by M. C. Sutton
Emma scowled and looked away.
“Oh, I see how it is,” said Sarah, turning off the oxygen. “I fly four hundred miles to save your life, and that’s the thanks I get?”
“You don’t save my life. Jon saves my life. You swoop in to pick up the pieces,” said Emma. “Like a vulture.”
“Fine,” said Sarah. “See if I ever help you again.” She headed for the door.
“Sarah, wait!” said Jon.
“And good luck getting them to release you into private care without my signature,” she added as she disappeared around the curtain.
Jon turned back to Emma. “Why are you so mean to her?”
“Oh, please,” said Emma, rubbing a hand across her now-pounding forehead. One of the many things she hated about anesthetics and painkillers was how quickly you could forget your body had just been beaten and mangled, and how suddenly you could be reminded of it. “You think that’s mean? You should see how I treat people I don’t like.”
“You mean like me?” said Quinn.
Emma’s head snapped painfully toward the door. Standing just inside the curtain was Quinn, still in his FBI jacket.
“My team is heading out,” he said. “I just… I just wanted to make sure you were okay first.”
Jon cleared his throat. Emma hadn’t realized until then how completely exhausted he looked.
“Well,” he said. “I think I’ll go find Sarah and talk her into signing those discharge papers. Maybe I’ll remind her I’m her ride home.” He kissed Emma on the forehead and whispered, “I think it’s about time you two cleared the air anyway, don’t you?”
Damn you, Jon. She knew his leaving her alone with Quinn was partially punishment for mouthing off to Sarah.
As Jon left, Quinn stepped to the end of the bed. He stared at his feet.
Emma decided this couldn’t possibly be any more unpleasant than what she’d just been through. “So. FBI, huh?”
“Yeah, well, there isn’t exactly a huge market for crisis psychologists since they shut down FEMA,” he answered.
Emma smiled. “You were always more of a bureau boy anyway. I don’t even know why you went into the field in the first place.”
“Because you asked me to,” he said quietly.
Emma looked away. On the TV, the news was replaying Sam’s demands video. She had completely forgotten about Sam.
Maybe it was a good thing Quinn had come to see her after all.
“Look, as long as you’re here, I need a favor,” she said. “Sam Hackett, the guy up on the stage with us. He recognized you. Do you know who he was?”
Quinn nodded. “It took me a while, but I remember him. I met him in Destiny.”
Emma recognized the name. It was a town even smaller than the one she had grown up in. She wondered if Sam would ever to get to go back there again. Or if he had even survived.
“He did everything he could to help us, Quinn. I need you to keep his name and his family out of the investigation. Can you do that for me?”
Quinn’s jaw dropped. “That’s an awfully big favor, Emmy.”
“Yeah, well,” she snapped, “I’m pretty sure you owe me one.”
Quinn stared at his feet again.
Emma turned toward the window and squinted against the sunlight. Her heart raced in her chest—a reminder that she had probably just come through what must have been some pretty extensive surgery. Sarah might get on her nerves, but there was no questioning her ability.
Jon reappeared, stopping just inside the curtain. “Are we good?” he asked, glancing back and forth between Quinn and Emma.
“Yeah,” Quinn told the floor. “Same as always.”
Emma watched Quinn’s reflection in the window as he walked over and kissed her gently on the head. “I’ll let you get some rest now,” he said. “It was good to see you again, Emmy. I’m sorry it couldn’t have been under better circumstances.”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut, a tear rolling down her cheek. Now I really, really just want to go home.
“Larson, wait,” said Jon.
Quinn stopped just inside the doorway.
“Richard told me what you did. Sneaking into the building like that. That took a lot of guts.”
“I just didn’t want her…” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I just didn’t want anyone else to get hurt, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” said Jon, shaking his hand.
“Jon,” said Quinn. He lowered his voice slightly, almost as if he still wanted her to hear him. “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”
Jon looked at the floor and shook his head. “Would you?”
Quinn rubbed a hand across his mouth and stepped out of the room.
“Well,” said Jon as he rounded the end of the bed and sat down beside Emma. “I think I’ve managed to talk Sarah into letting us out of here. Though I may or may not have had to promise her a Porsche to do it.”
Emma would usually have had quite a bit to say about that, but right now she was too sore and exhausted. She turned her head to the side and let it sink into the pillow.
That’s when she noticed Sam’s diary sitting on the bedside table.
Emma sat up slightly and started at it, her lip trembling. There was only one reason it would be there.
Jon saw her staring and picked it up. “He asked me to give it to you,” he said quietly. “And to tell you that he knew everything was going to be okay.”
Emma took the diary from him. How could Sam have possibly believed that? The cover was singed, the edges of the paper frayed. It still held a faint scent of leather. She found the picture of Sam with his family tucked inside the cover. Emma held it in her hand, Sam’s little boy smiling up at her, and remembered the promise she had made.
That’s how Sam knew, she thought. Because he trusted her to keep her word, and in the end, saving his little boy was the only reason he had been there in the first place.
