by Marni Mann
Her hand is back in mine, my thumb grazing over the small cuts, the dried blood, the dirt.
I just want to clean her.
“No,” I say. “We were traveling alone.”
He looks past me and yells, “Over here! Bring a backboard.”
Her hand is only in mine for a few more seconds. Then, I’m pushed out of the way as two paramedics take my place. I stand between the three men, glancing down over their shoulders, watching as each one touches her. Six hands are on her now. One on her head. Another on her upper chest. Two on her face, two on her stomach.
There’s talk.
Words. Numbers.
Terminology that means nothing to me when all I want is a solid answer.
Will she be okay?
Something is clasped around her neck. Then, they move her on top of the backboard. Bands are strapped across her waist. Suddenly, they’re walking. More words, more numbers, and I’m running behind them. Her hair is dangling off the back of the board.
Hair that should be tucked inside her Yankees hat.
Did they tell me what they were doing? Did they answer me?
Do I know what’s wrong?
“Where are you taking her?” I ask.
“JFK Medical Center,” one of them says as they lift her into the ambulance.
I grab the side of the door and haul myself up but someone stops me. His hands are on my shoulders. His face isn’t far from mine.
“You need to stay here,” he says.
“Like hell I do. She needs me, and I’m going with her.”
“We need the space for more patients,” he says. “The hospital is only a few miles from here. You can get a ride there.”
“Get a fucking ride? No, I’m coming—”
Different hands grip my shoulders, and I reach for them to rip them off me.
“Listen to me, buddy.”
I don’t know if it’s the resident or the paramedic trying to hold me back. It doesn’t matter, and I don’t care. Andi needs me, and they won’t let me see her. That’s what is important right now.
“I know you want to go with her, but they need the room for the other people who are hurt. You understand that, don’t you?”
It’s the resident. I remember his voice and how he talked me off the ledge a little earlier.
Another backboard is placed in the back of the ambulance, and the doors close.
More red lights.
Sirens.
Where are the screams? Andi’s screams?
“Yeah, I get it,” I say. “Other people need help.”
“We need to get this looked at.”
He’s holding my palm open, checking out the gash that runs the whole length of my hand. Then, he’s eyeing the cuts on my arm. They’re deep. And there’s blood, but I’m not sure if it’s mine or Andi’s.
I pull my arm away from him. “I’m fine.”
“You need stitches.”
“I don’t need stitches.” I watch the ambulance drive away. “I need to get to the hospital to make sure she’s going to be okay.”
“While you’re there, will you have them look at your hand? And your arm?”
“All right. Yeah. Whatever you want.”
I have no intention of having anyone look at me at the hospital. Medical treatment means providing identification, and there’s no fucking way that is happening.
I need a hat.
I need to check on Andi.
And then…I don’t know what the hell I need.
But I have to get out of here before the police start with their interrogation, before the press shows up, before anyone asks me my name. Giving them my name will put me in jail, and I can’t let that happen, especially not now.
“Do you want me to see if I can get you a ride to the hospital?” he asks.
I look around me.
There are uniforms everywhere.
Notepads in hands. Questions in the air.
“I’ll be fine,” I say.
And I take off toward the trees.
The trees will hide me.
They’ll let me be alone.
And they’ll give me a second to get my thoughts straight.
Andi
People come and go in a lifetime. It’s just the natural course of life. Some die too soon. Others live long, fulfilling lives. Why some get to experience more than others, I’m not sure. If I had all the answers, I wouldn’t need to walk another day on this earth. But living means I’m alive, and alive means I’m not completely broken.
There’s still a tiny sliver of my heart that hasn’t given up. One small vessel that’s still pumping blood throughout my body, promising me it won’t be like this forever.
“Andi, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”
He’s been asking me to do this one seemingly simple command, but no matter how hard I try to get my mind and body on the same wavelength, the neurons won’t fire the way they’re supposed to.
For a while, I was floating in a warm pool of water. It was the most soothing bath I’d ever taken. In a cocoon of gentle ebbs and flows, I could have drifted for days in complete bliss.
Sometime after the voices left, the warmth was replaced by bone-chilling coldness. My jaw wasn’t under my control, but I was certain if it were, my teeth would have chattered, and the tips of my fingers would have turned blue.
I didn’t know where the warmth went, but I fought to find it. I must have succeeded because, when I least expected it, it came back for me.
Relief flooded my system, and I knew I hadn’t been forgotten. But, each time I got used to the comfort, the cold would return twice as fast.
Suddenly, I began to dread the impending loss and couldn’t enjoy the moments of serenity anymore. I couldn’t even be sure I was still human. All I cared about was figuring out how to stay where the happiness was.
Again and again, nothing worked, and the darkness would take me away.
This time, as it creeps closer, there’s a familiar voice. “Andi, wake up. I need to see your eyes.”
Fight, Andi.
With as much energy as I can manage, I obey. As my eyes finally open, I blink a couple of times, expecting to find the same happiness I felt before the darkness.
