Disclaimer: I don't own 'em!
It's Time1984
Alzada, Montana
Lindsay Monroe was the youngest of 5. She was always being told what to do, where to go, and when to do it. Her single-most hated two-word combination of all time? "It's time."
"Lindsay! It's time to get up! You're going to be late for school." "It's time for dinner! Your friends have to go home!" "Lindsay, it's time for the doctor!"
Everyone was telling her what time it was. And today, as she sat on the faded chintz sofa in her grandmother's parlor, she waited to be beckoned into her grandmother's bedroom. It was there Lindsay first discovered the wonders of makeup, her Mimi lovingly applying blush and lovely-smelling powder to her tiny cheeks. A touch of "Telltale Pink" on her toenails. Her wonderful Mimi – everyone else called her Grandma, only Lindsay had the honor of Mimi. Mimi of the silken hair, remarkably unlined face and brilliant green eyes.
Now Mimi was laying in her bed, sunken, eaten away from the inside by a vicious monster her Mommy and Daddy called cancer. Mommy, Mimi's daughter, was in with her now. Soon, she would call Lindsay in to say good-bye. She closed her eyes as tight as she could, willing the sadness to go away.
"Lindsay."
She forced her eyes open to see her mother's tearstained face as she knelt before her daughter. "Mom?"
Michelle Monroe touched her youngest's face gently. "It's time."
Those words again.
Her feet like lead weights, Lindsay made her way into Mimi's room, the one that used to smell of roses but now held the antiseptic odor of a sick room. Tears sprang into her eyes as threw herself on the weakened figure of her grandma.
"Mimi! Don't go! I love you. You have to see Dr. Scheider. He'll make you all better."
Despite her illness, Elizabeth Lockhart's green eyes still sparkled with warmth for her youngest grandchild. "Sweetheart, Dr. Scheider has done all he can. I need to go see Grandpa."
Grandpa, Mimi's husband, had died before Lindsay was born, but pictures of him were everywhere in the cheerful little house. Sometimes, Mimi even read her the love letters he sent while he was in the war.
"He's in heaven, waiting for me. And we will watch you grow together. We'll just pull up a cloud and peak in on our special girl."
"Not yet, Mimi! I need you here!"
Gently, her grandma lifted her chin until brown eyes met green ones. "Lindsay, honey, it's time." Lindsay closed her eyes tightly, as if they could shut the dreaded phrase out.
Later that day, Elizabeth Lockhart drifted away, and, oddly, according to her mother, she had a smile on her face. Lindsay overheard her telling Daddy about it. "I was sitting with her, and suddenly, her face lit up. 'Drew,' she said. That's what she called my father. 'You've come.' I started to ask her what was wrong, and she was gone."
Lindsay's Daddy had gathered Mommy close. "Maybe your Dad came to get her, sweetheart. At least she's not in pain any more."
"I know, Robert, but I miss her! I didn't want to let her go."
"I know, 'Chelle, but it's time."
From her hidden corner, Lindsay's eyes had narrowed. It's time. Damn those words.
June 27, 1990
Custer County Sheriff's Department
Miles City, Montana
Lindsay distractedly fiddled with the ends of her brown curls in the small room off the main entryway. Her mother and father sat nearby, still looking shell-shocked. Deputy Newblatt had already taken her statement, meted out in fits and starts, punctuated by sobs and comforting hugs from her parents.
Her friends. Kelly, Jessica, Angie. They were all dead. For some reason, she had been spared. The question of why would haunt her for years to come.
They hadn't caught the man – the one with dark hair and dead eyes that shot all her friends in cold blood – but Lindsay prayed they would. The worst had been when the other parents had started arriving. Jessie's mom had literally fainted, her dad helplessly trying to help her in the midst of his own powerful grief. Kelly's parents just screamed. She had never heard a man scream before. She hoped it was the last time.
Angie's mom had been the worst. She took it almost calmly – Lindsay's mom would later say she was in shock. Then, she had turned to Lindsay. "Why are you here? Why aren't you dead? Why aren't you laying there in that morgue next to my baby? Did you know him? WHY AREN'T YOU DEAD?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
Finally, a couple of deputies had pulled her away, leaving Lindsay shaking with fear and grief. Her mom had gently explained that in particular, this was devastating to Angie's mom, who was alone. Angie was her only child, and her husband had left years ago.
Now Lindsay waited for Deputy Newblatt to come back. He needed her official identification. The building also housed the Cascade County Coroner's office, and Lindsay needed to identify the body of Maggie Littleton, the out-of-towner who was working at Muskie's for the summer.
The deputy had promised them Maggie would be covered, and look as if she was sleeping, but Lindsay, who had heard her scream from the dank little bathroom, knew this wasn't possible. On one hand, she wanted to get it over with. On the other hand, an irrational part of her felt that if she didn't ID Maggie, she wasn't really dead.
For now, she had to wait. Wait for those dreaded words to come again.
Suddenly, the door opened and Deputy Newblatt, with his acne-scarred face and nervous manner (he was only 2 years older than her brother Bobby) came in, hitching his belt and taking a deep breath.
"The coroner's ready for you, Miss Monroe." He coughed.
Don't say it.
"It's time."
TO BE CONTINUED