Charon, III-IV

III.

The sun was setting and the police boats had been searching for the three missing boys since four AM, just about an hour after they had foolishly jumped in the river. It had been a long day; they were all tired and none of them wanted to give up hope yet, but there wasn’t much they could do at night. Many of the volunteers were headed home while only two teams would stay to patrol the immediate area around black bridge.

The police and fire department had made a search pattern that spanned ten miles down river with parties on boats combing the waters and K9 units searching the beaches that lined it. None of the boys had returned home, nor had any trace of them been found. The media had arrived earlier that day to cover the story. At this point in time everyone had to assumed the worst. Tomorrow the chief would have to call in for divers to check the area around the bridge if the current slowed, but with the rain the past week, it didn’t seem likely till at least the day after.

Officer John Hardy was one of the first officers on the scene; in fact, he had been one of the police chasing the teenagers the night before. He and his black partner, Malcolm Mitchells, had received the call of possible gang activity in the area just before three AM. They and another unit on the opposite side of the river responded. Using their radios, both units communicated to each other and came up with a plan to flush the delinquents across the bridge, cornering them in the center. The teenagers had taken the bait, but the plan didn’t work as perfectly as they hoped and no one could’ve expected what happened next.

They were in view of the boys when they jumped off. One of them had been too frightened to go along and was yelling at them to stop. The three boys jumped before the officers could get their handguns out and order them away from the ledge. Officers Hardy and Mitchells moved in, guns raised.

“Put your hands up!” Officer Mitchells ordered, and the boy complied.

“Slowly walk away from the edge and remove your backpack. Throw it this way. Make no sudden movements!” He obeyed. Officer Hardy moved up, frisked the boy, and handcuffed him. Mitchells bent down to search through the boy's backpack. Inside he found several cans of spray paint as well as a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, his cell phone, and a couple schoolbooks. Judging by the course of study the suspect was a senior in high school. Inside one of the small pockets was a wallet with ten dollars and a library card that identified him as Peter Skylar.

“Do you see the others?” Malcolm asked. John peeked over the ledge shining the flashlight at the water. He could see from the moonlight that the suspects hadn’t resurfaced.

“Negative.”

“Shit, we have to call this in.” Malcolm exclaimed.

“What happened?” One of the other officers asked as they arrived on the scene. He was a bit out of shape, sweating and breathing heavily. His partner was the exact opposite, nothing but skin and bones. John didn’t know either of them because they were from another precinct. Officer Mitchells filled them in on what had happened. They radioed dispatch and explained the situation. The boy had sat down crossed legged on the ground. He was visibly shaken and rocked back and forth, tears streaming down his face. John knelt down next to him.

“Is your name Peter?” John asked, to which the teenager nodded.

“How many of your friends were there and what were their names?”

“They’re dead. I told them not to jump and they didn’t listen. There’s nothing that can save them now. You’ll never even find the bodies.” The boy said through sobs. He kept chanting they were dead so John tried to calm him down with promises that the police would find his friends and they would be okay, but to no avail. Eventually, after a few minutes, he calmed down and gave Officer Hardy three names and accurate descriptions. Two black males, one with cornrows named Mike Ruffio, and one with a shaved head by the name of Jerome Richards. There was also a heavyset Hispanic involved with a buzz cut who went by the name Jose Diaz. After the Skylar boy gave them all the details he could remember about the night, also admitting that he had been drinking underage and sprayed graffiti on the bridge, Peter was escorted by the officers back to the patrol car where he would be taken to headquarters.

Officer Hardy had noticed the smell of marijuana on the boy’s breath but neglected to ask about it because the boy had cooperated and knew the boy was in enough trouble as it was. He would most likely only walk away with a few misdemeanor charges. John could tell he was a good kid just hanging out with the wrong crowd. Out of the four teenagers he was the only one without a criminal record. When they had gotten back to the car, the fire brigade had just shown up.

“Do you mind taking him in and filling the report out by yourself? I’m going to help with search for the others.” John asked M&M after they had taken the cuffs off and locked Peter in the backseat.

“No problem. Just remember to call Jill and let her know.” M&M said.

