Chapter Twentyfour
Heaven's Day dawned grey, clear, cold. It was to have been Smith and Daestar's wedding day. Instead it was the day of Rowan's funeral.
The services were held in the chapel they had picked to be married in. It was filled with the aromatic pink and white wild roses she loved so much. Her simple casket was open for a final viewing.
The would-be wedding guests paid their respects, each attempting to comfort the three people who knew and loved her best: her friend Norman Berg, her surrogate-father Dan Dastun, her lover Roger Smith. A seemingly endless line of nameless mourners followed after them, all people Rowan had helped thorugh her school, or as a negotiator, or as a doctor. Alex Rosewater had not succeeded in wiping her from the memory of Paradigm, at least not yet.
Norman and Dan wept openly, without shame. Rowan had offered Berg her hand in friendship, giving him opportunities he never would have had otherwise. No one else had given the one-eyed man a second thought. For Dan it had been a double loss, for she had been like a daughter to him, and a living reminder of the two dear friends he'd lost so long ago.
Roger was in shock. He couldn't cry. He couldn't think. He sat quietly, looking at the floor, his hands deep in his pockets. He was the last person to go up to the casket.
Berg and Dastun watched him anxiously. They were both afraid for him. It wasn't everyday a man had his heart torn out and lived.
The young man walked slowly to the casket, his face an emotionless mask. Roger forced himself to look. This was the first time he'd seen Rowan in her wedding gown. His face softened; she looked like a fairy tale princess, waiting for her prince to wake her with a kiss.
Smith fumbled in his pocket, then pulled out a small silk handkerchief and a red ring box. He carefully unfolded the silk cloth. It held a lock of his hair. Roger slipped it into her right hand: "I will always be with you," he said softly.
He opened up the ring box and removed the larger ring. He slipped this onto her right thumb: "Hold that for me until we're together again."
Lastly, he slipped the smaller band onto her left ring finger: "You are my wife, for now and for always," he murmured.
He gently laid his hand on her belly, thinking of the child he would never know, then kissed her cold lips. "Remember, Roger and Ro," he whispered.
*********************************************
At the cemetary, Roger planted the tiny rowan tree beside the fresh grave with his bare hands.
He didn't say a word to either Berg or Dastun on the long ride home. Once they arrived at the mansion, Roger finally invited Dan up for a drink. While waiting in the living room, Dastun spotted Rowan's great wooden desk in Roger's office. Her broken hourglass was on top of it.
Smith brought out the crystal decanter of foreign brandy Dastun had given him and opened it. He poured a snifter full for Dastun, Berg, and himself. The other two men looked at him, aghast.
Roger held up his glass. "To Rowan, gentlemen, and other lost dreams." He clinked his glass against theirs. Dastun and Berg looked at each other, then at Roger. "To Rowan," they both said.
All three took a gulp of the reddish amber liquor. It burned pleasantly going down, with a rich round taste no modern distillery could match. It had been a perfect choice for Rowan, thought Dan. Truly she had been her parents' daughter. They had recognized how unique she was and picked the wine to match her. He blinked hard, not wanting to cry again.
Roger was refilling his own wineglass, and offered more to both Dastun and Berg. Neither man accepted. Berg excused hemself. He couldn't bear this any longer and needed privacy to mourn. Dan would have to work the next day, and didn't need a hangover to add to his pain.
"Do you want to talk?" the major asked, watching his friend fill the glass a third time.
Roger stopped and looked hard at Dan. "No," he said calmly. "I don't want to talk. I don't ever want to talk about what might have happened, or what did happen. I never want to talk about this ever again. I can't do it. I only want to get drunk. You are welcome to join me."
Dastun shook his head no. He picked up his hat. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me," the major said sadly. He wondered if Smith would last the night.
**********************************************
Roger took the decanter into the bedroom. He sat on the floor, before the fireplace, watching the flames dance as he polished off the bottle. He remembered how the flames would turn Rowan's green eyes gold - stop it, he growled at himself.
He got up and opened his closet. He started going through his clothes, pulling out anything that wasn't black or white.
