I pulled out in front, something I don’t normally do because I’m all about pacing myself. But I wanted to get away from her, from Ellie. I couldn’t bear the thought of her standing there watching me. Had she gotten her bonus? Yeah, I’ll bet she had. And then I wondered: Was it all a lie? Her love of Salinger? Her love of Doctor Who? Her love of Hitchcock and Lynch?
Yes.
Nothing was real.
They’d done it because of how I’d treated them. Those girls. I understood that now. Given me some of my own medicine. And I could see I’d been wrong treating them the way I’d treated them. I could blame it on misunderstanding, on not getting it, but deep down I think I knew I was being an ass. Deep down I knew I deserved what they’d done.
And now, thinking about it as the cold air of the early morning hit my face and chilled skin not yet warmed by the run, I laughed. I actually laughed out loud as the soles of my running shoes slapped the pavement.
This montage of snapshots kept going through my head, all of Ellie in different scenes, some with her blond hair, some brown. Smiling at me. Giving me shy glances. Pretending disinterest.
Yes! That too. I’d forgotten about that. How she wouldn’t give me her number, and how she didn’t want to go out. All part of the plan. Jesus.
I ran.
I ran because I had no choice. Because if I stopped I’d fall into a black pit.
Somewhere along the way, somewhere along the barrier that held people back, Coach Rice was there, shouting at me, ducking under the ribbon, running beside me. What was he saying? Whatever it was, he was damn happy. Like happier than I’ve ever seen him.
“You’re way ahead of your best time!” Those words finally came through the cotton in my head.
I really didn’t give a shit. I just wanted to run.
“Smooth it out,” he shouted, “or you’ll crash and burn. You’re eight miles in. You need to pull back and start pacing yourself.”
He gave me this go-team gesture of two fisted hands in the air, big grin on his face as he dropped away or I pulled away. Maybe that was it. Maybe the asshole just couldn’t keep up with me. But I knew he’d hop in his car and be waiting at the next checkpoint.
And he was. Cheering me on. Still smiling.
“Sixteen miles!” he shouted.
My vision shrunk, and the only clear spot was out front, everything peripheral was some acid-induced blur. A paper cup appeared in the sweet spot. I shoved the hand away, water splashing on my bare chest. Somewhere along the way I’d stripped off my shirt.
“Ten miles to go!” Coach shouted. “See you at the twenty-one mile mark.”
I felt like I could run forever. Like just keeping running and never stop. I imagined the earth, all blue and white, and me, running over the top of it, going across states and oceans and countries.
“Five miles to go!”
It seemed like I’d just seen Coach Rice minutes ago, but there he was, running beside me again, panting and out of breath. “You might break some records, Dye. This might make national news.”
Of course they’d mention him, my coach. God, he sounded so excited. I almost didn’t hate him. Almost.
And then he dropped away, and I heard him shouting encouragement after me. Like I needed any. Like his words meant anything to me. Like I was running for him. I wasn’t running for him, I was running for me. I was running for Ellie. From Ellie.
What was that sound?
It took me a while to figure it out because my vision was so fucked up, but people were cheering. Standing along the road, cheering and clapping. “How much more?” I panted, hoping somebody would hear me, hoping somebody would understand what I was talking about.
“Three miles!” a guy shouted. “You’re in first place!”
Easy. Easy as hell.
From that point on, people shouted the distance to me. Two and a half, then one, then three quarters of a mile, then half a mile. The noise was deafening now, sounding like the roar of the ocean, filling my head, pumping through my veins. The sweet spot in my vision was gone, and everything was a blur.
I could vaguely make out people on their knees near the edge of the path, cameras in hand. Real cameras, not just camera phones. In front of me, stretched across the road was red finish line tape.
Finish line.
I didn’t want to finish. I wanted to keep running around that globe.
For a brief second, I almost swerved and turned around so I didn’t have to stop. But I heard someone shout my name, and recognized the voice as Valerie’s.
Love that Valerie.
Gotta finish for Valerie.
I put my arms in the air and the tape hit my chest and burst into two pieces, the ends fluttering away. The roar was like this jet engine now, like the loudest noise I’ve ever heard in my life.
I wasn’t going to stop, I hadn’t planned on stopping, but all of a sudden I felt a pain bigger than the noise. This explosion in my chest, but an explosion that came from the inside and worked its way out. Like started small and grew until it hit my ribcage. At the same time, it felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I tried to pull in a breath, but couldn’t. My diaphragm wouldn’t move, and my lungs just stopped working, my body giving up.
And it was okay.
It was okay.
I dropped to my knees, clutching my chest. Once down, I rolled to my back and dug into the ground with my fingers, the pain causing fireworks in my brain.
Someone screamed my name. Valerie. Pretty sure it was Valerie.
I forced my eyes open a crack and saw swirling clouds above my head and faces leaning over me.
A white shirt. A medic badge.
A girl with black hair. My sister.
Another girl behind her. Brown hair and dark glasses. Ah, Ellie. Ellie, the heartbreaker. Behind the glasses, her eyes were full of anguish, and she had a hand pressed to her mouth. You’d almost think she liked me.
