Michael Thomas Ford - Full Circle by Michael Thomas Ford Read Free Book Online Page A

descended, the city rushing up at us so that I had to cover my face with my arm. And then all was still.
    I opened my eyes and saw that we were in a room. It was a hospital room. Someone was in the bed, tubes protruding from his arm and connected to bags of clear fluid hanging from poles. Lights flashed on machines behind the bed, their holiday red and green colors hideously ironic in a room that stank of sickness and death. From beyond the slightly open door to the room I heard the sound of carols sung by voices weak with pain.
    "Is that Jack?" I asked Donna, looking at the figure in the bed. His face was thin, the eyes sunken, and the skin the color of ash. Ugly purple spatters stained his arms and exposed chest, the bones of which protruded menacingly.
"That can't be him," I said, looking away. But Donna nodded and pointed again. "What's happened to him?" I asked her, but she turned away. I grabbed her hand and spun her around to face me. "What's wrong with him?" I demanded of her.
    "He's dying," she said. Tears ran from her eyes and down her face.
"From what?" I asked.
"From love," said Donna. "He's dying from love."
I didn't understand her. How could Jack be dying from love? Love was something good. What was she talking about?
    Before I could ask any further questions, the lights on the machine behind Jack's head flickered and turned solid red. A faint buzzing filled the air, and a moment later the door was pushed open and a worried-looking nurse ran in. She looked at the machine, quickly pulled a pair of gloves over her hands, and held Jack's wrist in her fingers. After a moment, she gently laid his arm down at his side, reached over, and silenced the machine with the push of a button.
    "Merry Christmas," she said softly as she pulled the curtain around Jack's bed closed. "He can't be dead," I said to Donna. "Can't I do something? Can't I help him?"
"I am only here to show you what might happen," she answered. "Nothing is for certain." "But what can I do?" I asked. "Tell me what I have to do so he doesn't die like this." "Love him," Donna replied. "You can love him."
    She began to grow faint. Her skin paled and the candles in her crown slowly went out. I looked over at Jack and saw that he, too, was disappearing. The whole room was dissolving around me. I woke up in my own bed, shaking and feverish. My body was on fire from within, and coupled with the strange and disturbing dream, I was sure I, not Jack, was the one who was dying. It would turn out that I merely had the flu. I stayed in bed for the next three days. My mother brought me aspirin, soup, and cold washcloths until I felt better, just in time for school to resume on Monday. I spent the time reading, but mostly I thought about the dream. Donna had said that Jack was dying because of love, but also that I could save him by loving him. It didn't make any sense. How could the same thing be his killer and his salvation? It was a puzzle far too complex for my undeveloped powers of reasoning. While I could easily spot the villain in a Hardy Boys novel, I hadn't the first clue where to start solving the mystery of my own heart.
    Jack was forbidden to visit me during my illness, which was just as well. I didn't want to see him, fearful that I would see in his face the gaunt expression of death. When I finally did see him, Monday morning, I was relieved to see that he was his usual healthy self.
    "Hey," Jack said as we began the walk to school. "What a lousy vacation, huh?" "The parade was cool," I suggested.
Jack nodded as he kicked at the leaves covering the sidewalk. "Yeah, I guess." "And Christmas break is only a few weeks away," I reminded him.
"Right," said Jack, noticeably more upbeat. "And I bet it will snow soon. It's cold enough." "Sure," I said. "Then we'll go sledding."
    With something to look forward to, Jack's mood improved considerably. He began talking animatedly about our winter plans, of ice skating and snowball battles and, best of all, the imminent