Not one stick of furniture did he recognize. The many photographs that Krista had lovingly taken were foreign to him, as were the strangers who had gathered about him for some reason he could no longer recall. He found himself desperately hoping that Krista and Danny would happily return through the front door, bearing the extra ice cream they had gone to buy on the spur of the moment.

Ice cream, his stunned mind thought. Something as foolish as ice cream…

As Wyatt stared dumbly around the living room, everything looked bizarrely wrong. The huge birthday cake laden with candles and the dozens of colorfully wrapped gifts suddenly seemed embarrassing and irreverent. His guests were dressed casually, their colorful party attire at direct odds with the deep shock registering on their faces. The inappropriateness of the scene was startling.

Morgan again placed the telephone receiver onto its cradle then came to sit by Wyatt’s side. Filled with shock, Wyatt’s aging father joined them. Morgan’s wife, Sissy, stood beside Wyatt, her hands quivering and salty tears streaming down her cheeks. Her two young children huddled near her, seeking protection from a calamity beyond their comprehension. Morgan gripped his brother’s shaking hands.

“Krista and Danny were rushed to Community Memorial,” Morgan said softly. “They each died on the way. I’m so sorry…”

When finally Wyatt spoke, his voice sounded frail. “I have to see them,” were the words he uttered. “You must take me…”

But as he tried to rise, the room spun and everything darkened. It was then when he first realized that a private part of him was forever lost.

 

HER NAME WAS Gabrielle Powers. As she ran down the hospital corridor, her body shook with terror. Her nine-year-old son, Trevor, could barely keep hold of her hand as he tried to keep pace with his desperate mother.

When Gabrielle skidded to a stop before the emergency room reception desk, the nurse saw a terrified look in her eyes. Sadly, in this place such expressions were all too common.

“Jason Powers!” Gabrielle shouted. “I was told that he was in a car crash, and that he was brought here! Where is he?”

As precious seconds mounted, the nurse, with agonizing slowness, consulted some sort of chart.

“Where is he?” Gabrielle literally screamed.

“He’s in the ICU,” the nurse finally said. “His injuries were severe.”

“Which way is the ICU?” Gabrielle demanded.

“Are you immediate family?” the nurse asked.

“I’m his wife!” Gabrielle shouted. “Now where is the ICU?”

The nurse pointed down one hallway. “It’s that way,” she said, “but—”

Before the nurse could finish her sentence, Gabrielle and Trevor were gone. Their hearts pounding, they ran down the hall.

It wasn’t only for herself that Gabrielle raced, but also for her son. The police had told her that Jason’s condition was desperate, and that he might not live to reach the hospital. If Jason were to die, and there was any chance that she and Trevor could say their good-byes before that happened, she must do her best to make it so.

They soon found themselves standing before a pair of glass doors, behind which lay Jason. His face was smashed and bloodied to such an extent that they could barely recognize him. Tubes snaked from his arms and nostrils; a machine monitoring his vital signs displayed numbers and lines that Gabrielle could not comprehend. Irregular beeping noises filtered from the room, their sharp tones supplying a slim lifeline of hope.

But just as Gabrielle was about to force her way inside, the beeping noises became a single, telltale tone. The paddles were used several times; the doctors pumped their hands up and down on Jason’s bare chest.

When Gabrielle saw one of the doctors finally stand back from the body and consult the clock on the wall, she knew.

Still not understanding completely, Trevor exploded into tears.