There would be no more color in his life now, no blue painted skies, no pink and white roses, no green leaves or emerald eyes.
He dragged everything to the incinerator entrance in the hallway and threw it all down, every expensive hand-sewn bit of it, to be consumed into ashes. Black clothing would be the rule in his house now.
Blindly, he pulled everything out of Rowan's closet and threw that all away too, until he came to the dark gown she wore the night they met. Her scent was still on it, faint and dreamlike. Roger buried his face in the dress. He could feel the tears burning in his eyes and throat. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to feel anything. He needed some air.
Roger walked out onto the terrace. He could hear distant music playing from a nightclub somewhere, where people were celebrating the holiday. He walked to the ledge and watched the twinkling lights glowing festively in the darkness.
He climbed onto the wall and sat down, his legs dangling over the edge. It would be so easy, he thought...when a deliciously accented female voice came from behind him: "What are you doing, love?"
Every hair on Roger's neck stood up. He felt his heart try to leap out of his chest. Wide-eyed, he turned around towards that sweet voice.
Rowan stood before him, clear as day. She was wearing the tight jeans and snug black t-shirt he liked so much on her. Her inky hair was loose, gleaming under the holiday lights.
She offered her right hand to him (his wedding ring was on her thumb) and smiled. "Come down from there, you might fall off, silly."
Roger looked at her, dumbfounded. "Well," she said, "I'm not going to bite, unless you want me to." She took his hand and tugged him back to safety. This isn't possible, Roger thought, feeling the cool firm touch of her hand on his. I am either crazy, or dreaming, or drunk, or...dead. He didn't remember jumping from the ledge.
Rowan laughed gently. "You are drunk," she said, answering his silent question. She kissed him, then brushed his messy hair from his face. Her expression grew serious. "You can't kill yourself, Roger. You made a promise to me, and you must keep it."
"That's easy for you to say," grumbled Roger. "You didn't keep your promise - you died. How could you do that to me?" He traced the delicate bones of her jaw with his hand. She turned her face towards the palm of his hand and kissed it.
"I didn't want to die," she said, "but I will keep my promise. I will always be with you, right here," and she touched his heart.
********************************************
Roger never spoke of Rowan again. He returned to his sarcastic, flirtatious ways, making Dastun speculate just who the real Roger Smith was.
The relationship between the two men never really recovered. Dan often wondered if Roger somehow blamed him for Rowan's death, because the EMTs were too busy with a dead prisoner to rush to her aid.
The only clue Dastun had regarding Roger's true feelings came about a year later.
Dan found himself driving near the cemetary late one afternoon. He decided to visit Rowan's grave. He usually went in the evening after work, but he had meetings scheduled with his superiors that night.
As he approached, he spotted a black-clad figure kneeling by the small headstone, brushing off the leaves that had fallen from the now-lofty rowan tree. Curious, the major crept close, using some tall hedgerows as cover.
It was Roger Smith. He was talking to the headstone (Dan couldn't make out the words) then bent down and kissed the polished granite. The negotiator then got up, brushed off his trousers, and rapidly left.
Dan never tried to say another word to Roger about her after that. He still wondered how the young man got through the lonely nights.
*********************************************
Epilogue: Roger's Dream (Three Years Later)
Roger awoke with a start, his heart pounding as if it would leap from his chest. It had been that nightmare again, that awful soul-killing recurring nightmare - it always seemed so real!
He wiped the cold sweat from his face, then almost fearfully turned on his side on the great bed. To his relief, Rowan was there beside him, peacefully asleep.
He moved next to her still body, cuddling her against his bare chest. Rowan stirred, sighed, smiled, but didn't wake. Roger softly kissed her shoulder. He slipped his hands beneath the borrowed pajama top and gently stroked her, caressing her belly well-rounded with their first child.
It wasn't real, just a bad dream, Roger thought gratefully. We're still here, Roger and Ro.
He kissed the back of her neck, buried his face in her silky hair, filling his lungs with her clean scent. Thank god.....
And then the music began. The insistant, demonic piano music. It got louder and louder, tearing apart Roger's bliss.
