Ascent

by M. C. Zappitello

  I knew that I wasn't being told everything, and I had to know. Will was still mostly closed, so I read Dr. Stuart―he was remembering all of it, too, which made it easy―and confirmed that Will was seriously injured as a result of the extra weight he was carrying. Had he jumped alone, he would probably have landed safely on the grassy spot where he intended. It was my extra weight that caused him to misjudge his jump so that he ended up on the concrete sidewalk instead of just beyond it on the grass where I landed when I fell off him on impact. And that resulted in the increased force of impact that significantly compounded his injuries. The injuries which he may not have had at all if I hadn’t been on his back.

  Put bluntly, his injuries―and their severity―were my fault.

  What have I done?

  “Cassie?” Dr. Stuart repeated until I finally pulled myself together enough to look at him. "Ben called 911, then me, as soon as Will called him. He was there within five minutes after you jumped, and provided first aid. I got there about the same time as the paramedics.

  "Do you remember that you refused to leave him? When I arrived, you were doing your best to keep him calm, and as comfortable as possible. You were sitting by his head, stroking his hair, and holding his hand. And you were singing to him."

  Singing? "Singing?"

  "Yes. He asked you to. He loved to hear you sing, Cassie," explained Dr. Stuart.

  Will loved to . . . . The light finally dawned. That's why he was so upset when I had declared categorically that I didn't sing. I was not only denying, in a sense, part of myself, but an integral part of my relationship with him; and, a special request that he had made of me at an extraordinarily poignant time when he, for all intents and purposes, had just saved my life by endangering his own. Was this why I had felt so uncomfortable about singing? Because I associated it with Will’s horrible injuries, and the fact that they were my doing?

  And this was why he was so deeply moved when I started singing again simply because it was important to him. Without even understanding. Without needing to understand.

  I turned to look at him.

  "Yes. The 'why.'"

  Finally. No wonder . . . .

  How many other important things had I forgotten? How many more intense memories had I yet to recall? How many more of them would I have to relive as I "reintegrated" the missing years of my life? Just then, the mere idea of more felt staggering.

  It required most of the energy I had left to drag my attention back to the one at hand. But I had to be finished with it. And quickly. Things were trembling inside of me. Something was going to give way. "What happened to the man with the gun?" I asked. My voice sounded strained, even to me.

  Dr. Stuart responded, "Some people outside the hotel saw him on the balcony with the gun and notified hotel security. He managed to get out of the hotel, but the police who responded to Ben’s 911 call intercepted him in his car within a few blocks. He tried to outrun them, lost control of his car, and crashed. He died at the scene.

  "He had a criminal record with several aliases, and a known connection to Gary Barnett's bosses.

  "As far as we know, he never did get a chance to report to anyone. And, because Ben had been providing information regarding Barnett’s cohorts to the FBI―actually a friend from his military days who had become an FBI agent―he was able to get him in touch with the police, and it was all kept pretty quiet because of the ongoing federal investigation. It seemed that no one checked up on the man who came after you, at least not right away. And that was borne out by the fact that no one followed Ben when he brought you here. Something would have happened by now if they had, or if they had found out where you were some other way."

  I think I had been staring at the floor, but all my mind could see was Will, lying on the ground, his face grayish white and contorted from the pain. The broken ends of his shin bones poking through his bloody skin. The cold perspiration on his forehead as I stroked his hair back. The smile he kept trying to force onto his face as he told me, over and over, "It's alright, Cassie. I'll be okay."

  And he suffered through that because of me. It was all my fault.

  "It was my choice, Cassie," Will interjected.

  But, if it weren't for me . . . .

  He interrupted. "Cassie, don’t. Please."

  So I just sat there, looking at nothing in particular; thinking and feeling nothing in particular. Numb. Worn out. Maybe I was overtired from swimming. Maybe the trauma of reliving this last memory was too much. Or, maybe my life was destined to be hard―and not only for me. How many others had been, and would be, hurt from crossing my ill-fated path? How could I possibly be worth it?

