He woke up to a strange rhythmic noise. This wasn’t his room. It was much too large and there was a bed next to his, the back of a dark-haired head on a pillow. He couldn’t see anything else. He tried to remember what had happened, how he ended up here, but the only thing that kept coming back to him was that he was mad as hell at Max. He tried to sit up, but he was tied up. That didn’t change then. They always tied him up when they put him through chemo after he pulled the port out the first few times. He looked over and didn’t see anything pouring into his veins. It didn’t make sense for him to be tied up the way he was.
He heard the door open and watched Ella and Riley walking to him, all smiles. He smiled back timidly and cleared his throat.
“Is anyone going to tell me where I am and what I am doing here like this?” He nodded toward his restraints, but nobody made a move to unstrap him.
Ella crouched by his head and ran her hand through his hair, kissed him on the head, took his vitals, and then she was gone.
Riley moved a chair over and straddled it, the way he used to when he first met him. “I can’t unstrap you yet, not until I tell you all that happened. I’ll make it quick, I promise. The kid in that bed is Telan. He’s asleep and will be for a while yet, but he is okay. Max brought him. He told you that before you passed out, but I don’t know if you remember it. You’re going to be all right, Lancer is what I’m saying. Not today or tomorrow maybe, but in a little while. You’re going to make it….”
He remembered it then, Max coming into his room and telling him something about how he brought Telan. Remembered why he was so angry at him, angry at all of them.
“Leave, Riley. Please, just leave. And tell Max he needs to run, because I’m going to kill him when I get out of here. I will bloody kill him, Riley,” he said quietly, his voice shaking from all the rage he felt at what they’d done to him. At what they’d done to his son. He meant what he said about Max, too. He would kill him if he ever saw him again.
Riley shook his head, not moving to get up, and he needed him gone. Needed for all of them to leave him alone.
“You need to leave, Riley. Don’t make me beg. That would be even more indecent than what you had already done to me. I don’t want to see you or Ella or Brody, don’t want to see any of you. You need to let me be.”
Riley sighed and quickly got up, moved the chair back, and left the room, closing the door behind him softly. Lancer turned his head and looked over at the long dark curls of the boy he never knew, the boy he didn’t dare find, and he hoped someday he’d forgive him for whatever his friends put him through.
The door swung open again and he watched with dismay Riley walk toward him, carrying a small bundle.
“I brought you some clothes,” Riley said, setting a pair of boxers, pants, and a thermal shirt on his bed. “You’re weak, likely too weak to walk on your own, so I can’t leave you alone yet or you’ll hurt yourself. I’m sorry about that.” He leaned over and unstrapped him, holding his hand out to help him up.
Lancer ignored it and made himself sit up and then stand. He felt a wave of nausea and sat back down, the anger rising in him.
Riley stood unmoving, watching him.
Lancer wished so badly that he had it in him to simply dress and walk out of this awful place for good, but his body wasn’t having it. “All right. Do what you need to do to get me the hell out of here,” he said and glared at Riley.
Riley beamed at him, a full-on smile, and in quick succession helped him dress, walked him to the bathroom, and shaved him, tucking the razor into his pocket as soon as he was done with it and then left him in there to brush his teeth and do whatever else he needed to do.
Lancer stared at his face in a small mirror, barely recognizing himself. He knew he’d lost a lot of weight, but he didn’t expect his face to look like this. His cheeks were hollow, making his eyes look too large and darker than he remembered. He looked old. Old and weak. He ran his hand through his hair and almost screamed when a clump of it came out. He stared at the matted mess of long blond hair in his hand for a few moments, not quite knowing what to do with it. He recalled Ella telling him when he first got sick that it was normal and would come back after a while. Maybe it would, but for now, he needed it all gone. He called Riley in and asked him very quietly to please shave his head for him, holding a clump that came out in his hand, showing it to him.
“I’ll get one of the girls to do it. I’m not very good with hair,” Riley said apologetically.
Lancer turned back to the mirror and wrapped his hands around the edge of the sink to steady himself. “I won’t ask you for much beyond this, won’t ask you for anything. Please, shave my bloody head, or give me that razor and I’ll do it.”
“All right,” Riley said simply and left the room.
Lancer must have napped standing up, as, suddenly, Riley was back in the small bathroom, setting up a chair and then tugging the shirt over Lancer’s head and quickly. wrapping a towel around his neck.
It took much longer than he thought it would and he dozed off for a little while, hating himself for how weak he felt. Riley lifted him, telling him that he was done, trying to turn him toward the mirror so he could see it. Lancer shook his head. He’d seen enough of what this damn cancer did to him. He let Riley put the shirt back on him and walk him out of the room. He was careful not to look at the face of his son sleeping peacefully on whatever drugs they put in him. He trusted that the boy would be all right, and hoped for a brief, selfish moment that he’d be gone by the time Lancer was well enough for company. Or that he hated him enough to not ever want to see him.
