Page 72 of Light in the Dark
And then…beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee….
The endless beep.
Flatline.
Eyes gone vacant. Staring at me but seeing nothing.
The body an empty shell—a husk.
A hand touches my shoulder, shocking me. "Ember, honey? Are you alright?" Faye, her voice thin and shaky.
I nod. "Just…grieving." I realize I'm weeping.
"You want company or you want to be alone?"
"Alone," I whisper. "But I love you, Faye."
She presses a kiss to the crown of my head. "Love you too, missy."
I hear the door close and I'm alone again—alone with Dutchie stuck in that moment of death like an air bubble encased in ice.
I think about his last words to me again, but they skitter away from my mind. I just…I can't go there.
I'm still not ready.
I think about all the good times—which was pretty much all of it. Even the handful of arguments we got into I remember with happiness, because our best sex was after those arguments.
He once accused me of picking a fight just so we could have makeup sex. He was right, but I wasn't about to admit that, which turned into a whole other fight, which led to some seriously hot makeup sex. Oh, the irony of that. We laughed about it later.
The only stain on the joy of my memory of our life together is the reality of his death—the sudden and abrupt nature of it.
"I miss you so fucking much, Dutchie," I whisper out loud.
I feel his hand squeezing mine. The noise of LA waking up fades, and honking horns become the beep of the monitor.
"Em…ber." His voice was a file rasping over a cinder block.
"Dutchie-baby," I whispered—my favorite pet-name for him. "I love you."
He squeezed my hand again, shockingly hard. "Listen…Emmy." That was his nickname for me—Emmy. No one before or since has or will call me that. That was his and his alone.
"I'm listening." I scooted my chair closer to the bed and put my face as close to his as I could.
"You're a light in the dark.” His voice strengthened a little. "You can't hide it. Can't let it go out."
"I won't," I whispered, my voice wet with tears. "I promise."
"Listen." Another hard squeeze. "Your love is fire. A big bonfire. The sun itself."
"Dutchie—"
He spoke over me, his voice intense as he strove to get his point across with the last of his life. "When I'm gone, Emmy, youcan'tlet your light go out." He squeezed my hand. "Ember. You can't let your light go out."
"I won't."
"Yes, you will." He was crying. "I want you to love again."
I shook my head. "No. No. Dutchie,no."
