Chapter Six

Nothing

THE AUTOMATIC GLASS doors opened. The nursing assistant, who’d insisted that he ride down to the lobby in a wheelchair, pushed him outside. A cold wind whipped him in the face. Vincent blinked away the tears blurring his vision and searched for Sam’s car. She knew he was getting discharged this morning at nine. They had already discussed it at length the night before, but he didn’t see her rusted white Beetle anywhere.

Not that he could be certain in the madness surrounding him. Cars sped by on the street in front of him. People walked past him on the sidewalk. Patients and employees funneled in and out of the entrance. He dug his fingers into the arms of the wheelchair and tried to focus. Tried not to think about how easy it would be for his attackers to finish the job if they were somewhere on the street.

For the past week, he only had to keep an eye on a single door to ensure his safety, and he had plenty of company to help him keep watch—nurses, a psychiatrist, a police sketch artist who created three of the most generic portraits of their attackers, Henry after he finished up at the factory for the day, and Sam between classes. Now, he was a sitting duck for anyone who wanted him dead. To make matters worse, the nursing assistant was more focused on her phone, which kept buzzing in her pocket, than a potential threat.

The nursing assistant wheeled him off to the side of the entrance. “Do you see your ride?”

“No.” But he saw a man walking down the sidewalk toward them. The man wore a black beanie with a matching pair of headphones. He didn’t fit the build of the man on the security footage, but he looked right at Vincent. His eyes were hollow. No pity or annoyance. A glassy stare that Vincent had only seen in photos of psychopaths like Charles Manson and Jeffrey Dahmer.

Vincent might have made a run for it if his legs didn’t feel so weak or an outburst wasn’t sure to get him put right back in the hospital. His body tensed as the man drew near, in anticipation of a blade or a bullet, knowing full well that nothing he could do would prevent the man from killing him. But the man continued past him, an old Metallica song blaring in his ears. Vincent waited for him to turn around and attack, but he continued down the street.

Just a guy. Vincent needed to relax. Then again, he could be a lookout. To make sure it was Vincent before a car pulled up to the entrance and riddled his body with bullets. Sam needed to hurry the fuck up. When he last spotted a clock on the wall in the lobby, it was ten after nine, so she should’ve already been waiting for him outside.

“Do you want to, like, call them?” the nursing assistant asked.

Vincent would have loved to call Sam, but his phone was still in his car, and, as far as he knew, the police had his keys. Sam had a spare for his apartment, and he had another key for his car in his dresser, so it wasn’t a huge loss, but it meant that he couldn’t get hold of her now. Even if he used a hospital phone, he hadn’t memorized anyone’s phone numbers since he got a cell phone with a contact list.

“She’ll be here,” he said, almost as much to reassure himself as the nursing assistant.

Minutes passed. Another man walked by him. A truck with a group of men in it slowed near the entrance before picking up speed again. Sweat dripped from his forehead despite the chilly morning air. He couldn’t stop himself from seeing every person on the street as a potential threat; from thinking that at any moment, he would be murdered at the hands of the motherfuckers who left him in this broken body.

Beep!

The car horn was so loud and close that he screamed. He followed the sound to find Sam’s Beetle parked on the curb to the left of the entrance. Her eager smile fell at the sight of him—he must not have masked his fear as well as he thought.

The nursing assistant knelt beside him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. That’s my ride. Thanks.” He tried to laugh to show her how silly it was for him to scream, but it sounded more like a strained cough that reminded him his ribs were far from healed.

The nursing assistant wheeled him over to the car. Sam reached across the center console and opened the passenger’s side door. “I can help if you need it.”

“I’m fine.” His legs felt like rubber, but the prospect of getting off this damn street was enough motivation to force himself to step into the car with the nursing assistant’s guidance.

After she set his bag at his feet, she said, “Watch your fingers,” and slammed the door shut. She had her phone in her hands within seconds, to answer whoever had texted her.

Sam let off the brake, and they rolled down the street. He glanced at the entrance as if to say goodbye to his time at UPMC. Just within the doors, he spotted him. The man wore the same hoodie and jeans as he had in the security cameras. Only now his face was clear. No wonder his body looked so familiar. He wasn’t an acquaintance of their attackers or a random, disoriented man.

He was James.

 

VINCENT COULDN’T BELIEVE his eyes. “Sam. Wait. Do you see that?”

She slammed on the brakes. “See what?”

He turned to her. Trying to steady his voice, he said, “In the lobby.”

He waited for her face to light up with the realization that James was alive, but her eyes narrowed in confusion. “The nurse?”

Vincent looked back at the entrance. Other than the nursing assistant dragging the wheelchair back inside, it was empty. He looked around them in case James had hurried outside, but he didn’t see him anywhere.

His stomach dropped.

He could have sworn he saw him.

Not a trick of the light or a blurred image in passing.