“Will do, last thing I want is her worried about me and calling up the station again.” John said through a tired smile. He waved as the car drove away towards the city and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to call his wife. That was nearly fifteen hours ago and John Hardy had been up for close to twenty-four hours. Needless to say he was beat tired. Luckily he had the next two days off and could catch up on the sleep, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t sleep that well.

Officer Hardy felt overcome by guilt. He knew that the boys were most likely dead at this point, their bodies under the water somewhere. He couldn’t help but feel responsible. If we hadn’t responded to the call, the boys would still be alive. But he couldn’t turn back time. He had to live with their decision.

He had scoured the beaches, tagging along with the K9 units and hitched a ride with a boat back up river after the search was called off till tomorrow because it was getting dark. The boat rocked back and forth as it moved full throttle against the current. They were nearly back to the bridge when he saw something splashing in the river and told the driver to go towards it. He could see that it was a person and the fast moving water was pulling them under. Officer Hardy dove in without thinking, still in his uniform. The cold water woke him up instantly.

He grabbed onto the person, lifting them to the surface. Someone on the boat threw him a flotation device that was tied to a rope and they hauled him back and they were both helped aboard. John took a long look at the African American teenager; his head was shaved and his chest was bare. There was a deep cut wrapping around his wrist all the way up to his elbow. It looked as if the skin had been torn from his arm. There was no doubt it was Jerome Richards; he had seen the photograph that the search party was given earlier that day. How’s this possible?We already covered this area hours ago.

John’s lifeguard training from when he was younger kicked in. The boy wasn’t breathing and there was no pulse, but his body was still warm, so John attempted CPR. He tilted the teenager’s chin back and blew down his windpipe then pumped his chest with his hands, trying to get the boy's heart to start again. After a few minutes switching back and forth, John was about to give up when Jerome suddenly lurched forward, coughing water everywhere as he sat up. Everyone on the boat clapped and cheered triumphantly. John wrapped a blanket around the shivering boy. Jerome’s eyes passed from face to face as if he didn’t know where he was. There had been an ambulance by the bridge all day and they radioed it to meet them at the beach with a stretcher.

Jerome Richards was rushed off to St. Luke’s Hospital where he was put into intensive care for hypothermia, despite the warmth of his body. Officer Hardy tagged along in the ambulance and was checked out by one of the paramedics, but John said he was fine and just needed to rest. He called his wife to meet him at the hospital to pick him up. The boy had slipped back into unconsciousness soon after Officer Hardy had resuscitated him and John had some questions for him, but they would have to wait. Jill was there when the ambulance arrived. She helped John into the car and he told her what happened in detail.

“It’s a miracle,” She said.

“I don’t believe in miracles, but I know that’s how the media’s going to portray it. I could see in his eyes he went through something terrible, and the cut on his arm was unlike any wound I had ever seen.” John said as he rubbed his eyes. “I just want to get home, take a hot shower, and get to sleep.”

The hot steamy water always cleared his head and relaxed him. His wife was making him something to eat, but he was already asleep in bed when she walked in the room. He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow. She stood there awhile not wanting to wake him up. Jill was happy he was home. She often got worried about him. John was a good man, but his job was dangerous. She loved him all the same, though, and knew she would keep worrying until the day he retired. She put the sandwich on the nightstand with a glass of water and kissed her husband on his forehead as he began to snore. She left him to sleep, which he did till noon the next day.

IV.

Jerome heard a beeping and he slowly opened his eyes to a near perfectly white room. Is this heaven? The sound was coming from a heart monitor by the bed that helped him realize his surrounding. He was in the hospital. His mind was fuzzy, but it all started coming back to him in bits and pieces. First he had jumped off the bridge and been transported into another dimension. He remembered Jose being killed by the thorny grass, killing one of the hideous reapers just before Mike had lost his soul to one, and looking upon the monstrous form of Cerberus. The one thing Jerome remembered the most was the eight ball eye in the sky. It was burned into his mind as if by a hot iron brand.

How the hell did I get here? The last thing he remembered was falling through the air and into the whirlpool, sure that it was his death. The water pulled him under despite all his efforts. The next thing he could recollect was waking up on the deck of a small boat, gasping for air, and surrounded by police clapping. It must’ve been a nightmare. Something my unconscious mind made up when I nearly drowned.

