Burning Bridges (Shattered Highways Book 2)

by Tara N Hathcock

  He eased up the hallway, silently clearing the open exam rooms as he passed. The door between the hall and the waiting room was open and Logan slowly leaned around the corner, relaxing when he saw the shape slumped on the sofa. It was a small, girl-shaped lump, head tipped back against the couch and tennis shoes tapping restlessly against the floor.

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed, pretending to sleep?” Logan asked casually, tipping a shoulder against the wall beside where Quincy sat.

  “Shouldn’t you be creeping through back alleys and hiding behind dumpsters, looking for suspicious activity?”

  “I did. There isn’t any. You?”

  “Thought I’d go for a run. Thought you might want to come.”

  Logan gave that a second to sink in. Another 2 a.m. run. At least this time she hadn’t snuck away solo. It was progress.

  “Sure,” he said easily. “I’m always up for a run.”

  He was not, in fact, up for a run, but he would do it anyway. Because she had asked.

  Quincy lifted her arms and he grinned. He kicked off the wall and reached forward, grabbing her hands and hauling her to her feet. Logan pulled the waiting room door shut behind them as they ambled back down the hall and out the back door, resetting the security code behind them. The moon was full and bright and Quincy tipped her head back, looking up. He nudged her shoulder after a minute.

  “Ready to go?”

  She pulled away from wherever her mind had wandered and they set out. With his longer legs, Logan could outrun her for speed but he doubted he could match her endurance. He decided to let her set the pace and they hit the pavement at a sprint.

  Past the brick storefronts they ran, Quincy slightly ahead and to his left. She had told him enough about how her mind worked to know that she ran to help shut it down when the noise became too loud. He figured her conversation with Dave after he left the basement was what was driving her tonight.

  They hadn’t talked much about it but on their desperate flight across the country several months ago, Logan had picked up on the fact that she didn’t like talking about her condition. Even when she didn’t know she had a condition, when Logan was still just sniffing around, trying to get her to open up, any push into her personal life or how her mind worked was enough to set off her internal alarms. She’d get cagey, attempt to shift the conversation in another direction. Finally, she’d just shut down if he didn’t stop.

  He assumed that’s what was happening here tonight. She’d finally agreed to have a frank conversation with Dave. He would have asked detailed questions and she would have been fighting that urge to flee all night. This was her way of escaping. He was probably even more lucky than he realized that she’d opted to bring him with her this time.

  They pounded the pavement, turning left at the four-way stop on the edge of town and leaving the city limits. The stars were even brighter out here, away from the main hub of their small neighborhood. The county road they were on was small but well-traveled and eventually led to a small bridge crossing Bear Canyon Creek.

  Quincy finally pulled out of the sprint half-way across the bridge, planting her hands on her knees and breathing deeply. Logan ambled up behind her and crossed to the opposite side of the bridge, leaning his forearms on the metal railing and leaning over.

  The creek itself was small, joining the larger Boulder Creek about four miles upstream. But here, on a deserted bridge in the middle of the night, it was peaceful. Logan could hear the sound of the water as it trickled around rocks and formed eddies against the shallow banks. The bridge was high above the water, the noise barely a whisper. Hard to hear in the business of the day. Plenty loud in the dead of night.

  Quincy moved beside him and peered down.

  “How far down do you think it is?” she asked.

  Logan shrugged. “Maybe 25 feet,” he guessed, “give or take.”

  Quincy continued to stare down towards the water long enough to make Logan uncomfortable. He didn’t know if she was still hearing the voice, the one nudging her towards the edge. He hadn’t asked. He didn’t actually want to know, but he knew that was weak of him. He was afraid to know. But before he could say anything, Quincy sighed and turned her back to the railing, leaning against it.

  “David Garrison is one sneaky doctor,” she said without preamble.

  Logan turned as well, letting himself slide down the side of the bridge until he was sitting with his back resting against it. “How so?” he asked.

  “He lulled me in with a false sense of security, telling me we would only be talking tonight. Just talking, he said. No testing.”

  “I’ll assume there was a test involved somewhere in the talking?” Logan guessed.

  “The test was the talking,” she said blithely. “One second, we’re talking in English and the next, it’s Spanish. I never even noticed the change.”

  That was…odd.

  “You didn’t notice?” he asked, curious. “How do you not notice something like that?”

  “Right?” she questioned, like she had no idea where the crazy was coming from either. “I have no idea!” She sank to the ground beside him, losing some of her steam along the way. “How does one believe pizza on a hot plate is a good idea? Some things are just a mystery.”

  Logan leaned his head against the railing and laughed, a fully-blown belly laugh. He was so tired. And she had a point.

  “Well,” he finally asked, once the laughing had died down and she’d quit looking at him like she was worried he was going to have an aneurysm. “How did it feel?”

  “How did it feel?” Quincy mused. “It felt…weird. We were just talking, you know? And then Dave said something, and I couldn’t quite make it out. Like I was hearing through cotton or something. The room got a little hazy, but then I asked Dave to repeat what he’d said, and everything cleared right up.”

