Once Again

By Gene Ligotti

In any person of advancing age, I doubt he or she has never said … Knowing what I know now, I wish I could live my life over again. Foolishness? True, but still … it’s a nice thought to linger over. The story within this novel, Once Again, relates to that engaging wish. We have two heroes in this novel and both are in the same person. That made the writing difficult at times, but I feel I made it work. Michael and Barth begin as totally different people with different minds sets … one is a good and decent man and the other cares little for others. He gambles, carouses with women of ill repute, his curses would make a sailor blush and he, at times, hangs out with bottom feeders. Still there is something endearing about him and the two together make an interesting pair.
Will this second life turn out differently than the first or does disaster wait. I feel the characters are real and interesting and at times the reader will wonder who is controlling who. As usual in my novels I have taken ordinary people and placed them in extraordinary situations. I doubt that this story line has been used before in this manner and I do hope you enjoy … One Again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669864134

Gene Ligotti

Gene Ligotti was educated at Adelphi University on Long Island and received his doctorate from New York University. After coming down with Rheumatoid Arthritis, he had to give up his successful thirty year practice of dentistry in Huntington, New York. After he retired, Ligotti began writing as just something to do, but it soon became a driving force. He is an American Revolutionary history buff, has given lectures about the impact the Revolution had on Long Island and he has written three novels of interesting characters of the American Revolution. Ligotti is also the author of the much acclaimed, Time Never Heals; the biography of the first battalion surgeon in Vietnam. He soon began writing suspense thrillers which has become his special passion. Each suspense thriller has a love story as a sub-plot, but Twisted Deception, the sequel to the much applauded, Incredible Deception, continues as a love story with the suspense thriller element as the sub-plot. As a freelance writer he wrote a monthly column for the Guide Magazine about the history of villages in the Catskill Mountains and of the romantic Hudson River. His widely praised articles on dentistry have been printed in various Dental Journals. Gene Ligotti lives in Smithtown, New York with his wife Corbina, where they can be near their family, Gina, Lisa, Nick, and their grandchildren: grandson, Gino and twin granddaughters, Gabrielle and Juliette.

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Copyright © 2023 by Gene Ligotti.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/01/2023

Xlibris

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Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Epilogue

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               Also by Gene Ligotti

   American History novels

                       The Youngest Patriot

                       Swamp Fox

                       Dark Eagle

Biography

                       Time Never Heals

Suspense Thrillers

                       The third Woman

                       Suppressed

                       Reversal

                       Ultimate Betrayal

                       Fatal Flaw

                       Accomplice

                       Unexpected

                       The Dream

                       Incredible Deception

                       Twisted Deception

                       Final Deception

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Dedication

It is sometimes difficult to pick one person who stands out as a value to the author for a dedication, but for me, this time, there was no question in my mind. In thinking about the dedication for this novel, there is only one person who stands out above all others. That person is my wife, my love, my companion in life, and she alone holds this dedication.

Yes, I am grateful to my family for granting me the time alone to write and previous novels have been dedicated to them. Time is a precious commodity and I hope I have used it wisely. This novel is about life and death and second chances. Undoubtedly and perhaps, my advancing age contributed to the subject and theme of this novel. Unlike the young who think they will live forever, time has become very valuable to me and I intend to spend it wisely by devoting as much of it as possible with family and friends.

I do hope that you, my readers, have enjoyed my endeavors.

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Acknowledgements

It is said that the basis of a novel comes from the author’s knowledge, experiences, and past memories. Most assuredly, this is true in my case, but an author cannot have acumen in all fields. Therefore, in this novel as in my previous endeavors, I have reached out to others for their assistance, advice, and of course their expertise. I am immensely grateful to the following individuals. I have long held them in high esteem and now welcome the opportunity to tell them how much they are appreciated. If there are any mistakes in this novel, be they typos or in grammar or facts, they are all mine.

Once again I would like to honor the memory of my old friend William Frederick Lauro. His expertise in law added much to my novels and he is portrayed as the model for the lawyer, William Frederick. He was a dear friend and he is sorely missed.

I am immensely grateful to my friend, John P. Bracken Esq., now retired from the prestigious law firm of Bracken, Margolin, and Besunder LLP. John is a member of the highly respected American College of Trail Lawyers. On countless occasions, he has given me insight and knowledge into his expertise, the law. His wisdom, along with his friendship, is respected and valued.

At times, the knowledge of police procedures is of utmost importance and this information was provided to me, by my friend and neighbor, Paul Daniell, a retired Nassau County Detective. Paul immediately responded to my questions and provided insight into the much needed quality police information. His assistance was very much appreciated as is his friendship.

