End Note

by Sonya Loveday

  That meant I’d sunk myself further into Cole Enterprise than I was comfortable with. “Where’s Sam?”

  “She doesn’t have clearance.”

  We rounded a corner into a room laid out like an office slash hospital room. On one side, there was a desk littered with papers tucked into folders and some strewn across the desk. A computer monitor with the Cole Enterprise logo sat idle with a gentle hum to cover the silence. On the opposite side of the room, there was a table like you’d find in a doctor’s office, sitting snugly against the wall. To the right of it, a line of cabinets with a steel countertop that gleamed in the bright lighting of the room. I blinked my eyes against the harshness and dropped my head.

  The lights dimmed above me as Oliver said, “Cole should be here in just a moment.”

  “Cole? As in the Cole, of Cole Enterprise?” I asked.

  “One and the same,” a man called out as he strolled in from the opposite side of the room. “And you must be Jared. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Cole stuck his hand out, and I found myself shaking his in return. There was no way the man who stood before me was Cole. He had to be maybe twenty-five, thirty at the most. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, like sixty with a bad comb-over or something?”

  He laughed at me, gesturing for Oliver to roll me over to the table. “I get that a lot.”

  “I’m sure you do.” It was the best comeback I had in my smart-ass arsenal.

  “So, tell me, Jared, besides your aversion to light, are there any other injuries I need to know of?” Cole asked.

  I shook my head. Other than sore muscles and a stomach that tried to eat my backbone, I had no other complaints. Well, besides the fact that I needed a shower and a toothbrush immediately. I could smell myself, and it made my eyes water.

  “Okay, well, that’s good. Far better than what I was expecting, that’s for sure. Now, I’m under direct orders to bring you straight to your mom, but considering the state of your clothing, it’s probably best if you get cleaned up first.” He smiled at me, pulled a stethoscope from around his neck, and began the quick task of running the freezing cold metal disk over my chest and back.

  “Well, I don’t hear anything to be overly concerned about. Seems to me you just need rest, fluids, and food, but you shouldn’t need another bag of fluids just yet. Mind you, if you’re still weak after the next couple of days, I will be putting a new pic-line in and loading you up with all sorts of fun stuff like your daily dose of veggies and some vitamin B, which stings like a bitch. Make sure you eat a lot of fruits and drink lots of water to avoid that. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I agreed. Anything to keep from being hooked up to another swinging bag of liquid.

  I tried pushing myself off the table to stand, but my legs were still weak. Oliver caught me under my shoulder and helped me to the wheelchair. Frustrated, I let a grumble of curses out and clenched my fist.

  “It’ll take some time to get your strength back, Jared. Don’t be too hard on yourself. If you take it day by day, you’ll be back on your feet in no time,” Cole said, returning the stethoscope to his neck.

  “Oliver, take him over to the showers and make sure he has everything he needs. I’ll work on getting him some clean clothes.”

  “Have them bring down a bottle of Jack while you’re at it,” Oliver shouted at Cole’s retreating back.

  “You know we don’t have that down here,” Cole called back to him before he disappeared though the door.

  “Bullshit. Alright, Jared. A couple of pit stops, and then you get to hit the showers.”

  I wasn’t sure how he dealt with the funk coming from me. Especially since the draft he created when rolling me down the hallway pushed the smell back at him in a steady breeze. “Is your nose broken or something?”

  “No, why?”

  I cringed. “Because, I know how bad I stink. It’s got to be twice as bad for you.”

  “Not gonna lie, Jared. You smell like shit,” he said, practically slinging me around the next corner.

  We came to a sudden stop just past a closed door. Oliver flung it open and came back out just as quick with a bottle in his hands. “Damn Cole. I knew he had a stash down here.”

  The bottle was placed in my lap, and the wheelchair swung around another corner. “The tunnels down here kind of horseshoe around. This hallway leads you down to the showers and the gym that Cole set up for us. And here,” he stopped beside a closed door and tugged it open, revealing a fully stocked storage closet of towels, soap, and all the other things necessary to wash with, shave with, or wipe you butt with, “is the answer to your destinkafication.”

