Preview of THE CHILDREN

 Today marks the four-year anniversary of my daughter's death. Writing THE CHILDREN has been cathartic for me. I'm not one to outwardly express my emotions so being able to convey them in writing has been a Godsend.

Here are the first three chapters of my newest book. I'm sending it to some publishers after the holidays so I am not yet sure of the release date. I will keep you posted.

Feel free to let me know what you think of THE CHILDREN.

Ernie J. Sinclair

12-18-2021

The Children

Copyright ©2022 Ernie J. Sinclair

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

Chapter 1

“Daddy, I don't feel good,” whined Katie in that pitiful tone every parent dreads. It said they weren't faking it and they really were sick. My eight-year-old daughter was standing in the entranceway of the hall, facing me unsteadily on her feet. One hand had a stuffed animal in it but was also clutching at her stomach and the other one was held tight up against her head. A grimace of pain carved on her face.

It was my weekend to have my daughter, and of course, she was sick. My ex-wife was given residential custody in the divorce because my job as a marketing executive took me out of town frequently, which totally sucked, but there was nothing I could do about it.

I was missing a lot of things in Katie's life, but I did everything I could to make it to all her school functions, birthday parties, and anything else that cropped up. Most of our weekends together, we spent doing things she liked. Tomorrow we were planning on going to the zoo. It was her favorite place and we went there at least once a month, sometimes twice. She loved animals of all types, and I often imagined her becoming a veterinarian, zookeeper, or even operating a dog rescue when she grew up.

“Aw, Pumpkin. Come here,” I said, closing my laptop and setting it on the side table by my recliner. The report I was working on for my boss could wait. Family always came first with me.

I reached out with both my arms as she leaned in for me to pick her up, almost collapsing in my arms, and put her on my lap. Katie's beautiful little face was flushed bright red and heavily beaded with sweat. She curled up in my lap as a shiver ran through her body. Her right hand still clutching Mr. Boo Boo, the stuffed monkey she'd had since before she could walk. Her normally curly, light brown hair was plastered against her head and sticking up in all directions like a severe case of bedhead. Heat radiated from her body like a furnace turned on full blast and a knife of fear rammed through my heart.

“Let's take your temperature. You feel warm to me,” I told Katie as calmly as I could muster so I wouldn't worry her.

I struggled to get out of the oversized chair while holding her in my arms, refusing to put her down. Mr. Boo Boo fell to the carpeted floor and I couldn't reach him with Katie wrapped up in my arms. She didn't seem to notice the missing animal as she clung tightly to my chest and placed her head on my shoulder. I carried her into the bathroom to get the thermometer. It was one of those digital ones that took the temperature through the ear. It was fast, painless, and easy to read. Everything a worried parent needs when their kids are sick.

103.2 read the glowing digital numbers on the tiny display. Hoping the thermometer was giving an inaccurate temperature, I tried again but got the same result.

Looking in the small medicine cabinet, I found a half-full bottle of liquid Children's Tylenol. I wasted no time in giving Katie the recommended dose but knew I still needed to take her to the doctor.

I slipped on my furry house shoes since they were the only ones I could put on without setting Katie down. They had been a Christmas gift from Katie the previous year and looked like raccoons. I loved them. She had picked them out herself and told me they looked like me since I always seemed to have dark circles under my eyes from too much computer time and a distinct lack of sleep. That observation made me laugh because it was true.

I grabbed my wallet, cell phone, and keys and headed out the door, stuffing everything except the keys in my pockets. My apartment was on the second floor, closest to the stairwell. Thankfully, my assigned parking space was near the bottom of the stairs. Using the remote, I unlocked the doors to my five-year-old Honda Civic as I ran down the staircase, my house shoes threatening to slip off my feet with each hurried step I took.

Yanking open the driver's side door, I pulled the back of the seat forward and carefully placed my baby girl in the rear seat, quickly buckling her in before getting in myself. Seeing her in such pain and unable to do anything about it scared the shit out of me and made me feel completely helpless. I felt myself on the edge of panic, but pushed it away, knowing I needed to stay calm and get Katie to a doctor as quickly as possible.

I unlocked my phone and hit the speed dial for my ex, putting the phone on speaker. I started my car as the phone rang repeatedly on the other end.

“Come on, Grace. Answer the damn phone,” I said, smacking the steering wheel with the palm of my hand in frustration.

My ex-wife, Grace, was currently being a bitch to me, even though she had no reason to be. She was the one who screwed up our marriage. Not me. That being said, she was very good with Katie and, as far as I knew, never said a bad word about me in front of our daughter. As long as that holds true, I'd treat her as well as I could.

Grace was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Long jet black hair, sparkling blue eyes, a brilliant white smile that would go on for days. She was also extremely intelligent and normally good-natured. Her skin was always perfectly tanned and well-toned. Even after having Katie, it only took her a couple of months before she was back down to her pre-pregnancy weight. No doubt, pissing off some of her snooty, high society friends who never lost their pregnancy weight.

We met our second year of college at a party. Neither one of us seemed to be having a great deal of fun, so I gathered up my courage and asked if she'd like to go get a coffee. To my shock, she said yes. It turned out we had a lot in common. Neither of us were very big drinkers, we liked the same sports teams, and were both studying marketing. From that moment on, we were pretty much inseparable. The rest of our college years seemed to fly by and we married shortly after graduation in a huge ceremony that was mostly paid for by her parents and grandparents. Katie came along two years later, completing our perfect little family.

