by Rye Hart
Which still meant he netted three hundred and fifty million dollars from this faulty fucking drug.
It was disgusting.
I finished up my lunch with Gwen and hugged her. I got myself a sweet tea to go, as well as another slice of their blackberry cobbler before I headed back to work. I knew my boss would be ready to update me on the latest toe-curling saga from Mr. Pharmaceutical.
What I didn’t expect was for him to be waiting for me at my door.
“Miss Hollis, I assume you have a good reason for being late?” he said.
“I’m not late,” I said. “I’m actually two minutes early. Would you like to come in?”
“No, we can talk right out here. You need to mount your defense forty-eight hours early. Our client is trying to settle out of court.”
“Of course, he is,” I said, sighing. “I’ll get right on it. But I’ve gotta ask you: can you really get behind this man?”
“What does that mean?” my boss asked.
“I mean, from what I’ve already read up on him in the documents, his drug is killing these patients in these trials. Why in the world are we defending someone like that?”
My boss’s stare hardened, and I could tell I was treading on thin ice. The last thing I needed was to be fired, but the more I looked at my boss’s stoic, angry face, the more I wanted to punch him in it.
“Miss Hollis, if you believe the client is at fault, it doesn’t matter. You work for me, and I’ve told you what I need from you. Now, do what you are paid to do, or I will find someone else who will. Someone I can pay a little less money for, mind you.”
“I just wanted your honest opinion,” I said. “Your honest, human opinion.”
“Tried and true lesson number one, Miss Hollis. As a lawyer, you don’t get to be human.”
His words were like a slap on my face. All my life, I’d wanted to be a lawyer. To help those that couldn’t defend themselves. I wanted to gather up the women and men who felt they couldn’t go after their perpetrators and run those assholes down. It was the human side of me, the empathetic side of me that pushed me to become a lawyer.
And now, I was working with a man who told me that was exactly what I couldn’t be.
“Sir, that simply isn’t true,” I said.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“This client is killing people, and he knows it,” I said. “He’s a murderer, and he knows it. He’s come to you because you’ve sold your soul to some devil, and that means you’re willing to defend a mass murderer. There are five people dead because of him right now, and if this drug goes to market, who knows how many more will die? This man deserves everything that’s coming to him from the families he’s devastated. I will not help a murderer go free.”
“You will if you want this job,” he said.
“I quit.”
Once those two words left my mouth, I felt like a boulder had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt like, for the first time in two years, I could take my first deep breath. I felt like my head had just come above water, and I was coughing up the burning salt from my lungs from an ocean of darkness that had tried to suck me down in its depths.
My boss’s eyes were on fire as I turned my back to him and threw open my office door.
“If you aren’t out of here within the next four hours, I’m having security escort you out,” he said.
“Actually, I have to pack up and then head down to HR,” I said. “I’ll have to update them on my status and then discuss my severance plan.”
“You will have no severance plan,” he said.
“Would you like me to challenge that in court? Because I’m more than willing to.”
I turned around, caught his glare, and I felt powerful. In control. Alive. I watched my boss waver for a split second before he turned around and stormed away. I sat down in my office chair and looked around, eyeing the few things I’d decorated it with. I didn’t have books or anything that needed to come with me. Hell, I could probably fit everything in the massive purse I lugged around with me. But even though this job caused me more heartache and pain than I could’ve ever imagined, I’d called it home for two years. I spent more hours here than I did at my own apartment, and now, I didn’t have anything to occupy my time.
I had no plans, and that was when my fear began to set in. What the hell had I just done?
I packed up my laptop and the rest of my things before I turned off the light in my office. People were poking their heads out and watching me all the way to the elevator. I smiled and nodded before I headed down to HR. I wanted to make sure I talked with them face-to-face and got paperwork signed before my boss could get to it because now, I was going to need all the money I could muster. I still had an entire paycheck coming in a couple of days, and I could automatically invest my severance package, so that was a start. I signed all the paperwork and made copies for myself, then stayed and watched the HR clerk file them electronically before I left.
I walked out of the office with my overloaded purse, my cobbler, and my tea, and for the first time in my life, I had no idea where to go. I spent so little time at my apartment, that it was practically like a hotel room. My fridge had nothing more than creamer for coffee and bottles of water. Gwen was right. I was cheap because of the way I was raised by my father, and I was scared of spending money because of the turn my life took in high school.
When I was fifteen, my father lost his job. We weren’t wealthy by any means, but with state assistance, we got by. My mother worked whatever jobs she could until her back gave out, and she had to quit. My escape from my world was always going over to Gwen’s. Her parents had wonderful jobs, and food overflowing their fridge at any given moment. I was mesmerized by the way they lived. I’d always looked forward to sleepovers, when I would eat until I couldn’t see straight. Then her parents would always give me plates of food to take back to my parents.
However, when my father lost his job and couldn’t find work, we were evicted and living on the streets.
