Resurrection
By Ayesha Haqqiqa
Disclaimer: The characters are property of Dick Wolf; no profit is made from this story, but I hope you enjoy it!
“How finds the jury?” Judge Wright asked the foreman.
“On the first count of the indictment, Murder in the Second Degree,we find the defendant, Ronald Taylor, innocent. On the second count of the indictment, Manslaughter in the First Degree, we find the defendant, Ronald Taylor, innocent.”
The courtroom burst into cheers as Taylor’s friends and family crowded around the defense table. Wright looked on benignly as a dejected Jack McCoy packed up his briefcase and headed out the back door.
He took the side stairs to avoid the reporters. Serena Southerlyn had to run to keep up.
“Jack, it was a tough one,” she panted. “And you’ve told me that you win some, you lose some.”
“But this one I shouldn’t have lost,” Jack said through clenched teeth. “Taylor was guilty. We just couldn’t find enough evidence to convict.” He walked out the lobby, leaving a bewildered Serena in his wake.
The problem wasn’t Serena, or even this trial. The problem was that, of the last five cases Jack had brought to trial, he’d lost all of them. Frankly, he was afraid he was losing his touch. His fingers gripped his briefcase tighter as he nearly ran down the street towards Hogan Place. It wouldn’t be pleasant, telling Nora the news. Better to get it over with.
She was reading reports when he knocked on her door. She looked up questioningly; Jack shrugged and shook his head. Something about his dejected appearance moved her to get up and go over to him.
“It was a tough case, Jack,” she said softly.
“One I should have won,” Jack insisted stubbornly.
Nora looked at him carefully. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off,” she suggested. “You’ve been putting in awfully long hours lately.”
“I have three more cases to prepare,” Jack said defensively. “Thompson’s trial will start next week, and there’s witness prep. And Van Buren thinks she has enough evidence to secure an indictment in the Allen kidnapping, and I have to keep on top of their investigation of the Halloway murder. And I have the paperwork on this fiasco to file.”
“Which can all wait until tomorrow,” Nora said firmly. Jack hated it when the steel came in her voice. “You go home, get some rest.” She put a hand on his arm. “It’s ok, Jack, really it is.”
Without a word, Jack whirled and strode out of the office. He opened his own door and threw his briefcase on his couch. Then he tore off his suit jacket and nearly strangled himself pulling off his tie. It wasn’t getting better. It was getting worse. And this reprimand by Nora was just another indication of the fact. This time it was an order to take the afternoon off. What would it be next time? To take a day, a week? Or to resign? She’d probably looked in his file, saw that he met the requirements for early retirement. He threw his suit trousers on the floor and the rack rocked as he pulled his jeans from their hanger. The hanger flew off into space, landing near the chair. He pulled on the jeans, leaving his shirt untucked. Cursing, he went after the hanger, and stuffed the suit trousers on it. As he put on his jacket, he eyed his briefcase.
“To hell with it,” he muttered. “To hell with it all.”
He didn’t even see Serena as he strode down the hall to the elevator, helmet in hand. She looked back at him, wide eyed, and shook her head. Then she walked on down to Nora’s office.
“I guess Jack told you what happened,” she said after she’d entered.
Nora, who was again seated at her desk, nodded. “And I suggested he take the rest of the day off.”
“I know,” Serena said. “He was in his road warrior’s outfit, charging down the hall, when I came up. He didn’t even see me.”
Nora’s brow wrinkled. “Has he been like this for a while?” she asked.
“No,” Serena said earnestly. “He’s been tired, but then we’ve been putting in twelve hour days on this case. I think the verdict just got to him, that’s all. And it didn’t help that it was William Wright’s courtroom.”
“I see,” Nora said. “Well, I’m glad to know that Jack took me up on my advice. Will you be able to file the paperwork on this one?”
“Of course,” Serena said. She moved to the doorway, then paused. “I know you like to assign Jack the tough cases, but I’ve been thinking—perhaps I’ve slowed him down, or done something to cause this losing streak of his.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Nora replied reassuringly. Serena smiled gratefully and left.
Jack had unlocked his bike and straddled it. At least the Yamaha was dependable. It could always be relied upon to perform satisfactorally. In fact, this might be the day to really let her show her stuff. Jack headed for the Long Island Expressway.
