by R. R. Banks
And it didn't take long for our drunken dream to become a reality. And the rest, as they say, is history.
“Jean offered me her resignation,” Vance says.
“A little dramatic, don't you think?”
He shrugs. “You really got under her skin today.”
“And she got under mine, so we're even.”
We both take a swallow from our drinks, letting the silence settle over us for a moment. And the longer we sit there though, the more I feel like an asshole. My shitty mood isn't Jean's fault. I know that she's just the handy scapegoat. She just happened to be in the vicinity and pissed me off at the wrong time.
“Look, I know I was out of line,” I finally say. “I'll apologize to her.”
“I'm sure she'd appreciate that.”
I sigh and drain the last of my drink, giving the waitress the sign that we need a couple more.
“What's going on with you, Eric?”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “You've just seemed especially tense lately,” he says. “More on edge than usual. You haven't been acting like yourself and frankly, you've got me a little worried.”
I laugh ruefully. “Worried that I'm going to snap and shoot up the office?”
“Not my first thought,” he replies with a grin. “But, now that you mention it...”
I chuckle and give him the finger. Vance's belief that I'm more tense and on edge lately is true. I've been having more flashbacks to the war than usual that have been leaving me feeling more shaken than usual. A shrink would probably say I've got PTSD. But I know what's triggering the memories. I know what the underlying cause of my tension is. And I know why I've been a bigger asshole than usual lately.
I sigh. “I got a call a few days ago,” I say, feeling my mood already growing darker – at least the booze had been able to keep the worst of it at bay, if only temporarily. “A good friend of mine from the service is dying.”
“Shit,” Vance says. “I- I'm sorry, man.”
I nod. “Pancreatic cancer. Stage four.”
“Jesus,” Vance says, running a hand through his hair.
“The bitch of it is – and the thing that's really screwing with me – is that I think I should be able to do something,” I say. “I'm a doctor, I should be able to do something about this.”
“You know that's not the way it works, Eric,” Vance says. “You're a doctor, not God.”
My bark of laughter is sharp and brittle. “Yeah, I'm not so sure there is a God, man.”
Amanda sets our drinks down and looks at me, inviting me to take a good, long look at her. Probably inviting me to imagine her naked. I give her a smile. Maybe another time. My mood is deteriorating quickly.
“You might as well bring a few more,” I say. “I'm self-medicating today.”
“Sure thing,” she says as she laughs and walks away.
I pick up the fresh drink and swallow half of it down. Vance is looking at me, his expression one of compassion and pity – and I hated it. I never wanted to be pitied. Ever.
“I know that's not how it works,” I say quietly. “I just feel like I should be able to.”
“How long?”
I shrug. “Couple of weeks? Couple of months?”
He nods. “Then why are you still here?” he asks. “Why aren't you out there saying your goodbyes?”
“I don't know,” I say. “Denial and classic avoidance behavior maybe?”
Vance looks at me. “I'm serious, man,” he says. “You know as well as I do that hiding out from it isn't going to make it go away.”
“Yeah, don't I know it.”
Vance drains the last of his drink and picks up the fresh one Amanda had dropped off. He holds it in his hand, looking at it thoughtfully for a long moment.
“Jean and I can handle our patients,” he says. “You need to go. Take a few days. Say your goodbyes to your friend, man. You may feel like an asshole right now, but if you don't get out there before he's gone, I guarantee you're going to feel like an even bigger asshole.”
He's right. I know he's right. I just can't face the fact that Steve's dying. It's unfair as hell that he survived all the shootings and bombings over in the Shit only to die of fucking cancer of all things now that he's home. It's not fair. Steve is one of the good ones. He doesn't deserve to go out like this.
“Seriously, Eric,” Vance says. “Take a few days. Hell, take a few weeks if you want. We've got this, man. We've got your back.”
I look at him and feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. “Thanks, Vance,” I say. “I really appreciate that.”
“Anytime, man,” he replies. “I know you'd do the same.”
We sit quietly for several long moments, sipping our drinks, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. And out of nowhere, Lara's comments to me while I was up in San Francisco pop into my head. I thought about her saying there was a darkness inside of me. Missing puzzle pieces. For reasons, I can't even begin to fathom, everything she'd said come flooding into my brain.
It just seems so oddly out of place given what's been weighing heavy on my mind for the last few days.
“Let me ask you something,” I say. “We've known each other a long time – do you think that there's some darkness inside of me? Some missing pieces or something that prevent me from having a meaningful relationship with a woman?”
Vance looks at me like I've lost my mind for a moment. “Where did that come from?”
“Sorry, I'm all over the place lately,” I say. “It's just something Lara said to me when I was up at that event in Frisco.”
“Huh, interesting,” Vance says as he leans back in his seat.
“Why is that so interesting?”
He chuckles. “Because she's kind of right, I think.”
I take a sip of my drink, eyeing him over the glass. “How so?”
He shrugs. “Have you looked at your string of relationships?” he says. “Most of them last a night or two. Maybe a week at the most.”
