Never Have I Ever

by Clearwing, August

  Time ticked on as I grew antsy. No news was good news, or perhaps not.

  Once they left me to stew in my own juices for an amount of time they deemed appropriate—about long enough for me to dangle on the cusp of lunacy—the door pulled open and two men entered. They took their respective seats in identical white plastic chairs and laid their LAPD badges on the table between us.

  One of them made the introductions, “I’m Detective Schrader; this is Detective Alan. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

  I didn’t look up at either of them, only focused on the sticky, drying mess still clinging to my fingers. I barely even noticed Detective Schrader pull out a trusty notepad to take my statement.

  “Did I kill him? Ethan—is he dead?”

  Schrader clicked a pen open and began jotting down notes in sketchy shorthand. “You fired the gun?”

  “He shot Noah. The bullet in Noah’s chest was meant for me. He wouldn’t have stopped; just kept coming again and again like always.” I swallowed hard and evened out my voice into something darker than I thought I could ever manage. “Is Ethan dead?”

  The detectives shifted to look between each other, then back to me.

  “Yes,” Alan replied evenly.

  Good.

  “And, Noah,” I cut myself off, unable to bear the thoughts I was about to say aloud. “Will he make it?”

  “The surgeons are doing everything they can. The truth of the matter is, if he does live, you probably saved his life by acting the way you did.”

  I gave them a subtle nod. The fact still stood: I killed a man. It wasn’t like I could deny it. What good would a lawyer do? My prints were probably the only other set on the gun apart from Burly’s; it was undeniable proof I fired the gun. Denying it would only make my life more complicated. Noah never touched the damned thing. The evidence stacked against me was clear and, provided Noah survived, I wouldn’t allow him an attempt at taking the fall on my behalf. Not after this. And if Noah didn’t survive… well, going to prison seemed so small in comparison to that prospect.

  The brownish-red on my hands blurred into triple vision as tears stung my eyes. “Before you arrest me, I should tell you the scars left over from when Ethan abducted me aren’t completely healed yet. Please don’t rough me up. My body just can’t handle it.”

  Schrader leaned forward, intrigued by my words as opposed to whipping out his handcuffs. “Abducted you? When was this?”

  “Near the end of August. I… I filed a formal report three days ago.” God, for a genius, I was such an idiot.

  “Now would be a good time to fill in any details you may have missed with us.”

  I leveled my gaze at Schrader. He was older than Howard, hovering somewhere in his fifties with a clean-shaven face and bright brown eyes sunken in to wrinkles no doubt acquired so early due to the stress of his occupation. His eyes matched his hair. They way the two men moved and spoke together made me think they’d been long-time partners, though Alan most certainly was at least five years his partner’s junior. He was blonde, thin-faced and wiry.

  After a deep breath and, with stanch resolve which surprised even me, I said, “Okay.” Every major event leading up to the shooting, including the shooting, spilled from me with ease.

  {CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE}

  Much to my ever-present ability to be surprised by humanity, the detectives didn’t arrest me after I regaled them with two hours’ worth of statement. I left out the bits about the arson and precise details of the goings-on behind closed doors between Noah and me prior to that day. Nobody ever needed to know about it. If they dared ask then a vague answer would be all they received from me. Due to my cooperation, occupational standing, and low flight risk on account of my avid desire to stay in the general vicinity of the man I loved while the doctors worked their magic, they took my information and requested I call them if I had to leave the city for any reason while the investigation remained pending. Detective Schrader informed me there was no longer anything to fear from the man I called Burly. He had been brought to the hospital as well and, as soon as I divulged the full story, he was treated and detained. The only problem remaining was Selene, who the detectives had yet to track down.

  Noah’s drying blood, finally washed from my hands soon after Schrader and Alan left, still soaked my jeans in Rorschach spots of various sizes on my thighs and knees. The hospital provided me with a clean T-shirt bearing its minimalistic shield and star logo screen-printed across the front in blue and orange. I sat sideways on an uncomfortable sofa in the ICU waiting room, my head resting on the back with my legs tucked to my chest. If Noah didn’t die in the operating room they would send him there. Because I was not a blood relative, the doctors wouldn’t give me any more information about his current condition. I stayed in the waiting room nevertheless. There was no place else I would rather be. So, I sat; staring at gray speckled walls and tacky carpeting, and watched the muted CNN station without actually reading any of the closed captioning as it scrolled up incessantly. I only did it to focus on light and color which was not of the red hue. I could not shake that color from my vision.

  I fiddled with my phone for a little while to give my hands something to do. Eleven missed calls. Three voicemail messages. All of them from Noah. I loaded the voicemail and heard the robotic female voice say, “First message.”

  Selene’s was the first voice on the recording. “Let her go.”

  “Don’t say a fucking word, Selene,” Noah snapped. “Piper, come back. Selene should never have come here.”

  “You’re wasting your time.”

  “Get out of this building in the next sixty seconds and I’ll consider not throwing you off the roof for what you’ve done you crazy bitch.”