Traffic was light, for this time of day. Jack eased on the gas, and the cycle roared into the fast lane. He crossed the bridge and was soon speeding past the city and into the suburbs.
Speed. No thought, no effort. Just pure power under him. Jack leaned over across the handlebars. If only his own life could be this easy. But he was slowing down, losing his edge. There was no way, no way out, as far as he could see—
“You’re thinking’s got to change,” a voice said. “And if you won’t change it, then we’ll just—“
Jack looked around at the sound of the voice. Then his eyes were glued back on the road as the Yamaha began, inextricably, to drift off to the right. With an effort, he tried braking, tried turning the wheel, but nothing seemed to make any difference. He was frantic as the cycle left the road and careened down the embankment, but all thoughts left him when the Yamaha hit a rock and he was thrown in the air…
Nora was just leaving the office when the call came in. “Yes, this is Nora Lewin. Yes, John James McCoy works for me,” she said impatiently. “ Who is this? What happened? Where? What was he doing way out there? How badly is he hurt?” Nora’s face paled as the state police officer relayed the news. “What hospital? Thank you.” She cradled the phone, standing still for a moment, her eyes closed. Then she walked into the hall, where her secretary’s desk was.
“Stacey, please pull up the personal file for Jack McCoy,” she said softly. “He’s been in an accident, and I need to notify his next of kin.”
The field was grassy, but full of rocks. Jack looked around, and cursed when he saw the wreck of his motorcycle. His head hurt a little bit, but his bike had fared far worse. My, it was effortless to stand up. And to float. Wait a minute, he thought to himself. People don’t float. But that was what he was doing. He was looking down at the scene, watching as a police cruiser stopped on the shoulder of the expressway and two officers got out. They looked down at the cycle and went to their radio. Good, Jack thought. They will call for a tow truck. Maybe they’ll give me a lift back into the city. But when he tried to ask them, he found he couldn’t talk.
Something very strange was going on, he decided. It didn’t panic him that he couldn’t talk. He could float, after all. He hovered over the scene, and noticed a heap of rags some distance from the cycle. Too bad people littered, he thought idly to himself. He watched as an ambulance came up behind the cruiser, and two EMTs got out a stretcher and headed down the slope. Silly people, he thought. You don’t put a motorcycle on a stretcher. But they went to the pile of rags, and Jack realized, with a shock, they were checking for vital signs. It was a body. It was his body.
“I’m Nora Lewin, Mr. McCoy’s boss,” Nora said to the doctor in the Emergency Room of St. Anthony’s Hospital. “I notified his brother, Francis. He and his family are out of town, but they will be flying back tomorrow.”
“It might be a good idea,” Dr. Smallwood said. “He’s had a severe concussion. If he wakes up within twenty-four hours, there’s a good chance for recovery. If not, well—“ He left the sentence hanging.
“Is there anything I can do?” Nora asked.
“In cases like this, sometimes it helps to talk to the patient,” Dr. Smallwood said. “Sometimes that can help bring him around.” And it gives distraut friends something to do until the family comes, he thought to himself.
“Then I’ll go see him,” Nora said. “Where have they taken him?”
“We’ve finished the scans, and they are putting him in the ICU,” Dr. Smallwood said. “Go check with Dr. Page and she’ll tell you when you can see him.”
It was interesting, watching the EMTs work on him, Jack thought. It reminded him of a TV show on TLC. He’d have to get another helmet, he decided, though he was glad when he heard on EMT say, “The helmet saved his life. Now let’s see if he can hang onto it.” The trip back to the hospital was fast, and Jack was interested to see what the doctors would do. But then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around.
“Hello, Jack.”
It was Claire, smiling at him. Claire, looking her old self, not like the waxen gargoyle in the coffin at the funeral. He smiled at her and took her in his arms.
“Claire,” he said softly. “You’ve come back to life.”
Claire shook her head. “Come back to visit your life, Jack. Just for a little while. You see, you have to decide.”
“Decide? Decide what?” Jack didn’t want to talk; he wanted to just hold Claire.
“Decide if you want to go with me, or stay,” Claire replied simply.
