James Nelli is a retired business executive and the author of the short stories, Finding Refuge, and The Timely Death of Peter Usher. Finding Refuge was previously published in The Creativity Webzine, and The Timely Death of Peter Usher was previously published at Spillwords.com. He has learned that you never know how strong and creative you are until it’s the only option. He attended the University of Illinois, where he received a degree in economics, and then to graduate school at Northwestern University, where he received his MBA in Finance and International Business. His travels have taken him to many areas of the world. These travels have served as a basis for many of his stories. Writing fiction has been a passion for him, and in recent years his writing has specialized in murder mystery novels and poignant short stories that elicit emotional and thoughtful responses. His short stories have been published in a variety of online and print publications. He and his wife live in Southern California, along with a lifetime collection of books.  

Finding Refuge

An ambulance rushed through the ice-covered streets of Lincoln Park in Chicago. Its sirens blaring and lights flashing as it pierced the heavy late evening snowfall and cast ghostly shadows on the snowbanks lining the roadways. In the back of the ambulance, Philip Taramino lay on a stretcher, his face ashen, beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, and the oxygen mask covering his face pulsated violently as he struggled to breathe. Philip, an otherwise healthy 57-year-old, had suffered a heart attack. His wife of 26 years, Scarlett, sat next to him, concerned, but strangely unemotional. She was numb to the reality going on around her. The harsh glare of the lights inside the ambulance illuminated the actions of the two paramedics who worked frantically to stabilize the nearly lifeless body of Philip Taramino. They had only limited success, but their Priority 1 call to the staging nurse at the hospital had put the emergency room staff on alert. 

When the frantic ride ended at the entrance of the emergency room at St. Joseph’s hospital, the rear doors of the ambulance swung open, and the paramedics swiftly transferred the gurney carrying Philip into the hands of waiting hospital staff. An incoming heart attack victim was a hectic, high-stakes environment where time was of the essence. The staff was ready. Scarlett was not. 

After Scarlett watched helplessly as her husband disappeared behind the double doors leading into the resuscitation area of the emergency room, the paramedics helped her register with the triage nurse and then led her into the emergency room waiting area. 

“Where are they taking Philip?” Scarlett demanded. Her numbness had disappeared. 

“He is being taken to the resuscitation care unit,” said the paramedic. 

“I must see him!” Her comments gained attention as her voice rose above the murmurs in the crowded waiting room. 

“ You’ll have to wait for the attending ER physician. Please have a seat. He’ll be out to see you shortly.” 

The emergency room waiting area tested all of Scarlett’s senses. The room was a discord of unique yet related sounds—a chorus of murmurs, stifled cries, and the occasional wail of pain. The waiting area also had a distinct aroma. It was a disparate combination of antiseptic cleaners, lingering odors from medications, and the comforting scent of coffee brewing nearby. The area was bathed in a sterile fluorescent glow. This light was cool and clinical, devoid of any warmth or comfort. The unforgiving light illuminated the other faces in the waiting room with stark clarity, their emotions exposed as they grappled with hope, fear, and the unknown. Scarlett sat in this light on the edge of an uncomfortable chair. Her hands trembled and ringlets of her red hair fell across her face as she clutched a tissue and wiped away the remnants of tears staining her cheeks. She had arrived at the emergency room in a panicked rush, her heart pounded with regret and fear. Her mind replayed the events that led to this moment. An intense argument with her husband at their home had escalated quickly, their emotions spiraled out of control. Harsh words were exchanged, doors slammed, and then, the unimaginable happened — Philip clutched his chest in pain, gasped for breath, and collapsed lifeless onto the floor. Scarlett’s 911 call was a reflective blur. 

In the waiting room, Scarlett found herself surrounded by the echoes of others’ pain. Tension filled the air and caused a collective unease that was impossible to ignore. It was something she had never experienced before. Each person’s face shared a story of their own, their eyes filled with a mix of anguish and resilience. Strangers exchanged short glances, a silent camaraderie in the face of the unknown. A camaraderie Scarlett was unable and unwilling to take part in. It felt suffocating.  

It was 2am in the heart of Chicago, and the activity in the ER pulsated around Scarlett with a unique energy—a delicate balance between chaos and order. Gurneys wheeled by as their rubber wheels squeaked in protest against the polished linoleum floors. Patients, some conscious and others barely clinging to consciousness, were whisked away to examination rooms, their bodies a mosaic of injuries and ailments. The backdrop of the emergency waiting room was a canvas of diversity—a tapestry of lives entwined by fate. A homeless man, shivering and malnourished, sought refuge from the biting cold. An elderly couple held hands tightly, their years of love and devotion etched upon their weathered faces. A young child, tears streaming down her cheeks, clung to her mother’s embrace, seeking solace and reassurance. This was not Scarlett’s world. It was her nightmare. 

