Nessus

by Herb Scribner

“Not paralyzed,” he muses. Chelsea laughs, but he knows she’s not happy that he’s joking with the situation.

  They pass the time talking about the last day or two. Chelsea recalls how she received a phone call at work from Mathias who told her that Hughes had been hurt. She explains to Hughes what Mathias explained to her — that Samson was in jail now, captured behind bars. His confession to Hughes, funny enough, had been heard from the police outside. A full confession easily given without issue. Next would come the legal proceedings and eventually the trial. Samson would likely be charged for assault and battery and a slew of other crimes that Chelsea couldn’t remember. Unless the worse should happen.

  At about mid-afternoon, Mathias comes into the room dressed in a tight pantsuit and heels that clap against the ground. Chelsea excuses herself to grab some coffee for everyone. Mathias takes her place in one of the seats.

  “How are you holding up?” she asks.

  “I’m alright. Another scar.”

  “Didn’t know you still had it in you. You know, to go into combat.”

  “Combat is an interesting word for it. But yeah, scars aplenty.”

  “You’re lucky that you sent me that text about Bucky. We had a car following you for a little bit and then we saw him force you into your car and stuff. And when we saw he went to Samson’s house, we rushed out there because we thought he was going to take revenge on him or something like that. Little did we know.”

  “Did he make it?”

  Mathias’ eyes glue to the floor. That’s a no.

  “Ah, I hate this part.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “I know,” Hughes says with a deep sigh. “Just, wish this kid knew what he was doing when he ran in that house.”

  “We’re going to need a statement from you soon.”

  “You’ll get one.”

  “Good.”

  “So Chelsea tells me Samson’s behind bars.”

  “Yep. We got tipped off about him and his involvement. Took one quick glance at his files and saw his history was the real problem.”

  “And what of my son?”

  “We didn’t find him yet. Did you?”

  “He’s in California, I hear. Someone gave me a tip about it. And I had some concerns.”

  “What concerns?” Mathias asks.

  Hughes scoots up in his chair, clearing his throat. He sips down a cup of water nearby. His dry throat immediately moistens.

  “Before Bucky took me on this little adventure, Samson showed me a few documents about Mary. Something about how she used to live in California and she lived with this girl named Cassie for awhile. So when I heard a tip that Shawn went out there, I felt a little concern for this Cassie girl. Like he was going after her too.”

  Mathias’ usual attitude is passive. She doesn’t always listen to long-winded speeches. She doesn’t have the time. But this one holds her attention. She opens her phone when he’s done speaking and slides through some different messages. He can see the gray and blue boxes from his side of the phone. She snaps her phone shut with a click of a button, though.

  “Well, we’ll look into that,” she says and stands. “Doctors said something about you taking a few days in here.”

  “Yeah, I guess some physical therapy may be in order later.”

  “Take all the time you need,” she says, “and I mean that.”

  He shakes her soft hand. The first time they’ve accepted each other’s company.

  “I will.”

  She goes to the leave the room and is almost halfway out the door when he calls back to her.

  “Is Mary still here?”

  Her eyes stay on him for almost a second too long.

  “Yeah. She is. Fourth floor. We’re not sure how much longer she’s got.”

  “I’d like to see her.”

  She smiles at him, but not one to express happiness and joy. It says something else, something about pity. He recognizes it. Something about maybe he doesn’t completely understand what’s going on.

  Something’s off.

  “When you’re better,” she says.

  And then she’s gone, down the hallway. He keeps his eyes on the door for a second longer, but nothing comes from it. He listens intently as he hears her heels bang against the floor one after the other. Soon the sound disappears. The elevator chimes, and he knows she’s gone. He hangs back in his chair and waits for Chelsea. A cup of coffee would do wonders right now.

  Mary

  It takes about two days for him to fully recover. And when he does, the pain sticks with him, stinging his knee, slapping his thigh. It’s there. Always ready to remind him about the hefty cost he paid for what happened with Samson.

  Time to call Dobbs and let him know he wants to leave the force.

  Mathias keeps him updated over the two days, about both Mary’s condition and the case with Samson. More details emerge from the first interview with the officer. Apparently he didn’t just have this fixation with sending Shawn to prison, since Hughes spent so much time looking for him, but he also wanted Shawn out of the picture for an entirely different reason. He and Shawn apparently had pined over the same girl at some point.

  Samson’s history unravels from there. He also used to lived in California. History of abuse. Still an officer of the law, but not one you want to meet in the alley way or piss off in the wrong way. Somehow he transferred to Mathias’ team within the last year. And that’s when the chaos began. What a weird coincidence.

  Something strange about all of this, Hughes realizes. There’s something unreal about it all.

  Shawn spent some time in California over the years. He often went there on one of his annual trips with Brandon. That was a common thing. Still is, since Shawn ran to California on the night Samson attacked Mary.

  Two years ago, though, Shawn left town after Hughes took the bullet in the shootout and Hughes told his son to run. For some reason, the thought of that trip sticks out in his mind. Shawn had been so upset that he vanished from town, hoping to find respite and salvation out west. It didn’t come. He was back within weeks.

