by Marni Mann
“She is fortunate,” he said. “Healthy. Strong. She will fully recover.”
I’m the fortunate one. If anything were wrong with her spine, it would have been my fault for moving her so much. If the glass in her side had punctured her lung, I would have blamed myself because it had rubbed into my arm as I carried her off the train. The rubbing should have forced it in deeper. It hadn’t.
I hadn’t been able to protect her. I hadn’t stopped her head from banging into the walls, her ribs from breaking, her skin from splitting.
When she finally does get the chance to look in the mirror, all she’s going to see are more scars.
And that fucking guts me.
Andi is going to be okay.
I open the handicapped stall and lock myself inside. It has its own sink, so I lean my waist against the edge of the ceramic and carefully untie the piece of cloth wrapped around my fist. The white cotton has turned completely red, fully soaked in blood. The cut is much deeper than I thought.
I turn on the water and let the cold stream flood the open gash, and then I wash it with the foam soap that’s labeled antibacterial. Once the blower dries my skin, I dress the cut with the gauze, tape, and ointment that I stole from Andi’s room. It was from some of the extra supplies the nurse used to treat Andi’s wounds, accidentally leaving them on the counter before she left the room. I’m sure she won’t even notice they’re gone.
I don’t have anywhere to store the bloody rag, so I bury it in a nest of paper towels and shove it to the bottom of the trash can. Peeking through the small crack in the door, I make sure no one joined me in the restroom while the water was running.
Now that I’m sure I’m still alone, I take out the burner phone and call my mom. She knows about the accident. I texted her from the woods to let her know I wouldn’t be coming in when she expected me to. By now, I’m sure she has watched the news and has seen everything that happened.
“Where are you?” She sounds out of breath, but I know it’s just worry eating at her.
I pace the small space between the toilet and sink, paying close attention to any other sounds, like the door opening or a code being called over the intercom. “I’m at the hospital.”
“You’ve been admitted?”
“No. I was checking on a friend.”
“A friend?”
I knew saying that would lead to more questions, and her tone tells me she’s as surprised as I assumed she would be. I haven’t spoken about a friend—or anyone besides my boss at the bar—since I left Colorado. Until Andi, I had no friends.
Is that her title now?
She certainly feels like more than just an acquaintance. I work with a few of those, and I’ve never touched them, not like I’ve touched Andi.
I held her hand. I rubbed her fingers across my face. I smelled the scent of her hair when I hugged her in her hospital bed.
Then, there are the thoughts running through my head—what I want to do to her lips the second they part to take a breath, how I want to kiss away the pain from her bruises.
“Clay?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, sorry.” I shake my head, pushing all of those thoughts toward the back of my mind. The far back. “I met her on the train, but I’m leaving now. I’m going to go find a bus station. I’ll text you once I know my arrival time.”
“Maybe I should come to you? You’ve been through enough today, and—”
“No.” I stop pacing when I hear someone speaking outside the restroom door. They quickly pass, and I continue, “There’s way too much going on in this town. Reporters and police are everywhere. I’m afraid I’ll get recognized. The last thing I need is my name attached to this, and…”
I don’t need to go into detail. My mom knows what I’m afraid of, what this attention could ultimately cause. Just getting inside the hospital undetected proved to be a challenge. As pieces of the crash are put together, I’m sure it will only get worse. I have to get out of here as quickly as possible.
Fuck. This accident is the last thing I needed. It draws far too much attention to me, and I’ve barely escaped it.
And, to make matters worse, my damn duffel bag is still on the train. There isn’t any identification in the duffel that could out me to the authorities, but my name is on the bag. They’d just have to peel back the duct tape covering it, and they’ll find the missing passenger who hasn’t been accounted for.
“Just stay there,” I say, “and I’ll come to you.”
“I’ll be at the hotel.”
“I’ll text you soon.”
I shove the phone in my pocket and place my hands on the sides of the sink, taking a good look at myself in the mirror. Dried blood is all over the whiskers of my beard, more in the front of my hair. Scrapes are around my eyes, another one on my forehead. My arm is a goddamn mess where the glass from Andi’s side ground against me while I carried her. There was too much adrenaline pumping through my body for me to feel anything back then.
There still is.
Keeping my injured hand dry, I use my other hand to clean off all the blood. As the inside of the white sink turns a deep red, every memory from the last several hours starts to unravel in my mind. The sound of Andi’s voice when she screamed, the pain in her cries, the noise when her body hit the ground.
But it isn’t just the sounds that I remember.
I can see the stillness of her muscles, the blankness in her expression.
Her unresponsiveness.
How she felt so lifeless in my arms.
She’s going to be okay.
She’s lying in a bed at the end of the hall, and as much as I want to go see her, I can’t. For my own safety, I have to leave. Now. But, shit, it feels like I’m abandoning her when she needs me the most. The thought of her being all alone in that room, still confused as to what happened, completely vulnerable as she sleeps, is almost enough to keep me here.
I just hope to hell that the bastard who laid his hands on her will stay away from this hospital. I hope this place will keep her safe. And I hope that, if she needs me, she will use the number I gave her.
