by Sara Reinke
She kissed his mouth gently. He kissed her back, with no hesitation.
“I love you, Kat.” He ran his hands up her back, tangling them in her hair.
She felt tears well in her eyes at this, and she struggled to contain them. “I love you, too, Eric.” More than anything, Eric, please you have to believe me.
She forced herself to pull away. The longer she stood against him, the weaker her resolve became.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, and she walked over to the large, industrial refrigerator. She opened it and pulled out a small container of flour, and a small carton of liquefied eggs. “I thought I might make some pancakes.”
“Man, I haven’t had pancakes in forever.” Eric folded his arms across his chest and watched her hunt for a mixing bowl. “I don’t think since I was a kid. I’m not much of a cook on my own. Open a can of something and heat in the microwave—that’s my idea of dinner.”
Kat didn’t look at him as she measured flour into the bowl. She blinked against the sting of tears in her eyes.
“My mom used to make pancakes for me and my brother,” Eric remarked. “She’d put little blueberries or slices of apples in them. They always tasted best in the winter, on a snow day, when we’d get to stay home from school.”
Kat couldn’t look at him. She began to feel vaguely nauseous. She made herself to turn around, to put a smile and force a note of nonchalant good cheer into her voice. “Damn. Would you do me a favor and grab the milk out of the fridge? I forgot to grab it.”
“Sure,” he said, and when he moved, she could see his limp clearly, and how it hurt him to put weight on the leg. She could hear the hiss of the mechanics in his hinges and lifts. She wanted to warn him, to cry out, protect him, but that sound haunted her, silenced her.
He walked toward the refrigerator. “Does the name David McDonald ring a bell to you?” he said, turning to look at her. His expression had changed, his eyes growing troubled.
Puzzled, Kat shook her head, but then remembered. “Wait a minute. Yeah. Colonel David McDonald? He’s a politician or something, isn’t he?”
At the word Colonel, something in Eric’s face had shifted. “Not a politician. He’s the head of Legion.”
“Legion?” Again, it took Kat a moment. She recalled a snippet from her conversation with Trina, less than an hour before the Daedalus had exploded. “They’re a militia group, aren’t they? The ones that tried to secede Texas? Trina told me they’ve been blowing up federal buildings back at home while we were all still in cryostasis.”
“Yeah, I read that on the news feed before the crash.” Eric opened the refrigerator door. She had no accounting for the troubled look on his face, the way his brows started to narrow. “Where’s Frank?”
“He’s…uh, around, I’m sure.” As she spoke, she saw Frank duck through the doorway, creeping into the room. She cut her eyes back toward the mixing bowl before Eric noticed her attention and followed her gaze.
“I need to talk to you later on, then, when he’s not,” Eric said, propping the refrigerator door open against his hip, an odd note in his voice. “In private, just the two of us. Maybe after breakfast?”
She looked at him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head, reaching for the milk. “I mean, probably nothing. I saw something today, this morning, a mark on his back. It looked familiar at the time, though I couldn’t quite place it, but then I saw a book on his—”
Frank grabbed him from behind.
Startled, Eric dropped the milk, and it fell to the floor, splashing across his boots and the tiles.
“Kat!” Frank yelled. Eric struggled with him, fighting.
Kat slipped the hypodermic Frank had prepared out of her jumpsuit pocket and pulled the little plastic cap off the needle.
Eric saw the syringe and began to fight harder with Frank. “What are you doing? Kat! No! No, no, goddammit, let go of me!”
He managed to pull his arm away from Frank and accidentally hit Kat, knocking the syringe out of her hand.
“Goddammit, Kat!” Frank yelled.
Kat dropped down on her hands and knees and tried to reach the needle. It had fallen underneath a cabinet, and it was a tight squeeze. She looked up and saw Frank ball his hand into a fist and slam it into Eric’s leg. Eric twisted, screaming, and immediately quit fighting. He slumped, limp, in Frank’s arms.
“Eric!” Kat cried.