  “Except in Spanish?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Okay then,” Logan said. “At least we already knew you could speak the language. We just didn’t know the transition could happen so smoothly.”

  “Like butter,” Quincy snarked.

  “Clearly this has stressed you out,” Logan said mildly. “Why so spun?”

  “Why not?” she asked. “It’s weird. It’s just one more thing on the pile of weirdness that makes up my life.”

  “Well, what else is so weird?” he asked. They’d covered this territory before but sometimes a person just needed to talk.

  “What else?” Quincy laughed. “You mean, aside from regurgitating everything I’ve ever heard or seen at a moment’s notice? And not sleeping? And hearing voices in my head, daring me to step off a bridge? Or how about the fact that I don’t even exist?”

  And there it was.

  Quincy rolled her head over to look at him. “Which one of those strikes your fancy?”

  “Let’s go with the one where you don’t exist,” Logan replied easily. He could deal with that one. The urge to step off a bridge? Well, he was going to need a minute. “What makes you say that?”

  Quincy sighed, and then shrugged halfheartedly. “I’ve been looking,” she said simply.

  “For?”

  “For any sign that I existed before this all began.” She pulled her legs in tight against her chest and leaned her head down over her knees. “After you go out on patrol and Dave goes to sleep. I’ve been digging through everything - the footage from the hospital, the medical records Dave managed to smuggle out of the company, even police reports and missing persons databases.” Quincy took a deep breath and looked up. “There’s just nothing there. I don’t exist anywhere.”

  “How did you get into the police reports?” Logan asked curiously. “And the missing persons databases? Those have pretty high security features.”

  “I hacked them.”

  “You what now?”

  “I hacked them. You know, broke in like the vigilante I am and took what I wanted. Power to the people, down with The Man, and what have you.”<
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  At his continued stare, Quincy shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m a hacker now.”

  “Okay.” Logan decided to roll with it instead of question. “Good to know.”

  “Nobody comes looking,” Quincy said. “Shouldn’t everyone be missed by someone?”

  That was a good question.

  “Should everyone be missed? Yes.” Logan rubbed his hands together, debating what to say. “Everyone should have someone who cares if they’re around. But does everyone have that?” He glanced over at Quincy and shrugged a shoulder.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes before Logan decided to point out what might not be obvious to her.

  “You know, if not for Dave, I wouldn’t have anyone either.” Logan ran his hands across the rough concrete beneath him and scooped up a handful of small, gritty rocks. He started lobbing them over the far side of the bridge. “My dad died when I was young and my mom ran off shortly after that. Jones is gone and other than a few emails now and again from Army buddies trying to figure out how to cram their combat experience back into civilian life, I don’t keep up with anyone else. If Dave hadn’t invited me along on his crusade, where would I be?”

  They both fell silent and Logan let that idea roll around his head for a bit. Where would he be? He would have survived, he knew that much. He’d be like his Army buddies, trying to make his way through civilian life after going through a battle zone and losing his best friend. Only worse, because most of them had family and friends to ground them as much as possible. He didn’t have anyone outside this makeshift little family they had formed.

  “So I guess it’s good Dave took pity on you,” Quincy finally said. “And on me.”

  Logan glanced over. Quincy still looked a little more haunted than he would prefer. He shoved himself to his feet and reached down to haul her up, too.

  “It’s three in the morning and we’re sitting in the middle of a bridge. We’d better go before Dave decides to write us both off as lost causes.” He smiled to take any sting out of the words. “Feel better?”

  Quincy tossed her foot up against the top rail of the bridge and leaned into the stretch. “Tal vez,” she replied. She changed legs and grinned up at him. “Maybe.”

  Logan rolled his eyes and bumped her hip on his way past, causing her to lose her balance and tip over.

  From flat on her back, Quincy grabbed his ankle and tugged to get his attention. “Dave isn’t the only one who’d notice if you went missing.” She let go of his ankle. “Just saying.”

  It was an uncharacteristically nice thing of her to say. She must be feeling more maudlin than he thought. Logan leaned over and hauled her back to her feet for the last time tonight.

  “And if you go missing again,” he assured her, “there are now two of us who won’t stop looking.”

  They stood there, in the middle of the bridge, hands clasped tight for just a minute. Quincy squeezed and then let go.

  “Family is weird,” she said casually, turning back towards town.

  Chapter 16

  Quincy

  “Well, Quincy, care to place a bet on what Logan will whip up tonight?” Dave asked as he pulled the last exam room door shut behind him. “My money is on tacos.”

  Quincy switched off the lamp over her desk and grinned up at him. “He mentioned something about fish before he crashed this morning.”

  Dave looked horrified.

  “Which is why I’m going to check out the library over on 4th before I come home.” She winked. “Let the basement air out a little before I brave it.”

  Dave cringed. “Do you think he would notice if neither of us showed up?”