  What right did I have to impose so much danger on so many others? What right did I have to even exist?

  Will's hands tightened over mine until my eyes met his. "You're scaring me."

  Was he listening? Well, of course he was.

  Hadn’t I already hurt him enough?

  "Cassie?" He was truly distressed.

  And now I was hurting him again, I scolded myself. I was scaring him. Why didn't I just stop myself? What in the world was wrong with me? How much more damage was I doing now?

  How much did you hear?

  He hesitated. "All of it."

  Oh, no! I groaned inwardly. What kind of horrible creature was I, to cause so much trouble, so much pain?

  I felt Will cringe. He was still listening. And he could hear all of it. Well, that’s how I had said I wanted it to be between us . . . .

  How selfishly stupid could I be?

  Enough!!!

  That was it. I had to get a grip on myself. I pulled my hands from Will's and pressed them firmly over my face. No thinking. No feeling. No more hurting him. Or anyone else.

  "I'll be right back," Dr. Stuart advised quietly. The study door opened, and closed.

  No thinking, no feeling. No more hurting Will. No thinking, no feeling. No more hurting Will. I said it to myself over and over again, desperately attempting to make it a reality.

  But Will wasn't having any of it. He took hold of my wrists and pulled my hands from my face. "Stop it, Cassie. Now."

  I opened my eyes and saw that he was kneeling on the floor in front of me. "That is exactly what I'm trying to do," I replied, too calmly; desperate to at least appear to be in control.

  "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

  "Do I?" Of course I did. What was I saying?

  "Cassie," his voice warned―he wasn't going to parry words with me.

  And I couldn’t bear it any longer. Something inside of me snapped.

  "But it was all my fault!" I almost screamed at him. "I was a coward, and you paid for it! You should hate me! You should stay away from me! All I do is cause problems for you and hurt you! I can’t stand to hurt you anymore!"

  I had to get away from him. I was no good for him. Not at all. I tried to free my arms and get up so I could run out of the room, and go . . . anywhere.

  But Will wouldn't let me. He wouldn't let go of my arms, and he wouldn't let me up. He just looked at me, resolute concern emanating from him. But no hate. Not even any anger. How could that possibly be, with what I had done to him? And what I kept doing to him?

  "What's the matter with you?" I shouted at him. "Are you masochistic or something? Let me go!"

  "Not when you're hysterical like this. Calm down, and I'll let you go." Will's voice didn't give away the turmoil I knew he was feeling.

  Why doesn't he just yell back at me? I yelled at myself internally. Or do something to punish me? Why doesn't he hurt me? I deserve it!

  He heard. He winced.

  No!

  "I don't want to calm down!"

  "Then don't. But I won't let you go until you do."

  I was trapped. Even if I tried to fight him off, I wasn't strong enough to succeed, and it would just hurt us both. It might make me feel better to hurt myself, but not him. Not him. Not again. Never again. I shut my eyes, tight. I didn't know what to do. All th
e emotions boiling up inside of me, violently confused. Inexorable. Inextricable. The pressure was building. And building. Something had to give. It got worse. And worse. Until I couldn't stand it anymore―

  "AAAAAAH!!!" I screamed with every ounce of strength I had left in me. It had to come out. All of it. I had to get rid of it, so I didn't feel it any more. None of it. Ever again.

  But it didn't work. It wasn't gone. It felt even worse. It felt like I would never be free of it―whatever it was. I couldn't tell anything about it anymore. But it had to go. It hurt too much. It hurts too much! "No! No! No!" I cried out, shaking my head hard with each word. "I can't live like this anymore!"

  NO! MORE!

  Now my head hurt. But I didn't care. "Let . . . me . . . go!!!"

  "No." Will was immovable.

  I screamed again, clenching my hands into fists. Revolting once more against the pain and guilt and fear and confusion that refused to just go away.