“Thank God,” Clay whispers as he holds my hand, being extra careful not to jostle the IV.
“Clay?”
“You’re okay, Andi. You’re gonna be okay now.”
“What happened?”
“There was an accident on the train. What’s the last thing you remember?”
I think about the train, when he gave me the hat, and the old woman with her cane, but none of it leads to the cloth wrapped around his hand or the blood on his shirt.
“We were on the train. You were being an asshole. I forget why. But I was mad at you.”
Smirking, he shakes his head. “Accurate yet missing some key information. I think I can work with that.”
“Why was I mad?” For some reason, I feel like I have to figure that out before I worry about anything else.
“Listen,” he says as he glances over his shoulder, “I don’t have a lot of time, but I’m not leaving here without you, okay? Just know that I’ll come back.” He hands me a piece of paper with a number written on it. “If you’re scared, use it. No matter what.”
My fingers shake as uncertainty seeps into my pores again. Clay is all I have, and if he’s not here, then I really will be all alone. “Where’s the rest of my stuff?”
“It burned in the fire. There wasn’t enough time to save any of it. The cars collided, and you were thrown. We ended up several yards from the river, upside down and surrounded by smoke. We’re lucky to be alive.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I can’t decide if I’m upset or thankful that I can’t remember the accident. “How did we get off the train?”
“I carried you,” he says with a hitch in his voice. “I knew it would be dangerous to pick you up, but there was so much smoke, so I had to get you o
ut of there. I brought you outside, and help found us almost right away. We got real lucky…because, every time I put you down and picked you back up, I thought I was hurting you worse.”
The warmth. “It was you,” I whisper.
“What was?”
“Nothing.”
If I tried to explain, he wouldn’t believe me. After all, I was unconscious. There’s no way it was anything more than a dream. Even if it felt tangible and kept me alive.
Clay glances at the clock and lets go of my hand. “I have to go, Andi.”
“Why? I don’t want you to go.”
“You’ll be okay. You’re safe here. I promise.”
“Why can’t you stay?” When he doesn’t answer me, I figure it out on my own. “Because you’re still running, right?”
A quick nod is all I get. I see the shame in his eyes. Like he wishes he could sit here, out in the open, and not have to worry about becoming front-page news by morning.
“I’m sorry, Andi. I wish it were different.”
I understand what running is and how much it means. How the threat of getting caught is both maddening and unnerving. It turns you into a crazy person; that’s how vital freedom is to your survival.
“When will you be back?”
“I’m not sure. Call the number when you need me. I’ll answer.”
“Promise me, I’ll see you again. I’m scared, Clay.”
He reaches for my face but then stops himself. Settling for tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, he whispers, “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you. I promise.”
“Okay,” I tell him as a tear slides down my cheek.
Other than what Clay’s told me, I have no clue what’s wrong with me or how long I’ll be lying in this bed.
The entire accident is a blur, and the one person I think I can depend on is leaving me. If this is a dream, I’m ready to wake up. I’m ready to get back on the train and find Philadelphia before Brooks finds me.
He can’t find me.
“I’m not going back, Clay. They can’t make me.”
Wiping my tears with his thumb, he gives me a sad smile. “When they release you, you’re going to come with me. Neither of us is going back. We’ve come too far.”
Before the accident, I would have argued that I was strong enough to stand on my own two feet. Now, I’m thankful he’s taking the reins. My pockets are empty, my new identification has been burned up, and all I have is the hospital gown I’m wearing and the bed they’re letting me sleep in.
Without my cell phone, I don’t remember much of anything. Camille had me write all the important numbers and addresses I’d need in a small notebook that I kept at her house until it was time to leave. I can’t even call my new landlord and let him know I’m still coming.
The fire destroyed everything.
Brooks believes I’m missing.
Camille probably thinks I’m dead.
And the only way to fix that is to go back and set them all straight.
But I won’t do that—ever.
Leaning down, Clay kisses my forehead and gives my hand another squeeze. “Bye, Andi.”
“Don’t say that,” I beg him. “You’ll be back. You promised.”
“Get some rest,” he tells me. “I won’t break my word.”
Just like that, my strength and comfort walk out the door, and he doesn’t look back. In my heart, I believe he’ll be back for me. But I have no idea what he’s up against or whom he’s running from. All I can do is try to get better before he has to leave me behind.
For the second time in hours, I’m trusting Clay. Trusting him enough that I press the Call button on the bed and wait for my nurse. If I want to walk out of here with him, someone needs to tell me what’s going on.
The second hand on the clock makes it around another time before the nurse strolls in. “Hi,” she says with a smile, “welcome back.”
Her demeanor is like I’ve been away at summer camp, and it annoys me enough that I can barely form a smile. I should be thanking my lucky stars that the accident didn’t kill me, but I’m too scared to sing any praises just yet. First, I need to find out why I ache so badly and how long I was knocked out this time.
