The second coming, p.2
The Second Coming, page 2
Steeling herself, Rachel moves toward the front door of the trailer and pushes the screen door open. The heavy rain falls in diagonal sheets and obscures visibility. She opens an umbrella, dragging the trash bag behind her. If Lathan wants to laze around, fine. She would not let her house fall out of order. Rain, and now hail, pounds down mercilessly. Nature seems to be in the same frustrated mood as Rachel—tired of being ignored, underestimated, and disrespected.
She looks at the first step cautiously. Even one step down is risky in this turbulent weather, especially for a pregnant woman. Slowly, she braves the first step and then the second. Maybe I can make it out alright, she thinks.
But then she slips on the wet stairs and falls, landing hard on the concrete. The umbrella flies out of her hand and sticks in the mud, and trash scatters all over the steps.
Rachel’s wet hair covers her unconscious face like a veil. No one knows she’s in trouble, and Lathan is snoring inside the house.
Luckily, the phone rings. Lathan comes back to his senses.
“Rachel?” he shouts. “Rachel, you gonna get that?” But no response comes, and the telephone continues to ring, cutting across the background noise of the droning TV.
Lathan notices the open front door and jumps up to see a terrible sight.
“Rachel! Oh my God! Rachel!” he cries out in alarm from the doorway.
What am I to do? Maybe—yes, the phone! The sky is full of black, whirling clouds, and lightning illuminates the heavens in brief flashes. He rushes back inside and frantically dials 911. How could something so terrible happen? he thinks. What is going to happen to Rachel? What if she’s dead? What am I going to do?
•••
Dark clouds linger over Memorial Hospital from the previous night’s storm. Although that storm has dissipated, another brews inside the waiting room, which is filled with nervous, fidgety people. Some are sick to their stomachs, awaiting possibly disastrous news. Others are there for more mild issues.
Ruth and Phillip Engelman, Rachel’s parents, rushed to meet Lathan in the waiting room after being notified of Rachel’s fall. They can’t sit; the anxiety of not knowing their daughter’s condition eats away at their beings.
The doctor finally emerges and approaches Lathan. “Mr. Turner? I’m Dr. Ray.” He reaches out his hand to shake, but Lathan coldly refuses it. Embarrassed, Dr. Ray continues.
“Mrs. Turner gave birth to a six-pound baby boy. He’s healthy and doing just fine.” The look on his face predicts grave news to follow. “However, your wife had severe hemorrhaging. We did all we could to stop the bleeding, but it looks like she might not live long. I’m sorry. She’s resting in a recovery room with your son now.”
On hearing this, Ruth breaks down. How could our baby girl be in danger of dying so young? How can this be? Sobs wrack her body as she doubles over as if someone has knocked the breath out of her. “My little girl! My little girl!” Phillip holds his wife, rubbing his hand over her back, trying to hold back his own tears.
But Lathan is angry. It’s a regular thing with him, feeling angry, wronged, and cheated. Whenever things don’t go his way, he loses his temper. And at this moment, the rage hisses and licks at his insides like so many serpents.
“What are you saying, Doc? Rachel’s not going to make it?!” he almost screams. His hands ball into fists, and a thick blue vein throbs on his forehead, threatening to burst. His posture is aggressive. He wants to lunge at the doctor and grab him by his pristine white collar.
Dr. Ray sighs deeply and looks down for a moment, the toe of his shoe scuffing soundlessly against the worn tile floor. He wonders how to make this easier for the family. Breaking bad news always feels terrible, and each time is just as difficult as the first. He gazes up at the young man before him, his eyes full of sympathy.
Seeing the resigned and regretful expression on the doctor’s face, Lathan breaks down crying like a young boy. His macho facade quickly disintegrates, revealing just how powerless he feels. He sinks into a metal chair that is far too small for his lumpish body. The cold of the armrests on his bare skin doesn’t help restore any sense of calmness. The smell of antiseptic hangs in the air, reminding him of where he is. There’s no avoiding what is unfolding in this moment, no matter how hard he tries. He buries his face in his palms and takes a few shuddering breaths.
