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Before I Wake
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Before I Wake

4.2 7
by Robert J. Wiersema

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After an unthinkable tragedy happens, an unbelievable miracle begins. . . Three-year-old Sherry is the adored only child of Simon and Karen Barrett. But when Sherry is critically injured in a hit-and-run accident, the fault lines in the Barretts's marriage begin to show. As her parents' marriage falls apart, it is discovered that Sherry has miraculous healing


After an unthinkable tragedy happens, an unbelievable miracle begins. . . Three-year-old Sherry is the adored only child of Simon and Karen Barrett. But when Sherry is critically injured in a hit-and-run accident, the fault lines in the Barretts's marriage begin to show. As her parents' marriage falls apart, it is discovered that Sherry has miraculous healing powers.

Meanwhile, the guilt-stricken driver of the truck attempts suicide--but is unable to die. Henry Denton instead finds himself in a place of darkness, somewhere between this world and the next, invisible to all but a group of mysterious and downtrodden men. Haunted by his shame, Henry struggles to understand this mysterious limbo.
As word of Sherry's powers spread, her parents must decide how best to shelter their daughter and help the many sick and dying who are drawn to her side. At the same time, a larger battle is brewing-- one that has been raging for two thousand years, and one that might yet claim the lives of Sherry and her family.

Robert J. Wiersema's brilliant debut novel sheds light on the inner lives of characters struggling against tragedy, who find each other and themselves in the darkness. Before I Wake reveals the power of forgiveness, and the true nature, and cost, of miracles.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

“[An] intriguing supernatural thriller in which a sudden tragedy befalls a family and strange, wondrous events take place in its wake . . .” —Seattle Post-Intelligencer

“Wiersema provides a deep thriller that will keep his audience wondering until the revelatory final confrontation.” —The Midwest Book Review

“Wiersema threads the supernatural throughout a novel grounded in domestic conflict and tragedy . . Intriguing.” —NY Daily News

“An intelligent, contemplative supernatural thriller replete with well-rounded characters, artless dialogue and a plot that, while imbued with the unexplained, develops organically, revealing its secrets at just the right pace . . . an engrossing story of flawed but genuinely good people who must bear up under the stress of loss, betrayal, unwarranted miracles and unconventional spiritual warfare . . . an engaging, emotionally resonant read.” —Publisher's Weekly

Before I Wake is a stunning debut. Robert Wiersema's novel is original, thought-provoking and downright wonderful.” —Michael Connelly, New York Times #1 bestselling author of The Closers

“Riveting. . . grips the reader in a chokehold on page one and doesn't let go until the very last line. . . . Wiersema's story is utterly fearless, right to the very end. It never shies away or backs down from its questioning of faith, theology, morality and mystery. . . a unique, spellbinding, and ultimately uplifting gem.” —The Globe and Mail

Before I Wake provocatively dances along the lines between faith and science, life and death.” —Andrew Pyper, author of Lost Girls and The Wildfire Season

New York Times #1 bestselling author of The Closer Michael Connelly
Before I Wake is a stunning debut. Robert Wiersema's novel is original, thought-provoking and downright wonderful.
Publishers Weekly

