The Beginning

Ch. 49 - The plan

The radiator comes to life with a sharp hiss and her eyes fly open. She reaches across the bed, only to find a cool sheet where he should be. Sitting up, she scans the room and sees him, again, in the chair near the fire, with a pen pressed against his temple. The shock of the cold against her bare feet brings her fully alert when she creeps across the parkay floor.

Now close enough to tag him, she grimaces as she reads the solitary word scribbled on an otherwise blank page  — Jude. Underlined three times.

Shit.

She rubs her nose, takes a deep, pained breath, then steps in front of him. Moonlight pours in from behind, illuminating the thin, worn material of her night shirt and leaving a dark shadow to outline her legs. She curls her fists against her stomach several times, before reaching for his notebook and setting it on the table beside him.

There is no protest this time, only a vacant look.

She squeezes his shoulder, eyebrows knitting together when it elicits no response.

"You don't have to talk. But if you want to, I'll listen."

She studies the dark circles forming under his eyes and wonders how long he's been up, not just tonight, but in all the preceding nights. Laying a hand on his cheek, the warmth of his skin reassures her of the life behind those dull eyes.

He squeezes his lids shut and presses his mouth into a straight line, unable to prevent a soft choking sound from its escape.

She draws him in, cradling his head, and he collapses against her chest.

The heat of his air penetrates her gown, collecting against her skin when he finally releases his breath. His arms tighten around her hips and her cotton gown beneath his eyes grows wet.

Her shoulders slump over his head as she feels his breaths grow heavier and shorter.

"I know," she whispers into the top of his head. "I know. I miss him, too."

Jude *was a product of his own goodness, Sandra remembered blurting out. It was around Christmas, and she was caught off guard in an interview. Clearing her throat, she continued. *"He was too good to be on this Earth, you know? He couldn't step over a homeless person like everyone else, he had to rehabilitate them, give them a new life. And he was incredibly honest. He'd say something that was out there, and I'd be like 'I have to go to my room now and recover from that statement.' On set he'd throw himself on you and say 'I like you so much,' and you never meet people like that. But then I met Keanu..."

When news of Jude's death first broke, Sandra showed up on Keanu's doorstep because no one else would understand. She didn't notice how unnaturally still he was when she first clutched onto him with a caved-in chest and reddened eyes.

"What can I do?" he'd asked as she crumbled in his arms.

He was so serene, almost philosophical. He set aside his own grief to sit with her through hers, until a week later when he crashed.

She wasn't surprised when his anger finally demanded an audience: Anger at the predatory paparazzi taking pictures instead of providing first aid. Anger at whomever introduced him to that deadly speedball combination. More than anything, though, he was angry at himself for missing the signs somehow. He shed tears of fury and guilt, then, as though he alone could have prevented Jude's death.

*On set he'd throw himself on you and say 'I like you so much,' and you never meet people like that. But when I met Keanu, I was like 'Oh my God, this is exactly like Jude.

Jude was never shy about expressing himself: the highs and the lows, the strengths and weaknesses. He was a walking, open wound, unwilling or unable to ignore suffering. He felt it as though it were happening to him.