The Stories We Whisper at Night

by Sky Corgan

  Ryder's mother took me into the kitchen and fed me homemade cannoli while we tensely listened to the two men yelling outside. Their voices were muffled, so we couldn't make out what they were saying, but I could only imagine. It was hard explaining to his mother what was going on since I was supposed to be one of Giovanni Bianchi's dirty little secrets. Before arriving, Ryder and I had come up with the story that I was one of his father's business rival's daughters. She was understandably not sure why he was making such a big deal about it, though she confessed that he was a hotheaded man. If she only knew the half of it.

  Once the fires of confrontation died down, we were invited to Sunday dinner. The rest of Ryder's family was warm and inviting to me, having not much of a clue where I had come from or how I had come to steal the heart of their sibling. His father still regarded me like a stain on the tablecloth. Part of me was worried that he'd have me scrubbed out before the wedding, but Ryder assured me that his father would never go that far. All I could do was believe him.

  Ryder and I join hands at the alter and unite in marriage. It's hard to believe that less than a month ago I was his prisoner, and now I'm his wife. I'm happy with how everything turned out, though. Stockholm syndrome for the win, I suppose. This is royally screwed up, when I think about it, but it is what it is.

  After the wedding, Ryder and I board a plane for Italy. He shows me all of the sites of his home country. It's a beautiful place. The food is absolutely fabulous, but by the end of our trip, I notice that it's no longer agreeing with me in the mornings. We drive to the grocery store for a pregnancy test, and low and behind, all of that raw dogging it had its consequences.

  I cringe as I deliver the news, holding the pregnancy test behind my back. “There's something I forgot to tell you.”

  “What's that?” He sits on the edge of the bed, sliding his feet into his shoes. It's our last day in Italy, and he has another full day of sightseeing planned.

  “You know how I was a virgin?”

  “Yeah.” Ryder stops what he's doing and looks up at me, quickly getting the hint that what I have to tell him is important.

  “I wasn't on birth control.” I wrinkle my nose, watching his expression to see if he can piece things together himself.

  “Yeah, and?” his Italian impatience shows through.

  “And surprise!” I toss the pregnancy test at him, then cover my eyes with both hands.

  There's silence for a moment. When I peek through my fingers, he's gazing down at the pregnancy test, a smile plastered across his handsome face.

  “Perfect,” he says.

  I move my hands back down to my sides. “Perfect as in sarcasm, or perfect as in perfect?”

  When he looks up at me, I see the pride in his eyes. “Perfect,” he repeats before standing and approaching me.

  My gaze falls to his hand, which he places on my belly to rub in a soft circle. I'm not showing at all, but we both know what's in there. Our son or daughter. I smile softly, feeling like Juno. I'd bet a hundred dollars this happened the first time we had sex. We've had sex at least a dozen times since then, but I just know it was our first time. I can feel it in my bones.

  “I hope it's a boy,” he says.

  “I hope it's a girl.” My eyes flick up to meet his.

  He catches my gaze and smiles brighter than the sun. “Then I hope it's a girl, too. Whatever makes my princess happy.”

  The Cabin

  SKY CORGAN

  CHAPTER ONE

  KIT

  The dreams are always the same. One minute there's a gun in my hand. I'm side by side with my fellow soldiers shooting at the enemy. My brother is a few yards ahead of me. I can see him, but he's not my focus. My focus is staying alive. Doing my job. Protecting my countrymen.

  I know what's coming. There's a pit of festering sickness in my stomach as I wait for it. Far deeper than the one that was there on that life-changing day. Back then, I had no gift of foresight. Our lives were always in danger. Every breath we took could be our last because of a well-aimed bullet or strategically placed landmine or a bomb. Adrenaline and fear and determination were what kept us going. The direction of our superiors and the hope that our plan could be carried out with the least amount of casualties.

  But the dream is different. It's like running from something horrible but being unable to escape it. That panic is there, but your legs don't move. The monster keeps getting closer, and you're trapped.

  That day, my eyes were on the enemy. But in the dream, I'm focused entirely on my brother. The gun is up to his shoulder beating against it with rapid fire. He doesn't even know what's coming. But I do.

  I scream, but he can't hear me. The gunfire is too loud. Everything is deafening. It's like I'm mute. No one pays attention to me, though I'm the only soldier that's no longer shooting.

  My brother gets blown to pieces right before my eyes. The despair I feel is like lava, burning me from the inside out. But I don't have time to be emotional. Because I have another job to do.

  The gun is out of my hands. In its place are tourniquets and sutures and everything I need to put my friends back together like patchwork quilts. One after another, they die despite my best efforts. I'm the most worthless combat medic there ever was.

  Images of their crying families flash through my mind. People I've never actually seen before. Faces I've pulled from random places, that my damaged psyche has compiled to torture me for all eternity. They blame me. They say that if I had just been better, their loved ones would still be alive. They say that it should have been me.

  I wake up screaming in a cold sweat, the same way I always wake up. Night after night.

