- Text Size +
John sat in the small courtyard outside the Red Cross hospital, surrounded by people like him, waiting for news of a birth, a death, a successful surgery. They all chain smoked and paced, avoided eye contact. Their own pain and fear was enough to bear; they couldn't face one another's as well.

His hands had been shaking from the moment he ended the call that told him Luka was missing. From Illinois to Africa, he'd been shaking. Not another death, another coffin, another funeral.

Not Luka, please, no, I never told him, and now it's too late....

John used to believe in miracles, but now he sat waiting to hear his name over the tinny loudspeaker, calling out to tell him they'd done all they could...

John hadn't done all he could. He'd run like a scared rabbit, from Africa and Luka and the things that Abby could never make him feel. He'd run hard and fast, but he couldn't escape the feelings. They haunted him, and they wore Luka's face.

"John." Gillian's voice behind him, strangled with tears, and John couldn't turn to face her. One more minute, he thought, just let me believe for one more minute that he's going to come back, that this was all some horrible joke.

She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, started to speak. John couldn't hear it. Not from her. He couldn't be strong and comfort her, pretending that Luka was just a colleague and she the grieving lover. He brushed past her and strode on rubbery legs into the small, dark building.

The ceilings were low and the heat stifling. Patients lined the halls in rusted wheelchairs and gurneys, their bones sharp under their skin, their eyes jaundiced. So much death, so hopeless, and Luka had given this fucking place everything, had come here to save these children since he hadn't been able to save his own, not to die in another senseless war.

The doctor was French; short and fat with a tailored white coat and buffed nails. He lived in one of the expensive villas on the mountain, and patted himself on the back for his humanitarian deeds while he tripled charged the government for the medicines he imported. John wanted to strangle him before he could say the words "I'm sorry".

"He's asking for you," The doctor said, and John nearly sank to his knees. Not dead, not dead, oh god...

"Excuse me," the doctor said archly as John pushed past him to Luka's bed.

Luka's skin was gray, his eyes black and sunken. His hand shook when he reached for John's and pulled it over to rest on his chest. "John," he wheezed, trying to smile. "Missed you." He took a deep breath and finally slipped into deep, healing sleep.

John knelt down next to the narrow cot and rested his head on Luka's chest, soothing himself with the reassuring beat of Luka's heart. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.
You must login (register) to review.