  “Not going to happen, lover.”

  “Piper, call me.”

  Click.

  “End of message. Next message,” said the robot.

  Noah sounded like he was trying to catch his breath. “It’s me. I’m out front and you didn’t drive here. I know you couldn’t catch a cab that fast. Where are you?”

  Click.

  “End of message. Next message.”

  “I’m not going to stop calling until you pick up. God dammit, Piper, stop running away from me. I love you.”

  Click.

  “End of messages. First skipped mess—” I ended the voicemail box.

  Except for an occasional nurse or medical technician on their way to and from the ICU wing, nobody else occupied the waiting room for several hours. It left me alone to the whir of the air conditioner and white noise of the silence surrounding me. Over the course of those hours I listened to Noah’s last message a hundred times just so I could hear his voice.

  The elevator doors opened just after a quarter to four in the morning. I cast a passing glance in that direction simply from the sound. I did a double take when Anya and Declan stepped out from behind the doors.

  My voice sounded louder than it really was given the quiet. “Declan, Anya?” I cleared my throat; dry and a little hoarse from crying and self-imposed insomnia. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Hey, lady.” Declan greeted me as they approached the sitting area. He bent down to give me a hug then sat on the arm of the sofa to face me. “Noah’s dad called me. His folks are on a cruise and won’t make it back for a couple days. He asked me to keep him posted.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said, forcing a wisp of a smile.

  Anya settled in a chair across from me. “Any word yet?”

  I shook my head and dug at the dirt under my nails by way of distraction. “They won’t talk to me since I’m not immediate family. Why did his dad call you?”

  “He loathes hospital staff with a passion. Plus, we play racquetball together every Tuesday. He should have called ahead to let them know it’s okay to talk to me. Don’t worry; you’ll get in to see him.”

  “Remind me to thank the inventor of racquetball if I ever get my hands on a time machine,�
� I replied dryly.

  “I’ll do that. Piper, what happened?”

  So many questions had been posed to me over the course of the past few hours. I was already tired of reliving it over again. “As far as I can tell Ethan set up a trap to kill me. Noah got in the way. He pushed me out of the line of fire. Now he’s…” I didn’t want to think about his parents’ reaction to losing one son tonight much less both.

  “Where’s Ethan? Tell me he’s under lock and key.”

  “Six feet under lock and key.” They exchanged a glance filled with a strange concoction of relief and horror. “He tried to take one too many things away from me.”

  “Fuckin’ A.”

  “Did his parents not tell you that part?”

  “They were rather vague on that particular detail.”

  “How long have you been here?” asked Anya.

  “I don’t know. Five hours, maybe more.”

  “There’s got to be an update by now.”

  Declan agreed, “I’ll go see what I can find out. Sit tight.”

  Once he got his bearings as to which way was up on the ICU floor, Declan located and disappeared behind a set of heavy automatic double doors to find a nurse’s station.

  Anya took the opportunity to ask, “Are you okay?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. I pulled my arms away from myself to show her the remaining blot-test stains on my pants. “There was so much blood. We were both covered in it. All I see is red when I close my eyes. What if he doesn’t make it? What am I supposed to do then?”

  “There isn’t any good answer I can give you for that.”

  “You know, I think the last time I was in a hospital it was back when my mom died. I keep thinking about her, how she betrayed me when she died like that. I’m not sure I’m ready to lose the only other person I’ve ever opened myself up to as much as her.”

  “Try not to,” encouraged Anya. “Don’t let yourself take that road; it won’t do you any good.”

  I rubbed the fatigue from my face and my voice was muffled into my palms. “I emptied a full clip into Ethan tonight. Well, at Ethan. I’m not sure how many actually hit him. There’s a stark difference between wishing death on someone in your head and actually following through with it.”

  “There is. He shot first, right?”

  I glared at her. “I’m not stupid.”

  “On the record: Hopefully they’ll take self-defense and the protection of someone else into account when the police come calling. Off the record: The only thing that would make it more satisfying is if he’d been drawn and quartered first.”

  As evil as it sounded, I was just relieved he no longer drew breath. “They already came calling. I told them everything; up to and including what he did to me. I think that’s the only reason I’m not on my way to a holding cell right this instant.”

  “Noah’s strong. He’ll pull through this. Just like you.”

  I couldn’t answer her. I was afraid anything I might say would jinx the entire possibility of recovery. Declan returned ten minutes later. I moved my feet to the floor so he could sit beside me on the crappy couch.

  Before his ass even hit the cushion, I asked eagerly, “What did they say?”

  Declan ran his hands across his shaved head. “He’s stabilized for now. Evidentially the bullet was a through and through. It punctured a lung. Barely grazed it. He lost a fuck load of blood among other complications I failed to translate from doctor jargon. They’re bringing him up from the OR shortly.”

  A little spark of hope flickered in the swirl of black and red slowly dragging me down. “When can we see him?”

  “Someone will come get us when he’s situated. Something like this, though—shit, it could go either way; stable one minute and critical the next.”

