Children Lost on The Darkest Of Nights:
The Legend of Peg Powler
(A Sewing Box Mystery)
Chapter 28 – Monday, October 31, 2011, 8:09 pm
Missy toppled forward, losing her balance and plunged into the churning river.
She attempted to find her feet, but couldn’t, the current was too strong. It swiftly swept her feet out from under her as she felt herself being pulled rapidly downstream and away from the shore. She would have screamed, but had no breath.
The water was ice cold and whipping her about. Her mind, a jumble, overwhelmed, as if she had a million things to do, but could not prioritize. What was the first step? What to do? Panic. She was feeling panicked.
Before she could take so much as a breath, she felt her body jerked under the surface of the water. She struggled, but was hampered by the weight of the thick woolen robe. The robe, which had once protected her, now soaked up the water, becoming heavier and heavier, quickly making movement nearly impossible. Missy realized that if she was to survive this, she’d have to get the garment off. Fortunately, the Velcro proved no match for her determination, but moving it off her shoulders while dragging her arms through the sleeves was another matter all together. Still, expending a great deal of the little energy she had, she managed to rid herself of the garment.
Something struck her. A branch? It tore at her flesh. More branches and debris, their impact more injurious due to the velocity of the water.
At the same time, she could feel a pain pushing in her chest; her lungs felt as if they were about to burst. Her cheeks bulged. Dare she open her eyes?
She dared.
They stung. And saw nothing. Murky water. Things moving past her. It was pitch black, yet a light in her head began to form, right behind her eyes…
Then she felt her body being pulled downward, as if being sucked into something. She tried to flail her arms and legs about, but it was useless – she was simply not strong enough. Missy struggled valiantly, but could not… it was no use.
She was powerless.
This knowledge, this recognition, helped her move beyond her fear, beyond her panic, allowing Missy to permit her body to grow slack. Choosing to go with it, surrendering to the current’s power, it seemed the wise thing to do – for it was the only thing to do.
And then…
Everything went black.
— —
Cold.
Missy felt cold.
Even colder than when her body had first hit the October water.
Pushed?
She’d been pushed.
When Missy opened her eyes, she realized her face was growing numb. Her hands, too. In fact, her hands were already useless, for the fingers would no longer bend. But she didn’t feel the need to rage against it. It was as if all the struggle has been squeezed from of her being.
She was floating. Unable to move. Suspended in the stillness of the ice cold water.
Where was she, she wondered.
In the water. Of course.
A liquid world, so languid… heavy. Dark.
Why then was there light?
For there was light. A glow, in the near distance. Through the murky thickness of the water she could see… something. Her body, without effort, now floating slowly towards it.
Was she dead?
Had she died and was now headed toward the fabled ‘light’ of death?
Or was it merely her brain? Her brain, which was not working correctly. Where was the fear? Where was the panic? All she felt was… numb. And cold. Was this her brain, its synapses firing off their final electrical charges?
If so, where was Grandma Jean? Why wasn’t she here?
No. Instead, she was simply floating. Up? Down? It was difficult to tell. But then, did it matter?
The water was so much clearer now. It was due to the glow, the one she was meandering towards – it helped to bring things more clearly into focus.
There was something moving in front of her. Floating. A doll? It looked like a fancy baby doll. All dressed up, but faded. No. More like a child, a small child. As she got closer, Missy came to realize that it was actually life-sized and dressed oddly, in ancient clothing – a little suit, with short pants. Like something from an old Victorian painting. As it moved closer, Missy was able to make out the face, placid, flawless – white porcelain? No, more translucent. In the mouth. Baby teeth. The hands were also the same gleaming, milky-white, though it was obvious a few of the fingers had broken off. And the eyes… white, unseeing. The tiny figure floated past her as another came into view.
This one, a girl, also dressed oddly, as if from another era; a perfect little ladies dress, bleached of color, the only sign of wear a bit of tattered lace around the hem of its skirt. She, too, appeared to be made of porcelain, though she was missing one of her eyes and a good deal of her hair.
There were others… too far away to make out, but they all floated about, suspended in the same, eerie, purposeless way.
And the silence. Like a blanket. The only perceptible sounds were coming from Missy’s own body as trapped air attempted to escape from various places in her body.
But she was not sad. She did not feel defeated.
Instead she marveled – so dark, so peaceful here.
Yet the glow continued to grow. Rocks? Yes A wall of rocks. What was the color? A soft violet. Hints of pink?
Missy felt so heavy – slack and weighted. And yet she was floating, suspended in both time and the water. Strangely, the cold was now giving way to a foreign warmth from deep within. Her eyes, which had grown ever heavier, began to close of their own accord. And just as this world was about to dissolve into darkness…
She experienced the sensation of something or someone grabbing her, pulling her up by the back of the collar of her blouse. She acknowledged the tactile change, but felt no connection to its outcome. For, by then, things had gone black and she could no longer see anything, having also lost all sense of purpose, all sense of life. Yes, she was going somewhere…
Not that it mattered.
