The End in Their Eyes
Can I see another’s woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
– William Blake
When Morley Benoit was still a small child, he began to suspect he had an unusual ability. What exactly it was remained unclear given his tender age. As he was lifted into his aunt’s lap, for example, he knew that she would never hold him again. There was something in her eyes that told him that. The very next day she was dead. The disconcerting premonition repeated itself when he was in sixth grade. He had sensed it upon coming face to face with the school’s janitor, Mr. Morgan, in the corridor, and he, too, passed away shortly thereafter.
Several more years would pass before a similar encounter would finally convince Morley that he possessed the power to see when people would die. This time it was on a high school football field as his coach reviewed a play with his team. As Mr. Lowry addressed each player in his usual intensive, one-on-one style, Morley knew he would soon perish. He decided to warn him, but before he got the chance, the coach toppled over and could not be resuscitated.
Morley spent the years that followed fearing he would come upon another person about to face his maker. He wondered why he had been endowed with such a frightening ability. And he decided to keep it a secret, convinced he would be viewed as a freak otherwise.
Shortly after graduating from college, Morley met an aspiring artist named Lorraine Colman and quickly fell in love. The couple was soon married and settled in a small house on the outskirts of Cleveland. For the next few years, they worked in their respective professions––Morley as a mechanical engineer and Lorraine as a greeting card illustrator. Eventually their union produced a child. It was the happiest period in Morley’s life, and the memory of his dark visions began to fade.
As the Benoit’s son, Tyler, grew older, Morley occasionally wondered if he would ever again bear witness to the impending demise of another person. He fervently hoped he would not and prayed he had not passed on the bizarre talent to his child. When his son reached an age that Morley thought was appropriate, he asked the youngster if he had ever sensed anything unusual in people’s eyes.
“What do you mean, Daddy?” replied the six year old.
“Well, did you ever feel funny or scared when you looked at someone?”
“Clowns are funny. And Sponge Bob,” was his eager reply.
After a bit more probing, Morley was convinced that his son was free of his arcane affliction.
* * *
Every aspect of the Benoits’ lives appeared idyllic as they prospered on their individual career paths and watched their son accelerate in both school and athletics. But things rapidly changed one Friday afternoon when Morley greeted his son as he climbed down from the school bus. As soon as he met his son’s eyes, he encountered his deepest dread and let out a loud gasp.
“What’s the matter, daddy? You look funny,” said Tyler, wrestling with his backpack.
Morley could hardly speak as his son looked at him quizzically. Oh no! Oh no! screamed his inner voice. Not my son! God, please, no . . . not Tyler!
Morley lifted Tyler and carried him to the house.
“I can walk, daddy. Why are you treating me like a baby?”
As soon as they entered the house, Morley examined his son, checking him for anything out of the ordinary, like a fever or inflamed throat. Although everything appeared normal, Morley decided to take him to his pediatrician.
“Put your coat back on,” directed Morley, his face flushed with anxiety.
“Where are we going?” asked Tyler, confused.
“To the doctor’s,” replied Morley, lifting the child and heading to his car.
“Why? I’m not sick, daddy.”
They arrived at the doctor’s office within fifteen minutes, and Morley managed to get his son a walk-in appointment by concocting a litany of dire symptoms.
“You should have gone to the emergency room, but now that you’re here . . .. “
In the examining room, the pediatrician was confounded by Morley’s account of his son’s sudden illness, since he could find nothing wrong with the boy.
“Everything looks fine,” said the perplexed physician.
“I feel good, Daddy,” whined Tyler, perplexed and now frightened by his father’s odd behavior.
“Well, I just wanted to make sure, doc. Thanks for looking at him. Guess I’m just an hysterical parent.”
Before the pediatrician could probe Morley’s motives any further, father and son departed his office.
An accident. Maybe he’s going to have an accident, thought Morley, placing his son into his booster seat, and double-checking its seat belt.
* * *
“Where have you guys been?” asked Lorraine when they returned home.
“I took him to the doctor’s,” replied Morley. “He’s got a little bug, so we need to keep him home and keep an eye on him for the next day or so,” contrived Morley.
“I’m not sick, Mommy,” protested Tyler, as his mother felt his forehead.
“Doesn’t seem to have a temperature. Did the doctor say what it was?”
“He thought it might be some twenty-four hour virus. Said to have him lay low and rest. Keep activity to a minimum,” replied Morley, nervously.
“I want to go out and play,” said Tyler.
“No!” blurted Morley. “You’re staying in and going to bed.”
“Take it easy, honey,” advised Lorraine taken aback by her husband’s abruptness.
“I’m sorry. Just don’t want him to . . ..”
Lorraine took hold of her son’s hand and led him to the kitchen.
“Why is Daddy mad at me?” asked Tyler, on the verge of tears.
“He’s not mad, sweetie. He just wants to make sure you get better.”
“But I’m not sick!” objected Tyler, angrily.
“Well, the doctor says you are.”
“No, he didn’t, Mommy. He said I was fine.”
“And I’m sure you will be very soon. Go wash your hands for supper.”
“Yeah, good idea,” said Morley, entering the kitchen. “I’ll give you an assist, sport. Come on.”
Tyler resignedly followed his father to the sink.
“I don’t think he should eat much. Food might disagree with him. Maybe just some soup,” instructed Morley.
“I’m hungry,” pouted Tyler.
“If he’s sick, he needs nourishment, and it’s great that he has an appetite,” responded Lorraine, discounting her husband’s words.