In this impressive debut, Wiersema crafts an intelligent, contemplative supernatural thriller replete with well-rounded characters, artless dialogue and a plot that, while imbued with the unexplained, develops organically, revealing its secrets at just the right pace. In the novel's opening pages, three-year-old Sherry Barrett, an only child, is rendered comatose in a hit and run accident. What follows could have been a typical thriller full of cartoonish villains and escalating peril; it also could have been a treacly fairy tale about God's miraculous healing power. Happily, Wiersema steers clear of these well-traveled roads and, by way of multiple first-person narratives, tells an engrossing story of flawed but genuinely good people who must bear up under the stress of loss, betrayal, unwarranted miracles and unconventional spiritual warfare. Particularly well-imagined is the purgatory of sorts that Henry, the truck driver, must endure after he fails to come forward after the accident. Reminiscent of Wim Wenders's film Wings of Desire, Henry's nature, longings and environs paint a poignant picture of souls in need of redemption. While some readers may find one of the novel's final revelations less original than the rest of the story, Wiersema gets nearly everything else right, and the result is an engaging, emotionally resonant read. (May)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Kirkus Reviews
A curious novel blending family drama and supernatural events. Tragedy strikes when Karen Barrett and her three-year-old daughter, Sherry, are hit by a truck. Karen's injuries are minor, but Sherry sustains a head trauma that leaves her in a coma. As Sherry languishes in a hospital bed, pronounced brain-dead and about to be taken off life support, the driver that struck her faces his own life-or-death decision. Wracked with guilt, Henry wanders the city, abandoning the idea of his own wife and children, until he finds himself at the edge of a cliff. Something happens-he jumps but is held back by the hand of God or fate or some otherworldly force. He then becomes part of a legion of other ghost-like immortals (led by a man calling himself Tim) who study in the library at night, attempting a kind of penance. Meanwhile, Sherry, able to live without life support, is brought home, where now-single Karen (husband Simon left her shortly after the accident, moving in with another woman) cares for her with the help of retired nurse Ruth. Having attended Sherry for a few months, Ruth discovers that her painful arthritis has gone away. Suspecting Sherry may have healing powers, she invites her terminally ill sister over, and after a single visit, her lung cancer goes into in remission. Soon, news of Sherry's abilities has spread across the city and beyond, with pilgrims lining up for a chance to touch the holy child. A man calling himself Father Peter (with ancient connections to Tim) threatens the Barretts, accusing them of blasphemy, and not long after, protesters are also in front of their house menacing the fractured family with taunts and random acts of violence. To Wiersema's credit, he's ableto easily unify the family drama with the startling nature of Sherry's powers-it is only at the end, when Father Peter and Tim (their true identities revealed) battle it out for cosmic justice, that the author threatens to tip the balance. An engaging and unusual story-a debut with promise. Agent: Anne McDermid/Anne McDermin and Associates Ltd.

Product Details

St. Martin's Press
Publication date:
Edition description:
First Edition
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
5.40(w) x 8.20(h) x 1.00(d)

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

"Jubilee, this is A32. We have two, repeat two, en route. Hit and run. ETA four minutes. Clear."

"Copy A32. Please advise condition. Clear."

"Copy Jubilee. Advise one adult female. Some bleeding. Shock. Holding stable. Clear."

"Copy A32. Advise."

"Copy Jubilee. Advise one female child, three years. Severe head trauma with decreased level of consciousness and spontaneous respirations. Severe bleeding from cranium. Clear."

"Copy A32. Trauma One will meet you at the gate. Clear."

Karen Barrett

Sherry and I were walking to the mall, holding hands.

Hillside Shopping Centre is only a few blocks from the house, and every Wednesday morning in the food court they have clowns and jugglers and musicians for the kids. I had dressed her in her little blue dress, the one with Winnie the Pooh on the front. She had chosen it herself: "My sky blue dress, because it matches the sky." I zipped up the back carefully, so as not to catch any of her wispy hair between the metal teeth. I tickled her gently under the arms as I finished.

Was that the last time I heard her laugh?

Sherry loved the clowns, and the noise of all the other children packed into the food court was like a wall of pure joy. We usually had a snack—a muffin or some french fries—before we walked home, and by the time we got back, it would be nap time for both of us.

It was a beautiful spring day. The sky was a clear, cold blue, but there was no chill to the air. In fact, the air was heavy with warmth and growth and green and flowers as we walked through our neighborhood. We stopped to pet familiar cats, to smell the lilacs just in flower, to pick up stones that weighed down my pockets.

I checked both ways before we stepped into the crosswalk on Hillside. I always do. The street is too wide to take any risks: three lanes in each direction with a concrete median, and the cars and buses just roar through. There's no light at the crosswalk, so I'm always careful to check. Better that we wait a few seconds than take any chances.

We waited for a station wagon to pass from the left, and I saw a truck a good distance away on the right, but it was perfectly safe. I took her small hand in mine.

Perfectly safe.

We walked quickly. Six lanes is pretty far for a three-and-a-half-year-old, but we'd done it plenty of times.