Besides calling the hospital, I have no way to reach her. If we’re going to talk again, it’s on her to contact me.
I make sure all the blood is rinsed down the drain and the sink is wiped clean before I take off to the stairwell. As I rush down the three flights, I slip on the surgical mask that I also stole from Andi’s room. This is the one place where I won’t get any strange looks for wearing it.
The first floor is much busier than Andi’s floor. Police are surrounding the emergency area, and reporters and their cameramen are huddled out front.
I leave through the side exit and call a taxi company, telling them to pick me up several blocks away from the hospital. Fortunately, cabs still take cash. The other methods of transportation that are so popular now only accept credit cards, and I can’t leave that kind of trail.
“Where you headed?” the driver asks as I climb into the backseat of the cab.
I made sure to take off the surgical mask, so I wouldn’t worry him.
“Bus station,” I say. “Is it a far drive?”
“Nah, man. I’ll get you there fast.”
I push myself into the corner of the seat, so he can’t see my face in his rearview mirror, and I lean my head against the window. For just a second, I close my eyes. I need the break. The quiet. I need the cold of the glass.
And I need my fucking hat.
I’m back in public, back in a place I’m not familiar with.
Back trying to stay anonymous.
But the only thing I want back is Andi.
Andi
Clay’s only been gone an hour, and I miss him. How he managed to get under my skin so quickly, I have no idea. Actually, I do know. He’s seeping into my soul because he saved me. He was the one who carried me off a burning train and led me to safety. Without him, I surely would have died.
Now, as I lie here, glued to the coverage on the news,
all I can do is stare at the train cars near the river. All the metal is twisted and blackened, and the wreckage has continued to smolder, long after the accident.
Everything from conspiracy theories to terrorism is being discussed. But local officials are claiming what happened was nothing more than an unfortunate accident—a miscommunication between workers that left the tracks occupied when they should have been empty. A tragic death sentence.
The nurse on the night shift gives a quick tsk as she catches the end of the latest interview. It’s been a nonstop parade of nurses, doctors, and therapists. All the resting I’m supposed to be doing has been nothing but stress.
“How are you feeling, Andi?”
“Sore,” I tell her. “But, as long as I don’t move too much, I can manage.” I can’t seem to get comfortable, no matter how hard I try.
She pushes buttons on the monitors, takes my blood pressure for the millionth time, and adjusts the timer on my IV drip, hopefully giving me more of the good stuff. “Do you have any family here? Someone you can talk to?”
Like I told the nurse before her, I run through the same responses. “No, I was traveling alone.”
Maybe I should have told her about Clay in case he came back so that they wouldn’t give him a hard time, but I didn’t want to risk blowing his cover. Clay said he’d be back, so he will.
Giving me a nod full of pity, the nurse squeezes my hand before she drapes her stethoscope around her neck. “Maybe there’s someone you can call? Sometimes, talking about it helps.”
I must look pretty pathetic. I’d love to know what that shrink wrote in my chart. For all I know, she put me on suicide watch. Considering I was given utensils with dinner, I’m almost positive that’s not the case.
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
Truth is, there are people I can call, and I want nothing more than to hear Camille’s voice. But calling her would be like serving my body to Brooks, giving him an even bigger target to find.
Maybe I can get away with one call. Just one, so I can hear the sound of her voice, and then I’ll hang up and wait until I get to Philly to call again.
Once the nurse leaves, I grab the monitor attached to my bed and hover over the Internet icon. Most likely, my browser is being tracked. Anyone could be watching the moves I make, searching for clues about the bruises on my face.
Do I want to take this kind of risk?
The answer is easy.
Yes.
If the roles had been reversed and Camille were on that train, I’d have wanted her to risk everything and anything to tell me she was alive. After all she’s done, I owe her the same courtesy.
But, after typing her name in the search box, I can’t locate a cell number. The best I can do is call her law firm. With any luck, I can leave a voice mail that she should get by morning.
After carefully dialing the number, I’m shocked when the call connects.
“Hello?” she says in a panic. “Who is this?”
“Camille?”
“Ohmigod, Andi. Ohmigod. I have been so worried about you.”
Her breaths come out in strained puffs, whooshing into my eardrum. They morph into muffled sobs, and eventually, she cries so hard, I have to pull the receiver away from my face.
“Camille, I’m okay. Please, calm down.”
She sniffles and says, “I was praying you would call this number. I’ve had the line forwarded to my cell since I heard about the accident. God, Andi. I thought you were de-dead.”
So did I. “I’m a little banged up, but I’m going to be okay.”
“Thank God. I was so scared. Where are you?”
“The nurse said I’m at a hospital in Jersey.”
“Okay, just tell me the address.”
Hesitating, I grab the notepad on the side table and read the letterhead. Without it, I’d have had no clue where I was.
Camille takes a drink and swallows. “Okay, I can be there in the morning. Unless you think they’ll let me in now?”
“Probably not. I’m sorry I couldn’t call you sooner.” I wanted to. There hasn’t been an hour that she hasn’t been in my thoughts. This morning, she was what kept me on the train and got me this far.
“First thing, I’ll be there,” she promises.