Jack looked at her. “I don’t understand,” he said.
Claire gently pushed away from him. “Jack,” she said, “You are at a crossroads in your life. There are things that you still need to do, but you’ve lost the will to do them. You’ve wallowed in self-pity and doubt. So you had an accident—to wake you up. Now the choice is yours. Change your thoughts, change your life. Or stay here, in between.”
“In between what?” Jack asked, confused.
“Between life and death,” Claire answered.
Jack looked fearfully from her to the scene in the emergency room. The doctors had removed his clothes and put a hospital gown on him. They were wheeling him to some room where a big machine was.
“They are doing a brain scan,” Claire explained. “You have a severe concussion and are in a coma. It’s really up to you whether you want to come out of it or not.”
“What do you mean, up to me?” Jack said. “How can that be? If you’re body’s broken enough, it stops working, and that’s that. Isn’t it?”
Claire smiled. “Only if it is your time. It was my time, those many years ago. You know I wouldn’t have left you, Jack, if I had had a choice.”
“But I do?” Jack asked in confusion. “Why?”
“Because you still have things to do,” Claire said cryptically. “You still have lives to touch, and hearts to change. That is, if you want to.”
“I’m not sure if I want to,” Jack confessed. “Claire, I’ve missed you! I’ve gotten-so old-in so many ways-since you’ve been gone. But if I can stay here, with you—“
“You can’t,” Claire said, moving away abruptly. “I’m only here as a messenger, and when I am done, I go on.” She smiled sadly. “You’ll join me, love, but not now. Not for a long time.”
“But why?” Jack asked.
“Because you have a chance I didn’t have,” Claire explained. “You have been given this great gift. You have been given a glance of the Real beyond the real.”
“This is all confusing to me, Claire,” Jack said, moving closer.
“It is all in your thinking, Jack,” she replied. “You say you are old. You think you are past it. You are afraid that you will be eased out of your job.”
Jack backed away; how could Claire know his innermost thoughts and feelings.
“But you’ve got to look at life this way, Jack. Every day, every hour, every breath is another chance. Another chance to get it right. Another chance for helping others. Another chance for redemption.”
“Redemption?” Jack’s eyes filled with tears.
“Jack, I’ve come to see you,” Nora said with more courage than she felt. She sat down in the chair next to the hospital bed, and held Jack’s hand. His head was swathed in bandages, and his eyes were closed. Tubes and wires snaked around to machines that monitored his vital signs. They were the only indication he was alive. “If you can hear me, Jack, squeeze my hand. Please.” Nothing.
“Redemption is a funny topic for an agnostic to talk about,” Jack said, wiping his eyes. “And the way you talk about it, it’s like there’s hope.”
Claire smiled. “There’s always hope, Jack.”
“Hope for what, though?” Jack hung his head in despair. “Of growing old, losing my faculties, losing my friends—“
“Stop it, Jack!” Claire said sharply. “It’s thinking like that which got you here—and could keep you here. Don’t you understand, love? Life’s a process, and it’s how you look at things that matters. You don’t think you’re wanted? You don’t think you’re needed? You don’t think you’re loved? Look, Jack, look down! Look down now!”
Jack looked down and saw the ICU. He saw Nora, tears streaming down her face, holding his hand. He heard her say, “Jack, please. Please come back. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re too hard on yourself, Jack. You’re the best man I have in the office—and, well, this may sound ridiculous, but I really care for you. Come back, so I can tell you I love you.”
Jack looked at Claire in amazement. She nodded. “It’s your choice, Jack. It’s your life. Just remember that every breath is a resurrection. Just remember….just remember….
“Jack, squeeze my hand,” Nora pleaded.
Jack smiled at Claire one more time. Then he turned around and faced the ICU.
“I’m here for you, Jack, please don’t leave. Come back. Squeeze my hand!” Nora said once more.
It was an effort, but it wasn’t. Jack felt air rushing around him and then a thump. He could feel his body in the hospital bed, pains everywhere, even if they were masked by drugs. He could feel Nora’s hand in his, and he squeezed it.
“Jack!” Nora breathed.
He opened his eyes to slits, looked at her, and smiled.