“You owe me a debt, jende,” Nazar spat out, breathing heavily. “You treated my son like an animal, locked him up for months. Interrogated him, destroyed him—” his voice rising. “—Now I’ll destroy you,” he promised, yanking the knife up through her back muscles, carving her up like a deer. Sam could barely see now through the tears in her eyes, his face swimming above her in the darkness as the tidal wave of pain began to drag her under.
“You killed my son—” Nazar said, sawing the knife sideways this time, her blood soaking her vest, her pants, the floor…
You killed my son….
Sam began to black out, relinquishing herself to the darkness…
—She saw Arman Nazar laid out on his cot, staring blankly at the ceiling. He looked wasted away, gaunt from withdrawal. He had refused his meals in the weeks since he’d been returned to his cage. They’d begun force-feeding him, tying him to the bed so they could hydrate him intravenously.
“We want your father, Arman,” she told him calmly. “Your life will become considerably easier if you just tell us where we can find him.”
Arman said nothing, just staring vacantly.
Weeks like this.
Nothing said, nothing done.
Her first day back after a few weeks recuperating at a military hospital, she’d seen a flicker in his eyes, something shifting in those Cognac-colored striations when she’d stepped into the room. A recognition. But then… nothing. With each visit, she met with silence, as if he were unaware she was even there.
Sam rose to leave. Made it two steps before she heard his whisper.
“Water…”
She turned, unsure if she’d imagined it.
Arman swallowed, eyes flickering toward her.
“Water,” he whispered again through cracked lips.
Sam nodded, returning to his cell a few moments later with a paper cup. She set the cup on the ground beside her chair, considering him.
Normally, she’d call in Cartwright and Moon to come help her release him from his wrist bindings, but he looked so withered and fragile, almost atrophied. Sam leaned forward, unbuckling one wrist binding. Arman seemed to struggle with rising even enough to sit, his clavicle in harsh relief as he pushed up before sinking back down, exhausted, his eyes closing.
Sam slipped an arm under his shoulder, helping him sit up as she handed him the water.
He surprised her by wrapping his arm around her neck, flipping her on her back in front of him as he dove toward her, bearing his teeth, going for the throat. Arman bit down hard, nearly tearing her Adam’s apple out. A warm gurgle of blood from the damaged arteries flowed down her throat as she choked, stunned.
She’d frozen in shock at first, but all at once the sharp pain honed her senses and her fight instinct took over with a vengeance. Sam grabbed the sides of Arman’s head with both hands, snapping his neck with a vicious, sickening twist—
Her eyes snapped open.
Sam looked up at Ibrahim Nazar, feeling a strange, dark calm fill the space between the pain and her consciousness. She wasn’t afraid of anything in that moment. Her will to destroy this man was greater than the agony. Nothing mattered more than the mission. Nothing would stand in the way of what she’d come to do.
Nazar wanted her dead? So be it.
She’d take him with her.
Nazar must have seen the purpose in her eyes. Because Sam saw the barest flicker of surprise in his. He drove the knife in deeper, tearing through muscle, finding the bones of her vertebrae. Sam almost didn’t feel it. Her pain had become so enormous, it was nearly surreal, a hum in the dissonance of the gathering violence inside of her.
Nazar was so focused on his revenge, cruelty etched in his face as he sawed through her body, he didn’t see her reach for her sidearm with her free hand—not until it was too late.
Sam rolled, driving the knife deeper into her spine, heedless of the pain or the numbing in her legs as she held the Beretta to his heart and pulled the trigger.
Once.
Twice.
She watched as Nazar’s body was blown back by the force of her gun, his stunned expression almost comical as blood bloomed from his chest like a fount.
Another shot appeared between his eyes as he hovered over her, blood running in rivulets down his nose and into his mouth.
Sam shifted back to her side on a groan, her legs felt heavy, sluggish.
Rush lowered his rifle as he entered the office, scanning for others. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”
“No,” Sam muttered on a halting breath, smiling a little in spite of herself. But the dark calm that had separated her consciousness from the pain long enough to kill Nazar was already diminishing, segueing into a blitzkrieg of pain that enveloped her body. She took in a labored breath, curling into herself as she tried to reach behind her for the blade in her back. But the pain was too intense, and she could feel her vision wobbling as she fought to remain conscious. Rush dropped beside her, his hands finding the wound, the handle of Nazar’s knife.
“Shit, Boss, what has he done to you?” he asked her anxiously, his voice floating above her.
“Get out,” she rasped. “Just leave me here and get everyone out—”
Sam imagined the compound awash in a blaze of fire, saw her body enveloped and swallowed by the flames. She felt strangely calm; relieved everything would finally be over… and so she closed her eyes, finally giving herself over to the darkness.
*
Dec 22nd—Late Night
Somewhere over the Hindu Kush Mountains
S A M A N T H A
“He carved her up with a Bowie knife—”
“—lost a lot of blood—”
It hurts.
God, it hurts…
The bass thump of helicopter rotors grew louder, then muted…
Where am I?