  “He’s not dead yet,” I scolded.

  “Counting our blessings as we speak,” Declan agreed. “I should go call Robert and Evelyn. Back in a minute.”

  He was almost to the elevator when I stopped him. “Declan.”

  “Yeah?”

  What words, I wondered, might placate a parent for this sort of thing. What special combination of sincerity, hope, frustration, and regret might give them solace in a time when they were unable to be with their children who found themselves straddling death’s door if not already on the other side? I settled on simplicity after stumbling over the wrong words. “I’m not proud of what happened. I’m sorry things escalated the way they did. I never… I didn’t want this. Truly. Will you please tell them that for me?”

  “Yeah. I’ll tell them.”

  Declan pulled his phone from his pocket as he entered the elevator to make what was probably one of the most difficult calls of his life. Twenty minutes and one raw-faced Declan later, the staff emerged from the double doors of the ICU. I’d never seen Declan cry before. I suppose I still never had at this point, either, because he had stopped by the time he returned to the ICU waiting room. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, rivaling mine in their redness.

  The nurses warned us against expecting Noah to regain conscious anytime in the next twenty four hours when they finally let us in. I grabbed an armchair from one side of the room straight away, dragged it to the right side of the bed—the side without the bullet hole—and settled in for the long haul. I folded my legs up under me in the chair. My arm stretched over the length of the side of the bed so I could lace my fingers into Noah’s and rest my head on my arm while I watched the monitors over his head. A tube drained excess fluid from his chest. IVs and a breathing mask sent cables and thin hoses in every which direction above him and on his left side. His skin had become clammy and pale; it made the ever-so-light freckles on his face reminiscent of pepper on a bed of sea salt.

  If only I took action sooner then perhaps this never would have happened. If I filed a report when everyone encouraged me to in the beginning then maybe Ethan would be in jail and Noah wouldn’t be struggling for every breath he took in front of me. I wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see my face again.

  After seven hours of watching Noah’s vitals bounce up and down without moving more than a few inches in my seat, Declan knelt beside me and placed his hand on my arm. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I said. My gaze didn’t leave the waves of neon green and blue light springing around on the monitor.

  “Okay.” He pinched the bridge of his nose to abate his own exhaustion. “In that case, coffee is definitely in order. Are you hungry?”

  I shook my head.

  “Eat something anyway. Anya?”

  Anya gripped his hand. “A protein bar if you can. Thanks babe.”

  Declan stood from my side, gave Anya a kiss on the crown of her head, and made his exit to search for vending machines or the gift shop. In the past months I’d been so wrapped up in seclusion I completely forgot his pursuit of her. So much for reciprocating the basic tenants of friendship. Feeling generally horrible about not bringing it up beforehand, I sat back in the chair and glanced over at Anya.

  “So, you and Declan.”

  “Yep. Me and Declan.”

  “I’m glad you found each other, hun. You make a great pair. Have you…” I tossed her a suggestive glance.

  “Oh, like bunnies,” she answered quickly.

  I snorted out a mystified chuckle, a strange transition to my thoughts as I suddenly remembered what Howard told me when he and I got acquainted.

  Anya raised an eyebrow. “The hell’s that about?”

  “Howard’s a dick,” I said with a little smile. “When I first met him, before life got complicated, Howard said he didn’t claim to be prophetic, but he thought Noah and I would save each other. Not prophetic my ass.”

  “Are you worried he’s not going to come back from this?”

  “Let’s just say I’m trying real hard to have faith.”

  “There’s something I don’t quite understand about you. As a psychologist, I know too much
about the inner-workings of people and nature to hold much faith in anything. A lot of people in my line of work do; sadly I’m not one of them. How is it you can reconcile your passion as a scientist and the belief in a higher power?”

  “As a scientist, I agree with you. As a human being, must they be mutually exclusive? If there is someone up there, someone who we correctly and egotistically think cares that much about our microscopic hold on the Universe, then their intelligence is beyond ours. I want to believe in God because I’d like to think I can learn His—or Her—language if I try hard enough.”

  Not that, if God existed, I would ever be able to meet Him. I took a man’s life; just one damnable offence on a long list of damnable offenses in my life. There was probably already a condo lined up for me in the second circle of Hell. Possibly the seventh if the theorized Creator decided not to go easy on me. The self-defense plea might sway Him in the end.

  “You’re an astrophysicist because you want to talk to God,” Anya inquired.

  “I’m an astrophysicist because I want to translate the secrets of the Universe to people who can’t read its language. Maybe it means talking to God; I don’t really know anymore. Even if we’re merely the aftermath of random happenstance, I have to try. I can’t not try.” I lolled my head against the headrest of the chair and tucked my legs up a little closer to my chest. My vision came to rest on Noah; fitted with tubes and IVs and all the trappings of an impossible struggle mere feet away. “There is so much in this world to love, Anya. You can only really appreciate it in its entirety when you fully understand why you love it, when you unlock and translate its secrets for what they are, and grip them so close to your soul it hurts.”