PART FOURTEEN

THE DREAM, by John Donne


DEAR love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream ;
It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for fantasy.
Therefore thou waked'st me wisely ; yet
My dream thou brokest not, but continued'st it.
Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,
Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.

As lightning, or a taper's light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me ;
Yet I thought thee
—For thou lovest truth—an angel, at first sight ;
But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,
And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art,
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and camest then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.

Coming and staying show'd thee, thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
Thou art not thou.
That love is weak where fear's as strong as he;
'Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,
If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have ;
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me ;
Thou camest to kindle, go'st to come ; then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.


New York enveloped Liz’s senses. It was easy to forget how visceral this city was, how the smells of coffee and pastries wafted out of cafés, then blended with exhaust fumes of a passing bus. Santa Fe was such a fresh city, the air so exhilarating, yet Liz wouldn’t have replaced the particular aromas of New York for anything—she was addicted to them.

The staccato sounds of sirens and horns, wailing even long into the night brought her to life, caused her blood to flow a little bit quicker. She’d forgotten that. But now, as she worked hard to keep pace with Michael’s long strides down Lexington Avenue, she took long drafts of air and smiled. And remembered that this was her city.

"Michael, slow down a little," she asked, reaching her hand into the crook of his arm. He stared down at her in surprise, completely unaware that he’d nearly left her behind in the midst of the passing throngs.

"Sorry," he mumbled. He always did that when they were in the city. His pace would increase, grow a little brisker, and she’d nearly have to chase after him. Which was fine at first, until her feet began to grow tired.

He broke into a smile, and she tucked her hand neatly through his, as they began a slower walk. "I just want to drink it all in for a minute," she explained and he nodded, squinting as he glanced up at the leaden sky.

"It’s gonna snow," he pronounced, as they side-stepped, allowing a pair of businessmen to pass them.

"It won’t stick, though."

"Nope, the guy at the front desk said three inches this afternoon."

They stepped under a large scaffolding, then came to the familiar revolving door of their hotel, the one where Liz always stayed right on Lexington.

Her throat tightened nervously, as she released Michael’s arm and prayed that he wouldn’t be angry with her, as he disappeared within the moving door. Liz followed, and as soon as she emerged on the other side, her gaze fell right on Maria, standing in the middle of the lobby.

Michael hadn’t glimpsed her yet, though Maria had clearly seen him, her eyes filling with indescribable emotion as she just stared at him. In fact, Liz had to smile, because Maria had yet to even notice her, she was so captivated by Michael’s appearance in the lobby.

After all, two years was a very long time when you still loved someone.

And Michael stopped right in his tracks, murmuring, "Oh, shit," under his breath.

Liz glanced at him, and for a moment, her heart lurched with sympathy because his brown eyes were panicked, filled with sudden anxiety. Liz actually worried that he might spin on his heel and leave the hotel without another word.

"Some way to greet a girl there, Guerin," Maria laughed and scooped Liz into a tight hug, exclaiming, "Sweetie!" She squeezed Liz within her arms for a long moment and Liz felt tears sting her eyes, as Maria’s familiar scent washed over her, sending her catapulting back through time, through decades even.

"So you managed to bring the old lug along," Maria teased, releasing her as she stepped toward Michael, who had only slightly managed to regain his composure.

For a moment, they stood and simply stared at one another, until Michael took a tentative step toward Maria, embracing her loosely within his arms.

"Didn’t expect to see me, huh?" she teased him, looping her arms around his neck.

"Liz promised I wouldn’t."

"Now, that’s not entirely true," Liz laughed and Maria rolled her eyes.

"Actually, I’m sure it is," Maria laughed, as her gaze moved down the length of Liz’s new suit. She whistled appreciatively. "Looking hot, babe!" she declared, and Liz glowed beneath her approval. Maria’s fashion sense had become impeccable after so many years in New York, and Liz sometimes felt small town next to her, despite the sophisticated circles she moved in back in Santa Fe.

