At First Light

by Mari Madison

  Stephanie plopped down on the couch next to me, plucking the glass of wine from my hand and taking a long, large slug. “So when’s he on?” she asked.

  “After this break, I think,” I told her. “He’s covering some kind of convenience store robbery and car chase. Fatality, I think.”

  “I remember seeing that on the AP wire earlier,” Stephanie replied. “And I’m pretty sure that’s why traffic was so crappy on the way home.” She rolled her eyes. “Ah, criminals. Always messing up the commute for the rest of us.” She took another sip of my wine.

  I grabbed my glass back from her and pointed to the fridge. “You want more, you get your own glass,” I scolded, just as the broadcast came back on. After all, I needed all the liquid courage I could get to watch my ex-boyfriend on TV. Not that I’d been able to drink a drop yet.

  Stephanie laughed and kissed me on the top of the head before climbing off the couch backward and dancing toward the kitchen. I turned back to the TV, trying to shake the weird feeling of déjà vu that had just hit me hard and fast. Stephanie and I drinking wine, watching the news . . . just as we had been doing the night Troy had been kidnapped by the jihadist group.

  But he’s here now, I reminded myself. In America, safe and sound. Surrounded by police. Nothing bad could possibly happen to him here.

  But did he know that? I thought back again to our unexpected run-in that morning. The haunted look I’d seen in his eyes. So different from the Troy I remembered. The Troy who had been so cocky and confident and carefree. Instead he had looked completely troubled. Almost scared. Hell, half of me had wanted to grab him and lock him in a closet and throw away the key—in an effort to keep him safe forever.

  Which would probably be a bit awkward. Not to mention super creepy.

  I turned my focus back to the TV. Troy’s story was on the air now, his voice talking over the video, explaining the robbery, the chase, the crash. After about a minute of overview, he came back full screen. I gulped, almost alarmed at his sudden presence in my living room. While I knew for a fact he was just staring into a camera, I couldn’t help but feel he was staring straight at me.

  Maybe watching this was a bad idea.

  “Police have not given a motive,” he said. “But according to his Facebook page and a recent failed GoFundMe campaign, it appears the crime may have been financially motivated. Wilder was laid off from his government job six months ago and behind on his rent.”

  I squirmed in my seat, catching the judgmental look flashing in Troy’s eyes. I wondered if he knew that it was my dad that had cut ten percent of government jobs six months ago, in an effort to give new tax breaks to his buddies in the one percent. I had told him it was a terrible idea when the bill was first put forward. But he had just rolled his eyes at me and told me to go back to my little movies. Leave the politics to the professionals.

  And now a man was dead. And two children had lost their father. A wife had lost her husband.

  I grabbed my phone, taking down the man’s name. I’d do some research tomorrow. Find the family. Help out if I could. It wouldn’t fix what my dad had done. But maybe it would ease the pain a little.

  The camera cut from Troy back to the studio, where Beth, the new nighttime anchor, was sitting behind the desk. “So, Troy,” she said, “do you have any idea what might have—”

  Before she could finish her question, a large bang echoed over the airwaves. I frowned as the camera cut back to Troy. To my surprise, he had gone stark white. He dropped the microphone he’d been holding and it clattered to the ground. A moment later he dropped out of frame. I waited for a moment; maybe he was just grabbing the mic? But he didn’t reappear.

  “Troy?” Beth tried again. “Did we lose you? Are you still there?”

  But there was no answer.

  “Troy!” I cried, even though of course he couldn’t hear me. I turned to Stephanie, my heart thrumming in my chest, déjà vu now hitting me hard and fast. “What’s going on? Where did he go?”

  But Stephanie just looked at me, shaking her head. She clearly had no idea, either.

  I turned back to the TV. They had cut back to the studio. Beth was still looking a little puzzled. Then she turned face the camera again.

  “Sorry about that. It appears we lost the feed,” she said. “We’ll see if we can get him back after the break. But first—stay tuned for your local weather forecast. It’s going to be another sunny one in SoCal this week.” She grinned. “What a shock, right?”

  As the station cut to commercial, I flipped off the TV. I rose to my feet. Set my wine down on the breakfast bar and grabbed my shoes.

  “Where are you going?” Stephanie called to me, looking even more puzzled now.

  I turned back to her. “I’m going to head over there and make sure he’s okay.”

  six

  TROY

  Hey, man, you okay?”

  I could vaguely feel Javier’s hand on my shoulder, jerking me back to reality. I looked up, horrified, trying to remember what had just happened. I’d been answering a question. There was some kind of noise. My heart had leapt so hard I was half-sure it was going to explode from my chest. My vision spun. I couldn’t breathe. When I came to, I was on the ground.

  I shook my head, blinking. I turned to the camera. “The live shot,” I started. Javier shook his head.

  “I shut it off when you stopped responding,” he said. “I told them we had technical difficulties.”

  “Right.” I sank down onto the curb, trying to catch my breath. Technical difficulties indeed. But not with the camera equipment. Rather my own head. “I heard a noise,” I said, trying to put it all together.

  “A car backfiring, I think,” Javier said. He paused, then added, “Did you think it was . . .” He trailed off, obviously not sure if he should continue.