The room had only one bed and even though the shades on the windows were drawn, it was clearly the middle of the night. Jerome’s throat was dry and parched. He pressed the call button for the nurse nearby his bed and waited. After several minutes and no nurse, he pressed it again vigorously. No response. Damn thing’s broken.

He slowly got up and stood on shaky legs. He unclipped the heart monitor wire from his finger and there was an IV tube in his arm, so he dragged the sack along, which was on a trolley with wheels. The door was heavier than it looked but he got it open.

“Hello!” Jerome’s raspy voice echoed down the empty corridor. The doors to all the other rooms were open to empty beds. There was a desk with a phone, fax machine, and computer in front of the elevators halfway down. It was eerily quiet. The elevator activated, making him jump, and he watched the dial as it reached his floor. The door dinged and a body fell out onto the floor with a loud splat. Jerome backed away from the bloody mess of a person on the floor before he realized who it was.

It was Jose. He was covered from head to toe in cuts that wrapped around almost every inch of his body. His clothes had been torn off and it was astounding that Jerome could even recognize him. As he stood there transfixed by the horrible sight, Jose began to crawl closer, leaving bloody streaks across the linoleum floor. He looked up into Jerome’s eyes but they were white and dead, but the pupils were black, like the reapers. He was no longer human; a shade of his former self.

“You left us behind…” Jose said through a mouth full of blood.

“I’m sorry I had no choice.” Jerome pleaded.

“You should’ve died like the rest of us.” Mike whispered as he stepped out of the shadows of the elevator. His skin was stretched taunt against his skull. His lips peeled back showing his teeth; it made him look as if he were smiling sinisterly. The skin was dry and cracked in places showing the bone underneath, his one cheekbone was even protruding from the skin. The eyes were the same white with a prick of black for the pupils. The only distinction that made Jerome realize that this was once his friend was the cornrows and the gold plated incisor that glinted in the dim light.

“We just came to visit and wish you well.”

“Sorry if we forgot flowers.” Jose said and they both began to chuckle. Jerome turned around and tried to run but he tripped over the IV cart and fell onto the tile floor, the tube ripping out of his arm. He crawled to the wall and got up slowly bracing himself against the nearest doorway. As he glanced inside he saw someone on the bed that had been empty seconds earlier.

The thing was chained down to the bed, screaming silently in terror and pain. It was a corpse like his friends that looked like a pregnant woman. Her hair was falling out in chunks and her belly writhed and contorted as if some foul creature was trying to get out. She thrashed against the chains trying to get free, but was indefinitely restrained. Her belly suddenly burst with a wet, ripping sound, and tentacles appeared out of the gory hole in her abdomen.

Jerome wasn’t going to wait and see what the tentacles belonged to and hurried down the hallway as fast as he could. In most of the rooms he passed there were corpses in the beds that were empty before. Some were chained down, some weren’t. The corpses that weren’t slowly began to get up and follow him out into the hallway. He had hoped there would be a stairwell at the end of the hall but there wasn’t anything but a window. There was nothing he could do—there were just too many. Jerome looked out of the window in desperation hoping he might survive the fall, but when he looked out, there was no ground, just a black, endless pit, and in the sky where the moon should’ve been was the eye. It stared at him making his mouth go dry and break in a cold sweat that instantly turned to steam in the wicked green light.

The corpses were only feet away, Mike and Jose leading the parade of dead. He could see at least one other hellish creature with them that was a mass of tentacles the size of a man and mimicked human movement. Jerome put his back against the window as he was pulled into the crowd of corpses. He curled into a ball and began to scream as fingers and tentacles tore away at his apron and his flesh.

“Don’t worry Romeo. It’ll all be over soon.” Mike hissed.

“Jerome! Wake up!” came a voice from the void.

It was his mother’s voice. He tried to tear away from the hands holding him down and forced his eyes to open expecting to be surrounded by ghouls. Instead he saw two nurses and a doctor holding him down. His mother was by his bedside along with his younger sister. He blinked several times in disbelief and realized he was still screaming. Jerome took several deep breaths and calmed down. They let go of his arms and legs and one of the nurses reinserted the IV tube back into his arm.