A doctor entered the waiting room from the resuscitation care unit and approached Scarlett. “Mrs. Taramino, I’m Dr. Jason Victory. I’ll be leading the team taking care of your husband tonight. I’m so sorry to tell you this, but your husband’s condition is critical. He suffered a severe heart attack, and despite our efforts, his chances of survival are difficult to predict.” 

Scarlett’s breath caught in her throat as she struggled to process the devastating news. “No… Please, you must save him. We had an argument, but I never meant for this to happen. We have these kinds of arguments all the time.” 

Dr. Victory nodded; his voice filled with compassion. “I understand how difficult this must be for you. We’re doing everything we can to stabilize him, but I want you to prepare yourself for the worst. We’ll do our best, Mrs. Taramino. I’ll keep you updated on his condition.” Dr. Victory turned and disappeared through the double doors. 

As Scarlett waited, the weight of her guilt settled heavily on her shoulders. She closed her eyes, desperately grasping for any flicker of hope amidst the darkness. Memories flooded her mind—the laughter, the shared dreams, their collaboration on the Magnificent Mile art gallery they owned together, and their struggle with a marriage that was headed toward a destructive transactional relationship. Little by little this struggle had squeezed out the emotion in their marriage and replaced it with power plays and confrontations. Like a contract, one person only got as much as they were willing to give to the other. Scarlett and Philip seemed headed in that direction.  

Silence hung heavy in the room as Scarlett grappled with the impending loss. She could feel the weight of uncertainty pressing upon her, threatening to shatter her resolve. Her mind wandered to the memories she and Philip had shared. But as she reflected on their tumultuous life together, her mood suddenly changed to regret, and her whispers got loud enough for others to hear. “How could this happen? This is my fault.” More murmurs.  

The next few hours turned into an agonizing eternity, but Dr. Victory finally appeared from behind the double doors. His eyes met Scarlett’s, conveying a mix of sorrow and compassion. Her heart raced as she stood up, her voice shaky. “Doctor, how is he? He can’t die, not now, I need him.” 

Dr. Victory sighed, his voice gentle. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Taramino. Despite our best efforts, your husband’s body couldn’t withstand all the damage caused by the severe heart attack, but he is alive and responding to medication. He is also under sedation, and we’ve moved him to a private room in the coronary intensive care unit on the fourth floor. The next few hours will be critical to his recovery.”   

Scarlett’s world shattered in an instant. The weight of her regret bore down on her, consuming her soul. She collapsed back into the chair, her body wracked with grief. Scarlett struggled to process the devastating news. “Please, you must save him. We had an argument, but I never wanted this to happen.” 

Dr. Victory continued to describe Philip’s condition to Scarlett, but she heard nothing. All she could do was drop her head into her trembling hands, lean forward, and mumble in exasperated breaths, “Why did this happen?” Scarlett then forcefully interrupted Dr. Victory’s prognosis, “I want to see Philip. Now!” 

“Of course. That’s why I’m here. Please follow me. I understand your son is already with him.” 

“My son? Philip and I don’t have any children! What is going on?” Scarlett said in disbelief.  

Realizing something wasn’t right, their pace quickened as they hurried down the hallway and entered the elevator up to the fourth floor. They exited the elevator and Dr. Victory led Scarlett into the coronary intensive care unit to the entrance of Philip’s room. Inside the room was a young man, no older than 35, dark hair with an athletic build standing at the foot of Philip’s bed. 

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” asked Scarlett in both an irritated and accusatory tone.  

“I’m Connor Byrne, Mrs. Taramino” 

“Are you a friend of Philip’s? 

“Yes.” 

There was a pause before Scarlett spoke. “How did you hear about Philip’s condition so quickly?” 

“You sent a text this evening to our mutual friend Colleen O’Day about Philip, and she let me know what hospital Philip was at and what had happened.” 

 “Well, it’s good to see Philip’s friends supporting him. He will need all the support he can get.” 

“Philip does need all our support, but I don’t think you understand Mrs. Taramino. I’m Philip’s friend, but I’m also his refuge.”  

“What do you mean, his refuge? Philip never mentioned you to me,” declared Scarlett in an exasperated tone. 

“I met Philip last year at an art exhibit you had at your gallery covering Irish history. That was the exhibit where you criticized Philip in front of me and a group of other patrons for some silly error in the program that he had nothing to do with. The only one who thought it was important was you. I met with Philip later during the exhibit to boost his spirits and to get to know him better. That is where our friendship began. Ever since then, Philip has come to me when he needed help and support.”

“So, you’re my replacement?”

“Not a replacement, Mrs. Taramino. A mental refuge. A non-judgmental space where Philip could share concerns, express feelings, seek advice, and help him navigate the challenges of your marriage. He was trying very hard to understand your point of view and bridge the growing emotional gap in your relationship. Philip was doing this because he believed you and the marriage were worth saving. He was always a determined man, but he lacked the self-confidence to repair the marriage himself. That’s why he needed an understanding friend like me, a refuge, that he could rely on to get it done. Colleen helped too. Philip and I vowed to keep our friendship private, but Colleen found out about it and has supported my friendship with Philip for the last few months. She agreed with its goal and promised to keep the relationship private at Philip’s request. I hope you understand.” 