* * *
Throughout supper and for the balance of the evening, Morley watched his son like a hawk, prepared to intervene instantly if there was a need to do so. That evening he remained at his son’s bedside long after the child was fast asleep. Only then did he retire to his own bed, and when he was certain his wife was asleep, he returned to Tyler’s room and maintained a vigil until dawn. Every few minutes throughout the night he had checked to make certain his son was still breathing. When he heard his wife stirring, he went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. He then returned to his son’s bedroom. There he found his child jumping atop his bed. Afraid he would fall, Morley ran to his side and grabbed him.
“Hi, Daddy. Can I have breakfast?”
“You sure can. How about some alligator toes?” joked Morley.
Hearing his son’s sweet giggle, Morley was struck by a wave of melancholy so profound it took the wind from his lungs.
“Daddy, you’re squeezing me”
“That’s because I love you so much,” replied Morley, tearing up.
“How come you’re crying?” asked Tyler.
“Because I’m so happy, goofy boy,” answered Morley, still clutching his little boy. “Why don’t you go say hello to Mommy, and I’ll get you those alligator noses.”
“Toes, Daddy. You said toes,” laughed Tyler, skipping away.
When Morley was left alone in his son’s room, he could not stem the flow of tears. His head was swimming with the question of what to do to prevent his son’s death. Just keep him close until you get through the day. People always die within 24 hours of my seeing them, he mulled, desperately.
* * *
“Morning,” said Morley, upon entering the kitchen.
His wife was already dressed for work and gulping the last sips of a cup of coffee.
“Hi, I’ve got to get going. Early meeting. Sorry. Get Tyler ready for school and let him go next door to wait at Johnny’s for the school bus, okay?”
“I’m keeping him home today. The doctor said he should avoid other kids for a day or so,” replied Morley.
“He seems fine, and he wants to go to school.”
“I told you what the doctor said, for God’s sake!” snapped Morley.
“Take it easy. What about your work?”
“I can work at home for a day . . . you know, telecommute. No big deal,” answered Morley, trying to conceal his stress.
“Okay then, I’ll see you guys tonight. Might be a little late,” said Lorraine, pecking her son’s cheek and dashing out.
“I’m hungry, Daddy,” moaned Tyler.
“Do you want ketchup on those alligator toes?” asked Morley, removing a box of cereal from the cabinet.
“No, cinnamon,” replied Tyler.
“How about we put it on a piece of toast to go with your Cheerios?”
Morley sat across the table and watched while his son ate his breakfast. As he sipped his coffee, it occurred to him that his bladder was about to burst. He had not peed since returning to his son’s bedroom late last night.
“Be right back, ” he said. “We’ll play some games later, okay?”
“Yay,” answered Tyler, gobbling his breakfast.
“Whoa, slow down, sport. You’ve got to chew everything.”
When Tyler complied, Morley headed for the bathroom. As soon as he was out of his son’s sight, he could feel the tears returning.
“God!” he moaned over and over again, while starring at himself in the bathroom mirror.
His dark reverie was suddenly broken by a crashing sound.
“Oh, Jesus!” he yelped, and ran to the kitchen where he found his son on the floor clutching at his throat.
It was immediately obvious to Morley that his son was choking. He lifted him and began the Heimlich Maneuver. For several minutes he applied the technique, but his son was unresponsive.
“God! God! God!” he bellowed, reaching for the phone and dialing 911.
“While he awaited help, he continued to pump his son’s chest while the child’s body hung limply in his father’s arms.
A half hour later, Tyler Benoit was declared dead at the hospital.
* * *
In the dark days that followed Tyler’s funeral, the recriminations from Morley’s wife reached a crescendo.
“He should have gone to school. You were supposed to be watching him. How could you let him choke to death on a piece of toast, for Christ’s sake?”
As the months went by, Lorraine’s resentment at her husband over the death of their son grew, adding to the utter devastation Morley already felt. By year’s end, the tension between them seemed to lessen, although Morley’s depression held fast. On New Year’s Eve, as the Benoits watched the annual celebration in Times Square on television, Lorraine dropped what felt like a bomb to Morley.
“Let’s have another child,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.
Morley was speechless. There was no way he would risk ever loving another human being as he had loved his son. To him the idea of bringing another child into the world was anathema. He would never be able to look in the child’s eyes.
“I can’t . . . I just can’t,” he replied, to his wife’s chagrin.
“Why not?” she replied, her mood darkening.
“Look, I can’t go through that again. I’m already dead inside.”
“ Well, I’m not, and I want another child. It’s the only thing that’s going to make this marriage work,” said Lorraine, perturbed.
“I’m sorry,” replied Morley, walking away.
It came as little surprise to Morley when he was served with divorce papers shortly after Lorraine had moved out of their house. For him it was the last blow in a life that had taken a terrible turn. In less than eight months, his existence had become a hell. Every day grew more desolate to him than the previous. Although he eventually resumed his career, he had to feign interest in it and the people he worked with. In the evenings and weekends, he sequestered himself in a small studio apartment. Ultimately, the few friends he had retained following his divorce saw less and less of him, until he was no longer playing any part in their lives.
The only thing remaining of enduring value in Morley’s life was the picture of his long-deceased son. He cared about little else, and the prospect of seeing death in another person’s eyes no longer haunted him. From his bleak perspective, it didn’t matter. There is no one left to care about anyway. Everyone I loved is gone or dead.
Morley moved through his days as if in a trance while the time slowly ticked away. Then something happened that finally provided him solace.
Catching sight of his own reflection, he realized that his tortured existence was about to end. For the first time he was grateful for what had always been a curse to him.
Good, he thought. Good.