“You gave us quite a scare there, Mr. Richards,” the doctor said. Her voice was soft like silk and very soothing, just like her figure.

“We were about to give you a sedative so you wouldn’t hurt yourself. Thankfully it didn’t come to that.”

“I’m sorry. I must’ve had a nightmare.”

“Oh, it's no big deal, really. Can I get you anything?”

“A glass of water would be nice, thank you.” The doctor exited and he turned to his mother. He could tell she had been crying but there was a smile on her face now. His sister looked depressed but not overly distraught like his mother and he could smell the scent of nail polish in the air. She must’ve done them while they were waiting for him to wake up.

“What time is it?”

“Its ten o'clock in the morning.”

“How long was I out?”

“Since they brought you in last night.”

“Are Mike and Jose okay?” His mother was silent for some time after the question, not knowing how to answer.

“They haven’t found them yet. We all have to assume the worst at this point,” she said, her eyes filling up with tears again.

“But if it was only last night, they might still be alright.”

“That was almost two days ago, Jerome. You were missing for over ten hours. The police searched up and down the river all day and found nothing. Then on the way back they spotted you in the water by the bridge and pulled you out. It’s a miracle that you were still alive. I told you to stay away from those boys. They were nothing but trouble. You were on your way to becoming just like your father, living the rest of his adult life behind bars. Thank God you’re alright,” she said, tears flowing freely now.

At that instant, the doctor came back in with a glass of water. Jerome swallowed it in three long gulps. It felt good on his dry tongue and the cottonmouth feeling was starting to go away. She addressed herself as Dr. Elizabeth and told him if he needed anything else just to push the button by his bed. She informed him briefly of his condition as well as their plans to keep him overnight for observation, but he barely paid any attention to what she said or even noticed her departure. His mind was still reeling; he didn’t know what was reality anymore. Was it all a dream? He was vaguely aware that his mother was holding his hand, going on about how his criminal behavior was tearing their family apart. He looked at his arm—it was bandaged but some blood had seeped through and he could see the outline of the wound. Jerome was starting to put the pieces together in his mind. The cut on my arm, the amount of time that lapsed between when I jumped and when I was found—it all fits together. It was real. Suddenly his head was spinning.

“Mom, I’m gonna close my eyes for a bit.”

“Okay honey, you need your rest. I understand.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t, baby. I’ll be right here when you wake up,” She leaned over and kissed him on his forehead and he gave a wane smile as his eyelids dropped. The lightheadedness slowly faded and he drifted off to a restless sleep plagued with nightmares.

A police officer came by to get a statement from him later in the afternoon about the events that had transpired the other night. He was black and asked Jerome to call him by his nickname M&M. Jerome instantly liked him; the officer had obviously grown up on the streets. He told him everything except neglecting to mention the pot and the thing about being transported to another dimension. He didn’t want them to lock him up in an insane asylum.

“So you don’t remember anything at all after you jumped into the river? There’s quite a bit of a time lapse from when you jumped and when you were rescued.”

“That’s all. I vaguely remember being on a police boat, but other than that, those few hours are missing. I don’t know what happened.” The police officer didn’t seem satisfied with his answers but shrugged and closed his notebook anyway.

“Thanks for the statement, and thank you, ma’am, for letting us speak to your son.”

“It was no problem, officer. Please feel free to come by if you have any more questions.” The officer nodded.

“There’s one more thing. My partner is just outside. He was the one who pulled Jerome out of the water and he wanted to see how the boy was doing if that’s alright with you.”

“Send him in, by all means, he deserves our thanks.” The officer exited and the man who walked in after Jerome vaguely remembered from the boat. He wasn’t in uniform but wore a button up short sleeve shirt and jeans. His face had a shadow of a beard as if he hadn’t shaven in a couple days and introduced himself as Jonathan Hardy. They talked briefly and it seemed he had some of the same questions as the other officer to which Jerome gave the same answers.

“Well thank you for having me, I must be going. I’m happy your condition has improved, but one last thing. That cut on your arm. How did you come about it?”