  That first conversation he had with his son still floats in his mind. He and his friend Brandon came to his house, knocking on the door.

  “I’m so sorry,” Shawn had said, collapsing into his father’s arm. He sobbed great tears into his shoulder. Warm and wet tears of sadness. He had begged for forgiveness, hoping that Hughes would offer him a chance at starting a new life. Hughes made that promise.

  And since then, history had been written. Mary came into the picture sometime shortly after. Though maybe she arrived sooner than Hughes thought. She had, after all, lived in California at one point with the Cassie girl.

  Hughes finally gets dismissed two days after his initial injury. He hobbles down to the main desk of the hospital, opting out of the custom wheelchair. It’s something they’d normally give him but his police badge offers him a few opportunities to avoid that sort of humiliation.

  No word has come about Mary. Nothing from Mathias or any of the other visiting officers. He decides to see her himself.

  The woman at the main desk clicks away her software, probably scheduling appointments from the doctor. Elevator music blares from the sound systems. The air reeks of freshness and cleaning supplies. A florescent light beams down on them from above. Chatter from patients and staff workers make up some of the background noise. Hughes feels worried he’s going to make the ground dirty or something just by walking. Not exactly the best way to leave a hospital, making it worse than what it was like when you got there.

  “Hello,” he says to her, offering a cheery smile. “I’m looking to speak with a patient.”

  “Okay,” she says, and he can tell she’s a bit annoyed that he’s interrupted her scheduling. “What’s the name?”

  “Mary.”

  She looks at him like he’s dumb. Like he doesn’t realize that there’s a thousand Mary patients in the hospital.

  “Sorry, Ma
ry Highwater. Severe trauma to the head, lots of blood loss. She was in the ICU about three days ago.”

  “Alright,” she replies, clicking into the system. Her eyes scan the page, back and forth, over and over, left to right, left to right. Sometimes it takes just a few more minutes to find the treasure at the end of the rainbow. The island full of gold awaits if you take an extra breath to find it.

  “Found your girl,” the lady at the desk says. “Room 613. I’ll print her file for you.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  She comes back a few seconds later with her file. He thanks her and walks away toward her room, 613. He lifts the paper of information to his face. His history in the force sends him looking for the injuries and the report filed with the incident. Nothing more than what he already knows. Her height and weight appear. Hair color. The basics that medical professionals have to know.

  Her name appears.

  Mary Cassie Highwater.

  California

  Cassie

  Everything goes as planned.

  First stop is Shawn’s, the simple hotel room. He parks the car outside the hotel and rushes upstairs. The key card doesn’t work the first time he tries it so he scans it again. The door clicks open and a beep greets him. Like a tornado, he rips through the room, snatching his tossed-around clothes and shoving them into his duffle bag. He collects a slew of change from his pocket and tosses it on the table. That’s the tip for the waitress. He brushes his toothbrush and other hygienic products into his bag, uncaring about what stains they may leave upon his shirts and pants. A minute to breathe gives him energy again, so he rushes around the room to clear off anything else. Receipts find their way to the trash. Torn food wrappers are crumpled and tossed away. He kicks some dust under the bed. Soon the room is spotless, almost as though no one had been there at all. A ghost hidden in the real world.

  The car sits idle outside. Shawn rushes in and kicks into gear. Brandon confesses that his real home, out in the Hollywood hills in a gated community, will be impossible to get to right now. They find an H&M, or something a lot like it. Shawn offers Brandon a clean shirt so he can get inside without drawing a crowd. Brandon hurries inside, his shirt just a few sizes too big now because of the size different.

  Cassie and Shawn sit in uncomfortable silence, playing the waiting game, itching to talk but at the same time holding their breath.

  “You alright?” Shawn finally asks.

  “I’m fine.”

  She’s not. She’s biting her nails and twirling one end of her hair, spinning it into a knot.

  “Are you sure?”

  Her answer doesn’t come. Brandon does. He rushes out from inside the clothing store with a bag full of clothes. When he’s finally relaxed in his seat, Shawn speeds off. Brandon complains about the lack of variety in the clothes. Cassie and Shawn exchange one glance. It says a thousand words.

  They pull up to Cassie’s home. It’s outside the city. It’s your typical California suburban home, or at least one that Shawn’s sure he’s seen in the movies before. Busted up and broken with a laborious glow. The fence has a thousand sharp edges. The grass stands high and uneven. Paint chips off the wall and one window stands cut and broken. Does anyone even live there?

  Cassie hesitates at the car door, her hand lingering by the handle but not fully grasping it. She lets out a deep breath.

  “You’re okay,” Shawn says. “We’re here for you.”

  Her eyes meet his, but she doesn’t smile. She looks at him like he doesn’t know what’s really about to happen.

  Without a word, she exits the car. She walks up to her house door. Hesitantly, she enters in the home, shutting the door behind her, barely letting it snap shut. Silence emerges. It’s more quiet than he’s ever heard before.

  Birds chirp, cars roll by and the sun beams. Nothing else makes a peep. Stillness and quietness. A world void of sounds. A world without nose. It’s unnerving and unsettling. It rattles him, shakes him just a little bit. Something precarious about the silence. A loud danger before him.

