Delirium became my friend.
Years ago, I tracked a kid to Stuttgart. Found him in a warehouse awaiting transfer. It was early. Before dawn. His exploiters were still jacked up from the night before. Extraction was cut-and-dry. I walked in, lifted his emaciated body off the floor, and asked him, “What’s your name?”
“E-E-Eddie.”
“How old are you?” I knew these answers but I was trying to get his mind off the hell he’d endured.
“Tw-tw-twelve.”
“How long have you had a stutter?”
“S-s-s-since I was a k-k-k . . .” He swallowed, closed his eyes, and started over. “Kid.”
From his file, I knew his birth father had abused him and left him, leaving a hole. Into that void, the stutter stepped. The mom remarried, a good man who adopted the boy, but the stutter remained. No amount of love could root it out. Six months ago, playing video games at a movie arcade, he was lifted, sold, and shipped overseas—all in less than a day. When the exploiters discovered they’d lifted the son of the CEO of a solar company worth a couple hundred million, the first ransom note came in. Five million dollars. Which the parents quickly paid. That was followed by a second note asking for more, which they also paid. “Transaction complete.” But still no boy.
When the third demand came in, Bones got a call, and I got on a plane. “Don’t pay it.”
As I walked out of the warehouse, he put his head on my shoulder and I listened to his labored breathing. But he wasn’t crying. His shock wouldn’t allow it. Not a single tear. We flew overnight, landed in DC, and I returned him to his mom and stepdad, who were inconsolable. It was weeks before he started to cry. Once he did, they couldn’t get him to stop. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t speak, didn’t hug them back. He had been muted, save the tears.
So I went to see him.
He sat up when he saw me. Tears streaming down. I sat down, took off my coat, and unbuttoned my shirt, which made him flinch. Then I turned slightly. I said, “Can you read?”
He nodded.
“Can you read the last one?”
He studied the names on my back, finally reading the last installment. “E-E-Eddie F-Fisher.”
He read it without any inflection. “Can you read it again?”
“E-Eddie Fisher.” The second time he read it, his eyes opened slightly, and he whispered, “Eddie Fisher.” It was his name.
I faced him, buttoning my shirt. “Wherever I go, I carry you with me.” At the sound of this, he almost smiled. “F-f-forever?” The side of his mouth turned up.
“Can you count to a hundred?”
“Y-yes.”
“Two hundred?”
He nodded.
“If you were to count all the names before yours, you’d find 173. That means there are 173 kids like you. Many of whom now live at a place called Freetown.”
“Wh-where’s th-that?”
“The mountains of Colorado. Would you like to go there?”
He looked at his parents, who nodded, smiling. He said, “Are you there?”
I weighed my head side to side. “Sometimes.”
“Wh-wh-where do you g-go?”
“To find kids like you.”
“Do you c-c-come back?”
I laughed out loud. “Yes.”
“Always?”
“Until now, yes.”
“Can-can I h-h-help you?”
“What do you mean?”
“F-f-find k-k-kids like m-m-me.”
It was the first time the rescued had ever asked to rescue. I glanced at his folks, who quickly said, “Anything you need.”
Which explains why much of Freetown runs on solar power and why Eddie, now nineteen and soon to enter college at MIT, works in our communications department. This was the very same Eddie who turned on the girls’ trackers when I asked and was probably at this very moment scouring satellite images looking for any evidence of me—or my satellite phone. Which he’d programmed.
After a few years with us, Eddie’s stutter lessened. Then, just shy of his seventeenth birthday, it disappeared altogether. I can’t explain that. I just know it’s gone.
I thought of Eddie as I lay there shivering uncontrollably, unable to speak. For the first time since we’d met, I had some sense of how helpless he must have felt.
