Inner Core: (Stark, #2)

by Sigal Ehrlich

  ~~~

  The next day, when Iris calls to shed some additional light on the matter, we're at the farmer's market buying fresh produce for a feast Tasha and Ian are planning later tonight. Iris informs me that the group Daniel was traveling with was in fact taken hostage by “the red shirts,” anti-government protestors, and that there is contact with the group via neutral diplomatic authorities. She adds that the fact that there’s a government official among the detainees could be also the help catalyst as it is the appealing target.

  All through the weekend my two guardian angels leave me only to take care of absolute necessities. On Sunday evening, resolute and authoritative, I summon them both for a talk.

  “Guys, you are truly amazing and I love you hardcore, but this is where you stop and go back home, back to your lives.”

  When Tasha twists her pointy nose and Ian is about to speak up, I raise my hand and shake my head. “Don’t. Let me finish. We don’t know how long this thing will last, and we all have a life to return to after the clock strikes midnight and the weekend is over. I’m okay and I can manage by myself, and I promise that if I need you, I’ll let you know.”

  “Hales, you know you can’t hold yourself poised and cool for very long. You’ll break down eventually, and I want to be there when it happens.”

  I shake my head again and bite my cheek to stifle the choking that is about to stiffen my throat, yet again. My voice comes weaker this time. “I promise. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  “I can move in with you, gorgeous, just for the time being.”

  For the time being? It’s like living in limbo, waiting. Waiting for what? I dread the thought.

  “No, tonight you go back home. I need some alone time. Let me cope in my own way. Please.” The end of my sentence is so quiet it's hardly audible.

  When they eventually leave, it's way after midnight. I lie down on the hard wooden floor of the living room and stare at the ceiling, praying him back. The infinite fields of emptiness in my heart leave me without the ability to express my pain. When I finally make myself get up, I step into the bedroom fearing the night, frightened to face the darkness of my dreams again. I find myself fighting to stay asleep through episodes of insomnia. It literally hurts to stay awake.

  Chapter 34: Numb: adjective, 1. deprived of the power of sensation

  As I brush my teeth I stare at the mirror. I resemble myself but there's no depth in my eyes. I am my own synthetic clone. I don’t feel. I hear but I don’t listen. I look but I don’t see. Empty would be the best word to describe me. And any thought or memory that threatens to make its way into my head is like a direct infusion of venom to my heart, killing it piece by piece.

  On automatic mode I dress, drink, drive, live.

  When Josh sees me he asks me to walk with him to his room. “Take a seat please, Hayley,” he says, his eyes a mirror of sympathy. “Ian told me.” All work formalities are immediately gone.

  I nod, not sure what he expects me to say or if he expects me to speak at all for that matter.

  “You can take a few days off. You don’t need to be here,” he adds, somberly.

  “Thank you, but I’d much rather be here,” is all I say. My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.

  “I see.” He rubs his jaw. “But just so you know, if at any point you feel that it's too much and you need to get away, just go.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say, colorless. I nod, and leave to go to my desk. The looks and whispers around me are coming from every corner. I have the urge to scream to the space: stop, let me be!

  I walk with two of my colleagues to the meeting room. More people join and our group of about a dozen take a seat. I sit in the far corner, pointlessly scribbling into my notepad. The words of my coworkers blend into nothing but noises, as if everyone around me is just a presence with a voice.

  I play with my lunch at my desk, not able to bring any solid substance even near my mouth; I sit there in my own universe floating about a thousand miles away, above.

  And time after time I have to ask myself, is it all worth it? Enduring all this crazy pain for limited moments of divine pleasure? Is this what the great 'love' thing is all about, going through a constant, nerve-wracking emotional rollercoaster?

  It was worth it. And I would do it all over again. I should not be composing a goddamn requiem; I should close my eyes tight and pray him back. When it comes down to what I really need, it's plain and simple: Daniel.

  I wake up every morning and replicate the day before. The days come and go unmarked; they're just hours passing, in which, deep inside I am dying a little more, waiting.

  In the evening, with a half-empty bottle of white by my side, I glare at the TV and shiver. Once the news leaks out that US civilians are being kept hostage by anti-government protestors in Thailand, it turns into a full blown media circus and there's no getting away from it.

  Each time I dare to glance at the news, Daniel’s image appears in front of me. There are also a few other members of their group that I recognize, but not the government official. It stuns me the media hasn’t caught on to this piece of news yet, but surely it's only a matter of time before they do. I start to avoid turning on the TV at all, as each time I see the images, it validates my fears and my dread. I close my eyes and force myself to sleep.