  A shrill scream breaks the silence. It’s not from the outside, but the inside. Immediately, he’s out of his car, slamming it shut with a firm hand. Brandon trails behind him as they rush to the door. Shawn pushes the door open. Thankfully it’s unlocked. And when they’re inside, the house, a disastrous mess that’s a result of a tornado of destruction, lays before them.

  “You’re going to walk away?!”

  The damage unfolds before them once they reach the back end of the home, flooding into a small living room beside the kitchen. Cassie’s on the ground. She’s cowering low, raising arms to protect herself. Tears soak the carpet below her. Some linger on her shirt. Her eyes meet Shawn’s own. The pain from earlier rushes back to him.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Shawn’s head slowly turns up towards the towering man. Once just a shadow, he emerges from the darkness. Short and bulky. Thick arms about the size of thighs. Hard eyes and a crooked nose.

  Shawn chooses not to introduce himself. He slaps Brandon on the shoulder and rushes at the stout man, tackling him to the ground. They rustle and tussle. Within the hysteria, Shawn sees Brandon pick up Cassie and help her out of the house and toward the car. Good she’s safe.

  Hands wrap around his throat. Those thick sausage fingers stab at him, looking to either cut him up or leave him little room to breath. Shawn slaps the man in the head. It does nothing. He reaches around him, scrambling for something that can win him back the advantage.

  He’s losing breath.

  Losing oxygen.

  Losing life.

  Slowly.

  Slowly.

  A rock. No. A boulder. No. A saving grace.

  He wraps his fingers around something jagged, whatever it is, and grips it. He slams it upward, connects with the man’s head. The bulking giant falls off, collapsing to the ground below like a demolished building.

  He searches for the rock but it’s gone. So he grabs a heavy book that lays on the coffee table to his right. Just as the man rises, Shawn slaps him across the face with the back cover. The man staggers. He hits him again, and then he’s done. Falls to the ground. Out for those ten seconds.

  He releases a breath. He doesn’t have much time before he wakes up. His tosses the book off to the side and rushes toward the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  The car waits idly for him. He jumps inside. He’s dripping with seat, short of breath. But no time to waste. He shoves his foot down on the gas pedal and speeds off down the street into the blazing California sun.

  His breathing calms once they’re a few blocks away and no one is behind them. His heart rate slows. Cassie’s sobbing, her head buried in her hand.

  “Are you okay?” he finally asks.

  Only tears answer him.

  “Cassie, please, tell me.”

  “He’s such an asshole.”

  “I know, baby, I know.”

  “I’m never coming back here,” she says. “Never again.”

  “I won’t let you,” he says. “We’re done with that.”

  She shakes her head. It’s not enough. He knows it’s enough. All those horror stories his dad told him about — stories meant to help scare him into a more positive lifestyle — gave him enough insight to know that this wouldn’t be enough.

  “I can’t let him find me.”

  “He won’t.”

  “He will. I know he will.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He’s a cop,” she says. “Cops are good at that kind of thing. You of all people should know that. He will find me. I know it.”

  Shawn does know, a little too well. Cops are insanely good at keeping track of people in general, let alone understanding what’s going on with their own family members. Chances of him finding her existed beyond their control. With the right amount of time and dedication, he would find her.

  “Well, we’re not going to let it happen. I promise you.”r />
  “Yeah, Cassie, we have your back,” Brandon says.

  “We’ll tell my dad and it’ll be fine, okay?”

  Cassie nods, her first move in a long time. She moves around in her seat, trying to find the most comfortable spot. Relief flutters out from her lips, all the anguish and pain floating away.

  “You know,” Brandon begins in his sly voice. “You could always go into witness protection.”

  “I don’t think they have that for this sort of thing.”

  “Well, it’s worth a try.”

  “No,” she says, curling her hair again. “But I like the idea. Changing your name, your hair color, assuming a new identity.”

  It does sound like a good idea. Make a new life for yourself without worry of the old one. Disappear into the weeds where your predator can’t find you. Find a new life to live, make new friends, become someone entirely different. You may live in fear that past will sneak up on you. But that’s the case for a lot of people. You can’t always escape the past. Something you just can’t leave behind.

  The highway signs glow ahead of them. Time to go home. Time to get out of this mess and correct his previous mistakes. Lowell and his father await him, but so too does a life with Cassie. A better life for them both, hopefully. Assuming they can make it work.

  Assuming nothing goes wrong.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Cassie finally says. “Changing everything. Finding a new life.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Brandon says.

  “Maybe I can change my name, too. Just totally start over,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “Reggie doesn’t even know my first name.”

  Massachusetts

  Away

  He never makes it to California. He thinks about it though. Those days early days with Mary. When she was Cassie. Before Reggie came for her. Before they fought about what to do next.

  One dream seeps into another, and another bleeds into another. One after the next they mesh into one long, continuous spread of memories, both old and new. He relives horrific memories with Mary. He travels back to the early days with Cassie. Before they were one person. Before she chose her new name, her real name, to run away from, the horrible man who broke her and shattered her opinion of the world and of men.