by Dan DeWitt
She felt a growing sense of unease as she headed to the first floor. “Cam? Where are you?” He wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. A peek into the driveway showed that his car was still there. All of the entry doors were locked from the inside.
She heard a cry of pain and a shout of “Motherfucker!” coming from the basement. She reacted without thinking, grabbed a long knife, and took the basement stairs two at a time.
She jumped to the landing, knife held in front of her.
Cameron Holt stood in front of a punching bag, rotating his wrist and grimacing. He faced his wife nonchalantly. “Hey.”
Jackie threw her hands out with a flourish, all exasperation. “Hey? That's it? You scared the shit out of me! I actually grabbed a knife!”
He finished re-wrapping his hands. He rotated his wrist a few more times, and was apparently satisfied enough to go back to hitting the bag. “I couldn't sleep,” he said as he struck the bag with several straight jabs. “Calm down.”
“You know I hate it when you say that. I was just worried about you.”
“What,” he grunted as he threw a hook to the body. “Did you want me to leave you a note?” He gradually increased the pace of his blows.
Jackie stormed over to him and glared at his silhouette. “That's hilarious.”
He responded by throwing a flurry of punches, giving the impression of a fighter trying to steal a round just before the bell.
She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I remember a guy who would always apologize for making me worry.”
Holt gritted his teeth and his punches became a blur.
“Jesus, Cam, look at -”
He whirled on her. “Can you just leave me the fuck alone, already?!?”
She was startled, but she held her ground, and his gaze, for several seconds. She spoke with voice free from inflection. “When you're ready to talk, come upstairs. Until then, do what you have to do to work your shit out. And ice that wrist, because you might need it for a while.” Having said what she wanted to say, she took a step away from him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Wait. Just wait.”
She didn't pull away from him, but she didn't turn, either.
Satisfied that she was going to stay, Holt grabbed an envelope off of the pool table. He pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to her.
She noticed two things immediately. It was expensive stock, and it was an invitation to something. She read aloud. “We request the honor of your presence at the Lost Whaler Island Memorial Gala ...” She stopped reading and looked at her husband.
“It brought everything back, Jackie. The nightmares, and the paranoia, were finally gone, or close enough to it. Under control, at least. And this fucking envelope brought it all back in a hurry.”
She dropped the letter on the floor and hugged him. “Baby, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you.”
“I thought I could handle it. I will handle it.”
“I know you will. We all will.” She threw a glance at the clock. Well, that sucks. “Hey, do you want to join me for a really early breakfast?”
Holt began to take off the wraps. “Yeah, that sounds good. Just give me a minute to cool down.” Whether it was his intent or not, Jackie picked up on the double meaning.
She touched his forearm. “Is your wrist okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I just hit the bag wrong and rolled it. I wasn't exactly focusing on technique.”
She nodded and walked upstairs.
She was halfway up when he said, “Jac?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that.”
She tried to smile, but her heart was breaking for him. All he wanted to do was put the island behind him forever. “Neither did you.” She continued up the stairs and out of sight. Holt soon heard the sounds of cooking.
He slowly rolled the wraps up and placed them back in the gym bag. He wiped down with a towel and threw that on top. He picked up the invitation, muttered, flipped it onto the pool table, and headed up to the kitchen.
He inhaled deeply. The smell of bacon and coffee hit his nostrils immediately, and the eggs mere moments after they hit the hot skillet. He sidled up behind her and gently rubbed her upper arms. “You work fast.”
She stirred the eggs and laughed. “I know how you get when you're hungry.”
He kissed her exposed neck, and she cocked her head to one side.
“Mmmm, that's nice.”
“No, that's actually pretty gross, Ma.”
Holt laughed into his wife's neck. “Looks like breakfast for two is out.”
He saw Ethan standing in the doorway rubbing sleep out of his eyes and yawning. “Rachel will be down in a sec. She wanted to brush her teeth, but I decided to just launch face first into food.”
“I'm sorry, sweetie, I didn't mean to wake you.”
Ethan grabbed four coffee mugs, added cream and sugar, and filled them, which all but killed the pot. He took a sip, savored it, and said, “It's all good, Ma. I don't think that any of us sleep all that heavily anymore. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just had some energy to burn off.”
Ethan put the mugs on the table and sat down. He nearly fell out of the chair as one of the wooden braces underneath separated from the rest. His arms pinwheeled for a second, then he righted himself. “Maybe not that one.” He flipped it over and banged the wood back home.
The elder Holt said, “I'll pick up some wood glue and fix that later.”
Rachel padded into the kitchen and flipped her long hair sleepily. She sat down at the table, crossed her arms, and plopped her forehead down.
“Good morning, Rachel!” Holt said with exaggerated cheer, and Rachel gave him a muffled response and a thumbs-up. Holt slid a coffee mug closer to her. She didn't raise her head, but fumbled around blindly until she found it.
Jackie finished cooking, Holt set the table, and Ethan made a new pot of coffee.
Save for the hour, breakfast was normal.
“So, what were you two yelling about in the basement?” Ethan asked between forkfuls of eggs.
