Peoria, Illinois
Saint Francis Medical Center 

“How is she?” Alan asked, out of breath, running up to the nurse’s station where Dale was waiting. Dale was Guinevere’s older brother, tall, solid, dark hair with wisps of grey; he said nothing when Alan approached, but hurriedly led him down the hall towards the ICU. They followed the arrows on the polished tile floor to a big set of locked double doors. Dale was wearing a yellow visitors badge, which he flashed to a passing nurse who used a card to open them with a beep. The two men entered quickly. 

The ICU was a long, white hallway void of the usual hospital décor. Everything looked shiny, Alan noticed. Shiny floors, shiny walls, shiny gurneys, in front of rooms with shiny glass windows. The corridor was chillingly quiet, less the hum of machines and the murmur of medical personnel speaking in hushed tones. Alan’s boots made muffled clomps as Dale took him past a second nurses’ station, and then slowed at nearing the room, where a drawn blue curtain provided privacy to those inside. 

Just outside its doorway, a doctor in scrubs was giving instructions to nurses, who nodded quietly. There was blood on the doctor’s shirt. Alan overheard the phrase, “just make her comfortable.” 

The physician looked up when he heard the men approach.

“Doctor?” Dale asked, with Alan behind.

The physician nodded, but said nothing. He gave a second nod to the nurses, who stepped away together. “Go ahead,” he told Dale, before stepping away himself. 

Alan inhaled deeply – 

He followed Dale into the room. 

***** 

...beep...beep...beep...
Gwen looked...like meat. There was no other way to describe it. Her face was wrapped in bloody gauze, with wires and tubes going everywhere. Alan went numb in an instant. Somewhere in his mind, his brain threw a switch that forced every muscle in his body to remain calm. Guinevere was broken. She could never be repaired. His eyes followed the shape of her frame on the bed, a shape that wasn’t right anymore, and bent in ways it was never meant to be. 

Audrey and Jacob sat on either side of their daughter, and the old man whispered into Guinevere’s ear when he sensed Alan’s approach. “He’s here, Sweetie.” 

Alan felt his feet move forward. He watched as his hand reached out for Guinevere’s own. Jacob got up, letting Alan take his place. Alan sat down and leaned cautiously over the bed, squeezing Gwen’s hand when he spoke. “Hey Schnookums,” he said. 

“Schnookums,” she whispered faintly. 

Audrey fought to contain tears. Jacob went to comfort his wife, while Dale watched from the corner. Alan came in close to Gwen. “You know, even in this hospital room, you look...amazing.” 

Mmmph! 

The heart monitor jumped when Gwen choked back wet coughs. Audrey’s head shot up in anger, but quickly softened when she realized a smile had miraculously appeared on Guinevere’s lips. The coughing subsided, and Alan wiped the red from Gwen’s teeth. She whispered, “Did you bring hairspray?” 

“Of course.”

“And makeup?”
“

I brought the whole goddamn store,” he assured her. “I even brought the lady from the cosmetics counter. She’s just outside. She’s waiting outside to” – he trailed off for a moment. Gwen tightened her grip on his hand. Alan cleared his throat. “I have a whole team waiting to dress my Schnookums into something more appropriate” – 

“There’s a limo waiting too.” 

...beep...beep...beep...

 Jacob stood and walked to the corner by his son. Audrey remained behind, refusing to leave the bedside. Guinevere’s breathing was labored, and Alan felt uncomfortable as though intruding on a moment meant for immediate family. He had rushed to Peoria without fully thinking things through, and now that he was here there was really only one thing that he needed – and hated – to do. It was time to say goodbye, and to excuse himself from the room. Audrey looked at him in understanding. 

“Listen, Gwen, I just want to say” – 

“Do you ever watch Supernatural?” Guinevere whispered, stopping him. “They wrecked the Impala.” 

“What?” 

“Supernatural,” she repeated, her words in shallow breaths. “It’s a show about...two brothers...they’re hot...they kill demons...they wrecked their Impala...at the end of ...the first season’s last show.” Alan shook his head – 

“No, I haven’t.”

“I love...that show...it’s so funny,” she told him.

“I’ll bet it is.”
“

And the brothers...are so...hot.”

His fingers still interlocked with Gwen’s, Alan looked up to her mother. She doesn’t know what she’s saying right now. Her brain is dying, and she’s talking about random memories. The old woman nodded, as though she already knew. 

“They wrecked...the Impala,” Gwen repeated. 

She’s talking about a TV show because it reminds her of the accident. Her synapses are firing like broken electricity lines, and all of this is just a metaphor...nothing more than magical thinking. 