James.

“What’s wrong?” Sam placed a hand on his shoulder.

The words were on the tip of his tongue. But he would sound insane if he vocalized them. He shook her hand off. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Vincent stared at the empty entrance. It had to be nothing. Because why would James sneak around his bed the way the intruder had that night? Why wouldn’t he make himself known? It didn’t add up. “Honestly, it’s nothing.”

He must have been mistaken. Seen what he wanted to see. That, of course, raised the question of what he saw in the first place. Had he truly gone insane and imagined James, or had he seen someone else? Someone who the security cameras had caught last week and had planned to finish the job before Sam showed up. Someone who Vincent had mistakenly identified as James.

Whatever had happened, he wanted to get far away from UPMC. An SUV had stopped behind them, and its tinted windows gave no hint to who was inside. “We better get going.”

Sam pulled over to the side of the road. “Just talk to me.”

He focused on the SUV in the side mirror. It didn’t go around her. His heart pounded in his chest. Someone could open a door and pull out a gun and end both of their lives. “We can talk later. Let’s just go.”

“What are you thinking about?”

Vincent was ready to scream. “The only thing I am thinking about is how I was sitting outside for twenty minutes—during which time anyone could have attacked or killed me or done anything they wanted to me. You were supposed to be there at nine, and you weren’t. So, can we please just fucking go?”

Sam recoiled and started down the road. Only after the SUV turned off on another street could Vincent breathe again and realize tears were running down Sam’s face. “Shit. I didn’t—”

“No, you’re right. I told you I would be there, and I wasn’t.” She wiped the tears from her face. “I’ve just been so overwhelmed with everything lately. I was up all last night studying for this test, and I slept right through my alarm. And it’s just a lot to deal with, you know?”

“I know,” Vincent snapped. Something about the way she said it—like she was trying to make him understand what a terrible loss she’d experienced and what a chore it was to deal with him—filled him with rage. He knew what Sam was going through far better than she realized. James might have been her best friend, but he was Vincent’s everything.

“I know you do. I wasn’t trying to say you didn’t.” She took a breath. “It’s just… Well, I lost him too.”

Vincent stared out the window at the gray February morning. He should apologize. She’d gone above and beyond for him this week. Before the attack, they had barely talked if James wasn’t there to mediate the conversation. Now, she spent nearly every waking hour that wasn’t consumed by schoolwork helping him out. And how did he repay her for all she’d sacrificed for him?

Therein lay the problem. He couldn’t repay her. She wasn’t a family member or close friend who he could lean on with the mutual understanding that he would be there in a second to return the favor. She was James’s best friend, and she was only there out of some sense of duty to him. What made it all worse was that Vincent accepted it because he needed it, and he had no one else.

 

IN SILENCE, THEY drove the rest of the way to the duplex they shared. The old Victorian house had probably been built by some well-to-do family when the steel industry was booming. At some point, the first and second floors had been separated into two apartments, and now it served as an example of what happened to beautiful things when people neglected them. Vincent and James had the top apartment, and Sam and Tyler shared the bottom. Vincent would’ve moved into a shack so long as he was with James but, staring at the place after he’d been away from it for so long, it was a depressing sight to behold.

Sam parked in front of the house behind Tyler’s, or, more accurately, his father’s, white Mustang. She offered to help Vincent up the front porch steps, but he told her he could manage. He needed to start doing things for himself.

When he finally reached the front door, Sam unlocked the door and held it open for him. “Do you want to hang out for a bit?”

“That’s okay. I might just lay down. I’m exhausted.” It wasn’t a complete lie. The morning had drained what little energy he had. More than anything, he just wanted to be alone for a little while.

“Let me just grab your key, then.” Her apartment door was inside to the right. Sam went about unlocking it. “I don’t know why Tyler feels the need to turn every possible lock on this damn door.”

Straight ahead was another set of stairs leading up to his and James’s apartment. There seemed to be more stairs than he remembered. He started counting them until Sam got the door unlocked.

“I’m home,” she called into the apartment. She searched through the key rack just within the door. “I know it’s in here somewhere. I just used it the other day to get your stuff.”

Tyler hurried over to them from the kitchen, the bun of hair on top of his head bouncing from the movement. He was dressed in a shirt and jeans that both looked intentionally distressed. In one hand, he held a paper plate over his head, which prevented Vincent from seeing what was on it. “Who wants tacos?”

Sam glanced back at him. “What?”

“It’s Taco Tuesday, my lady.” He kissed her on the cheek.

Sam didn’t try to hide her confusion. “Babe, it’s not even ten o’clock.”

“There’s never a bad time for tacos, and you need to get something in your belly.” He brought the plate down to eye level. It looked more like a science fair project gone wrong than a meal. Red and white sauces covered a cluster of taco shells stuffed with ground meat that had a pink hue to it.

