The River Beckoned

January

“I do not want to die in Canada,” Helen declared emphatically. “I’ll die right here in this wonderful tropical paradise that we’ve shared for most of the past 23 years and that is the end of the it.” Apparently it had taken everything she had to hold in her tide of emotions because her chin dropped to her chest and she began to sob uncontrollably.

So began a long period of turmoil for Chester “Chet” Vollmer. In no cruel way, he considered the costs of what his wife was asking—the emotional and monetary costs. He and Helen had maxed out their annual stay in Las Terrenas for over two decades. They spent seven months each year as “snowbirds,” and this small resort town in the Dominican Republic truly had become their second home.

Now, with her failing health and the subsequent insurance costs outstripping their retirement income, Chet had a terrible decision to make. He knew that if he booked their flight back to Canada, they likely wouldn’t return and she would never forgive him. He also knew that her passing away in a foreign country would be an even greater burden on their dwindling savings and therefore an even greater burden on their one remaining daughter if she had to look out for Chet as he lived on. As these thoughts played out in his head, he shambled over to Helen in their small kitchen, knelt in front of her and delicately put a hand on her shoulder.

“We will try, dear. I will see what needs to be done to make this happen for you, I promise,” he told his ailing wife. They embraced, and her tears waned.

“I love you so much, Chet. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

June

Ahh, the mighty Saint Lawrence River. The river proper is 1,197 kilometres in length, and the entire Saint Lawrence water system—which includes the Great Lakes—is responsible for draining more than a quarter of the entire planet’s freshwater reserves. Its basin encompasses two Canadian provinces and nine American states.

Chet called it “home.” He was raised in many of the cities along its Canadian banks, and the river was as much a part of his identity as any other aspect of his life. Of his 83 years of existence, he had called the river home for 77. He had fished, swum, Sea-Dooed, scuba dove and sailed these waters. Chet knew many stretches of the river like the back of his own hand, having spent countless hours in pursuit of happiness up and down its shores on both the Canadian and American sides. His only time away from the river was when he received his post-secondary education in British Columbia, the western-most Canadian province. He recalled that, even then, he missed the pull of the majestic river and longed to return.

Retirement in the Dominican had also cut into his enjoyment of the great waterway. The tropical paradise was something he and Helen had planned for many years, and he’d cherished his time with her. It was a sacrifice he made each year because he knew that he would always return. And return he had—this time, alone.

Chet was driving his older vehicle from his daughter’s house on the north end of their small town down to the river. For the past two months, Sherri and her husband had accommodated him following Helen’s passing. They had the room now that their own nest was empty; their son, Tysen, had left long ago to pursue a career in Toronto. With little money and nowhere to turn they’d welcomed him with open, grieving arms. Chet knew that he couldn’t remain with them ongoing, although they insisted in him doing exactly that. Every couple needs space and he especially knew how rewarding the “Golden Years” could be. Chet didn’t wish to hamper their pending retirement plans, and so he had another decision to make, another life or death decision.

The squeal of brakes brought Chet out of his reverie. He had proceeded through the intersection a block north of the park by the river without looking to his driver side. The near-fatal error saw him pulling out in front of a massive dump truck, one of many belonging to a local construction company fleet that was still working, even this late in the evening. The trucker swerved, laying on the horn as he slammed on his brakes. Fortunately, Chet’s instincts and reflexes were not so dulled that he couldn’t react quickly enough to avoid a collision. He pulled on the steering wheel and stood on his own brakes, coming to an abrupt stop. The truck managed to miss him by inches, and the driver peering down gave him a startled, angry look. Chet could hear an expletives hurled his way, followed by “you stupid old fart” and a middle-finger salute.