  As I struggled to catch my breath, preparing to scream once more in what I already knew would be a vain attempt to exorcise the emotional demons plaguing me, my eyes opened just long enough to glimpse Will's tortured face. And the blatant truth that I was, even then, failing to fully acknowledge struck me with agonizing force: I wasn't just putting myself through this, I was continuing to drag him along with me, every inch of the way.

  I was hurting him―yet again.

  With that comprehension, the last bit of frenetic energy drained out of me, and I gave up. I didn't want to surrender, but I had nothing left to fight with. I wasn’t even sure what I was fighting. And fighting was wounding Will. I had to stop. I had to.

  All of a sudden, I was so very tired. It was work to breathe―just to inhale, and exhale. And I still hurt. Everything I had tried had only increased the distress. And not only for me.

  I opened my eyes, but didn't dare look at Will's face again. So I looked down instead. His hands were still holding my arms, his body was still pressed against my legs, refusing to let me go. He had continued to steadfastly hold on to me through it all―resolutely, and gently.

  "Will?" My voice sounded small.

  "Yes?" His voice sounded worn out.

  "Help?" It was all I could get out.

  I was thoroughly ashamed of myself. How much more of a burden could I possibly be to him? But in spite of everything, I found myself hoping against hope that maybe Will wouldn't think as badly of me as I did.

  He didn't answer me.

  "Dad?" he said. So his dad was back. I hadn't heard the door. But that wasn't surprising, with all my carrying on.

  Will finally let go of me and got up from the floor. And I finally looked up at him. His weary face still radiated determination; and worry, but not pain. Just worry. Just. As if that weren't bad enough.

  "Cassie, I want you to take this pill." Dr. Stuart reached out to put it in my hand. I didn't resist. "Here's some water." He handed me a glass. I took the pill and handed the glass back to him. "It's a mild sedative that will help you sleep for a while. You're already tired, so it should work rather quickly."

  He sat down on the sofa next to me. "Cassie?" He waited until I was looking at him. "There is nothing wrong with you but very naturally feeling overwhelmed with everything you have been through lately. It probably doesn't feel that way to you right now, but it is still true. You will get through this. For now, just let yourself sleep. Will is going to stay with you, and will let me know when you wake up. Okay?"

  "Okay." Could it already be working? I was starting to feel drowsy. I'd better get upstairs to bed right away.

  As soon as I stood up, Will's arms were supporting me. He didn't say anything to me as we walked up the stairs and into the guest room. I didn't want to attempt changing my clothes. No energy for it. No point. I slipped off my shoes and dragged the covers down far enough to fall onto the bed, my head on a pillow. I remembered feeling Will pull the covers over me, and nothing after that.

  It felt different from regular sleep. There wasn't really a sense of time passing. I went to sleep, and then I was awake. Disorienting. I did feel stronger, and was thinking more clearly. Felt like I had been hit by a ton of bricks, though―emotional ones, that is. And I, in turn, had dumped them right on top of Will. What a lousy thing for me to do!

  As I thought back on how I had behaved with Will―a few hours ago, was it?―guilt and shame overcame me. I knew he was probably in the room, so I put my arm over my face so I couldn't see him. But that didn't feel adequate, so I rolled over enough to bury my face between the pillow and my arm. I wanted to cry. It felt like I was crying inside. But the tears didn't come. How contrary was that? What in the world could ever be done with someone like me? Minutes went by . . . .

  "Cassie?" It wasn't Will. It was his dad. But, Will was supposed to stay with me. I thought he had. What happened? Maybe it had finally become too much for him. He finally saw me for who I really was, and I wasn't who he thought I was, or who he wanted me to be. My heart didn't just sink, it hit bottom. With a decided splat. Oh, well. I had known all along it wouldn't last. I was too faulty. And weak. And stupid. But at least I had been right on that count. Maybe that much was something.

  "Yes." I needed to be home. Not here. As much as I had wanted it to feel like home, I just didn't belong. I needed to go back where I did belong. Where it was safe. Where everything was predictable and controllable and I didn't have to try to be someone I used to be but wasn't any more.