Somewhere along the way, Grace and I grew apart, or at least that's what she claimed after I caught her in our marital bed with her jerk of a boss. That was it for me. She instantly lost my trust and I could barely stand to look at her anymore without getting physically ill, even though I still loved her with all my heart and wanted her back in the worst possible way. A marriage without trust wasn't a true marriage, and I wanted no part of it.

I found a fairly decent apartment close to my brother's house and moved out a week later. A year after that, the divorce was finalized. I still found myself missing her, but couldn't make myself try again. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Grace may have ruined our marriage, but I refused to allow what she did to ruin our daughter's life.

After five rings, the call went to voicemail. Not having much choice, I left her a near frantic message telling her Katie was extremely sick and what hospital I was taking her to before disconnecting the call in frustration.

It was 9:30 pm on a Friday evening and traffic wasn't too horrible for Dallas. I parked near the emergency room entrance and carried Katie's small body inside, screaming for help as I hurried toward the unoccupied reception desk. The strong pungent odor of cleaning solutions and antiseptic that only seemed to occupy hospitals, slapping me hard in the face.

A nurse came out into the hallway. “What seems to be the problem?” she asked calmly as she approached us. She was in her late thirties and had obviously been a nurse for some time since she maintained a composed demeanor the entire time.

“My daughter, she's burning up. I gave her the recommended dose of Children's Tylenol thirty minutes ago, but I don't think it’s helping,” I told the nurse as she felt Katie's forehead with the back of her hand.

“Follow me,” she said, spinning on her heels and walking briskly back through the door she had just come out of. I did as ordered and was soon placing Katie on the gurney the nurse indicated.

“When did you first notice she wasn't well?”

“Only about thirty minutes ago. She seemed fine when we ate dinner and she played in the tub when she took her bath. I put her to bed at eight and kissed her on the forehead, but she felt normal then. What would cause her temperature to rise so quickly?” I asked, fearing for my daughter's life.

While I was talking, the emergency room nurses had been busy. I didn’t know what most of the stuff they were doing was and my heart sank to the pit of my stomach when one of the nurses called out 103.9 as Katie's new temperature.

“It was 103.2 less than thirty minutes ago,” I told them as I fidgeted by Katie's bedside, watching the nurses as they applied ice packs around my daughter's small body. She looked so frail and helpless, and it angered me there was nothing I could do but stand by and watch her suffer.

“What's her name?” the head nurse asked me, looking at me like I'd been ignoring her. Maybe I had.

“Katie. Katie Winters. She's eight. Nine next month.”

The nurse had already turned away from me by that point and was speaking to Katie, calling her name in an authoritative tone, but wasn't getting any response.

I stood stoically at the foot of Katie's bed, trying to stay out of the way of the medical personnel but wanting to be near my daughter. A doctor rushed in and immediately began issuing orders. One of the monitors, which had been beeping in a steady rhythm, suddenly began emitting a solid tone.

“We're losing her,” said one of the nurses, glancing over at the monitor.

I don't remember much after that. I know I yelled at the doctor to save her, to save my baby, before the nurses forcefully ushered me out of the emergency room and had me sit in a chair out in the hallway. They mentioned something about doing everything they could for Katie before rushing back into the room. I watched the door slowly close as if taunting me. It seemed to take forever before it finally clicked closed.

“Excuse me, sir?” came a friendly voice. I ignored it as tears streamed down my haggard face.

“Sir?” the unknown voice said a little more forcefully. I looked up. A woman was standing in front of the hard plastic chair I was sitting in.

“My name is Cindy. Everyone is doing everything possible for your daughter,” she said with a reserved smile.

Cindy was about five foot two with curly auburn hair. She was a little on the heavy side like she'd recently had a baby and hadn't lost all the pregnancy weight yet. She was dressed in light blue hospital scrubs and had a lanyard around her neck with her work ID attached to it. She might have been pretty, but it was hard to tell under all the garish make-up she wore. Sometimes, less is more and as a guy, I wish women would learn that about cosmetics.

“Katie,” I whispered softly, looking down at the worn linoleum floor.

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows scrunched up, confused about what I had said.

“That's my daughter's name. Katie,” I replied, increasing my voice to a more normal tone as I raised my head to look at her.

“That's a beautiful name. I'm truly sorry to bother you, but we need to get some paperwork filled out.”

I glared at her. How can they be worried about getting paperwork done when my daughter was fighting for her life in the next room?

“Look. I understand how you feel, but the more information we have about Katie, the better they can treat her. If nothing else, it will help take your mind off what's going on for a few minutes.”

I grunted in response but stood up to follow her in a daze, wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible so I could get back to my daughter. I dug through my wallet and found my health insurance card and quickly filled out the paperwork to the best of my ability. When I got to the section where I was to enter her mother's information, I realized I'd left my phone in my car. Rather than go get it to get my ex-wife's phone number, I left it blank. I would give it to them later, once Katie was all right.

I fought back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me and focused on the paperwork. Through blurred vision, I finished filling it out and took it over to Cathy. No. Her name is Cindy. Not that it really mattered. Well, not to me anyway. She might see it differently.

“Can you please check on my daughter?” I asked hopefully, handing the completed paperwork to her.

She smiled as she took the clipboard from me and placed it on the desk by the computer, which I assumed she'd transfer the information into. “I'd be happy to, Mr. Winters,” she replied with almost no emotion in her voice. I got the feeling she wasn't being entirely sincere, but who could blame her after having to deal with people like me all day?

I waited impatiently by the little window in front of her desk and watched as she confidently made her way back into the emergency room. It seemed like she was gone for hours, but it was most likely only a few minutes. Time moves differently in stressful situations.

