And so was Wendy.
Seventeen days before Gwendolyn Gale turned seventeen, something horrific happened. Something none of us thought she’d come back from.
But I pulled her through.
She’s still here.
And she’s gonna stay here.
I don’t care what I have to do to make that happen, I will never stop looking for Wendy’s cure.
When I look back up, both Merc and Harrison are sitting at the little table in front of the window. Heads in hands.
Reality, man. It bites.
Merc looks up. “So what’s this have to do with me?” I don’t answer him right away. I wait until his panic is juuust about to turn into anger.
Then I say, “I’m not sure, Merc. But you know who is sure?”
“Carter,” Harrison says.
“Carter,” I agree. “What you need to be concerned about, Merc, is the trigger. Daphne is coming up on that age, right? You need to find out how the trigger works and you need to save Donovan so you can get that information out of Carter. You need to save that fucking dumbass if only so you can get peace of mind.”
Merc sighs and resumes holding his head in his hands. “What do I have to do?”
“You know better than I do, brother. Whatever it is you do when you’re inside their heads.” I don’t want to say the next part. I want to play it cool. But I can’t help myself. “Is that what you’re doing to Wendy right now?”
He nods.
“And you left her alone?” Again, I don’t want to say this. And I really do not want that edge creeping into my voice. This entire situation is precarious and this man right here is the key to everything. But I’m angry about what he’s done to Wendy. And worried, too.
Even though I know Wendy is capable of handling just about anything, and she’s nothing like Indie Anna, she’s been teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown since Chek died. That’s why she works so hard. That’s why we don’t see each other too much. I’m not just a reminder of what happened that day, I’m a trigger too. I don’t think Donovan or Carter did that to her. How could they know she and I would grow close like this? So I don’t think it’s personal. But the risk is still there.
Even though I like the fact that whatever Merc is doing he’s doing it at my house, that place is a beartrap of past memories for Wendy. And I want to see her. I need to hold her in my arms very soon or I’m gonna be the one losing my mind.
Finally Merc looks up again. “She’s OK. I have her on a very safe maintenance cocktail. And we’ve only been gone”—he checks his phone-—“an hour and fifty minutes.”
“Well, I did my part. Don’t you agree?” Merc doesn’t answer me, so I assume he does. “Take me to her. Now.”
Harrison is the one who actually gets up, not Merc. “I’m ready. He’s right, Merc. We need to get back. Come on.” He grabs Merc’s shoulder and squeezes. This is when I realize that Harrison isn’t just some pilot who flies Sasha and Merc around when they need to get somewhere fast. He’s a friend. He’s been there since—well, fuck. Since I was eighteen years old. He’s been there for all of it.
Merc gets to his feet, but he’s not the same guy who walked in the door. Before this little conversation Merc was a man who was sure of himself and his place in this world. He was in control. He was handling shit. And he’s been doing a damn good job. So I hate that I’m the reason he feels defeated right now.
I’ve been there. I have felt that way about Lauren more times than I can count and even though I haven’t even seen my daughter since she was six, that sense of defeat—no, failure—it doesn’t go away. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ doesn’t apply to this situation at all.
I push all thoughts of Lauren away out of instinct. It’s a protection mechanism. If I start thinking about her, I’ll never stop. And then one day I’ll find myself standing on a quiet street in Fort Collins, in front of a rambling one-story brick house, and I’ll fuck it all up.
That cannot happen.
That will not happen.
So I push Lauren away and concentrate on Wendy. Wendy is the one who needs saving, not Lauren. Lauren is just fine.
Merc and I follow Harrison outside. It’s sunny still. Not even dinnertime. Which surprises me for no good reason because I knew I was in that room for less than an hour, but it feels like several lifetimes of confessions just took place.
Harrison secures us a ride, and then, just fifteen minutes later, I’m climbing aboard his little Cessna jet. It only seats four, plus the pilot and co-pilot. But it’s nice. Luxurious. Nothing at all like the little plane he was flying two decades ago when he first got a front-row seat to the end of the world as we know it.
I take a seat in the back, of course. But Merc sits up front with Harrison. He’s probably sick of me. I’m a bad reminder of just about everything evil that’s ever happened to that guy, so I can’t say I blame him. But sometimes being Nick Tate really sucks. And what sucks more is that no one sees it that way. Just about everyone thinks I’m dead, so all the people I care about stopped caring about me a decade back. And the ones who never did care about me give no fucks at all about what kind of life I’ve been living since Kansas.
The flight proceeds without incident and thirty minutes later Harrison lands on my private dirt road and taxis right up to my shitty front yard.
A few minutes later, we’re walking around to the back of my house. I push Merc out of the way when he tries to enter first, then go in, not sure if Wendy is in my bedroom or on the couch.
It’s the couch. She’s hooked up to an IV and she’s sleeping. Deeply. Because when I sit down next to her and try to shake her awake, she doesn’t even moan. I bend down and whisper in her ear. “Wendy.”
“She can’t hear you. I have her in a cloud.”
I hold in my anger. It does you no good to fuck things up now, Nick. You’ve come this far. Hold it together. So when I say, “Wake her up. Now,” I am almost able to hide the snarl.
Merc is focused on Wendy now, so he’s not paying much attention to my mood as he messes with a tackle box filled with ampules of drugs and lots of syringes. He fills a syringe and pushes the drug into her IV. Moments later, Wendy begins to cough.
“That’s normal. It’s just a reflex.”
I know this. And I tell myself that I know this. It’s just a side effect of the drugs he’s using. Wendy is OK. She’s gonna be fine. But it hurts me to see her like this. I actually have a pain in my chest as I watch Merc check her vitals. I have an urge to do it myself, but luckily the inner voice calms me down and reminds me to step back.
There is no logical reason to be emotional right now. It’s all gonna work out.
But giving yourself the pep talk and actually buying into the pep talk are two very different things.
“You OK there, partner?”
I turn and find Harrison looking at me intently. He comes across as worried—which is understandable, since I’m having a silent freakout. And he probably is concerned, but he’s not just concerned.
He’s suspicious.
Yeah. Harrison is a wild card and I need to be careful around him. I didn’t realize he was as tuned in as the rest of us and that was a mistake. Not a fatal one, but it’s serious enough that I need to make sure he doesn’t become the reason I fail.