Terminal Regression

by Mallory Hill

  He shrugged. “Uneventful.” He gave me a small, almost embarrassed grin. “I missed you.”

  I got a genuine flutter in my heart and found a place for myself against his barely clothed body. But I could hardly enjoy it. He wasn’t holding me right. I looked up at him.

  “I missed you too. You want to tell me what’s up, or do I have to figure it out myself?”

  He nodded, caving. “Okay… It’s not a big deal, but I threw up earlier. Hence, the shower. I’m pretty sure it passed. I feel a lot better now. But I should probably hold off kissing you for a while. I wouldn’t want you to catch this.” He tried to keep smiling, but I saw his fear. There was nothing contagious about his condition.

  It wasn’t a damaged day. He was supposed to be healthy. He was supposed to have twenty-four hours to recover. That’s what he’d told me. That’s how it’d always been.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed. “It’s starting, isn’t it?”

  “Laura—”

  “Oh my God!”

  It was happening. I never truly believed we’d come to this, but the damage was starting to stick. Soon enough, it’d be permanent. And then it would just be a question of what went first, his mind or his body.

  He took hold of my shoulders. “Laura, I’m fine,” he said firmly. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Lie down!” I ordered, tears filling my eyes and panic settling in my heart.

  He obeyed, trying to appease me. I felt his forehead. There was no fever, but I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  He took my hand. “Please, don’t make this a big deal.”

  I stared at him. “Will, this is your life. Of course it’s a big deal.”

  “Look, for all we know, it was something I ate. There doesn’t have to be a correlation.” He wiped my tears.

  “Will, you have to be all right. You have to be.” I wished I could just force him to heal. I wished I had any power at all to help him.

  I shut my eyes. I hadn’t prayed on the train. I hadn’t begged for a good ending. I’d believed God and His master plan had forgotten about me or just neglected to write me in. It might have actually been months or even years since I’d prayed and had hope that there’d be a result. But I prayed for Will Noble.

  “Hey,” he said gently. “You beautiful thing, will you look at me?”

  I opened my eyes. He tightened his grip on my hand.

  “I swear, I’m not going anywhere. Not while I have you. How could I even think of leaving when I get to love someone like you?”

  I shook my head. Why was he comforting me? He was the sick one. He was the one with the actual problem. I was just being selfish, not wanting to live without him.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Fine. Honestly. It passed, sweetheart.” As if to prove it, he sat up and wrapped his arms around me. Without his shirt, I felt just how thin he was getting. He had a strong frame, but he was hard with scarcely any fat content left. I realized he’d been skipping a lot of meals lately. How could I have been so negligent? How could I have let this happen?

  I kissed his shoulder. And his chest and his neck. I was certain he’d thoroughly cleaned his mouth, but I didn’t want to think about that part of him right now. If I did, I’d only see him bent over the toilet and heaving his guts out all alone for who knows how long.

  That hurt me. Knowing I had to leave him every day to fend for himself. I belonged at his side, helping him through this. It was what I needed, all I was good for.

  But my calling was mortal. If I didn’t act quickly, it would be gone all too soon.

  Chapter 25

  <<<

  I decided it was best to keep any further developments of the plan to myself. Will didn’t need any additional stress, and I knew this little endeavor still didn’t sit well with him. So, outwardly, I let it go. Inwardly, not so much.

  My brain had started mapping this thing out, and I was actually beginning to get somewhere. I figured getting through the tunnels would be the hardest part. Once I was home, I could convince my mom to help, and then the entire artist community would be at my disposal. Mom’s popularity had always made me feel somewhat inferior, but it certainly came in handy when trying to spread a message. The artists were the most reliable gossips known to man, so I was certain we could get the word out in no time.

  From there, it was out of my hands. Hopefully, establishing the existence of Terminal B would be enough to get the people on my side. After all, they’d been lied to for the entirety of their lives. The government deemed them as disposable should they fail to meet an indefinable standard and had casually tossed away the lives of their friends and relatives. Maybe it was just me, but that seemed like cause for a revolution.

  In theory, it was a very simple fix. If I could get both sides of the wall up in arms over this thing, then the only reasonable course of action would be to open up the trains and unite the communities. Of course, as I’d observed time and time again and actively demonstrated myself on numerous occasions, people had a tendency to be anything but reasonable. Trusting an entire civilization to have the same beliefs and opinions as me was pretty idealistic. But at this point, I was getting desperate.

  Will was getting worse. His damaged-day symptoms were beginning to creep into his good days. He didn’t talk very much, and I couldn’t tell whether it was because he was damaged or because he didn’t want to admit how often he got sick while I was at work. I tried to put it out of my head but found it next to impossible. So I developed a system. When I was at home, I devoted my every thought to his health. When I was at work, while he was more than likely spewing out his breakfast if not being deliberately shocked to death, I let the escape plan distract me and give me feeble hope that I actually had a chance at saving him.