I tried to touch Valerie, but I couldn’t lift my arm. I tried to speak, to tell her it was okay, but I couldn’t talk. I wondered if I was dead. I kinda thought I was dead.
“Do something!” Valerie screamed. “Help him!”
The guy in the white shirt pulled her away. “Get back.”
Something cold touched my chest, then someone said: “Charge.”
Have you ever been electrocuted? It’s weird because if you touch a live wire you don’t feel the spark in your fingers where the connection is made, you feel it somewhere else.
I didn’t feel this in my chest. Instead, I felt the jolt in my feet. And not like a spark or anything. No, it felt like somebody hit me with a flat board.
I pulled in a breath that was the weirdest thing. This long, long wheeze that didn’t seem like it would ever stop as I refilled my lungs.
“He’s back,” the guy in the white shirt said.
“Now his heart is racing,” someone else added.
“Come on.” A command to the crew.
I was lifted to a stretcher, strapped down, and wheeled away in less than a minute. Inside the ambulance, doors shut behind us and we pulled away, sirens blaring.
“Is he going to be okay?” It was a voice I recognized as Valerie’s, but it had a quality I’d never heard in it before: hysteria.
Whoever she was talking to didn’t answer.
“Is he going to be okay?”
This time it was a cry. This time it ended in a sob.
I wanted to tell her that no matter what happened—it would be okay. This, whatever it was, however it ended, was okay. But I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t move. And then the red behind my eyelids turned black and the ambulance vanished. And now I was no longer running around the world, I was flying above it.
Chapter 26
~ Valerie ~
“We’ve been getting some alarming reports about side effects of this new anti-depressant your brother has been taking,” the heart specialist told me as we stood
outside Julian’s room two hours after my brother’s collapse. I was only partially processing my surroundings and the doctor himself. Middle-aged, short, with a red beard.
“Will he be okay?”
This wasn’t happening. My mind just wouldn’t accept it. Not Julian. Not when I’d tried so hard to keep him safe. To protect him. And then the next words I had to say: “Is he going to die?”
“He’s in excellent health, so I think he’ll come out of this with no heart damage—unlike other patients who’ve taken the drug. Personally, I’d like to see it pulled from the shelves, or at the very least, a black-box warning slapped on it.”
I was half-listening. Julian would be okay. Those were the only words I cared about right now.
“We’ll keep him overnight for observation, then he can go home.”
Home. I wasn’t sure about that. “He’s not been doing well. Mentally. I’m worried about him, and I don’t know if he should go home. I’m not sure I can take care of him.”
“Are you worried that he might harm himself?”
“Yes.”
“Has he ever done so in the past?”
“No, but I think he was close.” I told the doctor our history, and about how fragile Julian was. I didn’t tell him about the girl, Ellie, the girl who seemed to be the trigger to this downward spiral. “I don’t think it takes much for him to tip.” My voice trembled. I put a hand to my mouth, and I realized I was shaking. “I think he needs to be someplace where he can be taken care of around the clock.”
The doctor nodded. “We have several good facilities in town. Will he go willingly?”
“No.”
“Then you’ll have to go through the proper channels to get him committed. My assistant can help you with the process. It can take weeks, but with your brother’s history and the fact that this incident could have killed him due to a reckless disregard for his life, I think we can rush things along. Until then, all I can do is put a seventy-two hour emergency hold on him. It’s almost like an arrest, but in a hospital setting.”
I nodded as a feeling of relief washed through me. “Thanks, doctor.”
Julian was asleep when I stepped into his hospital room. They’d given him something to slow his heart, and they’d given him something to knock him out after he confessed that he hadn’t slept in several days. Another side effect of the anti-depressant.
He looked so pale, with oxygen tubes in his nose, the IV drip, the heart monitor. I’d sworn to take care of him, but I’d done a shitty job. We probably shouldn’t have come to Minnesota, but I’d thought it would be good to get Julian away from New Hampshire. And we had no home back there anymore. I’d sold the house, because how could we possibly keep it? I was surprised when someone actually bought it, but it was in a good area of town, and they’d gotten a deal. I hated to think of other people living there, and I wish we could have just burned it down. Just burned it to the ground. And so here we were, rootless, homeless, our parents buried back there in a cemetery we’d rarely if ever visit.
This wasn’t working either.
A new start.
Was there really such a thing?
Was there really ever such a thing?
I wanted to wrap Julian in a blanket and take him home. At the same time, I wanted to lock him up so he was safe.
Safe.
Was there really such a thing?
I must have made a sound, a sob, but I hoped not; I tried so hard to be strong for both of us.
“Valerie,” Julian whispered from the bed, looking at me from under heavy lids. He gave me a sheepish smile that caused my heart to dive. I knew that smile. I loved that smile.
“Sorry I gave you a scare.”
“I’m just glad you’re going to be all right.”
“Yeah.” He glanced up and behind him, realizing he was tethered to a monitor and IV rack. “When can I go home?” He hated hospitals.
“Um,” I hedged. “They want to keep you a few days.”