  ~~~

  Shaken out of sleep by the sudden chime of the intercom, I jump from bed and try to catch my breath. It’s past midnight. With my heart almost pounding out of my body, I sprint to check who it is. When Ian’s face appears at the small screen, I’m taken aback, and after a short, frozen moment of confusion buzz him in. I run my hands over my face and try to wipe the sleep away while trying to get my breathing back to normal. Securing the tie on my purple pajama bottoms, I head to the main door. I frown at the sight of both Ian and Tasha at the threshold, my eyebrows knitting deeper together when their appearance catalogs. They couldn’t look more in contrast standing side by side. Ian is clad in worn-out, homey sweats, while Tasha is all elegant and exquisitely made up in a beige sheath dress.

  They trade enigmatic stares with a trace of alarm and it’s Tasha who starts to talk first.

  “How are you doing?”

  Huh?

  I motion for them to come in and ask, “You came here in the middle of the night to ask me how I’m doing? Were there no phones available? What’s going on?”

  No smart reply comes from either of them, which could not be more alarming, and I don’t know what to think anymore. Something strange is going on and I don’t like it in the least.

  “What's going on? What’s with the looks?” I gesture at them.

  “I was out and Ian was at home.”

  “And you think that helps?” I look Tasha dead in the eye, and what echoes back at me twinges my heart.

  Ian takes my hand in his and tugs me closer, then wraps his arm around my shoulder.

  “Guys, what the hell is going on? Obviously this isn't a friendly visit, so spill it before I lose it.”

  Ian settles himself on the sofa and Tasha moves to sit on the sofa’s armrest.

  “Have you seen the news?” Ian asks, and his voice is so soft and full of compassion that my breath simply stops.

  “What news?” My voice is so small and fretful, it’s barely audible.

  “Come, sit next to me,” he says, and stretches out his hand to me.

  Are Tasha’s eyes glossy? There’s a dark, slow thudding in my ears; it’s my heart. I bite the inside of my lips and take one step to reach Ian, my eyes on his warm ones, and they are the only thing that gives me the strength I need to take this step. When I bend to sit next to him, he pulls me over onto his thighs. Tasha moves to sit next to us. Yes, her eyes are glossy.

  I shut my eyes tight, and rest my forehead on Ian’s chest. He kisses the top of my head and hugs me. I can feel Tasha’s hand move to hold my own.

  I take a deep breath that doesn’t reach fully inside my lungs “What is it?” It’
s a whisper, my face still buried in Ian’s chest and warmth.

  Ian coughs and with a cautious tone says, “Apparently there was some escalation tonight.” He kisses my head again and rests his chin lightly where he just kissed me.

  “Someone from the group was injured.” The way he intones the words I know there’s more coming. I shut my eyes tighter and breathlessly wait for him to go on. Fearing his next words. “And one's dead.”

  A sole cry leaves my mouth. I burrow further into Ian and start to shiver. Ian pulls me to sit astride him and envelops me almost completely.

  Tasha’s delicate voice comes next. “Hales, we don’t know anything at all. We came here because we were afraid you saw the news, or would see it alone.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s awful, I know, but it doesn’t have to be Daniel.” And when she says Daniel’s name, my soul shatters into an indefinite amount of pieces. Before my eyes I can’t help but see him wounded, see him…

  We stay in silence for a while til Tasha and Ian start to talk between themselves while I’m still burrowed into Ian’s chest. At one point, when Ian says gloomily, “It’s as if god’s making a Hollywood remake of the story of Job with Hales as the star,” I can feel the impact of the slap Tasha gives him.

