Even if I was the only one who survived.
Back in my childhood bedroom, in absolute shock of the knowledge I’d just uncovered, the memories of the person I’d been, the lengths I was willing to go through to ensure my own happiness, the awful person I had been before trying to be better. Even if I hadn’t intended to assume Jack’s identity by the end of his life, I had tried to be like him more than I thought I would. And it had uplifted me. Made me be a better person, truly.
Even if it wasn’t the person I thought I was.
My hands shaking, I slipped the diary back into its slot in the box springs. No one had found it there so far, so it would be safe. I was the one who wasn’t safe. I felt like the living, breathing adage of “be careful what you wish for.” I had wished Jack dead so I could be him, and now everyone thought I was him, even if I hadn’t pretended. My plan had been close enough to completion that I’d fooled everyone – even myself. I needed to get out of here, run away from this reality. Run away from my memories, if I could.
Even if I knew I couldn’t.
Chapter 10
I barely remembered the ride back to Rio Seco, wasn’t quite sure if I’d said anything to my uncle – father – on the way out the door, fleeing the truths I’d found in that house. I did recall that I felt claustrophobic, like the world was closing in on me, even if the sky was bright, cloudless, and cold all the way back to town.
I bypassed the bar, roaring right past, unable to summon the courage it would take to go inside. Would my friends be able to tell I was a different person just by looking at me? Because I felt different. Maybe there was something to be said for blissful ignorance, even if the thing I was ignorant of was myself. I had been happy, hadn’t I? Dissatisfied that I thought I was missing out on something by not having all of my memories, maybe. Sad that Cheyenne and I might not work out for reasons seemingly beyond my control. But happy on the whole, right?
I hadn’t known what I had. I’d screwed everything up by digging too deep, and now I couldn’t go back.
I was James Ryder.
I had been intent on causing my cousin’s death and taking his identity.
I’d thought I was Jack Ryder for nearly four years. Everyone knew me as Jack.
What was I supposed to do?
I hunkered down in my house, locked the doors, closed the window blinds, and crawled into bed. Was there a chance that this was just another bad dream? No. Now that I had access to all my memories, I couldn’t shut them off. They were like a torrent of constant torture.
I was somewhat aware of the texts and phone calls I was missing, but I didn’t know how to answer them. What could I possibly say to my friends now that I knew who I really was? Right now, I needed time and space to process the shock of having all my memories back. I spent most of my time simply staring at the ceiling, reliving things I thought I’d never be able to remember, like the names of my teachers from elementary school, or girls I had liked in high school but never mustered up the courage to talk to, or the twist of the knife to see Jack with Cheyenne, who I coveted like she belonged to me.
Jesus Christ. What in the hell was I supposed to tell Cheyenne?
But my friends weren’t particularly patient people. After exactly three days of me dwelling with my memories inside my house, Ace came knocking at my door, the glass panes rattling, freezing me in the kitchen, drinking out of the faucet like a degenerate.
“Jack, you in there?”
No. Jack wasn’t in here. I was James, now, and I didn’t know how to introduce myself to my friends. Would they be able to understand what had happened? Would I be able to explain it?
For half a moment, I seriously considered continuing to pretend to be Jack. It hadn’t been subterfuge before. I’d genuinely believed I was Jack Ryder. Couldn’t I keep existing like that? It was the person they all knew me to be. And even if I now had all my memories from being James, I still identified with Jack more. Jack was a good person. I had not been a good person. I had plotted his death, even if I had been unwilling and unable to carry it out, in the end. But even if it would’ve been easier, for everyone’s sake, that I keep pretending I was Jack, I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t lie to the people I cared about. Not even to protect myself. I sank to the floor, weighted down with the horror of everything.
“It’s weird, not having you at the bar,” Ace said, and the door creaked in a way that told me he was sitting with his back against it, on the front stoop of my house. “You’ve become more of a fixture there than I think any of us realized, even you. Don’t you miss it? That nice cushy booth? Getting all the free drinks you want? The attention? Shit, man, you were like the godfather in there. People coming up to you all the time. Schmoozing.”
“I don’t feel like going to the bar right now,” I said finally, just because it wasn’t fair for Ace to be sitting outside of my house with me inside it, silent, letting him ramble.
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
And God, if that wasn’t the statement of the century. What was I supposed to sound like? What was I supposed to like? Everything – every single little detail – had been fudged. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, now. I thought that, if the day should come when all my memories would be back, I would finally be complete. Happy, even, or at least at peace.
I didn’t anticipate that I would be more broken than ever.
“Jack?”
I gagged at that, clapping my hand over my mouth. How was I supposed to tell my friends that I couldn’t be called that name anymore? What could I say to make any of this make sense to them? The only solution I had – and it was a terribly temporary one – was to hide out in my house for as long as I could manage.
“Are you okay in there?” Ace knocked on the door lightly. “Bud?”
“I think I’m coming down with something.”
“You’re sick?”
“Maybe.”
“You need to go to the doctor?”
“No.”
“Can I pick you up something? What kind of sick are you?”
