From beneath the warm comfort of my comforter which had been living up to its name I heard the soft clicking of the buttons on the Jerrold television remote base. The only problem was, there should be no reason for these sounds, right here, right now. I lay quietly and still as I counted each button on the remote being depressed every three seconds. I thought long and hard on who it might be for there was no way it could have been a what which was controlling the remote.
“I know you’re awake” a voice said matter of factly. The voice sounded young, possibly female, or that awkward male voice during puberty. I wondered, what was the owner of this voice doing here in my space and how did he or she find it?
I quickly threw the covers off hoping to alarm the intruder who was trying to wear out my TV remote.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light it became clear to me this person was female and as I had assumed she was indeed young, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, I thought.
“I’m actually sixteen if you must know,” she said.
I studied the girl before me trying to figure out if I knew her at all but only kept drawing blanks.
“You don’t know me. I heard you calling my name as you were sleeping so I thought I would come to see what you wanted,” as she answered the question I didn’t voice out loud.
“Who are you and how did you know where to find me?”
“You were screaming loud enough to wake the dead, so it wasn’t hard to find you. As for who I am, I’ll let you figure this out for yourself and in your own time.”
I tried to recall my dreams from last night but only could remember fragments from a couple of them. None of the instances from those dreams had me calling out someone’s name.
I studied her as she sat cross-legged at the end of my makeshift bed. There was nothing about her appearance I could place familiarity or a name to.
“You need to think outside the box, Quinn, or should I say Robert?” she said.
“Are you my guardian angel or something?” I asked.
She seemed to smile at my question. She unfurled her legs, which to me seemed to be far too long to be on a sixteen-year-old. She stood up at the end of the bed and performed a complete circle in the spot as if presenting herself for inspection.
“No wings, no halo, and certainly no horns as you can see. The only other option now is, or something,” she said sporting a small grin.
Her sarcasm was as sharp as mine and she seemed to enjoy the banter. She reminded me of my … myself. Her grin became a smile once I completed my thought.
“You’re not.”
“Go on,” she said.
“You’re not the younger female version of me, are you?” I asked.
She laughed at my suggestion.
I realized she was far too tall to be me in any gender, and she clearly was in far better condition than I had ever been in.
“If you’re not a younger female version of me, and neither a guardian angel, or you know and are not willing to let me know, the only question left to ask is why are you here?”
She took a seat on the side of the bed keeping one leg on the ground and stretched out the other one towards me on the edge of the bed.
I counted five toes, normal looking toes.
“Quinn, right now, all you need to know is I am here to help you when you’ll need it. And trust me, you’re gonna need it.”
I pinched the skin on my forearm good and hard trying to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming. I wasn’t.
“I am Annabelle. Does this ring any bells for you?” she asked.
I didn’t have to think at all to know this name. It had been the name my wife Natalie and I had chosen to give our daughter before she and Natalie had passed away at the hands of an intoxicated driver, sixteen years ago. Had it already been sixteen years? I thought to myself.
I looked at Annabelle carefully looking for any resemblance to either Natalie or myself.
“Does this mean you …?”
Annabelle interrupted, “Yes, I’m your … would have been your daughter in real life.”
“I suppose this makes you, her ghost?” I asked.
“You know there’s no such things as ghosts, Dad,” she replied, then paused before continuing. “The best answer I can offer you right now is I am your spiritual daughter preparing you. This is all I can say because I don’t know any more than I need to until I need to. I know this doesn’t make much sense right now, I just need you to trust me like you would trust Mom.”
At the mention of her Mom I realized I had not once thought of Natalie since Annabelle arrived. I immediately felt a deep pang of guilt well up in my heart.
“Wait. Prepare me? Prepare me for what?” the question was sharp and direct and appeared to shock Annabelle.
I watched her as she reached her hand towards my leg and felt it softly lay atop of it. I took the opportunity to do likewise to her leg. Much to my surprise her leg was tangible, that is, I was able to feel it as if it were actually real and there. Annabelle must have seen the look of fear, or perhaps confusion on my face.
“Kind of weird, huh?”
I couldn’t be sure if it was a question or a statement so rather than provide an audible answer I simply nodded my head.
“How is this real? How can I actually be seeing and touching my sixteen-year-old daughter who was never born?” I broke down and began crying.