We should have waited at the median.

The next time I looked up, the truck was right there, maybe a hundred meters away. It was old and beat up, red with white fenders. And it was roaring toward us.

I felt her fingers slip from mine. Felt her moving.

"Sherry," I called as she skipped away.

We were in the same lane as the truck, so all we had to do was get to the next lane. It wasn't far. A meter. A meter and a half at most.

I should have picked her up. I don't know why I didn't pick her up.

She turned to look at me.


I watched her pudgy white legs scamper across the pavement, her little white shoes, her little blue dress.

Her sky blue dress.

When I looked up, I could almost see the face of the driver in the truck. He had shifted lanes to go wide around us, weaving into the next lane, the lane in front of us, the lane that Sherry had just quick-stepped into. The roar of his engine blocked out all other noise.

I reached for her, my fingers just brushing her blond hair before the truck pulled her away from me.

I could hear, over the roar of the engine, the sound of her body hitting the bumper, as the truck took her beyond my reach.

I could feel the wake of the truck as it sped past me, as I threw myself toward her. Tried to reach her.

There was a squealing of tires. A scream.

And the next thing I saw was the ceiling of a hospital emergency room.

"Nine-one-one Operator. How should I direct your call?"

"I just killed a little girl. . . ."


"I swerved . . . I swerved around her—"

"Sir, where are you?"

"I'm at the Hillside Mall. . . ."

"Where are you at Hillside Mall, sir?"

"I only looked away for a minute. I checked my mirror. I changed lanes. I swerved, but she—"

"Sir, where are you calling from?"

"I just killed a little girl. . . ."

"Sir . . .



Simon Barrett


I checked the clock on my desk as the two City of Victoria police officers opened the door to my office. Sheila followed them closely, her face tight.

"Mr. Barrett?" asked one of the officers.

A lawyer doesn't usually get unannounced visits from uniformed police, but it does happen, especially when you're handling accidents and personal-injury cases. I would have been more concerned had I been a stockbroker.

I rose from my chair. "How can I help you gentlemen?"

"I wanted to buzz you," Sheila started.

"That's fine, Sheila. Mary . . ."

She was sitting at my work table with the Anderson file.

"We'll finish this up later."

Mary rose to her feet, her eyes darting between the officers and myself. I shook my head slightly. She followed Sheila out the door.


I came around from behind my desk and offered my hand to the officer nearest me. I have learned, from observation and experience, that one person's body position in relation to another is the key to determining seniority. The senior or more significant partner will usually stand just slightly forward from the other or the group. Perhaps just a half step, but enough to be noticeable. Enough to be significant.

The officer whose badge read clement took my hand and shook it. Not much of a grip. His hand was cool and soft in mine.

"What can I help you with?" I asked again.

The officer glanced at his partner, whose badge I couldn't read. That glance unsettled me.

"Mr. Simon Barrett? Of 2718 Shakespeare?" the second officer asked.

"Yes. What is it?"

"I'm sorry to tell you—"


"Sir, there's been an accident. . . ."

"Sherry? Is it Sherry?" I felt for the desk behind me, and leaned my weight against it.

"Your wife and daughter were involved in an accident this morning near the Hillside Shopping Centre," Officer Clement continued. "If you'd like to gather your things, we'll take you down to the hospital. We can explain in the car."

"Is there—?" I fumbled for the words, but I pulled myself together. "I'll have Sheila cancel my appointments."

As I pressed the intercom button and instructed Sheila, the clock read 10:56. Grabbing only my jacket, I followed the officers through the reception area.

Mary was waiting just outside my office door. I didn't make eye contact with her as we passed.

In the shadow of a fast food sign, the man in the black coat watched as the truck struck the child, as the mother fell away from the wheels. He watched, without moving, as cars squealed to a halt, as people rushed from buildings to crowd around the two fallen bodies. He didn't move when the mother screamed, as the sirens built in intensity, as the crowd parted to allow the white-suited medics through to the victims. When they stood up from their kneeling beside the girl, their knees were wet with her blood.

He clenched his Bible in one hand and worried a silver coin with the other. As the ambulance screamed away, lights flashing, the stranger turned and began walking toward the hospital.