Clearly rattled, Chet slowly manoeuvred through the intersection and managed to get to the parking lot of the small, riverside park without further incident. As he turned the car off, he leaned his head against the wheel and wept salty, bitter tears. A flood of horrible memories filled his head. Chet’d had three daughters (he loved them dearly, although he often wondered what having a son would have been like) until the tragic accident those many years ago. The entire family—minus Sherri, the oldest—had been heading to Sherri’s dance lesson to pick her up. They were planning on stopping at Johnson’s Variety afterwards for the best ice cream cones in town. They never made it.

Years Prior

“Cindy, keep it down, will you ever stop picking on your little sister? And Olivia stop kicking the back seat” Helen chided her daughters, as she turned to look at them.

“But she started it,” Cindy insisted. In fact it was another way for her to draw attention, as the middle child she always felt that she was being forgotten about. Olivia, for a change had been idly looking out her window, at five and small for her age she still sat on a booster seat. They’d been at each other the entire car ride.

“I didn’t do nothing,” Cindy cried out.

It was the headache, the dreaded lack of sleep headache from the night shifts that set Chet off. When he was rested he was a very patient man, and with a house full of women he felt he had to be. However, working a week of night shifts at the factory to cover summer overtime had shortened his fuse. He glanced into the rear view mirror and could see both girls slapping at each other. Neither had on their seat belts.

“I didn’t do anything. It’s I didn’t do anything,” he boomed at Cindy, in his dad-is-angry-and- you-better-listen-right-now-voice. That got her attention and she looked up. Chet could see the startled expression on her eight year old face and momentarily felt sorry for yelling so loudly. But it had been a full eight minutes of this nonsense and he couldn’t stand another few more. “You two young ladies had better shut the hell up rig—”

The half ton truck had little chance to slow down. Chet, distracted had pulled right through the intersection, barely stopping as he was scolding his children. The other vehicle T-boned their car on the passenger side. The car rolled twice and finally it turned up on it’s side from the impact. Chet, surprisingly couldn’t hear any screams. Helen, still strapped in had both arms dangling down at him. Her long brown hair was actually in his face. She appeared to be unconscious. Chet managed to strain his head back to look around the vehicle. The entire inside of the car was crushed in on itself like a crumpled pop can. He could barely make out his daughters, looking impossibly small laying on top of each other behind him. There was glass and blood and twisted metal everywhere.

Cindy’s worn, baby alive doll now sat in his lap, only one eye open, staring at him as though accusing him! Chet passed out with this thought drifting through his head, oh god no, what have I done?

June

Chet lifted his head from the steering wheel and looked in the mirror. A haggard, tired old man stared back at him through haunted slate-grey eyes.

When did I get this old, this alone?

He raised his six-foot bulk out of the car and slowly walked to the end of the dock at the city park. There was a long docking area where the tall ship festival was held and where other Saint Lawrence cruise ships often tied off. The water changed in depth from twelve feet to as deep as twenty along the concrete and metal dock. There were drop-offs that went thirty feet or more just a mere six feet from the man-made structure. Chet had visited the underwater statues that had been sunk for divers right at this very park. He’d also explored most of the wrecks—the Saint Lawrence river was home to some of the best freshwater diving in the world. Chet shakily stood on one of the massive metal docking cleats, pinwheeling his arms to retain his balance. He looked down into the near-black water, so different from the Dominican beaches but just as beautiful. The sun was beginning to set on a warm evening.

Chet recalled the factory nurse way back when telling him that his lung function test had shown his lung capacity to be 126% higher than a typical man his age and size. Chet had always been able to hold his breath and stay under for considerable lengths of time, even scaring his own sisters (long since passed away) or girlfriends when he would jump in and stay under for more than a minute with just a mask or goggles on. Chet had barely ever smoked, and even with all those years in manufacturing under his belt, he still had the respiratory system of a man half his age.

He hadn’t brought any diving equipment with him this night. Chet wore blue jeans and a long-sleeved sweater, odd considering he lived most of his days in shorts and loud, touristy collared shirts, but he felt the extra weight would prevent him from changing his mind by weighing him down. Chet waited ten more minutes until dusk was completely gone. He thought of the note he had left for Sherri on the dash of the car; he hoped she’d understand:

Now that I’m 83, just how long will I have to stay under if I really am going to end it all tonight?

