The train rushed northward. Joe and Chiara sat together in one set of chairs. Across the aisle Ethan sat alone. He stared at the empty seat beside him: Amanda’s seat. The four of them had ridden on another train from Canada to Plymouth with no amenities or even seats … yet they had been together. He would trade that train ride again for anything in the world. Instead, he would always walk through life with this emptiness.
“Ethan?”
He turned his head at Chiara’s call.
She extended a water bottle toward him. “Here, do you want some water?”
He shook his head.
“Are you sure? You, uh, you’re kind of sweating a lot.”
He grunted, wiping his brow with his sleeve.
Joe leaned across Chiara, peering at Ethan. “Hey, show me your hand—that one you just used to wipe your forehead.”
Ethan glanced at his hand with only the four fingers. The fingers trembled slightly as he stared—or maybe his eyes deceived him. Either way he suppressed a sigh and held up his hand to appease Joe.
Joe whistled under his breath. “What happened there?”
“I think it’s pretty obvious I lost a finger.”
“Yeah, but how?”
“A tank stationed by the power plant began showering us with missiles when we left the hotel. I don’t remember falling or getting injured. I just woke up in a prison cell with my hand wrapped.” He tried to swallow but his throat felt too parched. “Maybe I’ll take that water after all.”
“But why—” began Joe.
Chiara elbowed him and reached over to give Ethan the bottle of water. “Here you go. You can have the rest of it.”
As Ethan grasped the bottle, he caught a glimpse of Chiara’s hand. Now it was his turn to be amazed: her ring finger bore two gold rings, one whose small diamond flickered in the light. His eyes roved to Joe’s, which held a matching band. “You …” Ethan fumbled for the words, amazement and confusion weighing down his mind. “You guys are married?”
Joe beamed at Chiara. “Best day of my life!”
But Chiara bit her lip. “We got married almost right away. It was before we learned about Amanda, before we knew anything at all.”
Ethan guzzled the water and then crushed the plastic bottle in his grasp. That’s what I was going to do: I wanted to marry Amanda. That was my plan. My whole stupid, pointless, waste-of-time dream that can never happen now …
It took him a minute to realize Chiara had continued talking. “… My dad wasn’t exactly happy he had to miss the wedding. But he—”
“Kevin’s alive?” Ethan jerked his head up.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot you didn’t know. Yes, my dad’s alive.” Chiara gave a wan smile. “We had to search for him too. But he was a lot easier to find.”
Ethan leaned back in his seat. His neck had begun to ache and he closed his eyes, rubbing his eyelids. He must have fallen asleep because, when Chiara shouted, he reopened his eyes to the sunset.
“We’re almost there!” Chiara squeezed her shoulders together, staring out the window. “Look! I can see our mountains!”
Ethan looked out his window. He remembered these mountains. He had trekked them with a couple of JPD officers, their guns always on him, in search of Amanda. No matter how long or how hard he searched now, he would never find her. Who knew where the NCP had buried her bones … she probably lay in an unmarked, mass grave with all the other people they executed … she didn’t even have a burial place he could visit …
He blinked away the tears. The only shred of consolation he could find here was that this was Amanda’s home. He caught glimpses of the town: a small grocery store with pots of colorful flowers, a corner deli, an ice cream stand. Was that her favorite place to get ice cream? Were one of those bright flowers—whatever kind they were—her favorite, or was she like most girls who just wanted a dozen red roses? He had never bought her flowers once. There was so much he never even learned about her. Now he could only find out from the people who were there for her upbringing.
Joe stood up, stretching, as the train came to a halt in the station. “Welcome to Fort Christopher, Ethan. No skyscrapers but more squirrels than you’ve ever seen in your life.”
Ethan inwardly groaned as he stood and followed the other two out. His feet seemed to drag with lethargy. He must’ve been sitting in that train seat for too long. As he exited the train, stepping onto the platform, he spotted Kevin, his arms wrapped around Chiara and Joe. Kevin’s hair had turned much grayer.
Kevin approached him, putting an arm on his shoulder. “Hi, Ethan. I’m glad you’ve come.”
Ethan nodded silently, his stomach lurching suddenly as an unexpected wave of nausea hit him.
Kevin squeezed his shoulder. “We have lots to talk about, but let’s get home first.”
They got into Kevin’s dated pick-up truck. Joe held the door open for Ethan. “You can take the front. Chiara and I don’t mind squeezing into the back seat.”
Kevin brushed some receipts and crumbled fast food bags off the passenger seat. “I hope the seat’s dry enough. There’s gotta be some kinda rust toward the top of the windshield; whenever it rains, water makes its way into here.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” Ethan buckled his seat belt. His headache had grown stronger. A little water on his seat seemed the least of his worries right now.
Kevin asked them about their trip and how Joe and Chiara ended up finding Ethan. Ethan stared out the truck window, not saying anything. Kevin and I are here together. We’re the only ones left … the only people who were in the hotel that day who survived … Why me? Why not Bennie? Or Nasir? Jade? Or, most of all, Amanda? Here I am and what a waste I’ve become.