“Get the needle, Kat!” Frank was red in the face, breathing hard from the struggle with Eric.
Her fingers brushed against it and she grabbed it.
Frank twisted Eric’s arm and forced it down across the countertop. “Do it!”
Eric tried to pull his arm away. “Kat, no!” He shook his head. “Please don’t do this—whatever he’s told you, don’t—”
Frank clapped his hand over Eric’s mouth, muffling him. Kat stuck the needle in his arm, deep into the meat of his muscle like Frank had instructed, and depressed the plunger. She glanced at his face, and that was a mistake. His eyes were wide and dismayed, screaming wordlessly at her, What are you doing?
She pulled the needle out and staggered away, horrified and disgusted. It slipped out of her fingers and bounced off the floor.
Frank let Eric go and he staggered against a nearby countertop. Frank reached for him, but Eric shrugged him away. “Don’t…touch me…” he seethed. He directed his words to Frank, but kept his eyes pinned on Kat, hurt and bewildered.
“Eric, I…” Kat began, but she didn’t know what to say.
The drug worked fast, and he swayed, collapsing clumsily to his knees. Frank knelt beside him, and again, Eric tried to push him away.
“Don’t touch me,” he groaned, his voice breathless and slurred. “You…you son of a bitch…” He crumpled forward, slumping against Frank’s chest. Kat watched as Frank gently lifted the younger man in his arms. Eric moaned lightly.
“Yes, I know,” Frank said to him, quietly, soothingly, turning his face down toward Eric’s. “I know that hurts.”
Kat followed Frank as he carried Eric to the infirmary. She felt ashamed of herself for tricking Eric, for what they were about to do to him.
It’s not too late, she told herself. It’s not too late to stop it. You’re still in charge. Frank will listen to you. Say something. Stop it now, Kat.
But the frightened girl inside made her keep her mouth shut, pressing her lips together, biting down against them, the way she would when she tried to avoid rousing Chris’ violent anger.
It is too late. I’ve done everything wrong. I don’t want to be in charge. Frank is right…this has to be what’s best for Eric…
She followed Frank into a small room off the infirmary. It was bare except for a small hospital cot. Frank laid Eric down and immediately began to cinch restraining straps around his wrists and ankles.
“What are you doing?” Kat said, dismayed. “No, Frank, come on—”
“It’s to protect him, and us. You saw how violent he got. He hit you. What if he wakes up and decides to go after Jerica?”
Kat blinked at him. “Eric wouldn’t do that. He’d never hurt Jerica.”
“You don’t know that, Kat,” Frank told her grimly. “You don’t know him now. He’s in pain and he’s an addict—he’s not the man you knew. He’s totally irrational.”
She fell silent, clutching her hands together, rubbing her fingers, pushing against her knuckles. “Please don’t hurt him.”
Frank turned to her, and his brows lifted in pity. “I’m not going to hurt him.” He walked over to her and pressed his hand gently against her cheek. “I’m a doctor, Kat. I want to help him. This is so hard for you. I know. But we’re doing the right thing. Please believe me. You can trust me.”
He stroked her hair. “Let me give you a mild sedative. Something to calm your nerves and I’ll finish up here. I’ll take care of everything.”
“No,” she said. “No, I’m in charge, and I…”
“It�
��s okay. Let me take care of it.”
She nodded wordlessly, and let him lead her back into the infirmary. She watched him prepare the syringe. “Roll your sleeve up, Kat,” he told her.
She did, fumbling with her cuff button.
“Now I want you to go straight to your room and relax.” He waggled his finger at her, feigning severity. “What is it you told me earlier? ‘That’s what people do when they’re exhausted—when it feels like their whole goddamn world is crashing in on them. They fall asleep. And then when they wake up, they’re better.’”
Kat knew that if she slept for the next hundred years, she wouldn’t wake up any better. But at least it would dull her pain away, and help her forget what she’d done. “Okay.”
“Smile,” Frank told her.
She cracked a small grin that felt flat and insincere, but it seemed to appease him.
She didn’t even wince when he stuck her with the needle.
