Линвуд Баркли - A Noise Downstairs

“You don’t believe in that kind of thing,” Anna said. “You think that’s a load of shit, that our lives are somehow preordained.”

“You’d be surprised what I believe in.”

And that was when he told her.

“The night your mother died, I was sound asleep. And then...” He struggled a moment to find the words. “And then she spoke to me, like in a dream, and said I should get to the hospital as quick as I could.”

Anna said nothing.

Frank sat on the edge of the bed, ran his palms across the bedspread. “And I didn’t pay a goddamn bit of attention, because I didn’t believe in that sort of thing. And you know what happened. She passed that night. I should have believed. I should have listened.”

Anna, softly, said, “Why have you never told me that story?”

Frank shrugged. “I didn’t want to upset you. I didn’t want you to know I had a chance to say good-bye and didn’t take it.”

Anna sat down in the easy chair and looked away. Outside, a cloudless sky made the sound a deep blue.

“Anyway, I bring that up now,” her father said, “because your mother spoke to me again.”

Anna looked back, blinked away tears, tried to get her father into focus. “When did she do that?”

“After what happened with those people who tried to kill you. Couple of nights later, I guess it was.”

Anna wasn’t sure she could bring herself to ask. But she had to know. “What did she say?”

Now it was her father’s turn to gather his strength.

“Joanie said to me, she said, ‘Frank, you saved her life. The only thing more you can do is give her her life.’ And that was it.”

Anna stared at her father. He reached out a hand to her and she took it.

“I guess you think that’s a bunch of horseshit,” he said.

She shook her head from side to side.

“You believe it?”

Anna stopped moving her head and swallowed.

“I do.”