“Ethan?”
“Oh. What?”
Kevin glanced over at him. “I said, ‘Thanks.’ Thanks so much for coming here. We’re really grateful that you’re with us.”
Ethan snickered, shaking his head. “I don’t know why. I don’t know what use I can be to any of you.”
Kevin frowned. “It’s not about utility. We’re happy you’re here because we care about you. You mattered to Amanda, so you matter to us.”
“Even if it’s not reciprocated …” Joe muttered from the back.
Ethan sighed. “I … I don’t really feel much of anything anymore.”
“It’s okay.” Kevin gave him a sympathetic smile. “This isn’t easy for any of us.”
He pulled onto a dead-end side street with nothing but fields in every direction and mountains in the background. Some cows stood in a pasture. Kevin flicked on his blinker and pulled up a steep gravel driveway filled with potholes. The truck groaned to a stop and they alighted. A large home with brown siding stood before them. It hardly impressed with its chipped paint on the front door, a cockeyed shutter on an upstairs window, and an incomplete side deck.
Kevin pointed at the deck. “I never got a chance to finish that project yet. I was working on that when the JPD came here the first time to arrest us.” He frowned. “I just haven’t had the energy to tackle it again.”
Ethan analyzed the front of the house. Which window belonged to Amanda’s bedroom?
“I’ll grab our bags out of the back,” Joe offered, jumping out of the cab of the truck.
Chiara grabbed the house key from her dad and ran up to the porch. “And I’ll get the door!”
They both disappeared inside the house. Ethan stood outside, unmoving.
Kevin looked over his shoulder. “Ethan? You coming in?”
Ethan stared at the ground. “I used to picture coming to this house for the first time. I always imagined Amanda here.”
Kevin raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think that she isn’t with us now?” He walked next to Ethan and patted his back. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
Ethan followed him up the steps and through the front door. They entered a cramped entryway with a free-standing coatrack next to the door and gaudy wallpaper lining the walls. In front of them, the pendulum of a grandfather clock swung back and forth, back and forth. Ethan began to feel like he was swaying with the clock. He placed a shaking hand on the nearby staircase rail to steady himself.
Kevin shut the door behind them. “Can I take your coat?”
Ethan glanced down at his worn, ragged jacket—color faded and sweat laden. He shivered despite the warmth of the house. “No, thanks.”
“Come on in, make yourself at home.”
Kevin beckoned him into the nearby room. The old floor panels creaked as they walked inside the living room. Kevin, sighing, sat down in the faded recliner in the corner. Ethan’s gaze swept to the mantel top where stood several framed pictures. He felt drawn to them, though he feared what he would see. The first was a family picture: Kevin, a woman he supposed to be Amanda’s mother who held an infant Chiara, and then Amanda as a young girl, maybe around ten. This was just a couple of years before her mom died. Amanda’s face beamed with animation and happiness. Even the freckles on the bridge of her nose seemed brighter. They didn’t know then what was going to happen. They had no idea grief would tear them apart.
“That picture is one of my favorites.” Kevin rubbed his chin, studying Ethan.
“I don’t know why.” Ethan carefully placed it back on the mantle, back in the spot surrounded by dust. “Doesn’t it make you sad?”
“It makes me remember.”
Ethan turned his back on the pictures. “I don’t remember Amanda like that. She had a mother in this picture. By the time I met her, her mother had been dead for ten years. Amanda was broken inside. That’s what death does: it destroys.” It destroyed me.
“Well, now, that’s true in a way. When my wife died … it did something to all of us. How couldn’t it? We loved her so much. She was—she was the heart of this house.” Kevin gestured around the room. “And Amanda carried that sadness for a long, long time. But, you know, I saw the happiness in her eyes again. She … came back to life. And I think a lot of that had to do with you. The act of you loving her, well—I saw how happy she was at the hotel. That’s what love does. It gives life again.”
Ethan blinked rapidly and looked away.
Joe ducked his head into the room from the adjoining doorway. “Hey, you guys want anything to eat? Chiara and I are putting some sandwiches together.”
Kevin rose from his chair. “Yeah, I’ll have a bite to eat. Ethan, you want to join us?”
A deep weariness came over Ethan. His joints ached and he tottered on his feet. “Is’re somewher’ can sleep?” His words seemed to slur together.
Joe and Kevin exchanged glances and then Kevin came to Ethan’s side. “Sure, you can get some shut-eye. We have got the spare bedroom all set up for you. It’s just down the hallway here.”
