Humanity

by J. D. Knutson

  “You want me to feel pain.”

  “I want to cause you pain.”

  A chill ran down my spine. This man wasn’t just Gideon’s abuser; he was completely unstable.

  It was ironic, in a way. It had only been five months before that I had looked into Gideon’s eyes and told him I was going to kill him for taking my parents from me. Not only did I want him dead, but I wanted to do it myself – preferably in a drawn-out manner. Now, here I was, facing someone who wanted to do the same thing to me because of his feelings for Gideon. Despite the fact that I hadn’t taken Gideon from him, he still somehow held me responsible.

  “Are you leading to something? Because I’d really like to make it back to Gideon before he’s dead.”

  “A trade, my dear. I will accompany you back to Gideon, and you can give him the medicine. Then, you will write a note to him telling him goodbye, and will come back here with me. We will go to a different house, one that is deserted, and I will take my time killing you. Pain will most definitely be part of the equation. Oh, and you will hand your gun over to me now, as soon as you agree to this.”

  I reflected on what he was saying: my life for Gideon’s. If I didn’t do this, Gideon would die. What would I do without him? Life wouldn’t be worth living. But, by giving it away, I could save him.

  “Agreed,” I said, and I took my gun out of my pocket and handed it to him.

  He nodded once. “Good. The medicine’s in here.” He patted his own backpack. “Shall we be off?”

  “You said I could leave him a note. Do you have material for that?”

  “Pencil and paper, yes. Shall we go? As you pointed out, he doesn’t have much time.” He started out the door and I followed; the guards’ eyes watched us, but I didn’t spare them a glance.

  “Can we run?” I asked, even though my legs shook at the thought.

  He smiled oddly. “Yes. Why not?” He started into a jog, then sped up as I kept pace with him.

  As we ran, I thought about what I could say in that note. I focused all my thoughts on what I would write. I didn’t want to think about what might happen after, and I wanted to give Gideon as much to remember me by as possible – I wanted to tell him everything positive I had ever felt for him. I wanted to tell him to go to Mexico, to start over without me, to live so that my sacrifice could be worth it. I wanted to share with him all my favorite memories of us – the first night we fell asleep holding hands, or when I had watched him sew my shirt, or the way his eyes lit up whenever I returned from something as short as a restroom break. I wanted to say so much to him.

  Most of all, I wanted to tell him I forgave him. Why hadn’t I said it sooner? At some point, whether or not I forgave him had faded into the background, an issue we never discussed. It should have been more important to me to tell him how I felt about it. Hadn’t I really forgiven him back when I’d wanted to forget about his killing my parents so that I could simply be with him?

  Maybe he already knew. When you loved someone enough, forgiveness came like giving anything else. It was there, and it was unconditional.

  With these thoughts, I remembered the little story Gideon had told me months before, when I had asked him to talk to me to help me forget about other memories. I had obsessed about that story for hours, wondering at its meaning, deciding that the message was that love could be a strong motivation.

  What I had missed was that it was a strong motivation to forgive. Now I understood. I would forgive Gideon of anything because of the love I felt for him. I’d do anything for him.

  Even sacrifice my life.

  How had things happened this way? The only reason I’d ever known him was because I had wanted to kill him. Now, I was giving my life to save his. How had that happened?

  It was because I’d fallen in love with him. Somehow, unbelievably, I’d fallen in love with him. And love could overcome any pain he had previously caused.

  But I couldn’t say any of this in the note I was going to leave him. I didn’t know this man I was running with – I didn’t know him any better than what he and Gideon had said – but I was certain he wouldn’t want Gideon finding his way back to me. He would read the note, to make certain I hadn’t left any hints to where I’d gone.

  More than that, though, I couldn’t leave this man any hints as to where Gideon might go. I wanted Gideon to go to Mexico, but he’d have to figure it out without me, because I would never betray him so harshly by letting this man know that’s where Gideon might be headed.

  The note would have to be simple, and yet say everything I’d ever felt for him. How could I accomplish that?

  The hours ticked away; we reached the grove and entered the trees. Just before we hit the camp, I turned to the man.

  “Can I have the medicine now? And the pencil and paper?”

  “He’s just there?” he asked, nodding into the clearing; a bead of sweat trickled down his sideburns.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  The man unshouldered his pack and shuffled through his belongings. “Paper. Pencil. And the medicine,” he said, handing each to me in turn. “And I’ll want to see what you write; turn the pencil in to me before leaving the note.”

  “I assumed that’d be the case,” I said; I opened each medicine bottle, counting to make sure there was enough. Then I turned my back to him and placed the paper against the smoothest spot of tree I could see around us. I leaned in to write:

  Gideon,

  My driving force is you. Take one pill every 4 hours for 24 hours, then one pill every 12 hours till they’re gone.

  I love you,

  Candace

  “I’ll have my gun on you the entire time you’re over there, so don’t try anything,” he murmured.

  I didn’t respond. Without looking back at the man, I walked into our camp, assuming he’d read what I’d written from over my shoulder.

