The Last Account of Mr. Daly

“Sir, the blasts destroyed most of the house, but we recovered what personal belongings we could,” the rescue officer said. His hand clapped down on my shoulder, rattling my frail body. I could barely see him through my glazed-over eyes.

“Uh, yeah. Great,” I murmered, bringing another cigarette to my lips and lighting it.

“Alright, we’re going to leave you now, okay? The shelter staff here is going to take care of you,” he boomed, talking to me like I was stupid. I replied with some kind of grunt, continuing to stare at the sterile white wall ahead of me. There was some rustling and soft conversation. A jingle of keys. I was able to make out “poor old man” and “I don’t know about this one.”

Then a door shut and it was only my daughter and I in the bunker. She sat on the bed across from me, smiling and twirling her curly red hair. She swung her dangling feet back and forth. My cigarette wobbled in my shaking hand, but I continued to puff on it with years of muscle memory. Slowly, my eyes sank down to the items poured out in front of me: a stack of worn photos, a teddy bear, two wedding rings, and a quilt. “Thank god. It’s all here,” I whispered to myself.

“No it’s not,” a tiny voice rang. My eyes shot up to the familiar face in front of me. “Something’s missing! You gotta tell them.” My daughter was whispering to me, concern wrinkling her brow.

“What is it, Katie?” I matched her concern, and it brought me back to reality slightly.

“My necklace!” She threw her hands up in exasperation. I rifled through my memory, confused. Katie had never had a necklace.

“Sweetie, I don’t remember you having a necklace,” I kneaded my forehead and sighed. There was still ash on my skin and my ears rung. Thankfully, there wasn’t a speck on Katie. She began to whimper.

“Please, daddy! You have to find it! You have to find my necklace!” She blubbered, and her pudgy hands clumsily wiped away her own tears.

“Alright, sweetie. Don’t cry. Daddy will ask them.” Groaning, I pushed myself up from the bed and shuffled over to the door, my knobby knees trembling. I peered out the small, barred window at the top of the door. In the hallway, a woman was preparing trays of what looked like MREs. I knocked. “Excuse me, miss? Can you help me?” She glanced back and her eyes widened when they landed on me. For a moment, they darted back and forth between my face and something on the wall outside my door. “Please, my daughter is very upset. She’s crying,” I begged. This appeared to frighten her and she backed away and hurried into another room. A moment later, she emerged with an older woman, to whom she whispered something. The older woman nodded, put on a fake smile, and strided over to me.

“Hello, Mr. Daly. My name is Gretchen. I understand you’re having some trouble.” She was kind, but seemed uncomfortable.

“I don’t know why everyone here looks at me like they just saw a ghost,” I grumbled, “Whatever. My daughter is very upset. She says she’s missing her necklace. Did you all find one, by any chance?”

“Oh,” Gretchen sighed, looking down for a moment. Then she straightened up, cleared her throat, and said, “We’ll certainly look, sir. Give us a moment.”

“Thanks,” I said, and slugged back over to my bed, sitting down painfully. Thoughts swirled in my head. The war. Planes firing nuclear bombs like they were pellets from a BB gun. Infinite technological capabilities, but at what cost? My daughter was almost seven, and this is the world she will have to grow up in. Suddenly, my mind came to a screeching halt. Something wasn’t right. “My daughter is almost seven,” I said aloud, then shook my head. Anxiety began to swallow me like a gaping void. I shot up from the bed and scrambled to the door. This time I began banging on it. “Help! Somebody help, please!” I screamed. A man came jogging down the hall.

“Sir, sir. I need you to calm down and tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

“I don’t know! You tell me what’s wrong. What are you doing to me? What are you doing to my daughter? Where is her necklace? ” I shouted.

“Sir, I don’t know what you’re-” the man began to speak but a feminine hand appeared on his shoulder. He moved aside. It was Gretchen, with her usual stiff smile, but this time with pity in her eyes.

“It’s alright, Mr. Daly. I believe Officer Rupert found your daughter’s necklace. Do you remember him? He spoke to you when you arrived about a month ago.”

“Yes, of course I remember- A month ago? What-” I stammered, but Gretchen hushed me.

“I’m going to open the door now, Mr. Daly. Can you please back away?” she asked. I slowly backed away, steadying myself on the wall across from my bed. I looked down and the bed my daughter had been sitting on had vanished. I fell backward, screaming incoherently.

“Daddy, what’s going on? I can’t find you! Where are you?” I could hear Katie crying for me, but I couldn’t see her anywhere.

“James, come help me lift him onto the bed,” Gretchen called out, still calm and clinical. They lifted my panting, sobbing body onto the bed.

“Mr. Daly, would you like your daughter’s necklace? I think it will help you understand,” Gretchen said, patting my arm. I gained control of my breath and looked down at her extended hand, which held a heart-shaped locket. The letter “K” was expertly engraved on the front. With my ever trembling hands, I unlocked the side and pried it open. Inside sat a tiny bag, sealed at the top. It was full of a soft, gray powder. Katie.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Daly.”