Ethan shuffled after Kevin, summoning his strength to make it this last distance. His head pounded, his temples throbbing with a growing intensity. I just need to lie down. If I can just close my eyes and forget everything …
Kevin was saying something, but all Ethan noticed was the twin bed in the corner. He collapsed into it, his jacket still on. A pool of sweat settled in his lower back, but goosebumps lined his arms and legs inside his clothes. If I can just escape …
Voices came to him from some great distance. He didn’t respond. He closed his eyes and welcomed the nothingness. Sleep seemed so desirable, but as time passed, it became the sought-after, never-achieved goal. His headache drove out every thought. He couldn’t escape the pounding pain, spreading first across his forehead, then his temples, then the back of his head—like a shadowy enemy drilling into his brain. Ethan tossed and turned in the bed, seeking a position that would bring relief but never finding it.
As he fumbled in the sheets and blankets, he seemed to be fighting some unseen foe who alternatively crushed his head with agony and then squeezed his muscles until he cried out.
Time passed in and out. He would withdraw further and further inside himself, like a tunnel he kept traveling through, deeper inside, away from everyone and everything. He’d get to the end; he had to. Images, thoughts, feelings, memories, dreams blended into a loud cacophony, a sloppy mosaic that he could make no sense of. What was true? Was anything true?
No, wait; he was back in the hospital. Yes, he had to be right now. The sheets felt just like this—always hot, never cool and refreshing. That throbbing pain—he knew that as well. His infected finger, leaking the lethal bacteria throughout his weak body … the doctors always hovering near his bed … the word sepsis on their lips … frantically working around him with medications and tubes.
“Don’t take it off!” Ethan screamed in the blackness. “Don’t amputate it! Leave it alone, dammit!” Let me die, let it take my life, why bother saving me? Months ago, the prison staff had wrapped the finger, crushed and fragmented into pieces by the artillery fire. Crushed—just like him. The NCP knew it would kill him eventually. The pus and agonizing pain from the injury was his punishment; they deemed a slow death more fitting for him. He didn’t care. He just wanted to die. What was life without Amanda?
But then when he opened his eyes, he was in a hospital bed, barely conscious, IVs and beeping monitors all over him. Some doctor stood by his bedside, explaining in a dry tone that they were going to amputate his finger.
Ethan rallied, summoning his last strength. “No! Leave me alone! Don’t touch it! Don’t come near me!” He screamed, feverishly clamoring to get off the hospital bed. The doctor had to call nurses to restrain him, but Ethan kept at it. Why are you trying to save me? You can’t! I can’t be saved! It would take someone more than you, more than any man, to save me! It would take—it would take … a god. But where the hell has he been?
Ethan suddenly rolled over on the bed, an acidic foreboding rising in his throat. He violently retched, again and again, his side heaving. Someone whispered words into his ear; he couldn’t hear them over the noise of his vomiting. He tried to count the number of times he threw up into the plastic container someone had placed in his hands, but he couldn’t remember if he left off on nine or ten. He felt drained, emptied, yet still the urge to vomit forced him to lower his face and, coughing, heaving, continue without reprieve or relief.
“Ethan? Ethan, can you hear me?”
He opened his eyelids a crack. Some nearby light attacked him and he shut his eyes at once. His parched lips barely moved. I need Linx. I need a pill … He tried to say the words but nothing came out. How could they not know what would fix this?
A cool hand touched his own. “Ethan?”
He rolled his head and tried to focus on that voice. He peeked out of one eye and saw a face … everything appeared foggy and the image blurred before him … but he knew that face with the almond-shaped eyes, the freckles …. Amanda. He exhaled. Amanda was here with him.
“The doctor said this medicine will help. Can you take this?”
A cold metal spoon rested on his lips and then a liquid burned his tongue. He quickly swallowed the horrid stuff and it scratched his throat as it trickled down. His teeth chattered and he huddled further down in the bed. Someone added the extra weight of another blanket; it provided no incremental warmth to his frozen body. This must be what it’s like lying in a grave: cold, black emptiness. Life begins. Life ends. Then nothing.
A noise interrupted him. He sat up in bed, the sudden jostling movement making him dizzy. His heart pounding, he cast a furtive glance around the dark room. Two figures stood in the corner. Ethan rubbed his eyes, trying to make them out. Could they see him? Did they know he was here? Ethan looked around—was there an escape route? The window maybe … they were so close though … JPD officers, of course. They must have guns. They’ve come to get him! Ethan clutched his side, patting down his body. Where’s my gun? How can I get out? He began gasping, panic clutching at his heart and his chest.
“Ethan? Do you hear me?”
A female voice drifted toward him. He sought the source, but his vision swam and his eyes couldn’t grasp anything, save those two black shadows who now seemed to loom even closer.
“Amanda!” He screamed her name into the chaos. “Amanda!”
Then fire erupted all around him, a ring of flames—crackling, sizzling, scorching, destroying. Sweat poured down his body from the heat of the inferno.
“Amanda!” he gasped, his voice a mere whisper. He couldn’t save her. She’d burn again. He couldn’t hear anything now except the roaring in his ears and before his eyes, nothing but red flames obscuring everything else … and always, all over his body and within his mind … pain.