  Gideon was exactly where I had left him: lying on the ground with his back pressed against a tree. His face was red; sweat gathered on his forehead. He hadn’t moved at all for the last six or so hours, but his body trembled.

  I rushed to him, wiping the sweat away and kissing his brow. Then, while I was at it, I kissed the rest of his face: his nose, his cheeks, his lips, then went to his ears and his neck. I pulled away and brought the medicine bottles to my attention; I popped the lid off each, taking two pills and getting a water bottle ready. I struggled with his weight, pushing him to his back before lifting his head; his lips parted, and I stuck my fingers into his mouth, wedging the pills as far into his throat as possible before pulling my fingers back and trickling some water into his mouth, rinsing the pills down.

  He reflexively swallowed, and some part of me finally relaxed. He was going to live.

  But I wouldn’t be here to see him wake.

  I pushed that thought away, busying myself with the bottles, arranging them a foot in front of his face, using them to weigh down the note I’d written. I placed my backpack at the foot of the tree; I wouldn’t be needing anything in there anymore. Then, finally, I leaned in to him again, bringing my lips close to his ear.

  “I forgive you,” I whispered. I placed one more kiss on his lips, then pushed myself up.

  I walked away.

  Chapter 19

  “Took long enough, didn’t you,” the man said, taking my arm as I left Gideon behind. What he’d said wasn’t a question, just a statement.

  “You’ll take your time, too, I’m sure,” I replied, my tone cold as I allowed him to drag me along. “I assume we’re not running back, if you’re going to drag me the entire way.”

  “I assume you’ve spent all your energy. I’m in no rush.”

  “Neither am I, I suppose.” When he didn’t say anything more, I fell silent, letting the dread creep up on me.

  No, I couldn’t do that. I unthinkingly straightened my back as I walked, realizing that, even though Gideon was taken care of now, I still had to be strong. I couldn’t let the dread take over – my parents w
ouldn’t have wanted that, and neither would Gideon.

  Gideon had always said life was about surviving. That was no longer an option for me, but I was still breathing at the moment. I was still living, even if that wasn’t going to last much longer.

  I took a deep breath and focused on the sounds and smells around me, clearing my thoughts; I focused on being and, even though I knew my being wouldn’t last, peace descended over me.

  My hand went to the necklace Gideon had given me, and my mind traveled over what I’d said in my note. It was true; he was my motivation for every day. His driving force might have been survival, but I knew it was no longer only that. It was me. And he was my driving force, too. I wanted him to know that; I wanted him to know he fueled my every decision.

  And not in the same way that he had when we’d first met; then, he’d fueled my every decision for his death. Now, he fueled my every decision for his life and happiness.

  How would he feel when he realized I was gone?

  I couldn’t think about that. It was enough to know that he would survive; I knew he had the strength to carry on without me. He was strong; it was one of the many things I loved about him.

  Him being my driving force was what pushed me forward now, what helped me take each and every step with the man beside me. Knowing that, even though I’d be gone, he’d still survive, gave me such a sense of peace. Happiness, almost.

  At that thought, a veil seemed to lift away from my mind. My thoughts went back to my parents, and I realized something that I’d never recognized before: my parents might have died, but they had died with a partner, with each other, and having had a daughter. Wasn’t that the closest thing to happiness they could have achieved in this world? They had been happy. They really hadn’t ever needed me to avenge their deaths. Again, Gideon had been very right.

  I realized this because it was the same for me now. I might be close to death, but I had achieved so much happiness with Gideon. And, now that I’d realized my forgiveness for him, I also had no internal conflict over that happiness. I highly doubted my life could get any better from this point, because I’d already had so many good things with Gideon – not to mention having experienced what it was like to have parents who loved me. My life was full, complete. There was no reason for me not to move on.

  Except Gideon. He would have to live on without me. But he was strong; he could do that.

  The time passed, and we soon neared the commune. As promised, though, we didn’t go to that particular house; instead, we turned two doors early, into the yard of a different home.

  It was then, of all times, that the beauty of the house struck me. What had Gideon called this? Aesthetic appeal? He had tried so hard to get me to see the aesthetic appeal of something before – at the carnival, at the mall – but I had always gotten hung up on the history of the object: it had been created by humans, for humans, and had then been deserted by humans. What could have been beautiful about that?

  Gideon had insisted that the beauty was in how nature had changed the object in humanity’s absence: the sunlight on the Easter bunny, the colors of the broken glass. I could never appreciate it the way he could. Until now.

  Even though I knew this house we stood before was the house in which I was going to die, I could still see the beauty of the remains of civilization joining with nature as the green vines snaked up the brick walls. Humanity had left this home, but nature had taken it and created something else – perhaps something even more beautiful.

  The aesthetic appeal was undeniable. How had I ever missed it? I wished I could share with Gideon my new insight, but it was too late; I would never see him again.

  The man led me into the house.

  “Why this house in particular?” I asked.

  “There’s no particular reason; it’s just convenient.”

  “Huh. Gideon would have liked the exterior.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “Why’s that?” He pulled me up a set of stairs.

  “The aesthetic beauty.”

