'A Promise Kept' - The End!
A Promise Kept
The tears had left my cheeks feeling raw.
I gently wiped them off my face with my sleeve. His smell lingered on his shirt which I had pulled out of the closet earlier that evening. Zooey had fallen back asleep. She really had been rather tired, and now as she slept, she snored softly. I brushed her little black curls back from her face. Just as I thought to pick her up and move her to her own bed, I heard the soft click of the front door closing. My heart beat so intensely that it was all I could do to listen to the footsteps coming up the stairs, above the fast pace drumming.
There he stood, tall and strong in his uniform.
His brown eyes shone through the darkness, as he set his bag on the floor. I gently climbed off the bed, careful not to wake Zooey, and wrapped my arms around him, crying against his chest. I held him until I was ready to move again, as he did the same. He kissed me again and again, before gently tucking Zooey into our bed.
As he tucked her into her blankets, she opened her eyes and whispered, “Daddy, you came back,” she patted his cheek and held his head against her chest.
He smiled, kissed her and whispered, “Always, baby.”
“Mommy, where’s We Come Back? I sleep with it,” she giggled, explaining to daddy, “mommy was reading it to me, when I fell asleep.”
“Is that so?” he whispered fondly to her.
“Mhm, it’s my favorite.”
“Mine too,” he kissed her fingers.
I fetched the book,
and handed it over to her eager, little hands. I watched the exchange between them from the end of the bed. Zooey seemed content now that he was home, and she had the book, and rolled back over and was soon fast asleep.
We whispered, “Goodnight, our girl,” and I closed the door behind us.
I followed him down the hall, down the stairs and into the kitchen. I missed him so terribly when he was gone. He being a soldier in the Special Forces, flying a fighter pilot, during this horrendous war, left him often on various missions under the most dangerous of conditions. Most of the time, I was only apprised of his return home, 24 hours in advance. Reading the story to Zooey only triggered my love and deep need to breathe him in. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and kissed his back.
“Jack,” I whispered.
He turned around slowly, brushed my copper hair away from my face, and held my cheeks in his hands.
“I missed you too, Rae.”
I kissed him, and with every second
that I was exposed to his intoxicating scent, I felt myself further spiraling out of control. He could feel the intensity radiating off of me, and only found it pleasing that it seemed to match his own. He felt my hands unbuttoning his shirt with the haste of a woman starved of affection. Feeling his own need rising, he pulled his shirt and inner tank top off back-to-back. I grabbed his infamous white belt, and slowly pulled him towards me, before taking it off.
I watched him kiss my neck, and pull my nightdress up as he pressed me against the kitchen counter. I could hear the sounds of jets flying low over the house; whatever the ache I felt, the need to become completely vulnerable in his trusting arms, outweighed all other concerns.
An hour later, I reluctantly followed him
upstairs, to our bedroom. I knew that going to sleep would only deprive me of the time I could spend listening to him speak. I watched him turn down the blankets, first on my side of the bed, and then on his. As he adjusted our pillows, he found my copy of We Come Back under one of them. He smiled, and passed it to me. As I walked over to the book shelf to put it back, I couldn’t let go of it. I turned and watched him climb into bed, careful not to wake Zooey, and pat my side softly, just in the way she had.
“Jack, I know you won’t be able to be here long, but every time you walk out that door, I’m sure you won’t be coming back,” I cried in a state of panic.
He quickly climbed out of bed to console me, rubbing his hands up and down my arms in reassurance.
“Darling, you’ve read the stories,”
he patted the book in my hands, “I will always come back. In the past, present and future lifetimes, we find a way to come back together. Who knows what we have left to face in this lifetime or the next, but don’t lose your courage now, don’t lose your strength. Every time you need to remember, you read this,” he tapped the book, “and you hold on to it, and all it entails, just as Zooey does, just as I do.”
He reached down into his pack, and pulled an old, used copy of We Come Back out. He held it against his chest, the way I did, leaned up against me, and put his forehead against mine.
He kissed me, and whispered, “Keep the future close and the past closer, my dearest love.”
A deafening noise and a blinding light, suddenly filled the house, and just for a second, all I could see was him and all he could see was me, until the light engulfed us both.
World War II left many homes
and families all over Europe in ruins. The bombings in 1940 left chaos and devastation, leaving many to suffer through injuries. Those who died quickly were the luckiest. City first-responders went from county to county, aiding those they could; trying to repair what was broken. Some took to cataloging items of those who had been lost, for future purposes. Others prayed for those who had not yet been found. Through the dust and rubble, one man walking the streets near Jack’s home stood out. His bright red hair and large build opposed the drab gray stone wreck.
He stopped as he reached what used to
be Jack’s front door. This was it, he could feel it. He climbed through the rubble, careful to not disrupt. What he found did not surprise him. A man and a woman, stood as two charred skeletons clutching something between them. He whispered a Scottish ancestral prayer over them and their household, before helping to dislodge what lie between them. Two of the exact same books had survived, though they had not. Further inspection showed the remains of a small child, who also clutched the same book, which had survived as well. He felt no grief for the loss of their lives, for he knew that death was nothing to mourn, it was merely a chance for a new story, a new experience and a new lifetime. It didn’t end there, it never did.
When he reached the street again,
outside their burnt home, he had three books tucked under his arm. He crossed himself, and tipped a bow at the memory of what had been there, before moving on. A first-responder had watched the occurrence curiously from a neighbor’s yard, and now called out to him.
“Hey! What are you doing there? Who are you? ”
The man stopped, rose in stature, and turned to face him speaking, authoritatively yet with humor, “E'ery lifetime must be written down, ya see,” he lifted the books up so the first-responder could see. “I am Beathan Hamish Mackintosh, and I am just passing through.”
With that, a bright light radiated,
momentarily blinding the first-responder. When the light dimmed again, he could see that Beathan Hamish Mackintosh and the stories he had collected, had vanished. The first-responder looked up at the moonlight, which seemed to be directly shining on him, and felt knowledge greater than him residing there, within that moon. He suddenly felt so completely insignificant, as if there had been an entire world around him that he knew nothing about.
THE END! Thanks for reading my novel We Come Back Vol. 1: By the Light, and please keep an eye out for future publishing worldwide!
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