“I loved that car,” she added. 15

...beep...beep...beep... 

The room watched in silence.

Everyone knew the end was near

.
Guinevere spoke again. “I’m so sad, Alan.”

“Schnookums, no” –

“But I am...I really am.”

“Don’t say things like that, Gwen. We’re all here now. I’m here now. And I’m going to stay here until” – he quietly gulped for air – “I’m going to stay here until you get better.” 

Please...don’t talk about this now. 

“But I am sad,” she insisted, her eyes suddenly opening wide. For just a flashing second, Alan caught a glimpse of the Guinevere he remembered...and the big, wide eyes that once smoldered with both humor and sexuality. She looked as though she might try to sit up, but her body – her broken body – no longer had that ability. But her words were still strong, even though her voice was not. And what those words said to him next would haunt him always, long after today and until the end of his own – 

“The worst thing about my depression is that it has a sense of humor.” 

Alan went numb.

The grip on his hand loosened slightly.

“I fucked up,” Gwen whispered to him.

“Sweetie, no,” Audrey choked, tears on her cheeks. “The accident wasn’t your fault.” Her daughter heard her mother’s words, but Gwen’s eyes stayed focused on Alan. 

“I fucked up with Stephanie.” Gwen spoke directly to him. Her eyes were like steel. “I wasn’t ready to be a mom. I wasn’t ready to do a good job.”

“Gwen,” Alan protested. “I’m going to step outside for a second. “Your mom’s here, and so is your dad and brother. They should be the ones to” – he stopped midsentence, realizing what he was about to say.’

He attempted to stand, but Guinevere wouldn’t allow it. Her red and purple fingers refused to release their grip, forcing him closer. Alan looked at Audrey in desperation. I’m so sorry. He could hear Jacob behind him, inhaling in both exhaustion and grief. Audrey’s eyes met Alan’s. It’s all right, Alan. Gwen wants you to be here. 

Alan relented. He placed both hands on top of Gwen’s own. The heart monitor was slowing now. “I’m here, Schnookums.” 

...beep, beep, beep... 

“Alan, listen to me,” Gwen whispered. “I need you to do something for me.” 

“Anything.”

“It’s important,” she said.

“Tell me.” “...I want you to...Stephanie...” Her sentence was incomplete. 

“You want me to get Stephanie?” Alan asked, looking at Audrey, then Jacob. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll get Stephanie.” He suddenly realized that Gwen’s daughter wasn’t in the room. A horrible thought occurred when he remembered Dale telling him that Stephanie had also been in the car this morning.

 My God. Was Stephanie killed in the accident? 

His face went white. Dale noticed this. “Steph’s okay.” Alan turned back to the bed. “Steph’s okay,” he repeated. “You want me to get her?” Gwen shook her head. Her tongue made a sickening swallowing sound before she spoke next: 

“No...I want you to take care of her.”

Alan froze –

“Come again?”

“I want you to take care of her,” Gwen repeated, much softer now. “I want you...to take care of...my daughter...like you took care of me...when we all worked at Checker’s.” 

The room fell silent. 

Alan stirred, in both sadness and discomfort. The heart monitor had grown slower – 

beep!..........beep!..........beep! 

Alan looked towards Audrey, not knowing what to say, but the old woman was fighting to hide her own grief as she buried her head within the bloody blanket, next to her daughter’s shoulder. Jacob had brought his hand to his mouth, with Dale in close. All eyes in the room now fell onto Alan, waiting for what he’d say next. 

“Remember when...we danced...at Night Faces?” Gwen barely had strength to finish the sentence. A silent song from a long-forgotten night crept through the room like a ghost, with Alan and Guinevere its only audience. It was Adam Ant’s Strip, and its chorus was slow, in time to her fading heartbeat – 

“We’re just fol-low-ing ancient his-tor-ree, if I strip for you, would you strip” – 

The music stopped dead, echoing like an empty corridor.

Gwen’s mouth and eyes both widened in wonder, as she blew her final breath like a kiss - “For me?” Squeezing his Schnookums’ hand one final, deliberate time, Alan said what he needed to say. 

***** 

Hot tears exploded from the room as Alan dashed into the ICU hallway, slamming his back onto the closest solid wall. The doctor appeared again and patted Alan on the arm before joining the family, calling time of death. An unseen hand pulled the blue curtain tight in the window, allowing the Williams a final moment of privacy. His chest rising and falling quickly, Alan took one last glance into Guinevere’s doorway before stumbling away in a daze, the sounds of the hospital becoming static in his ears. He found himself a few rooms down, staring at a teenage girl in a bed who was unconscious from medication. Stephanie was alone in her room. 

