“Yes, I have the first aid kit you packed for me,” Logan had told him. “No, it doesn’t need stitches.” A pause. “That’s just the job,” Logan finally told him. “We talked about this,” Logan gently prodded. “The company isn’t going to just let these people walk away. It’s dangerous, but it’s worth it.”
Dr. Garrison had sighed and finally relented. Logan knew it was partly guilt. Dave felt responsible not only for Jones’s death but for dragging Logan on this mission in the first place. After all these years, Logan still had to remind him that it wasn’t just his mission anymore.
And speaking of missions, was Quincy ever planning to get out of the shower? A man needed to eat. Logan’s enthusiasm dimmed slightly as he considered Quincy. Dave had told him how to take care of the immediate issues with strangulation but had warned she would have trouble swallowing liquids at first, and anything solid would be nearly impossible for awhile. So maybe Quincy wasn’t as eager as he was to get to breakfast.
The one upside to this whole ordeal was now Logan felt safe enough to let Dave meet them at the train station. Not that I could have stopped him, he thought wryly. When Logan had called and given him the all clear, Dave had nonchalantly mentioned he was already on the way. Had been driving since they’d caught the train, in fact. Logan merely shook his head as Dave told him he’d be at the Port Mason depot at 10:00. Logan had been planning to ride as far as Denver, but this would work too. He was ready to get off this train. He had to admit, it really was nice. Small, but who knew train travel could be so luxurious? Of course, for two thousand dollars, it should be. Logan leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He was so ready to sleep in his own bed. Not that a mattress on the floor really qualified as a bed, but the California King fit his oversized body and he longed to sprawl out and sleep for as long and as deeply as he wanted. It must be making him downright giddy, he thought suddenly, because he was starting to hear things. He listened for a minute, trying to track where the sound was coming from. The bathroom? It was hard to hear over the sound of running water but he angled his head closer and listened. And felt his heart drop.
Quincy was crying.
Chapter 73
Quincy
Quincy opened the door of the shower to find Logan sacked out in the chair waiting for her. She smiled, glad she had gotten her emotions under control before venturing out.
“I didn’t mean to keep you,” she said. “The water just felt so good.”
“Did it?” he asked. He gestured towards her, pointing out the obvious. “That looks pretty rough.”
The hot water had felt good - on her shoulders and back. But the burns around her throat hadn’t fared as well. They felt red and swollen so she could only assume they looked worse.
“Well, some of it felt good,” she amended. “Ready for breakfast?” Hopefully the thought of food would be enough to derail any interrogation Logan felt might be necessary.
He hesitated, looking torn, before agreeing. “Yeah. I could eat.”
Quincy pulled her old ball cap out of her backpack and tugged it on before sliding her sunglasses over her eyes. There were enough windows on the train to justify the glasses and they would attract less attention than her blood-filled eyes. Between that and the hoodie she’d pulled on in the bathroom, she looked practically normal. No one would be able to tell she’d been shot at, kidnapped, and murdered within the span of a week.
“You weren’t murdered,” Logan said dryly from behind her.
“What?” she asked, startled. Had she said that out loud?
“You said no one would be able to tell you’d been murdered. Technically, it was only attempted murder.”
Apparently so. “Ah yes, my mistake,” she said. “I only feel like I’ve been murdered.”
“So, no appetite?”
She thought it over. No, she was definitely not hungry. Nauseated, sick to her stomach, sick of life? Yes. Hungry, not so much. But she had to play the part.
“Ice cream?” she asked, infusing as much child-like hope into the question as possible.
Logan laughed, but it was a strained and awkward thing, and he averted his eyes - a very un-Logan like thing to do. “I’m sure we can find something.”
Quincy stepped back and looked at him, the question all over her face, but the guy who’d been so adept at deciphering what she was trying to say last night had either lost the skill or was simply paying it no mind this morning.
“Come on,” he said, turning abruptly for the door. “Let’s see what we can find.”
Quincy just nodded mutely. It was the first time he’d lied to her since Sheraton.
Chapter 74
“Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.” John Milton
The soldier can’t help her. The doctor can’t help her. In the end, all the girl has is herself.