NO! he cried out, please no...Rowan faded before his eyes, swallowed by daylight and furious music.
He huddled in the center of the great bed, alone, buried under the black blanket. He thought of his Rowan buried alone under the black earth.
He had to pull himself together, his anger at his loss fueling him to face the day.
He feared what the new female in his life would ask him today. R. Dorothy Wayneright. Always questioning, like Rowan, but such different questions. Queries about what it was to be human, what it was to love. Two questions Rowan knew all the answers to. Two questions he couldn't bear to face, today of all days. He would probably get very drunk tonight.
It was Heaven's Day.
No Side.
*************************************************************************************************
Author's Notes:If this was actually part of the series, the Epilogue would take place during the time span covered in "Daemon Seed." If you have that available to view, please note the following:1) Dorothy is directed to the funeral section of a department store to get Roger's
gift.
2) When Dorothy meets Roger in the street, the following conversation takes place:
D: "You seem mad about something."
R: "I don't care much for the scenery in town."
D: "You don't like Heaven's Day?"
R: "There's no logic to my behavior. It comes from emotions you wouldn't
understand."
3) At the dinnertable, Dorothy ask questions about the history and customs of Heaven's
Day:
N: "Another tradition exists where you give presents to the one you love."
D: "Will you be giving a present to anyone, Roger Smith?"
R: (chokes on glass of wine) "Preposterous! Do you think I'd waste my time doing
that? After all, Heaven's Day began as a celebration for when Paradigm was
founded. Why would anyone who has foresaken Paradigm even think of celebrating
a day like that?"
As usual, Roger is first ducking the questions R. Dorothy is asking, then over-reacting. Obviously she has hit a sore point. This made me wonder, what if he once had someone to love, and their loss was somehow tied to Heaven's Day? This story was the result.
DISCLAIMER: All characters are the property of the creators of "Big O," Sunrise, and Bandai, except for the following: Jim Webster, the Mooney family, the Van der Arc family, Hanae Daestar, Stephan Daestar, and Rowan Daestar. These characters are solely my property.
Heaven's Day dawned grey, clear, cold. It was to have been Smith and Daestar's wedding day. Instead it was the day of Rowan's funeral.
The services were held in the chapel they had picked to be married in. It was filled with the aromatic pink and white wild roses she loved so much. Her simple casket was open for a final viewing.
The would-be wedding guests paid their respects, each attempting to comfort the three people who knew and loved her best: her friend Norman Berg, her surrogate-father Dan Dastun, her lover Roger Smith. A seemingly endless line of nameless mourners followed after them, all people Rowan had helped thorugh her school, or as a negotiator, or as a doctor. Alex Rosewater had not succeeded in wiping her from the memory of Paradigm, at least not yet.
Norman and Dan wept openly, without shame. Rowan had offered Berg her hand in friendship, giving him opportunities he never would have had otherwise. No one else had given the one-eyed man a second thought. For Dan it had been a double loss, for she had been like a daughter to him, and a living reminder of the two dear friends he'd lost so long ago.
Roger was in shock. He couldn't cry. He couldn't think. He sat quietly, looking at the floor, his hands deep in his pockets. He was the last person to go up to the casket.
Berg and Dastun watched him anxiously. They were both afraid for him. It wasn't everyday a man had his heart torn out and lived.
The young man walked slowly to the casket, his face an emotionless mask. Roger forced himself to look. This was the first time he'd seen Rowan in her wedding gown. His face softened; she looked like a fairy tale princess, waiting for her prince to wake her with a kiss.
Smith fumbled in his pocket, then pulled out a small silk handkerchief and a red ring box. He carefully unfolded the silk cloth. It held a lock of his hair. Roger slipped it into her right hand: "I will always be with you," he said softly.
He opened up the ring box and removed the larger ring. He slipped this onto her right thumb: "Hold that for me until we're together again."
Lastly, he slipped the smaller band onto her left ring finger: "You are my wife, for now and for always," he murmured.
He gently laid his hand on her belly, thinking of the child he would never know, then kissed her cold lips. "Remember, Roger and Ro," he whispered.