A hand touched Alan’s shoulder from behind. 

“They had to sedate her when they brought her in,” Dale said, his voice still sad, but rebounding. “She was crying so hard, she could hardly breathe.” 

“Was she in the ambulance with Gwen?” Alan asked. 

“No, they took her separately,” Dale said. “Gwen was a mess. Thank God the hospital was so close.” 

The two men watched Stephanie from the doorway. Alan noticed she had been spared the accident’s brunt, miraculously surviving with only minor cuts and bruises. As he watched the young girl’s chest rise and fall, Alan could feel his own lungs slowing, anxiety subsiding. He wondered how much Steph “knew,” and what might be going on within her own head right now as her last conscious memory was EMT’s swarming her mother. Her dreams must be...awful. 

“She must have had a guardian angel,” Alan heard himself say.

“C’mon,” Dale told him. “Let’s find someplace to get a drink.”

“Wait, what?” Alan snapped back into the moment. “Shouldn’t we...wait?” he asked, surprised. “I mean, shouldn’t we at least go sit with Stephanie? So someone’s there when she wakes up?” 

Dale looked as if he were accessing what Alan just said. “You want to do this sober?” 

“Well no, but...” Alan hesitated –

“Dale, we just can’t leave.”

“Then you take the first shift, and I’ll find us a flask,” Dale said. Before Alan could object, Dale’s back was halfway down the corridor, heading for the exit. Alan took a breath and exhaled slowly. He paused at Stephanie’s room, then opted for a nearby chair on the hallway’s opposite side. From this new vantage point, the young girl’s bed was in his line of sight; he could get up if she awoke, but keep his distance in the meantime. 

His pocket buzzed. Alan reached into his leather jacket, took out the phone and looked at Caller ID. He flipped it open. “Thank God,” he said into the handset, covering his eyes with his hand. 

“You need me to pick you up?” 

***** 

The white Boeing 737 touched down with a roar beneath the dark skies above the Greater Peoria Regional Airport. It slowed to a stop, and then turned around and taxied along the runway lights. The plane rolled past mountains of dirt, idle bulldozers under spotlights, and a long, orange, temporary plastic fence before docking at the gates, which dotted the side of the old terminal. 

Alan watched its progress from the closing airport bar, then downed the last of his Manhattan, and heading for the American Airlines arrival gates. A tinny voice echoed throughout the near-empty concourse: 

“...Now arriving...flight 317 from Las Vegas...deboarding at Gate 5...” 

The arriving passengers emerged in little waves, tired businessmen, disheveled twentysomethings, and lots of red Bradley sweatshirts. Alan stood at the exit, paying little attention to the faces that passed. His eyes perked up when he saw what he was looking for – a sharp razor of bleached blonde hair on a tall, thin, middle aged man who stood out against the crowd. Alan smiled when Patrick came up to him. “Hey buddy,” Alan said. 

“Look at you,” Patrick said back, hugging him. The two men embraced for a moment. “It’s good to see you. When did you get in?” 

“This afternoon.”

“How is she?” Patrick asked. Alan paused before answering – “She’s gone.” 

“No,” Patrick said, adjusting his backpack and laptop case. The two stood silently as the debarking passengers eased to a trickle. The lights went dark in the bar over Alan’s shoulder. Patrick watched the steel mesh get lowered as security met the bartender, locking up for the night. The loudspeakers announced that the airport would be closing shortly. Patrick’s eyes grew shiny. 

“Well then,” he said quietly.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

The two stared at each other uncomfortably, not knowing what to do next. Alan shifted in his boots before noticing the time and gesturing towards the baggage carousels. He cleared his throat. “We should probably get your bags.” 

“I’m good,” Patrick told him, patting his backpack. It was small, but clearly filled to capacity. 

“No luggage?” Alan seemed surprised. 

“I never bring more than what I can carry on the plane,” Patrick told him. “But I would like to stop by a store on the way to the hotel, if that’s okay. Anywhere I can get shaving cream, and a bag of fresh T shirts.” 

“Sure,” Alan said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Do you want me to carry one of those?” 

“I got it,” Patrick said, readjusting the weight of his two bags. The two headed for the exit. “Where are you staying? Are you staying with Gwen’s folks?” 

Alan stopped. “Actually, I don’t know,” he realized. “I left the house so quickly, I didn’t even think about it.” He thought a moment. “Where are you staying? I’ll just get a room there. We can drive to the house together, tomorrow.” Patrick wiped his eye and found a little smile. 

“Of course,” Alan said, realizing the silliness of his question. He noticed that Patrick’s backpack had a logo for the same Nevada casino from the message on his answering machine. “My truck’s in the lot. And there’s a Wal Mart on the way.” 