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking at all. It was like my body had jumped in and taken over my brain without asking permission first. Super-charging every nerve, just in case.

  The shrinks had warned this could happen. That any situation might trigger the trauma I’d experienced in Syria. I had been in the middle of a live shot when I was first captured, after all, just like this one. There had been a sound then, too. Not a car backfiring, of course. But actual gunfire.

  Clearly my mind wasn’t taking any chances though.

  Fucking hell. This was not good.

  The network had offered to pay for psychiatric services when I’d first gotten back. The kind of thing soldiers went through when coming back home. I’d been to a couple of sessions, but stopped going after the doctor had tried to repeatedly force pills down my throat to ease the “transition.” I’d tried to explain to him I didn’t want the easy way out. The idea that they would dull the edges of what had happened to me seemed wrong somehow. Taking away something that was inherently mine, even if it wasn’t a good thing. I wanted to stay sharp. In control. To make sure no one could ever do what they’d done to me ever again.

  Of course I didn’t feel very in control at the moment . . .

  I could feel Javier giving me a pitying look, and anger burned in my gut. I wondered if the protesters were still here. If they’d gotten to witness my epic freak-out. That would be sure to make their day. They could go balls to the wall on Twitter. #America’sIdiot. #Pathetic. #Weak.

  #ShouldaLetHimDie.

  “It’s okay, man,” Javier interjected. “They’ve given us another live hit in the E Block. You can make it up to them then.”

  “Right.” I rose to my feet and began pacing the sidewalk. Trying to purge the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. To come back down to earth. To act like a normal person again. “Absolutely,” I added. “I can make it up then.”

  It was no big deal, I told myself. It wasn’t as if anyone was expecting perfection my first day on the j
ob. And who knows? Maybe they did buy the whole technical difficulties thing. All I had to do was nail this next hit and everything would be fine.

  I was Troy Young and I was strong and there was no way I’d let those bastards break me.

  I glanced down at my notes. The words seemed to swim on the page, in and out of focus. I blinked a few times, held the paper farther away, but it only made it worse. God, was I losing my vision on top of everything else?

  My mind flashed back to my dark prison cell. That debilitating feeling of sightlessness. My other senses overcompensating, allowing my ears to lock onto tiny scratching sounds in the distance—rodents, insects crawling over rocks. Crawling toward me. On me.

  My skin began to itch. That phantom itch that try as I might had never completely gone away. Even now I would lie in bed at night sometimes and scratch my skin until it bled, unable to stop focusing on the parasites of my nightmares.

  I collapsed down on the pavement again, breathing heavily. The pressure in my chest was back and my left arm alternated between feeling prickly and numb. Was I having a heart attack? Should I skip the live shot and head straight to the hospital instead? But then I wouldn’t have a chance to redeem myself. Of course if I was really having a heart attack, that might not matter in the end.

  “Five minutes,” Javier said, calling over to me. He squinted in concern. “You gonna be okay, man? You look really white.”

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

  “Cause I can tell them to just run the package. Kill the live shot.”

  “No!” I almost shouted, then gave him a sorry look. “I’m fine. Really.” I rose to my feet, trying to give off the appearance of someone who was fine. Rather than someone who wasn’t entirely convinced his heart wasn’t about to give out at any moment. I walked over to the camera and took my position in front of it. I looked down at my notes again, drawing in a long breath.

  “I’m fine,” I muttered, more to myself this time. “I’m Troy Young and I’m reporting live and I’m absolutely, totally fine.”

  “Two minutes,” Javier said, getting into position. I gave him a thumbs-up. My vision had cleared enough to read my notes. I read over my intro, concentrating on it and ignoring the exterior noise. I could get through this. I could do this.

  “One minute.”

  But what if I couldn’t? What if this was it, I was done? What if I screwed this up and they fired me on my very first day back on the job? If I couldn’t do this—this crappy local news stuff—how was I ever going to get back to the network? Back overseas? And if I wasn’t a reporter, what did I have left? I was nothing, no one without TV news.

  “Ten seconds.”

  I swallowed hard, my mind racing. My stomach churning. My heart squeezed by the pressure in my chest. I looked up at the camera. The red light turned on. Javier pointed at me.

  Go time.

  Except . . . I couldn’t go. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I looked down at my notes, my pulse racing, but they started to swim again, unreadable. I looked up at the camera. Like a fish, my mouth opening and closing—but no sound coming out.

  Javier sighed. He switched off the camera. I closed my eyes, my stomach so nauseated for a moment I thought I would throw up. I sank to the ground, not even bothering to find the sidewalk this time, scrubbing my face with my hands.

  Fuck. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.

  “Troy!”

  I looked up, my eyes widening as they caught the angel in patterned leggings running in my direction fast as her legs could carry her, her face bright with concern. I frowned, at first half-convinced she was another hallucination. Like the ones my brain used to conjure up in my cell. Back then I’d spent hours talking to pretend Sarah. Some days she was the only thing to keep me going. So it would make sense for her to show up again now. I mean, hey, I’d already acted like a complete jackass on live TV. Why not move forward into full-on delusion mode? Javier could speed-dial the men in white coats for me. Maybe I’d even make the news.