  My psychologist says it will eventually get better, but it's been two years already. I can't handle two more years of this. I'm broken beyond recognition. A shell of the person I was before the war. Most days, I try not to feel anything at all. I take my antidepressants. I watch television all day like an old man, trying to immerse myself in other worlds and other lives so that I can pretend like mine doesn't even exist. But no matter what drugs they give me to make the dreams go away, they never work. I've exhausted all of my options. There's only one left if I ever want peace.

  The silence in my apartment is all consuming as I pack my bags. I turn on the radio to drown out my thoughts. My doubts. A song comes on that my brother used to love. I take it as an affirmation that I'm doing the right thing, but I still can't force myself to listen to it. A memory comes to me of Rob bellowing out the lyrics while we drove to the corner store for me to buy him beer. Tears sear my eyes as I think that he never even made it to his twenty-first birthday. What type of world do we live in where a kid is considered old enough to kill people but not old enough to drink?

  “Fuck.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my arm before grabbing the family photo from my bedside table and stuffing it into my bag.

  I can't handle this anymore. Can't think about these things. But I can't just leave either.

  I load up my jeep; then I come back inside to do the most cliché thing ever. I write a note to my mom. But I don't explain why I have to do this. She knows why. She'll understand. Instead, I jot down a brief apology and then make a list of all of my accounts and passwords so that she can have access to everything she needs to easily close my estate. I tell her not to go to the cabin. To just send the authorities whenever she finds the note. She doesn't need to see.

  I leave the note on my bed, then take one last lingering look at my apartment. The walls are bare and joyless like my life has been ever since that day. I won't miss this place. I won't miss anything about my life.

  I climb into my jeep and head to the local florist to buy the largest, most extravagant bouquet they have. With nothing else to spend my money on, I might as well go overboard, even though my mom might find it suspicious. Who knew that flowers could be so expensive, that someone would pay so much money to watch something beautiful slowly wither and die in front of them. These are things you don't think about
unless you've been through what I have. People are oblivious to the subtle evils in the world. Or maybe I'm just oversensitive. They're just flowers.

  I strap the bouquet into the passenger's seat and drive a few miles down the road to my mom's place. Guilt tugs at me as I pull into the parking lot of her condo. She's suffered almost as much loss as I have.

  My father left her after my brother died. She had always been the supportive one, pushing us forward in our career choice to join the military. It was our father who didn't want us to go. He blamed my mother for my brother's death, for encouraging him when she should have been nagging us about all the dangers of being in the army. He blamed me for being the influence that made Rob want to join. Ever since we were little, Rob always tried to copy everything I did. He never grew out of it.

  This time, I'll be the one following him.

  I sigh as I kill the engine, forcing a smile and checking in the mirror to see if it looks genuine. It doesn't. How can anyone even pretend to be happy when they feel the way that I do? But I'm sure that once my mother and I are standing face to face, I'll be able to fake it.

  I pull the bouquet from the passenger's side and carry it up to the door, knocking twice. I hear footsteps approaching from inside before the door opens. Mom smiles up at me, and I surprise her with the flowers.

  “Kitt.” Her eyes grow large as they land on the vase full of lilies and roses. “You shouldn't have.”

  “Got to spoil my best girl.” I wink at her before handing the vase over.

  “Your best girl,” she parrots and snorts. “I'd rather hear you say that about someone else.”

  I never will. Maybe in another life, I could have had everything she wanted for me. A wife. Kids. In another life, Rob would still be alive. We'd live a few houses down from each other, and our kids would grow up together. But not in this life.

  “I'm going to go out to the cabin for a few days. I just wanted to drop by before I head out,” I lay the news on her.

  As expected, her face instantly fills with concern. “Are you sure that's such a good idea? Didn't your therapist say that you shouldn't be alone?”

  “Yeah, she did,” I sigh. “But I think being alone right now is exactly what I need.”

  “That doesn't sound like such a good idea.” Mom places the vase on the bar that divides her kitchen and her living room and urges me to come sit on the sofa.

  “I've tried everything else,” I confess. “Maybe being somewhere nostalgic where I have some good memories will help.”

  Few things remain of our old life. Mom sold the house after the divorce and downsized into this place. All of my brother's belongings are in storage. Neither of us has had the heart to go through them. I just pay the storage fee month after month.

  “You and Rob did love going camping and hunting with your grandfather.” A soft smile takes over my mother's face. “But it's a little late in the year for camping. The meteorologist says a snowstorm will be blowing in soon.”

  “I'll be fine, Mom.”

  “Would you like me to go with you?” She shifts her weight. I can tell that she doesn't really want to go. Hell, who would want to go out to a cabin in the middle of the woods that has no electricity or working plumbing at this time of year? The place is old and rickety. Only someone crazy would want to stay there when they knew a snowstorm was coming. Or someone with a death wish.

  “I just know how much you love the cold.” I tug on the collar of my shirt. She has to have the thermostat set to nearly eighty degrees. I'm already starting to sweat.