  Dr. Stuart came and stood by the bed. "How are you feeling?"

  "Better." Reasonable answer. "What time is it, please?" At least I could show him I was capable of being a reasonable, polite person some of the time.

  "It's about four o'clock. Are you hungry? You haven't eaten since breakfast." Just like Will. Concerned about my eating habits.

  "No, thank you."

  He paused, studying me. "Are you ready to talk about what happened?"

  "No." Absolutely not.

  A brief silence. "Alright. Will you tell me as soon as you are ready? It's not something we can just let go. And the sooner it's resolved, the better you will feel."

  "Okay. I will let you know when I'm ready." Honest enough to say―the way I was feeling, I would never be ready. Problem . . . well, not solved, but put away. Indefinitely.

  How could I manage getting home with as little fuss as possible? "Dr. Stuart?"

  "Yes?"

  "I think I would like to go home. I need to be by myself."

  He studied me again. "Are you sure? We would really like to have you stay the rest of the weekend like we planned. You had quite a shock earlier, and were very upset. But that doesn't have to change the rest of our plans."

  Was he really so certain about that? With respect to Will, anyway? Maybe he wanted to change the plans. Particularly where they involved me.

  "Yes. I'm sure."

  "Okay."

  "Would you take me, please?"

  I could sense quite clearly that I wasn't fooling him at all. But he wasn't going to oppose me. "Sure. I guess you want to leave right away?"

  "Yes, please."

  "And I suppose you would rather I didn't tell anyone until I get back from taking you home?" Yup. Not fooling him at all.

  "Yes, please."

  He was debating whether or not to say something. The “not” apparently won. "How long do you need to pack and be out front?" he asked.

  As short a time as possible. "About five minutes."

  "Okay. I'll be in front in five minutes."

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  It actually took me four minutes to shove everything but my new swimming stuff―and the flowers from Will―into my suitcase and sneak down the stairs and out the front door.

  Dr. Stuart helped me with my door, then got my suitcase. Neither of us said anything until after we arrived at the house. He walked me up to the front door, and set my suitcase down on the porch.

  "He's not going to give up on you, Cassie. No matter how ha
rd you try to convince yourself that he should." His voice, like the expression on his face, was kind, and definite.

  I had no response.

  "Call us if you decide to come back for brunch in the morning."

  "Okay. Thanks." Wasn’t going to happen. I had already put everybody through enough.

  I unlocked the door and carried my suitcase into the house.

  .Chapter Seventeen

  I couldn't remember ever being so acutely miserable in my whole life. Since Dr. Stuart left, I had watched every hour … actually, every minute and sometimes every second go by with painful awareness of the fact that I was not with Will and his family. And I might have been.

  I wandered around the empty house, woefully empty myself. I tried lying on my bed. And sitting on the sofa. (Turning the television on didn't occur to me.) Finally, as a last resort, I went to Mark and Gina's room, hoping that some of their calming influence might have been left behind. And I tried to pray, but it just reminded me that I had missed my prayer with Will, and that there would never be another. Nothing helped. So I wandered on, occasionally lighting somewhere for a while, but never coming to rest.

  It was at long last about the usual time for Sunday brunch. Dr. Stuart had said I could call. But in spite of what he had said to me, I couldn't believe that things hadn't changed. Why hadn't Will answered me when I pled for help? And where had he gone while I was asleep? I was sure that if he still cared about me like before, he would have answered me. He would have been there.

  And, when he discovered that I was gone, wouldn't he have come after me? Or at least called?

  Since the beginning, I had feared that something like this would happen. My entirely unexpected adventure with Will had been wonderful beyond words. And frightening beyond words. Everything else combined hadn't made me feel a fraction as vulnerable as this one overriding facet of my life. Because, although I had been doing better in some significant respects, I was still very much unsettled. And, as I had demonstrated only the day before, volatile. (Remarkably unlike the me with which I had been familiar.) Now, I was recovering from the last ten years, trying to remember the previous seven, and not quite sure how it all fit together or who I really was altogether.