  But then she reached me. Dropped down to her knees and pulled me into her arms. Her hair smelled like sunshine and cinnamon and I could feel the rough threads of her jacket against my hands, the fierce pressure of her fingers against my back. This wasn’t pretend Sarah—the construct of my starved imagination. This was real-life Sarah. And she was holding me against her chest, whispering in my ear. Holy crap.

  “Are you okay?’ she asked in a low voice. Probably so Javier couldn’t hear.

  Ugh. My momentary elation dampened as reality waved its ugly flag. She must have seen me on TV. Witnessed my pitiful collapse. She’d come here feeling sorry for me and I knew if I looked up I’d see pity written on her face. Pity and maybe a small flutter of triumph. She’d been right. I’d been wrong all along. Hell, it was probably all she could do not to tell me she told me so.

  I didn’t answer, just stared down at the ground. She sighed and stepped out of the embrace. Leaving me feeling empty and cold. I could feel her eyes, burning into my back. Big, blue, endless eyes that I used to love to get lost in, now the eyes of a stranger.

  “What happened?” I heard her asking Javier.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “He just kind of . . . froze. I didn’t know what to do so I just turned off the camera.” He paused and I imagined him shrugging helplessly. “Poor guy. I guess it makes sense though. I mean, after all he’s been through? I’d be a quivering pile of Jell-O for the next fifty years. And here he is, trying to pick up where he left off.”

  Anger shot through my gut and I clenched my hands into fists. The way he was talking about me—as if I wasn’t standing right there. They were probably all talking about me like this. Probably had been all day. In the newsroom. In living rooms back home.

  #Can’tHackIt. #DoneFor. #ShouldThrowInTheTowel.

  #ShoudaLetHimDie.

  “Troy . . .” I could feel Sarah come up behind me again. I could always feel her approach even back in the old days. Or maybe it was my nose, able to pick up her sweet, floral scent. She stopped just before reaching me, though, I guess not wanting to invade my space. I sucked in a breath. It would be so easy to turn around. To reach out and touch her like I used to. To seek out the comfort she seemed to want to give.

  But if I did, would I be able to ever let go again?

  “I’m fine,” I growled. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have, like, a red carpet to go stand on or something?”

  “I was watching the broadcast,” she said, ignoring the jab. “And I saw your first live hit. I was . . . worried. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  I whirled around, forcing myself to face her. To stand my ground like a man. “Well, like I said, I’m fine. Not that it’s any business of yours.”

  Her face faltered. My stomach wrenched at the pain I saw in her eyes. Pain that I had just put there, intentionally hurting the one person who might actually give a shit about me. What was I doing? She had come down here worried about me and here I was being a total dick. But at the same time the rage was burning through me now like a fire and if I didn’t release it somehow I was afraid I would explode. And she had put herself directly in my path.

  This was why it was better I had walked away five years ago. A girl like her deserved so much better than a guy like me.

  “You’re right,” she said after a long pause. Her voice sounded too high, a little hysterical. “It isn’t my business. I’m . . . sorry I came. Old habits, I guess.” She gave a brittle laugh. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”

  And with that, she turned, keeping her steps slow and deliberate as she walked back to her car. Away from me. I watched her skinny legs wobble a little, as if they could barely hold her body upright. Something tore inside of me.

  “Sarah,” I called out after her, my own voice sounding strange in my ears as my lips formed the name. How many times had I called out to her in that d
ark hole? How many fantasies had I indulged of her appearing out of thin air?

  And now she was here. In front of me in real life. Not pretend Sarah from my imagination. But the real girl who I’d once loved. And yet, instead of reaching out, I’d all but shoved her away.

  “Sarah,” I said again, softer this time. Because I knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to turn around. It was something I used to love about her, actually. How stubborn and strong she could be. Everyone assumed she was some beautiful delicate flower, but she would never, ever let anyone crush her under their heels.

  Not her father. Not even me.

  I watched as she got into her car. Some kind of luxury BMW convertible she once would have refused to drive. Revving the engine, she drove away, head held high, not once looking back in my direction. I sighed, dropping down on the pavement, scrubbing my face with my hands. The earlier panic from the live shot had dulled to nothing, replaced by an impossibly heavy feeling of regret.

  Javier gave me a disapproving look. Guess I no longer warranted his pity. Then he shook his head and started packing up his gear. We were going back to the station, evidently.

  I’d lost my last chance.

  seven

  SARAH

  I was an idiot. An absolute idiot.

  What had I been thinking, going down there like that? Checking in to make sure he was okay, as if he were still my freaking boyfriend. We hadn’t spoken in five years prior to that day and now suddenly I was butting my nose into his private business as if I still had a right to do so.

  I had no right. In fact, I probably never did, seeing as our entire relationship had been built on lies.

  I drew in a breath, trying to calm the nerves pricking at the surface of my skin. Trying to swallow down the ridiculous lump that had formed in my throat. Tears welled in my eyes as I drove down the freeway, not sure where I was going, and I quickly swiped them away.