Lastly, but never the least, are words of praise for my dear wife, Corbina, who is my best fan and most analytical and sincere critic. Her copyediting, advice, and suggestions are of value and quite pertinent in making the novel more enjoyable for all. I have always enjoyed saying that she has the ability to understand what is good writing and what is not, the wisdom to see where changes can be made, and the courage to tell me about it.

All that lives must die,

Passing through nature to eternity

…. William Shakespeare

Who that hath ever been

Could bear to be no more?

Yet who would tread again the scene

He trod through life before?

….James Montgomery

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Prologue

When a man reaches a certain age, or a woman for that matter, and begins to look back on his life, he realizes that it has gone by all too fast. He may wonder why it seems that just yesterday he was young, strong, and vibrant, but now that is no longer the case. His mirror has never lied to him ... and he realizes … he is now an old man. He pines for the strength of his youth along with his good looks and even women’s attraction to him which he perhaps wasn’t wholly aware of at the time. All are gone and he knows they never will return. One by one his friends have died, each leaving a hole in his life and in his heart and he also knows that somewhere in the very near future … he too will die.

He doesn’t fear death and usually jokes that it’s only the not living part that bothers him, but still, that great unknown waits. Then he hopes … perhaps, once and for all, he will have all the answers. What is heaven like … or hell for that matter, if that’s his destination … and perhaps the answer to the big question … why? If all in the universe truly exists, along with heaven and hell … then why did God create it? Why? What was the reasoning? Why? What was the divine purpose? Again … the big … why?

No one has ever lived a life void of mistakes. Everyone … man or woman … realizes that they have made mistakes in their life, some perhaps stupendous, and I doubt that anyone would not like to have a do-over and this time with no, or at least less, missteps and would gladly relish each and every minute, every sunrise and sunset, every smile, and would fill every day with the beautiful music of life. But, an intelligent man would also realize that he would probably simply make new mistakes and his new life might not be all that different. So we must add this thought as a qualification … ‘yes, do it all again, but knowing what I know now’ … to our hapless desire. Still, any man, or again a woman, would be intrigued with the thought of doing it all over … to live and simply enjoy life … once again.

To do that and not make the same mistakes he would have to be fully conscious of living the new life and have full memory of the old one. He would have to be entirely cognizant of his past life and, at least some or partial control over the new one. Without this, wouldn’t he blindly just be reliving his old life, mistakes and all? But a sensible and rational man would also soon realize this dream of immortality is foolishness and embellishing it with any additional desires is utterly ridiculous ... even ludicrous.

The man in our story has indeed mused over these thoughts, but as sensible as he is, he knows full well that the dream is mere folly and could never be fulfilled, so he plods through his final days trying to make the best of the time he has left.

You never know how strong you are

until being strong is your only choice.

….Bob Marley

But to see her was to love her,

Love but her, and love forever.

…. Robert Burns

Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave.

…. James Thomson

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Chapter One

I t was a beautiful warm night in the early fall in the little middle-class community on the North Shore of Long Island in the state of New York. On a quiet street, a small unpretentious ranch house is the home of an elderly couple who have lived their entire married life in that single dwelling. They had been happy in that home, but tonight a dark cloud hung over the home and lingered in their lives.

The night itself was clear and pleasant, truly tranquil and barely a breeze rustled the leaves on the trees or disturbed the sweet lingering scent of honeysuckle gracing a trestle on the back porch. A quarter moon hung high in the sky and numerous stars graced the heavens. It was alternately a dark night as the moon appeared to be dashing from cloud to cloud as if trying to hide its light from those living below.

As usual on this unusually warm night in late September, critters roamed the wooded areas searching for a meal: raccoons, possums, mice, field rats, bats, and even an owl watched from high in the branches of a tree while choosing his dinner meal. All this was normal and usual except …

Within the modest home of Michael and Elise Mathews, a heavy oppressive sadness seemed suspended in the air and it permeated every corner of this once-happy home. In the wee hours of the morning, the house was quiet and the only room with any light at all was the master bedroom. Even that room was dimly lighted by only one small lamp on a nightstand. A frail old woman lay on the bed, her breath weak and labored. The metastasized cancer that had spent months destroying her and her once vibrant and beautiful body was now in the final grip of the disease. Her husband was with her and he sat on the edge of their bed holding her hand in both of his. His face was a mass of sadness but his eyes still held on to mere shreds of hope because hope is the very heart and soul of love.

He held her hand tightly yet tenderly while with silent prayers he hoped to stave off the inevitable. Dawn wasn’t far off, but, he wondered, would dawn ever come again for the woman he loved? Deep sadness enveloped him as he knew the end was near and she was dying. Elise was calm, resolved, and almost serene.

Elise, please … let me call an ambulance, Michael said in a feeble and shaky voice.

No. It’s time. I … I feel … weaker and weaker … as the … moments pass. It’s time, Michael, I know … it’s time.