“Sammy, look at me—just open your eyes and look at me—”
Urgent, indecipherable words filtering through as she tried to interpret them…But she was floating farther back. Farther…
“—the damage to her spine—”
“—we don’t have the facilities—”
Rush’s voice, distinct and certain: “—stabilize her—surgical team—just make it happen—”
Syllables and vowels without form.
“—hemorrhaging!”
“Fuck, Sammy!”
“—BOSS!”
She felt her heartbeat slow… until…
Something was released… something substantial…
…an albatross…
…some worry she didn’t need anymore—
…what was it…?
She couldn’t think, couldn’t give shape or meaning to the thing.
And so she let go, suspended for just a moment in the drift… sweet relief enveloping her.
… and then…
she was gone.
Chapter 35
S A M A N T H A
“Sammy, open your eyes.”
She lay still, waiting instead for the pain to come.
“I said open your eyes.”
She felt the feather-light touch of something teasing her nose. She lifted her hand and swatted.
“There you are…”
She shifted experimentally, readying herself for the vivid wash of pain she was certain was waiting for her, ready to envelope her…. But it never came.
And so she opened her eyes.
The sky was a perfect, profound cerulean blue. Gentle banks of cirrus clouds drifted above her, like looking up at a wave from underwater. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face as her fingers curled into the grass beneath her.
She recognized this.
Knew this feeling…
Her mind searched for the memory; found it under the seemingly-endless Texas sky.
“You were out for so long, I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake up.”
She turned her head, and her heart faltered.
Lying
stretched out next to her on the grass, perched on his elbow was her baby brother. He watched her with eyes as dark as blackstrap molasses and for a moment her mind raced, trying to understand how she could be seeing him, how she could be lying next to Ryland in the grass like she had when they were kids.
Her eyes ran over the balanced, even features of his young face, tracing the line of freckles across his nose as she struggled to absorb what she was seeing. Her heart swelled with hope and possibility.
Ry looked just like their daddy. She could see it so clearly now. He’d grow up to look like him one day—
Then she sat up abruptly.
“How are you here?” Sam asked in disbelief.
Ryland smiled, sitting up beside her. “Seems to me, the question you oughtta be askin’ is: How are you here, Sammy?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, opening them instantly, expecting him to disappear. When she saw he still sat before her, Sam reached a trembling hand out to touch him. She drew back her hand at the last second, afraid he’d disappear like an apparition.
“I ain’t gonna break, you know,” Ry teased, his eyes amused.
Sam reached out again, her fingertips tentatively touching the sleeve of his shirt. She watched in wonderment as her fingers skated over his arm, noted how the fabric felt warm to the touch. Sam looked up at him, meeting his eyes again. She saw the clarity there, the love in his eyes shining back at her as she stared at him in bewilderment.
“Ry?” Sam asked, her own eyes filling up with tears. “Ryland, is it really you?”
His hand came up, wrapping around hers. “Yeah, Sammy,” he smiled. “You miss me?”
She looked down at their hands for a second before throwing her arms around him, gripping his thin frame to her in a tight hug. Sam kissed his silky hair, the primal comfort of holding her little brother after so many years making her weep openly, her heart caught in her throat. Ry tucked his face in her neck like he always had, squeezing her back.
“I missed you, Ry—I missed you so much,” she said over and over again.
“You’re hugging me too hard, Sammy—” he laughed, squeezing her just as hard.
They rocked back and forth, arms around each other, the moment, for all its tenderness, so incredibly powerful for her that everything else fell away. Nothing else mattered except this.
“I love you, Ry,” she whispered. “I never told you how much I loved you—”
“You didn’t need to, Sammy,” he murmured. “I always knew it.”
“But I needed to say it. I should have said it more,” she said, stroking his back. She wasn’t sure how long they held onto each other in the fields of her memories. But Sam slowly became aware of the fact that she was the woman she’d grown up to become, and he was still little, just at the cusp, somewhere between child and teenager. Sam glanced around, wondering if this was where he was now, suspended in arrested development. Forever a boy.
“Where are we?” she asked slowly, the fields of prairie grass rippling gently in the breeze that blew past them.
Ry shrugged a little. “Where you needed to be right now.”
Sam blinked, unsure suddenly. “What does that mean?”
Ryland glanced around casually. “This is your place, Sammy. You just wanted me in it.”
A dark cloud settled over her burst of happiness. “Then this isn’t real.”
“What’s real, Sammy?” Ry asked, expression quizzical.
“Stop answering questions with questions,” she chastised.
Ry just laughed. “Then start asking better ones.”
“How are you here?” Sam asked again, pushing the hair from his eyes like she’d always done when they were growing up.
Ry tilted his head against her hand. “Because you needed me to be, Sammy. I’m here because you needed me.”
Sam choked out a sob.
“Don’t be sad,” he told her gently, wiping her wet cheek with his hand.
“Look at you, Ry—” she whispered. “You never got your life. You never got a chance to become a man—”
“I ain’t sad, Sammy,” he told her. “Seems like the only one crying here is you, sis.”
Sam let out a surprised, teary laugh. She ruffled his hair before she settled down beside him. “You miss me too?” she asked eventually, resting her head against his thin shoulder.
