by Gregory B. Banks

he wind swirled around the wooded hill, whipping open Wilson’s robe and exposing his thin frame to the elements. The crescent moon provided little light, and he shivered as he peered into the darkness.

"Where am I?" he asked. His words appeared before him in ragged puffs of steam, and like his thoughts, they were immediately blown away by the early winter breeze. He tugged at his hair as he tried to remember something, anything, that would answer the questions filling his mind.

Absently, he glanced at the sky.

Wilson Adams stood on the deck of the warship, gazing at the twinkling pinpoints dotting the night sky. He smiled at the wind as it whistled over his body and into his ears. He inhaled, savoring the ocean’s brackishness, before exhaling in a long, slow sigh.

Wilson had been out to sea for over three months now, yet he still felt a rush every night when he came out to sample the salty air. The sea was his lover, the only one he’d ever known. As he lay in his bunk each night, he imagined himself cradled in her sweet embrace. He dreamed of a day when he would dive into her cool waters, allowing her to wash over him, through him, dragging him down to her deepest lairs. There he would find endless peace, and be forever bonded to her.

"Mr. Adams? Are you all right, sir? We’ve been looking everywhere for you."

Wilson turned, staring into the blinding glare of a flashlight. The form behind the light was like a shadow lurking at the edge of his consciousness.

"Stay the hell away from me, whatever you are!" Wilson cried. He staggered back, turning to scramble away. He stumbled and fell, sliding down the steep bank. The policeman caught him and tried to help him to his feet, but Wilson screamed, flailing his arms over his head as if fending off demons. The policeman backed away, turning to face the crowd of searchers coming toward him.

Wilson buried his face in his hands. Images, thoughts and emotions spun in his head.

"God," he whispered, "what’s happening to me?"

"I’m here, Daddy. Don’t worry, everything’s going to be just fine now."

A dark form knelt beside him. The faint scent of her perfume drifted by, carrying with it a note of familiarity. The woman hugged him, then helped him to his feet. They stood in the center of a ring of searchlights. Wilson looked at her.

She was tall, with dark hair and a slender, curving nose. Most of her words crackled like distant static in his ears, but the tone of her voice stirred up memories and feelings that hovered just beyond recognition.

He strolled along the beach during shore leave, his ship docked at the naval base in Key West, Florida. It was a time for Wilson to get away from the cramped confines of Navy life and enjoy the freedom and comfort of dry land for a few days. But his heart still belonged to the sea. So he spent every moment he could near her waters, only able to relax while listening to the murmur of her ever-rolling waves.

He knelt, watching a couple of seagulls playing near the water’s edge. A woman crossed his line of sight and he followed her with his gaze. There was something about her--either the way her blue swimsuit hugged her firm curves or how her auburn hair shimmered in the July sun--that fascinated him. She moved sensuously, like the tantalizing waves of the sea. He approached her from behind.

"Excuse me."

She turned, a slight smile on her lips. He could smell her perfume.

"Yes?" she replied.

Wilson lost himself in her sea-green eyes. He searched for something clever to say.

"I...uh..."

"Do you need help?"

"No, I guess not."

"You sure? You seem a little confused."

"I’m fine, Ma’am, really. Sorry I bothered you." Wilson turned to hurry away.

"Wait," the woman said. Her call stopped him short, as if an anchor had suddenly been tied to his feet. He nearly fell as he ran back to her.

"Yes, Ma’am?"

"What’s your name, sailor?"

"Adams-Wilson-Adams," came his reply in a rush.

"Well, hello, Adams-Wilson-Adams," she said, tilting her head to the side, a mischievous twinkle in her smile. "I’m, Browning-Sarah-Browning. Want to buy me a drink?"

"Yes, I’d love to..."

"...Sarah!" he cried as he touched the cheek of the woman beside him.

"No, Daddy," the woman replied. She grasped his hands and kissed them. "I’m Mary, your daughter. Mom’s...not here." Her voice trailed off. She bit her lip.

Memories danced before Wilson. They appeared briefly, teasing him with their haunting familiarity before fading from his mind again.

"Daddy, I know you don’t understand what’s happening to you right now, but everything’s going to be fine, I promise. Just stay calm while these nice policemen help you, okay? Don’t be afraid. I’ll be right here the whole time."

Mary patted her father’s cheek, then stepped aside. Several policemen approached, carefully but firmly taking hold of him and carrying him down the hillside. Mary followed closely, speaking to him in a soothing voice. They passed through a grove of trees. The strong scent of pine flavored the breeze with memories.

They strolled through the meadow hand in hand, Wilson and his five-year old daughter. Her bright gaze darted here and there, taking in the beauty of it all. While the forest held little attraction for Wilson, it had captured Mary’s heart much as the sea had his long ago. The moments they spent alone together in the woods behind their home were the closest he’d ever come to true euphoria. These days, only Sarah meant as much to him as his little girl. Besides, their outings always took Mary’s mind off her mother’s illness, at least for a while.

