The world around him whirled like a Category 5, steel beams turning to snow, Graham's face reforming and his body shrinking. Clara -- was that really Clara -- started to fade, her voice more distant than before.
"Graham, our last night together . . . well . . . I'm pregnant," were the last words he heard as the tunnel engulfed him.
The pull was strong, sucking Graham down into a wet, dark,
deep hole until the light once again appeared, accompanied by the wail of a baby -- his wail. Graham fought his way back up the tunnel to see Clara again, to hold her, to tell Christmas Never to shove the offer because what he really wanted was to spend his last day alive with her.
Two voices, so similar, called him from each end of the tunnel, one pleading "Graham!" while the other cooed "Mark."