The thought of Eddie yielded to others, and soon I had trouble connecting real with unreal. I can’t tell you that I knew one from the other, but somewhere in there a man dressed in dark clothing walked in, followed by a second man who was carrying my crossbow. The first man reminded me of the guy I saw in Montana strolling nonchalantly through the flames toward his plane. He knelt, took my Sig, and poked at my stomach with the barrel, studying me much like a man watching water boil. Then the two of them rolled me on my side and casually discussed the names on my back. Their tone of voice reminded me of a man ordering breakfast at a diner.
Having finished their conversation, the first man pressed the muzzle to my forehead and stared at me. I was too tired to fight him so I just lay there, staring back. I saw nothing in his expression save amber pupils. I’d never seen their equal. His face was void of emotion, but for the second time I had the feeling we’d met before.
Oddly, the second man poked at my swollen stomach and told the first, “Do him a favor and pull that trigger.” My eyes wouldn’t focus, but I could see well enough to know his features had been altered by plastic surgery. And while his face was unfamiliar, his tone of voice held an odd echo of familiarity I couldn’t place. He continued, “He’s done. Only the waiting remains.” To which the first man smiled. He hefted the Sig, dropped the magazine, left one round in the chamber, and placed the Sig flat across my chest. Then they walked out.
They hadn’t been gone long—in fact, they must have passed each other on the ledge outside—when Marie walked in, leading Summer by the hand. Marie looked so young and vibrant. She kissed me on the cheek, then set Summer’s hand in mine, and both women sat alongside me while Marie entertained Summer with stories from our youth. Hours later, Marie asked Summer if she could have one last dance. So they stood me up, and Marie both steadied and swayed with me. I knew this was real because I remember feeling her warmth on my chest. The smell of her hair. The sound of the tune she hummed in my ear. And I remember apologizing for not being able to move my feet but the holes in me had yet to heal. Somewhere in the dark, when our dance finished and the tune stopped, she kissed me, slipped Summer’s hand in mine again, and walked outside where she stood until the snow covered her like a blanket and I could see her no more.
Summer gathered wood, stacked it, and breathed life into a bonfire. She then set Gunner alongside me and wrapped me in a blanket, which was nice because it was the first time I’d been warm since I crawled into this cave. Oddly, my thirst returned, as did my ability to feel hot and cold, because I began shivering though not sweating. Having dressed my wounds, Summer stuck a needle in my arm and forced cold IV fluids into my veins by pressing on the bag while speaking to someone behind her. Having emptied the bag, she lay alongside me and placed her head on my chest, listening to my heartbeat and breathing the air I’d breathed. Minutes later, I told her we should move because the cave was dripping onto my chest—and oh, how I wished I’d known that spring was there before. I might not have been so thirsty.
Every few minutes, Gunner would stand, spin in a circle, lick my face and stomach, then lie back down, whining and resting his head on my hand. Finally, as sleep was pulling heavy on my eyelids, Bones appeared inches in front of my face, sank his arms beneath me, and lifted me off the floor of the cave, only to carry me out into the snow and down to the water’s edge, where I felt snow on my face and heard something that sounded like a distant drum. And while the world had gone black and I couldn’t see any light anywhere, my ears worked perfectly. I could hear everything.
I remember being lifted and floating, followed by what felt like a nap in a hammock turned roller coaster abruptly interrupted b
y bright lights, frantic voices, the unpleasant shock of electricity coursing through my veins, and then inexplicable calm. Like the sea after a storm.
Lastly, I heard Bones whisper over me, “This is the cup . . . Do this in remembrance of . . .”
When Bones faded out, the slideshow returned and flashed before my eyes. Starting with Summer twirling and saying, “Dance with me,” and the risk she took as we walked to our wedding reception and she pulled me aside and gave me the picture frame and then filled it with herself. How her heart pounded and the sweat beaded on her brow and above her lips. The next few slides were from the reception. How we all danced for hours. The blisters on my feet. Clay in his wing tips and all the girls fighting over him. Ellie standing on my toes. Casey and Angel singing karaoke and something about having friends in low places. We laughed so hard our stomachs hurt. The last few slides belonged to Bones. I saw him everywhere. Freetown. The sanctuary. My island. Key West. Planes headed to parts around the world. My boat. Our mountainside perch above the academy. And finally, the boat where he first plucked me from the greasy guy who’d kidnapped the four girls. Tell me what you know about sheep.