Chet, trembling, lifted one foot—he was about to jump.

“Am I really going to do this?” he said. He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until he heard a reply.

“Going to do what, old timer?”

Again, pinwheeling his arms, Chet managed not to fall in, and he quickly stepped down from the cleat. He spun as quickly as his old body would allow and saw a woman sitting on the bench behind him, lighting up a smoke.

Was she there all along?

The sweet, unmistakable odour of cannabis drifted his way as the stranger took a drag from her joint. The heater bobbed in the air, a solitary accusing red eye. Chet momentarily felt ashamed of what he’d been about to do.

“Do what?” the woman repeated. “Kinda late for a swim, ain’t it?”

Chet stepped forward before he replied, and in the dim light, he could see that it wasn’t a woman at all, just a skinny, pimple-faced teenager. The girl had tousled, shoulder-length hair and was wearing a well-worn jean jacket that was cut off at the shoulders and had the patches of rock and roll bands all along the front. She looked vaguely familiar, yet he was positive he didn’t know her. “J-just looking… enjoying the evening,” he managed to stammer.

“Looked to me that you was about to jump right in.”

“No… no, that’s not it at all. I often come down here to… to think.”

After another long pull and forcing out a plume of blue smoke, the girl said, “Not my business, old timer, but I’m glad you didn’t jump. I can’t swim and ain’t got no phone—broke mine going on two weeks back. You look on edge; maybe ya might wanna hit this.” At that, the girl held out her hand and extended the glowing joint to him.

“No… no… I’m good. I haven’t done something like that since I visited the Marley mausoleum with my wife in Jamaica more than thirty years ago.” Chet choked up at the thought; by god, he missed Helen. “Never really enjoyed weed—or pot or whatever you call it these days,” he continued.

The girl shrugged, stood up and turned to walk away. On a crazy impulse—and considering what he had been contemplating moments prior—Chet suddenly said, “Hey wait, young lady… maybe I will. Not like it’s going to kill me or anything.”

“Hey, that’s the spirit old-timer, this sure won’t kill ya.” She handed the joint to Chet.

Chet inhaled slowly, not sure what to expect, he choked and fought back the urge to cough.

“Go ahead, give it a good long drag,” encouraged the girl.

What the heck, you only live once. Chet held the slowly smouldering joint turned to look out at the river and sucked on the make-shift filter like there was no tomorrow. His head was swooning but he held the inhale for half a minute. Chet felt like he did when he was swimming underwater, a sense of freedom of comfort. He stopped when he felt the heater singe his fingers. He pulled away the small roach that was left and sheepishly turned to hand it back to the stranger.

The girl was gone, no wait, there she was walking to the road. Illuminated by a street lamp, he could make out her receding form, again he couldn’t help but think that the person looked familiar. “Hey wait this is yours, I didn’t get to thank you.”

He could barely make out the dismissive wave as the girl called out, “I think you needed it more than me old-timer,” then she was gone, lost to the shadows.

Chet giggled to himself as he finished the spliff. He dropped it to the pavement and fastidiously ground it out under his heel. He almost immediately felt an urge to eat something...anything! He remembered buddies talking about “getting the munchies” he didn't know it was such a compelling phenomena post cannabis inhalation. All thoughts of jumping into the dark abyss of the dark river were gone, but he turned to look out at his familiar friend once more.

He saw it, a shimmering phosphorescent green glow right off the corner of the dock. He had no idea what it was, the lightly rippling waves creating just enough of an effect to make the object indistinguishable. It was round, more oval, and seemed to be on the riverbed. Chet knew that it was at least fifteen feet deep here. Maybe it is a newly submerged statue, but glowing in the dark?