The kind of sick where I wanted to claw my own skin off my body and crawl out of it. To be someone else…but maybe that was the problem to begin with. I had been assuming my cousin’s identity. I had been someone else this entire time. It was wrong to want to leave my reality again. I was stuck being James Ryder. That was something I couldn’t crawl away from, even if I’d been getting away with it for years.
I was a monster.
“Jack. Let me in. Open the door.”
I scooted away from it, realizing he’d heard me fall to my knees, still gagging. He couldn’t come in here. I couldn’t let anyone see me. Not when I was finally seeing who I was. What I had been this entire time.
“Okay. Ready or not, bud, I’m coming in.”
“Fuck,” I hissed, scrambling away as Ace inserted a key I’d forgotten he’d had and turned the knob. I could only imagine what I looked like, on the floor, desperate and unmoored from everything, from the look on his face. Ace looked more shocked than I’d ever seen him.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” he said, his voice remarkably calm, incongruous with the expression on his face. “Just hold on. Give me a second.”
“Stop,” I croaked, making him pause as he groped for his phone. “I’m not sick.” Well, I was. Just not in a way that any doctor could solve – unless it was the kind of doctor who would take me, lock me away, and never let me see the light of day again. Maybe that was what I needed, though. To be locked away.
Ace gave me a look that could only be described as not impressed. “You look terrible. Let me call an ambulance.”
“I’m telling you I’m not sick.”
“I wish I had a mirror to hold up in front of you right now, bud, because you might believe me.” Ace stooped down and hauled me to my feet even as I struggled, flailing, lashing out. “Easy. Just so you can sit on the couch instead of the floor. When’s the last time you swept this place, anyway?”
Cheyenne had been the only reason I’d been keeping it close to clean, but with her gone, and me not being the person either of us wanted me to be, there really wasn’t much of a point. There wasn’t much of a point for anything.
“Hey, come on. You’re scaring me.”
Ace’s reaction was the only reason I realized I was hyperventilating, on the edge of crying. He reached out, and I pushed myself backward, farther down the couch. “Don’t touch me.”
He held his hands up. “I’m sorry. I won’t. Just tell me what you need.”
“I need you to leave me alone.”
“Can’t do that, bud. Not with how you are right now. Who do you want to talk to?”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“Okay. I’ll just sit here. We don’t have to talk. I’m just going to sit here until things get a little more bearable. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like you’re enjoying your front row seat to the freak show.”
“You are really out of touch if you think I’m enjoying a single second of this.”
“Then get out.”
“If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.” Ace took out his phone. “But you’re going to need to tell me who to call to be here with you, because I don’t think you should be alone. Who do you want? Brody? Sloan?”
My laugh was harsh to my own ears. “And why the fuck would I want either of them?” It wasn’t fair to either of them. They were good friends. I was just so twisted up about everything I’d learned about myself that I wanted to push everyone away. It was for their own good. I wasn’t good for anyone.
“If this is related to something you’ve remembered, and if you’re reacting like this, I can only imagine it has to do with something from battle. From the Army Rangers. Brody and Sloan might not have been Rangers with you, but they’re better equipped to handle this kind of thing than I am.”
“What, are you some kind of detective, now?”
“Used to be,” he said, sounding like he was keeping his voice deliberately light, optimistic. “Not anymore, but I’m a hell of a bartender, so that makes up for it. So, who should I call? Brody? Sloan? Both of them? Though, if it’s both of them, we should probably invite Chuck, as well, so he doesn’t get jealous. Then it’ll be a party. Should I fire up the grill? Get Brody to bring a case of his special brew he socks away just for situations like this?”
“What, exactly, do you think this situation is?” I demanded through gritted teeth. “I would like to know.”
“You are suffering some kind of breakdown, or an episode of PTSD, or you’re actually sick and you’re just being a baby. That’s what I think this is. If it’s not, if I got it wrong, feel free to correct me.”
“You haven’t even scratched the surface.”
I wanted to laugh, because this entire situation was ludicrous. I was just afraid I’d lose control if I did. That men in white coats and terrible cocktails of drugs would be required to get me under control again.
“Then talk to me. Tell me what I’m missing.”
“I told you I didn’t want to talk.”
“You’ll do whatever you want, Jack, but I’m starting to feel like this is something you need to talk about.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t…don’t call me that.”
“What did I call you?” He frowned and seemed to rewind through his words. “Your name?”
“Don’t.” I couldn’t have said that name even if I had actually wanted to.
“Jack, you’re going to have to–”
“Stop!”
And Ace did, freezing, staring at me, until he started again, his inquisitive mind never having quite left detective mode even if he had been bartending these past few years. “Jack?”
A lot of things happened at once.
I lost whatever tenuous control I’d had over my mind, and it felt like it snapped in two as I flew at Ace, fist cocked back, ready to spread the damage around. I had sustained so much, it was only fair. I couldn’t do this by myself, couldn’t support all this hurt without letting somebody else shoulder some of it. It was Ace’s own fault for pushing me, for being here, for trying to be a good friend even if he had no idea what I really was.