I’m I to do nothing to help you? he said in a quiet choked tone as uncontrollable tears fled his eyes and rained down his face.

Just kiss me good night as you always do and let me go to sleep. There is no goodbye because I know I will see you again. But … just once more … let me …

Slowly she reached with a frail, feeble hand and touched his chin running her little finger through the deep cleft on that chin. It was something she had always done ... a secret moment of the tender love they shared. She smiled up at him and with gentle love she caressed his face for the last time.

He controlled the desire to clasp her in his arms and hold her tightly, to join with her to fight the disease for her or, in the least, die with her, but he knew she could not tolerate the pain of his embrace so he continued to simply and gently hold her hand.

How can I live without you? he said in a quiet broken voice as more tears clouded and rushed from his eyes.

Please don’t think about that. I know you’ll … be okay, but … please ... no more talk. I can barely keep … my eyes open and breathing has become … such a chore. Kiss me good night and … just … let me go. Always remember … I love you. I have always loved you.

I love you too, my sweet … and I have always loved you. I’ll not say goodbye … I can’t … so just … goodnight.

The old man leaned over and kissed his wife’s lips as his tears fell gently on her face.

With her eyes closed, she smiled as he tenderly brushed his tears from her face and then suddenly stopped when he realized her smile was gone … her face was now completely tranquil and at peace, and … she was no longer breathing.

Oh Elise, oh my love…

Overwhelmed with grief and emotion he collapsed upon his wife’s body and sobbed … deep heart-wrenching sobs. Her death struck him like the deep note of a lingering chord that he knew would never be silenced.

There are more things in heaven and on earth than dreamt of in your philosophy.

Things that imagination was simply not equal to.

…. William Shakespeare

The private wound is deepest.

…. William Shakespeare

So he with difficulty and labour hard

Mov’d on, with difficulty and labour he.

…. John Milton

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Chapter Two

T he following few days passed in a daze for Michael. After first calling a doctor who pronounced his wife, Elise, had indeed died, he then made arrangements for her funeral. He seemed to be apart from himself and he did things that had to be done, simply because … they had to be done. It was like walking in a haze … doing things only because he had to since there was no one else. He went to a local funeral home, chose a coffin, picked out the clothing for her to be buried in, made preparations for the cemetery plot they had purchased years ago, and arranged for flowers. Each was painful for him and this he had to do himself as most of their close friends had died or were too old to help or even to attend the services. He was fully aware that there was no one else to do these things. They had no children and therefore, Michael was truly alone. Nevertheless, he somehow managed to get through the one-day wake where he sat alone for hours with silent tears on his face while gazing at his wife and remembering their life together. Sometimes he would smile at a thought, but the tears were always there.

For days after the funeral, he had trouble sleeping and sometimes would forget to eat. Every now and then he would cook a small meal, but then felt no appetite to eat what he had prepared. Occasionally, he would stop at a fast-food emporium and have a hamburger and a cup of coffee. Michael had also forgotten to take his medications and had skipped two medical appointments on purpose. Why should he bother with medicine or doctors … now at his advanced age when there was no one for him to care for? He was also painfully aware that whether he lived or died was no longer any concern to anyone.

At times he would sit for hours to simply think and remember. He had always known the best times in life were not about what we had or what we did, but who we were with.

He would go within himself to that area we all have … that personal zone all humans have. The sphere that never shuts down and, in candor, holds all the truths of our life. Even when we sleep we dream from that nucleus within us. It is the core of our being human … which moves us to think and to act. Perhaps it is our soul. Within us all, we talk to ourselves and listen to ourselves think. It is an area of intelligence, for planning, and thought. If we have secrets it’s there where we keep them … hidden and guarded. The truth is there for all to see, but only we can see them and know them. You are using it now as you read, interpret, and understand. Michael was using it, not of his own choice or volition, but to torment himself with memories of Elise. He knew he could talk openly to Elise as he would talk to his soul. They had nothing to hide from each other for they knew each other’s secrets. He had lost his soulmate and without her, he was truly alone in the world. Devastating sadness enveloped and lived within him.

*

Only two weeks after the funeral, Michael was driving in heavy rain. Yes, he still drove his old car, albeit slowly and more carefully. He had been food shopping and after leaving the store with his meager purchases, a sudden heavy rain began. It was a deluge … a cloudburst. The rain drove hard against the windshield, the windshield wipers were working hard, and the roads were soon inundated with water. The streets were flooding to curb height and the traffic moved at a ridiculously slow, but necessary, pace. Some drivers pulled over refusing to endure the road conditions, but Michael continued at an even slower pace. Halfway home the rain was beginning to let up quite a bit and he slowed his car as a crowd of people had gathered and blocked even the street itself. He could go no further so he stopped the car, got out, and managed to move through the crowd to see what was causing the commotion.