And me.
* * *
Quincy
Breakfast was a quiet affair, what with her damaged voice and Logan’s sudden bout of muteness. They refused to bring out the ice cream until the lunch meal so Quincy settled for some oatmeal mixed with yogurt. The heat was almost soothing as she ate, once she was able to shove it past her angry gag reflex. Post-strangulation eating was tough.
“So, what’s your damage?” she finally asked. Logan had been hunched over, staring into his coffee cup since they sat down. Thirty minutes of staring and brooding and she was done with it.
“What?” At least she’d finally gotten his attention.
“What’s with the sullenness, Mr. Sunshine? You were way too perky when you left the room and all...this,” she said, waving her hand, “when you came back. So what gives?”
She paused as a thought occurred to her. “Everything was alright with Dr. Garrison when you checked in, right?”
It was the only thing she could think of that might cause this kind of change. The Colonel was gone. They were practically home-free. Logan should be on top of the world, flashing his mega star smile and teasing her out of her depression, not the other way around.
“Are you finished?” he asked by way of answer, nodding towards her bowl, still half full of oatmeal.
“Yeah, I guess,” she managed, not sure what else to say. Maybe something really had happened to Dr. Garrison?
Logan shoved his chair back and stood, tossing a couple of dollars on the table. “Let’s head back then.”
Quincy grabbed his hand as he turned, stopping him. “Logan…”
He sighed. “Dave is fine. We are fine. Let’s just go back to the room, okay?” he said. “We can talk there.”
She would assume Dave was Dr. Garrison and she breathed a little sigh of relief. So nothing on that front. She frowned. And Logan had said they were fine, too. So what was the problem? Quincy trotted along behind him, struggling to keep up with his long strides and breathe at the same time. Logan reached the door to their room first and pushed it open, waiting for her to go in before following and closing the door behind them. He turned and leaned against the door, dropped his head, and sighed.
Quincy stiffened, her survival instincts reacting to what felt very much like a threat. “What are you doing?” she asked, as calmly as possible. When Logan looked up, it was clear she hadn’t been calm at all.
“I can’t make you want to live,” he said quietly. “You can’t want this for me.”
Quincy blinked, taken aback. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard you,” he said, “in the shower earlier.” He stopped, cleared his throat, and started again. “It’s bad, right? The thoughts?”
Quincy licked her lips. She could pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about, but why prolong the inevitable? He wasn’t going to let this go. He felt like he hadn’t pushed enough with Jones so he was going to go overboard with her. She felt the pressure in her head start to build again.
“What would you consider bad?” she asked philosophically. “Wishing I could just go to sleep and never wak
e up? Or thinking that death has to be better than what I’m living through now? Yeah,” she snapped. “It’s bad.”
Logan started to respond but she wasn’t finished.
“But so what?” she asked. “So what if it’s bad? What’s it to you? As long as I keep a stiff upper lip and smile so you think I’m happy, why do you care? I mean, that’s what you want isn’t it? You want me to smile and go along with all your little plans to save the world and me to be fine. But I’m not fine and apparently, neither is anyone else with this stupid head injury. Apparently, we commit suicide. That’s just the way it is.”
It was the first time she’d ever seen Logan truly speechless, but she couldn’t bring herself to enjoy it. The words had felt so right coming out of her mouth, but so wrong at the same time. Was that how she really felt? Was this always going to end the same way, no matter how hard she fought? If so, what was the point of even trying?
As Quincy looked at Logan, breathing hard from both her tirade and the realization that she might not have a choice, and Logan looked back at her, color started to spill into his face. She watched curiously as it spread higher and higher, the red finally reaching his hairline. A vein beside his right eye was bulging as he worked his jaw. He was angry. Really and truly angry. It was a side of him she’d never seen before.
She started to say something but he cut her off.
“It’s my turn to talk,” he said. “And you’re going to listen.”
Quincy backed into the corner of the car, as far from Logan as she could get. He wasn’t going to hurt her, she knew that. But she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch someone you care about self-destruct right in front of you? No, you don’t.” He looked at her for a moment, trying to find the words.