"You look great, too, Maria," Liz assessed, prompting Michael with a pointed stare. "Doesn’t she, Michael?"

"Sure…great," he mumbled in a daze, and for the first time, Liz noticed that he was blushing as they stepped toward the restaurant.


****


"Yeah, well she’s fallen in love with the Phantom of the Opera," Michael grumbled, picking at his salad with his fork.

"The musical?" Maria asked, frowning in confusion.

"The guy," Michael explained, glancing up at Maria. "He lives in Santa Fe, disguised as some painter."

"You sound really happy about it, too," Maria observed, raising an eyebrow wryly.

"He’s not the Phantom of the Opera," Liz snapped, cutting her eyes at Michael. She didn’t understand why he’d fallen into his worst, most disagreeable behavior while Maria was with them.

"Tell me about him," Maria encouraged, sipping from her ice water delicately. Liz smiled, because for some reason Maria suddenly seemed incredibly beautiful to her, more than she remembered. Maria glanced up and caught her staring. "What?" she laughed self-consciously.

"You’re so beautiful, Maria," Liz answered with a warm smile. "I forget that sometimes when we’re apart. You just look wonderful."

Maria reached across the table, covering her hand with her own. "I’ve missed you too, Lizzie."

Liz’s throat tightened, because it suddenly seemed like such a very long time since she’d even seen Maria, as if she might never see her again, for that matter.

"So are you going to tell me about this painter or what?" Maria laughed, glancing at Michael for encouragement.

Michael only shrugged. "Don’t look at me."

"Well, his name is David Peyton and he’s really amazing. Just so talented and…" Liz thought a moment as to how she might possibly describe him. "Well, like a beautiful riddle. I don’t know if that makes sense at all."

"I’ll put it more bluntly," Michael offered irritably, finally looking up at Maria. "He leaves paintings on her doorstep in the middle of the night, is handicapped and wears a strange kind of mask to hide his face."

Liz thought she might actually hit Michael, such fury welled within her. She turned to him, seething. "Thank you, Michael."

"No problem."

Liz rolled her eyes and turned back to Maria who was staring at her in confused sympathy. "Michael is only being an asshole because I’m here, Liz. You can save all the details until we send him packing."

"Yeah, not a bad idea," Michael agreed sourly.

"Then go!" Liz cried, swatting him hard on the arm. "God, why are you doing this? I know you wanted to see Maria," Liz blurted angrily. "She’s going to think you’re always a total jerk."

"No, Liz, Maria knows I’m always a jerk," he said, tossing his white linen napkin on the table, and pushing his chair back. "Just ask her."

"Only when I’m around, Guerin," Maria disagreed.

Liz planted her elbows on the table, groaning into her hands. "Please, I just wanted to be with my two best friends. I just wanted a happy little reunion. Is that too much to ask?"

"Apparently," Maria observed, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

"What happened with you guys?" Liz asked suddenly, glancing up at Maria. "I am sick of all this and I want to know what went wrong between the two of you."

Silence fell over the table instantly, as Michael shifted uncomfortably in his chair, still ready to leave, though hesitating now, as the question hung unanswered in the air.

"Well?" Liz prompted again, glancing between them both. Maria sighed heavily, folding her napkin with care and laying it on the table.

"He never told you?"

"No, Maria, neither of you ever told me what happened when you came to Santa Fe," Liz answered in frustration. "And it’s time you did."

"She asked me to marry her," Michael answered simply, gazing at Maria with infinite sadness in his brown eyes. "To have a baby with her."

Liz swallowed hard in disbelief, as the two of them just gazed at one another, yet clearly communicated so much in the melancholy silence. "I’m sorry?" Liz finally managed to ask, not certain she’d truly heard Michael correctly.

"You heard him," Maria answered, still staring at Michael.

"I said no," he explained softly, brushing his hair away from his face.

