Memento Mori

The doctor read aloud: The RNA extracted from the formalin-fixed brain tissue identified a viral variant in the nucleotide sequence-

“Please,” Ann interrupted. “What is it?”

He looked at the mother of his eight-year-old patient with compassion evident in his heavy-lidded young eyes and shook his head. “It's rabies,” he said after a exhalation of breath, and watched as she hunched forward and brought one hand to her mouth while gripping the metal arm of the chair with the other.

Rabies?

Several weeks after her daughter returned from a happy vacation at her best friend's summer  house in the mountains, she complained of pain in the knuckles on her left hand. Ann had not wanted to let Janie go, but the other girl's family promised to take very good care of the children. Since Ann's childhood summers had meant working on the family farm and her adult summers as a single parent now meant working long hours in a hot city, she pushed aside her worries and agreed to let her daughter spend the two weeks with them. Janie had shouted “Yessss!” and hugged her before running to phone her friend with the good news. Ann smiled as she heard Janie laughing and discussing possible activities. Apparently swimming and telling ghost stories were part of “Plan Fun.”

Rabies?

The throb in Janie's hand progressed to acute pain and infection throughout her body and later, violent movements, uncontrolled excitement, and depression. Alone at home, Ann lay awake night after night while Janie's doctors treated one possible diagnosis after another. Hopeful one moment, despairing in the next when the day's remedies proved false.

“You will need post exposure prophylaxis immediately,” the doctor said, and walked over to help her get up from the chair.  “But...there is nothing we can do to stop the disease for her. I am so very sorry.”

Ann stood and brushed her hands against her silk skirt, smoothing down the pleats. She looked at the doctor's hand stretching to touch her shoulder and turned away. “I know it's not a diagnosis anyone wants to hear,” he said as he lowered his hand and tapped the file on his desk.

“Never.” Ann walked out into the hall and left the door open behind her.

“Goodbye, Mommy!” Janie said all those weeks ago as she ran to the car and climbed in the backseat where her friend waited. She looked out the window and waved. “Don't be sad. I'll bring you back a present. I'm not going away forever, you know,” and blew a kiss to her mother, who put out her right hand in a pantomime of catching and rubbing it against her cheek. 

Rabies.

Ann now leaned her forehead against the door to Janie's hospital room, where she lay in a coma, and did not wipe her eyes before she went to the nurse's station to receive the first in a series of injections.

Rufus Bent

Leaves sprouted from his fingers and his feet had taken root to the ground when he woke up in his recliner.  However, Rufus Bent was not alarmed. Though his family argued that he was too old and feeble to live alone anymore, he always knew he would stay on the land that once belonged to his granddaddy.
 
“Of course, never thought it'd be quite this way,” he said as he looked down at his trunk and gnarled knees.
 
The family was in the kitchen, but Rufus did not call out to them. When they left him to nap earlier, he expected they would pass the time arguing. From what he could hear, they still were.
 
“I don't care what Daddy says; he's going to that home! It's a good place. He won't get better care.” This from his son.
 
Rufus laughed. I ain't going nowhere now, he thought as he moved the branch that was his right arm.
 
He had already refused his daughter's offer to live with her in the city. He told her he wanted to go to sleep at night hearing the familiar and beloved sounds of the backwoods, not the blasts and clatter of urban life which never welcomed him when he visited those few times.
  
“Maybe we can find someone else to come and stay with Daddy,” she now said to her brother. “Someone who doesn't know him.”
  
Don't worry, baby angel. Won't be long now. I won't need a nurse. Maybe a gardener? He cackled, as happy as he could be under the circumstances.
  
A few minutes passed before his children walked into the room. Though he could no longer see them, he heard their gasps and cries.
  
“I don't believe this,” his son said. “He's gone.” 
  
No, I'm here, son, right where I belong. Rufus struggled to say more. Can you hear me? You'll always find me here.
  
There was no more he could do for them. As his last thoughts faded along with his voice, he hoped they would make common sense arrangements.
  
While his sister cried and dialed the phone, her brother reached over and closed his father's eyes.
  
“He looks so peaceful. Like he's asleep,” he whispered.
  
He pulled the blanket from the sofa and covered his father's body. His daddy always hated to be cold.
  
*  *  *
  
Note: The first line comes from a #storystarters prompt.

Dawning

She did not have identification on her, so police made a public appeal for help. Video from a nearby traffic camera showed a slight woman jogging across the street in the shadowy dawn. Quick moments later, a tractor trailer sped through the 30 mile an hour spot.

Officers believed the truck driver did not realize he had struck and killed someone.

“I always carry my ID now. Ever since that jogger was hit by the bus last month, I...well, just in case, ya know?” This from a  bystander speaking to the local media. Other residents roused from slumber by the commotion came outside hoping to be on the morning news programs. They shook their heads and complained that they just knew this would happen again.

“We've demanded the city install a traffic light at this intersection,” one woman said. “But they ignore us.”

The police did not have much information to pass along to television viewers. Just a description of  a white female approximately in her thirties, wearing dark exercise clothes, brightly colored sneakers with violet laces, and three crystal filigree bracelets on her right arm.

Apparently, she was listening to music as she ran—the earphones a possible explanation of why she may not have heard the vehicle turning onto her path.

Across town, a woman drinking a last cup of coffee before leaving for the office saw the televised appeal for any information, and gasped as she thought she recognized the jewelry displayed on camera. It reminded her of the ones her work colleague wore every day.

Half an hour later, news readers reported that, “Police have identified the victim but are withholding her name until the family is notified.”

*  *  *

The officers parked the cruiser in front of a darkened house a few blocks from the site of the accident. One of them checked the address and nodded to his partner. They walked the short path to the door, rang the bell, and waited.