The green object colour pulsed out, more intense, then fading, rhythmically, like a slow metronome. Chet stared intently, the thing reminded him of the pod shapes in the Alien movies he had loved so much, well the first two anyway, the others were all crap in his estimation. Similar shape but this was underwater, not a UFO but a UUO an unidentified underwater object, he giggled at his own stoned cleverness. He continued watching, mesmerized, he’d no idea how long. It must’ve been some time as the deep seated ache that came with staying upright at his age had set in. He was sore and hungry. With difficulty he pulled himself away from the dock, the shape seemed to be calling to him, beckoning him, like it was there for him alone. Chet decided right then that he’d bring his snorkel gear and check it out during daylight hours. First things first, need to eat something, maybe Mickey D's, they're open 24-7 I believe.

As Chet started his car he couldn't help but think that the young girl he encountered may have saved his life.

The next day at the park proved to be unproductive, he couldn’t find a submerged pod-thingy anywhere under water. He’d spent hours searching and had drawn the ire of some divers that he startled. With school still in he had the park mostly to himself and he dove and swam until near exhaustion. At one point as he was floundering in the river he looked to the dock and beyond and saw a jean jacketed figure. It was her, the girl from last night, she wasn’t alone she was with a taller person that protectively had her arm around her. They were staring right at him, or so it looked from that distance. He swam as quickly as his tired legs could take him and climbed the ladder at the dock. At the top he looked around, but they were gone, if they’d been there at all. He climbed out entirely, towelled off and went home. Chet had an idea that maybe the object could only be seen at night. As irrational as this seemed it felt right to Chet. He went back to Sherri’s home and slept for a few hours in his downstairs room in her semi-finished basement. He’d need his rest if he was snorkelling at night.

July

Three weeks of late night snorkelling and daytime pod hunting had proven to be a waste of time. There was nothing in the river off the corner of the park that he hadn’t seen before. Some days the water was very clear—the Zebra mussel effect— and Chet could see the river bottom from the dock that was six feet above the water. He’d chalked up the entire incident to having smoked cannabis and the mind altering effect it had (he assumed).

As his passion to find the object waned so did his will to live, he had no family that he wouldn’t be a burden to. He also thought that Sherri somehow knew that he was to blame for the death of her younger sisters and the horrible injuries sustained by her mom. Helen had long since forgiven him, she insisted that they move on and that life was for the living. She’d played out her life in tremendous chronic pain from her fractured pelvis and busted knees from the accident. However, she always managed to find the positives in life and had adored Chet right until she passed away.

November-April

They’d travelled down for their seven months on the first day of November, as was their tradition. By the second week Helen was coughing up blood, had overpowering headaches and was doubled over with gut wrenching abdominal pain. The diagnoses was swift and clear. She had cancer and would likely live only four to six months. As much as the health care at the Dominican hospital was very adequate and thorough, they didn’t have the same oncology assistance that could be found in Canada or in America. Helen had insisted that she not be treated, she didn’t see the point in subjecting herself to bouts of chemo and radiation therapy etc... to buy her another few months or a year? She had lived with the pain from her accident far too long to even consider prolonging the inevitable. So she and Chet had agreed that he’d help her with her final day.

Her ailing health was starting to be noticed by their ex-pat friends and fellow snowbirds, so something would have to be done and quickly.

As was often the case Helen would travel around the tip of the island and go to local fish merchants to find bargains for their meals. Chet and Helen both loved fish and seafood and had been spoiled by their abundance in the DR. She often came home as night was falling but Chet never worried about her she’d navigated the shores in their seven foot fishing boat and had become better versed at it then he was. Chet would write for hours or work on his oil paintings. He wasn’t very good at either but that didn’t matter to them. They both tended to their lovely tropical gardens at their small rental cottage and it was doing that when Helen told Chet of her plan. Her desperation had forced his hand and he acquiesced to her commands. She won most of their arguments, the few they had, and this was a time when she was relentless in her pursuit.