At first, I had no idea where I was.

Everything was white, too bright and out of focus. All I could hear was confusion, a blur of voices and echoes. When I tried to rub my eyes clear, my hand tugged and flashed with a sharp pain. An IV line disappeared into my wrist, held with clear tape that pinched my skin.

The emergency room. Sherry.

I was covered with a green sheet but still dressed. There was a tightness around my head that, when I touched it, felt like bandages. My eyes were slow coming into focus.

Green curtains matching the sheet enclosed the bed. Simon was standing just across the steel rail.


"The police came for me. At work."


I tried to struggle to a sitting position, but found myself swooning, tangled in the IV tubing, in the green sheet.

"Don't sit up yet. Lie back." His voice was calm and deliberate, the way it gets when he's upset and trying not to show it.

"Where's Sherry?"

"The doctors just want to be sure . . . Are you okay? They said you struck your head when you fell."

His use of the word struck—so clinical, so precise. Distancing himself, trying not to worry me with whatever is worrying him.

"No. Not me. Sherry. There was a truck. . . ."

He shook his head, and I realized distantly that no part of him was touching me. I wanted him to reach out, to touch my hand, my face.

"There was a second car. . . . The driver saw everything. . . . She called the ambulance from her cell phone."

"Where's Sherry?"

He took a deep breath, and in the pause between my question and his answer I could feel tears forming in my eyes, burning.


Our miracle . . .

That's what Karen has always called Sherry.

Our miracle.

Karen and I spent the first years of our life together struggling not to have children. It was a game for me to remind her to take her pill every evening as we went to bed, as if our continued happiness depended upon us remaining childless. I suppose it did.

We lived through some close calls. Missed pills, missed periods. Midnight talks about what we do if . . . The month in Thailand when we forgot the pills altogether.

Only after I was established with Bradford & Howe did we begin trying to have a child.

I guess we'd always wanted a family—children. It was just a matter of when. We both wanted to be ready, for everything to be perfect. Not when we were both students. Not when her job with the paper was barely putting me through law school and keeping us in tiny apartments.

It was almost a checklist: house bought, car paid for, trips to Europe and Southeast Asia and the Caribbean behind us.

Perfect conditions.

When we started trying, we thought it would just happen, that there would be no complications. Instead, we tried without success for three years.

Thirty-nine periods we didn't want.

Thirty-nine cycles of rising hopes and sudden disappointments, her blood haunting us, black in the blue toilet water.

We both went to the doctor. We were worried that we were getting too old, that our years of putting it off had cost us our only chance to be parents. He examined us, performed a battery of tests.

Nothing seemed to be physically wrong with either of us.

Karen took up yoga. We changed our diets. I gave up coffee and saturated fat. I started running again. We both took up swimming.

And after three years of trying, it worked.

Karen collapsed midway through the seventh month, while covering a story for the paper. Ironically, the story was about a nursery school. The doctor ordered her to bed: high blood pressure and anemia. Continued activity posed a substantial risk to the growing fetus. Child.

Sherilyn was born thirty-three days premature, tiny enough to cup in my hands.

She spent the first seventy-two hours of her life in an incubator. Our only contact was feedings, or momentary caresses of her tiny, soft belly, her silky legs, through the access holes of the Plexiglas box.

Our miracle.

I pushed the memories away.

"She's in surgery. The doctor said that there was severe trauma to her head. There was internal bleeding—" I stopped talking.

Karen seemed smaller than I had ever seen her, face blanched white, almost the same color as the gauze wound around her head. Her blond curls were matted with blood.

"Is she going to be okay?"

I leaned forward, wanting to touch and reassure her, but unsure of where it would be safe to do so.

"They don't know. They'll tell us as soon as they know anything. As soon as she's out of surgery."

Twin tears fell from her eyes, trickled into the green pillow on either side of her face. Her pupils were wide and black, leaving only a sliver of green around the rim.

My cell phone vibrated gently against my ribs. I knew that I wasn't supposed to use the phone in the hospital, but I couldn't turn it off. I couldn't be cut off. I stepped away from Karen's bed to answer it, checking my watch. 11:42.