  He rolled me forward and then pulled a towel, washcloth, and all the other things he thought I’d need, including a can of shaving cream and a razor. He eyed me, grabbing another washcloth and a second razor. “You kinda resemble a Sasquatch.”

  I clasped the bottle in my lap and watched the contents slosh around. The last time I’d drank, it had been rum, not whiskey. And it had been with the Six. “Oliver, have you heard anything about Ace?”

  He rolled me into a large, locker room-style bathroom and brought the chair up alongside a bench where a row of showerheads marched smartly across the wall in four-foot intervals. “Nothing new has been reported in yet, but they have a damn good search team on the ground. No news is good news, right?” He plucked the bottle from my lap, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swallow before handing it back to me. “Take a small nip of that, maybe it’ll help ease your muscles.”

  I tilted the bottle to my lips and let a small trickle flow into my mouth as the showerhead closest to me hissed to life. Flavor exploded on my tongue, and my eyes watered from the burn of alcohol as it slid down my throat.

  “I’m gonna grab you a stool to use while you wash up,” Oliver called out from the doorway of the bathroom.

  Sitting the bottle on the bench beside me, I bent over, eying my shoes with disgust. Instead of unlacing them, I hooked the heels against the metal footrest and tugged each foot free. My socks, once white, were brown and stiff. My feet were in no better shape than the rest of me and smelled just as foul. My nose crinkled in response.

  My T-shirt had at least been black to start out, so it was hard to gauge just how dirty I was, until I pulled it off, noticing spots of grime in layers all over my chest. The only thing clean on me was my arm where Nurse Sam had wiped it down in order to set the pic-line for my I.V.

  I peeled my shirt up and over my head, tossing it on the floor with my discarded socks and shoes. Oliver returned as I struggled to get out of my jeans.

  A knife popped open, wavering in my peripheral vision. “You aren’t planning on keeping those, right?” Oliver asked.

  “No, I’m not,” I said between labored breaths. Angry with myself for being so weak, I reached out for the knife in Oliver’s hands. He pulled it back before I could take it.

  “How about you let me do that for you so that you don’t stab yourself and pick up some kind of damn disease from your pants?”

  He didn’t wait for me to agree; he just slid the knife up along the seam of one leg and then the other to the waist.

  Oliver pocketed the knife and slid his hands under my arms to help me stand. “I got you, just get those pants off, and then I’ll help you to that seat.” His head tipped to where he’d set a plastic chair close to the steamy spray.

  With guided steps, he moved me under the spray of water so that my backside was at least rinsed before I sat down.

  Oliver, ignoring the spray of water that hit his pant leg, lathered a washcloth with soap. Squatting beside me, he took my ankle in his hands and rubbed the bottom of my foot. I watched in fascination when the ivory-colored soap bubbles danced and shimmered under the light. When they burst, it looked like fireworks. I followed the colors up, watching them explode and fizzle out.

  “…happened to me before. It’s disorienting, but eventually it will pass and things get clearer.”

  The room c
ame back into focus and Oliver stood up, rinsing the washcloth under the spray. “Huh? I’m sorry, what will pass?”

  He wrung the washcloth out and laid it on the bench. “The drugs in your system will pass.”

  Oliver grabbed another washcloth and stuck it under the spray. “The main thing to try to remember is when things start shifting on you… taking you to another place or morphing into something odd, all you have to do is close your eyes, count to ten, and tell yourself it isn’t real.”

  The soap bubble fireworks came to mind, and I braced my hands on my knees. “How did you know? I mean, I couldn’t even tell, and you’d think I would have been the first one to realize that I was seeing shit that’s not there.”

  “Sam ran blood tests on you while you slept on the plane and reported them back to Cole. The drugs in your system were plant based thankfully, but they make you see some strange shit. I knew it the minute you focused in on the soap and then went off into La-La Land and stared up at the ceiling,” Oliver said as a soapy washcloth was brought into my line of vision.

