Title: Oasis - Ch. 16/??
Character: Major Edward Beck
Prompt: Table 3, #19 - Nightmare
Warnings : Spoilers for pretty much everything that's ever happened in the series may lie within.
Word count: 358
Disclaimer/Claimer: I do not own nor am I affiliated with Jericho or CBS or any of the other PTB in relation to the show (although if anybody has a Major Beck just kickin' around with nothing to do...send him my way!). No infringement is intended. I'm just taking the characters out to play, and will do my best to show them a very, VERY good time. ;)
A/N1: Words in red are Beck's thoughts as he's writing; not what was actually sent.
July 19, 2007
It's night, and the moon is shining, and I'm thinking of Georgette and Abbey. Of you. Of Mom and Dad and Dulcie.
I once wrote that I felt the need to write to all of you – to speak to all of you. The sad truth is that I've only been able to write to you. You're the only one I can write to. I've tried. I've picked up the pen; I've written a name. I've sat at my desk, pen in hand, to write to Georgette – and I have nothing to say.
Deep inside, I know she's dead. I've known for months. She's dead, and there's no hope that she will ever see any letters I write.
And what could I say?
I miss you? I love you? I do, and I do.
But she's never coming back.
I have nothing I can say - except good-bye, and I've already said good-bye. In too many ways to count.
I also know that if Georgette is dead, then chances are very good that Abbey is dead as well. The thought -
As much as I would like to write to the others, to our sister like she's busy covering some political scandal, to our parents like they're at home in Philadelphia, to Georgette like she's waiting for me to come home, to Abbey like she's playing in the backyard – they're dead. No matter how much I hope this is only a nightmare, and I'll wake up and you'll all be there, safe and sound –
I know everyone's dead.
I know you were in New York. I know New York was saved. I know your skills and your rank, and the need in the East for military men must be just as acute, if not more so, than here in the West. I'm not sure about you, so I choose to hope, to go on as if I know you're alive, and I'll continue to do so until I have to stop hoping, until I have proof that you're dead, too.
Like the rest of them.
We'll be at Santa Fé tomorrow.