  He paused. “How did you and Gideon meet?”

  I hesitated, then answered. “He killed my parents.”

  His brow furrowed. “Oh?” He took me into a room at the far corner of the hall. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well then, take a seat. Anywhere will do.”

  I looked around at the empty, dusty carpet, then eased myself down and crossed my legs, leaning my back against a wall.

  “Comfy?” he asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, because you’ll be here awhile.” He took his backpack off and rummaged through it until he brought out a length of rope.

  “You’re going to tie me up? I’m not going to run away.”

  “No, you won’t, but you’ll try. It’s human nature to protect oneself from injury - instinct. I can’t let that happen.”

  I sighed, holding out my hands. He looped the rope around them, tying a tight knot before taking out a sharp knife and cutting off the excess.

  “Your legs, please.”

  I obediently straightened them so that he could tie my ankles. “Are you going to gag me, too?”

  “No; there’s no reason to, and I think I’ll rather enjoy it when you scream in pain. Now, you might want to brace yourself.” He lifted the knife.

  Chapter 20 - Gideon

  “I forgive you.”

  The words echoed in my head, like the pitter patter of rain.

  “I forgive you.”

  So long had I waited to hear them. So long had I imagined what they would sound like sliding off her lips. And yet, now, I wasn’t sure that I hadn’t simply imagined them again.

  “I forgive you.”

  My eyes opened, feeling heavy and encrusted with sleep. I blinked up at the darkening sky, feeling disoriented. Those were the orange trees I stared up at, but why was night coming?

  I tried to think back to the last thing I remembered, and a foggy image came to mind: Candace playing checkers in the dirt with me. She was worried, and so was I.

  Because we both knew I was going to die.

  I sat bolt-upright, my shoulder searing with the movement and my other hand knocking into something on the ground; whatever it was went rolling, but I didn’t look after it. Instead, I looked around for Candace.

  Our camp was empty; I was the only one here.

  Where had she gone? I’d made her promise months ago not to go anywhere without me. It was too dangerous, and I definitely didn’t want anyone to touch her but me.

  I pushed myself to my feet, blood rushing to my head. My boot nudged something and sent it rolling, just like the first item I’d encountered. I finally looked down, watching the medicine bottle roll away.

  Medicine. Had Candace found me medicine?

  I took the few steps necessary and scooped up the bottle, looking around for the first one; when Candace had given me medicine for infection in the past, there had been two bottles. The other bottle must have been the first thing that I’d caused to roll away.

  There it was, in the crook of a tree root. Another bottle of medicine.

  I picked this one up, too, squinting at the words I didn’t understand.

  Why would Candace be gone now? Surely she would have wanted to be here when I woke up, and I’d need her help in order to take the medicine in the right doses at the right time.

  I looked around again, and my eyes landed on a scrap of paper where I had just woken. Tired already, I went to the tree and sat against it, picking up the note and reading it.

  There they were: my instructions. I had no idea whether it had been four hours since my first dose, but I assumed it had been long enough, if the medicine had worked to the point that I could wake up. I popped the lids of the pills and took one of each, even though she hadn’t specified to take both medicines – she hadn’t specified either one, and I remembered well enough what the protocol had been last time.

  My driving force is you.

&nbs
p; I knew what she meant, of course, and the words touched me. But why would she write them in this note? Why now? Surely she’d be back shortly; she probably planned on being gone for such a short time that she didn’t think I’d wake before she was back. The note was just a precaution.

  I sat back and waited.

  Four hours passed. I took more pills and stood, the grove definitively dark now. Anxiety had built in my chest as the time had ticked by. Where was she?

  I paced the camp, looking for signs of anything that might have happened while I was asleep. I found her backpack beside the tree, with my own empty next to it. I searched through her pack, finding my own things mixed with hers.

  She had transferred my stuff to her pack, and then left her pack entirely? It didn’t make any sense.

  But she would have to have gone somewhere, even before her new absence, because she’d found the medicine. So, she must have taken my stuff with her, gotten the medicine somehow, and then come back. She’d left me the medicine, the note, and the backpack, and then departed again.

  All before I’d succumbed to the fever. How had she done that?

  And why wasn’t she here now?

  Where had the medicine come from?

  I mulled over these questions as a light drizzle began over my head; I sat back down, exhausted again. Sleep nagged at my eyelids but I fought it off – I couldn’t go to sleep again until I knew Candace was safe.

  As I struggled against my exhaustion, I recognized the fact that my body wouldn’t listen to my mind at the moment, because it had come so close to death that it needed the rest I was trying to deny it. My eyelids became even heavier, and I only had one more coherent thought: Candace wouldn’t have been gone this long by choice, and that meant she might need my help.

  ~ * ~

  My eyes popped open as awareness returned, and I immediately took more medicine. I wasn’t sure if it had been four hours, or if it had been longer, but I took them just to be safe. It was still dark, but it hadn’t been my choice to sleep; I got to my feet.

  Where would Candace have gone for medicine? The only person we’d seen in months was the man who’d shot me for the doe. There wasn’t anywhere for her to start. Except. . .