She was smiling when she came back through the door; I hoped it was a good sign. “They're still working on her but she's breathing on her own right now.”

“Oh, thank God!” I exclaimed, nearly collapsing onto the counter as relief rushed through my body like a cool breeze passing over my skin on a hot summer day.

“Her temperature is still pretty high, so they're working on getting it brought down. Why don't you wait in there?” she said, pointing to a waiting room across the hall. “It's a lot more comfortable and I'll make sure someone comes and talks to you as soon as we know anything more.”

I nodded absentmindedly. “I have to get my cell phone out of my car and try to call her mom again.”

“That's fine. It will probably be a little while before we have any more information, so you have some time,” she told me before turning back to her computer to enter my insurance information into their database.

Feeling almost dead inside, I went and retrieved my phone. Grace still hadn't called back. She was probably too busy fucking her boss to worry about anything else; I thought angrily.

I went back inside the hospital and plopped myself in one of the empty chairs, feeling deflated, and stared at my phone. A loud commotion erupted in the hallway as someone else came in seeking treatment. I ignored it, having more important things on my mind.

The decently sized waiting room had about forty lounge chairs in it, but only six were currently occupied. I had a feeling since it was Friday night, they would begin filling quickly in a few hours as the drunks started feeling invincible and began doing stupid shit that made perfect sense in their alcohol-addled brains.

Deciding to try Grace again, I pressed the call icon on my phone that was next to her name and listened impatiently as it rang several times before once again, going to her voicemail. I called again and again. Finally, giving up after six fruitless attempts. I didn't bother leaving any more messages. The first one I left pretty much covered what I needed to say, so there really was no point in leaving another.

Grace not answering my calls was pissing me off. We had an agreement to always answer a phone call from whoever had Katie in case something happened. This was the first time Grace failed to answer and, of course, it was when I needed to get a hold of her the most. I shoved my phone in my pocket and stared at the floor. At some point, unbelievably, I dozed off.

Chapter 2

I was startled awake by my phone ringing in my pocket. It was Grace.

“Hello?”

“Dillon? What's wrong with Katie? Is she okay?” Grace asked frantically.

I was at a loss for words. How do you tell a mom that her eight-year-old daughter almost died?

“It's bad, Grace. Katie's temperature jumped to almost 104 degrees in less than an hour. She was complaining of a stomachache and headache so I brought her to the closest hospital. She's still in the emergency room. Why didn't you answer your phone?” I demanded to know.

“I'm sorry. Vance took me out for dinner and I left my phone in the car,” she tried to explain.

I glanced at the clock; it was nearly eleven. “For two hours?” I yelled into the phone, causing more than a few heads to turn my way.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly to help calm me down before continuing the conversation in a more civil tone. “Never mind. It's not important right now. Just get here as quick as you can,” I said before abruptly disconnecting the call. Grace would be pissed I'd cut her off, but I really didn't care at this point. I shoved the phone back into my pocket angrily and looked around. The waiting room was nearly full now, which surprised me. I figured it wouldn't get busy until after the bars closed.

Shrugging it off, I got up and went to check and see if there was any news about Katie. I stopped at the doorway and stared in disbelief down the hall toward the entrance. There must be a dozen families waiting to get in to see a doctor. All of them had children with them, from babies to preteens, and each of them seemed to be just as sick as Katie. What the hell was going on?

Cindy was busy trying to take care of the people coming in, so I turned around and sat back down. Looking around the waiting room one more time, I noticed most of the people were adults. Some were holding stuffed animals and several had diaper bags sitting on the floor next to them. Most of the women were crying and being held by men who I assumed were their husbands. The men had tears in their eyes as well. My brain was trying to piece everything together, but couldn't quite figure it out.

There were a few teenagers in the room. For the most part, they looked bored and were too busy playing on their phones to worry about what might be happening to their loved ones in the other room.

“Mr. Winters?” a harried-looking Cindy called to me from behind her desk. I jumped out of my chair and raced to the window that was being blocked by a man, demanding his son be admitted so he could see a doctor.

Cindy ignored the man and waved me over to the side door. When I tried to open it, it was locked, but then I heard a click and was able to easily open it. Cindy must have unlocked it remotely from behind her desk.

She turned away from the angry man and told me to take a seat in the hall leading to the ER and that someone would be out to speak with me shortly.

“Katie's mom should be here soon. Grace Winters,” I told her.

“I'll let her in when she gets here,” she promised as she turned back to deal with the upset man who was still on his verbal rampage even though Cindy obviously hadn't been listening to him.

I sat down in an uncomfortable plastic chair and waited. It was probably the same chair I'd been in before, not that it mattered. For some reason, my brain was grabbing at any stupid minute detail that normally I'd ignore.

A door down the hall opened, and two security guards stepped through it and strode quickly towards me. They paid me no attention as they got closer and then turned at Cindy's desk and went into the hall where the unruly parent was. I assumed they were there in case things got more out of hand.

I caught a glimpse of Grace's long black hair as she rushed to the window, bypassing the line of people who'd been waiting to check in and shoving the angry man to the side. Jumping out of my seat, I ran over to Cindy's desk. “That's Katie's mom,” I told her as she nodded and unlocked the door by pressing a button on the side of her desk.

I pushed the door open and waved Grace through, only then realizing Vance had tagged along. I don't know why it pissed me off, but it did. This had nothing to do with him. I held up my hand and stopped him.

“Sorry. Only family is allowed back here,” I told him, not sure if it was true or not before shutting the door firmly in his face. It was a small thing, but it made me feel better.

“He's family,” Grace objected, glaring at me.