Once through the crowd of people, he was horrified at what he saw. Because of the sudden heavy oppressive rain, a small sinkhole had collapsed taking a little girl with it. The little girl, who appeared to be about four years of age, was struggling in the water and it was obvious to all that she could not swim. The child was frightened and screaming hysterically as she tried in vain to climb the muddy walls of the hole. Michael watched as water cascaded into and continued to fill the hole. Shrieking and terrified, the girl slipped further and further into the water that was now dark and thick with mud.

No one in the crowd seemed to do anything. A desperate woman, apparently the child’s mother, was on her knees in the mud frantically trying to reach her daughter, but could not as the ground began to collapse around her and others pulled her away. Although some spectators had indeed called the police, others were simply taking pictures with their cell phones. Michael quickly realized that even if the police did come, it would all be too late for the frightened child.

Suddenly her screams stopped as she slipped under the water. Grappling with fear for the child’s life, without any thought for his own safety or his ability to help, Michael instantly jumped into the sinkhole and was quickly swallowed by the ever-rising murky muddy water. The girl had not returned to the surface after she slipped under and he felt she was gone, still, he felt for her with his hands but made no contact. He feared the girl was truly lost but then, miraculously, he felt a moment of contact. Grabbing hold of her arm he pulled her to the surface and pushed her upwards to the waiting arms of the few people in the crowd who ventured close enough to the edge of the sinkhole to grab the child.

Michael took a quick few breaths of precious air. He grasped at the side walls of the sink hole, but only mud filled his hands. No one reached to help him. He had no footing and was not able to grasp anything at all, as he slipped under the filthy water. He felt the grit in his eyes, ears, and mouth and knew he was about to die. He realized he couldn’t breathe and instinctively knew not to try. Inwardly he smiled for he felt he would soon be with his Elise. Because of his age and the extended effort to help the girl, he had no strength to swim to the surface and knew he would soon lose consciousness and die. Somehow he didn’t mind … he had lived his life and he hoped that he would soon join his wife. Michael felt himself slipping into the dark void of death, but suddenly felt hands grabbing him, he was out of the murky water, pulled from the sinkhole, medics were working on him, and he was rushed to a nearby hospital.

*

In the hospital, the doctors had done all they could and now it was left up to Michael to fight for his life. In the wee hours of the morning, he lay in a hospital bed, in and out of a problematic sleep, difficult because Michael had no will to live and was on the verge of dying. In saving the little girl his already weakened heart was losing its ability to function properly. He had risked his life and was now losing it, all because he saved a child from losing her life. Michael smiled at the thought and felt it was a fitting way to die. He lay in the hospital bed with tubes and wires running from his body to machines that occasionally beeped his vital signs, and wondered why he was still alive.

As the hours passed, he dozed and as a peaceful feeling came over him, he suddenly woke due to a strange powerful sensation that quickly came and overwhelmed him. The room was silent as the machines had stopped their endless beeping sounds. He could see several nurses through the glass partition of the intensive care unit he was in, but they were not moving. Nothing was moving and it seemed that time had frozen. Suddenly a penetratingly bright light engulfed and saturated the room. Blinking his eyes against the intense light, the sound of a strong but gentle voice abruptly nudged him to full wakefulness.

As he stared with wonder into the dazzling brightness, a human form stepped out of the penetrating light. It was a man dressed all in white who still seemed to maintain an aura of shimmering brilliance about him as he spoke to Michael. Michael was startled, but surprisingly, not afraid. The man was of average height, clean-shaven, and although his hair was pure white his pleasant face seemed ageless. The dream-like vision spoke to him.

Michael, you were very brave today and you saved the life of that little girl.

Mesmerized by the shimmering apparition he said nothing, but after a moment, Michael did ask a question.

How is she?

She is doing well and will now live a long life, but she was supposed to have died today. You were very brave, you thought nothing of yourself or the danger you were in and you saved the child, but in doing so you have upset the general design of things set forth by divine right and guidance. I have many things to tell you, but first, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Jordan and I am here at the direction and insistence of a much higher authority. Now, as I have said, the little girl was supposed to have died today and she still lives. You were not supposed to die today and yet … you have.

The man, Mr. Jordan, slowly raised his hand and motioned to the bed. Michael realized that he was now standing beside the bed face to face with the man called Jordan and no longer in the bed. But the bed was still occupied and he saw his own body lying there. He felt as if he was having what was called an out-of-body experience, but as he stared at himself in the bed, he realized the chest did not rise and fall, even slightly, as it should with each breath, and he understood he was truly dead. He stared at his body for a short length of time and then turned to Mr. Jordan.

Dead? said Michael, But if I’m dead, then how is it possible that I’m standing here and talking to you?

"Your earthly body is quite dead, I assure you, but the more important question