Here’s the end of the story. It’s been a harrowing ride for Barry and Sheila.
Hope you enjoyed riding with them.
Thanks for reading.
What Lurks Between - Part Twenty-Eight
It took a long time to get out of there.
Sooner than I expected, but longer than I had hoped, paramedics and other emergency crews showed up to take care of the train wreck. They came in through the station where Sheila and I had found ourselves trapped, and naturally they were not going to let anyone leave without giving them a clean bill of health.
Which was, frankly, ideal. And not just because I had several cuts on my arms and chest that required dressing, and perhaps a few stitches as well.
No, and I was ashamed to think this, the wreck made for ideal cover. Everyone was expected to be injured to some extent or another, and to have bedraggled clothing. No one asked Sheila and I if we were the people who had called asking for assistance in exiting the station earlier. The only focus was on treating the wounded.
And so I found myself sitting on a bench in the station, wincing as a paramedic applied alcohol to the smaller cuts on my legs and torso. My forearms, though, where the bunny monster had latched on so strongly…
“You’re going to need stitches, buddy,” the guy said as he pulled off the makeshift bandages Sheila had applied earlier. “A lot of them.” He smiled apologetically then applied clean dressings to the wounds after applying antibiotic ointment.
“Where should I go?”
He shrugged and gestured toward the far side of the station, where a small gaggle of people with minor wounds sat or stood, waiting. “Just hang with those folks and we’ll get you taken care of once we get the major trauma cases out of here.”
That made sense, I suppose. Why tie up an ambulance with someone who was in no immediate danger when you could use it for a person who was going to die without help? And unfortunately there were a number of people from the train who met that description. For a moment, I was tempted to start beating myself up over that, but I forced my mind to other things.
Namely, Sheila. She waited on a bench by the gaggle of ambulatory patients, a few bandages recently applied where the bunny monster had dug into her. Thankfully not as many as I had. She smiled as I approached, and I pondered how quickly things changed. Not so long ago we were just faces on the street to each other. Me, a guy who might help her out with cash for the next meal. And her, a pretty but forgettable drifter, if only the bunny monster had not picked her out. But now, after the stress we had shared together, I felt close to her. Strange, considering I knew next to nothing about her.
Her smile said she felt the same.
I settled down next to her on the bench and let out a long sigh. “I honestly didn’t think we were going to make it through that,” I said.
Sheila glanced sidelong at me and pursed her lips, but was silent for a while. When she finally spoke, it was in a subdued tone. “I never in a million years would have imagined something like that was possible.” She shuddered slightly. “You could have just run away and let it take me.” Her smile returned, and I could see the gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you.”
Part of me felt good about that. Another part was insulted. Like I would just abandon someone to that thing’s ministrations. But then, I reminded myself that I had pretty much done essentially that many times before encountering Sheila. So why was she different? Just because she was young, with a pretty face? I wanted to think there was something deeper to my decision-making process, but looking back on it, I was not sure.
But did it really matter?
Yes, said that inner voice that tended to annoy me so. Yes, it really does.
That was something that would take a long time to figure out. Fortunately, I had all the time in the world. So instead of waxing philosophical, I simply said, “You’re welcome,” and shook her hand.
I quickly wished I had not. Now that the adrenalin and stress of the incident had worn off, my arms really did hurt. I winced and let out a little groan as she squeezed my hand, and Sheila’s eyes widened.
“Oh geez. I’m so sorry.”
“No worries,” I said through clenched teeth. “Dude said I need a bunch of stitches.” I indicated the paramedic, who had moved on to a man who appeared to have a broken leg.
“You know,” Sheila said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “there’s a free clinic a few blocks from here. I’m on good terms with the manager, if you don’t want to wait around for the ambulance crews to get back.”
That was a great idea.
An hour later, I had fresh sutures in both arms, a new shirt and jacket on my back, a full antibiotic series and painkillers in hand, and a contented smile on my face. Sheila’s medical friend had come through with flying colors. Even better, if anyone even noticed us leaving the T station they did not care. We were just another couple of people who were unlucky enough to get caught up in the wreckage, but also lucky enough to escape relatively uninjured.
Which was great, because having to answer questions about what we had been doing there would have been…awkward.
I stepped out of the clinic and waited on the sidewalk while Sheila thanked her friend again before following me out. During those few moments alone, I took in the street around the clinic. It was neither run down nor swanky, just sort of middling, with storefronts of all varieties and the usual cross-section of humanity walking, running, driving, or riding along in the late afternoon. The sun was low enough in the sky that it had sunk below the tops of the surrounding buildings, leaving the street in shadow. The sounds of hustle and bustle, the scent of cooking food, the perfume from a woman who brushed past me, the exhaust from the passing vehicles, and the chill of the breeze on my cheeks felt so much better than I ever recalled before. It was like it was all new, and I was noticing it for the first time.
I understood why: just a couple hours ago I thought sure I was going to die, and maybe many more people with me. Instead, I was alive. And it felt great.
Sheila pulled the clinic door closed and slid up next to me, linking her arm with mine. “Well, we’ve got a new lease on life. What do you want to do first?” The euphoria of having survived was hitting her as well, it seemed.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t stay out too late, though. I’ve got work…”
I stopped, and not because of the incredulous look that appeared on Sheila’s face. Something struck me then. She had mentioned it back on the train after I told her the story of what was going on. She thought everyone on Ketcham Station was dead. Hell, everyone on Ketcham Station was dead. Which meant…
I was dead.
I burst out laughing, and I felt all the worries and concerns that had been haunting me for weeks, hell months, maybe years, fly away with the sounds of my merriment.
“Hot damn,” I said. “I’m dead.”
Sheila looked askance at me. “Huh?”
“Everyone probably thinks I’m dead, killed up on Ketcham Station. Hell, I’m amazed they still haven’t come and taken all my shit out of my apartment.” Delighted, I looked at Sheila with a big grin. “I’m dead. I don’t have to do a damn thing.” Another thought struck me then. It was beautiful. Perfect, even. “Sheila, you said you were on the road?”
She nodded, still looking a bit confused by my sudden antics.
“Were you going anyplace in particular?”
Sheila shrugged. “Not really. Just seeing where the road takes me, experiencing the world.”
My grin felt like it was going to split my face, as wide as it became. “Would you like a traveling companion?”
Sheila blinked, surprised. She was silent for several seconds, just looking at me and obviously thinking it through. Finally, she said, “Sure why not? Sounds like fun.” Then she smiled again, and that smile contained the promise of freedom and happiness. Maybe not forever, but for a while. And that was good enough.
Previous Posts:
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Part Five
- Part Six
- Part Seven
- Part Eight
- Part Nine
- Part Ten
- Part Eleven
- Part Twelve
- Part Thirteen
- Part Fourteen
- Part Fifteen
- Part Sixteen
- Part Seventeen
- Part Eighteen
- Part Nineteen
- Part Twenty
- Part Twenty-One
- Part Twenty-Two
- Part Twenty-Three
- Part Twenty-Four
- Part Twenty-Five
- Part Twenty-Six
- Part Twenty-Seven
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