I give him a grin. “What can I say? I'm a man who likes variety.”
“You're a man terrified of commitment,” he says. “A man who seems like he's waiting for something.”
I look at him curiously. “And what is it I'm waiting for?”
“That I can't tell you,” he says. “That's something only you can answer, my friend.”
“I don't think I'm waiting for something,” I say. “I don't feel like I'm waiting for something.”
He shrugs again. “Maybe you're waiting for somebody who needs you as much as you need them?”
I laugh out loud. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“This is just a theory,” he said, a grin creasing his face. “But ever since I've known you, you've always been kind of this protector. You watch over people. Take care of them. I kind of think that's why you became a doctor, honestly.”
“Glad you've spent so much time dissecting my reasons for becoming a doctor,” I say and laugh.
“I have a lot of free time on my hands,” he replies. “Anyway, I think deep down, you want a woman who needs you. Somebody you can watch over and take care of.”
“And you don't think the women I see now fit that bill?”
He shakes his head. “Not really, no,” he says. “The kind of need I'm talking about is a deeper need – it's not based in the physical. It's more – spiritual. It has more to do with her soul than what's between her thighs.”
I look at him a long moment and then burst into laughter. “Oh shit, Victoria is going to kill me,” I say. “I'm sending you home in the middle of the afternoon, drunk.”
“I'm serious about what I said.”
“And I'm serious about fearing the wrath of your wife.”
“I'm not drunk,” he says and then grins. “Okay. Maybe I'm a little buzzed, but I'm definitely not drunk.”
“You've always been a lightweight,” I laugh.
“Maybe,” he replies. “But I think when you find that
person who needs you like you need them, everything will just fall into place. You'll just know.”
“Okay, good talk, man,” I say. “Let's call you an Uber and get you home.”
Vance laughs. “Seriously, I'm good, man.”
“Yeah, I've already got one friend dying,” I say. “I'm not going to risk losing another. It's not like I have a lot of friends to begin with.”
Despite his continued protests, I call an Uber for Vance and send him home. I sit back and think about everything he said. Everything Lara said. And I think about Steve. Vance is right, I'm going to feel like an enormous asshole if I don't at least say goodbye to the man – or at least, one of the men – who saved my life.
Grabbing my phone, I start looking up flights to Colorado.
Chapter Eleven
Calee
He loves me. I think most women would be overwhelmed with joy if a good man told them he loved them. But I'm not most women, I guess. Because joy isn't the feeling that overwhelms me. It's fear. Confusion. Anxiety.
Those three little words have changed everything.
I've thought about it a lot over the last few days and I've come to the conclusion that I care for Danny. I care for him a lot. But I don't – love him. I know that telling him that is going to hurt him, but I have to be honest. I owe him at least that much.
I can't let him take me away from Raymond and the Ark without telling him that I don't love him. It wouldn't be fair to either of us to live a lie like that. If I tell him and he still chooses to help me escape, at least we'll be doing so out in the open, without secrets and lies between us.
I don't see how it's possible, knowing his feelings for me, but maybe if everything is out in the open between us, we can even continue on like we have been.
“You're looking a little green around the gills again this morning,” Ruth says.
I'm sitting on the edge of my bunk, putting on my boots, trying to pretend like I'm not about to either throw up or pass out.
“No, I'm fine,” I say. “Just tired.”
“You've been tired every morning for the last week,” she says.
Ruth walks over and kneels down in front of me. She looks at me closely and I pull away from her. I don't want her examining me. She's a little bit older than me and has seen a lot in her life. I'm afraid if she looks at me too closely, she'll see the things I don't want her to see.
Ruth grips my chin and holds me fast. She looks into my eyes and seems to be examining every inch of my flesh. A long moment passes and I think I'm in the clear when I see her eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open into a perfect “O”.
In that moment, I know that my life is forfeit and a cold chill sweeps through me. I open my mouth to start begging Ruth not to say anything when a smile spreads across her face. She pulls me into a tight embrace and tears well in her eyes.
“I can't believe it,” she says. “You're pregnant.”
“I – I'm not,” I say weakly.
“Please,” she says, shaking her head. “I've been around enough pregnant women to know what one looks and doesn't look like. Honey, I can practically smell it on you. How long have you known?”
I shake my head, despair washing over me and when I speak, my voice is little more than a whisper.
“A few days,” I say. “God, please don't tell Raymond. Please, please, I'm begging you, Ruth. You know what they'll do to me if they find out. Please don't say anything.”
She takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Way I see it, we have to stick together,” she says. “Raymond don't care about us. We're all we got.”
I look her in the eye for a long moment, my fears and distrust welling up within me. Ruth and I had never been close. We aren't friends. Not really. We're not enemies or anything like that, but Ruth isn't somebody I've ever felt comfortable enough around to confide in.
And now, she knows my secret – a secret that, if exposed, can get me killed.
“Who's the father?” she asks.
