Print This Post
Danny Collins paced the million-dollar high-rise condo’s white living room, nervously awaiting the doctor’s report. When Doc Malloy emerged from the bedroom, black bag in hand, Danny rushed him.
“Any change, Doc? Anything at all?”
Doc shook his bowed gray head regretfully, said softly as if to himself, “Those stairs outside your door are steel and steep. It was a nasty fall.”
Danny pressed. “But she will recover, right?”
“I’m afraid she will not,” the doctor replied, eyeing him now, grim faced. “As I told you at the hospital, the tests showed severe damage to your wife’s cervical spinal cord, and these last forty-eight hours were crucial. My exam just now found absolutely no improvement. From my experience with these things, there’s no hope. I’m sorry.”
Danny turned away, went to the living room’s wall of glass, and stood staring out at the Manhattan skyline under a cloudless blue sky. “Did you tell her?”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t recommend telling her, at least not yet,” he said adamantly. “She’s suffering enough. It’s a crushing blow to anyone in that condition, but for a twenty-two-year-old… most devastating.” On his way out he told Danny he would order home care.
When the door closed behind the doctor, Danny dashed to his wife’s bedside and leaned his face over hers, a pitiless gaze drilling into terrified eyes.
“The old codger just told me there’s no hope,” he taunted, grinning. “Your legs, arms, speech—never coming back. Lucky you, really. Because at the first sign you might have been able to talk, or move a hand enough to write a message, I would’ve made certain next time.”
Straightening, he shook his head. “So I gamble. You knew that when your parents stuck that private investigator on me. Didn’t seem to bother you then. Married me anyway. And what’s a couple hundred thousand dollars when you have millions? And when it comes right down to it, it’s your fault I forged those checks. Trying to control me by keeping all the accounts in your name. You should never have said you were throwing me out with nothing. Look what it got you.”
Smirking, he started for the door.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get on with my life of debauchery—as your parents called it—with the added pleasure of not having to hide it anymore.”
The bedroom door slammed. Jenny clamped shut glistening eyes, remembering, regretting. If only she’d listened to her parents. They tried to warn her about a swindler after her inheritance, newly acquired when she turned twenty-one. A deceitful con artist, their detective’s report called him. But so angry at their interference, so blindly in love, she fell for his sweet apologies and convincing promises.
Fool! She punished herself now with that one recurring word.
Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes to her temples. Her lower lip quivered. With great effort Jenny dismissed self-pity as useless and found purpose only when her thoughts turned to revenge.
Oh, don’t cry, Jenny. No time for tears. Time to think… Death would be a blessing now, but somehow he needs to pay for what he’s done… But how?
An idea came in fragments, slowly forming a clear picture, like a kaleidoscope focusing an image. The impossibility of it, however, brought another sweeping wave of hopelessness, deepening her despondency. The tears trickled again. And when her lower lip quivered again, and Jenny realized she felt it move, a sense of hope fortified her paralyzed but determined body.
Yes, if I can speak, even just a whisper, there’s a way.
* * *
One afternoon a week later, on his follow-up visit, Doc Malloy emerged from Jenny’s bedroom perplexed, yet pleased.
“Remarkable, Mr. Collins,” he said, black bag clutched against the sport coat covering his chest.
Danny, seated, looked up from his phone. “What’s remarkable, doc?”
“Her legs are improving. She may be walking soon. And it appears she may talk.”
Danny tossed his phone on a chairside table and stood. “But how?” He caught the distress in his voice. “I mean, not that I’m not glad, but you said there was no hope.”
The doctor shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Just be thankful for small miracles.”
* * *
That same evening, Danny answered a sharp pounding on the condo door. A man and woman in street clothes, one carrying an oversized black briefcase, followed Doc Malloy’s crooked finger aimed at Jenny’s bedroom. A balding man in a gray suit flashed a badge and introduced himself as Detective Lieutenant Driscoll.
Startled, Danny blurted out, “What is all this?”
“Can we sit somewhere?” the detective said.
Danny ushered them onto a circle of plush chairs in the living room and repeated his question. “So, what is going on?”
Doc Malloy spoke gravely, “When you told me how it happened, I had to notify police.”
Danny’s eyes darted from the doctor to the lieutenant. “For an accident?”
“In this case, yes, Mr. Collins,” the lieutenant interjected. “Those two in the bedroom are with forensics.”
Forcing a crooked smile, Danny asked, “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Such a remarkable young woman,” the doctor uttered mournfully. “Had I known what she was doing, I would not have been a party to it.”
“Party to what, Doc?” Danny asked, a nervous impatience taking hold. “What the hell is going on?”
“She talked, Mr. Collins,” the doctor explained, sad eyes meeting Danny’s widening ones. “Just barely a whisper, enough to be understood with an ear almost touching her lips. Given her injury it should have been impossible, but somehow, somewhere, she found the strength.”
“Did she…” Danny hesitated, “mention me?”
“She said you needed cheering up. To tell you about walking and she might talk. I made no sense of it, but I know now that she wanted this to happen. More significantly, knew it would.”
Danny’s face puckered with confusion and with a bewildered shrug he said, “I’m sorry, but I’m just not following all this.”
“Then let’s get to the point,” Lieutenant Driscoll said. “Tonight was no accident.”
“But…” Danny stammered. “Well… yes, of course it was. Her legs were improving and she obviously tried to walk and fell and bashed her head on that marble statue on the floor. That’s all there is to it.”
“Not quite all,” Driscoll said, handing him a warrant.
“No,” the doctor agreed. “Although she said to tell you her legs were recovering, they were not. They were still completely paralyzed.” He met Danny’s eyes with a rigid glare. “There was absolutely no way she could have gotten out of bed on her own.”
==========
AUTHOR BIO:
After spending time in journalism and communications, Dave Cuzzolina has made his third career writing fiction. He has published several stories and won honorable mentions for short stories in Lorian Hemingway and Writer’s Digest competitions.
Other published fiction includes:
“The Envelope” by Epic Echoes Magazine
“Passenger Forty-Nine” by Flash Fiction Magazine
“The Girl Who Liked Cats” by Short Circuit
“Empathy” by After Dinner Conversation
“The Foreboding” by Dark Winter Literary Magazine
“Off the Hook” by The Dark City Crime and Mystery Magazine
==========
WHY WE CHOSE TO PUBLISH “Willpower”:
It’s difficult to pull off this kind of story in short fiction like author Dave Cuzzolina has done here. He immediately sets up the situation and pushes quickly through to an unexpected ending. This is a great example of what we mean when we say in our submission guidelines that we want different and unexpected. The story flows smoothly from point A to point B, while keeping the reader in the dark, yet still interested, until the surprising reveal at the end.