Fireworks by James A. Moore

Author:James A. Moore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Leisure
Published: 2014-09-09T16:00:00+00:00

6

Artie Carlson lay in his bed and tried to block out the sounds of Emily's screams. Emily O'Rourke was in the next bed, and even through the sounds of oxygen hissing into her tent and the heart monitor beeping and pinging, he could hear her labored breaths. Despite the drugs the doctors kept pumping into her, the poor woman could not remain unconscious for long. Despite the drugs in his own system, her screams whenever she came awake kept him from the solace of sleep.

Emily O'Rourke was the wife of Pastor O'Rourke, and a good friend of Artie's mother. That did not stop him from growing to dread the idea that she might awaken. The screams she made were almost entirely inhuman. Raw wails of agony ripped from her mouth, past the tubes they'd forced into her to help her breathe. He had actually heard one of the men in the white suits say to another that there was no physical way she should have been able to scream. But she managed just the same.

Artie'd had a crush on Emily when he was a teenager and she was in her mid-thirties. Despite the age difference, he'd still felt the thrill of first love-or at least that's what he'd always assumed it was, until he met his future wife-every time he'd seen her smile. He'd never told her, or anyone else for that matter. She was a married woman, and he wasn't stupid enough to think she could have feelings for him. At least not when he was away from his fantasies. Emily was always so energetic, and filled with enough smiles to make the worst of days brighten up. When he and Carla had split up-his fault, he was a jealous man and a mean drunk-he'd thought of Emily often, wondering if Pastor William O'Rourke had any idea how lucky he was. Only recently had he realized that somewhere along the way she'd gone and grown old on him when he wasn't looking. Her bright eyes weren't quite as lovely a shade of blue, and her strawberry blond hair had lost its luster to a wave of gray and silver that hadn't been there only a few years earlier. Liver spots crept across her hands and, worst of all, the smile lines around her eyes had magically transformed into crow's feet.

Dreams weren't supposed to grow old. Maybe that was what drove him to drinking like a fool; too many aging dreams left unfulfilled.

Emily's daughter, Karen, was almost exactly like her mother in appearance, but she wasn't quite as quick with a smile. Not since that asshole Peter Donovan had married her and made the 'love taps' Artie used to give Carla look like playful rough-housing. The difference was that Artie knew he'd made mistakes. He'd have bet the use of his legs that good ol' Pete never figured out he was to blame. Having that thought brought a short chuckle from his mouth. After all, he had already lost the use of his legs, at least temporarily.

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