She's Gone
A Vignette

by Kimber

He felt his heart being ripped from his body. The white hot, searing pain exploded over and over in his chest. Tears of intense agony flowed down his face like a river; a river he now hoped would carry him swiftly to his death. He couldn't think, he could only pray; for release, for an end.

Finally he felt the searing subside. He began to notice less feeling in any part of his body.

"So, it is time.", he thought. Now that it was finally here he wasn't afraid. He would miss his friends and family. And he would miss her, but it would be a relief to finally be at peace after the long and painfull illness. He let his thoughts drift, feeling nothing physical now, only the calm acceptance.

Far off in the background, he thought he could hear a man calling his name. No matter. He would soon be gone and forgotten. He drifted on, listening to the voice getting fainter. Finally in one last, brief pang of fleeting curiosity he tried to open his eyes.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Vincent shot straight out of his bed, throwing Father across the chamber to land in a heap against the far wall.

"Catherine!!!" The sob was torn from his ragged throat.

Father struggled to rise while three of the men ran into the chamber to assist. They had heard the disturbance all the way across the tunnels. Seeing Father helpless on the floor, one rushed to his aid while the other two tried to restrain Vincent from destroying the entire chamber.

"Vincent, please! What has happened? What's the matter?"

Still struggling wildly but weak from his dream state, Vincent cried out,

"Catherine is dead! I felt her die, Father!" He gasped for air, finally too weak to fight or stand, he fell to his knees sobbing. "She was in so much pain. I was with her. I felt what she felt. I thought it was me, but when I opened my eyes...oh my dearest life...there was so much blood!" He collapsed under the weight of the grief and the guilt. "I thought it was me. I didn't go to her. I didn't help her."

He buried his head in his hands, trying to block the image from his mind. Willing himself not to see her small body lying mangled in the pool of blood flowing from the gaping hole in her chest.

Vincent leapt across the room to the table where Father sat, a look of numb incredulity painted on his chalky face.

"She screamed!", he roared. "She pleaded with God to let her die!" The arms supporting him on the table gave way and he once again went to the floor, sobbing as if his soul would be wrung from his body.

Slowly Father rose and went to his bag. He withdrew a needle and a vial. Nodding to the three men, he quietly went to Vincent's side. The three men laid hands on him expecting a struggle, but instead they met only violent, impotent shaking. Gently, Father injected the sedative and motioned for the men to put him on the bed where he had spent the last 5 weeks alternating between comatose and delerious. The fever had finally broken. There would be time enough in the morning to face Vincent's wrath and try to begin to heal his wounds.

Tonight, they had a daughter to bring home.