Even though she knows my secret, I don't know that I'm ready to give her everything. I have no choice but to trust her with what she knows. That doesn't mean though, that I want to expose Danny to the same risks I'm facing.
“Just some guy in town,” I say.
She nods. “What are you going to do?”
I shake my head. “I don't know yet,” I admit. “He wants me to run away with him.”
Ruth sits down on the bed beside me, still holding my hand. She looks at me with what I think is genuine compassion on her face. Ruth's never given me any reason to distrust her and I start to wonder if maybe I'm letting Raymond's paranoia and trust nobody mentality rub off on me more than I imagined.
At the same time though, I'm in a dangerous place and putting my trust in the wrong person can have terrible, even fatal, consequences for me.
“Are you going to do it?” she asks. “Run away with this guy?”
I shrug. “I don't know,” I reply. “I want to – but I'm afraid to.”
“I'd be afraid too,” she says. “I'd be afraid the Shepherds would find me. They seem to find everybody.”
“I know,” I say. “But at the same time, I can't stay here. I'm going to start showing at some point and if that happens...”
My voice trails off and I look down at the ground. I don't need to finish that though because we both know what that means.
“You're caught between a rock and a hard place,” she says.
“Tell me about it.”
“Why not take the risk though?” she asks me. “Maybe the Shepherds won't find you. Maybe this guy will be able to protect you.”
I sigh and bury my face in my hands, the tears spilling over. Ruth pulls me into a tight embrace, strokes my hair and murmurs soothing words in my ear. She lets me cry for a few minutes before sitting me up and looking me in the eye.
“You need to pull yourself together, Calee,” she says. “You can't go out there looking like you've been bawling or they'll know something's up. Until you figure out what you're gonna do, you need to hold it together. For your sake.”
I wipe my eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to regain my composure. She's right. The last thing I want to do is tip Raymond off that anything is amiss. It takes a few minutes, but I finally get myself under control. I give Ruth a smile and a nod.
“Thank you, Ruth.”
“Nothing to thank me for,” she replies.
Chapter Twelve
“Calee, good morning.”
I freeze at the sound of my name and feel a knot in my stomach tighten painfully. I look up from the laundry I'm doing and see Raymond standing before me. His smile is wide and his cheeks flushed. A girl – no more than fifteen – stands next to him, clutching his hand. She smiles at me and then turns her face back up to Raymond, looking at him with an expression bordering on rapturous.
Raymond is a tall man, easily six-three, with salt and pepper colored hair and vivid green eyes. He's slender and has a goatee that's nearly pure white. He's a fairly handsome man, I guess, and has a professorial look about him. But he's not a man you'd look twice at on the street. He's rather – ordinary looking, to be honest.
But the one thing that was undeniable about him is his charm and charisma. When he's on, he can light up a room with his personality. He's got the ability to make a single person, in a room full of hundreds, feel like the only person in the world. Like they matter. Like they're important.
He has an electricity and a magnetism about him that people are drawn to. That they're compelled by. He inspires them to do and think things they'd never consider doing or thinking on their own. He makes people pledge their lives to him – and believe it's their idea.
That's his power as the leader of this cult. He takes people's free will and twists it. Distorts it until it's nothing but a pile of dust. And then he puts them back together in the image he wants them to be – minus their ability to think or act for themselves.
And they thank him for it.
I drop the laundry back into the tub and stand up straight, bowing my head, trying to show the deference he requires. But seeing him with the girl brings back too many terrible memories and makes my skin crawl all over again.
“Good morning, Raymond,” I say, trying to keep the disgust out of my voice.
“I don't believe you've met my wife,” he says. “Rachel, this is Calee. Calee, Rachel.”
I bow my head again, not daring to meet the eyes of either one. “Very nice to meet you, Rachel,” I say. “May God bless you and grant you a very fruitful union.”
“Thank you,” the girl says, sneering at me.
“Calee was my wife for a time,” Raymond says. “But our union was not blessed. God did not see fit to bless us with children. Now, she's one of the Fruitless.”
Rachel looks me up and down, clearly unimpressed with what she sees.
“My love,” Raymond purrs to her, making my skin crawl even more. “I need to speak with Calee alone. Please see to the children at the schoolhouse, if you would please.”
She gives him a beatific smile and curtsies. The girl actually curtsied to Raymond. It's a struggle to keep from rolling my eyes or acting out in some way.
“Of course, husband,” she says. “It would please me greatly to make you happy.”
He leans down and kisses the top of her head. “And you do make me happy, sweet one,” he says. “Now, go in God's grace.”
We both stand there watching the girl trot off toward the schoolhouse – he with a look of desire on his face, me with a look of repulsion on mine. I managed to get myself back under control and a neutral expression back on my face by the time Raymond turned back to me.
“May God bless you both,” I say demurely.
“I wonder if you'd be so good as to accompany me into town this morning?” Raymond asked.
“Accompany you into town?” I ask.
He nods and smiles warmly. “That is what I believe I asked, yes.”
