Echoes of a Dream: Willow Tree Trilogy, #1

By Colby Lynn

One nurse.  One comatose soldier.  One extraordinary leap of faith.

 

While Jack lies lost in a coma, Erin meets him in a dream, connecting their worlds as a strange volcanic ash fills the sky over Kentucky. When a bizarre blitz of blinding light turns the earth into a wasteland, she continues to see him in the ether between rapture and reality, until the day he walks out of her head and into her life.

 

Surviving together in a world where evil breathes in shadows and monsters roam the streets, they continue to share dreams while fighting for a life worth living. But in a world that tests his strength and courage at every turn, is Jack strong enough to let dreams of the heart become a reality worth fighting for? And can the love of a very special woman keep him from becoming the monster he fights so hard not to be?

 

This is the story of Jack and Erin, two souls forged by fate and bound together by an extraordinary love…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colby Lynn
• Release date: Jan 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201140625

Book preview

~ 1 ~

Extraordinary is measured in varying degrees; very unusual, extremely bizarre, somewhat shocking, and wonderfully remarkable.   Sometimes it sneaks in quietly, like an eight-year-old swiping a finger full of icing from a dessert cart.   Other times it comes in like an eight-foot wave, just hard enough to shove you backward if you aren’t ready to dive straight through it.   Occasionally it will knock you on your ass like a sideswiping eighteen-wheeler on an icy highway.   And sometimes, on those very rare occasions, it is so subtle that you don’t even realize it is holding your hand as it breathes in your shadow, and you just keep moving along as if this was a regular day in your ordinary life...

THE COLORFUL SEA CREATURES pass by her in a blur, their cheerful faces unable to keep Erin from scouring her bottom lip as she walks briskly past the large mural toward the nurses’ station.  She breathes deeply, inhaling the sharp smell of antiseptic that clings to the fins of the dancing dolphins as the more subtle scent of fear and frustration lingers in the sea around them. Random beeps and chirps pull her forward, echoing about the honeycomb of rooms at the end of the corridor.  She quickens her step, swallowing the heartache and pity that floats over the linoleum leading into the oncology unit. After two years of working the pediatric ward of Lexington’s Northside Hospital, she can still taste the bitter crop of cancer that binds her patients to their beds, their small bodies weak from fighting a war they should never have been asked to join.  Knowing all too well what they have lost, and what they are facing, she still savors a sweet grain of hope, sprinkled like sugar upon the bitterness that fills this particular wing.  She tries to taste that hope now, but her four-mile morning jog along Hickman Creek to the reservoir had done little to ease her concern for six-year-old Danny Taylor, admitted three days ago with stage II non-Hodgkin lymphoma.  She was fond of every child inhabiting the ward, but little Danny had wormed his way deep into her heart with his toothless grin and bite me attitude.

Hey, Butler!  Wait up! 

Turning at the sound of her friend’s voice, Erin stops just before the nurses’ station where she was hoping to get a good report on Danny. Hi Liz. What’s up? Erin asks, pulling her long auburn waves into a loose ponytail as she watches Elizabeth Martin hustling toward her, reminding her of their early days as fresh new registered nurses in the emergency room at Northside; fast on their feet and eager to learn.

They want you downstairs today, her friend informs her.  I guess you didn’t get your pager fixed yet, huh? 

Just got a new one this morning, Erin replies with a puzzled brow.  That’s why I’m late getting up here.  She pulls the beeper from the pocket of her burgundy scrubs, green eyes glaring at the small screen that should be displaying the time and date if nothing else, but for some reason is refusing to do so.  Son of a bitch, she murmurs, lips pursed tightly inside a frown.

Well, we’re short staffed in the pit this morning and Reynolds asked for you personally.

Fine, she replies on a breath of resignation, accepting that her prior experience as an E.R. nurse would put her at the top of their list.  But she is not looking forward to another crazy Sunday in the Emergency Room.  Weekends are the worst and the fact that it is a holiday will make it completely insane.

Before hurrying off with Liz, Erin turns to the older woman sitting behind the large counter, decked with several fake plants to add warmth to the atmosphere.  Alice, how’s Danny doing? she asks hopefully, holding her breath for good news.

Same as last night.  I’ll send word if anything changes, Alice answers, moving a stack of patient files from one side of the circular desk to the other.  And I’ll let Kathy know where you’ll be, she adds, referring to the head nurse.

Thanks.