“No, he's not,” I countered, ignoring the look she was giving me. I sat back down in the same wretched chair as before and crossed my arms defiantly, daring her to argue with me. She didn't.

Grace sat down beside me, biting at her lower lip. “How is she?” Her voice was much lower now. I could tell she was as worried about Katie as I was.

I shrugged. “They haven't told me anything for over an hour. Cindy just called me back here right before you arrived.” I could have told her about Katie's heart stopping, but I didn't want to upset her any more than she already was.

“Cindy?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. A hint of jealousy in her voice. She lost the right to be jealous over a year ago. I guess she didn't bother reading the memo.

I rolled my eyes at her. “The receptionist or whatever her job title is.”

“Oh,” she mumbled as she turned away, looking embarrassed. Maybe she realized how petty she was being. Probably not.

The door to the emergency room swung open and an exhausted-looking doctor walked through, making a beeline for us. I stood up and Grace did the same as she grabbed my hand for emotional support.

“Mr. & Mrs. Winters?” he asked as I nodded. No reason to mention we were no longer married. “I'm Doctor Stanford. Katie's stable for the moment. She's a tough little girl.”

“What's wrong with her?” asked Grace, fear etched in her normally confident eyes.

“Honestly, we don't know. Whatever it is, appears to be spreading. We have fifteen other kids that have been admitted with the same thing since you brought your daughter in here and even more still waiting to get in.”

“How is she doing?” I asked, worried even more now than before the doc had come out to talk to us.

Dr. Stanford looked frazzled. “Her fever keeps spiking, despite everything we're doing to bring it down. Her heart has stopped twice, but we got her back both times.” He paused for a second before continuing. “Right now she's breathing on her own but she's in a coma.”

I was afraid to hear the answer, but I had to know. “Is she going to be all right?”

The doctor looked away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts, or maybe his courage, before looking back at me. “We're doing everything we can for her, but if she survives, she's going to have a long road of recovery ahead of her. I'm afraid her temperature has been too high for too long and there might be some irreversible brain damage. We won't know for sure until she regains consciousness. Once we get her temperature stabilized, we'll move her to the ICU.” He started to say something else, but a nurse yelled at him from the doorway and he hurried off.

My body deflated back into the chair, shocked at what I'd just heard. Grace was crying uncontrollably on my shoulder, but I ignored her as I tried to wrap my mind around what the doctor said. I sat there like a zombie for what could have been hours or only a few moments. People rushed by us, but I paid them no mind, lost in my thoughts, wondering if Katie would ever be the same happy-go-lucky girl after she recovered or just a shell of her previous self.

I'm not sure how much time passed before someone stopped in front of us. I looked up and saw the same tired doctor as before. The instant I saw the resignation in his eyes, I knew. My little girl, my Pumpkin, my reason for living, was gone.

The next couple of hours were a haze of paperwork, dealing with Grace, and seeing my now dead daughter's body. I held up fine until they pulled the sheet off her face and then I crumpled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, can prepare a parent for seeing their once vibrant child lying still on a gurney. The shroud of death, covering their body in shades of blue and gray. I always thought I'd die long before Katie did. It's like an unwritten rule or something, and if it's not, it should be.

After a few minutes, I got myself under some semblance of control and approached the gurney where my daughter's cold dead body lie. I spend a few minutes stroking her hair, telling her how much I loved her and how sorry I was that I failed her. As I turned to leave, I swore I saw her move, but when I told the nurse about it, she shook her head.

“That's normal. Sometimes the nervous system takes a while to completely shut down. That causes the muscles in the body to twitch,” she explained, but I had already quit listening as soon as she said it was a normal body function after death.

The urge to get out of the hospital overwhelmed me. I suddenly felt claustrophobic and needed to get outside, away from people. Ignoring everyone, I shoved my way through the crowd in the hall without really even seeing them and pushed my way outside.

Grace followed me out, yelling at me to wait and wanting to know where I was going. I paid her no mind as I got in my Honda and drove off, leaving her standing there, alone in the hospital parking lot. I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw that home-wrecker, Vance, come outside and embrace her. My misplaced anger made me press on the gas pedal just a little harder, wanting to get away from them. I drove for hours, going nowhere, eventually finding my parking space at my apartment building just as the sun was peeking over the horizon.

I sat in my car, not wanting to enter my apartment and relive the memories of Katie. Finally, it got too hot in the car and I made my way upstairs and unlocked the door. I wandered aimlessly around my apartment, unable to focus on anything yet seeing everything at the same time. Where ever I looked, the things I saw reminded me of Katie. Her empty dinner plate from the night before lay in the kitchen sink, waiting to be put in the dishwasher. Something I would normally have done before going to bed. The clothes she'd worn to school were scattered haphazardly on the tiled floor in the bathroom, but I couldn't bring myself to pick them up. Her school backpack was on the couch, untouched since she'd tossed it there after arriving home from school just over a dozen hours before.

Eventually, I climbed into Katie's twin-sized bed with the well-loved stuffed monkey she always slept with and I cried myself to sleep.

When I woke up, for the tiniest of brief milliseconds, everything was fine. Then, without warning, it all came rushing back to me, slamming into me like a runaway freight train. I yelled, threw things, and cussed God out for taking my angel away from me. God didn't need her. He had plenty of other angels. My anger slowly subsided, and an empty void filled its place. Not knowing what else to do. I pulled on some clean clothes and went to the zoo.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon on a beautiful sunny Saturday, and the zoo should have been packed with people and their children. There were maybe a dozen vehicles in the entire parking lot. I barely noticed as I paid the admittance fee and headed straight to the monkey sanctuary. Although Katie loved all animals, she had a particular fondness for the monkeys. I sat on a bench across from them, watching them play until it was time for the zoo to close and the security team ushered me out. Having nowhere else to go, I went home.