  I straightened up, keeping my eyes averted so that it didn’t happen again, and scrubbed the cloth over my arms and chest until the soap ran out and the nubby material rasped across my stomach. “Will that always happen to me?”

  Oliver grunted, gesturing for the washcloth. “No. Sam seems to think they hit you pretty hard with high dosages at first and then began weaning you off slowly. My guess is they put it either in your food or your water. By the looks of you, I’d say they at least fed you. Tip your head back.”

  Eying him over my shoulder, I saw a bottle of shampoo in his hands. I tipped my head back under the spray as far as it would go, and Oliver squeezed a large dollop of something that smelled like coconut into my hand. He was right. They’d fed me and made sure I had water, but they also tortured me and left me to rot in the cellar. How long had I been there? The days had blurred, maybe from whatever they were drugging me with. I knew for sure I’d spent a little over two weeks upstairs, but after that was a mystery.

  I scrubbed the shampoo in and asked Oliver, “How long was I gone?”

  I heard him shift beside me. “Almost two months. Did they give you anything other than food and water? Any vitamins or injections?”

  My mind was stuck tumbling over the time I’d been held. Two months?

  Oliver continued as if he understood I needed a minute to process what he’d said. “Because you’re in pretty good health considering, and Sam said your levels looked a little low, but nothing like most other captives. They had to have known what they were doing, or had a reason to keep you from succumbing to sickness. Your time in the cellar alone would have been enough to cause fungal infections and…”

  “Safekeeping,” I said, interrupting him.

  “What was that?” he asked, bending towards me as if I’d whispered.

  Maybe I had. I cleared my throat and spoke a little louder. “Safekeeping. The old man had said that he’d put me away for safekeeping.”

  Oliver made a growling sort of noise. “Well, he did that at least.”

  WHEN THE LAST OF THE suds were rinsed from my hair, I asked for another washcloth and scrubbed my legs and as much of my back as I could get. The washcloth was pulled from my hand as Oliver pushed my shoulder forward, scrubbing the lower half of my back.

  “Thanks.”

  “There’s no shame asking for help, Jared. There isn’t a one of us down here that hasn’t had to rely on someone from time to time. Now, finish washing up, and we’ll get that lumberjack look off your face,” he said, smiling down at me. “Unless, of course, you’d like to keep it?”

  “No, I don’t,” I said, digging my fingers into the thick hair to scratch my chin.

  I’D NEVER FELT SO CLEAN in my life. Like, squeaky clean. The kind that makes your skin tight and smooth from the soap and all the scrubbing. After Oliver had cut off the water, he helped me stand up so I could wrap a towel around my hips and guided me over to sit on the bench next to a pile of my clean clothes. They must have brought all my stuff from the house in the Poconos. I hoped that meant they’d thought to bring Stella too.

  I brushed the back of my hand along my jaw, happy to be rid of the itchy pelt of hair that had grown in thick and wiry. It had taken me longer than I’d thought it would to shave it all off. Oliver had made the right call at giving me two razors; I’d definitely needed them.

  Oliver stood behind me as I pulled on my clothes in case I lost my seating and toppled. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. The only thing they hadn’t brought me were shoes and, honestly, I was glad to let my feet breathe, even if they were in socks. The slight scent of fabric softener wafted up as I adjusted the T-shirt on my shoulders.

  When I was finished, Oliver rolled me out of the bathroom and back towards the room we’d first arrived in. As soon as the door swung open, my mom jumped up from her seat and rushed over to me, wrapping her arms around me the best she could with me in the wheelchair.

  “Oh, Jared. I’m so sorry,” she whispered against my wet hair.

  When she stepped back, she cupped my face in her hands, gave me a wobbled smile, and then kissed my forehead.

  When she straightened herself up, I noticed my dad behind her. His face was pinched with worry.

  I lifted my hand in a half-attempted wave. “Hi, Dad.”

  He moved around my mom and rested his hand on my shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son.”