They had a lovely breakfast at a local restaurant and tried their best not to look like she was saying goodbye. She didn’t want to raise anyone's suspicion that what took place was anything but a natural death. They had as normal as day as possible considering what Helen had proposed to be done, that very evening.

“I don’t want to I... I can’t do this...I’m not strong like you,” Chet blubbered at his wife. “Why can’t we go back home...our real home and make you better or at least try?” he implored of Helen.

“Chet you silly old coot, you know it is far too late for that. Chet, this is the right thing to do, you promised, Chester Willem Vollmer you promised!” There was a steely reserve in Helen’s eyes as she spoke these words to Chet. “I may struggle, I think that’ll be instinctual, but we need to follow through, you need to, DO NOT allow me to surface, this is how I want to go. I love you my dear husband.”

With that she leaned forward and kissed him firmly on the mouth, their embrace lingered and then she unwrapped her arms from his weary shoulders and lowered herself into the warm waters. It was twilight following another stunning sunset, dark was descending, they were in the cove and small dock at their cottage. The small fishing boat was overturned, “crashed” on the rocks. She looked up at him unblinking, the salt water stinging her eyes. He placed his hands on her shoulders and held her under as she had instructed. There was very little struggle, by that point she barely weighed 54 kilograms. Her buoyancy was an issue but she clung to his legs that were fully submerged, he was in the water up to his waist. One last, large bubble escaped her drowning form and broke the surface. He held her down for another full four minutes, ensuring that she was gone. She’d put on her prettiest blue sundress the one decorated with sunflowers that he loved seeing her in. Chet cried silently throughout the entire ordeal, he’d done what she’d asked of him. He lifted her inert form out of the water and laid her beside the overturned boat, high enough that the tide would not carry her away. Chet went back to their cottage sat down on his worn arm chair and guzzled three Presidente beers in quick succession and passed out right there.

Six hours later Chet “discovered” her body and alerted the local authorities. He was never cast in a suspicious light, Helen had made a point of talking to a few locals and friends that evening and they backed up Chet’s story that she had returned later then usual. Her death was determined as being accidental, that she crashed in her return to the dock. Following the investigation and all the arrangements that had to be made, Chet finally left the Dominican never to return. Cremation had been an option there since 2003, so Chet flew his wife's remains home to Canada with him and little else.

August

“Dad what is this odd obsession with the river of late, every time I turn around that you’re heading down to the park with your snorkel gear,” She queried.

“I, oh, hi princess... I want to stay out of yours and Tommy’s way is all, maybe I’m missing down south more than usual this summer.”

Sherri certainly couldn't argue that point, the sting of her mom’s passing was still fresh for her as well. “Well I don’t know how safe or healthy it is for you to be down there so late at night, are you finding treasures or something.”

Chet tried not to let his emotions show. Chet’s mistake had cost him so much that he no longer felt compelled to carry on. “No, look at me, I have never been fitter in twenty years, all of the this diving and swimming have me in as good a shape as an old fart like me can get.”

It was another point that she couldn’t argue, for a man of 83 her dad was in excellent health, she hated seeing him so lonely. “Remember dinner at six, I’m trying that whole fish recipe, with snapper that you mentioned, maybe that can lift all of our spirits.”

With that Chet retreated to the basement for his afternoon nap.

Dinner had a sombre tone although the fish, grilled cauliflower and mixed greens salad were excellent, Sherri had turned out to be a tremendous cook. Even Tom a self proclaimed seafood hater passed on the jumbo hot dogs Sherri had grilled on the side once he’d tasted the fish. There was little banter between the three, they all seemed lost in their own thoughts. Chet felt that it had a last supper quality to it and he suppose it did, considering that he was going to follow through on what he’d planned to do in June.

Sherri could sense his sadness. “Is there anything I can do dad? Maybe you need to see more of people your own age, we can talk about a retirement residence some more, we can scrape by and make it happen.” Tom also was in agreement with this, but Chet couldn’t help but think that he wanted to get his basement man-cave back.