Holt was surprised, and traded a glance with his wife. “I was a little tense about something and took it out on her for a second. Normal married stuff.”
“Ah. Is it about the anniversary gala?”
“Now how in the world did you know that?”
Rachel smiled thinly. “My parents got my invitation the day before and called me. I didn't take it well, either.”
“We thought you already knew about it, Dad.”
“It's all right. It just took me by surprise.”
“Are you going to be okay with the speech?”
Holt paused, a strip of bacon an inch from his lips. “What speech?”
“Oh, boy,” Ethan said. “You didn't actually read the whole thing, did you?”
“Judging by his tone, I'm going to guess not,” Jackie said.
“Tell me.”
“Um, you're kind of the keynote speaker.”
The kitchen fell into silence, and no one moved. Whether subconsciously or not, all movement ceased while they anticipated what the reaction would be: violence, depression, tears, or something else. Everything was on the table.
The reaction was a long sigh followed by a defeated, “I suppose it's too early to start the heavy drinking.”
Party Animal
Holt fiddled with his tie for the tenth time in half as many minutes. He looked through the tinted windows and could just make out the dozens of humanlike shapes lining either side of the entryway. He could sense their energy, hidden just below the surface, waiting to explode.
He felt a light punch in his thigh. “Chill, Dad. If you looked anymore handsome, you'd be me. Am I right, ladies?”
Rachel said, “Make it stop.”
“You're both handsome, sweetie,” Jackie said.
Ethan smirked. The driver opened the door. Ethan said, “Let's do this!” as h
e grabbed his fiancée’s hand and led her out the door. There was a barrage of camera flashes and cheers. Ethan raised his arms above his head and yelled, "Hello, Boston!"
Holt didn't move from his seat. He closed his eyes and bobbed his head subtly back and forth, trying to calm himself.
Jackie squeezed her husband's hand. “You okay?”
“Not as okay as that kid, apparently. I don't know how he bounced back so quickly.”
“He doesn't know what you went through as a parent. Hopefully, he never will.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Come on. I'll distract them with some leg.”
She stayed true to her word. She took the driver's offered hand and exited slowly. Holt didn't know about the throng, but the distraction certainly worked for him.
He climbed out after her and was immediately blinded and engulfed in sound. The cacophony soon coalesced into a chant of “Or-phe-US! Or-phe-US!” as if he were a rock star. As dour as he had felt a few moments prior, he couldn't help but feed off of it. He threw up a hand in acknowledgement and they roared louder.
This is absolutely insane.
Jackie, seemingly in complete agreement, mouthed something that could only be, “Holy shit.”
Several pens were thrust at him. He grabbed a few and signed some autographs, which is the one thing he actually had become familiar with during his months of celebrity.
They made it to the entrance and were greeted by none other than Martin Trager. He hugged Jackie and kissed her cheek. After he released her and she walked across the threshold, Trager firmly shook Holt's hand. He looked in Jackie's direction as she disappeared into the sea of people and said, “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but if you don't hit that tonight, you're dead to me.”
“No comment.”
“That's okay.” A waitress approached them with a tray of champagne. Trager handed one to Holt and toasted him. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow. Now go mingle, I'll come get you when you're on.”
Holt protested, “But … what am I supposed …?”
Trager walked backward, arms outstretched, grinning. “Meet your people!” Trager turned his attention from Holt to a clearly star struck young woman.
Holt tried to make his way through the sea of flesh, but it was slow going. Every hand had to be shaken, every cheek kissed. The atmosphere was electric, and even he found it easy to forget why they were there.
He finally spied Jackie at their table. She was flanked by Ethan and Rachel. Next to his son were Fish and Jen, and they certainly acted like they were still a couple. Holt didn't know the two men, but he had to assume that they were Ethan's friends from the island. Rounding out the group was Tim. There was something in his posture, a look of maturity about him that Holt didn't remember, but it looked good on him. The kid was a leader.
He barely had time to wonder where Lena was when she nearly knocked him over. She wrapped her arms around him in her best impression of a bear hug, given their respective sizes. “CAM!”
He hugged her back and laughed. “Whoa, you're like a tattooed hurricane!” He was vaguely aware of another barrage of camera flashes.
Lena pulled away, laughing and wiping tears at the same time. “I'm sorry we haven't talked. Everything was just so overwhelming, and then we've been working with Martin, and I just …” She wiped another tear. “ … I just never got a chance to say how happy I am for you. You deserve it. You deserve all of this.”
He kissed her forehead, a moment that would eventually become the iconic image of the event. “We all do, kid. Come on, I want you to meet my wife.”
They made it to the table, and Jackie was already on her feet. “And who is this gorgeous girl?”
Lena surprised everyone by hugging Jackie fiercely. “Omigod, I'm so glad to meet you Mrs. Holt! Cam talked about you so much, I feel like I know you!” Lena straightened her dress. “Sorry, I'm Lena.”
Jackie said, “My turn,” and hugged her back. She then held her at arm's length, her hands on Lena's shoulders. “Thank you so much for helping me get my boys back. You ever need anything at all, you just ask.”