*********************************************
At the cemetary, Roger planted the tiny rowan tree beside the fresh grave with his bare hands.
He didn't say a word to either Berg or Dastun on the long ride home. Once they arrived at the mansion, Roger finally invited Dan up for a drink. While waiting in the living room, Dastun spotted Rowan's great wooden desk in Roger's office. Her broken hourglass was on top of it.
Smith brought out the crystal decanter of foreign brandy Dastun had given him and opened it. He poured a snifter full for Dastun, Berg, and himself. The other two men looked at him, aghast.
Roger held up his glass. "To Rowan, gentlemen, and other lost dreams." He clinked his glass against theirs. Dastun and Berg looked at each other, then at Roger. "To Rowan," they both said.
All three took a gulp of the reddish amber liquor. It burned pleasantly going down, with a rich round taste no modern distillery could match. It had been a perfect choice for Rowan, thought Dan. Truly she had been her parents' daughter. They had recognized how unique she was and picked the wine to match her. He blinked hard, not wanting to cry again.
Roger was refilling his own wineglass, and offered more to both Dastun and Berg. Neither man accepted. Berg excused hemself. He couldn't bear this any longer and needed privacy to mourn. Dan would have to work the next day, and didn't need a hangover to add to his pain.
"Do you want to talk?" the major asked, watching his friend fill the glass a third time.
Roger stopped and looked hard at Dan. "No," he said calmly. "I don't want to talk. I don't ever want to talk about what might have happened, or what did happen. I never want to talk about this ever again. I can't do it. I only want to get drunk. You are welcome to join me."
Dastun shook his head no. He picked up his hat. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me," the major said sadly. He wondered if Smith would last the night.
**********************************************
Roger took the decanter into the bedroom. He sat on the floor, before the fireplace, watching the flames dance as he polished off the bottle. He remembered how the flames would turn Rowan's green eyes gold - stop it, he growled at himself.
He got up and opened his closet. He started going through his clothes, pulling out anything that wasn't black or white.
There would be no more color in his life now, no blue painted skies, no pink and white roses, no green leaves or emerald eyes.
He dragged everything to the incinerator entrance in the hallway and threw it all down, every expensive hand-sewn bit of it, to be consumed into ashes. Black clothing would be the rule in his house now.
Blindly, he pulled everything out of Rowan's closet and threw that all away too, until he came to the dark gown she wore the night they met. Her scent was still on it, faint and dreamlike. Roger buried his face in the dress. He could feel the tears burning in his eyes and throat. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to feel anything. He needed some air.
Roger walked out onto the terrace. He could hear distant music playing from a nightclub somewhere, where people were celebrating the holiday. He walked to the ledge and watched the twinkling lights glowing festively in the darkness.
He climbed onto the wall and sat down, his legs dangling over the edge. It would be so easy, he thought...when a deliciously accented female voice came from behind him: "What are you doing, love?"
Every hair on Roger's neck stood up. He felt his heart try to leap out of his chest. Wide-eyed, he turned around towards that sweet voice.
Rowan stood before him, clear as day. She was wearing the tight jeans and snug black t-shirt he liked so much on her. Her inky hair was loose, gleaming under the holiday lights.
She offered her right hand to him (his wedding ring was on her thumb) and smiled. "Come down from there, you might fall off, silly."
Roger looked at her, dumbfounded. "Well," she said, "I'm not going to bite, unless you want me to." She took his hand and tugged him back to safety. This isn't possible, Roger thought, feeling the cool firm touch of her hand on his. I am either crazy, or dreaming, or drunk, or...dead. He didn't remember jumping from the ledge.
Rowan laughed gently. "You are drunk," she said, answering his silent question. She kissed him, then brushed his messy hair from his face. Her expression grew serious. "You can't kill yourself, Roger. You made a promise to me, and you must keep it."
"That's easy for you to say," grumbled Roger. "You didn't keep your promise - you died. How could you do that to me?" He traced the delicate bones of her jaw with his hand. She turned her face towards the palm of his hand and kissed it.