  I went to work one morning already exhausted. He was crying again on damaged days. It was becoming harder and harder to console him through the pain. I’d left him asleep, knowing he wouldn’t have the energy to feed himself until several hours after I had to be at work. I wished I could stay home to take care of him, but once he reached the point where he could no longer work, we’d be living on my credits alone. I had to work all the hours I could get.

  I swiped my card outside Grant’s office. He and Mimi were standing in his doorway, arms around each other, casually watching everybody clock in. There was no denying they were back together the way they publically displayed that affection. And, you know, good for them and everything, but why couldn’t my situation resolve itself so easily?

  Will and I had chosen to focus on survival in lieu of resolving our relationship issues, so things were generally uncomfortable between us. Every once in a while, we’d have a nice moment together, usually while reminiscing about our old lives or whenever he felt the need to remind me he loved me. But as his health began to decline, conversation became less and less a part of our daily routine.

  It didn’t seem fair that Grant was given a miraculous recovery. Where was my miracle? Hadn’t I wished and prayed and begged just as hard as I could? Nothing against Grant—I was stoked he was alive—but Will was every bit as deserving of a second chance. I just didn’t understand why the universe would play favorites.

  I tried not to be bitter as they greeted me.

  “Staying in with me?” Mimi asked. She seemed so happy. Even with the whole kids situation going on, she and Grant seemed to have never been better. Of course, I knew neither of them had fully healed; anybody who took the train had some pretty deep psychological drama accompanying whatever they claimed their reason was. But their life was starting to look so normal.

  “Sure,” I said, hoping she’d be chatty enough to drown out my worries.

  “Not so fast,” Grant said. “I need to see you in my office.”

  What was it now? More support group promoting? More questions on the sad details of my persona
l life?

  I groaned. “Why?” I really didn’t want to get into how messy things were getting.

  “Just come on. We’ll be quick.” He gave Mimi a little peck on her cheek, to which she responded with a blush and a playful shove, and the whole thing was just cute as hell and so not fair.

  I sat down in Grant’s office and waited for him to quit gawking after his woman and talk to me.

  “So, what’ll it be?” I asked a little too irritably. “Got a second marriage you want me to fix?”

  He smiled unapologetically and pulled a folder from his desk drawer. “Not this time. Sorry it took so long, but I’ve got it. Every piece of information I’m allowed.”

  I grabbed the folder more eagerly than I’d anticipated. I flipped through various maps and schedules and strange data collectives I lacked the technical skills to understand.

  “Wow,” I said, sort of in awe that my ticket out was there in my hands. “You really came through.”

  “I told you I would. So I checked it out, and I think there’s a pretty good window on Thursday.”

  I looked up at him. “What, this Thursday?”

  He shrugged. “I was under the impression you were in a rush. You do still want to go, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, of course I want to. But there’s Will. He’s dead set against it, and even if I could convince him it’s our best option, I’m not sure he’s well enough for something like this. There’s just a lot to consider.”

  Now that going back seemed so plausible, a whole new wave of worries flooded my brain. If I couldn’t even convince Will, who had absolutely nothing to lose at this point, to ditch his torture sessions for my little expedition, how on earth could I convince a seemingly functional civilization to sacrifice its artificial peace for the sake of a bunch of dead people?

  “You could leave him here,” Grant suggested.

  I pouted like a lovesick puppy. “No, I couldn’t leave him all alone.” The poor thing would get himself lost or starved or even dead without somebody to guide him.

  Grant shrugged. “I’ll watch him. I mean, it’s getting cramped at home now that Mimi’s moved in, but taking care of him might help take her mind off kids.” His face wrinkled up in a sour, almost disgusted expression.

  “Man, you’re really not a baby person, are you? I get that it would be hard, but would it really be the worst thing in the world?” There was a pretty good chance I’d screw everything up and he’d be trapped in Terminal B forever. I hated to think that was the only thing standing in their way of having a family.

  He shook his head. “Believe me, I have my reasons. Look, I really think you should go.” That was surprising.

  “Really?” I asked. “I thought you were skeptical.”

  “I was, but… I don’t know, when you know all the facts about this place, when it’s your job to report how many of your coworkers off themselves each year, when you see people stringing up garden hoses… Terminal B is messed up. It’s like we don’t exist. We’re just this refuse the city had no place for. I only ever left because I thought I was dying. I thought I didn’t have a choice or a chance at a future, and now I do. I made a mistake, and I just want to go back to before.” He’d gotten pretty quiet as the shame set in. Beautiful, rekindled love life or not, I couldn’t help feeling bad for the guy.

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “But you do know it doesn’t change the fact that—”

  “Yeah, I know.” He mustered a smile. “But I can dream, right?”

  So what was I supposed to do? I had everything I needed to actually do something meaningful for once in my life, and what was holding me back? My stupid, wonderful, sick boyfriend.

  He was asleep when I got back that evening, so I slipped the folder under my mattress before it could cause trouble. I sat and watched him for a while, thinking how easy it would be to just get him out of this place. He’d hardly have to move if I timed it right. I could get a truck, drive him to the terminal, we’d hop a train, and that was that. If only I were strong enough to carry him between transports, he wouldn’t even have to be conscious.