“That won’t be necessary princess, I have a plan that will put everything right, you don’t have to worry about me,” Chet said much to brusquely. He saw the look of concern in her eyes and softened his statement, “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you and Tom have suspended your lives far too long as it is helping me, it’s high time that I land on my feet again and looked out for myself.”

The discussion carried on briefly, but Chet would have no more mention of an old folks home that they couldn’t afford. He finally excused himself stating that he was heading down to the park for some evening snorkelling.

“What are you going to do in the winter,” Sherri asked.

Chet didn’t have an answer, he hugged his daughter and made his way to his car.

It was with tremendous sadness that he found the original note in the glove compartment that he wrote for Sherri a few months ago. He laid it on the passenger side seat and headed back to the park along the river. He was determined to join his beloved wife and daughters in whatever afterlife there may be.

The park was quiet as usual, only one person walking their corgi on a leash. He waited out the two of them, sitting in his car with the radio playing old show tunes that he and Helen had loved. He walked slowly to the corner of the dock. He once again wore heavy clothing including a hoodie this time and was sweltering under the extra garments, he looked forward to the cooling caress of the river.

“Well this is it then, I love you Helen, see you soon.”

“Who’s Helen?” he heard suddenly from behind him. Chet turned so quickly that he near lost his balance almost falling in. He saw not one girl, but two. The one he’d met two months prior, but impossibly looked years older. Her clothes were even more tattered and worn, like that of someone homeless. The other girl was younger by four or five years and was much better attired, clean and wholesome looking, with a bright smile and endearing dimples as she looked impishly at him. She was the one that had asked the question. She spoke again.

“Do you mean mother, our Helen?”

Stunned, Chet could only look on gaped mouth at the two.

“Close your mouth dad, gonna catch flies with it so wide open, don’t look so shocked, I think you know exactly who we are,” spoke up the rougher of the two. “Here have a sip of this I insist,” she said as she handed him a metal flask that she had rummaged around in the pockets of her jacket for.

“This isn’t...isn’t real, I must still be in the car,” Chet insisted, shaking his head slowly, he looked in that direction.

“Have a drink,” the girl insisted and they both giggled. “Settle your nerves.”

Who the heck am I to to argue, this isn't real anyway, Chet thought and reached for the flask. He held it to his lips, before even tilting it back the familiar scent triggered a wonderful memory.

Mamajuana, indigenous to the Dominican Republic, a drink made of spices and tree bark soaked in red wine, rum and honey. Said to have aphrodisiac qualities. Helen and Chet had tried it on their first trip to the island many years ago.

“Hey man, you must try this, best drink on the island, better than your beer man.” The handsome server at the outside bar beamed this as he poured two shots for them. It was their second day at the resort and by noon they both had a pleasant booze buzz.

When in Rome...Chet thought so he and Helen both knocked back the shots. Helen grimaced at the taste, earthy, strong not for her. Chet loved it.

“Whoa, I think I'll stick to my daiquiris,” Helen exclaimed.

“That shit’s...er stuff is awesome, I’ll have another shot,” Chet ventured.

“No problem man you must be careful though, too much of this and you will break your nose!” Exclaimed the bar tender.

“Break my nose,” Chet guffawed, “what does it have to do with my nose?”

Helen just looked on smiling she had an idea where this conversation was going.

“Let me show you my Canadian friend,” the server, Rodrigo, said as he came from behind the bar and put a friendly arm around Chet’s shoulder. A small crowd had gathered as he spoke. “Mamajuana will cure all that ails you but especially it will put the lead back in your pencil, if you get my meaning.”

“Yes but how will that break his nose?” Helen played along.