  I lift my face and press it sideways, my cheek glued to Ian, and I look at Tasha. Her eyes take on a somber shade and she slightly shakes her head, then leans in and hugs me and Ian together.

  My head hurts, my eyes sting and burn, my heart hurts. “Guys, I can’t,” I mutter, not exactly comprehending what I’m trying to say, but it seems as though my friends have an idea.

  “I think you should take a pill and go to sleep, Hales. We are staying with you tonight.”

  I nod.

  “We both have to go to work tomorrow, so we’ll leave in the morning. But if you feel like you need us here, we’ll come back. Now let’s go to bed,” Ian concludes.

  Weak and tired I take a sleeping pill that Tasha gives me with the hope that perhaps I can finally sleep a few solid hours and let this hell vanish, if only for a short while.

  I snuggle on Ian's chest with Tasha next to me. Doesn’t take long for the pill to drop me into sleep.

  Chapter 35: Breaking News

  My body feels stiff and its throbbing intensifies as I stretch in bed, slowly waking from a deep, dreamless, full night of sleep. I feel like I’ve finally rested. I am much less tired, but that aching I host stays firmly intact, as though it were rooted in my body with the aim to never leave. Tasha and Ian must have gone to work already; I did sleep in. Barely able to hold myself straight I pass by the en-suite to splash some cold water over my sleepy face, and continue toward the coffee machine. I play with the remote in my hand, debating whether to check the news, while waiting for my coffee to brew. When the green light flickers, I toss the remote aside and pour my fix; I leave it black this time.

  Bitterness just seems more fitting with my overall mood.

  There’s a muffled buzz coming from somewhere in the house. It takes me some moments to realize it’s my phone vibrating. Shuffling toward the bedroom, almost tripping on my oversized pajama bottoms, I try to think whether that’s where I left my phone last night, as last night is nothing but one big miserable blur.

  The phone starts a new session of vibrations, which become louder when I near the room; I grab it and fall sprawling on the bed before checking the screen. A cold sweat covers me and a tremble bolts through my body as I see Iris’s name in bold letters.

  Dread falls over me as I wait, restless, for her words to come.

  “Hayley, are you alright?”

  She sounds almost panicked which just adds to my fear and thudding heart. I swallow hard.

  “Yes, I...” I mumble, but before I manage to complete my reply she cuts me off.

  “Oh, thank god, I’ve been worried sick.” There is a clear tone of relief in her reply. “I’ve been trying to get you. I phoned all last night.”

  My mouth grows heavy and the air comes in thick. Why was she looking for me all of last night?

  “I was just deeply asleep,” I mutter dryly, not too much strength behind my reply. Better to withhold info about my usage of pharmaceuticals.

  She sighs lengthily, sending fear to every nerve in my body that wasn’t already on full alert.

  “They are on their way back, Hayley dear. They return today.”

  The words are positive but it takes me a few long moments to actually comprehend what they mean. And before I am able to get in a word, she continues.

  “Apparently there were negotiations going back and forth since day one. Officials at our end were briefed about the condition of the group daily. Very late last night, when actual negations between the Thai government and the protestors started, there was intense pressure put on the Thai government to release the foreign captives first.”

  How can she sound so joyful?

  She halts to make sure I am still on the line and I confirm by asking, “Is he okay?”

  “I guess you heard.” Her voice momentarily sinks. “According to the bits of information I’ve received regarding their wellbeing, well, the rest of them, they are all supposed to be fine.”

  What does “supposed to be fine” mean?

  “Whe…when, do they, is he…” My voice breaks and I stammer, both fear and relief spiraling through me.

