Criss Cross

Chapter 106

My heart spoke its own language and nearly exploded with joy as I leaped inside the camper and went to the bunk. Rivers flipped on a light, and there my little boy was, looking like he’d been through a war and trying to smile through tears of pain and hope fulfilled.

“Ali,” I whispered, gazing at his sheer presence in wonder and at his condition with much deeper concern.

He was barefoot and bare-chested, covered with scratches, cuts, and welts. The shirt he’d worn to school the day of his disappearance was wrapped around his head and soaked in blood. His eyes seemed a little unfocused before they shut.

“Call 911!” I shouted to Rivers.

“I don’t have a cell phone!”

“What?”

I don’t like to conform, man.”

“We both fell last night,” said the woman in the bottom bunk, who was also filthy and banged up. “After everything, he hits his head, and I break my arm and probably my leg.”

I had my phone out and was punching in 911. I said, “Hold that thought, ma’am.”

The dispatcher answered, and I described the situation. “Keep your son awake,” she told me after I said there was a possible head injury.

I shook Ali lightly, and he opened his eyes a little.

“Stay with me, pal.”

He smiled lazily. “Dad?”

“Right here,” I said, and I held his hand.

“Ambulance ETA two minutes, Dr. Cross,” the dispatcher said.

“Is this a dream, Dad?”

Though I knew I had to be calm and collected for his sake, that question broke me in a way I’d never expected, and I choked out, “No. No, Ali. This is no dream. You’re here, and I’m here.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks as his grin broadened.

“I knew we’d make it,” he said. “Right, Mrs. J.?”

“You never doubted it,” the woman said. “Even when I did.”

Sirens wailed down our street.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said. “Who are you?”

“Diane Jenkins,” she said. “I live in Ohio.”

My jaw sagged a moment before I smiled in disbelief and said, “Of course. We’ve been looking for you.”

“Can I call my husband?”

“Right after we get you some medical help.”

“Dad?” Ali said as two ambulances wailed and sped down our street toward us.

“Right here,” I said, squeezing his hand.

“Mrs. J. is really good with a blowtorch.”

“It was his idea,” she said.

Ali’s eyes started to wobble closed.

“C’mon, stay awake, pal,” I said, shaking him again.

“I really wanna sleep, Dad. I’m tired. We’ve been up all night.”

“I know you do,” I said, stroking his cheek. “But I need you to stay awake a little longer.”

“Do I get to ride in an ambulance?” he said as the sirens whooped up beside the camper and stopped.

“You do,” I said, feeling more love for him than I’d thought possible.

“You should see your face, Dad,” he said, smiling and licking his lips as the EMTs came to the door behind me.

“I know,” I said, tearing up again. “The happiest father alive.”

“We’re coming in,” the medic said.

I let go of my son’s hand.

His eyes widened. “Don’t leave.”

“Don’t worry, pal,” I said. “Dad will be with you every step of the way.”