Then, erupting back to his feet in a fit of denial, he demands, “Doc, you better get your butt right back in there and make this right! She can’t die. I got nobody else in the world!”
The words are harsh but full of vulnerability. He’s not strong like Rachel, and he isn’t independent enough to imagine a life without her existence. He relies on her for everything, even the mundane task of fetching drinks. How will I ever take care of myself if she dies? Some small part of him knows how unlikely he is to find another person willing to take care of him, with his callous attitude and irresponsible behavior. How will I take care of a baby? A baby that will grow into a boy, a teenager, a man?
The concerned doctor watches the young man for a moment, then with firm conviction says, “Mr. Turner, you still have your son. We had to make a decision—your wife or your son. We did all we—”
But before he can finish, Lathan lashes out in a violent torrent of abuse. The other people in the waiting room gawk.
Lathan shouts, “Who made you God today, Doc? I sure as hell didn’t give you my vote! You’re acting like she’s already dead. I’m going to sue your ass!”
An older Black couple watches this disturbance from one side of the waiting room, their attention drawn away from the television. Turning to his wife, the man murmurs, “Wouldn’t he rather sue the whole doctor, not just his behind?”
His wife gently elbows her husband in the side, shushing him.
Dr. Ray only says, “I’m so sorry.” He really did what he could for the woman and the child. He wants to save lives, not take them away. Sadly, this day, a tough choice had to be made.
The doctor reaches out to touch Lathan’s shoulder, to offer some comfort. But Lathan will have none of that. He is not about to give up, too caught up in denial to accept the reality of the situation. He yanks his arm away, walks to a wall, and violently bashes it with the side of his fist. No one tries to stop him. It is better, for the moment, to let him vent. At least he still has enough sense to take his frustration out on the wall instead of the doctor.
He pounds that wall—boom, boom, boom—like the thunder of the previous night. The violence seems to energize Lathan. No one can look away. It is like watching a car crash; they feel bad, but they cannot peel their eyes from the disaster.
Phillip takes charge of the situation. Turning to Dr. Ray, he says, “How long do we have, Doc?” The question is tough to ask, but whatever is in front of them, he knows they’ll have to face it. Lathan can pound away at the wall all he wants; it won’t change anything.
Dr. Ray’s voice reflects the frustration he feels. Having a patient who may not live long is never easy, but Lathan’s antics have made things harder. “A day or two, maybe a week. It’s really hard to say. Right now, she’s heavily sedated and resting comfortably.” It isn’t much, but it’s the most comfort he can offer.
Ruth, in tears, asks, “May we see her? And our grandson?”
In the face of the parents’ stoicism, the doctor feels some relief. It’s much easier to deal with a patient’s family when they don’t act like the doctor is the enemy. As a doctor, you try to save everyone, but it’s just not possible, and sometimes you fail, he thinks. Doctor Ray can’t help feeling hurt or upset when patients assume he hasn’t done all he can and question his integrity and intent. I’m on their side; how could they think otherwise?
With a reassuring smile, he replies, “Yes, ma’am, you may. Take as much time as you need.”
The hospital intercom comes to life with a static scratching sound, interrupting their discussion. A female voice rings out and calls Dr. Ray to the emergency room. He beckons a nurse to take over. He can’t leave these grieving people without someone to assist them through these difficult moments.
With regret, he excuses himself. “I’m sorry, folks. I have to run. Ms. Ferguson will escort you to your daughter’s room.”
Nurse Ferguson approaches the group. Thankfully, Lathan has worn himself out. It seems he is finally feeling the pain in his fist.
Phillip tries to keep himself together. He doesn’t want to burst into tears when he walks in on his child lying helplessly on a hospital bed. He thanks the doctor. “You go on, Doc. Thank you for everything you’ve done for our daughter. And don’t worry: I’m sure the Lord Almighty has a plan for our new grandson.”
Though Phillip has long disliked having his daughter held hostage by such a foolish and careless individual as Lathan, he respects her choices enough not to cause much trouble. Even here, when Lathan is possibly to blame, Phillip hopes that God might straighten out his impulsive son-in-law. Maybe the birth of my grandson will help him grow up and realize what is at stake.