The sun hit him squarely in the face as soon as they were outside, making him wince, his hand going up instinctively to cover his eyes. Riley just held on to him tighter, not saying anything. He noticed after a little while that they were going the wrong way, toward Riley’s house. He stopped, staring at him, not moving another step.
“You can’t be alone yet. Someone has to take care of you for a month or so. You need injections and other things. So you can go back to the Med Floor or you can stay at my place. I even cleaned it up for you, so you don’t get an infection. That should count for something,” Riley said, grinning.
Lancer shook his head. “I need you to take me home.” He felt Riley’s hands digging into him hard, squeezing into his shoulders.
“I know you’re pissed at me, pissed at all of us, I get it, but you don’t have a choice. I gave Ella my word that I’ll take care of you. It’s the only way she let you go, so you’re coming with me or we are turning around and going back. I’ll carry you if I have to. It won’t be any trouble, given that you don’t weigh shit now.”
He could hear the anger in his voice for the first time since he got sick, and it surprised him. “You gave me your word, all of you, that you wouldn’t go looking for my son… that you would never do that to me, and yet you bloody did, so your word doesn’t mean shit to me. I am going to my house or I am staying right here,” he said slowly, quietly, sat down on the sidewalk, leaned against the wall of the building behind him, and closed his eyes.
The air around him suddenly felt too hot to breathe and he felt like he was going to suffocate. And then he was flying, feeling light, weightless, the air much cooler now as it brushed softly against him, almost cold against the exposed skin on his head. He opened his eyes and they were staring at Riley’s at too close a range. Embarrassment washed over him and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see pity on Riley’s face, not wanting to see anything at all for a very long time.
6
Atonement
Fuller, June 16, 2244, Reston
The change in him in just a few weeks was stunning. He watched him sleep, hoping they weren’t too late. He knew Lancer would never forgive him for bringing Telan here, knew it before he left, and he made peace with it as best he could. They all tried talking to him for so long, begged him even to let them find Telan, but the man was too stubborn or proud, or whatever it was tha
t made him choose to die instead.
Still, he wasn’t prepared for the look of sheer agony on his friend’s face and the pain in his voice when he finally told him what he’d done. He wished Lancer would scream at him, hit him even—if he could manage it—anything but what he said to him in that pained whisper.
He watched his slow, tortured walk to the door and wanted more than anything to pick him up and carry him anywhere he wanted to go, but he didn’t dare touch him after Lancer swatted at his hand as if it were something rotten, something poisonous. He trailed quietly behind him, afraid that he might fall. It felt right to at least let him try to run now. A part of him wished he could do it. Could open the door and run, get away from this place, even if only for a few moments, but Lancer couldn’t even push the handle all the way down, and it nearly broke him to watch his friend rendered so helpless by this damn cancer. He cradled him and helped him to bed, trying his best not to look at his face; didn’t want to humiliate him any more than he did already. But he still saw the few tears track down Lancer’s face and hated himself for doing this to him.
Telan seemed to understand that he shouldn’t see his father before the surgery, and he didn’t fight them on it. He didn’t ask any questions when Ella explained what they’d have to do; didn’t say much at all. Ella kept trying to get him to talk to her, wanting to make sure he was genuinely okay with doing this, telling him about all the risks, but the kid just nodded and told her simply that he was sure, and he’d like to please do it as soon as they could manage.
Max went to see the boy afterward and he looked all right if a little tired. Ella said it would take him a few days to recover, mostly because he was half-starved, but that he went through it fine and won’t feel any pain once he was up. Lancer had to be put into a sterile room so he didn’t get a chance to see him that day, and when he went to see him the day after that, Ella told him that Riley had already taken him to his place.
Max saw the familiar red-tiled roof of Riley’s house from blocks away, the one Ams and Riley chose when they first decided to settle in Reston. Ams really liked all the trees and bushes around it, only Ams was gone now, and it surprised all of them that Riley chose to stay in that place with all the memories of the girl he loved in it.
Riley met him at the door. He looked exhausted, much older than his twenty-six years, the rest of his face finally catching up to his prematurely old-looking eyes. They shook hands without a word, but Riley didn’t open the door any wider.
“He is awake, Max. It’s not a good idea for you to go in there, is what I’m saying. He keeps saying he’ll kill you if he ever sees you again.” Riley looked down, shook his head. “I’m pretty sure he means it,” he said softly, apologetically.
“You need to let me through.”
Riley didn’t budge, just kept shaking his head at him, not moving from the door.
Max took a deep breath calming himself and took another step to the door. “I need to see him. I know he hates my guts. I’m okay with it. He has every right to. But you need to let me see him. Alone, Riley,” he said more forcefully than he meant to.
Riley cursed, threw his hands up in a helpless gesture, and stormed past him, walking quickly away from the house.
The place was flooded with the soft reddish light of the waning day and it was surprisingly clean. Max walked slowly down the short, narrow hallway and stopped in front of a door that wasn’t shut all the way, peeking in. Nobody told him Lancer was bald now, his face all the more gaunt for it. He looked like one of those emaciated monks from centuries ago. Lancer was in bed, leaning on the pillows against the headboard, reading something on a screen. “You don’t want to walk in here, Max,” Lancer said without looking at him.