Maria laughed sardonically, finally looking down at her plate. "Not quite that elegantly, I might add. It went more like, ‘why the hell would I do that?’"

"Why the hell would I have done that?" Michael cried, his voice rising a bit too loudly for the restaurant.

"Because you loved me, you moron," Maria snapped, her eyes filling with tears. "You had just told me that, remember?"

"Maria, I never knew any of this," Liz half-whispered, reaching for her hand.

"Yeah, well the details were just a little too mortifying to share," Maria sighed quietly, staring into her plate. "As you might imagine."

Michael leaned close across the table, his eyes trained intently on Maria. "I don’t even know if I can have children, Maria," he whispered, glancing around them nervously, as he leaned closer toward her. "Especially not the kind you want," he added softly, his face drawing into a painful expression of regret. "Why should I have lied about that?"

"I knew the risks, Michael…of who you are. What you are. I only wanted to try," Maria whispered, tears now welling in her eyes. "And not with just anybody. With you."

Michael leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "You only wanted me here, playing the whole New York game."

"That’s not true," Maria disagreed thickly, taking a long drink of water. "And you know it, Michael."

"Whatever," he grumbled, glancing around for some kind of escape. Yet he remained in his chair, and Liz realized that at least that was a good sign.

"Oh, you know what?" Liz interrupted suddenly, glancing at her watch in dramatic exaggeration. "I totally forgot a meeting I have downtown in just a bit."

"Liz," Maria begged her with her eyes. "Don’t go."

"No, really, I’m serious," she explained, pushing back from the table and slowly rising to her feet. "I forgot it completely!" She laughed nervously, brushing her hair from her eyes, as Michael gazed up at her in wide-eyed panic. "I’ll be back in about three hours," she explained and leaned low to kiss him on the cheek. " Don’t run," she urged in a whisper, quietly enough that Maria wouldn’t hear. "Stay and work it out with her."

Then, she moved toward Maria, and drew her into a warm hug. "Now, you, my dear, I intend to see again tonight for drinks at the Monkey Bar, okay?"

Maria wiped at her eyes, still damp with tears and nodded, kissing her on the cheek. "Six o’clock."

"See you then," Liz agreed, stepping quickly away from them with a triumphant smile on her face. Even if it had been painful, she was certain they’d just made progress for the first time in two years.


*****


Liz marveled that a light dusting of snow had already accumulated along the sidewalks of Manhattan during their brief lunch. It made walking in her boots a slippery proposition, and several times Liz skidded along the pavement awkwardly. The snow swirled earthbound in thick clumps, blowing into Liz’s eyes and blinding her slightly, and she wished that she’d brought an umbrella as so many of the other business people hurrying briskly past her had done.

The truth was, she didn’t have any other meetings booked for the afternoon—she’d blocked out the time for spending with Maria and Michael, and had figured she’d just go shopping if the reunion failed miserably. Liz smiled to herself, drawing the coat close around her shoulders for warmth, and thought that oddly enough, leaving them alone had actually been the right thing. Even though they hadn’t realized it, Liz was convinced they had finally reached some kind of breakthrough during that brief lunch.

Liz stopped a moment, staring into a gift shop window, and found herself immediately thinking of David, what silly trinket she might tote home for him. He’d shadowed her thoughts constantly, long before she’d even left Santa Fe. They’d exchanged a few e-mails already, each of his missives leaving her even giddier than the last. One thing she could easily say of David Peyton—a poet’s heart beat in his chest, such that every one of his short letters were imbued with romantic promise, leaving her flushed and aroused.

Liz shivered slightly, and not from the whipping wind, as she came upon Times Square. She stared at the intersection where Broadway and Seventh met, wondering where she’d continue ambling. Suddenly, the thought of a glass of wine at the Marriott sounded warm and appealing, and she glanced quickly at the light as it changed, stepping into the slippery street.