Emma put a hand over her mouth. Behind the photo was a folded piece of paper with Claire’s name scribbled on it. “Oh, Sam,” she whispered, the familiar sting of tears sneaking up on her.
Jon pushed a lock of hair from her face. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
As Emma looked up at him, she noticed something on the TV. She shot upright and grabbed the remote, anger suddenly pushing aside all the pain and fatigue. She clenched her jaw and stared at the sleazeball on screen.
At Stephen Bennett.
She turned up the volume.
“In light of recent events,” said the Speaker of the House, who stood next to Bennett, “it has become painfully clear that we must band together in a more unified and centralized system. That is why, in a historical and unprecedented action, the surviving representatives of both the House and Senate have unanimously voted to take Minister Bennett up on his offer.”
Emma grabbed Jon’s arm. She was suddenly unable to breathe again. “No,” she mouthed wordlessly, tears streaming down her face. “No, no, no.”
“Sam’s Rebellion,” Jon whispered.
“What?”
“Sam’s Rebellion. It’s something Jacob said to me when I called to let them know we were okay. He said Hackett had successfully managed to stage his own Shay’s Rebellion.”
Emma was numb. She was certain that wasn’t at all what Sam had in mind.
“That is correct, Mr. Speaker.” The camera turned to Bennett. “Barring any further hindrances, the United States of America will soon be known as the latest member,” he looked straight into the camera and smiled, “of the Global Order Government.”
Emma sucked in shallow, rapid breaths, her eyes stinging.
Jon took her hand.
“A sad day indeed for the United States of America, folks,” said the reporter from what Emma guessed must have been a local station.
Way to go, east Texas, she thought, though she was sure that reporter had just lost his job, at the very least.
“This latest development,” the reporter continued, “comes
on the heels of the passing of Vice President Allred, who, after having sustained a gunshot wound to the chest and being rushed into surgery, died at 3:03 this morning.”
Emma looked at Jon, who stared out the window, his eyes tinged red. She realized that some of the tears that stained his cheeks were for someone other than her.
They were for his Uncle Jack.
And somehow that was the very last straw. On top of everything else, knowing that Jon had lost his uncle—and that she’d had something to do with it—was more than Emma could handle. She buried her head in a trembling hand and began to cry.
“Emma?” said Jon. “Honey, look at me.”
Emma was too physically and emotionally exhausted to even raise her head.
He put his hand beneath her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. “Emma, listen to me. This—none of this—was your fault.”
“Oh, Jon!” she cried, breaking into uncontrollable sobs. “ALL of it is my fault!”
Emma buried her face in Jon’s shoulder and cried until she fell asleep, then spent the night tossing and turning through raging nightmares and fluctuating fevers. Jon stayed with her, crawling into the hospital bed beside her sometime during the night and slipping an arm under her shoulder. He sang to her softly until the sound of his voice and the warmth of his body calmed her enough for her to get in a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
When she opened her eyes, the sun was somehow rising over another day in east Texas. For a long time she lay quietly, curled up under Jon’s arm, listening to him breathing softly. Eventually she realized he was awake and watching her. She raised her eyes to meet his.
“Good morning, Mrs. Grant,” he said with a grin, just like he had every morning for the last twenty-plus years.
“Good morning.”
“Has the nurse been in yet?”
Emma smiled. He’d been reprimanded more than once before for crawling into a hospital bed with her. “Not yet.”
“Good.” He pulled her closer. “Hey, we get to go home today. I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll take that raincheck on the trip to Eureka Springs now.”
Emma nuzzled against his chest. She was more than ready to spend the next three days—the next three months—holed up in a cabin by the river with him, completely cut off from the rest of the world.
Until she remembered all the arrangements that would need to be made.
“Jon… I’m really sorry about Jack.”
Jon took in a long, deep breath. “When I was a kid, I secretly wished my mom had married him instead of my dad. I loved him like a father, Emmy, and I don’t think I ever even told him.”
“There are so many things in life that we don’t ever say. Then suddenly our chance is just gone. Makes you realize how little time we really have.”
Jon was silent for a moment. He threw back the blankets and sat up on the side of the bed. “Emma,” he said. “I know about the dreams.”
Emma gasped and sat up straight.
“Look, I know I haven’t always been particularly supportive. You don’t have to go into any kind of detail about what you’ve seen, if you don’t want to. I just want you to know that I’m here for you. That I’ll do whatever you need me to do. I just can’t—” He took her hand. “I just can’t lose you, okay?”
Emma stared down at her hand in his. “I thought you didn’t believe in this stuff,” she said quietly.
“Oh, I believe. I may not accept it. I may not understand it. But I believe. I’ve seen entirely too much not to.”
Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in to kiss him gently. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers.
“Jon, do you remember how you said that when the time comes, I would know? Well, I think it’s started.”
Jon’s shoulders sank. “I’m scared, Em.”
“Me too.”