Entering the elevator, her friend brushes her blonde bangs out of her eyes and reaches over to press the button marked One to deliver them to the first floor.  So did Tim get off on Thursday for the Reds game?

Yeah, he got someone to switch shifts so he’ll be able to come with us.  Erin’s thoughts drift to her boyfriend as she watches the numbers steadily decrease above the elevator door. A radiology technician in the same hospital, Tim Jameson was looking to move their relationship to the next level, despite her misgivings on the subject.  She’d been dodging the topic for the past month, steering around any talk of marriage whenever he’d brought it up.  She knows he is getting impatient to make that commitment but she’s just not sure that they should. Yes, she ought to be jumping at the chance, but she just can’t seem to lift her feet.

For several agonizing years, when the odds of a future with a great guy and a white picket fence were stacked heavily against her, all she had wanted was a simple life and someone to grow old with.  Now her fairly simple life is going well, but is Tim the one she’ll be seeing through her bifocals in the rocker next to hers in fifty years?  Is he really The One and is it really their time right now?  Although he says he’s okay with adopting, someday he may regret not having a child of his own.  Ten, twenty, thirty years down the road, will he come to resent her?  Three decades is a long time to hang your dreams on only to end in heartache.

She’d never been good at hiding her feelings so she isn’t surprised when her friend’s voice breaks into her thoughts, asking, Is he still pressuring you to get married?

Not exactly, Erin sighs as the elevator doors slide open on the first floor.  He says he’ll settle for just moving in together for now.

So move in with him, Liz continues the conversation as she tries to keep up with Erin’s long strides, walking swiftly down the beige hallway leading to the emergency room.

Hearing the slight wheeze in Liz’s voice, Erin slows her pace for her plus-size friend.  At a smidge over five feet tall with vast curves that could stop an army and a mouth to rival a drill sergeant, Liz stands half a foot shorter than Erin, but carries herself with such confidence that her stout frame gives the impression that she could actually look down at a professional basketball player.

You’re not getting any younger you know, Liz chides with a half-hearted elbow in Erin’s ribs.

I’m only twenty-six!  And everything is good the way it is, why should we screw that up?

Come on, Erin... you know you love each other and it wouldn’t screw anything up.  Are you still worried that he’s going to regret not having kids of his own someday?

He says he’s fine with adopting, and I guess I believe him, she answers, trying to convince herself of that statement.  But just because I enjoy his company doesn’t mean I’m in any rush to wash his underwear, she quips as she pushes through the double doors of the already buzzing emergency room. 

THREE HOURS AND COUNTLESS contusions, cuts and coughs later, Erin opens the curtain on an inebriated Easter Bunny. According to his chart from the triage nurse, fifty-four-year-old Russell Johnson has a laceration on his left temple, for which he cannot recall the cause.  He was driven to the hospital by a maintenance worker from the mall, but from the smell of alcohol emanating from the white, furry rabbit suit, Erin doubts he would remember even that much.

Okay, Mr. Johnson—, she begins, hoping to get through this as quickly as possible.

Ooh pretty girl, come sit on my lap.  I got a nice big carrot stick for you, he interrupts, glossy eyes leering at Erin as he lifts the head of the costume up off of his groin.  Too bad you’re not wearin’ one a them slutty nurse outfits.  My fav’rite fantasy, he slurs, to her disgust.

God help me, she murmurs under her breath as she reaches for the infrared thermometer to take his temperature.  Turning back to her patient, she continues, That’s a nice gash on your forehead.  She nods to the thin stream of blood and perspiration dripping down the side of his face, due to the absence of the bandage he refuses to leave on. Let’s get your vitals and then I’ll clean it out so the doctor can stitch you up.  Though she could handle the task as a second year student in the Physician’s Assistant program, Erin is more than happy to hand over this man’s stitching to one of the doctors.

Ya wanna take my tem’ture?  Lemme drop my pants for you, he laughs with a lecherous smirk and Erin desperately misses the sweet innocence of the pediatric ward.

No, that won’t be necessary.  Thank God.  You just have to hold still and your ear will tell me what I need to know.  Holding the device just inside the shell of his ear, she suddenly feels a large, sweaty hand on the cheek of her butt.  Removing the thermometer slowly, she reins her Scottish temper, pastes a brilliantly sweet smile on her face and very calmly responds to his gesture. If you don’t get your fucking hand off my ass, the doctor will be sewing up two big gashes on your head.

Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty to me. 

Erin feels a quick squeeze before he pulls his arm back in surrender at the thunderous glare she levels him with. Cut the shit, Bugs, or I will be happy to let you bleed to death, she threatens.

Shivering with revulsion, she records his temperature of 98.9 and lifts his wrist to check his pulse, doing her best to ignore his comments about her dexterous fingers. Wrapping the blood pressure cuff tightly around his furry arm, she squeezes the bulb until it is completely inflated.  His vitals are a little off but not dangerously so.  Nothing that a good amount of coffee couldn’t fix.

Preparing to clean the wound on his head, Erin presses a moist cloth over the area, soaking up the oozing blood and beads of sweat covering his temple.  Expecting more vulgar comments that she is more than ready to ignore, she is taken aback to feel a slight pressure against her breast.  Instinctively, reflexively, and quite unprofessionally, she whips her elbow against his jaw, knocking his head back and rendering him blessedly speechless when the drunkard passes out cold.

She turns quickly, scanning the area with prayers that nobody had witnessed the assault on her patient, no matter that he deserved it.  Thankfully, she sees the hustle and bustle of the trauma center continue to buzz blindly around her... until she notices the soldier watching her from the admit desk about twenty feet away.  Their eyes collide.  Her belly sinks.

Fuck.

MASTER SERGEANT JONATHON ‘Jack’ Quinlan can’t stop the smile from lifting the corner of his mouth as he gives a brief nod to the frustrated young nurse. His light blue eyes spark with  humor as they regard her with a little sympathy, and a good amount of respect. It may have been illegal, certainly unethical, but the bastard had it coming from what Jack could tell, and he was not about to give her a hard time for defending herself.  If she hadn’t, he was a split second away from throttling the rabbit himself, the shoulders inside his dark blue jacket already tensed and leaning in her direction.  He was just grateful that his partner hadn’t witnessed the scene.  Not that Gil would reprimand the nurse either, but it would have given his best friend an excuse to talk to – and ultimately hit on – the pretty redhead. 

With nice curves on a slim athletic body beneath the burgundy scrubs, she is not the standard voluptuous starlet that Gil usually goes for, but Jack knows that wouldn’t stop the man from trying.  One look at her pretty face and she’d be a blip on his radar in an instant.  But not today. Not her.  She’s had enough insensitive advances for one day and he’ll do whatever is necessary to spare her further aggravation from his womanizing friend.  Relaxing the hands he hadn’t realized had tightened into fists, Jack smiles at her deer-in-the-headlights expression.  When the deep voice of Gunnery Sergeant Gil Brewer reaches his ears, he quickly looks away with an air of nonchalance, reaching a hand to his hair in a blatant display of indifference. 

Gil struts up to the admit desk, exchanging smiles with another curvy nurse along the way.  Standing shoulder to shoulder in their Dress Blues, Jack knows that he and Gil make an impressive sight.  He’d never fully appreciated the attention that their marine uniforms usually brought, but today his chest may be puffed a little bit more under the wary stare of a certain nurse.

On their way to the wedding of a commanding officer, the medals on his midnight blue jacket shine with enormous pride, the red ‘blood stripe’ running up the side of his deep sky-blue pants is filled with profound honor, and his shiny black shoes have never felt so comfortable. The day would be a complete win if only Phil could get the help that he so desperately needs.

Arlene says she’ll call if anything changes but they expect Phil to be discharged by Wednesday, Gil tells him with a nod of his head, a certain sadness in the soldier’s stoic jaw. Though Phil had become moody and short-tempered over the last couple of years, they had never considered him to be suicidal, until this morning, when Jack got the call that their brother-in-arms was in the hospital after suffering some kind of a breakdown.

Gifted trombone player, Peter Phil Weisberg had left the prestigious New York Philharmonic Orchestra to serve his country and avenge the death of his brother, a fireman who was last seen climbing the stairs of the 27th floor in the second World Trade Tower.  Pete’s job with the classy orchestra had earned him the nickname Phil from an ornery drill sergeant on their first day of boot camp at Parris Island thirteen years ago.

He was a sweet kid who tried to fill his brother’s shoes, but after three tours in Afghanistan, the man who walked in the dusty combat boots still never felt like he’d done enough to honor his brother.  So when that guilt fused and fermented with the horrors burned into his psyche from the torments of war, his spirit had broken under the strain of it all.  He’d been found in a state of delirium after wandering aimlessly through the Daniel Boone National Forest with no supplies for three days.  Unfortunately the fluids they are pumping into his badly dehydrated body aren’t going to be enough to heal his wounded soul, and no amount of pills will quickly cure the soldier suffering from this post-traumatic stress disorder.