Not now.
It was too late.
For she was now one with the darkness.
— —
Missy’s body was discovered lying still on its side on a large flat rock which made up part of the riverbank about a mile and a half from where she’d entered the water.
The rescue worker who had found her, a woman named Janice from the neighboring town Jasper, knew exactly what to do. She wrapped Missy with a foil blanket and immediately began CPR. With each push on Missy’s chest, more and more water bubbled forth. To keep the timing correct, with each pause, Janice would silently run through the refrain of the Bee Gee’s song, Stayin’ Alive, as she had been trained to do.
Missy was carried out by the paramedics to a waiting ambulance. It certainly did not look good. Her hypothermia bordered on frostbite, but it may also have saved her life. With her body temperature so low, her organs did not fail as quickly as they should have, which meant there was still hope. While she had no pulse when found, there was still a chance that her brain was at least partially functional. And while the debris in the river had clearly done some damage to her skin, there were no major wounds and thus, no substantial bleeding to make matters worse.
The paramedics did all they could to stabilize her, as did the doctor’s at Jasper’s tiny out-patient clinic while waiting for the helicopter from North Memorial in Minneapolis to arrive. For all intents and purposes, she was kept in a coma-like state until more substantial lifesaving measures could be performed. Once airlifted to Minneapolis, the real work began.
When Missy came to, she was in the ICU unit at North Memorial Hospital. Machines buzzed and whirled around her, lulling her into a sense of safety. She still felt cold, but not numb. In fact, her actual skin felt hot, like something akin to a sunburn. As she drifted in and out of consciousness, unfamiliar faces appeared and disappeared, floating over her bed like balloons at the Macy Day Parade. Words were spoken, but they were muffled, as if from a distance. Eventually the question, “Can you hear me?” became recognizable, but Missy, who felt oddly obstructed, was unable to respond.
For a time, time held no meaning. She didn’t think of work, or what day it was, or even what had happened that night in St. Petersburgh – with one exception: the floating dolls possessed her dreams, their tiny, limp, translucent bodies hanging suspended bathed in that haunting glow. That scene played over and over in her mind like a movie clip on YouTube.
And then one afternoon, Missy woke, fully aware, returned to life as she once knew it. Things seemed bright, sharp and in focus.
Her aunt Jeanette was sitting by her bedside. No longer in the ICU, Missy now shared a room with curtain between her and her roommate, her bed on the side with the window. Jeanette was reading something on her cell phone when Missy came to.
“Hello,” Missy croaked, her throat still sore from the breathing and feeding tubes which had been inserted and since removed.
Jeanette immediately set her phone down on the night stand, populated with a Styrofoam water pitcher and plastic glass, and rushed to her niece’s side. Tears ran down her aunt’s face and Missy felt a rush of love for this woman who clearly could use a good night’s rest. It felt so good to see a familiar face, and Missy couldn’t think of one which she would want to see more.
As Jeanette gushed over her, telling her how worried she had been and how good it was to see Missy’s eyes alert and focused, Missy, from her limited vantage point, scanned the room. There were drooping flower arrangements on a table next to the wall opposite the bed and cards lined up along the heating unit which ran the length of the window.
Why was Jeanette alone?
Where was her mom?
When Jeanette finally paused to take a breath, Missy, despite how painful it was to talk, ventured a question, “Where’s Mom?”
Jeanette’s demeanor sobered immediately. Her head moved slightly back on her shoulders as if Missy’s inquiry were something… objectionable? Unexpected? Missy couldn’t make sense of the look on her aunt’s face.
“Do you want some water? Your throat…”
Missy shook her head. She wanted an answer. Had Dorie really not been to the hospital at all? Had her mother abandoned her yet again for some man? Steeling herself for what she was about to hear, Missy pressed on, “Where’s my mom?”
Jeanette’s eyes searched her niece’s as if gauging whether she could handle the truth.
Missy, recognizing this, rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Just tell me.”
Jeanette touched Missy’s upper left arm. “Missy… your Mom. She’s…” Jeanette stammered as her face crumbled, “She’s gone.”
Of course she is, thought Missy. Why should having a daughter in the hospital interfere with Dorie and her life? When had Missy ever really mattered? “Where?” Missy rasped, a bit of anger seeping into her tone.
“No, no… you don’t understand.”
Missy’s eyes flew to the opposite side of the room. She wanted to look any place but her aunt’s face. How could Dorie do this to her, again?
Jeanette’s hand left Missy’s arm and moved to her niece’s forehead. Odd, but there was something soothing about having her forehead rubbed. “Missy… your Mom?”
Missy glared at her aunt, as if daring her to tell the truth.
“Hon…”
Tears were streaming down Jeanette’s cheeks.
“Dorie’s dead.”
— —
Sewing Box Mysteries by M.H. King 
Leave a comment