  “This afternoon, at five,” she says, and continues with, “I'm on a waiting list for the next flight out.” Iris keeps on supplying the dry details: airport, flight, etc., for the next few minutes.

  “Iris, how can you sound so positive? There's someone wounded and someone d…” I can’t even manage to complete the horrific word.

  “Haley dear, I know how Daniel always makes fun of my spirituality.” Her next words sound as if they are uttered under a soft smile. “But I sense him, and I know that he's fine.” I contemplate for a long time, wanting some of this optimism to rub off on me without much luck.

  “Thank you, Iris. Thank you so much for calling me.” I can almost see her angelic smile.

  “Of course, dear. I’ll see you later today. Hang in there, it’s just a few more hours.” I drop the phone to the bed, and collapse beside it with a thudding pulse that spreads through every inch of me as I hug Daniel’s pillow.

  I scurry around the house like a mouse in a maze, not sure what to do or where to go next, not sure whether a punishment is coming or the best reward. I try to accommodate the crazy whirlpool of thoughts in my head, which jump from positive to negative and back in a fraction of a second. It’s more than I can stomach so I try to stop before I go nuts.

  For an hour I contemplate whether I should go to work, not sure I'm in the best condition to concentrate. Then again, perhaps I do need a distraction; otherwise I might get a heart condition waiting. I keep moving absent-mindedly from room to room til I end up in Daniel’s office. I sit in his chair and at once deflate physically, emotionally, mentally—everything that has built up inside of me erupts. The horrid thoughts, the physical pain, the numbness, the sleepless nights, the visions, everything that was stifled inside of me funnels out through my tears.

  I cry in howls and shrieks, gasping for air. Tears of suppressed depression, tears of fear, tears of longing, and tears of joy all mix together. I sit there and weep for the longest time, not sure if I can stop or if I even want to. When I finally dry out, I get up and head to the shower, letting the warm water wash it all away.

  An hour before I plan to leave for the airport I’ve changed in and out of multiple sets of clothes, painted my nails, removed the polish and painted them again with a different shade. I’ve tidied the house. I’ve called Tasha and Ian and then Tasha again and my parents.

  And finally it arrives, the time to leave home and hopefully meet my Daniel at the airport. My hands are far from being steady when I start the car, search for the right song and start to drive. When the gates close behind, me a thought bolts through my mind, making me immediately stop the car. With a rapi
dly pounding heart I make a U-turn and park at the front of the gravel pathway. With fierce resolve, I run through the house to get what I came back for.

  I bite my freshly painted nails when traffic gets thick, and scan frantically through the radio channels to kill the stress of driving slow. It’s a good thing that the windows are up, and no one can really hear the collection of “blessings” I utter at the traffic and anything else that prevents me from getting ahead faster. When I finally park, I almost forget the keys in the ignition. I stop for a second, take in some long, deep breaths, and command myself to relax before leaving the car.

  One last glance at the rearview mirror and, somewhat shaking, I start the short walk to arrivals. I am taken aback by the amount of reporters hanging around the place, but quickly realize that although there's only one person in my mind, there are a group of people either coming back, or not. A group of people that have been all over the news for a while now. This is a “hot” story that will have closure soon and every reporter involved would like to have a piece of it. There are people in uniform mingling with the media, forming a dense human barrier at the entrance door. A hand taps me on my shoulder and I am pulled into a warm embrace. Rather surprised, I look up to see a soft smile and kind hazel eyes. Iris clasps me tighter into her arms.

  “You're pale, dear,” she says, scanning my face, holding both my hands.

  “This has been really hard for me, Iris. Still is, I'm afraid,” I reply, swallowing hard at the thought of the fear living inside of me.

  When we broke up it was horribly painful, but at least I knew he was fine. This time, not knowing how he is, or whether he suffered, or if he'll ever come back just slowly drained the life out of me.

  “I know.” Her eyes tell me how she went through the exact same thing. “But he's coming back, and that’s the only thing we should focus on. We should send our gratification to the universe.”