He tiptoed past the unattended desk. Visiting hours were long over, and he was expected to be asleep in his room in the South Wing by now. Rules are for children, he thought. He should not have to sneak out in the middle of the night in his pajamas to steal a few hours with her. Standing erect, his back and both palms flat against the wall, he leaned in and peaked around the corner. He saw no one and, with tiny quick-steps, made it undetected through the doorway of her darkened room.

Harry Stetson kept his vigil in a small leather chair next to her bed, watching and recounting endless memories. Bound by love for sixty-three years, he somehow felt diminished without her. In hopeless resignation, he stared at each detail of her face. Where others saw a withered old woman, he saw the joy of his youth, flawless and gracious. His Millie lay in a coma, unchanging, unmoving and impassive when he took her hand.

In the darkness, moonbeams cast faint shadows across the sterile walls, dancing in time with the sound of wind from the gathering storm. He grieved for his inevitable loss and felt the ever-present demon hovering, waiting. There was no answer to his unspoken question: Whatever will I do without you? He sat quietly, listening for the echo of footsteps along the corridor and alert to the rustle of those crisp white uniforms. Harry pictured the uproar it would cause if they found him here. There wasn’t much time.

“Millie, I’m here,” he whispered. At times he allowed himself to hope for a miracle, some sign of life, that one last vestige of the bond that linked them, heart to heart, soul to soul.

But this night would be no different. She lived in another place, sustained in limbo by the unrelenting blink and chirp of a life-affirming machine. His eyes shifted, lingering over the maze of tentacles that monitored each breath, calculated and registered every number, rate and level that were a testament to the existence of Millie. For all its robotic sensitivity, however, it could not tell him if she was in pain or at peace. Lightning flashed across the sky and a deafening clack of thunder startled him. Harry glared at the pulsating apparatus, hating its purpose and its connection to what was his.

He stood and faced the contraption, scanning its buttons and dials. He had to do this right. What if there was a sequence to shutting it down? What if an alarm sounded? What if he caused her more pain? He should have done more research. Maybe he would wait. No. He had to do something, now. In a sudden flicker of composure, it became clear. Simply yank the plug out, he thought. That surely would do it. Disconnect. Take away its power and set her free.

Driving rain pelted the windows as another crack of thunder restored him to the edge of panic. He bent down and grabbed the cord. He vacillated…yes, no, yes. He hesitated…no, yes, no. An impatient inner voice urged him on. “Go Harry! Do it! Stop wasting time!” He stood consumed by indecision. It would be swift; it would be absolute. Every muscle locked in place. Every movement intent on its purpose. He tightened his grip.

“Harry Stetson!”

All he saw was the crisp white uniform obstructing his view beyond the doorway. At the shock of discovery, Harry conceded to the horror of his plan. He gasped for air and clutched his
chest in unbearable pain. With widened eyes, blind to his fate, Harry fell back, cord in hand, and unwittingly put an end to Millie’s misery.

As the nurse lunged forward, lightning struck with a vengeance, shattering the once-orderly world about her into total blackout. Every moment was critical, but no one moved. Nothing could be seen or heard in the darkness as seconds passed into minutes. By the time power was restored, the quiet ruptured into chaos in a rush to attend to the countless cries for help.

And somewhere in the grandeur of eternity, Harry and Millie were united once more, bound to each other, heart to heart and soul to soul.

                                                             END