I’d miss him.
I had held the sleep at bay through long days and longer nights, but I could hold it back no longer. There was so much left unsaid. Undone. But I had not the strength. The weight of the earth pushed down on my eyelids, so I stepped aside, let my eyes close, and drifted into that place where only the questions follow.
Chapter 38
I don’t know how long I was there, but when my thoughts returned, I remember feeling warm. And I remember two familiar smells. They swirled around my mind, finally settling on a memory. The first was Gunner. Which would explain the furry rug to my left. The second was Summer. Which would explain the feeling of skin on my skin and a leg wrapped around mine like a vine.
I was in a predicament. Either I had died and gone to heaven, which would also explain the bright light boring a hole in my eyelids. Or I was dreaming. And this was the really good part right before the part where I woke up.
I didn’t want the second option to end, so I lay there trying not to wake. But I had one problem.
Singing.
Which sent me back into my predicament. Either the angels had come to escort me home, or someone was piping it in. But why? Why were so many female voices singing that beautifully?
Then the hand on my chest moved. It had been lying flat across my heart, and now it was wrapped around my rib cage. To my left, I heard a door open, then footsteps and a familiar voice. It was Bones. He was whispering. “How’s the patient?”
Angel’s voice responded from the foot of the bed. “No change. But his vitals are all good and the doc says he can’t find the infection.”
This conversation suggested I was more in the second predicament than the first.
Bones again. “Any movement?”
Angel offered no verbal response, which meant she must have shaken her head.
“Mom work the night shift?”
“Won’t leave his side.”
This, too, suggested Summer was the body keeping me warm. And if this was a dream, I definitely did not want to wake up.
Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up.
Bones paused, then I heard pages shuffling. “Book five. You two are making real progress.”
Angel’s tone softened. “We just keep thinking if we read his words back to him, he’ll remember us and . . . come back.”
Somebody patted my toes but said nothing.
The next time my thoughts returned to me it was dark, and a cool breeze washed across my face. Like a window had been left open. The rug on my left was gone and the body to my right was moving. Wrapping tighter. Possibly leg stubble. Then I felt a kiss on my cheek. Followed by a hand stretched flat across my chest and a longer kiss on my lips, accompanied by a whisper. “Come back to me.” Then breath on my face. Followed by another breath on my face. And another.
Somewhere in here I must have returned to the cave, because water dripped on my cheek.
The third and final time my thoughts returned, both the rug and the body were gone but the singing had returned along with what can only be described as flickering flames in dim light accompanied by people crying all around me.
Above their voices, I heard Bones say, “Lord . . .” His voice cracked so he started over. “Lord . . . receive this one . . .” His voice stoked the crying, making it worse and bringing the rug next to my face.
This next part is a little fuzzy, so bear with me. I’m trying to put words to something for which I have no words. While Bones spoke and people cried and flames flickered and Gunner licked my face, a muscled hand grabbed mine, lifted me up, and led me outside. Which was nice because I was feeling a little cooped up. He then took me on the chairlift up to the Eagle’s Nest, although the furniture was different. He led me to the railing, where we looked down on two towns nestled in a snow-swept canvas. For a long time we stood studying each.
On the surface, they were similar. Exact copies. Save one thing. The city on the right had one thing the city on the left did not.
He waved his hand across them. “Pick one.”
So I did.
And that’s about when I opened my eyes.
Chapter 39
The opening of my eyes brought what can only be described as total chaos for several minutes. People who up until now had been stationary and church-mouse quiet started running, opening doors, pulling carts, carrying machines, and talking way too loud. I wanted to tell them to calm down, but I had a tube down my throat so I just figured I’d keep quiet until they removed it. People dressed in white were hovering over me, poking me with needles, shining lights in my eyes, staring at screens, and talking quickly on phones and to each other.