Scarlett glanced toward Connor, nodded her head in agreement, and signaled her acceptance of what she had just been told was true. Scarlett moved closer to Philip’s bedside and placed her hand on Philip’s cheek. “I now understand what I have to do,” she said. “Philip has shown how much he needs me, and today’s events have made me realize just how much I need him.” She then looked to Dr. Victory for help, and he responded.

“It would be better to move this conversation to my office,” said Dr. Victory. “The nurses have a lot to do to help Philip recover. We should let them do their work.” Everyone agreed. 

As they all left Philip’s bedside and moved into the hallway, no one noticed the shallow sigh of relief or the faint smile that washed across Philip’s face just before he drifted back to sleep satisfied that things had finally changed for the better. 

The Timely Death of Peter Usher

The inside of the church on Manhattan’s Lower East Side was damp and smelled like scented candles and old leather. David stood in the back of the church; his gaze fixed on the mahogany casket at the top of the center aisle. Ribbons of incense floated above the flower draped casket as a group of about 40 mourners individually offered their final goodbyes. A hushed silence enveloped the space, broken only by occasional sobs and muffled whispers. The somber atmosphere encircled David as he struggled to feel sorry for the loss of his ex-friend, Peter Usher. Memories flooded his mind, reminding him of the times they had spent together and the unbreakable trust they had put in each other. However, rather than a heavy ache in his heart, David felt relieved, almost happy, that Peter was finally gone.

As the funeral service progressed, people began to gather in groups offering their personal condolences to Peter’s family. David hesitated for a moment, considering whether to approach the casket. That’s when he noticed Peter’s wife, Rachel, across the room with a small group of mourners. She looked good in black.

Rachel was David’s former lover and the person who had once occupied his heart. They had shared a passionate love that had burned brightly, but eventually the flames had flickered out, leaving them both scarred. It had been years since they last saw each other, and now, here they were reunited under the most unlikely circumstances.

Rachel spotted David and walked over to where he stood as murmurs grew among some of the other mourners in the church who knew David. Without hesitation, she said in an irritated tone, “What are you doing here, David?”

                “Hello Rachel. Sorry for your loss. I’m here to pay my respects to Peter.”

“What are you talking about? You didn’t respect Peter. You haven’t spoken to him in years,” she said in a louder more defiant voice. More murmurs.

A mix of embarrassment and surprise flashed across his face before he answered. “You’re right. I really came here to see you.” His voice was filled with a bittersweet tone.

They stood there for a moment, surrounded by the echoes of their past. The air crackled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. David searched for something meaningful to say, a bridge to reconnect the fragments of their shattered relationship.

“I heard about Peter’s sudden death from your friend Colleen McGuire. That’s when I knew I had to come.”

Rachel nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She and David fell into an uncomfortable silence, with the weight of the situation bringing them closer together. Memories of their time together flooded their minds, both the beautiful and the painful. It was as if time had stood still, the present moment blurring the lines between past and present. Peter’s uninvited invasion into the emotional and physical space left open by David and Rachel’s breakup was viewed by David as a betrayal by a close friend. Rachel had viewed Peter’s actions differently.

Rachel took a deep breath, gathering her courage once more. “David, I… I’m sorry for how things ended between us,” she said, her voice quivering with vulnerability. “I often think about what could have been.”

David’s eyes softened, a hint of understanding in his gaze. “I think about it too,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper as he took a moment to gather his thoughts, searching for the right words. “I think we got lost somewhere along the way,” he confessed. “We stopped communicating openly, and the distance between us grew. We let small disagreements turn into big issues, and it became harder to find common ground. But we can’t change the past.”

“No, we can’t.” Rachel said, her voice tinged with sadness. “I have my share of regrets too. I wish we had fought for what we had. Maybe we could have worked things out. But perhaps we can find some closure, some healing today.”

They stood there, two broken souls sharing their regrets, their hearts laid bare. The funeral proceedings continued in the background, a stark reminder of the fragility and brevity of life. In that moment, they tried to find solace in each other’s presence.

As they watched the others pay their final respects to Peter, a sense of closure washed over them. Their eyes met, conveying an unspoken understanding. Life had led them down different paths, but their love had left an indelible mark on their souls.

As the funeral ended, Rachel and David exchanged bittersweet smiles, acknowledging the shared journey they had been on. They also knew that although their love story had ended, their lives would forever be entwined by the memories they had created together. Rachel and David carried a newfound sense of peace within their hearts, knowing that sometimes, even in the face of loss, there could be a glimmer of healing and closure.

As Rachel turned and began to walk back to the front of the church, David asked her in a quiet voice, “Can I see you tomorrow for dinner?”

Rachel stopped, turned around, walked back to David and whispered in his ear, “Pick me up at 7. Colleen has my address.”