Before she could blink, or even process the moment, she was hurled violently into the air, her briefcase catapulting out of her hand. That was the last thing she remembered noticing—the way her papers cascaded through the wind like scattered dust, mixing with the snow that fell all around—as she sprawled painfully onto the hood of a taxi.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. She could only lie mutely on her back, staring up at the sky, white with swirling snow. Her head had slammed against the glass window with an inhuman crack, shattering the windshield she was sure. But why couldn’t she seem to move a muscle?

The moment seemed endless, as she lay staring heavenward, her thoughts tracking back far into the past. A quick rush of images flashed in her mind, punctuated repeatedly by Max leaning over her dying body in the Crashdown. You have to look at me…you have to look at me…you have to look at me.

She heard voices all around, shouts and cries, some familiar as her own heartbeat, others foreign and unknown. She heard the taxi driver’s shrill cries, was aware of how he waved his arms wildly at his sides. Yet she remained paralyzed and immobile.

Until Max appeared, pressing through the gathered crowd with determination.

"Max," she managed to murmur, though her jaw ached terribly, causing her to slur his name. She thought of David then, of the pain he constantly lived with.

"I’m here, Liz," Max reassured her, climbing carefully up onto the roof of the taxi with her. "I’m here, sweetheart."

She nodded painfully, as he cupped her face within his palms. "You’re okay, Liz. I’m here." He kept repeating those words, his voice soothing the fear she hadn’t even realized was crowding her thoughts.

"Help," was all she could manage to choke out, as their eyes locked.

"Just look at me, Liz," he reminded her gently. "Just like before. Look at me."

He slipped a warm palm beneath her sweater, placing it squarely over her heart, as he cradled the back of her head with his other hand. Vaguely, as if through a dense fog, she wondered how he could be so bold, so utterly unconcerned with the crowd gathered around.

"Careful," she murmured thickly, feeling as if her mouth were filled with cotton.

"It’s okay, Liz, they’re not even really here."

She nodded mutely again, wondering why his words made such perfect sense, as she felt a burning sensation erupt through her chest. "I’m healing you, though, Liz. Just accept that."

And she felt his energy surge through her whole body then, her head, her chest. It powered down to her toes even, causing her to shake. "How?" she whispered hoarsely, as he pressed a light kiss against her temple.

"Through your dream, Liz," he explained, stroking her hair out of her eyes. His strength began emanating through her body then, and she trembled against him, as he eased her slowly upright.

"Better?" he asked softly, his palm still so warm against her chest, his fingers lightly grazing the material of her bra as he slowly removed his hand.

She nodded, just staring at him. "What happened, Max?" she asked in thick confusion. Around them on the sidewalk, a crowd was gathered, yet no one attempted to talk to her.

"Come with me," he urged, clasping her hand in his warm one, guiding her away from the scene. "Ignore them and come with me."

He led her silently through the snow, a soft blanket along the sidewalks now, as he kept guiding her quietly away from the scene. "Max?"

"Just follow me," he repeated again, glancing at her over his shoulder with a reassuring smile. Max had always felt so safe, just like this, she thought as he tugged her down streets until they came upon Rockefeller Center.

"I wanted you to see this again," he smiled broadly, as the ice-skating rink appeared below them, dozens of skaters reveling in the wintry snowfall. "While we talked." He leaned against the railing, staring into the icy world down below them.

"About what, Max?" Liz asked, turning to him in surprise. For some reason, their entire odyssey made a bizarre kind of sense. The accident with the taxi, his healing her, and now winding up here at the skating rink again.

"You, Liz," he answered softly, drawing her gloved hand into his own. "Your life." He squeezed her hand tightly, and as she gazed up at him, his golden eyes flaring with raw emotion.

"This is it, Liz," he explained with surprising firmness. "Where it all ends, sweetheart."

"Where what ends?" she asked, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

"You have to wake up now."

"No," she disagreed huskily, glancing around them. "No, I don’t, Max."