  My mom put her hand on Oliver’s arm. “Would you mind letting the others know we’re on our way?”

  “Others?” I questioned.

  “Yes, they’re waiting in the kitchen for us. I asked them to have something to eat ready for you,” she said, smiling down at me.

  When Oliver left, my mom crouched down and took my hand in hers. “There’s a lot to discuss, Jared. And I promise, we will, but first, let’s get you settled. Once you’re situated, we can talk a little about it with the others. Okay?”

  There was that word again. Others. As in other operatives? Or others as in the band? My mom had sidestepped me when I’d asked the first time. Would she do it a second time? “Mom, who are the ‘others’?”

  She squeezed my hand and stood, nodding to my father, who slipped in behind the wheelchair and turned me around.

  “The others are… well, you’ll see,” he replied as he rolled me forward.

  I clasped my hands in my lap and kept my mouth closed. Humiliation spread through me for my appearance. Yes, I’d had a shower, but that didn’t make up for the fact that I had to move around in a wheelchair because I couldn’t stand up without wanting to fall over.

  My mom led the way a short distance down the hall, making a right into a kitchen. All the chatter I’d heard stopped when my dad rolled me in. Faces I’d never seen before, mixed with those I had, all smiled at me. But my eyes never wavered from Murphy. She brushed a tear from her cheek as my father rolled me up to the end of a long table with food spread out along the entire top. The scent was mouthwatering, but not enough to break my gaze from her.

  I didn’t care that my legs refused to work, they’d hold me up for Murphy, or I’d chop them off and have new ones put on. Nothing was going to stand in my way of pulling her against me.

  “Murphy,” I called to her with a voice heavy in emotion, threatening to break.

  She made it to me in three strides. I pushed myself up with everything I had and pulled her against me. When my knees threatened to buckle, she tightened her grip, holding me upright.

  Our bodies trembled together as her hot tears trailed a path down my neck. “I thought I’d lost you,” she said, pulling back to look at me.

  “I’m here now. No more tears, okay?”

  She nodded, leaving her tears unchecked so that she could keep me on my feet. I brought my hand up to her face, wiping them away, and then reached back for the armrest of the wheelchair behind me. She helped me sit, and then stepped to the side to give everyone else a chance to welcome me back. Her han
d, however, never left my shoulder.

  My mom made the introductions of those I didn’t know. Names and faces swirled in my head. I knew I’d have to be told who was who again before it was all said and done. Standing to the back of the room in a tightknit group was Lars, Retro, and Licks.

  “Get your asses over here,” I said, waving my hand at them. They moved as a unit until they stood around me.

  “You’d swear he was like royalty or something,” Licks said as he bumped Retro with his shoulder.

  “Yeah, dude gets fussed over and cooked for. I mean, really, check out his new ride,” Retro said, kicking the tire of my wheelchair.

  “Careful, you’ll scratch the damn paint!” I said, swatting at his foot.

  “Shut up, you two,” Lars said, scowling at them before looking back to me. “You’re an asshole, Jared.”

  Gasps broke out over the room.

  “I know.” What else was there to say? It was the truth, no matter how much it sucked to hear it. I held his gaze so he understood I meant it.

  A grin split over his face. “But you’re one of our own, and we stick together regardless. But so help me, Jared, if you pull another stupid move like that again—wheelchair or no, I’ll be one of the first ones in line to kick your ass. Got it?”

  “I got it.”

  The room broke in laughter as Lars bumped his fist with mine.

  Licks moved behind me and turned my chair around, sliding my legs under the table. “Good, let’s eat. I don’t know about you but my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

  My stomach growled in response to all the scents, but there was no way I’d be able to keep them down. Like magic, a bowl of chicken broth was placed in front of me. I looked up to see my mom’s hand reaching out to push back my wet hair that was hanging over my forehead into my eyes.

  “It’s good to have you home, Jared,” she said as her eyes shimmered with wetness.

  The bland bowl of chicken broth tasted better than any four-course meal I’d ever eaten, and it warmed me from soul to fingertips.