“A few days? The doctor said overnight.”
“I think he’s changed his mind.”
He was going to be so pissed when he found out about the emergency hold. He’d come close to hating me last time I had him committed. What would he do this time? Never unhate me?
There was a light knock on the door. We both looked up to see Coach Rice standing there. “How’s he doing?” he asked.
“I’ve been told I’ll live,” Julian said.
“Great, because we want you back as soon as possible. You did good today, kid.”
I had to leave. I couldn’t listen to them talking about Julian going back out there, running again. Wasn’t going to happen, but I didn’t feel like telling the coach right now. Or Julian. Let them both think life would return to normal. Which it wouldn’t. Which it never would.
I walked down the hall to a sitting area. Upon seeing me, two people jumped up, and I instantly recognized Ellie Barlow. Just behind her was a guy with a huge Afro.
“How is he?” Ellie asked. It looked like she’d been crying. Join the club. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Is he going to be okay?” I repeated. “No.” I gave a small and assured shake of my head. “He’s not going to be okay. He’s never going to be okay.”
Don’t cry. Not in front of her. Not in front of this person who did this to him.
“Julian told me what you did,” I said. “He told me all about it.” Really, I wanted to kill her. I imagined grabbing her by the throat and holding her against the wall.
Ellie let out a sob. “Can I see him?”
“What?” I stared at her in disbelief. “Hell the fuck no, you can’t see him.” I must have said that pretty loud, because heads behind the nurse’s station popped up, and conversation in the area stopped.
“Don’t ever, ever come around my brother again,” I said. “If you do, I’ll call the cops. I’ll get a restraining order.”
Ellie didn’t react. Not at all. Although what could she really say?
Her friend put his arm around her. Put his arm around her! Like she needed comforting! I was the one who needed some damn comforting, not the bitch responsible for this.
“Come on, Ellie,” the guy said.
Numbly, Ellie looked up, seemed to recognize him, then her gaze drifted back to me. “How not okay is he?” she asked. “I have to know.”
“You have no right to know.” I pointed at her, and now I was getting wound up all over again. A second ago I wanted her out of my sight, now I didn’t want her to leave. Not just yet. “You broke his heart,” I said. “Literally and figuratively.”
Her mouth trembled and her eyes turned red and flooded with tears. She shook her head. “No.”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t even like me. Not like that, anyway.”
My eyebrows lifted in disbelief. Was she delusional? Or was it all part of her game?
I heard footsteps, and looked up to see a male nurse standing beside me. “We’re going to have to ask all of you to leave.”
“That’s okay,” Ellie said. “I’m going. We’re going. Let her stay.” She turned to her friend, gave him a nod, and they walked off down the hall to the elevators.
Chapter 27
~ Ellie ~
Back home, I stood in the living room in front of the television I normally never watched. It was tuned to WCCO, one of the local news stations, and I was waiting for the promised report on Julian’s condition. Behind me, stood Devon. I don’t know if he knew it, but he was massaging my shoulders as we both stared at the screen.
The commercial ended, and the husband and wife news team dove into the story. They talked about the marathon, and how Julian had come close to breaking some long-standing records if a person were to consider his time in the first 10K of the race. They interviewed someone who supposedly kept track of this stuff, and the guy said what Julian had done was close to superhuman.
“Which might acco
unt for what happened after Julian Dye crossed the finish line,” the female reporter said. And then they showed a video of Julian’s collapse, and showed him being lifted away by gurney, an oxygen mask on his face. That was followed by an interview with the heart specialist who treated him.
“At this point we’re relatively certain he’s going to be fine,” the doctor said.
“Define fine.”
“No residual damage.”
That was followed by some talk about the drug he’d been on, and that was followed by talk about Julian’s past, something that would be covered in-depth during a later broadcast.
Next story.
“Did he say fine?” I asked. “Did I hear that right?”
“You heard right,” Devon said, rubbing my arms, then giving me a final pat.
“Oh, my God.” I dropped into a chair. Just dropped straight down like the pull of gravity had increased times three.
“That bitch,” Devon said. “Making you think he was dying.”
I shook my head. “I don’t blame her. I’d hate me too if I thought I was behind Julian’s collapse. But she’s wrong. I was just another lay for him. That’s all.”
Devon opened the refrigerator, pulled out a couple of beers, opened them, and handed me one. “Are you sure about that?” He took a long swallow, then sprawled on his back on the sofa, one bare foot crossed over a knee. Skinny jeans, tight T-shirt.
Like someone who’d crawled across a desert, I drank the beer while running Devon’s question through my head. “I’m not capable of breaking a heart. Not me. Not Ellie Barlow.” Several more gulps. “That other girl, the girl with the blond hair and the Victoria’s Secret bra and the red dress—she might have broken his heart. Some girl who doesn’t even exist.”
“Okay, you told me about the bar stuff, and you said he didn’t even look at you until the fight. That you were striking out.”
“True.”
“So, that tells me it wasn’t how you looked that attracted him in the first place.”
I thought about that with my head tilted back as I polished off the last of the beer, got up, and went for another.
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