My father always taught me how to rub two quarters together to get a dollar, but those couple of weeks on the streets until Gwen’s family found out and took us in had done their damage. My mother had begged for money on the corner while my father applied for any and every job he could find. It wasn’t until I broke down to Gwen one day in the library that she finally knew what was going on.
Gwen’s family took us in for a time, but I knew they couldn’t keep us in their home forever.
I couldn’t blame them. One family taking in another family skyrocketed bills and grocery runs. Even with trying to ration my food, I knew the toll we were taking on the Maxwell household. My father used their computer to apply for jobs all around the country, and after two months of straining an entire household, he found a job.
A factory job in the middle of South Dakota.
Gwen’s family offered to keep me with them so I could stay in school and graduate in my hometown, and at first, my parents were against it. We fought, and we yelled. We screamed, and we cried. I called them every single name under the sun, and they continuously called me selfish. The stress and the pain and the fear that I’d kept shoved down boiled over the top, and it drove such a rift between my parents and me that we couldn’t even stand to be around one another.
Eventually, however, they caved to the notion and left me with Gwen.
What I didn’t realize was that I’d barely hear from them again.
To this day, we barely spoke. They barely called after they got to South Dakota, but I was so scarred by the upheaval that I didn’t reach out much. I didn’t care that I didn’t hear from them, except on certain occasions like birthdays. I didn’t care that they didn’t want me. Maybe they were ashamed that they couldn’t give me the life Gwen’s parents could, so they were doing what they thought was best for me.
But as I stood on the edge of the corner outside of the place I used to call work, I sipped my tea and held back my tears.
I felt
like that lost little girl again, sleeping on the street, and I didn’t know where in the hell I could go from there.
CHAPTER 3
LIAM
I could taste the sweat on my brow. I could feel the blood trickling down my arms. I could hear the screams of the innocent while the chains from my bondage wrapped around my wrists. They bound me to a floor that simply kept sinking, sinking into the effortlessness of giving up. I screamed and shouted. I saw Paxton’s face while he sat at his shoddy desk. I heard the cries of those gurgling on their own blood and, as the floor kept eating me whole, I felt it all wash over me.
Pain. Guilt. Anguish. Anger.
I shot up from my bed, leaving behind a pool of sweat while my brow continued to drip. Throwing the covers off my body, I swung my legs around the bed. The bed in the cabin. In Gatlinburg.
I’m in Gatlinburg. I’m in Gatlinburg.
That had become my mantra over the past month. The nightmares and terrors that seemed to follow me all the way from the Navy had found me in my self-inflicted deep, dark hole. I dragged myself to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I needed to get this sweat off my body. I needed to change my sheets.
I needed to have another reel to play in my head.
I got to the sink and opened up the tap, splashing water on my face with my shaking hands. I couldn’t breathe. I placed my lips underneath the faucet, avoiding the one thing I knew was waiting for me when I picked up my face. I guzzled down the crystal-clear well water, trying my best to wash away the metallic taste of blood. So many innocent lives spared to save the wretched and all of it fell onto my back.
All of it was my responsibility.
I drank until I sputtered and then I drank down some more. I drank until I knew my stores had been replenished. I felt the water running through my beard. The beard the Navy would never have allowed me to have. I didn’t want to look at myself. I couldn’t stand the sight of the traitor I felt I had become.
But when I lifted my head up to dry myself off, there I was. Right there in the mirror.
I studied the sunken-in look of my eyes and how pallid my skin had become. I took in the thickness of my beard and how I could no longer see my face underneath. My lips were barely there and my eyes were bloodshot. The water was trickling down my lackluster skin and, even though I recognized the eyes staring back at me, I still felt like a stranger.
A stranger in a cabin in the middle of the damn mountains. Who was this man?
I couldn’t roll back into bed. Not after the things my mind had conjured up. I could smell the sweat that permeated my bed all the way from the bathroom, so I went out and ripped the sheets off. I threw them into the washing machine before gathering up my dirty flannel, chuckling at the memory of that conversation I’d had with Paxton.
It seemed the mountains had finally inducted me into their family.
By the time I started the washing machine, the birds were chirping outside. Despite winter setting in, there were still a few birds who chose to hang on until the very last minute. I had to check the storage shed and make sure I had enough dry wood chopped up for the next few weeks of winter. Then, I needed to run into town to stock up on some supplies.
I needed gas for the generator in case the power went out, matches to make sure I could always keep a fire going, canned foods and meats I could deep freeze and vegetables I could vacuum seal to get me through until spring if I got stuck up here in heavy snows. The city of Gatlinburg didn’t snowplow the roads all the way back here. There just weren’t enough people for them to justify the expense.
But that didn’t matter to me. I was completely fine with being snowed-in.
I went out to the storage shed and opened the door. I’d have to chop up a little more wood to get me through the cold months but, other than that, I was all right. It wasn’t urgent like the need for food and gasoline was, so I hopped into my truck and ran on into town. It took me a good forty minutes to get to the store I knew would have everything I needed.