Inside the house, a man was turning on the kitchen light and opening the back door to let out the dog  when he heard the doorbell — followed by sharp knocking — at the front of the house. He looked at the shelf under the clock and saw his wife's keys hanging on its special hook. She's locked herself out again, he thought.

“Okay, be right there!” he called out when the bell buzzed once more. He walked to the hall.

“Is mommy back?” The little boy stood yawning at the top of the stairs on the second floor.

“Yes,” his dad said. “Come down and give her a good morning kiss.”

He turned and opened the door.

Frater

You can only refuse to believe in something until you see it with your own eyes. Henry now believed in ghosts.

While waiting for the fraternity brothers to come downstairs for dinner, he walked into the lounge and saw a young man blowing chilled breath onto three of the mullioned window panes and tracing letters in the condensation.

“Who are you?” Henry asked. “You must know there's an investigation. We're closed.”

The young man stilled his movements and turned.

“You!” Henry said, heart thumping.

Thomas smirked, tilting his head to one side. “Me,” he agreed.

“You're supposed to be dead.”

“How very interesting,” Thomas rolled his eyes. “Anyone would think I was unaware of this.”

Several days ago, “Two Die During Rush Week” was one of the many headlines in the local newspapers. Pictures revealed handsome young men with athletic builds and rakish smiles. When it happened, it was Hell Night, and Thomas stood with Henry and another freshman awaiting further instructions.

They endured several harsh antics and pranks, and only one thing needed to be done before these pledges discovered if the fraternity brothers extended a hand in bonding and unity or goodbye. The last test involved drinking lots of water quickly. The ones who drank the most within the half hour were assured a place in the house.

The autopsy report concluded death from water intoxication and its complications. Doctors were called too late and could not reverse the cellular damage from severe brain tissue swelling.

“What do you want?” Henry asked.

Thomas walked to the sofa and tapped his fingers along the frayed armrest where his head had rested that evening as he lay dying.

“It's you who needs to remember something,” he said.

“Me? You're crazy. Or I am, if I'm standing here talking to you.”

Thomas shook his head and returned to the window. He touched the last pane.

“I'll see you later, Henry.”

“What? No! Why would you haunt me? Didn't I try to call the police, when the others wanted to wait until morning to see if things got better?”

Thomas laughed. “You could not do very much.”

“I tried to help!” Henry insisted. "But no one would listen to me." He took a calming breath, trying to relax his features, trying to look less like a frightened boy. Thomas pointed to the window, then looked at him over his shoulder.

“Just returning the favor,” he said, then winked and dispersed into curling grey wisp that fogged the fourth pane and outlined a last word.

You Are Dead Too



[Edited to add few lines to clear up confusion for several readers]

The Woods

Billy Parker is famous tonight. And not just because his shots at the state police helicopter ruptured the fuel tank and forced an emergency landing, though that feat makes him mighty proud. His daddy tried to teach him to hunt deer, but it was always Billy's four brothers who brought down the bucks at the end of the day.  

Lookie now, daddy, he thought as he stopped to rest against a tree in the Virginia woods, hands gripping the high powered rifle, listening intently. I finally bagged me something big.

What brings Billy notoriety this cold winter evening are the five bodies back at the house.

It was Wade from the gas station who found them earlier when he came by for their weekly cards and booze. He ran out to the yard, crying and spewing his dinner, before he drove to the neighboring farm for help. When Sheriff Walker arrived, Wade grabbed his arm and told him the Parkers are dead except Billy because “his body ain't lying in there.” The Sheriff nodded.

The other teenagers down at the Piggly Wiggly once told him, “Billy's not been right in the head since his mama passed.” Since then he always thought something awful would happen. There were too many nights he was called in to stop the drunken beatings. Yes, he worried about the boy.

The manhunt tracked Billy to his present location, a rural area thick with trees that gave way to large clearings. He knew he had a final decision to make since he could hear the hounds and see flashes of light. It was harder before, when the jumbled voices in his head cajoled too fast and too loud, and were of no help. But a few minutes ago, they ceased their shouts and whispered their goodbyes.

They'll come back, dammit, he said out loud. They always do.

His pursuers arrived. Billy stood up and walked away from the tree in calm and unavoidable surrender.

Saying Goodbye to Zoey

I was not a child who grew up with dogs or cats in my home. This was not a hardship for me since there were many friends in my New York City neighborhood that had pets and I could always go to their places and play with Scottie or Tiny or Killer.

My sister and I were allowed goldfish. But the lack of cuddle ability made them unsatisfactory. Also, the fish liked to fool us by floating belly up to the top of the tank and playing dead. It seemed to us they liked to do this too many times to count. We were not amused.

I grew up and never felt the want for a dog or cat. If I were honest, I would admit that if I did want a pet at any time, it would probably be a cat. But a scant 14 years ago I was introduced to a tiny black and white Jack Russell terrier. She came to live with us.

I did not want her at first. My family did.
 
Zoey. It’s Greek for life.

Oh, we’re not Greek. It just seemed like the perfect name for her.

She brought life and love and wonder to the family for every one of those 14 years since she walked over the threshold of our house.

A few weeks ago we learned that Zoey had cancer in her lungs and there was no hope for recuperation.

She was suffering.

This morning we could see she was also failing.

We wanted her to have peace.

I would like to say that I was very brave and accompanied family members to the vet for the final visit.

I can’t say that. I was a coward.

I did say goodbye to her before she left with the others and thanked her for being the best little dog ever. I also apologized for not being very welcoming when she first arrived in my life. She looked at me with glazed eyes that seemed to say, “Oh that? Pshaw! I knew I would get you to love me.”

I received a message from the family. They have left the vet’s office.

It’s over.

It was peaceful.