CHAPTER 36
MATT SAT ALONE BY THE lake, the cool moisture of the ground soaking through his jeans. It had rained every day that week, ever since his parents had gotten back from Dallas. But Matt didn’t care that it was wet. He was tired of being cooped up in the house, where everyone sulked but didn’t say much, and no one seemed to want to answer any of his questions. Eventually they had begun avoiding him altogether, and Matt decided that the chill of soggy shoes and muddy jeans wasn’t any worse than a cold shoulder.
What was worse was feeling totally in the dark. Classes were canceled until further notice, and the paparazzi made it almost impossible to leave the house. The Grant kids had also been specifically forbidden to even so much as turn on the TV since the weekend of the bombing. It was one of the first things Matt’s dad told them after walking through the front door with their obviously and no doubt unwillingly sedated mother in his arms.
“Let’s just give your mom a chance to rest, okay?” he’d said. “She’s already been through enough without being constantly reminded.”
You were there too, Dad, Matt wanted to point out. His father, ever the tough guy, would never admit how much the entire ordeal had affected him. But Matt knew, and it didn’t have to rain for a week straight for him to figure it out.
It wasn’t just what happened in Dallas, though. It was what all of it meant, whatever that was. His parents were terrified. They were all terrified. He could feel it. Sarah. His grandfather. The sheriff who lived on the other side of the lake. The cashier at the grocery store. Even Daniel seemed worried. Every so often Daniel would ask Sarah if she’d heard from Professor March, and she would simply shake her head. The strangest part was that Daniel would then hug her, as if he knew why she was so upset in the first place.
Matt, getting tired of everyone knowing but no one talking about it, finally cornered Daniel after a couple of days. Daniel bluntly told him to please not ever ask him about it again, and then began avoiding him too.
“Whatever,” Matt mumbled to himself as he plucked a blade of grass and started tearing it into tiny pieces. “It doesn’t matter.”
But it did matter.
It mattered a lot.
Something was coming. No, worse than that, something had already begun. All the signs pointed to it: the military trucks that were rolling into the bigger cities like Houston and Atlanta; the Mexican and Canadian border systems that were slowly being dismantled; the sudden drop in the price of gas; the suitcases that Grandpa Scott carried into the guest room from his truck without so much as a word.
And the Global Order flag that now flew above the White House.
Matt knew that this—all of this—was the real reason his parents had barely left their bedroom over the last week and why his mother would wake up screaming.
Matt had tried more than once to get in to talk to her. He wanted to know what was going on. He needed to know what was going on. But each time, he was stopped at the door by his dad, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, as if to say, What part of “she needs her rest” did you not understand?
Matt would stare past him at his mother lying asleep in the bed, wonder exactly how much she’d been drugged, and then walk away. Matt was almost desperate enough to consider talking to his father for once, but he knew his father wouldn’t understand. No one else would ever understand the way his mom did, because no one else knew what his mom did.
No one else but him.
“Hey, Mattie,” she’d said as she stepped into the hospital room where he lay the morning after his junior prom. She sat on the bed beside him and took his hand. “I heard you had a pretty rough night.”
Matt stared silently out the window, not even looking in her direction.
“I guess that means you guys lost your deposit on the hotel room, huh?” she teased. “I know of at least a couple of girls who I’m sure are pretty disappointed over that.”
Matt took a deep breath and turned to her. “Mom, I need to ask you something. And I need you to swear to me that you will be completely and totally honest with me.”
His mom pressed her lips together. “All r
ight then, Matthew. What do you want to know?”
“Mom,” he said, his voice cracking as another sharp pain shot through his chest, “in all the things you’ve seen, all the visions and all the dreams you’ve ever had about us—about our family—have you ever…” He paused, his eyes beginning to blur. He wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or because of what he knew she was about to tell him. “Have you ever seen me as an old man? Have you ever seen me with kids? Or even married?”
His mother bit her lip. Her eyes began to tear as well. Matt knew of her determination to never cry in front of any of them, but he’d noticed she’d found it harder and harder over the years to keep that rule with him.
“Am I even going to make it through college?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, Matthew,” his mom whispered. She put her hand on his face and wiped a tear from his cheek. “Honey, do you know what this life is for? We’re here to learn and grow. Through trials, and pain, and heartache. Through the hard times. And the good times. We’re here to become the people we were meant to be. Now, for some of us, it doesn’t take much. Some of us are strong enough, and special enough, and close enough, that all of that gets rolled into a short time. You are one of those special people, Matt. You have had to go through more hard times in your sixteen short years than some people do in their entire lives.” She hesitated, as if she were having trouble continuing. “And sweetheart… I don’t even want to imagine you having to go through much more.”
“But there’s still so much I want to do,” he whispered, hot tears running down his cheeks.
“Baby, I think you and I both know that this body wasn’t meant to last for long,” she said, putting a hand gently on his chest. “But I think that’s because, in your case, it just didn’t need to.”
“Oh, Mom.”
She pulled him to her, and he sobbed on her shoulder like a child.
“He has a great work for you to do, Mattie,” she whispered to him then, on that day two years ago. “You and your brother. I just hope I’m still around to see it.”
“Matia mou?” came a voice from the embankment behind him.
Matt didn’t have to hear his nickname to know who it was. “Hello, Alex.”