Chapter 9
Andrew sat on the embankment, clutching a whiskey bottle, gulping down one mouthful after another.
He couldn’t remember how many days it had been since he went home.
His phone kept vibrating–assistant, mother, company PR–he answered none.
His shirt was long soaked through, his whole being a disheveled mess.
Amid the roaring rain, he mumbled, “Emerie, are you really not waiting for me?”
“Didn’t you say if I came to see the ocean, you’d forgive me?”
“I’m here, why haven’t you shown up?”
He knelt on the drenched ground, forehead pressed to knees, pounding his chest.
“I know I was wrong, come back please?”
No one answered, only rain washing over his words again and again.
Suddenly, he jerked upright and trudged toward his car.
He opened the door, slid inside, shut it.
Belted up, started the engine.
Foot on the gas, the hood aimed at the cliff where coastline ended.
“If I still owe you anything this lifetime, let me pay it down there.”
He whispered, eyes locked on the sea ahead.
He floored the accelerator, the car lunged forward.
Wind rushed through both windows, his hands tightened on the wheel. Closing his eyes, only one image flashed:
Emerie turning with a smile, saying, “Cut!”
Next second, the world flipped.
The car shot off the cliff, plunging into storm–lashed waves.
In darkness, Andrew’s consciousness drifted, then a familiar voice reached him.
It called softly, “Andrew.”
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Chapter 9
“You shouldn’t die yet.”
The voice drew closer. He saw a light beam, then Emerie appeared before him.
Wearing that white dress from farewell day, she stood amid waves, backlit, brows and eyes unchanged.
He tried calling out, but no sound came. He only saw her reach toward him, gently pulling.
“Quick, help!
Another one here with weak breathing!”
On shore, a fisherman hauled the dripping Andrew onto land, shouting while performing CPR.
A doctor pumped his chest furiously.
“Heartbeat restored.”
“He’s responsive!
Get him to ICU now!”
He opened his eyes two days later.
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Waking to hospital ceilings, Andrew weakly turned to see tubes covering his body, bandages wrapping him, massive impact bruises on his chest.
His assistant stood by the window, eyes reddening at his wake: “Andrew!
You’re finally awake!
Doctor said ten minutes later would’ve been too late!”
He murmured, “I’m alive?”
The assistant choked up nodding: “A passing fisherman called 911! Said your car charged into the sea like mad–he almost thought it was a movie stunt!”
“Not a movie.”
Andrew closed his eyes. “The wrap.”
Lying there, a tear slid silently down.
He knew it wasn’t a dream.
That moment, that light, those words, that familiar face.
Not hallucination.
Her.
She came to pull him back.
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Chapter 9
Just like she said: “You shouldn’t die yet.”
That night, Andrew couldn’t sleep.
He replayed Emerie’s video, her gentle voice before the lens: “Thanks for coming.”
He clutched his phone, voice barely above a whisper:
“You came to save me, didn’t you?”
“You’re still with me, right?“,
Silence answered.
Yet he felt a warmth brush across his knuckles.
As if Rebecca were touching him.
As if she had never left.
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