***
She found Jerica in the TV room. The little girl lay snuggled under a blanket on one of the couches, watching a movie on the enormous TV screen.
“Scoot over,” Kat said, wriggling under the covers with her.
Jerica slid her body over to make room. When Kat was situated, Jerica turned onto her side and rested her head just above her mother’s left breast.
“Pup, I gotta talk to you for a sec.” Kat kissed the top of Jerica’s head. She put her arm around her daughter’s narrow, delicate shoulders.
“You and Frank are going to keep Eric drugged up in the infirmary because of his leg,” Jerica said without even looking away from the movie. “I know. Frank talked to me about it earlier. He wanted to know if I thought it was a good idea or not.”
Kat blinked, startled. “What did you say?”
“I said I thought it was. Otherwise, Eric’d keep trying to pretend nothing was wrong. He’d keep sneaking morphine. He needs to be off his leg, Mommy. It was only making things worse.”
Kat followed Jerica’s steady, unflinching gaze. People were screaming on the TV, and things were exploding in great, fat fire balls.
“This is what’s best for Eric.” Jerica shifted slightly and snuggled closer to Kat. “I think so, anyhow. So does Frank. So will you, you’ll see.”
Kat was quiet. She closed her eyes and tried to think of how to go to sleep. She wondered if she could hibernate, like a bear, and sleep for months.
Chapter Nineteen
Two days later, Kat had not budged from her bed. She stayed there all day and all night.
Frank explained to Jerica that she was suffering from shock and exhaustion. “She just needs some time,” he told her, resting his palm against the cap of Jerica’s head in a kind, somewhat fatherly gesture. “This is all been very shocking to her.”
Jerica still found it unsettling and a bit creepy.
Two nights after Eric had been sedated, Jerica peeked around the corner into Frank’s room. It was late, and he had snuggled her under her covers several hours ago. He had left the bathroom light on, and the door open slightly, as per her instructions, but Jerica had been unable to sleep anyway.
She’d tiptoed down the corridor, hesitating outside of Frank’s doorway. She was uncertain about turning to Frank for comfort. She’d always gone to her mom before, or Eric. She’d almost gone down to sit in the infirmary with Eric. She thought maybe she could draw some comfort simply from his presence, but in the end, the thought of the dark, cool, silent infirmary, and Eric laying there as still and quiet as a corpse was too creepy.
He was sitting with his back to her at a small table. His shirt was off, draped across his chair. She sniffled quietly, and he glanced behind him, startled. “Jerica, hey.”
He turned around in the seat to face her. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to straighten it. “What’re you doing up?” His voice was low and gentle.
She shrugged uncertainly, pressed against the doorway.
“Come here,” he said and he held his hand out to her.
She shuffled over to him, twisting her fingers in her tousled yellow curls.
Frank touched her shoulder and pushed her hair back. “You okay, punkin’?”
Jerica nodded.
“You scared?”
“A little,” she said, and she was certain he would laugh at her. The little genius scared of the dark.
But Frank didn’t laugh. He hoisted her onto his lap, put his arm around her narrow shoulders and drew her close. “You don’t have to be scared. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
“I don’t want bad things to happen to my mommy,” she whispered. “Or Eric.”
“Nothing will.” He gave her a squeeze. “I promise, El. I’m going to take care of you.”
She closed her eyes and leaned against Frank’s chest. “Who’s El?”
“Huh?”
“El. You’ve called me that twice now. Once, down when the water tank busted, and just now.”
“I…I’m sorry,” he said, and there was something very sad in his voice that made her look up at him. “It just slipped out.”
“Who is she?” Jerica asked, and she happened to catch a glimpse of the tabletop over his shoulder.
Frank had spread the contents of his billfold out: small, battered wallet-cropped photos. Pictures of a beautiful dark-haired woman, another of an Indian woman, and one of a little girl with black hair and bright, piercing blue eyes.
