Rage of Angels by Sidney Sheldon

“Yes, sir.”

Adam and Di Silva walked into the room. There were three beds, two of them empty. Jennifer lay in the third, tubes running into her nostrils and wrists. Adam moved close to the bed and stared down at her. Jennifer’s face was very pale against the white pillows, and her eyes were closed. In repose, her face seemed younger and softer. Adam was looking at the innocent girl he had met years ago, the girl who had said angrily to him, If anyone had paid me off, do you think I’d be living in a place like this? I don’t care what you do. All I want is to be left alone. He remembered her courage and idealism and her vulnerability. She had been on the side of the angels, believing in justice and willing to fight for it. What had gone wrong? He had loved her and he loved her still, and he had made one wrong choice that had poisoned all their lives, and he knew he would never feel free of guilt for as long as he lived.

He turned to the doctor. “Let me know when she—” He could not say the words. “—what happens.”

“Of course,” the doctor said.

Adam Warner took one long last look at Jennifer and said a silent good-bye. Then he turned and walked out to face the waiting reporters.

 

 

Through a dim, misty haze of semiconsciousness, Jennifer heard the men leave. She had not understood what they were saying, for their words were blurred by the pain that gripped her. She thought she had heard Adam’s voice, but she knew that could not be. He was dead. She tried to open her eyes, but the effort was too great.

Jennifer’s thoughts began to drift…Abraham Wilson came running into the room carrying a box. He stumbled and the box opened and a yellow canary flew out of it…Robert Di Silva was screaming, Catch it! Don’t let it get away!…and Michael Moretti was holding it and laughing, and Father Ryan said, Look, everybody! It’s a miracle! and Connie Garrett was dancing around the room and everyone applauded…Mrs. Cooper said, I’m going to give you Wyoming…Wyoming…Wyoming…and Adam came in with dozens of red roses and Michael said, They’re from me, and Jennifer said, I’ll put them in a vase in water, and they shriveled and died and the water spilled onto the floor and became a lake, and she and Adam were sailing, and Michael was chasing them on water skis and he became Joshua and he smiled at Jennifer and waved and started to lose his balance, and she screamed, Don’t fall…Don’t fall…Don’t fall…and an enormous wave swept Joshua into the air and he held out his arms like Jesus and disappeared.

For an instant, Jennifer’s mind cleared.

Joshua was gone.

Adam was gone.

Michael was gone.

She was alone. In the end, everyone was alone. Each person had to die his own death. It would be easy to die now.

A feeling of blessed peace began to steal over her. Soon there was no more pain.

 

 

64

 

It was a cold January day in the Capitol when Adam Warner was sworn in as the fortieth President of the United States. His wife wore a sable hat and a dark sable coat that did wonderful things for her pale complexion and almost concealed her pregnancy. She stood next to her daughter and they both watched proudly as Adam took the oath of office, and the country rejoiced for the three of them. They were the best of America: decent and honest and good, and they belonged in the White House.

 

 

In a small law office in Kelso, Washington, Jennifer Parker sat alone looking at the inauguration on television. She watched until the last of the ceremony was over and Adam and Mary Beth and Samantha had left the podium, surrounded by secret service men. Then Jennifer turned off the television set and watched the images fade into nothingness. And it was like turning off the past: shutting out all that had happened to her, the love and the death and the joy and the pain. Nothing had been able to destroy her. She was a survivor.