"Simon, it's me."

I held my hand up to Karen, turned through the green curtains and into the chaos and noise of the emergency room itself.

"Mary, why are you—?"

"Is everything okay?"

I tucked myself into a pay phone cubicle on the wall, my back to the noise and the bustle, my voice dropping. "There's been an accident. Sherry got hit by a car."

"Oh, God, Simon. Is she all right?"

"They don't know yet. She's still in surgery. Karen—Karen's hurt, too. She's okay. She fell. Hit her head. She's okay."

"How are you holding up?"

I shrugged, then realized she couldn't see me. "I'm fine."

"I was worried."

For some reason, the idea surprised me. "Why?"

"It's not every day you get taken away by the police before lunch." She laughed a little, awkwardly. "When will you know more?"

I could feel my shoulders tighten as I realized that I had no idea, that things were completely out of my control. "I don't know. Sherry's still in surgery. We won't hear anything until after that. Even then it will probably be too early to tell."

"But she'll be all right, right?"

"I don't know."

"Are you okay?" Her voice was nearly a whisper.

"I'm okay."

"Let me know if I can do anything? I'll be here, or on my cell."

"I know. Listen, work up Berkman and . . . check the records on Radinger, then call it a day. I'll call you later."

"You can—"

A hand fell onto my shoulder, gripping it tightly. I jumped and turned in a single motion.

Karen had climbed out of bed, wheeled her IV stand into the emergency lobby, and found me. She was still pale, but her cheeks were red from the exertion. Her pale lips mouthed, "Who?"

"The office," I mouthed back. Then, into the phone, "No, nothing that won't keep."

"Is Karen there?" Mary asked.

"I'll be in later to check on things. I left my briefcase—"

"Will I see you? Will you call me?"

"Right. Later, then. Thanks."

Karen was shaking her head. "Not a moment's peace. Not even now."

"They're all just worried. They saw me leaving with the police. Should you be up?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Who was it?"

"Sheila," I lied, taking her shoulder and guiding her to one of the orange plastic chairs.

Copyright © 2007 by Robert J. Wiersema. All rights reserved.

Meet the Author

Robert J. Wiersema has been a bookseller for more than fifteen years. A journalist and reviewer who contributes regularly to many major Canadian publications, he lives in Victoria, British Columbia, with his family.

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Before I Wake 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 7 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I loved this book so much I read it like three times. I still had a few questions and I wish I could discuss them with a book club.
Katie Hosch More than 1 year ago
Easy read, great plot, beautifully told through all of the characters! I LOVED it!!!!!!!!!!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
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harstan More than 1 year ago
The truck slammed the car containing Karen Barrett and her three years old daughter Sherry Barrett the driver failed to stay at the scene of the accident. Karen¿s injuries are minor, but Sherry suffers a head injury that leaves her comatose and surviving on life support. To the amazement of the medical community, a despondent Karen legalizes pulling the plug but the brain dead child lives on her own. Karen¿s spouse Simon deserts his wife and child moving in with another woman. Nightmares even when awake haunt the hit and run truck driver Henry. He is so depressed over what he caused and compounded by fleeing he considers suicide. Unable to cope he leaps off a cliff, but instead of dying in the abyss, some force holds him safely back on the ledge. He joins the legion of ghostly immortals led by Tim. Karen and the arthritic wracked nurse Ruth cares for the child. A miracle occurs when the nurse¿s arthritis is cured soon her sister dying from lung cancer visits Sherry and her disease goes into remission. News spread of the miracle worker leading to those seeking a cure from the holy child and those led by Father Peter wanting to kill the blasphemous devil¿s offspring. ---- There are three prime subplots driven by key characters that merge into a great supernatural thriller. Readers will feel the despair that debilitates Karen and the suicidal despondency that haunts Henry even as the tense family drama spins into a miracle worker plot. Robert .J Wiersema provides a deep thriller that will keep his audience wondering until the revelatory final confrontation what is happening with Sherry and Henry and who is Tim and Father Peter? ---- Harriet Klausner