Jack imagines how easily it could’ve been himself wandering through the woods with no hope in his heart, just the dregs of despair drifting through his veins, like the unimaginable twenty-two soldiers the statistics say die of suicide every day.  If not for his ten-year-old son to keep him focused and moving forward, he could very well have broken under the weight of the wicked next to Phil.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, thick with some waves on top and short on the sides and back, much longer than the nearly balding buzz he’d gotten on the day he’d met Phil as a fellow enlister.  That’s great, he replies to Gil’s remark about Phil’s discharge.  Bonnie said the V.A. hospital should have a room for him by Friday, he adds, thinking about how incredibly strong Phil’s wife had seemed, sitting on the edge of the bed at her husband’s side.  A sudden urge to look over at the redheaded nurse tightens his neck muscles.  He fights the impulse, clenching his teeth against the invisible pull.  It’s impossible.  He throws a quick glance in her direction and then back at Gil.  She says he’s willing to go, so that’s a good sign at least.

Sure is, Gil replies with a wry smile.  Another good sign is the way you’re checking out that cute redhead.

Come on.  Jack takes a few deliberate steps toward the waiting room with hopes that his partner will follow his lead.  Gil didn’t always go along with Jack’s lead, choosing another course of action more often than not, until one of them gave in.  It was always a friendly tug of war between them, each one pulling slightly until one stiffened his back, dug in his heels, and gave the final yank that crossed the deciding line.  It wasn’t always pretty but it worked, because above all else, it was a partnership of fierce loyalty; them against the world.

They each had a stubborn streak but Gil had a hot head that amplified his stubbornness to a whole different level.  Fortunately, Jack was never on the receiving end of that monster. And because of it, the guys at the base always held Jack in the highest regard, for he was the man who could control the beast.  From day one on the job as rookies with the Scott County police force, at the first taunting of the ‘Jack and Jill’ pair up – which they had been hearing since becoming best friends back in ninth grade – Gil’s temper had reared its ugly hotheadedness and it was Jack’s quick wit and self-deprecating humor that talked them out of a messy situation with their new squad. And two years later, when they’d enlisted with the United States Marine Corp after the Twin Towers were brought to their knees on a sunny New York morning, he continued to diffuse his best friend through even stickier situations during boot camp and beyond.

Though they are both thirty-four years old and standing at the same height of a bee’s wing over six feet tall, the difference in their physical stature is mirrored in the difference in their personalities.  Jack’s lean runner’s physique highlights solid calf muscles, powerful thighs, a trim waist that tapers up to a strong muscular chest, and broad shoulders that hold up long sinewy arms, nicely sculpted from small weights and long-distance stamina.  Where Jack is more of a majestic woodland buck, Gil is a thick-skulled bull of the plains.  He has tree trunks for legs, a solid expanse of waist and chest, extremely broad shoulders and forearms that Popeye would admire.  He could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be, and with his black hair trimmed and a devilish smile that softened his sharp features, he could charm the pants off of every female he laid his big brown puppy dog eyes upon. 

So, you get her number? Gil asks, falling into step beside Jack as they make their way past the multitude of patients sprawled about the chairs of the waiting room, miserably waiting their turn.

We better take the back way to the church or we’re gonna get caught up in the construction by the ball field.  And if we’re late for the ceremony, it’s your ass Jaworski is gonna be after, not mine, Jack says, while doing his best to ignore his friend’s goading.

Come on, man.  When are you gonna put yourself out there again?  It’s been almost two years since you and Sheila split up.  It’s time to stop warmin’ the bench and swing for a homerun.  With his tongue in his cheek, Gil swings an imaginary bat and then gyrates his hips to illustrate his meaning.

Jack shakes his head with a chuckle at his friend’s gestures. At least Gil isn’t flirting with my nurse.  Wait, when did the redhead become My nurse?  With several confusing blinks, he shakes off the sudden feeling of fierce protectiveness that flows through his bloodstream.  He turns his attention back to his partner, back to solid ground. Annoying, but solid ground. Maybe I like my spot on the bench, he replies.  Keeps me out of trouble and gives me more time with my son.