There were dozens of phone calls I needed to be making, informing friends and family of Katie's death, but I couldn't force myself to call anyone. It would make it too real if I said the words out loud. After staring at the phone for what seemed like forever, I called my mom and broke the news. She was devastated, as I knew she would be. Katie had been her oldest grandchild. My mom kept asking questions I didn't know the answers to. What caused her death? When was the funeral? Were we having visitation? I finally told her I had other calls to make before hanging up and shutting off my phone. My mom would call the rest of the family even if I didn't want her to.

The silence of the apartment was too loud, too overpowering, so I turned on the TV just for the noise, not really paying any attention to what was on. I went and got Mr. Boo Boo from Katie's room and settled into my recliner, clutching him to my chest. I think I dozed off and on but don't have a recollection of it one way or the other.

Erratic pounding on my door startled me. I thought about ignoring whoever it was, but they pounded on it again. This time with a little more force, rattling the door in its frame. Whoever it was, wasn't going to go away, so I struggled out of the chair, Mr. Boo Boo falling to the floor, and forced myself to walk over to the door. Looking through the peephole, I saw my younger brother, Zach, standing there. I unlocked the door and went and sat back down, not even bothering to pick up the stuffed animal that I'd dropped only moments before. Zach let himself in, latching the door firmly behind him.

I looked up at him as he entered the room. He'd been crying and looked distraught. I assumed Mom had called to let him know about Katie. He had a six-pack of some cheap, off-brand beer I'd never heard of in his hand. Zach pulled one of the cans off the plastic ring and handed it to me. I stared at it for a moment before taking it from him. Alcohol was probably the last thing I needed, but what the hell. When in Rome and all that shit.

Sitting on the couch, Zach moved Katie's school bag and carefully set it on the floor as if it would shatter if dropped. I don't know why, but Zach moving Katie's bag made me mad. It took all the willpower I had left for me not to say anything. Instead, I popped the tab on the bargain beer open and guzzled half the can. It tasted like camel piss, or at least what I imagined camel piss would taste like if I ever had to drink it. That might have been partly because I hadn't brushed my teeth since yesterday morning and I had a major case of cottonmouth going on, but I doubted it. Most likely it was because the beer was just disgusting. I took another drink.

Zach looked like shit, and I imagined I didn't look any better.

“Joey died too,” he stated flatly as he stared at the unopened beer in his hands.

I was stunned. Joey was Zach's two-year-old son. “Wait, what? When?” I asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Early this morning, or maybe sometime last night. Madison got up to feed him, but he was already cold.” Zach's eyes were icy orbs of blank nothingness.

“I'm so sorry, Bro.” And I was. How could both of our kids die within such a short time span? It didn't make any sense to me.

“Have you watched the news?” he asked, glancing over at the TV that was still on. The volume turned down too low to be able to easily understand what they were saying.

I shook my head. “I haven't done much of anything since Katie...” I let the sentence trail off.

Zach looked at me, and I could tell he was hurting just as bad as I was. “All the children are dying,” he said so quietly I wondered if I had imagined it.

“What?” That just wasn’t possible. Zach must have misheard the news report or something. I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume, catching the anchor in mid-sentence.

'...ren have died in the last twelve to eighteen hours. Reports have been coming in from large cities all across the United States. So far, no other country has reported an unusual number of children's deaths, similar to the tragedy that has befallen our great nation. No cause of death has been determined in any of the...'

I muted the TV, unwilling to hear any more.

Zach wiped the tears threatening to spill from his eyes with the back of his hand. “We called 911 after we found Joey. I assumed it was crib death or something similar. It took them over six hours to finally show up. Six hours!” he nearly shouted before calming back down. “We sat there, holding our dead son for six long, excruciating hours.” Tears were now streaming down his cheeks, fighting their way through the stubble on his face like soldiers through a battlefield.

“They told us they were taking him to the high school because there's no more room at the morgue or any of the hospitals. After they left, we didn't know what to do. We mostly sat there and cried. I didn't even think to call anybody until mom called to tell me about Katie.” He looked up at me. “I'm sorry, Dill. I know how much you loved her.”

Zach had called me Dill for as long as I could remember. More as a way to torment me than anything else, but I actually liked the shortened version of my name. Of course, I'd never tell him that.

I nodded slowly, not willing to speak for fear of breaking down again.

“Mom and Dad wanted to fly out here but all the flights are fully booked so they're going to drive instead.”

“Is that a good idea? Dad's not in the best of health,” I asked, concerned for my dad's well-being.

My parents’ traveling worried me. Dad had a heart attack earlier this year and almost didn't recover. I guess his bad habits were finally catching up with him and now he was paying the price for living an unhealthy lifestyle most of his life.

“I don't think it matters. They just lost both of their grandchildren. Nothing will stop them from coming,” he said, opening his beer and taking a drink, frowning at the taste before drinking some more.

“No matter what I do, it feels wrong to me,” I told Zach solemnly. “Katie can't eat, so why should I? Everywhere I look, all I see is her or things that remind me of her.”

We sat in a comfortable silence while lost in our own thoughts for nearly an hour, finishing off the beer.

“Can I stay here tonight? Madison went to her parents' house and I don't want to be alone.”

“Of course, Bro. You're always welcome here.”

He nodded to the empty beer cans on the coffee table. “You got anything stronger?”