The fun young man continued. He held his arm trunk like between his legs and thrust his hips mischievously. He pendulum-ed his arm up to his face and grinning brought his fist to his nose. “Mamajuana make all manner of thing bigger, better, careful that you not break your nose.” The crowd that had assembled broke out in laughter at the meaning behind the gesture and all of the men made a point of enjoying copious shots of the elixir. The wives present could only laugh at the silliness of it all.

They had a great week together, and had enjoyed each others company intimately throughout the vacation. From that point forward Helen insisted that Mamajuana was the sole reason that Chet had finally decided on the Dominican as being their retirement destination.

“That hit the spot old-timer? Dad,” said the girl that had handed Chet the flask.

This sobering statement brought Chet fully out of his revelry. He wiped a stream of the liquid from his creased face with his sleeve.

“Yeah that’s right it’s us dad,” the other woman spoke up.

“It can’t be... can’t be true, you both died long ago, because of me,” as Chet said this he was overcome by emotion and dropped to one knee. Clearly seeing his distress the girls lead him to a bench behind them. Olivia sat beside him and cradled his hands in hers. Cindy stood in front, looking at them both. She was the first to break the silence.

“It’s true dad. Where we are from things are different. The accident never happened. Neither of us were killed and mom wasn’t injured, you hit the breaks and other than a few bruises and shaken up a bit we were all fine.”

“How can this be, why are you two here then?” Was all Chet could manage to say.

Olivia took over the conversation, her pretty features taking on a big smile. “We are from a different reality an alternate reality. There are many planes of existence and yet us humans typically only remember one, only live through the memories of one. There was a time when the planes never crossed over, but mankind has slowly changed all that. The abuse this planet has taken at the hands of man, the pollution, the strip mining, the ravaging of natural resources have all lead to the depletion of the ozone layer. This in turn has allowed the astral planes to drip, no... bleed into each other. That is the only way that I can describe it. That is why we are beginning to see and hear more stories of ghosts and haunting and paranormal activity.

“There are vast amounts that our brains don’t use, Dad I'm sure that you’ve heard that we only tap into about 11% of our brain power, I can tell you that is far less than that. We, humans have always had the potential for so much more and yet it is in only breaking down this planet that we have begun to awaken these powers within ourselves. Our collective minds are being bombarded to a higher degree, to the radiations and influences of the vast galaxies. Our own self-destructive tendencies may in turn lead us to greater discoveries about our own vast potential.” She finally stopped, near out of breath from her oration.

“I don't think I follow, I don’t understand what any of this means for me, for us.” Chet sat clutching Olivia’s hands, tears streaming down his face. “But now, I finally have you, my lovely daughter's, but you are both so different from what I remember.”

Cindy finally spoke up, “well dad alternate realities are a difficult thing. What you see is what has became of us in one of the countless realities that exist. We happen to be on the closest plane as the earth’s rotation now dictates. I’m not the pretty young eight year old that you recall. I have always been the rebellious one, the black sheep of sorts. I fell into drugs at a young age. You and mom, all of us really, struggled with helping me overcome my many addictions. I took a grave toll on our family. You and mom have separated and divorced in my reality, unable to come to grips with the issues of our struggles. Not all realities are as pleasant as we would like. Our lives play out in so many vast and different ways. It is hard to fathom all of this, but your existence as you know it has likely been one the best of the many that you are living. Even with the crippling car accident that you are so bent on tormenting yourself, blaming yourself for.”

“Why are you here then, I still don’t understand,” Chet stammered.

“There is another way to move on dad, we’re here to help you out of your reality and into another. Another final plane of existence. Although I can't fully explain why, when you take your own life you sever the ability to move on to something better, the best plane where you can live happily forever on.” Cindy could see the look of confusion on her dad’s features.

Olivia carried on, “for lack of a better way to describe it and perhaps one that you can follow more closely consider that if there is a heaven, it’s the best of all possible realities that you can imagine. You are eternally joyous, surrounded by those you love. The life you lead in the many realities brings you to a final destination that’s dictated by your own choices. When you lead your lives predominately as a loving, caring, giving person your final plane of existence reflects as much. In some cases you will create your own living hell if you are evil throughout. You manufacture your own heaven based on how you have lived in your many planes. Do you follow any of this?”