"Daddy, where is it?"

"Where’s what, Honey?"

"You know. The Kingdom. Is it close by?"

He’d told her many tales about fairy princesses and their handsome knights who lived deep in the woods. Her favorite was the story he told her late at night whenever she had nightmares. It was about the land of Joy, a magical kingdom where the Princess Rebecca reigned over the dreams of all the good people in the world. If you had a bad dream, all you had to do was think of her, and she’d chase it away.

"It’s all around us," Wilson replied, patting his daughter’s head.

"But I can’t see it."

"I know. You can’t see the wind either, but you can feel it, right?"

"Yeah." She thought for a moment.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Is Mommy going to die?"

Wilson stared at her. She looked so much like Sarah, her hands perched on her hips in quiet defiance, her eyes clear and questioning. She was daring him to lie to her. He couldn’t.

"I hope not, Baby," he said, looking at the ground.

Mary’s fingers closed tightly around his callused hand. She reached up with her other to wipe a tear from his face.

"She’ll be okay, Daddy. Princess Rebecca is watching over her."

Wilson laughed as he hugged her. Then, as they headed toward home, a beam from the setting sun broke through the canopy of trees to touch their faces.

They exited the forest and found themselves standing next to a long, winding highway. A lone car approached, its headlights illuminating their faces briefly as it passed. The car’s sleek yellow and white body shone as it headed off into the distance. His daughter spoke to him, but Wilson didn’t hear her. He simply stared at the retreating taillights as the car, and whatever wandering soul it carried, slowly faded away.

They climbed into the old Chevy they had rented for the occasion. It was in mint condition, nearly identical to the yellow and white one Wilson’s dad had owned back in the late fifties. When he found out that Sarah’s family had owned a similar one, the couple decided it would be a fitting tribute to both families to begin their life together in this common symbol from their past.

Both sets of parents threw rice at the newlyweds as they climbed into the car. The couple waved to their families as they drove away from the little chapel in Miami. Wilson turned to his bride.

"Well, Mrs. Adams, any regrets so far?"

"Actually, I do have one."

Wilson looked at her. Her head was bowed, and she seemed on the verge of tears. He reached over and took her free hand, the other still holding the bouquet she’d forgotten to throw after the wedding.

"Sarah, what is it?"

She slowly turned to him, sighing.

"I regret that we didn’t get married months ago." The left side of her mouth curled slightly.

Wilson tried to keep his face stern, but her eyes twinkled at him like starlight on a clear evening, and he finally gave in. They shared a long, warming laugh together.

"Sarah, I wish I didn’t have to go out again so soon. I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time--"

"Don’t even say it." She put her hand to his lips. She caressed his cheek, then kissed it.

"Honey, if you quit now, you’d resent it one day. And then you’d resent me for taking it away from you."

He wanted to argue, but in his heart he knew she was right--as always.

"I’m afraid that I’ll just have to keep sharing you with her for now. At least she’s not bad looking...as mistresses go."

They laughed as they drove up the Florida coast, heading for the naval base in King’s Bay, Georgia. He held her close, saying a silent prayer of thanks. Sarah had become his world. She was not only his lover, but also his best friend.

Wilson felt like an overweight buoy bobbing on a stormy sea. Each time a flash of memory swept over him, he sank a little deeper into the waters of oblivion.

The policemen laid Wilson on a stretcher. The pulsating lights of an ambulance standing nearby bathed everything around it in its crimson glow. A male paramedic with shaggy blond hair strapped him down, then his partner, a redheaded female, proceeded to check his vital signs. She said something to him, but he could barely hear her. Her voice drifted to him like an echo from the past.

"Mr. Adams?" called the doctor as she approached.

Wilson stood. Mary clung to his side. Apprehension knotted his gut.

"I’m sorry. We tried to save her, but the cancer had spread farther than we thought. There was just nothing more we could do."

The words ripped open his soul, exposing it to the world and allowing part of it to trickle away. He wanted to grab the doctor and shake her, demanding she do the impossible. Mary screamed, then crumpled to the floor. Wilson knelt and cradled his seven-year old daughter in his arms. He knew he had to be strong for her. She was all that he had left--all that mattered now. I can mourn later, he told himself. There’ll be plenty of time after the worst has passed.

But he made sure that time never came.

Wilson stumbled through his thoughts as if trapped in a maze. He imagined himself pursuing his own soul, seeing it appear just ahead, turning the next corner. He rushed forward, overjoyed at the possibility of recapturing his life. But whenever he rounded the corner, he only found himself staring at another blank wall.

He saw Sarah--no, not Sarah, but her living image--approach the paramedics. She talked with them briefly, and he thought he heard the word Alzheimer’s mentioned several times.

"I wish I could do more for your father, Ma’am, but I can’t. There just isn’t a cure for Alzheimer’s at this time."