Holt greeted his young friends. He was introduced to Harold and Jason, and expressed his gratitude for their part in his son's survival and his own rescue.
Harold motioned to Jason. “I didn't do much, but you should've seen this guy go.”
Jason smiled widely and said with unadulterated cheer, “And I still have nightmares about it, too!”
Holt clapped them both on the shoulder. “There seems to be a lot of that going around, fellas. I'm glad to meet you both.”
They all eventually settled in. Dinner was served, drinks were poured, and stories were shared.
Jackie, the only one of the group who had gotten off of the island right in the beginning, was enraptured. “This stuff is just incredible to hear. Horrifying, but incredible. It sounds like it can't be real. I mean, I saw some of it firsthand, but I don't think it ever really sunk in that they were dead people. Back here, it was just so abstract.”
Tim said, “We were in the middle of it for months, and it was still pretty hard to believe.”
“Trager's heading to the podium,” Fish said, abnormally subdued. All eyes in the hall focused on the man on the stage.
He cleared his throat. “Good evening, everyone, and thank you for coming. My name is Martin Trager, the former CEO of what used to be the Lost Whaler Island Hospital and Research Center. None of that matters now, if it ever really did. Rubble, all of it.” He paused and shuffled his papers.
“Heroes. We throw that word around far too often for it to maintain its true meaning. The qualities that we used to believe in for our heroes … honor, courage, self-sacrifice … have somehow morphed into batting average and salary commanded per movie.
“But, ladies and gentlemen, heroes do exist. I'm looking right at a table full of them. They fought tooth and nail to not only survive the worst conditions that man has ever known, but to endure. To thrive. To help others do the same. Two separate groups, only reunited near the end, did it the same way: through faith in each other, a steadfast refusal to give up in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, and, forgive me, massive brass balls.”
Laughter rippled through the audience.
“They saved people. It did, unfortunately, go poorly at the end, and most were lost. But that doesn't cheapen what was done.
“I have a confession to make. Less of a confession, I guess, than a statement of fact. The people at that table did a lot more than the old Martin Trager ever would have. He wasn't one to put anything above himself. He would orchestrate and manipulate, but he would never truly put himself in harm's way for anyone else, until he saw what true selflessness could accomplish. That man was given a second chance, and for no better reason than someone believed in him, and someone else believed in her enough to personally rescue a selfish bastard.
“Let me tell you about the first time I met Cameron Holt. He'd fought through miles of Hell to make it to the hospital. Within minutes, I knew he was the most driven man I'd ever met. He was understandably obsessed with finding his wife and son, and I knew I could use that to get what I wanted. To be fair to myself, my motives were pure-ish. I took my responsibilities at the hospital very seriously. The people in my charge deserved care for as long as I could find a way to provide it.
“Anyway, Holt walks into my office. I shake his hand hard, a power thing to set the tone. I mean, I'm giving it everything I've got, and I don't think he could've cared less. We locked horns immediately. After we came to a mutual agreement, do you know what that guy does? Steals a $40,000 bottle of Scotch. And not subtly. It was practically a Broadway show. And it was all to dare me to try and stop him. Do you know what's funny? Somewhere down the road, I realized that he was going to get out there and do what needed to be done regardless of whether he was asked to, solely because he knew that people were relying on him. He put aside his own agenda to pursue the greater good. And he absolutely would not fail. That's Ca
meron Holt in a nutshell: a man of honor, a force of nature.
He motioned to the table. “Cameron Holt. Orpheus.” Martin Trager stood back and led the ovation.
Holt took the podium amidst a standing ovation. He let it go for a minute, not to bask in the adoration, but because trying to calm it down wouldn't have done any good. This was a release for a lot of people in the room who had yet to come to grips that the horrors of the world had taken a quantum leap forward.
“Thank you, thank you. I'm not very comfortable with this sort of thing, so please be patient. I didn't prepare a speech, because I was pretty sure I'd screw it up.” He chuckled, and others followed it.
“When I first heard of this event, I wanted to run and hide. Despite Martin's generous introduction for me, I'm not that force of nature he spoke about. I was just highly motivated, no more or less than others. Some things worked out. For me, at least. After that was over, all I ever wanted was to just forget. I wanted to get back to my life, and let the island fade away until it was nothing more than something that popped up in a bad dream from time to time. I wanted to spend every possible moment with my wife. I wanted to plan my son's bachelor party, and then dance with my new daughter-in-law at the wedding. I wanted to keep in touch with the rest of my friends from that other place, and talk about anything but that place for the rest of my life. I wanted to put Orpheus to rest for good. I wanted to get on with living by ignoring the dead.”
Holt cleared his throat.
“I still want those things with all of my heart, but I realize that I can't insult the dead by selfishly forgetting about them. We lost tens of thousands of people. Our friends, families, lovers, neighbors, random smiling faces on Main. My son lost so many people, people to whom I can never express my gratitude for giving him back to me. I lost my two best friends in the worst way possible, because they died saving me. They gave me back my life. One of them had salvation in his hand and gave it up to save someone else. How can anyone repay that sort of debt?”
He let that sink in, almost unsure what to say next.