  I felt a little prickle of something in my overactive fear centers. He didn’t appear to have moved much since I saw him that morning. And he was like, really, really still. Trembling, I stuck my arm out towards him. My heart was pounding so hard it seemed to rock my entire body. God, what would I do? Not even emotionally, just logistically. What was the procedure for handling this? Because, let’s face it, the emotional procedure would be the complete and total loss of every remaining sensibility I had.

  Mustering my courage, I quickly jabbed my finger into his shoulder. He started with a disoriented shout.

  “Ow! God! What is it?” he demanded once he’d assessed the situation.

  I felt a rush of relief and embarrassment. “Nothing. Just seeing if you were awake.” You know, or alive. Either one.

  Before I could make things worse, I went into the bathroom to calm myself down. Was I getting paranoid? Was it rational that I should be getting paranoid? Someday, it would be real. He wouldn’t wake up, and I’d flip out and just… I mean, honestly, what would I do?

  I got ahold of myself and thought maybe he’d let it go enough that we could have our standard “how was your day” conversation. I knew I needed to voice my concerns sooner or later, but ever the procrastinator, I chose later.

  When I emerged, he was very much awake. And reading through my tunnels folder.

  “You know, back home, I did some investigation training,” he said without looking up. “Just basic cop stuff. Anyways, the corner was sticking out. You really ought to be more careful.” He looked at me with a mostly blank expression, though there were subtle undertones of disappointment. “Where’d you get this?”

  I sighed and went to sit on my bed. “Grant. He thinks it’s a good idea.”

  He didn’t like that. Maybe if I got enough supporters he’d finally start to come around.

  “He does?” Will asked skeptically. “He’s willing to undermine his own system?”

  “Grant’s only a supervisor because of his foot. They didn’t see any special loyalty in him; he just needed a less physically demanding job.”

  He nodded. “And he really trusts you?”

  I shrugged. “He owes me. I’ve sort of been getting him laid recently.”

  Will’s eyebrows shot up. “For real?”

  “I mean, they’re still married. It’s just what married people do.”

  He shook his head. “Not when they’ve been separated.” He finally smiled. “You’re kind of a miracle worker, you know that?”

  I tried to smile back but couldn’t quite get there. “Not yet I’m not.”

  He looked at me so sadly. I knew some part of him wanted to run away with me. I knew he was tired of being so brave and bearing his punishment so nobly. I also knew the only thing standing in his way was me. His fear for my well-being.

  He sighed and dropped his face into his hands. “Laura, can’t we leave it alone?” he begged.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think we can. Not anymore.”

  “But I’m fine!” He looked up sharply. “I’m just fine.”

  How many times had I said those words and meant them just as little as he did now?

  “No, you’re not,” I said softly. “And that’s totally valid. You have every reason not to be fine, Will. You’re not getting better. This isn’t going to get any better.”

  He just shook his head, still protesting but out of arguments.

  I sat down beside him and wrapped my arms around him. Somehow, I understood him. No, I’d never been electrocuted, but I knew how it felt to deteriorate. At first it was just a little pain, some temporary discomfort that would gnaw at the back of your mind for a bit but eventually leave you alone. Then the gnawing became more frequent. The bouts of pain
would start to last longer and longer until the end of one was indistinguishable from the beginning of another. It became a constant presence, a weight you had to carry with you everywhere you went. Unavoidable, inescapable, always looming over every aspect of your existence, making itself impossible to ignore. More than anything, you want to pretend it’s not there. You think if you smile and act like everything’s normal you’ll maybe start to believe it. But you don’t.

  Will had to take the train. It was his only chance.

  After a while, he pulled me in closer and sighed. “I love you,” he said. “Loving you… That’s enough for me.”

  But it wasn’t. And as time wore on, that only became more obvious. He tried to fight it, waking himself up earlier than was healthy for him, being especially sneaky about his battles with nausea, smiling up a storm and showering me with affection. But at some point, he had to give.

  For whatever reason, I liked to make my ugly bed in the mornings. It gave some semblance of order to things, I guess. Will was in the bathroom, and I gave my pillow a final fluff, ready for us to go to breakfast.

  “Laura?” he called through the door.

  “Yeah?”

  “Babe, can you come in here?”

  My heart started pounding. He never asked for help. I rushed in.

  He was standing at the sink, his face all lathered for a shave.

  “What is it?” I asked tentatively.

  He wouldn’t look at me. His expression was hard, like he was fighting to stay calm.

  “I can’t do it,” he said softly.

  I wrapped my arms around him and looked at him in the mirror. “Do what?”

  He shook his head. “My hands… I can’t hold the razor. I can’t do it.” He was gripping the sides of the sink so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

  I gently pried one of his hands off and brought it to my lips. “Just try again, Will.”

  He picked up the razor. I saw his hand shaking as he raised it up. He fought to keep himself steady, but it wasn’t working. My heart broke seeing him so humiliated.

  I took the razor before he could hurt himself. “Sit down,” I ordered.