“I don’t know. It must’ve got caught on a root or something in the river.” Jerome explained.

“Well that’s odd. I could’ve sworn that your shirt was wrapped around it when I pulled you out. I thought maybe something happened before we arrived at the scene.” Jerome was taken aback. No one had asked about the cut up until now and the officer had caught him in the lie. John reached over and shook Jerome’s hand and he had the feeling that they would somehow cross paths again.

“Thank you officer, for saving my foolhardy son,” Jerome’s mother said as he was leaving.

“I was only doing my job, ma’am,” John said as he nodded towards Jerome, who smiled wanly and curtly returned the nod.

After visiting hours were over and his mother and sister went home, Jerome watched the small television that was on the wall. There were only a few channels and he was watching cartoons, but became bored quickly and changed it to the news. Coincidentally, they were talking about him and his amazing story. They had dubbed it “The Miracle of Black Bridge.” Miracle? If they only knew the truth, maybe they would reserve their judgment, he thought as he turned off the TV.

He started to slowly fall asleep but the nightmares came again, the eightball eye always a common theme in them. He woke up in a startle several times and twice by the attending nurse because he was screaming in his sleep. She gave him a sedative to help him sleep, but they didn’t help much other than to make him fall asleep quicker but not stay asleep. He was sure that no medication would ever stop the dreams from coming.

Once, around three AM he jumped awake to a man sitting beside his bed. The man was old, his hair was white, and his hairline was receding far back, making his forehead look longer than it actually was. He was pale except for the liver spots that speckled his skin and dark bags under his eyes. There were wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and mouth—laugh lines he thought they were called—but the man didn’t seem so cheery at the moment. He was frowning and staring past Jerome out the window and he could see the telltale garb of a priest’s collar around his neck as well as the black suit to match.

“Who’re you?” The priest seemed surprised by Jerome’s question, dropping his rosary beads that were held firmly in his hand. His eyes widened and a smile twitched at the edge of his lips.

“Oh, my name is Father Elroy. I keep watch over the ill and dying here at the hospital.” The old priest explained.

“Well I’m neither ill nor dying. Why are you here?”

“I just came to check in on you, son. I was there when the paramedics brought you in from the river.” Jerome laughed at this, confusing the priest greatly. A religious fanatic, come to kiss my feet as if I were the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. Why am I not surprised?

“I hate to burst your bubble, Father, but it was no miracle. It wasn’t God’s will I survived, it was just blind luck. It’s nothing like the media’s portraying it to be,” Jerome explained.

“I beg to differ my son, for you don’t understand the gift that he’s given you. In time I believe you will be able to comprehend.”

“A gift? Both my friends are dead, yet I live. Why does he have the right to decide who lives and who dies?” Jerome asked, suddenly angry from his remorse.

“Our heavenly father does not endorse death. We all die in time and all our deaths are linked to a higher purpose. For every person who dies, another is born into existence. The mark that they’ve left on this world and the people who share their love takes a small part in the greater picture.” Jerome felt as if this was a line the old priest spewed out whenever a patient asked a similar question, although he found the holy man’s reasoning viable.

“What if I don’t believe in God, father?” Jerome asked.

“But he gives you the strength, my boy. You’ve looked into the eye of evil and kept your sanity. That is more than could be said about the deranged dead that wander in Limbo. Faith is just another test, one to separate the weak from the worthy. Sometimes our Lord gives us a little guidance to show us he’s still there. Listening to our prayers, forever watchful of our actions, even in death.” After the priest said this, he looked out the window again and he fell silent as the frown returned to his face. Jerome followed his gaze and, for a split second, he thought he saw the eye, but as soon as he blinked it was gone, replaced by the cloudy night sky. He began to understand what Father Elroy had been saying, and he turned to look back at the man sitting near his bed, finally noting the greenish hue cast upon him by some phantom light. An eerie chill ran up Jerome’s spine, but he ignored it simply believing it to be his imagination.

He noticed the rosary beads lying forgotten at the feet of the elderly priest. Jerome bent down over his bed and stretched as far as he could, his fingers just touching the cross, and lifted the necklace up off the ground.