Brody entered at the same time, his hands full with a case of his brew – I recognized the labels in the periphery, the bright “Horizon” emblazoned over the photo Nadine had taken. He apparently really did have a case for whatever he deemed an emergency, just like Ace had said. I only saw him for a second, his mouth poised in a perfect “O” as my fist connected with Ace’s cheek.
Ace had anticipated this, though. He’d been prodding at me deliberately, poking here and there until he found the source of the pain. I only connected with his cheek because I’d been aiming for his nose, where I could do the most damage with the least amount of effort, and he had turned, bringing his hands up even if he was a little late.
A rattle of glass on glass was my only warning for Brody hitting me behind like a freight train even as Ace tried to grab my hands from the front. Brody wasn’t much bigger than I was, but it was hard to resist a burly forearm against my throat. He wanted me on the ground, and I went, kicking out at Ace.
“Calm down, Jack,” Brody instructed me. “We’re your friends.”
“Don’t,” I rasped at him. “Don’t.”
“Jack, just–”
“Don’t call him that name,” Ace snapped, sitting on my legs. “Something’s wrong, and you can’t call him that.”
“What the hell am I supposed to call–”
“Fuck, you’re choking him out. Ease up.”
“Jesus.”
I coughed, blood flowing again to my brain, the edges of my vision coming back into focus slowly. I tried to squirm out of Brody’s grip, but he resisted.
“You are among friends. But you have to be calm.”
Calm was about exactly opposite of what I was feeling right now, but I knew struggling was futile. Ace was in the middle of cutting off circulation to my feet and Brody had somehow executed a near-perfect sleeper hold in the tumult of me lashing out at Ace. He could knock me out in a smattering of seconds, if he wanted to. And I was certain that once I woke up from that, it would be in a straitjacket.
“You are hurting me,” I managed, not knowing what else to say.
“Are you going to kick me if I get off your legs?” Ace asked carefully. “Is that what’s hurting?”
I nodded.
“Stop. Don’t get up,” Brody said quickly.
“Why?”
“Because Ja–”
“Careful.”
Brody shifted behind me. “All he said was yes, and you asked two questions.”
“Tricky bastard,” Ace said, cocking his head at me. “So, yes, you’re going to kick me, and yes, I’m hurting your legs?”
That wasn’t a question I thought I could answer right now. “I can’t breathe.”
“If you can talk, you can breathe,” Brody reasoned, even as the grip loosened almost imperceptibly. “So, talk. Why can’t we call you by your name right now? What’s going on, here? Why did I almost break my special case of beer keeping you from beating that hell out of Ace?”
“Give me a little credit, here,” Ace muttered, chuckling. “He wouldn’t have beat the hell out me.”
“Tell that to Katie when she sees your face.”
“What?”
“Your cheek is already bruising.”
“Damn.” Ace looked at me. “You have a hell of a punch. Guess I just never had a reason to know that.”
“Are you going to tell us what’s going on, Ryder?” Brody asked. “Can I call you that? Or are you just going to leave us to guess? Should we play a game of twenty questions, or what?”
I couldn’t – this couldn’t happen. I couldn’t tell them what was happening, because then they’d know I wasn’t Jack. That I wasn’t who I thought I’d been. Who they’d thought I was. I would lose
everything even if I was already in the process of losing everything. Even if I deserved to lose everything because of what I’d done.
“Stop. Stop struggling.” I hadn’t even realized what my body was doing until Brody’s arm tightened fractionally on my throat, making my vision go blurry again. “We don’t want to fight you, Ryder. You’re the one who’s fighting. Breathe.”
“Can’t.”
The arm loosened. “Try now. Breathe. With me. Inhale. Exhale.”
“Look at me,” Ace said. He was sitting on my legs. I didn’t have much of a choice. “In and out. Follow us. We’re all breathing together. In. Out.”
I wanted them to let me go. I wanted to flee, even though I had no idea where I could go. I could run as far and as fast as I could manage, but I couldn’t get away from myself. No matter how hard I tried. Instead, I found myself involuntarily breathing in the rhythm Brody and Ace were trying to enforce.
In and out.
Muscles I hadn’t realized I’d been clenching gradually relaxed. The furrow between Ace’s eyebrows lessened as he alternated looking at me and behind me, probably communicating somehow with Brody.
“You’re doing fine, Ryder,” Brody coached. “Just keep breathing.”
“Aw, man.”
The three of us probably made a hilarious tableau as we looked toward the door in tandem. Well, I tried to look toward the door. Brody had me restrained too tightly to see who was here.
I could hear Sloan just fine, though.
“Did you all start the brawling and wrestling without me?” he whined, plopping down on the couch. “You know how much I like fighting.”
Anyone who didn’t know him probably would’ve gotten the wrong impression, but Sloan locked eyes with me, even with the smirk, and I could tell that this gave him no pleasure. He’d seen and done some terrible things during his time as a Navy SEAL, and I was sure he could recognize my breakdown for what it was. None of us – Brody, Sloan, or me – had ever compared notes on our time serving our country, but I was sure there were some nasty parallels.
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