That is for later, though. Right now they have to go and see their daughter and new grandson.
Phillip shakes Dr. Ray’s hand, and Ruth follows suit. Nurse Ferguson politely asks the group, “Shall we go, folks?” Ruth sighs, and Phillip nods in agreement.
The group makes its way into Rachel’s room. Lathan trails quietly behind the others. Everyone prepares themselves for how they might find Rachel. Phillip and Ruth want to appear strong for their daughter; they don’t want to let on how upset they are.
On the other hand, Lathan’s mind is reeling. What kind of an uncaring husband have I been? What if I lose her now, with no chance to be a better man for her? She needed me, and I acted selfishly, ignoring her requests for help while I drank and entertained myself. Did I love her, or was I just taking advantage of her help around the house? What if I really lose her? How will I feel? Who will take care of me?
Following that vein, his thoughts become more petulant. Maybe if I sue the doctor and hospital, I could win enough to live off for years. Maybe I could hire a maid, get remarried, and have someone to raise my son. I really can’t imagine being strong enough to handle my own life, let alone raise a son all by myself.
Nurse Ferguson gestures for them to precede her into Rachel’s room. Rachel’s parents slowly enter and shuffle over to the bed, careful to avoid making much noise. Lathan hovers just outside the door like an eavesdropper, too ashamed to face his wife after the disregard he showed for her well-being. He battles the knowledge that he needs to face his responsibilities head-on; he takes a few minutes to collect himself in the hall.
Phillip and Ruth scan their daughter intently. Although she has the strength to hold her son, she appears quite pale and exhausted. Perhaps the miracle of childbirth has given her a temporary burst of energy, a little adrenaline boost. An aura of happiness and delight make her look beautiful, even in this condition.
Though sedated and woozy, Rachel manages to speak. “Hi, Mom, Dad. Meet your new grandson.”
Ruth gently picks up the baby boy, careful to support his head. She and Phillip beam with pride and joy, and then smile with admiration as the baby gazes back at their faces. They overflow with happiness at this little blessing sent to them by God. For that fleeting moment, the pain of the current situation vanishes. They’re able to enter a place of peace and contentment. Time is nonexistent. All that’s here is the love and joy between themselves and their grandson.
“He’s beautiful. Does he have a name, dear?” Ruth asks her daughter.
Rachel opens her mouth to speak, but then a swift, sharp pain reflects on her face. She’s in so much pain that the drugs can’t do much to mask it. Nonetheless, she manages to say, “Yes, his name is Samuel. Samuel Eugene Turner.”
Ruth is reminded of how critical her daughter’s condition is. She looks back at her little grandson. The sight of the baby boy helps ease her tension momentarily, but not completely. She speaks to the child, trying to work up the courage to talk to her daughter. “Hi, Samuel. Such a beautiful child! But how are you doing, Rachel?”
Rachel cannot hide the pain and resignation in her eyes. Ruth’s own face shows the suffering she witnesses in her daughter; it’s not easy staying composed and calm. Rachel’s eyes fill, and tears flow down her cheeks. The harsh hospital lighting highlights just how pale and weak she really is.
Rachel manages to gather an ounce of strength. “I don’t know, Mom. You tell me. I know you spoke with the doctor. How am I doing?” Rachel reaches out both arms for her baby, and Ruth gently hands Samuel back.
Even though Rachel is sedated, she’s still lucid and seems to have some sense of the danger she is in. Phillip studies his clasped hands, not wanting to show his grief, not wanting to hurt Rachel any more than she already is. However, there’s no avoiding the question.
“Don’t lie to me! I see it in your eyes, both of you. I’m dying, aren’t I?” More tears cover her face, but she is determined to have the truth out; they all need to acknowledge that her time on this earth may be quite short.
She continues, “Earlier this morning, before Samuel was born, Dr. Ray said I might have to make a choice, the baby or me. I couldn’t go through life knowing that I gave my child up for my own self-preservation. I couldn’t live with myself, Mom. So I told the doctor if the decision came down to me or the baby, I choose the baby without question.”