I rummaged around in the kitchen and found half a bottle of Maker’s Mark Whisky wondering once again, why they chose to misspell whiskey on the label. I grabbed two shot glasses and went back into the living room. We drank the whiskey straight. Neither of us spoke. There wasn't anything to say.

Zach stretched his body out on the couch and fell into a troubled sleep. I got him a pillow and blanket from the hall closet and did my best to make my younger brother as comfortable as I could before going to bed myself.

None of this made any sense. My brain bounced random thoughts around in my head like a little white ping-pong ball being battered around by paddles, keeping me awake. Eventually, the alcohol overpowered my thoughts as sleep overtook me.

Chapter 3

When I crawled out of bed, Zach was still asleep on my couch, the blanket hanging off his body and pooling on the floor. Physically, I felt like crap, probably from the alcohol, since I rarely drank. I jumped in the shower, making it as hot as my body could tolerate, hoping it would make me feel better. Surprisingly, it did. I forced myself to shave, thinking I needed to at least look human no matter how I felt. Feeling twenty times better than when I woke up, I headed to the kitchen to fix something for us to eat. I hadn't eaten since I'd had dinner with Katie, some thirty-six hours earlier, and my stomach was tangled up in tight knots because of it.

I wasn't a big breakfast person, usually just grabbing a cup of coffee and maybe a doughnut or bagel on my way into the office, but I kept some stuff around the house for the weekends when I had Katie. A pang of emotions threatened to erupt at the thought of my daughter, but I thrust them aside. I'd have to deal with them sometime, but that time wasn't now.

Figuring pancakes were fairly easy, I mixed up the batter as the pan heated on the stove. I heard movement in the living room as Zach woke up and stumbled to the bathroom. The shower started up a few minutes later and by the time he came out, breakfast was ready.

“Can I borrow some clothes?” asked Zach, standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist. His body was still damp from the shower. I was envious of his six-pack abs but refused to put the work in necessary to get some of my own.

“Sure. Wear whatever you want,” I replied absentmindedly as I set the table.

Zach disappeared into my bedroom, returning a few minutes later wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

“Thanks for the loan of the clothes,” he said, sitting down and staring at the stack of pancakes in front of him, “and for breakfast.”

“No problem,” I replied, drenching my own pancakes in maple syrup.

I had just taken my first bite when the doorbell rang. Annoyed, I got up and opened the front door, ready to yell at whoever was there, but I didn't get the chance as Grace stormed past me.

“They lost her!” she yelled, throwing her hands in the air as Vance followed her inside like a well-trained puppy dog, closing the door softly behind him.

Not sure what she was talking about, I just stared at her with a blank expression.

“Katie. They can't find her body!” she wailed as she collapsed into my arms. Vance shot me a dirty look, which I ignored. He's a wife stealing douche bag, but at least he cares about Grace.

“What are you talking about? What do you mean they can't find her?” I demanded to know, pushing her away from me. I was more confused than ever, which seemed to be a growing trend in my life. Grace must have had her wires crossed since dead bodies just don't get up and walk off on their own, except in movies and books, and this was real life.

“I went down to the county morgue this morning to see about making funeral arrangements, and they couldn't find her,” she said through her tears.

“Maybe she's still at the hospital?” I offered as a possible explanation.

“No. They have a record of her being there, but when I asked to see her, they couldn't find her.”

Grace was clearly frustrated, and with good reason. Some dumb ass probably made a clerical error, and she was in a different drawer at the morgue. I knew my ex well enough to know that explanation wouldn't fly with her, so I didn't bother offering it.

“After we get done eating, me and Zach will go down there and straighten this all out,” I told her, steering her toward Vance, much to his relief.

“Zachary's here?” she asked, sounding surprised. She looked around before spotting him in the small dining alcove off the side of the kitchen.

“Hi, Grace,” he said without a trace of emotion, but at least he gave her a half-hearted wave. Zach hadn't been a fan of Grace since she'd cheated on me.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, rather rudely, in my opinion. He had just as much right to be here as she did, if not more.

I jumped in, knowing my brother didn't need to deal with any of her bullshit right now. “It doesn't matter, Grace. Go home. I'll call you after I figure out what happened.” Making a motion with my head at Vance to get Grace out of my apartment.

“Come on, Grace. Let them eat so they can get to the morgue and figure this all out,” said Vance, gently tugging on her elbow, but she wasn't ready to leave yet.

“How's little Joey doing? I haven't seen him in so long. I bet he's getting big,” she said, putting her foot in her mouth as she so often did with Zach since we'd gotten divorced.

Zach glared at her before tossing his fork on the table and storming back to my bedroom. A slamming door punctuated his leaving the room.

“What did I do?” she asked. Her eyes were wide and she was looking at me, bewildered.

“Grace, Joey died yesterday,” I whispered. “Go home and watch the news. I'll call you later,” I told her as I pushed her and Vance out the door, a little more forcefully than necessary, and locked it behind them. Not caring if I pissed Grace off or not.

“She's gone,” I hollered back to Zach. I sat down and began eating, although I'd lost what little appetite I'd had.

Zach came back into the room a few minutes later. He'd been crying again. “I'm sorry, Dill,” he said, apologizing unnecessarily. “I just hate your ex sometimes.”

“Me too, Bro. Me too.”

We muddled through our meal, leaving most of it on our plates. I was worried about Katie and hoped they'd found her body by the time we got there. It was hard enough to lose a child, but then to actually lose her to the point of not knowing where her body was had me completely terrified.

Before we left, I called the morgue. It was Sunday after all, and probably not their normal business hours. There was no answer. All we could do was go down there and hope there was someone still around to let us in. What other option did I really have?