“About that spare key…” Vincent had trouble stomaching Tyler at the best of times, and these were not the best of times.

Sam went back to looking for it.

“No worries, man. There are plenty of tacos to go around.” Tyler moved the plate toward him.

The smell made him nauseated. “That looks so good, but I think I’m going to have to pass for now.”

“Your loss, man.”

“Here you go.” Sam pulled out the key and handed it to him. She turned around to look at Tyler. Whatever face she made or words she mouthed made the smile on Tyler’s face fall.

“By the way,” Tyler said. “Sorry about what happened. That really blows.”

“It really fucking does, doesn’t it?”

Vincent turned around and headed for the stairs. The door shut, but he heard Tyler say, “Ow, what was that for?” before Sam said something else in a hushed voice. Vincent didn’t know what Sam saw in him.

He was so busy wondering how clueless someone would have to be to say a murder “blows” that he was at the top of the stairs before he knew it. His annoyance with Tyler dissipated when he reached the door. He had been in the hospital for so long it seemed like a separate existence that was detached from his real life, but once he stepped back inside, he would be returning to his old life. One without James.

Vincent might have taken up Sam’s offer to hang out in her apartment if the car ride hadn’t been so awkward and Tyler so insufferable. He unlocked the door. Forced himself to go inside. The apartment was freezing. He shut the door behind him, set his bag down, and went down the hall. Passing the kitchen on his left, he continued into the living room.

The window that went out to the fire escape was open. James must have cracked it before he’d met Vincent for the jog. The radiators often made the apartment unbearably stuffy in the winter. He was surprised Sam hadn’t shut it when she came to grab his things, but she might not have noticed. He took out the wooden block that held the old window open and guided it shut before he locked it.

He went to their bedroom that was just off the living room. Their clothes were strewn all over the floor. James was a slob when he was in a hurry. Vincent could practically track his movements before their jog from where everything fell on the floor. His lab coat and dress clothes were in a pile at the door where he must have stripped down to his underwear. Then, a few clothes from their closet covered the carpet, marking where he started the search. He must have finished at their dressers. There was a massive pile of both of their clothes on the ground in front of them.

A lump formed in Vincent’s throat that made it hard to swallow. He was the one who had made James go on a jog with him. The one who had shown up late and still insisted that they try to get in a few miles despite James’s protest. The one who had frozen in the tunnel. All of it was his fault. He couldn’t believe James was dead, because if James was really gone, then he was to blame.

Vincent wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor and die, but he couldn’t. James was everywhere in this apartment. He could smell his musky cologne coming off the dirty clothes on the floor and see him lying in bed and studying at his desk.

Something between a scream and a sob escaped Vincent’s mouth. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to get out of there. His destination didn’t matter; he just couldn’t be in this apartment any longer.

He dug his spare car key from his dresser, grabbed his knife, tossed it in his bag with a few other belongings, and hurried out of the apartment. He hadn’t reached the bottom of the stairs before Sam and Tyler’s door swung open. Sam poked her head into the hall. “What’s wrong?”

Vincent wiped away his tears on the cuff of his shirt. “Nothing. I just need to get out of here.”

“You need to rest.” She came into the hall, blocking the front door.

“I can’t be here right now. I can’t see all his shit and—” Vincent stopped himself before he completely broke down. “Please just get out of my way.”

“How about you come inside and talk about it?” Sam reached for him, but he took a step back.

Tyler joined them in the hall. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Vincent charged through them, grateful that they both moved aside for him to pass. He didn’t have the strength to barrel through them.

“Where are you going to go?” Sam asked, following behind him.

Vincent pulled open the front door. “Anywhere but here.”

Sam grabbed his arm. “What about school? And work?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He yanked his hand free, wincing at the pain that filled his ribs.

Sam stumbled back.

Tyler hurried over to him, chest puffed up like a rooster. “Hey, man, take it easy.”

“Fuck off.” Vincent slammed the front door behind him and started down the porch steps.

The door swung back open. Sam said, “Ignore him. Just come talk to me. This is a lot, but we can get through it together.”

Vincent didn’t want to get through anything without James. He couldn’t. He continued down the steps, going as fast as he could in his condition.

Sam still managed to pass him. She turned around at the bottom of the stairs and threw her arms up to stop him from getting around her. “I refuse to let you go off and do something stupid. He’s gone, but you are still alive, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Vincent didn’t have any fight left in him. All that remained was the truth. “If he’s really gone and those fuckers are still after me, then I am as good as dead.”

“Please stay,” Sam said, but she let him go and didn’t follow.

Vincent didn’t know how he made it to his car, which was nearly a mile and a half away, but the next thing he knew, he stood in front of the driver’s side door. James’s empty car was still in front of him. He got in and started the engine. He didn’t know where he’d go, but that didn’t matter. Nothing did, beyond getting the hell out of there.