“Hey, Liam!”
“Hey there, Moose,” I said, walking into the general store.
“Coming into town for some stuff, I see,” he said. “Need anything in particular?”
“Just as much gasoline as you can load me up with,” I said.
“How does twelve gallons sound?” he asked.
“Can you put them in those one-gallon containers with the nozzles?”
“You got it.”
Henry Weavil, also known as Moose due to his sheer size, was the shop owner in town. His place had everything you could need. From bait and tackle to hunting boots, to gasoline, to every single grocery you could ever need, he always made sure the people of Gatlinburg could make only one stop if they needed to. Him loading me down with gasoline freed me up to grab the groceries I needed to stock my place, which meant I could get out of here and back to my cabin quicker.
I didn’t like being in town too much or too long.
I walked around the store and grabbed anything I could think of: steaks, fresh fish, some chicken breasts. I’d already shot and processed a couple of bucks while I’d been here, so I didn’t need much meat, but a bit of variety always did a soul good. I grabbed lots of canned goods, as well as some frozen vegetables, then grabbed two massive sacks of rice before I started loading up the smaller things.
I ended up making two trips around the store before I could think about leaving. I bought another set of sheets for the bed and picked up some free newspapers for kindling. When I was finished, I took my second haul up to the register, where Moose was standing.
“So, newcomer, how you liking our part of the country?” he asked.
“I like it just fine,” I said.
“Have you been to Fred’s Tavern yet?” he asked. “They do it up right over the holidays.”
“Haven’t gotten there yet, no,” I said.
“You should go. Make yourself some friends. Maybe find yourself a nice lady to keep you warm this winter. I hear it’s gonna be brutal.”
“That’s all right,” I said, chuckling. “I’m doing just fine on my own right now.”
“Well, a handsome man like yourself wouldn’t have no problems finding you a nice country gal around these parts. If you’re ever looking for one, my granddaughter’s a sight.”
“I’m sure she is, if she looks like you,” I said.
“Damn straight she does. Her mother’s a hoot, though. Gets her sense of it from her.”
“I bet she does.”
“Any luck finding a job?” he asked.
I started picking up the bags and putting them into the cart. “Not really looking for one,” I said.
“Not looking for a job?” he asked.
“I’m retired, sir.”
“Retired? Son, you don’t look any older than thirty.”
“Thirty-two.”
“Then how are you retired?” he asked.
“Military,” I said.
I knew what was coming. It was the sentiment that always came after I said something like that. I had no interest in telling him I was a medic or a doctor or any sort of physician that could help people. That part of my life was behind me. Because the truth was, I didn’t help people. Not on that last tour before I got us the fuck out of there.
I broke every damn promise I ever made to myself on that tour. Decent doctors didn’t do the things I did.
Nope. Those fucking days were behind me.
“Well, son. Thank you for your service. What you’ve given to this country’s a mighty big sacrifice. I want you to know we appreciate it. I appreciate it and I appreciate you.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
I snatched up the last of my groceries and paid in haste. I needed to get back to my cabin. I could already feel the shaking in my hands settling in and I needed to get out from underneath the gaze of others before someone wanted to start a conversation I had no intention of having.
“What happened to your hand there?” I heard Moose a
sk.
And, of course, before I could catch myself, I turned around.
There was an elderly man at the register, buying himself some chew and a gallon of sweet tea. He was in rugged old jeans and a t-shirt with a coat and his hand was bandaged up. It was swollen and bruised and I could tell by the way his thumb was sitting that it was dislocated. I ran my eyes up his arms, noticing the swelling in his wrist before his arm disappeared underneath his coat.
Then, I caught it. He reached for his wallet to pay for his stuff and his middle finger wouldn’t move.
He’d broken his hand. Probably picking up something he shouldn’t have been and dropping it on himself. He could move his wrist, so it wasn’t shattered, but he couldn’t move his middle finger, which meant one of the main ligaments was being impeded by something leaning up against it.
And it had to have been a broken bone because dislocations didn’t cause the kind of bruising this man had.
Images started flashing around in my mind. Suddenly, the grocery store was flickering in and out. It kept switching from food to darkness. Food to darkness. Food to chains. Food to a basement. I closed my eyes and shook my head before I turned back toward my grocery cart.
I had to get out of here. I had to get out of here before things got out of hand.
I walked out to my truck and tossed everything else into the back. Taking deep breaths, I tried to calm the storm rising in my chest. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs, threatening to split my sternum as I wheeled the cart over to a gathering point.
By the time I got back to my truck, I was practically in a full-blown run.
I hopped behind the wheel of my truck and cranked the engine. I only had a half tank of gas, but I didn’t fucking care at that point. All I wanted to do was get back up my mountain. Get back to my quiet space where no one could see me. There, I could sweat and scream and rage all I wanted. There I could chop wood to dispel my anger and toss myself around in bed without anyone next to me.