Annabelle leaned into me and embraced me as best as she could.
After a short while she pulled away and held my hands in hers.
“I know you and Mom were both familiar with God and believed in what you thought He might be able to do, but sometimes questioned why He did them the way He did. It’s not for me and certainly not for you to question God why. God has a message for you, and I believe He thinks this was the only way you might be willing to hear and accept it.”
I carefully listened to every word she spoke. I was convinced she sounded more like her mother than me. It made me miss her mother that much more. She spoke once more.
“This path you’re on is destructive and will not end well for you. What is done is done and there is no undoing it. Your grief is real as is your pain, but this vengeance you seek will not ease them.”
She stopped talking and just continued looking at me. I had the feeling she was experiencing the same grief and pain I was.
I pondered the words she had spoken to me (or were they God’s words? I couldn’t be sure). I just knew they were right.
I had made up my mind to exact my own justice in the son-of-a-*** who was responsible for killing Natalie and Annabelle. Sixteen years for involuntary vehicular manslaughter was not justice in my eyes, and I was determined to get my pound of flesh in return.
I had spent the last five years building a new identity for myself. I had gone as far as making physical changes to my image and started living off the grid. Everything to exact my revenge had been carefully thought and planned out. I had even determined I was prepared to face the consequences should my plan somehow backfire.
Annabelle gripped my hand a little firmer which broke my train of thought.
“Dad, you need to let it go. Let him go. The best thing you can do for him and yourself is to forgive him. The best thing you can do for Mom and me is to stop playing the victim and be the Christian you once claimed to be.”
In my heart of heart of hearts I knew she was right, but I also knew this would be the hardest thing I would ever have to do, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
There was a knock at the door. I turned my head away from Annabelle towards the door and just stared at it wondering who had the nerve to interrupt my moment with my daughter.
Another knock at the door, this time louder and more impatient.
Suddenly I was awake and alone. Annabelle had disappeared. I was sad and somewhat perturbed at whomever was responsible for this intrusion.
Another knock with the continued persistence and intensity.
“Yeah, yeah, hang on, I’m coming.”
I threw on my housecoat and made my way to the door. I peeked through the peep hole at my intruder. There were two of them and one was looking back at me through the peep hole. I turned the latch on my door and opened it only a crack.
“Can I help you?”
Mr. Pearse, we’re from the Justice Department. May we please come in?”
I swung the door open wide and walked into the living room and sat in my favourite chair. The first one was already sitting on the couch while the other was still closing the door.
“Mr. Pearse, I’m Mike Saunders and this is my partner James Heron, and as I said we’re from the Justice Department. We’d like to talk to you about Richard Spriggs.”
“Oh yeah, what about him?”
“Well, as you are most likely aware he is scheduled to be released from prison in two days.”
“And this has what to do with me?”
“Mr. Spriggs and, well, the Justice Department, are concerned about his safety after his release. We’ve read the letters you have sent him over the years and are concerned you may attempt to follow through on your promises. We’ve been sent to inform you if you make any attempt upon the life of Mr. Spriggs, we will pursue you and bring you to justice and apply the full extent of the law down upon you.”
I sat quietly pondering their promises and weighed them against what my daughter had said to me in what I now knew was a dream.
I smiled and asked Saunders if I could tell them a brief story promising not to take up too much of their time. They humoured me and allowed me to tell them about my dream.
When I was done retelling the dream both Saunders and Heron appeared a little doubtful about what they had just heard, but at the same time believed me when I assured them I would not act upon anything I had written and promised Mr. Spriggs.
“You’ll forgive us if we find your story a little hard to swallow, and we really do want to believe you’ve had a sudden change of heart. Just know the department and police will be monitoring your movements and actions. You know, just in case you have another change of heart.”
“I fully understand and would expect nothing less.”
As soon as Saunders and Heron left, I locked the door behind them and went back to my bedroom where I fell to my knees and thanked God for sending Annabelle to show me the error of my thinking and unwillingness to forgive the man who took my wife and my beautiful unborn sixteen-year-old daughter.
I once heard a preacher say we would eventually get to meet our unborn children when we get to heaven, and I always believed it was just something they said as they tried to console grieving survivors of tragedy. Now I am inclined to believe it and am grateful I didn’t have to wait until I got to heaven to meet my beautiful Annabelle.
Randy Lacey, April 2006