"I didn't want to die," she said, "but I will keep my promise. I will always be with you, right here," and she touched his heart.
********************************************
Roger never spoke of Rowan again. He returned to his sarcastic, flirtatious ways, making Dastun speculate just who the real Roger Smith was.
The relationship between the two men never really recovered. Dan often wondered if Roger somehow blamed him for Rowan's death, because the EMTs were too busy with a dead prisoner to rush to her aid.
The only clue Dastun had regarding Roger's true feelings came about a year later.
Dan found himself driving near the cemetary late one afternoon. He decided to visit Rowan's grave. He usually went in the evening after work, but he had meetings scheduled with his superiors that night.
As he approached, he spotted a black-clad figure kneeling by the small headstone, brushing off the leaves that had fallen from the now-lofty rowan tree. Curious, the major crept close, using some tall hedgerows as cover.
It was Roger Smith. He was talking to the headstone (Dan couldn't make out the words) then bent down and kissed the polished granite. The negotiator then got up, brushed off his trousers, and rapidly left.
Dan never tried to say another word to Roger about her after that. He still wondered how the young man got through the lonely nights.
*********************************************
Epilogue: Roger's Dream (Three Years Later)
Roger awoke with a start, his heart pounding as if it would leap from his chest. It had been that nightmare again, that awful soul-killing recurring nightmare - it always seemed so real!
He wiped the cold sweat from his face, then almost fearfully turned on his side on the great bed. To his relief, Rowan was there beside him, peacefully asleep.
He moved next to her still body, cuddling her against his bare chest. Rowan stirred, sighed, smiled, but didn't wake. Roger softly kissed her shoulder. He slipped his hands beneath the borrowed pajama top and gently stroked her, caressing her belly well-rounded with their first child.
It wasn't real, just a bad dream, Roger thought gratefully. We're still here, Roger and Ro.
He kissed the back of her neck, buried his face in her silky hair, filling his lungs with her clean scent. Thank god.....
And then the music began. The insistant, demonic piano music. It got louder and louder, tearing apart Roger's bliss.
NO! he cried out, please no...Rowan faded before his eyes, swallowed by daylight and furious music.
He huddled in the center of the great bed, alone, buried under the black blanket. He thought of his Rowan buried alone under the black earth.
He had to pull himself together, his anger at his loss fueling him to face the day.
He feared what the new female in his life would ask him today. R. Dorothy Wayneright. Always questioning, like Rowan, but such different questions. Queries about what it was to be human, what it was to love. Two questions Rowan knew all the answers to. Two questions he couldn't bear to face, today of all days. He would probably get very drunk tonight.
It was Heaven's Day.
No Side.
*************************************************************************************************
Author's Notes:If this was actually part of the series, the Epilogue would take place during the time span covered in "Daemon Seed." If you have that available to view, please note the following:1) Dorothy is directed to the funeral section of a department store to get Roger's
gift.
2) When Dorothy meets Roger in the street, the following conversation takes place:
D: "You seem mad about something."
R: "I don't care much for the scenery in town."
D: "You don't like Heaven's Day?"
R: "There's no logic to my behavior. It comes from emotions you wouldn't
understand."
3) At the dinnertable, Dorothy ask questions about the history and customs of Heaven's
Day:
N: "Another tradition exists where you give presents to the one you love."
D: "Will you be giving a present to anyone, Roger Smith?"
R: (chokes on glass of wine) "Preposterous! Do you think I'd waste my time doing
that? After all, Heaven's Day began as a celebration for when Paradigm was
founded. Why would anyone who has foresaken Paradigm even think of celebrating
a day like that?"
As usual, Roger is first ducking the questions R. Dorothy is asking, then over-reacting. Obviously she has hit a sore point. This made me wonder, what if he once had someone to love, and their loss was somehow tied to Heaven's Day? This story was the result.
DISCLAIMER: All characters are the property of the creators of "Big O," Sunrise, and Bandai, except for the following: Jim Webster, the Mooney family, the Van der Arc family, Hanae Daestar, Stephan Daestar, and Rowan Daestar. These characters are solely my property.