He didn’t, but he had to. He pushed the door open and took a few steps to the bed.
Lancer threw the screen he was holding at the far wall and made to get up, then must have thought better of it, leaned back, and averted his face.
Max could see his breathing change, Lancer’s hands wrapped tightly around the edges of the blanket, and it made him want to get this over with as quickly as he could. He moved the sole chair away from the bed and knelt by his friend, close enough to his face where he couldn’t ignore his being there. He pulled out the gun he brought and cocked it, driving the single bullet into the chamber. Lancer’s eyes were on him now. Max pushed the handle of the gun under Lancer’s hand, gently uncurled his fingers, and wrapped them around the weapon.
Lancer squeezed his eyes shut.
“It’s all right,” Max said. He dropped his hands.
Fierce gray eyes glared at him after a few moments, and then the barrel of the gun pressed against his chest, Lancer’s hand surprisingly steady. “I should have done this when you first asked me to back then…. Never thought I’d say this to you, but I wish I had.”
Max winced, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “He is a great kid, Lancer, a truly great kid. Don’t push him away for—”
“Stop talking!”
The safety clicked off, and Max felt the gun press harder into his flesh... He could feel his heartbeat under it, rabbit-fast. He needed him to just pull the trigger, get it over with for both of them. He shut his eyes for the briefest of moments. “It’s all right,” he said again, “do it.” He could see the anger in Lancer’s eyes when he looked at him again, but there was sadness there too. He swallowed. “Do you need me to turn around? I don’t mind—“
“Please, stop.” Lancer sat up, quickly unloaded the weapon, and put it on the windowsill. He stared at the bullet for a long time, turning it in his long fingers over and over again. Finally, he threw it at the wall, faced him. “I stupidly hoped it was a training round, you know?” Lancer dropped his head for a beat, then looked at him full-on, his face flushed. “Stand up, Fuller!”
It had been years since Lancer called him by his full name. He swallowed the hurt and stood. He watched Lancer struggle to do the same, but then he was standing, nose to nose with him. Max took a small step back. There was rage and maybe fear etched into Lancer’s face, the muscles in his face jumping and knotting.
“You…. You come here with this”—Lancer pointed to the gun on the windowsill, winced—”thinking I could....That I could pull the trigger on you?” Lancer turned his head away. “Answer me!”
“I hoped you wouldn’t,” Max said quietly.
“That’s not what I asked!”
Max took a deep breath. “Yes. I thought you could do it... For risking your son, I—“
“Well, I bloody can’t. There, Max. You’re safe from me,” Lancer said, threw his hands up, and pointed at the door, “you can go now!”
Max flinched but didn’t move beyond that. He stayed where he was, looking at his friend’s face. Memorizing it.
“What do you want from me? What the hell else do you bloody want from me? Forgiveness? Absolution? What, Max?”
“I came to say goodbye to you, however this turned out.”
He saw the slap coming before he felt it, Lancer’s speed not what it used to be, but it still hurt.
“Shit,” Lancer cursed, brought his hands up to his head as if he’d forgotten he didn’t have any hair to pull on.
Max went to take another step back, to give him space, but Lancer grabbed him by the arm. “You’re running,” Lancer said, and his voice was suddenly soft, not angry.
“I am.” Max dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better friend to you—” He took a deep breath, whispered, “Take care of yourself, Lancer.” He shook his arm free and went to the door.
“We’re not done here, Max,” Lancer called after him.
He turned. Lancer stood in the middle of the room, looking like it had taken everything for him to make it that far, and it felt every kind of wrong to run from someone who couldn’t go after him. He sighed, leaned on the door, and waited for his friend to do whatever it was he still needed to do to him.
“What I said … I’d take it back if I could,
but I can’t. I can’t even say I didn’t mean it, because in that moment, I’m pretty sure I did. I wanted to hurt you in the worst way—“
“It would have hurt less if you just pulled the trigger.”
Lancer winced as if he hit him. “I know.”
Max watched his friend sway on his feet, his face shiny from all the sweat, and he wanted to wrap his arms around him and help him back into bed, but he didn’t feel he had the right to. And he knew Lancer wouldn’t ask that of him now.
Lancer shook his head and laughed, a small humorless laugh, said, “I wanted to beat the shit out of you. I wanted your whole damn face bloody for what you did to me; to Telan….” Lancer’s voice cracked on the name of the boy.
Max stepped closer, nodded. “Do it if you need to. I am okay with it.”
Lancer shoved him hard, his face furious. “No, you bloody idiot!” He pointed at the gun again, swaying harder now. “You brought that because you knew I couldn’t do it, the way I am.” Lancer glared at him. “How very noble of you! Willing to let me shoot you just to save me the embarrassment of trying to fight you…. Tell me I am wrong!”
Max lowered his head.
Alliance: The Complete Series (A Dystopian YA Box Set Books 1-5): Dystopian Sci Fi Thriller Page 60