Mary folded her arms across her chest as she paced in front of Wilson. Her movements held his fleeting attention the way an infant might be fascinated with the motions of a new toy.

"There’s nothing you can do for him?"

"I know how hard this is for you. There are some things we can do to make him more comfortable, but--"

"To hell with you then! If you won’t help him, I’ll find someone else who will! Let’s go, Daddy."

Mary took Wilson’s hand and led him from the office. She got him into the car and buckled his seat belt, then climbed into the driver’s seat. She fumbled with her keys. Frustrated, she flung them down and buried her face in the steering wheel. Wilson watched her as she cried. He reached over and patted her shoulder.

"You know, a pretty lady like you shouldn’t cry."

She looked at him. She laughed, taking his face in her hands.

"I love you..."

"...Daddy." Mary said as she stood over Wilson, her face barely visible in the red-stained dimness surrounding the ambulance. He listened closely, though he could make little sense of her words.

"Please try to understand me, okay? These nice doctors are going to drive you to a place where they can take really good care of you. I’m sorry, Daddy. I tried, but I just can’t handle it any more. When I woke up tonight and found your bed empty and the back door open, I nearly lost it. You need much better care than I could ever give you." She glanced over her shoulder. Wilson saw a tall man approach, putting his arms around her.

He had never been as nervous as he was that day. But when Wilson walked into the room and saw Mary in her white gown and veil, he was filled with pride. His little girl had grown up, and was marrying a kind, strong man. Although he hated the term "giving her away," he felt good about the man to whom he would entrust his daughter.

"Well, Daddy, this is it."

"I know. Guess you’re not my little girl anymore." He kissed her lightly on the forehead. The organ started to play, and he offered her his arm.

"Just promise me that you’ll find time to visit your old man now and then, okay?"

The corners of her mouth curled into a mischievous grin, and he was reminded of her mother, the woman he’d fallen in love with over twenty-five years ago.

"I’ll always be your little girl," Mary whispered as they marched into the sanctuary side by side. "And I promise..."

"...to visit you every day and bring you lots of treats, like those double fudge brownies you love so much. Remember, Daddy?"

She paused, but Wilson didn’t respond. He just stared. He wanted to speak, to ask her about the strange visions that kept plaguing him. Were they glimpses into a life he didn’t remember? Or merely hallucinations meant to taunt and confuse him?

"Bye, Daddy," Mary said, kissing him quickly on the cheek before fleeing into her husband’s arms again. Wilson stared at her as the paramedics wheeled him toward the ambulance, wondering why she was so sad.

He couldn’t stop thinking of her. His thoughts kept flashing back to her tear-swollen eyes. He wished he could help her. He’d do anything to see her smile again.

Suddenly a dam burst deep within his mind, and his memories came rushing back to him. In an instant he relived every moment of his past, and once again he was Wilson Adams, retired naval officer, devoted husband and loving father. A respected leader whose love for the sea was only topped by the love for his family.

He held the baby in his trembling arms for the first time. A tear dripped from his cheek onto her forehead. A daughter! My daughter! He had told everyone before her birth that he hoped for a boy, someone to carry on the Adams’ name. But looking into his daughter’s face now, he knew she was what he had prayed for all along.

She smiled, and at that moment he decided that he would move heaven and earth for her if need be--anything to see that expression again.

Wilson strained against the straps holding him down. He lifted his head to peer out of the ambulance, praying that Mary was still nearby. He had so much to say to her, and so little time to say it. Already he could feel himself slipping back into the depths of oblivion. He had to see her again, to tell her how much he loved her, to let her know he understood. He needed to embrace his little girl one last time.

Please God, just one last time.

He called out to her, but his voice came out in a soft wheeze. He was wracked by a fit of coughing that left him weak and dazed. The female paramedic stuck a hypodermic needle into his arm, injecting him with something that he was sure would soon put him to sleep. He struggled against forgetfulness to give her a message for his daughter. The soundless words dangled on his lips.

"What is it, Mr. Adams? Are you in pain?" She leaned close.

"My daughter."

The woman patted his cheek, then climbed out of the ambulance. Soon after, Mary appeared in front of him.

"I’m here, Daddy. What is it?"

His lips moved. He struggled to hold onto his crumbling memories just a moment longer. The wind swirled into the ambulance, tossing his daughter’s hair. His thoughts began blowing away like grains of sand.

"Don’t cry," he whispered. "Princess Rebecca is watching you."

Mary laughed through her tears. She looked at his face, like a caricature of the striking man he used to be.

"I love you too, Daddy."

Wilson’s eyes glazed over. He glanced at the woman hovering over him. He smiled, fascinated by her sea green eyes. He tried to remember her name, but it eluded him like the memory of a passing dream.

He fell asleep, and dreamed of being rocked by the gentle ocean waves.

Copyright © 2000 Gregory B. Banks