Fatal Affection, Bitter End

The rain hammered against the school bus windows, mimicking the frantic beat of my heart. My estranged wife, Susan, was screaming, trying to drag our brilliant daughter, Emily, off the bus and into the deluge, all for Mark Johnson, a man in his forties who had failed the college entrance exam for twenty years straight. This was his "lucky year," Susan shrieked.

A cold dread washed over me; this had happened before. In a life I no longer lived, my hesitation had allowed Susan to pull Emily off the bus, costing Emily her future. Mark, predictably, failed again and then jumped from a bridge. A year later, Susan had poisoned me at Emily' s graduation party, cursing, "You ruined him! You stole his destiny!"

I saw the memory, not as a dream, but as a prophecy. There would be no hesitation this time. I grabbed Susan' s arm, my grip like iron, pulling her away from Emily. "You are not ruining our daughter' s life," I bit out.

Enraged, Susan slapped Emily across the face, silencing the bus. Just as parental anger was about to explode, the bus driver' s radio crackled: "Route 7 bridge compromised... route to exam center blocked. Indefinitely." Panic erupted, but Susan, oblivious, declared to Mark, "It' s destiny! The universe is making way for you!"

The bus became a pressure cooker. Insults turned to shoves. Mark and Susan were caught in a pathetic brawl in the pouring rain. After checking on Emily, I calmly called the Mayor' s office.

"This is Professor David Miller," I stated, "Your office has confirmed emergency transport. Helicopters. To airlift the students from your location to the exam center." Hope surged through the bus. "Of course, that' s just for the students on the school' s official roster," I added, low enough for just a few to hear. "Any private applicant, like him, would have to arrange payment for a private charter. Astronomically expensive."

The helicopters arrived. Susan, attempting to push Mark to the front, was informed of the $200,000 emergency fee for private applicants. Her jaw dropped. Mark, realizing his entire savings were about that much, asked for his card. Susan stammered, "I used it... I bought you this lucky jade pendant! It cost $300,000!" Just then, a jeweler observed, "That looks like a fake... worth maybe $200."

"You idiot!" Mark screamed, grabbing Susan. "You spent my life savings on a piece of glass?" A police officer moved in. Susan, hysterical, begged me for a loan. I offered a loan agreement: $200,000 at 20% daily compounded interest, her house as collateral, due in 30 days. With the last helicopter preparing to lift off, she signed. Mark scrambled on board.

Minutes later, a new announcement: "Floodwaters at Route 7 bridge have receded faster than expected. Road reopened. Ground transport can now proceed." Susan, standing alone in the rain, crumpled. She had signed away her future for a now-unnecessary twenty-minute helicopter ride. This was only the beginning.

The rain hammered against the windows of the school bus, a relentless drumming that matched the frantic beat of my heart. It had been like this for three days, a storm that had turned our city into a series of islands, severing roads and flooding streets.

Inside the bus, it was chaos.

"Get off the bus, Emily! Now!"

My estranged wife, Susan, was screaming, her face contorted with a fanaticism I knew all too well. She was trying to drag our daughter, Emily, down the steps and into the deluge.

Emily, my brilliant, hardworking daughter, clutched her seat, her knuckles white. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the rain that blew in through the open door.

"Mom, no! I can' t! The exam is everything!"

"It' s everything for Mark, too!" Susan shrieked, her voice raw. "This is his year! His lucky year!"

I looked past her to the man standing in the rain, Mark Johnson. He was in his forties, his face a pathetic mask of hope. For twenty years, he had failed the college entrance exam. Twenty years. And for twenty years, Susan had been his cheerleader, his enabler, his everything.

This bus was a specialized transport, the only vehicle the school district could arrange to get students from our flooded neighborhood to the exam center. Emily had earned her spot. Mark was just... Mark.

A cold dread, sharp and familiar, washed over me. This had all happened before.

In a life I no longer lived, I had hesitated. I had tried to reason with Susan. She had succeeded in pulling Emily off the bus.

The result was a catastrophe. Emily missed her chance. Mark, of course, failed again. Consumed by his failure, he jumped from a bridge.

And Susan? At Emily' s belated graduation party, a year later, she had served us a special celebratory toast. The poison was swift. As my vision blurred and my lungs burned, her last words were a curse.

"You ruined him! You stole his destiny!"

The memory was not a dream. It was a promise of what would happen if I failed.

This time, there would be no hesitation.

A surge of pure, cold rage propelled me forward. I grabbed Susan' s arm, my grip like iron.