“I can tell you about RNB. Or what I know about it anyway. Dr. Garrison can run tests and help you learn to cope with your symptoms. But none of that will mean a thing if you aren’t invested in it. You have to be invested in living. You can’t decide to live for me, or for Dave, or even for the others out there that are suffering too. You have to live for you. We can’t do it for you.
“You’re a fighter Quincy,” Logan said. “You have to be, to survive on the run, alone, for as long as you have. Are you going to keep fighting?”
Was she? She wanted to. She wanted...something. She just didn’t know what.
“Some wounds never quite heal,” she said softly. She turned, looking out their tiny window. “I hear it,” she said suddenly. “The voice that tells me it would be so much easier to stop.”
“I know,” Logan said.
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked him. She wanted him to tell her what to do. She wanted someone else to make the decision for her. For once in her life, she wanted to not have to decide to survive.
“I can’t make that decision for you,” Logan responded, as she knew he would. “This isn’t about me. Or Jones, or Dave, or anyone else. This is about you.”
Logan stayed where he was, not making an attempt to close the distance she’d put between them.
“Dave can give you all the facts and figures he has. We can come up with a plan to deal with whatever comes our way. I can promise that you won’t have to go through this alone anymore. But in the end, it’s all going to come down to you. Only you.”
Quincy’s sigh was deep, a sad, lonely thing. “Doesn’t it always?”
EPILOGUE
“The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our separate ways, I to die, and you to live. Which of these two is better only God knows.” Socrates
* * *
Reflexive Neurological Bias
I am what I am and attempts to define me are useless. How can you define something without definition? Humans. Constantly seeking order, control. You try to box me in, fold me nicely and neatly and tuck me away so that no sharp edges or tears remain. But that is impossible because I am not one thing. I am different for each of you. I am neither good nor bad, yet I am both. Do I deal in death? Yes, quite certainly. But I am also life. You can live with me, but you can also die with me. That is a choice I leave in your hands.
Nothing is ever just a gift or just a curse. Life isn’t that simple. Black and white exists only on paper. I am shades of gray. The gift that comes with the curse, but also the curse that comes with the gift. And yet, that is precisely what the soldier is striving so diligently to convince the girl of. But she knows. She understands so much more than he ever will. Because even when she didn’t know me, she lived with me, and he never will. I have been her constant companion these many years, and she mine. She understands the price I exact. She gives, but I give as well. Consequences aren’t always damnable. They exist in balance. Inescapable pain after escaping death. A lost self after a life saved. Ebbs and flows. Checks and balances. Is the price steep? Yes. But shouldn’t it be, when the purchase is a life?
The train has stopped. The doctor is here, waiting. It’s time to go. It’s time to choose. We step off the train and the soldier looks the girl in the eye. He looks us in the eye. And he holds out his hand. She doesn’t take it.
That hand, it speaks so clearly. Choose life, it begs. Pleads. But the girl, this constant companion of mine, she understands. She understands that life and death are not the stark terms he paints, not the blacks and whites but the shades in between. She deliberates. I feel her hesitation, her despair over the choice she faces. And we understand that this choice determines what becomes of her. I can’t help her make this choice. I wouldn’t if I could. The choice is hers, as it’s always been. I wait on an edge, ready to tip. The girl stares at the soldier, at the hand extended towards her, a lifeline in the middle of an ocean. And still she hesitates. Life or death isn’t such an easy choice when it isn’t one or the other. One or the other. One or the other. One or the other…
But finally, she chooses.
About the Author
A native of the Midwestern United States, Tara N. Hathcock spent 16 years in the healthcare field as a radiologic technologist, where the first inklings of Shattered Highways was born. Having since made the jump to academics, Tara now works as full-time staff for an area community college and teaches anatomy on the side while she continues to write stories that blend elements of science fiction with everyday life.
Shattered Highways is her first novel.
You can connect with me on:
http://www.quietkin.com
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Also by Tara N. Hathcock
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Stay tuned for Book 2 in Shattered Highways!
Shattered Highways Page 34