"You’re dying, Liz. If your heart stops again, they won’t revive you."

"What?" she cried in confusion, but was only met by his warm, amber eyes, filled with undeniable compassion.

"Liz you’ve been asleep for thirty eight days, and it’s almost too late."

"God, Max, you’re crazy!" she started laughing, rubbing his hands between her own gloved ones. "I have not."

"Liz, you don’t understand," he pressed gently, but his gaze remained intent and serious. "You’re in a coma. You were hit by a taxi thirty eight days ago…and you’re not waking up."

"No, see, that’s just wrong, Max," she laughed awkwardly, glancing all around them in an effort to understand. "I’ve had some dreams about you lately, but that’s it."

"You’re not waking up because you won’t let go of me," he continued. "You have got to let go and live."

She shook her head forcefully, thinking of Future Max for some reason. Of all that he’d once asked her to sacrifice. "I won’t do it," she announced. Because suddenly she did understand, knew that she’d had him again all these weeks in the midst of such vivid dreams. "I won’t give you up."

"I’m dead, Liz," he whispered, cupping her face within his hands. " This version of me died eight years ago. You’ve always known it."

Tears blurred her vision. "What are you trying to do to me, Max?" Her heart lurched with incredible pain.

"Help you let go. It’s what I’ve been trying to do the whole time."

"I can’t," she disagreed, shaking her head firmly. "I won’t."

"Liz if you don’t choose to live, you will die in this hospital," he said intently, drawing her face close to his. "You will die, and I’ll never have you again."

"But you’re already dead, you just said so yourself," she offered brightly. "So we can be together if I die!"

He shook his head slowly, just running his hand down the length of her hair. "Liz, this version of me is gone, long gone. Same as the beautiful seventeen-year old girl is, the one I used to just sit and stare at in the Crashdown for hours on end. We're different people now, and we can never go back"

"What are you saying, Max?" she cried, beginning to sob, as he pulled her close within his leather-clad arms. "Tell me."

"Your heart has known all along, Liz," he explained gently. "Now your mind is finally starting to figure it out." He pressed something into her hand then, and only when she glanced down at it, did she recognize it. David Peyton’s prosthetic.

Liz stared down at it, clutching it tightly within her fingers. "If I wake up, I’ll lose you."

"You’ll find me," he countered fiercely. "I’m waiting for you back in Santa Fe. That version of me needs you so much more than this one ever did…needs your love, your healing. God, your very touch, Liz. Only you can give him that."

"I love him, too, but," she reached deep within her lungs, dredging for any breath at all.

"You haven’t let go of our past."

She nodded hard, burying her face against the cool leather of his jacket, feeling his heart’s keen rhythm against her cheek. "I love him so much, Max. Already."

"Then all you have to do is wake up."

"Does David know? Who he is?"

"Yes," he nodded, stroking her hair, soothing her just as sweetly as he ever had. "But he doesn’t remember everything."

"About me?"

"What they did to him," he paused a moment, then corrected himself. "To me, Liz, it’s going to be very difficult for him to speak about. There are places in his mind that aren’t quite as clear as others, memories that are missing or damaged. But he knows exactly who you are, precisely what you mean to him."

"Then why did he hide from me?" she cried. "Why didn’t you just tell me, Max?"

He stepped back then, stroking her cheek slowly beneath his thumb, like David had the last night she’d seen him. "Did any of these things actually happen, Max? Have I even met him? The paintings, were they real?"

"It all happened before you came to New York," he nodded. "And you’ve been trying to figure it out ever since. In your dreams."

He stepped further away from her then, so young and handsome, like a lost fragment of her childhood, fading away. "Don’t go," she choked again.

"Open your eyes, Liz," he encouraged softly. "You’ve got to live."

"I need to know why David hid from me," she pressed again, as Max stepped further from her, leaving her standing there by herself. "Please, Max."