"Let her go," I said, my voice dangerously low.

She spun around, her eyes wide with shock. "David! What are you doing? This is for Mark! We have to help him!"

"You are not ruining our daughter' s life," I bit out, pulling her away from Emily.

Other parents on the bus, already on edge, started shouting.

"What is wrong with that woman?"

"Her daughter earned that seat! Get her out of here!"

Susan, enraged at being thwarted, turned her fury on the closest target. She lunged at Emily and slapped her, hard, across the face.

The crack of the slap silenced the bus for a second. Emily cried out, stumbling back, her hand flying to her cheek where a red mark was already blooming.

Just as the dam of parental anger was about to break, a voice crackled over the bus driver' s radio.

"All units, be advised. The main bridge on Route 7 is now compromised due to floodwaters. I repeat, the route to the downtown exam center is blocked. Indefinitely."

Panic erupted.

Students started to cry. Parents yelled at the driver, demanding answers he didn' t have.

Through it all, Susan was oblivious. She looked at Mark, a triumphant, crazed smile spreading across her face.

"You see, Mark? It' s destiny! The universe is making way for you!"

The bus became a pressure cooker of despair. The radio announcement had snuffed out the last ember of hope.

"We' re not going to make it!" a boy in the front wailed, burying his face in his hands.

His mother, a woman in a prim business suit, looked like she was about to explode. "A whole year of tutoring! Wasted!"

Susan, instead of showing an ounce of shame for the scene she' d caused, turned to Mark and hugged him tightly.

"Don' t you worry, Mark," she cooed, stroking his wet hair. "It' s just a little setback. Your lucky year can' t be stopped by a little water."

That was the final straw. The collective anger of the other parents, which had been simmering, finally boiled over.

"A little setback?" a large man roared, pointing a thick finger at Susan. "You crazy woman! You were trying to kick a kid off this bus, and now none of them can go!"

"It' s his fault too!" another woman screamed, jabbing her finger towards Mark. "Look at him! He' s old enough to be our father, still trying to get into college! What a loser!"

The insults turned into shoves. The large man pushed Mark, who stumbled backward into Susan. Another parent grabbed Susan' s hair. Mark, trying to protect her, threw a clumsy punch and missed, falling into the mud.

It was ugly. A pathetic, desperate brawl in the pouring rain.

I watched for a moment, letting the chaos serve as a small, bitter appetizer. I saw Susan get knocked to the ground. I saw Mark curl up as a foot swung towards his side. It was enough.

"Stop!" I yelled, my voice cutting through the noise with professorial authority.

The crowd paused, turning to look at me.

I checked on Emily first, making sure she was okay. Her cheek was red and swollen, but she was more scared than hurt. I squeezed her shoulder gently.

"It' s going to be okay, sweetie. I promise."

Then I took out my phone. I ignored the mud-caked, bruised figures of Susan and Mark. I dialed a number I had for the Mayor' s public liaison office, a contact I' d made after serving on a city-wide educational committee.

"This is Professor David Miller," I said, keeping my voice calm and firm. "I' m on the district bus for the college entrance exam with about thirty students. The bridge on Route 7 is out. These kids have worked their entire lives for this day. You need to do something."

I put the phone on speaker. The voice on the other end was flustered but professional. After a tense minute on hold, he came back.

"Professor Miller, the Mayor has been briefed. We' re dispatching emergency transport. Helicopters. They will airlift the students from your location to the exam center."

A wave of relief and joyous shouts swept through the bus. Hope, impossibly, was back.

Susan, staggering to her feet with Mark' s help, actually had the audacity to preen.

"You see?" she announced to anyone who would listen, a trickle of blood running from her lip. "I made this happen! If I hadn' t made a scene, the city would have just let these kids fail! You should be thanking me!"

A few parents just stared at her in disbelief.

One of them, the mother in the business suit, approached me, her face etched with concern. "Professor, this is amazing, but... will we have to pay for this? An emergency helicopter?"

I gave her a reassuring smile. "The Mayor' s office has confirmed the city will cover the cost for all registered student examinees."

Then, I lowered my voice, just enough for her and a few others to hear, but making it sound like a casual clarification.

"Of course, that' s just for the students on the school' s official roster. Any private applicant, like him," I nodded subtly toward Mark, "would have to arrange payment for a private charter. An emergency flight like that, on a day like this... I imagine it would be astronomically expensive."

The mother' s eyes widened in understanding.

Unaware, Susan was still embracing Mark in the rain, their faces alight with deluded dreams of his imminent, glorious success.