Resurrectus

The doctors and nurses on the mainland are warm with sympathy, but unresponsive when he asks, his voice ragged, how she is doing.

"Can I see her?" he asks hoarsely on the morning of the third day.

It's a nurse this time, her hair dark brown, but wild like Ken's. "I'm sorry, sir"--

"Please," Adie peeks out from behind his leg, her black hair tangled because she has refused to let anyone but Ken touch it. "Ken'll get better if he's there, I promise. I need her to get better and come braid my hair and make Trace laugh when she whispers in his ear."

The nurse's face softens, and she looks back at Trace.

"I suppose it won't matter now," she says softly, placing her hand on his arm. "But you have to prepare yourself, Mr."--

"Cain," he murmurs. "Trace Cain."

"She's not doing well, Mr. Cain."

"I know," he mumbles, the words clumsy on his numb lips. 

The nurse leans closer so Adie can't hear. "It's very likely that you'll be saying goodbye, Mr. Cain." 

Goodbye?

Trace nods, and she steps back, allowing him to pass.

He stumbles as he walks, and vaguely he realizes that she catches him and guides him through the door.

Mauri is sitting beside the bed, and when she looks up at him her eyes are dark and empty. Kinley is beside her, and when Trace enters, she gently pulls Mauri to her feet.

"Come on, girlie," she murmurs. "You need some rest."

"I want to stay with my baby girl," Mauri protests, but her words are feeble and she can barely stand as Kinley leads her out.

"I'll stay with her," Trace says, and then he sees Ken and everything else disappears.

She is tiny in the hospital bed, and there are tubes of some sort in one arm. The screen above the bed is issuing a succession of steady beeps, and it gives him hope, to see the jagged lines every time her heart beats. 

He kneels beside the bed, takes her hand in his.

It's limp, clammy, as if she's still in the sea. As if she'll never be able to leave it.

"Ken," he says, and the word is lost in a ragged sob. "Ken Lewis"--

Goodbye, the nurse had said. You'll be saying goodbye.

But he can't. 

Not to Ken.

And because he can't manage the words, he closes his eyes and rests his head against her cold hand.

Stay, he had asked her, and she had said yes.

He remembered the day, bright and clear and cold, the first day of spring. She had told him she wasn't going to uni, after all; that she was going to open a dance studio near the cliffs and teach girls Adie's age. That he was going to work there with her, paint every wave that crashed against their cliff, and sell the paintings to Aron and Mia like he had promised. 

Ken, he is sobbing now against her hand, his tears the only warmth against the cold shroud of death that already envelops her hand. Ken, I need you to stay.

Ken Lewis, you asked me what hope looks like, and I never answered.

I never answered, because I didn't know. But I know now.

It looks like you.

But there is no answer but the steady beeping of the machines that are keeping Ken Lewis alive.

We need you. I need you.

Please please please.

Ken.

And then because Trace Cain cannot even form a coherent thought, he unclenches his free hand and places it over her heart, feeling the faint beat, and breathes her name like a prayer.

Ken.

Do you know what I want, she had whispered to him one dark night when she had slept pressed into the curve of his body. I want to hear you say my name like that for the rest of my life.

Hear me now, Ken. Please. Here me now.