Mentally, I was as devoid of emotions as one of Romero's zombies. I'd cried myself out of tears, but I was still angry, although I wasn't sure who I was angry with. Myself? Grace? The doctor who failed to save my little girl? God? All the above, or maybe none of them? I still found it almost impossible to believe Katie was actually gone.

That's the thing about grief. There's no rhyme or reason to it. Everyone has their own grieving process and no two are exactly alike. There is no right or wrong way to grieve and no set rules. Grieving isn't about forgetting your loved one, it's about learning how to deal with their death and how to live without them in your life. It's tough to do and most people don't know what to say to someone who's lost a child because it's a pain only someone who has gone through it truly understands. A child's death is different since a part of you actually lives within them. When you lose a child, it's literally like a piece of yourself has died.

Right now, I just wanted answers. No. I needed answers. Why did Katie die, and where was her body? Without knowing those two things, I wasn't sure I could move on. Who was I kidding? Even with those answers, I likely couldn't move on. Life as I knew it was pretty much over. My entire reason for living was gone. I shoved those thoughts aside as Zach pulled into an empty parking space close to the entrance of the morgue.

The building was ugly, but so was death. It was a stark, concrete, rectangular building with no personality. Windows broke up the dull gray slab at odd intervals and gave the place a disjointed feeling. The building had a cold feeling about it. It had no soul, no spark of life, nothing to make it inviting. I wanted to run away but couldn't. Zach's mannerisms gave me the impression he was thinking along the same lines as me, but neither of us said anything.

The heavy wooden and glass door, a stark contrast to the rest of the building, was unlocked and we let ourselves in. The interior wasn't much of an improvement over the outside. Polished concrete floors that had seen better days led us to a well-worn counter in a small lobby where I assumed a receptionist or security guard would normally sit, although there was no one there to greet us. The interior walls were the same drab gray concrete as the exterior of the building. The only bit of color, if white is considered a color, was the drop-down ceiling panels. A half-dead plant, I thought it might be a ficus but I'm not much of a plant guy so I was only guessing, stood as the lone sentry in its pot at the end of the worn laminate counter. I looked around for a bell or buzzer that might let someone know we were waiting but didn't see anything.

We waited for over ten minutes, but no one came out to greet us. “What do you think?” I asked my brother.

Zach looked around the dreary lobby and shrugged. “I guess we can try to find someone.”

There was no directory or map indicating where we should start our search, so I nodded toward the elevator. Our footsteps echoed behind us as we crossed the small lobby. Zach pressed the elevator button and we waited for the stainless steel door to open. The door slid into the wall with a clunking noise, sounding like it needed to be serviced. I stepped forward to enter the elevator, but Zach threw his arm in front of my chest, stopping me. He was staring at the floor.

Rust-colored smears coated the chipped laminate tiles on the elevator floor, which made me wonder what they had been painting since everything I'd seen so far had been unpainted concrete. The interior of the elevator was a cold, industrial stainless steel. The paint smears continued up the lower part of the walls.

“How do you get paint on the walls like that?” I asked, slowly shaking my head at how someone could be so messy and then just leave it without cleaning it up. My brain hadn't quite made the connection, but Zach’s had.

“That's not paint,” he whispered as the door slid closed with a creepy grinding thump.

I reached out to hit the button again, but Zach grabbed my arm. “We need to go. Something's not right here.” He didn't wait for a response. Instead, he pulled me towards the front door and back outside where the heat of the sun burned off the coldness that had seeped deep into my body.

Not sure what was going on, I looked over at Zach. “What the hell was that all about?” I demanded to know. “You freaked out over a bit of spilled paint and now you drag me out here without finding out where Katie is.”

“That wasn't paint,” he said again, but I still didn't make the connection. Zach must have seen my confusion, as he pulled his cell phone out of its leather holster on his belt. “It was dried blood. Something happened here and we need to call the police.”

No matter how many times he said it, I just couldn't wrap my mind around it well enough to make sense of what he was saying.

He pressed a few buttons on his phone and then held it to the side of his face as he waited for someone to answer.

“Hi. My name's Zachary Winters. My brother and I are at the county morgue and we need an officer here.” He listened for a moment, nodding his head in agreement with whatever was being said on the other end. “I understand that, but I think someone's been killed or injured. There's dried blood inside the elevator and nobody's around.”

I could hear the voice of the female dispatcher, but couldn't make out any specific words. “Okay. We'll wait here for them. Thanks,” he said before disconnecting the call. He looked at me with a worried expression on his face as he slid his phone back into its holster.

“What?” I snapped at him. He already had me nervous and had yet to say anything to explain what he was thinking. I still wasn't convinced it was even actual blood we saw in the elevator.

“Dill, I don't know what's going on, but the dispatcher said something odd. I don't think she meant to say it since she tried to immediately cover it up.” Zach stood there and stared at me as if struggling to find the right words.

“Dammit, Bro! What did she say?” I was getting even more frustrated with Zach and I think he knew it.

“She said.” Zach paused for a moment, fortifying himself for what he was about to say. “She said, the kids are coming back, and then she told me to lock myself in my car until the police arrived.”

I stared at him in total disbelief. Someone had to be pulling a horrible practical joke on us. A very cruel and morbid practical joke, but a joke nonetheless. It was either that, or Zach misunderstood what the dispatcher said.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” I finally blurted out, baffled more than ever.

He shrugged and glanced back at the concrete monstrosity of a building that housed the dead with a troubled look on his face. “I'm really not sure I want to know. Let's just get in the car and wait for the cops and then we can figure this all out.”