“Nah.”
“Hey!” she nudged him. “Don’t be such a brat to your big sister.”
Ry’s shoulder shook as he chuckled. “No, I mean it’s not like that. I’m here, Sammy.” He looked at her, his eyes clear and shining. “I’m always here with you.”
Sam’s eyes welled again as a strange peace fell over her, a tranquility that unfolded apart from her body, extending past all her petty troubles and worries.
“You would have made a damn fine man, Ry,” she whispered.
“Guess it’s good I was a damn fine brother, then,” he replied with his old toothy smile.
“You were. You are.”
They sat side by side like that, silent and still, enjoying the ultraviolet warmth of the sun and the assuaging, perfect rightness of being near each other again after so many years.
Sam recognized now how profoundly weary she was of the rootless, nomadic existence she’d led, looking for a home but never quite finding it; suspended somewhere between the past and the present, her future uncertain, except for the solitude. That was constant. Solitude was the punishment she imposed on herself for years—a debenture for surviving, though no one asked her to pay it. Maybe she could let go of that now. Maybe she could lay down that burden now that she was back with Ryland.
“You don’t belong here, Sammy,” he said to her quietly, interrupting her thoughts as if she’d spoken the words aloud.
Sam lifted her head. “Of course I do. We’re together again.”
Ry shook his head, the look in his eyes compassionate, yet certain. “You needed to know I’m alright. You needed to understand that I’m with you.” He squeezed her hand. “But you can’t stay here, Sammy. It ain’t right.”
“But I’m your big sister,” she argued. “It’s my job to take care of you. It was my job to protect you—”
“You got it all backward, Sammy. It’s my job to take care of you now.” Ry stood up slowly, extending a hand out to her. “It’s time to go, Sammy.”
“But I’m not ready,” she insisted, her eyes filling with tears unbidden. She wiped at them hastily. “We haven’t had enough time—”
“You are ready, Sammy,” Ry told her gently, his eyes soft.
Sam stood beside him, mouth working, unable to think of the right words to say, suddenly unable to express how much she needed him, how terribly she missed him.
“I know, Sammy.” Ry smiled at her. “You ain’t gotta tell me. I know your heart.”
Sam pulled her little brother into her arms, hugging him so tight, they were pressing bones.
She thought of the first time she held him as a baby, that sweet, pure newborn smell a wonder, unable to believe that something so small could squall so loud. She remembered his first steps, the first time he was able to chase her across the yard, the first time she and Gus put him up on the back of a horse, his peals of laughter ringing across the corral. She recalled the summers spent picking through the stream with him and reading him to sleep. She thought about teaching him to play gin rummy and the late nights they’d had sitting at the kitchen table, trying to beat each other game after game.
Sam gathered Ryland closer, her eyes tightly closed. “I miss you every day. I miss you every day of my life,” she whispered urgently.
“I’m with you every day,” Ry whispered back. “I’m with you every day, Sammy, I promise.”
She kissed her baby brother’s temple, but the moment was already fading, his face becoming indistinct, the shift happening against her will.
“You promise?” she asked, unwilling to lose him again. “You promise me, Ry?”
Everything darkened around
her, a vacuum of light and sound as she fell back into the void, her arms already empty and bereft.
“Ry?” she shouted.
“I promise, Sammy—”
“RY!” she screamed trying to find him again.
But it was too late.
I promise… he whispered in her mind.
…I’m with you always…
*
Dec 21st—Night
The London Bridge Hospital, London
J A C K
“How long has it been going on this time?”
Jack shifted uncomfortably, even though he was freshly showered and finally in a clean set of clothes. He glanced around Mitch’s hospital room, avoiding his eyes, shame curling in his stomach.
“Just recently—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Mitch interrupted, his head falling back on the pillow as he watched Jack. “If you’re going to tell me bad news, you’d better do it while I’m on morphine.”
“Well, since I know this is going to be a painful conversation, can I have some too?” Jack joked feebly.
“I might enable you in a lot of things, Jack: hostile takeovers, objectionable women, and your suicidal support of the Bears despite every goddamn shitty season. But I’ve never enabled you in your addiction, have I?” Mitch replied, his voice a little sluggish from exhaustion and the pain medication.
Jack nodded, leaning forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, unconsciously preparing for his confession as he stared at his feet.
“Just tell me,” Mitch prompted.
“I’ve been using since just after Rio.” Jack met his eyes.
“Go on.”
“At first, it was Jaime’s pain meds. A little bit, just to get by.” Jack felt his cheeks flush, but he went on. “But each day it was another one and more frequently. And then when Samantha came back that night and we—”
“This was just before you went off the deep end and disappeared for a few days, right?”
Jack swallowed. “Yeah.”
“What did you do when you disappeared?” Mitch asked, his expression grave.
“That’s the thing,” Jack said, letting loose a pained exhale as he stared down at his hands. “I don’t remember. I woke up at The Langham with two women and enough drugs to fuel a rave, and I have no idea what happened.”
Complicated Creatures: Part Two Page 35