“Do you think that’s a good idea? What if Brooks is watching you?”
“He probably is, but I need to see you. You shouldn’t be alone.”
I’m afraid to ask, but I have to hear it. “How bad is it, Camille? What am I up against?”
Brooks was going to lose his mind, no matter what. Now that there’s been an accident, everything’s changed. Including my escape plan.
With a shaky voice, she says, “He called the cops, and then he came to my house. Shit, Andi. I don’t know how you lived with him. He’s a vile human being. The things that came out of his mouth…I had to get security to come up to my condo and escort him out.”
“Jesus,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.” This is what I was afraid of. That I’d leave for a shot at freedom, and she’d take the brunt of his anger, becoming his new prisoner.
“Don’t be sorry. He’s an asshole. But, Andi, he’s looking for you—everywhere. Once he got wind of the accident, he started checking the hospitals.”
“Are you sure?” I ask as a new wave of panic washes over me.
The machine next to my head beeps faster, and the line tracking each heartbeat is so erratic, it looks like a strong earthquake is shaking the building.
“I’m positive. Somehow, he figured out you were on that train.”
“How? We were so careful.”
“The sickest part was, when he thought you might be dead, he was almost human. I think he was actually petrified he’d lost you.”
“He was petrified because he couldn’t seek revenge. That’s all.”
“Probably,” she says, barely above a whisper. “He’s such a bastard.”
There’s no arguing with that.
“I can’t do much until they release me, but as soon as I get better, I’m leaving for Philly. As far as I’m concerned, the plan hasn’t changed.”
“Good,” she says. “Just get some sleep. It’ll help. And call this number again whenever you need me.”
“Okay. Good night,” I tell her.
“Night, Andi.”
I jot down her number on my little piece of paper and tuck it back under the covers. Having an extra lifeline makes being confined to this bed a little bit easier—even if I am a sitting duck, waiting for the devil to find me.
My hands shake because, if the shrink didn’t do as I’d asked, my chart isn’t anonymous. Brooks will be able to walk through the door and look me up in a matter of seconds. It’ll all be over before I ever get discharged.
I’m not going back.
The next dose of pain medication drips into my IV. Before it knocks me out, I decide that, as soon as I wake up, I’ll call Clay. He’ll know what to do.
Slowly, I succumb to the fog pulling me under.
“Baby, it’s time to wake up.”
I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep, but it doesn’t seem long. I’m positive the coldness returned a couple of minutes after I closed my eyes. Luring me out of a peaceful dream, a warm breath floats across my earlobe. Before I even open my eyes, I know what I’ll see as soon as I do.
Him.
Slowly, my lids open, and Brooks is leaning over the top of me, waiting. For the briefest of moments, he resembles the human being Camille thought she saw. The flicker of concern as he takes me in is almost comforting, like it pains him to see me so broken. It doesn’t last long, and had I blinked, I would have missed it entirely.
His hair is sticking up, and his shirt is wrinkled. I’m glad he looks as bad as I feel.
“Why, Andi?” is all he says.
Why did I run? Why did I pick today of all days to try?
I have answers to both questions, only I’m too scared to speak.
When I left, I promised I�
�d never mutter another syllable to Brooks. More than ever, I need to keep that promise to myself to prove that I’m strong and capable. Not the weak little girl he reduces me to every time he raises a hand.
As slowly as possible, I inch my fingers toward the Call button, praying Brooks doesn’t notice.
He does.
Without my words, he’s hypersensitive to my movements. His hand latches on to my wrist, holding me in place. Before I have a chance to scream, he covers my mouth with his palm, silencing any attempt I can make at getting help.
“Listen to me, and listen good.”
I nod, afraid that, if I don’t, he’ll do something ten times worse.
Where is my nurse?
When I wanted to be left alone, she popped in constantly. Now, I’m begging for attention, and she’s nowhere to be found.
“I see the questions in your eyes, Andi. You thought I wouldn’t find you. That I’d let you leave without a fight. Don’t you get it? Have I taught you nothing? You’re mine. Do you hear me?”
He makes me sound like a possession, like I’m nothing without him. A puppet—that’s what I’ve been reduced to.
Just as his grip tightens, the door opens, and I’ve never been so thankful. The nurse steps in the room, laughing about something someone said in the hallway. She has no idea that my biggest fear, my worst enemy, is standing a few feet away. If she did, she wouldn’t have a smile on her face; she would be as scared as I am.
Silently, I beg her to check my IV pole or mess with the monitors on the other side of the bed. She doesn’t. Instead, she stands with her back toward the bathroom door, facing away from Brooks.
As soon as she begins taking my blood pressure, Brooks inches the door open. His eyes bore into mine with so much hate and disgust, I’m paralyzed. If I speak, he’ll hurt the nurse. If I try to save the both of us, she’ll suffer first. And, if I say nothing at all, he’ll still be standing there, no matter what.
There’s not a single solution. I’m trapped, and he’s reveling in sweet victory a few feet away.
My free hand inches under the blanket, fumbling for the little piece of paper with Clay’s number on it. It becomes my only source of sanity as I pray for him to come back for me.