowing, the darkness closing in.

Endless darkness swallowed him up, but he only stretched, curling up on my chest in a new position.

He looked peaceful, almost happy, as if he were drifting into a dream.

In that instant, tears poured from my spirit like rain.

I wept for him, for me, for everything we’d lost.