Maybe this is Brooks’s version of Karma showing me that, no matter how far I try to run, I’ll never escape him. That he’ll always be able to get his hands on me in one way or another. He’d think I deserved what had happened.
“Would it be okay if I got some information from you?” A woman with a clipboard questions as she eases her way to the side of my bed.
“Yes.”
“Your doctor will be in to see you soon, but I wanted to see if it would be okay to ask you a few questions while you were waiting.”
I glance at the nurse on the other side of my bed. She gives me a sympathetic smile and replaces one bag of fluid on the IV pole for another. I hope it’s pain medicine.
“Okay,” I tell this new woman. “But I don’t remember the accident. Just what I’ve been told.”
“Told by whom?” she asks curiously.
After almost giving it away, I bite my tongue and remember that nobody can ever know Clay was here. “Nobody. Sorry, I’m still a little out of it.”
She grabs the remote and turns on the TV. The accident is plastered all over the news. “You don’t have to watch if it’s too hard, but I need you to recognize that you have been through a traumatic situation. Sometimes, forgetting leads to dismissing. Your injuries and concerns are valid regardless of how foggy the details are.”
Blocking her out, I listen to a man being interviewed at the scene. It’s old footage, but he’s one of the lucky ones from a car that remained on the tracks. Only the last four derailed and spilled over the bank toward the river.
“It was bad, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. They’re still trying to figure out the number of casualties. All the local hospitals are overflowing with patients.”
“That’s what I thought.” I’m relieved Clay was here before she came in. Otherwise, I’d think he was dead.
“Let’s start with your name,” she says.
They don’t even know who I am. “Andi Harper.”
“Andi,” she begins before hesitating, waiting for me to look away from the TV and give her my full attention.
“Sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I’m sure you’re very interested in finding out why this happened, as we all are. You’ve been through the very worst, and the doctor will explain your injuries, but before we do that, I want to ask you about the bruise on your cheek and the cut above your eye.”
“What about them?”
“When you were examined, they appeared to be older wounds.”
“I fell,” I quickly tell her. “I had on a new pair of heels and slipped down the stairs.”
As she jots down a few notes on her clipboard, I can’t tell if she’s buying my lies or not. Not that it matters. I’m alive. That’s what she should be focusing on.
“Andi, the CT scan showed some evidence of prior bruising to your brain. You’ve had a series of concussions over a fairly small time frame. That’s not a typical finding unless you play professional football or maybe box on a daily basis. Do you do either of those things?”
I hate the way she patronizes me. Like I’m some fool who enjoys getting the shit kicked out of me and keeps going back for more. Has she considered that maybe it’s none of her business? That I’m not here to sort out the past?
“Obviously, I don’t do either of those things. And, if you have any more questions, you can save them. I’m here because of the train accident. That’s it.”
“Andi, it’s important that we—”
Holding up my hand, I silence her. “It’s important that you leave my room.”
“We don’t even have your last name on file. If you could just fill out these papers, the admitting staff would greatly appreciate it.”
I never gave Clay my last name. He has no clue what my birth
date is or where I’m even from. All he knows is, I’m some girl who got tossed around at home and then got on a train headed for Philly.
“My purse burned in the fire. I don’t have an insurance card to give you. As far as the other information, I’d like to stay anonymous in your computer system. I’m sure you can flag my chart or something and make sure my name isn’t leaked to the public.”
Her eyes narrow as she continues to put two and two together. It doesn’t take a single word about the past for her to understand how damning the information would be. That, if anyone finds out I’m here, I’ll end up with another concussion—or worse.
“Of course,” she says. “I’ll make sure it’s noted.”
“Thank you.”
“If you change your mind, I’m here to listen.”
There’s not a chance in hell I’ll change my mind, but she still hands me her card before she leaves. Another shrink who thinks she can solve the world’s problems in a matter of minutes.
Getting to this point didn’t happen overnight, and it’d take longer than any hospital admission for her to figure out how to fix it.
I’m not the one with anger management issues.
I’m not the one who tosses girls around when they don’t give the right response or when they look at another male the wrong way.
I’m not the one who would kill before letting someone walk away.
Clay
Andi is going to be okay.
Those six words are repeated over and over in my head as I rush out of her room and into the restroom at the end of the hall.
Her spine hasn’t been injured; neither has her neck. After the beating she took inside the train, slamming into the ceiling and floor several times as we flipped, the worst of her damage is a concussion and fractured ribs on her right side. She has contusions, cuts, and scrapes all over her body, but they will heal.
I’ve been assured of that.
When the doctor asked how I was related to Andi, I told him I was her husband. I can’t prove that I’m not. Andi’s identification was in her purse, which was on the train. He never asked for my ID. If he had, I would have told him that it’d burned on the train, too. He accepted my answer, a lie that had so easily come out of my mouth without any struggle at all, unlike the lies I’d told Andi earlier. Once the doctor heard who I was, he gave me the results to her X-rays and blood work.