“You dropped this,” Jerome announced, to which the priest looked at him in amazement, a full tooth smile finally showing where the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes had come from.

“What?” Jerome asked, confused by the sudden change in character.

“Oh nothing, my boy. Nothing. You can keep those for yourself. I believe you will need them to help guide you in the days to come. You have quite a gift and I’m sure an even greater destiny.” The priest stood up and walked over to the open doorway before turning back to look upon the teenager in the bed one last time.

“God be with you.”

“And also with you,” he replied, which made the priest smile again before vanishing into the darkness of the hallway. Jerome looked at the beads and cross in his hand thoughtfully for a moment before putting them around his neck, then closed his eyes to a peaceful, rejuvenating slumber that lasted the rest of the night.

The next morning, Jerome was awoken by a nurse with his breakfast. It consisted of oatmeal and fruit along with orange juice to wash it all down. The meal was gone within minutes and was much tastier than the dinner he had the night before, which was only chicken broth, crackers, and chocolate pudding with apple juice. Shortly after, his doctor came in to check his vitals and see how he was doing.

Again, Jerome was reminded of how attractive not only Dr. Elizabeth’s voice was, but her overall appearance. The long blonde hair, which was in a bun the day before, now fell loosely down to her shoulders. Her makeup, though subtle, enhanced her blue eyes and full lips, making her glasses all the sexier for some reason. He wondered briefly how many of her male and maybe some female patients fantasized about her healing them in less practical but more intimate ways. He had thought about her several times in such a way since their introduction. Sadly though, she was the only good memory he would take away from his stay at the hospital.

Dr. Elizabeth had received reports from the nurses on duty the night before about his waking nightmares. She went on to tell Jerome that his screams had disturbed the entire floor and sometimes traumatic situations like he had been through could have everlasting effects on his mental state. Jerome understood, but didn’t think she realized the extent of his experience. The beautiful doctor went on to say that he should stay awhile longer for psychiatric evaluation on the fifth floor. She had come to the conclusion that Jerome might be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.

“Dr. Elizabeth?”

“Yes?”

“I was just curious; is that your first name?” The beautiful doctor smiled at him politely as she answered.

“It is indeed my first name. My last name is Genzliger and I learned early on that going by my first name was much easier for the people under my care.”

“Yeah, that does sound like a lot of people would butcher it.” She chuckled at his statement. Her laughter made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Yeah, it got a little bloody at times,” It was his turn to giggle now.

“One more thing before you go. If you see Father Elroy around, can you tell him to stop by before I leave? I’d like to speak to him again.” She seemed a little disconcerted by his request and blinked a couple times in thought before answering.

“There hasn’t been a reverend on the premises for sometime now.”

“But I spoke to him last night. We had a conversation.” Jerome was confused. Am I going crazy? Then he remembered about the rosary beads and felt for them. They were still around his neck, and he continued. “He has white hair that’s receding a bit and a lot of wrinkles from smiling too much. He was here last night and gave me these.” Jerome held up the necklace to show her.

“I do remember a Priest by the name of Elroy along the lines of your description. He came by to give prayer and last rights to the patients around the beginning of my tenure here…” Dr. Elizabeth paused briefly. Her apprehensiveness could be seen through her professional composure.

“But he passed away about five years ago from a heart attack. On the hospital grounds, no less. This wing of the building is actually dedicated after him. There’s even a portrait of Father Elroy in the corridor.”

The revelation hit Jerome like a sledgehammer to the chest, knocking all the wind out of him. Father Elroy had said he had a gift, but Jerome just assumed the old, lonely priest had meant the gift of life or something. In fact, his gift was something supernatural. The evil eye, the deranged dead wandering Limbo, the ghost had been giving him clues the entire time they were talking and Jerome was too ignorant to understand. I am linked to that otherworld, or Limbo as he called it. But it went further than just communicating with the other side; he could somehow reach into that plane of existence, as evidenced by the rosary beads now gripped firmly in his hand. Maybe he could even cross over into Limbo with practice. His head swam with this new information. He didn’t quite understand yet the full extent of his power or the enormity of his destiny, but soon he would meet others whose futures were entwined with his own, and like them, he would soon learn.