“Perfect,” Patrick said. The glass exit doors opened with a hiss as the two men left the terminal and walked through the airport’s parking lot together beneath the quiet autumn night. 

***** 

Ding!
Ding!
Ding!

The slot machines erupted in noise, spitting out coins into shiny, silver trays. The casino floor was packed with slots, arranged in themed rows on top of colorful, patterned carpet. Massive chandeliers clung to the ceiling like fireworks, and the whole place was accented in mirrors and neon. 

The Pair-A-Dice riverboat had been permanently docked in the nineties, though its footprint had grown along the Illinois Riverfront, expanding into a first-rate gambling complex which included gaming floors, restaurants and bars, and a modern hotel that overlooked Peoria’s skyline. Despite being a weeknight, the place was surprisingly busy; Alan and Patrick sat in Nelson’s Deli, eating sandwiches while gamblers placed bets all around. 

They had to lean close to hear each other. “How’s Vegas?” Alan asked, over the noise. “You still at that little casino?” Patrick chewed and nodded. 

“I run a Bingo game now. It’s not too big, but we have a steady crowd. Lots of old people. Lots of wheelchairs.” 

“Sounds classy,” Alan joked. “And thanks for adding me to the mailing list, by the way. I keep getting those stupid messages.” 

“Aren’t they awful?” Patrick laughed. “The whole place is like that. It’s like time got stuck in 1972, and never got started up again. It reminds me of the old Riviera on the strip.” He swallowed before adding, “We’re definitely off-strip, though. No high- rollers there.” 

“Welcome to the Hotel California,” Alan joked.

“Not quite, but close,” Patrick said.

Alan pushed his sandwich aside and finished the last of his chips. As Patrick did the same, Alan noticed that the rings on Patrick’s fingers had gotten bigger these past fifteen years. “You still with Best Western?” Patrick asked. 

Alan shook his head. “I’m with the Roanoke now,” he said. “I’m an assistant manager for their place in downtown Naperville. It’s an old hotel that got refurbished. Thirty rooms, a little restaurant and bar. I guess we’re classified as a boutique hotel. We’re right across the street from a Barnes and Noble.” 

“Nice,” Patrick said. 

“Not as nice as this,” Alan said, settling back in his chair and looking over the casino’s crowd. “The only time we’re ever this busy is on New Years, or when something is happening nearby.” He looked at his watch. 

“It’s late,” Patrick realized. 

“I figure we’ll go to the house around noon?” Alan said. “Stop by, see if they need anything? Maybe do a grocery run for them?” 

“That sounds good.”

“How long are you staying?”
“

Just through the funeral,” Patrick said. “You said it was Friday?”

“That’s what Dale told me.”

“I wish I could stay longer, but I can’t be gone the weekend.”

“Same here.”

“You’ve got Dale’s number?” Patrick asked. Alan nodded. “I’ll text him when I get up.”

“We shouldn’t be too early,” Patrick said, his tone growing somber. “I can’t...even imagine...what her folks must be going through. To lose a daughter that way.” 

“Yeah.”

“And Steph?” Patrick asked.

Alan crossed his arms and shook his head. 

“She’s okay, but...” His words trailed off. 

“Again, I’ll text Dale in the morning.”

“Okay.” Patrick gathered his things. “We should get some sleep.”

The two friends stood in silence, tossing their wrappers into the trash. Bright lights and jackpots buzzed all around as they threaded through the gaming floor, where people playing blackjack and poker cheered their winning hands. The place felt alive with excitement and happiness, though neither Alan nor Patrick felt right sharing in the sentiment. The two stayed quiet until they reached the elevators past the lobby. Alan pressed the call button, but when the doors opened, Patrick lingered. 

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Patrick told him. “I forgot to buy razors. I’m sure they’ll have them in the gift shop.” 

“Aren’t they closed by now?” Alan asked. “I’ll give you one of mine.”

“They have vending machines.”

“Okay,” Alan said. “I’ll text you when I’m up.”

“Perfect,” Patrick said, giving him a quick hug. The two separated and Alan vanished behind the closing elevator doors. Patrick double backed through the lobby, hesitated at the darkened gift shop, and then turned to watch the elevator, making sure that Alan had gotten off on their floor. 

Once the cabin returned with a different set of passengers, Patrick backtracked to the gaming floor and joined the gamblers at a high-stakes poker table, where he placed a stack of hundreds onto its green felt. Unaware that Alan was now sitting across the casino at a bar, Patrick bet the max on each hand. 

The two wouldn’t see each other again until the following morning.