  “Who knows, it might be fun.” She shrugs. “I haven't been up there for so long. Hopefully, no one has broken in.”

  “I wouldn't exactly call it breaking in.” Grandfather never even installed a lock on the door. He wanted the place to be open in case someone ever got lost in the forest and needed someplace to stay. The cabin is just a few miles away from part of the Pacific Crest Trail. It wasn't uncommon for us to show up and find things moved around. People were usually respectful, though. Sometimes they left money or extra food behind.

  “You're going to take your gun with you.” Her eyes fall to my hip.

  “I never leave it behind.” I reach back, my fingers brushing over the grip.

  “Good. You never know what you might find out there.” She nods.

  “Nope, you never know,” I reply absentmindedly.

  “I don't like the idea of you going alone,” she admits finally, hugging herself. “If you want me to go, I will.”

  “We both know you don't want to go.” I give her a serious look.

  “I know, but I will go...if you need me. I just don't understand why you feel like you have to go right now. Can't you wait until summer, when it's warmer? The cabin isn't going anywhere.” She frowns.

  “I can't wait.” I can't even look at her as I say it.

  “Hey.” She leans slightly to get my attention. “You're not thinking about doing anything stupid up there, are you?”

  For all of my depression, I've never been put on suicide watch. I've never even tried to kill myself before. For the longest time, everyone around me had me convinced that carrying on with my life would be what Rob would have wanted for me. But a life without laughter or happiness. A life where every night I have to relive that same harrowing moment. Guilt from convincing my brother that once we joined the military, our lives would be set. Guilt from my failures. How can anyone want to keep living when that never goes away?

  “No. I'm not thinking of doing anything stupid.” I'm thinking of doing the smartest thing I can possibly do for myself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IVY

  I tuck my hands under my armpits, trying to find some relief from the cold. The wind cuts through the trees, whipping against my face. I sniffle, wanting to wipe my drippy nose but also not wanting to give up what little warmth I'm managing to maintain. I nod my head like a horse pawing the ground, hoping to wipe my nose on the scarf I'm wearing, even though that's kind of gross. No one really cares what you do out in the middle of nowhere. It's not like anyone will see.

  I'm an idiot, I realize as I quickly put one blistered foot in front of the other. I've made so many mistakes on this little excursion, starting with not training properly before I came out here. My hour-long jogs at the gym every day for the three months prior were no match for the non-stop walking and ever-changing terrain. My next mistake was overloading my pack with things that weren't essential. My mom would probably kill me if she knew how much stuff I've given away along my journey just to lighten my load, usually in exchange for food or water or anything else I had in short supply that I needed at the time. And now this, forcing myself to hike one more leg of the trail because I started too late in the season and I want to get as far as possible before the snow hits and I have to call it quits, adding myself to the seventy-five percent who start the Pacific Crest Trail but never finish it.

  If only I had walked faster, I think. If only I hadn't spent so much time hanging out with the people that I met along the way or taken so many days off in the towns to rest my feet. It's easy to come up with excuses to be lazy when you're exhausted and missing companionship and modern comforts. But this trip was supposed to be more about me accomplishing a life goal than it was about having a good time. And I flubbed it up.

  Oh well. My parents were nice enough to present me with this opportunity, an opportunity that so few people get in their lifetime. Despite the fact that I won't finish the trail, I still like to think that I made the most of it. I had a blast along the way. Well, had had a blast along the way. This sucks. About five miles ago I started thinking that I probably should have called it quits at the last resupply point with everyone else. No wonder they said I was crazy for pushing on. It's as cold as a witch's titty in a brass bra out here. I can smell snow in the air, and my face is burning from the cold. To make matters worse, I still have fifteen miles to go before I make it to the next resupply point. Seven if I turn around and go back the way I c
ame. But I'm too proud for that. Proud and determined. I'm going to finish this leg of the trail, even if it kills me.

  As long as I keep moving forward, I should be fine. Even though I feel like I might freeze to death, my clothes are well insulated, so I know that the fear of hypothermia is only in my head. If it starts to snow though, that could be a problem.

  I do my best not to think about it, humming to myself as I walk. Sometimes the silence out here is a blessed thing. Other times, it's maddening, a loneliness so profound. A reminder of how small and insignificant we all are in the grand scheme of things.

  Briefly, I think about putting on my headphones, but I know better. It's important to always be aware when walking through the woods, especially if you're alone. Still, only having my own voice to keep me company kinda sucks. I belt out I'm Gonna Be by The Proclaimers, trying to use the upbeat lyrics to motivate me to push forward. I've already walked more than a thousand miles. It's crazy when I think about it. My feet can definitely feel it, though.

  Leaves rustle somewhere behind me, but I don't even bother turning around. I've encountered all kinds of critters on the trail. Squirrels, snakes, and more deer than I care to remember. To be honest, I've had just about as much of nature as I can handle. Hiking the trail lost its wonder some five hundred miles ago. There are still places where I stop in awe—amazing sites to see along the way—but for the most part, the forest all looks the same to me.