“I think so...but you said you are here to help me, that I shouldn’t take my own life, so what happens now.”

“Can you stand,” asked Cindy.

“I thinks so,” Chet replied and they slowly rose. His daughter’s lead him back to the corner of the dock. Chet could see in the water not one but four pod like objects at the bottom of the river. Shimmering, pulsing, glowing in their strange green shade. Two were very large the others much smaller.

“What do I do now,” he inquired.

“Visit them,” he heard whispered on the wind, as he turned and looked right then left he discovered that he was alone, all alone again. I must be losing my mind. However, he could still taste the remnants of Mamajuana in his mouth. He looked back to the river and the pods were there. Pulsing, beckoning him.

Chet undid his pants and dropped out of them and his underwear. He peeled of the sweatshirt and hoodie. Naked felt right. He shivered, although it was a muggy, humid evening. He longed for what the pods could do. He dove into the river one last time. With two mighty strokes he was upon them. Oddly, even without goggles he could make out all that was on the river bed. The outline of three bodies in the pods reminded him of the “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” movie, the 1978, version that starred Donald Sutherland. One of the movies he and Helen had enjoyed on a date together. The bodies were moving wiggling about, the largest turned to him within it’s protective cocoon, perhaps sensing his presence. He could make out the vague outline of Helen her long hair cascading about, floating in it’s amniotic environment. A huge smile stretched across her lovely face, her pod glowed even stronger, near blinding. The fourth pod was empty, as Chet approached it, it peeled open not unlike a flower warming to the first rays of sun. He tested the opening with his arm, moist warm, inviting. He squeezed up to his shoulder, it opened further. With one mighty kick he entered entirely and the folds came together behind him. Chet was gone! The eerie glow under the water subsided, the pods wavered out of existence.

Sherri had been called down by the police the next day as Chet’s abandoned car, his clothing and the note were found. It was written in his steady, solid print. She re-read it three times, crying throughout.

I know that you may not understand what I’ve done. I do hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. For this and for robbing you of your sisters and a healthy vibrant mother. There’s not enough to keep me here, nothing is the same without Helen. 59 years of marriage and 4 more as a couple are irreplaceable, priceless.

My heart breaks when I think of how my selfish, angry act robbed you of so much. I know that I can’t make amends, but in a small way this will allow you to enjoy your “Golden Years” without being burdened by me. I pray that you, Tom and Tysen can forgive me and that you have a wonderful life together.

Please know that Helen and I, and your sisters have always loved you, my little princess.

Treasure each day. Dad

Sherri could understand, she knew how lasting a bond her parents had achieved in their years together. If anything she was somewhat envious, she’d never felt that same closeness with Tom. As much as she’d miss him tremendously she knew he’d long suffered from the demons of the fatal accident.

What Sherri couldn’t understand was as she was sitting in his car reading the note for the final time a tear had rolled off her cheek and landed on the bottom of the sheet. As it plopped a post script appeared on the page, like magic, revealing itself as if being written right then. It was in choppy, almost childlike cursive. It read:

He is with us now, someday you’ll be too. We can be a happy family once again. Dad didn’t do this to himself, please believe that.

We love and Miss you

Cin & O

As she finished reading she wept even more. She cried for love and loss and the hope of redemption. She stared in wonder as the post script began to fade almost as quickly as it had appeared. She believed.

“Uh ma'am could you come out and let us know if this clothing belonged to your fa—”... The police officer that was leaning down to peer into the car stopped abruptly as he could see that the woman inside was in a state of near hysteria. His questions could wait for a few minutes.

A body was never found, Chet’s remains never discovered. The assumption was that he’d jumped in the river based on his clothing being found on the corner of the dock and the suicide note that had been found in his car.