I found the whole thing to be disconcerting. What kids? Back from where? What did that have to do with what was happening here? Why did she want us to lock ourselves in our car? I was so confused and my brain was having a hard time connecting the dots. Maybe I was missing some dots. Hell, maybe I was missing all of them.

We climbed into Zach's Chevy Traverse and dutifully locked the doors, although we still weren't sure exactly what we were trying to lock out. My mind was racing, still trying to figure out this weird jigsaw puzzle but getting nowhere. It was like the puzzle was upside down and all the pieces were cardboard colored in multiple shapes and sizes.

It was getting hot inside the SUV, so Zach turned on the engine and cranked the air conditioning up on high. The cold air gave me goosebumps, or maybe I already had them and the cold just made them more pronounced.

It took the police nearly thirty minutes to show up, but they finally did. Two cars, four cops. I opened the door to get out of the SUV so I could talk to them and explain what we'd seen but was immediately ordered back inside the vehicle. I glared hatefully at the cop before slamming the door and locking it again, making Zach flinch. He knew better than to say anything to me in my current mood.

Zach and I watched as the officers opened their trunks and began putting on riot gear. What the fuck was happening? “Bro, are you seeing this?”

“Uh-huh. I'm just not sure what's going on. Do you think maybe someone is inside, holding the others hostage?”

I thought about it. It actually was a more reasonable suggestion than anything I'd been able to come up with. A crazed gunman enters the morgue, takes the receptionist or whoever was at the counter hostage. They struggle in the elevator and someone gets hurt, leaving the blood smears. The cops wearing riot gear. It fit the facts, at least as I knew them.

“I think you might be right, but why?”

My brother pulled out his cell phone and started taking video of what was happening. “Might make a good story someday,” he said with a smirk when I looked over at him, making me laugh. I instantly cut it off. My daughter died two days ago. I shouldn't be laughing. I mentally chastised myself and then realized I was being stupid. Katie wouldn't want me to wallow in self-pity. She'd want me to be happy and continue living life to the fullest. I tried to smile, but the expression felt phony to me, so I quickly wiped it from my face.

We observed as the police entered the building, their riot shields in one hand and batons in the other. For fifteen minutes, nothing happened.

“What's that sound?” asked Zach as he rolled down his window so he could hear better. He was staring intently at the front door of the building as if it held all the answers to the world's problems. I rolled my window down and leaned my head outside. I heard what sounded like muffled firecrackers coming from inside the building.

I looked over at my brother. “Gunshots?” I asked hesitantly, not really sure, but knowing it was the only logical answer.

The front door was kicked open as two officers emerged, dragging a third behind them, their riot shields and batons missing. Instead, they had their guns drawn and aimed behind them. Blood covered the unconscious officer. Had someone shot him? They took refuge behind one of the patrol cars and I heard one of them calling for backup over the radio attached to his shoulder. There was no sign of the fourth officer. One cop was attempting to render first aid to the downed man while the other still had his gun pointed at the front door of the morgue. I noticed his hand was shaking. Whoever was inside the building had scared this seasoned officer.

Time seemed to slow down as the door swung open and five or six children spilled out the door. The kids were all preteens, varying in age from about four years old to around twelve, I thought, based on their sizes. They were all covered in blood. I noticed a mop of curly light brown hair on one of the mid-sized ones. She reminded me of Katie. I stared at the running figure as the cops were shooting at them. One kid fell to the ground as the rest trampled over him. It gave me a clear path to see the Katie look-a-like, only it wasn't a look-a-like. It was Katie.

I jumped out of Zach's SUV and started running to my daughter, calling her name. “Katie! Katie! It's Daddy!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. All the kids turned my way as if they had choreographed it. The police were yelling at me, but I was too focused on my daughter to hear what they were saying.

The cops kept firing at the three remaining children, one of which was my daughter. “Katie, get down!” I yelled as I changed trajectory and headed to the officers who were trying to murder my little girl.

Fury fueled me as I sprinted toward them. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another kid fall victim to the cops' bullets. Katie and one other kid were the only ones who were still alive. I tackled the first officer I came to, but he used my momentum against me and flipped me over him and onto my back, knocking all the air out of my lungs. In seconds, he had me pinned to the asphalt as I struggled to regain my breath and free myself.

Katie and the other kid, a boy of about ten, ran around the corner of the police car. The cop scrambled off me, fumbling for his gun as I rose to my knees, holding my hands out to my baby girl. I smiled at my daughter, who I'd thought I'd lost forever, as she ran into my arms. I hugged her tight. Her teeth bite into the skin on my neck as the officer who had pinned me to the ground earlier pulled her off me.

“Katie!” I screamed loudly as the cop tossed her aside like a bag of trash. Frantically, I tried to reach her, but the cop pushed me back onto the ground. Katie hit the asphalt hard but was quickly back on her feet and charging at the officer. Then the back of her head exploded as the officer shot her in the head. Katie's body fell awkwardly to the unyielding ground, inches from my own.

“NO!” I screamed, kicking and punching the officer.

Somehow, I struggled free and collapsed to the ground beside my baby girl. I could barely see through my tears as I picked up her limp body and cradled her in my arms. The officers appeared to have lost interest in me, at least for now, as they tended to their fallen comrade. They must have already killed the little boy, but I secretly hoped he'd gotten away from the rogue cops.

I think something inside me broke. Everything passed in a haze, but my mind didn't comprehend any of it. At some point, they removed Katie from my arms. I remembered getting a shot from an EMT but had no clue what it had been for. I vaguely recall riding in Zach's SUV but then my memories faded to black.