“Here.” Frank moved, twisting at the waist and taking one of the photographs. He handed it to her, and she studied it for a long moment, running her fingertips across the worn, curling edges. “Elaina. She’s my daughter. She’d be your age now. She was four there.”
Jerica looked at him, puzzled.
“She died,” Frank told her. “Two years ago. She was very sick, and there was nothing anyone could do for her.”
“She was very beautiful.” Jerica could plainly see the look of stunned, raw pain in his face. His eyes were distant, staring at the tiled floor.
“Sometimes I think she was the whole world,” Frank said. “I loved her so much. It felt like someone had just…cut my heart out.”
“I’m sorry, Frank.”
Frank shook his head slightly as if emerging from a reverie and smiled. “No, don’t be silly, Jerica. It’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”
“Is this your wife?” Jerica asked, pointing to the woman in the other picture.
Frank nodded. “Yes. That’s Lauren. We’re divorced now. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes. My mommy and daddy got divorced a long time ago.”
Frank smiled. “Well, anyway, that’s how I ended up doing this. Deep space travel. I didn’t have anything waiting for me at home but memories, and I…” His voice faltered and broke off. “It was cheaper than therapy,” he finished, winking at her.
Jerica smiled politely. She knew Frank was only trying to make a joke so that she wouldn’t be upset.
“You remind me a lot of El. I guess that’s why I slip up and call you that. I’ll try to be more careful.”
“That’s okay.” Jerica put her arms around his neck because he looked like he needed it. “I don’t mind.”
As she hugged him, she noticed a mark on his back, just slightly down on his shoulder, a figure eight rolled over onto its side, like a scar. “What happened here?” she asked, touching the raised curve of flesh curiously.
“What?”
“This mark, here.”
“It means infinity,” Frank said.
“Is it a scar?” Jerica frowned. “It looks like it was burned.”
“It was. It was a brand.”
“Did it hurt?”
“A little.” Jerica looked at him, her eyes wide and he laughed. “It’s all right. I wanted it done. It was a gift of sorts, from a friend.”
He tapped the photo of the Indian woman. She was plain looking, and her eyes were small and closely set. Jerica thought she resembled a cartoon rat; there was something dark and not quite
right about her.
“She did that to you?” Jerica asked, and Frank nodded. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Reba Crowe.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
Frank chuckled. “I guess you could say that, sure.”
“Really?” Jerica asked, and she frowned. “She looks scary.”
Frank laughed. “No, she’s not scary, Jerica. She’s really very smart. She knows a lot, about a lot. You’d like her. You two’d get along great.”
“You think?”
Frank nodded. “Oh, sure. Maybe you’ll get to meet her some day.” He stood, lifting Jerica easily into his arms. “I think I’ve spilled enough guts for one night, huh? Besides, it’s time for you to go to bed.”
“I’m not tired,” Jerica said, but she was stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.
“No, not at all,” Frank agreed, and Jerica giggled. She rested her head against him, and let him carry her back to her room.
Chapter Twenty
Kat waited four days before going to see Eric. She spent that time in her room for the most part, curled up in bed.
She listened carefully. She could hear Jerica and Frank sometimes, their voices drifting up the corridors from the kitchen or the infirmary or the TV room. She didn’t pay attention to the words. There didn’t seem to be any discernible, actually. Just gentle, rhythmic, hollow sounds.
Sometimes she could hear Jerica laughing, high, shrill, squealing, and the rapid thump-thump-thump of her feet as she scurried up and down the hallways, playing. She didn’t come in to sleep with Kat anymore.
Frank brought her in plates of food, but Kat had no appetite. She didn’t really feel like eating. She picked at it and forced most of the meals down.
She didn’t miss the careful, guarded way Frank looked at her.
She was afraid of them talking. She was afraid he and Jerica would decide to drug her up, too.
After four days, she got out of bed. Her body had become stiff, sore and cramped. She knew she had to smell, and took a long shower, despite the water situation. She brushed her hair and dressed in clean clothes. She went down the hall, walking softly, resting her weight on the balls of her feet. She didn’t want Frank or Jerica to hear her.