Episode 61 The finality in the mist.

 

The finality in the mist.

The salty mist of the middle of October clung to the jagged rocks of the cliffside like a damp shroud, thick with the scent of brine and old secrets. Josh stood by the open trunk of his vehicle, his movements stiff and mechanical as he reached up to roughly wipe a stray bit of moisture from his eye. One by one, he gathered the cold, heavy metal of the guns from the interior and shoved them into the dark void of the trunk, stowing away the weight of his previous life.

He did not reach for another weapon; instead, he pulled out a dozen red roses, their petals a vibrant, bruising crimson against the grey sky. He walked to the very edge of the precipice, where the world dropped away into the churning white foam of the Pacific, and laid the flowers down. Tucked under the stems was a small, stark scrap of paper with two words that felt like a finality: Sorry Sarah.

The hike down the cliff was treacherous, the wind howling against the stone as the ocean waves crashed below with a rhythmic, violent thud. Mist sprayed his face, blurring his vision as he stared out at the horizon where the water met the clouds. "Now rest," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper lost to the gale. Whether the peace he sought was on the surface or deep beneath the waves, he turned his back on the spray and began the long climb away from the edge.

Miles away, the fluorescent hum of the hospital was a different kind of cold. Sarah sat on the edge of her bed, her hands clenched in her lap as she prepared her "game face"—steady, calm, and cooperative. She knew that to get her baby back, she had to convince every person in a white coat that she was of sound mind.

The doctor entered, flipping through a folder of charts. "Sarah, we've run every test possible," he said. "Your levels are okay, your blood work is fine. We’d like to keep you another day, but if you want to go home, it’s fine. I know you want to see your daughter".

"That’s marvelous," Sarah replied with a practiced smile. "I would like to leave straight away".

"The police wanted to talk to you for a moment before you leave," the doctor added as Detective Knox entered the room.

"You were found in a hotel room," Knox began, his eyes scanning her face. "No breaking and entering, nothing damaged. The hotel manager doesn't want to press charges. He actually drove your vehicle here to the hospital himself. It’s not standard procedure, but he did it out of courtesy. Here are the keys".

Sarah took the cold metal keys. "Thank you so much, Detective".

Knox leaned in. "Do you remember anything about what happened before? How you got there?".

"No, Detective, I don't," Sarah lied, her voice never wavering. "It's all a blur. I'm just eager to see my little girl".

As Knox left, a nurse entered carrying a small, bundled weight. The "game face" shattered instantly as Alice was placed into Sarah’s arms. Tears tracked down her cheeks as she pressed her face against the baby’s blanket. "I've missed you, little one," she whispered through her sobs. "We're going home now".

The drive to the coast was silent, the mist thickening as Sarah pulled to a stop near the cliffside. She saw the splash of crimson against the grey stone and approached slowly. Her heart hammered as she saw the note: Sorry Sarah.

She fell to her knees, her body racked with uncontrollable sobs as she searched the churning foam for any sign of her husband. In a surge of raw fury, she snatched up the roses and the note and hurled them into the depths. "Fuck you, Josh!" she screamed into the wind.

She wiped her tears and walked back to the vehicle. As she buckled her seatbelt, she glanced at Alice, who was staring back with wide eyes. The baby’s lips moved: "Dah... dah... dah...". The sound brought Sarah to fresh tears—a call for a father the child might never see again.

Sarah drove back to the beach house, but as she stepped inside with Alice, she was met with a cold, hollow stillness. The house felt vast and empty, the silence echoing in every room.

After putting Alice down in her crib, Sarah reached for the phone. "Oh, Elizabeth," she whispered as her mother picked up. They spent an hour talking, though Sarah was careful with her words, never divulging the truth about Andrew's previous line of work.

"Oh love, you should come back straight away!" Elizabeth urged.

"Mum, I'm staying here for a while".

"Sarah, I am gloved to help you out, but your father is still recovering," Elizabeth replied. "I have to be there for him."

"I understand. How’s Dad doing?".

"Well, you know your father—stubborn all the way!".

"Sounds like Dad," Sarah replied with a faint smile.

"I have to let you go now, Sarah," Elizabeth said softly. "When you look into Alice's eyes, you'll see a glimpse of Andrew in there. We are all praying for the best outcome".

The line went dead, and the silence of the beach house returned. Sarah stood over the crib, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her daughter's chest. In the dim light, the shadows softened the infant's features, but the truth remained—a haunting cartography of a man no longer there, a flickering candle of Andrew’s spirit kept alight in a world that felt increasingly dark.