You taking Chris down to the cabin next weekend?  Did you get the roof patched up yet?  Gil asks as they walk across the parking lot, the siren of a nearby ambulance getting louder and louder as it shrieks beneath the midday sun.

Yeah, I got up there the other day.  Hopefully that’ll be the last leak. Jack opens the driver’s side door of his red Jeep Liberty and slides behind the wheel as Gil climbs in on the other side. 

Yeah, you say that every time.  Come on, you know you’ll be back up there by the end of summer.

I know, Jack releases a defeated sigh.  I’ll be patching that damn roof ‘til I’m seventy, just like my grandpa.  But if it keeps Chris happy, I won’t complain.  He smiles, thinking of all the weekends he’d spent at his grandfather’s cabin, a well-worn structure on the banks of a small lake in Ritner, a two-hour ride down toward the southern woodlands of the Daniel Boone National Forest.  He’d spent countless hours in that old place with Grandpa Jon, the first man who’d ever made him feel truly valued.

His mother’s dad was a tough old bear that Jack had feared when he was very young, and then grew to respect as an early teen when his own father was too drunk to spend time with his family, or too annoyed that he wasn’t drunk enough.

So many nights, so many memories; lying by the big willow tree with his grandfather, staring up at a sea of stars with his seven-year-old eyes imagining all kinds of mysterious galaxies beyond our own, where he could fly away on a wing and a prayer to a place where chocolate flowed from giant fountains and there was nothing to drink but lemonade – not a drop of alcohol to be found!  And then the more pragmatic eyesight of his thirteen-year-old mind, keeping his eyes on the fish instead of the sky, and getting up at the crack of dawn with Grandpa Jon to learn all about surviving in the wild like the Boy Scout he knew he’d never become, and didn’t really care to be.  And when his fifteen-year-old eyes saw nothing but bitterness and dejection after his father walked out on his family, leaving his mom to raise a son and daughter on her own, his grandpa never gave up on him, inviting him back to the cabin time and again, even when his rebellious streak got the best of Jack and he’d created a wedge of resentment between himself and the only man who had loved him unconditionally.  Because only one man could fix the hole in the center of Jack’s heart, and it wasn’t his grandfather.

So they’d drifted apart for a time before reconnecting when Jack was seventeen, and grew closer than ever as they resumed the weekend fishing derbies. He will be forever grateful to his stepdad Ray for that.   Ray became the firm hand that gently guided him back from the edge of insolence, giving him just enough room to stumble off the path of straight and narrow without losing sight of it altogether.  Ray taught him that the pride in walking tall was much more valuable than anything that could ever be shoplifted; a lesson that Jack had learned none too quickly. Thank God Officer Raymond was the one on duty the first time young Jack had gotten caught.  After a stiff warning Ray had driven him home, and continued to check in on the Quinlan’s in the weeks that followed, ultimately becoming a permanent part of their little family; a loving husband and father, and eventually, an adoring grandfather to Christopher, whom Ray has cherished as his own flesh and blood, continuing the camping-fishing-hunting traditions that bridge the years between the generations of the very young and the very patient... if Jack could just keep the damn roof from collapsing in on them all.

ERIN HAD HELD HER BREATH until the soldier cocked his head with a half-smile.  And then his lips spread even further into a true grin that made her belly flutter with relief. She couldn’t believe it – he actually smiled!  Oh, thank you baby Jesus!  And thanks to the soldier she regained the faith that the number of good people in the world was greater than the number of bad ones.  Good will always conquer evil in the end.  Always.

Cleaning the wound of the despicable bunny snoring softly upon the pillow, she lifts a quick glance toward the admit desk, an unseen force pulling her attention like metal to a magnet.  Their gazes meet in the middle as he turns his chin in her direction at the same moment. Too short to share a smile, the brief meeting is all eyes before he quickly turns back to his partner, and then proceeds to lead the man out of the building.

She does not think of the soldier again until she is back in the pit three days later.

Looking up from the chart of a woman with abdominal pain, Erin sees a team of paramedics rushing thru the E.R. with a gurney that holds the motionless body of the marine with the nice smile.  From the urgency of their actions, and the deeply concerned look on his partner’s face, she knows that it is bad.  She says a silent prayer for an extraordinary recovery as the flutter in her belly dips with sympathy.

~ 2 ~

Rick Tetbury takes another bite of the sesame bagel and swallows it with a grimace.   "Come on, how difficult is it to put seeds