  “I think Logan, being Logan, would mount an over-the-top search and rescue effort, convinced we’d been set upon by brigands and thieves.” Quincy tossed the strap of her backpack over her head and patted Dave’s shoulder on her way by. “But I’ll bring you back a couple of burgers from the bar across the street.”

  Dave looked grateful. “Some fries wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Burgers and fries for two, with a side of sneakiness so Logan never has to know.”

  “Agreed.”

  They held each other’s eyes in momentary solidarity before Quincy headed for the door.

  “Tell Logan not to worry,” she told Dave. “And tell him if he shows up and interrupts my quiet time, I’ll break his nose tonight when we spar. Again.”

  Dave followed her out of the door, pausing to lock it. “I have no doubt that will be his first instinct,” he agreed. “But I think he’ll stay back. I think, deep down, he really does know that he’s going overboard.”

  “Well,” Quincy allowed, “it’s not like he doesn’t have cause.”

  “True,” Dave agreed with a smile, “but I’ll still do my best to remind him that you’re a grown woman, fairly adept at keeping herself alive.”

  “Appreciate it.” She smiled as Dave turned towards the alley, where he would sneak around to the back entrance and let himself into the basement. “I’ll keep it short.”

  “Take all the time you need,” he said mildly, and with that, Quincy was off.

  Her first few steps alone felt odd. The next few felt like a breath of fresh air. And the next felt absolutely freeing. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d been completely on her own, and she missed it terribly. Not that having Logan and Dave for company wasn’t nice, but she’d been on her own for too long not to enjoy her freedom.

  The library was just a few blocks down from the clinic, at the corner of 4th and Meadow, and she enjoyed the sunshine while she walked. The light was watery, with a weakness to it that told her winter had almost arrived. She shivered slightly as a breeze swirled the leaves in front of her feet. She was going to need a heavier coat. But she could breathe here. It had been the same in the last town she’d been in. For the first time in who knew how long, she could breathe. She could relax. She probably shouldn’t, seeing as how the last time she had relaxed, she’d been nabbed by the organization that she’d been running from for years. Still, she knew the risk was much less here, due in no small part to Logan’s presence and eternal watchfulness.

  It was nice, not having to be so constantly on alert herself. Not being so focused on her own situation gave her time to consider the situation of others. The other patients like herself.

  She’d read all the medical files Dave had. They had been extremely thorough, but extremely similar. Injuries of the thalamus that led to comas but not death. Improbable recoveries. Some patients reported unusual symptoms that were always chalked up to PTSD or psychosomatic reactions.

  About seventy percent of the charts Dave had collected ended with one word - suicide. Another twenty-five percent were missing, whereabouts unknown. And then there was her. The only success story. If she could even call it that. She thought about that word more often than she’d like to admit, and the people in the last town she’d been in, people who might have considered themselves friends, would think her missing.

  So was she a success? She had no memory beyond the last year and a half. No inkling of the accident that had caused her condition or of who she was before. And nothing from the eight years in between. She was alive and functioning, so there was that. Maybe she was a success story. The bar was set pretty low, she had to admit. But she was alive. And she was with two men who were very motivated to turn the others into success stories, too. So that was something. Not a lot, maybe, but something.

  Quincy jogged up the old concrete steps of the small library and tugged the door open. A gust of wind caught it right at that moment and, combined with the momentum of her swing, sent the door crashing against the wall behind her. The ancient librarian, seated conveniently at the check-out desk directly in front of her, looked up, startled. The breeze caught at the papers neatly stacked on the desktop, scattering them slightly, and she glared at Quincy, who ducked her head apologetically as she slunk past.

  So much for first impressions. But it didn’t matter much
, as Quincy had arrived. She was home. The musty smell of old, undisturbed books settled over her and she took a deep breath. Was there any better smell, she wondered? There was a hush amongst the books in a library, different from the feeling you get in most bookstores. And she loved it. Other than when she was running, she did her best thinking in a library. And she wanted to think about the others. Those twenty-five percent that were missing. The ones lost to suicide were just that - lost. But the rest still existed somewhere. She’d read every medical report on every patient Dave had over and over, despite her ability to memorize them the first time. There was nothing there that would help her find them. So what next? What else was there?

  Lost is lost.

  Again, the voice. Always waiting to spring at her during her weakest moments. But she wasn’t going to give into it today. She was on her own for the first time in months, in a library of all places. She was determined to shake off the melancholy that accompanied the voice and enjoy what time she had. Which was limited and dwindling the longer she stood there, fighting off the crazy.

  Quincy decided to take a meandering route to the fiction section, crossing first through the sparse aisles of poetry, then through the non-existent row of autobiographies. Not much interested in those genres herself, still she was a little surprised by just how limited the offerings were. They weren’t in Boulder proper, she reminded herself. This was but one of several smaller branch libraries, which was probably one of the only reasons Logan had been convinced to leave her to her own devices for a short time.

  It didn’t matter to her how small the library was. She loved it just the same. She found herself in the fiction section and stopped at Agatha Christie. Maybe the Queen of Mystery could shed some light on The Case of the Missing Patients.