He turned from her then, with a melancholy smile, and mouthed the words, "I love you."

"Max!" she cried, clutching her chest, as he walked away. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel anything but tightness in her lungs and throat. But then he turned back to face her again, his long hair falling to his shoulders, and he moved much more slowly.

His face was disfigured, just as he’d told her, marred by countless jagged, angry scars. His left eye was half-closed and his jaw was misshapen and swollen. Yet, he was still her Max, beautiful in a strange, haunting way, as he walked carefully toward her, every halting step punctuated by his cane.

"Why didn’t you just tell me?" she murmured again, wiping at her tears, as he drew near.

"Unworthy," he explained slowly, in the familiar broken syntax of David Peyton. "Felt…so unworthy."

"Of what, David?" she asked, even though she knew he was Max now.

"You, Liz," he said, reaching the place where she stood. "Your…love."

"How could you have ever been unworthy of my love?" she cried, reaching to touch his scarred cheek.

"Broken," he answered simply, staring down at the ground. "This…me, Liz."

She lunged at him, not caring how forcefully she dragged him into her arms. "I love you, Max. You know that."

He kissed the top of her head very gently, shyly even. "But…this?" he asked quietly, the words slurring as they had with the mask on.

"Any way that you’d come to me, in my dreams even," she cried, holding him closer than life itself. "I love you," she murmured against his chest again.

"But," he sighed softly, folding his arms close around her back, pulling her tight against himself. "Left…you."

"To save me," she countered, and he pulled back to look at her, his eyes widening in surprise. "I’ve always known that, Max."

Tears filled his amber eyes then, and he just nodded, averting his gaze from her. "Look at me," she whispered, cupping his scarred face within her palms, and slowly turning it until their eyes met. "You’re beautiful, Max."

"No," he disagreed, shaking his head, then a slow smile spread across his unusual features, so that even his dimples appeared. "Striking," he whispered, reminding her of how she’d described him back in Santa Fe. "Beautiful, you."

"You’re really waiting for me?" she exclaimed in sudden excitement "Back home?"

"So worried," he explained quietly. "Afraid…lose you."

"What do I need to do, Max?" she asked, feeling her heart thunder in eager anticipation. "Just tell me."

"Easy," he whispered, stroking the length of her hair lovingly. "Open…"

"My eyes," she finished, and he nodded in agreement.

And just like that, she did.


****


The cold wind gave way to warm sheets. The feel of Max’s arms dissolved to the touch of Michael’s worried hand on her arm. The sounds of laughter and traffic morphed into the pulsing drone of her monitors, as slowly her eyes fluttered open.

She could only squint for a moment, couldn’t move at all, as she gazed around the room. Michael sat beside the bed, reading a magazine, yet his warm hand rested right on her arm. Beside him, Maria was sleeping, her head resting on Michael’s shoulder. Liz blinked repeatedly at the bright lights, just listening to the strange repetitive noises in the room, one in particular that kept making a light suctioning sound.

Michael glanced up at her from his magazine suddenly, though she was certain she hadn’t moved at all. His brown eyes grew wide with surprise, as he stared at her wordlessly. She blinked a few times, and he remained silent, just stroking her arm beneath his hand, as tears filled his eyes. The moment was a stolen secret between the two of them, stretching like eternity, his eyes just locked with her own.

It was as it had been between them on that that sun-parched day long ago, when he’d emerged from the chamber without Max, and met her expectant gaze. Only this moment was an inverse image of the other, because rather than bringing death, it promised life. Rather than signifying their loss of Max, she returned with him held delicately in her heart.

Quite simply, she’d come back from the dead, bringing Max along with her.

And even though the details of her dreams were already growing dim, like the desert sky after the sun has set, of one thing she remained certain. David Peyton was her beloved soul mate, come home to her at last.

That was the last thought she had, as she drifted soundlessly back to sleep, hearing Michael cry, "Get the nurse!"