The room filled quickly. Angel. Casey. Ellie. Everybody was out of breath and smiling and staring at me like I’d become a circus performer on the trapeze or high wire. After a few minutes, Clay appeared in a wheelchair and scooted himself through the crowd and next to the bed, where he sat nodding and saying, “Uh-huh, I told you so. I said that man ain’t finished. He coming back. I said that.”
Bones appeared next. Wearing robes. Looked like he was headed somewhere important. He stood at the foot of my bed, patting my toes. Nodding. He must be getting soft because tears cascaded down both sides of his face and dripped off his chin.
Then Summer appeared.
Her eyes were sunk back in her head, surrounded by dark circles, and she’d lost weight. She walked around my bed, steadying herself with the hands of others, then held my face in her hands and kissed me, pressing her forehead to mine, dripping tears. Which caused me to wonder if the cave ever rained on me at all.
Bones was the first to speak. Or at least the first to try. He opened his mouth, but no words came. So, amid chuckles and the corporate laughter of release and the exhale of breath held a long time, he tried again. This time with marginal success. “Hey.”
I tried to smile but the tube made that difficult.
More laughter.
“You . . . good?”
I raised my hand. Forcing my fingers to move. They felt stiff and unresponsive. Finally, I managed, “1–1–8 . . . 1–7.”
Bones blinked, pushing out the largest of the tears, and nodded. Then he spoke to the room. “He’s good.”
Once the fog cleared, they told me their side of the story.
After Bones and the girls drove the Suburban out of the driveway at the cabin, they waited on me and Summer to appear with the bus. When we didn’t, they returned and started looking. Gunner found the blood. Summer said Bones exhausted himself searching the canyon and didn’t sleep for four days, walking every inch and searching every crack and crevice. The thought that I might have drowned haunted him. Back at Freetown, Eddie relentlessly read satellite images and saw what looked like smoke spiraling up, but he couldn’t narrow it to less than a mile. When he gave the coordinates to Bones, Bones sat with Gunner an
d said, “Murph. Find Murph.” Gunner bounded down the wall of the canyon and was gone a night, a day, and a night. Returning on the afternoon of the second full day. Barking.
My cave was twice as far downriver as anyone had imagined. Some seven miles. As they approached from the rim above, they watched two men exit the cave, slide down to a waiting boat, and disappear. Bones assumed that whoever shot me had also been looking and found me just moments prior. When they did, they decided to let infection take me slowly rather than a bullet take me quickly.
What they intended for torture actually saved my life.
Gunner was the first to find me. Bones carried me down to the water and then downriver to a helicopter that lifted me to a hospital, where I spent a month in a coma while infection ravaged me from the inside out.
The bolt from the crossbow had in fact nicked my stomach lining, allowing a slow leak—a perfect shot if you wanted someone to die slowly and with much pain. Closing the entry and exit holes had bought me time but allowed the infection to fester and take root. Those are not medical terms, but they work. By the time Bones carried me out of the cave, my ship had sailed. At the hospital, I coded and the doctors pronounced me dead.
When they told Summer, she ran into the room and pounded my chest, telling me I was not allowed to leave her. “Please don’t leave!” Finally, she had kissed my face and whispered, “I’ll never dance again.”
Then, for reasons no one can explain, my heart beat. Once. Twice. Then steadily.
My doctors cannot account for this.
For a month they fed me the strongest antibiotics known to man and tried to wake me from a coma. When the doctors ran out of options, Bones and Summer brought me home to die.
During this time, Bones brought all of Freetown into the Planetarium and came clean on our premeditated lie. Initially, everyone was angry and hurt. Felt betrayed even. Then Bones played my pre-recorded video and told them what I did following. Ever since, they’d been standing in candlelight vigil outside my window.
The Letter Keeper Page 27