It wasn’t a difficult choice for her. She knew before her parents even walked in that she was never leaving the hospital. Perhaps part of her wanted to see if they would be able to carry on after she passed.
Rachel notices a figure lingering at the door, keenly listening to the conversation. A sheepish Lathan tries to stay back but doesn’t do a good job of hiding.
Rachel invites her husband inside. “Come on in, Lathan. Meet your son.”
Lathan shuffles into the room, his hands in his pockets, looking defeated. There’s almost no trace of the angry person pounding at the wall just a few minutes ago. He’s a different Lathan entirely—funny how quickly things can change, how people can lose their sense of ego and realize how small they are when faced with the brick wall of reality.
Nurse Ferguson interrupts. “Mrs. Turner? Would you like me to take your son? It’s time to change his diaper.”
The nurse knows this is possibly the last time the family will see Rachel alive and relatively well, but it is time to take care of the baby. If not changed quickly enough, a dirty diaper can lead to problems. After everything the family has been through and will go through, the last thing they need is this newborn child suffering from an infection.
“Yeah, I think it’s time for a change,” Rachel says, struggling to smile. She looks at her husband and adds, “Lathan, can you hand Samuel over to Ms. Ferguson?”
Lathan gives a curt nod as Rachel hands the baby to him. She hopes that by holding Samuel, he will feel no regrets about what has happened. Their baby boy is a precious gift, and he is worth it—yes, even worth losing her life.
Lathan grabs the baby awkwardly as Rachel’s hopeful gaze roams over his face. But her hopes are dashed when Lathan only briefly glances at his son before handing him to the nurse. The nurse leaves the room, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Engelman.
Lathan is finally able to speak. “Rachel? I can’t live without you. You’re all I got!”
Rachel glares at him. When she speaks, her voice is sharp as steel. “You have to, Lathan! We have a son now, and you’re all he’s got. Grow up and take responsibility!”
Lathan looks at her weakly as his lower lip trembles like a child’s. He signed on to get married and have a son, yet he never imagined life would knock him down so quickly, forcing him to grow up faster than he thought he needed to.
Rachel adds, “If you can’t do it for our son, do it for me!”
She reaches for Lathan’s hand for comfort. Lathan leans over to give her a kiss and a hug, muttering, “I love you.” Rachel smiles as a single tear traces down her cheek, but in the next moment, a sharp pain shoots through her belly. Her face contorts. She cries out and gasps, “Lathan, get help!”
“Oh my God, Rachel,” Lathan whimpers, then rushes to the door, flinging it open. He shouts at the top of his voice, “We need a doctor in here! Help! Somebody help!”
As footsteps rush down the hall, Rachel becomes very still.
She looks up as if seeing something at the foot of her bed.
Dr. Ray, Nurse Ferguson, and a priest rush past Lathan, who backs up against a wall. He slowly slides down and sits balled up on the floor, his head in his arms, rocking back and forth, crying. Then, after a moment, he lowers his arms and stops crying. He stares straight ahead, blankly.
As another nurse enters, the priest begins giving last rites to Rachel while Dr. Ray and Nurse Ferguson try to revive her.
CHAPTER 3
Shawn’s Journey Begins
At the University of Southern California, the lecture hall is filled with around 200 students. The students all hail from different backgrounds, but each one is an intelligent and bright-eyed individual who has been allowed to take Professor Luwendowski’s criminal justice course. Despite their visible differences in clothes, skin color, hairstyle, and even posture, they all have one thing in common: potential.
All eyes are focused keenly on Professor Luwendowski, a graying old man whose only passion in life is teaching. While he may be old, and old teachers tend to become slow and monotonous, Professor Luwendowski is different. He still teaches like he used to teach in his early twenties, and his love for his profession hasn’t dimmed even the tiniest bit in his forty years as an educator. He retains that unique ability to get lost in the passionate delivery of his lecture, to the extent that sometimes he forgets that people are watching and listening to him. And this is why he’s mostly gentle and kind with his students. However, even the slightest disruption in the class is enough to put him off and make him lose his temper.
