I rub my eyes, trying in vain to keep the blinding light out. I'm dead, aren't I? No. The pain in my shoulder has dulled considerably since the last time I was awake, but it's still there, a numbing, sore sensation tightly bound together, keeping all the shattered bones in one place. I don't know much about the afterlife, but I'm quite certain this treatment wouldn't be befitting of either heaven or hell.
I've broken my shoulder once before, falling from the treehouse in my backyard when I was twelve years old. That was over twenty years ago, but I still remember the excruciating pain, the panic in my mother's voice as I was rushed to the hospital. For a moment I wonder if I haven't just dreamed the rest of my life since then. Maybe I'm still that little boy, still innocent and carefree. Maybe I've been out a lot longer than I thought, and when I awake, I'll see my mother's worried face again, my father pacing the room in the worn Stetson fedora that he donned every day without fail.
I hear the sound of a door opening somewhere...I feel more than hear them approaching me. There's someone else in this room. My eyes blink open again, I can see a bit more clearly now. The figure solidifies into the shape of a woman in a white gown, with shadows falling behind her. Couldn't be an angel, could it? I should be so lucky. No, my vision is clearing up a bit now, enough to see that the mystery dame is a nurse, apparently come to check on me. Her eyes widen slightly when she sees that I'm awake and alert.
"Mr. Archer! Please try not to move too much, it'll only aggravate your wound. Oh, I must go tell your visitors, They'll be so glad to know-"
Before I can get a word in, she's out the door, but she doesn't get far, a few moments later she returns with a worried look and a stoic police detective on her heels. I get the feeling I've met him before, but everything feels woozy at the moment, as though I'm caught between a dream and reality. It must be the medication, they really give you the good stuff here...
I try to position myself more comfortably in spite of the nurse's warning. Pain is a small price to pay after what I've been through. I'm alive, I'm alive. And I'm damn lucky to be, I realize, as the blurry images of the past few months finally start come into focus. Yes...the strands are coming together now. I know why this detective is here. I knew all along. I'd just been blocking it out. But now I'm ready to face the music. Truth be told, I don't have much of a choice...
"Mr. Archer, this is detective Thompson, he'd like to have a few words with you."
I nod slowly. "We've met before."
The nurse gave me a concerned glance. "Are you all right, do you need anything more?"
"That's all right. You've done plenty. How are the others doing? Are they...holding up?"
"They'll be delighted to hear that you've pulled through, Mr. Archer. I'll let them know at once."
"Thanks," I say. The aches in my body cause my voice to come out weakly. How close to the brink am I?...
The nurse leaves us then, now it's just me and detective Thompson again. We've been in rooms alone before. It was a conversation between us that got this whole thing started, in a way. Perhaps it's fitting that this is how it should end.
Thompson takes off his hat and examines the room with the hawk-like focus I've come to expect from him. He's tall, with rigid features, a hardened face and a perfect crew cut that betrays his time as a Brigadier General during the War. He's always been a tough customer, whether he was on my side or not, and details rarely get past him. On that count at least, I give the detective respect, even as I've come to resent the man otherwise.
Finally satisfied that we're alone, he pulls a chair over so as to be next to my bedside and plops himself down. He looks grim as ever, I can tell this is a conversation he's been dreading. I can't say I've been looking forward to it either. We both know what I've done, and the price I'll have to pay. Under normal circumstances I'd have gotten the chair full stop, no questions asked. The DA has more than got the goods on me. The one thing that might have saved me was that Thompson, for all his tough exterior, actually did have a modicum of sympathy for me. But even his sympathy wouldn't interfere with the discharge of justice. I know that and so does he. I'm a dead man walking now.
"You look like you've seen better days," Thompson quips, a smile almost, but not quite creeping onto his face.
"I could say the same for you," I reply sardonically.
The look in his eyes says it all. We can't dance around the elephant in the room forever. So this is it. The end of the line. Everything that's happened has led me to this point. Did I really fail, even after all I sacrificed? I suppose only history can be the judge of that. But in my heart I know that Meza had to pay. I had to do whatever I could to do what the cops wouldn't. That's nothing but cold comfort to me now, of course. I glance up at Thompson to see he looks as morose as I feel.
Thompson sighs. "You've taken us on one hell of a ride, Nick."
I can't help but offer up a thin smile. It's a mirthless grin, one full of regret and wishful thinking, even now. Even now I can't help but wonder, what could have been? What if I'd listened to her when we were in Mexico? We could've been far away from here by now. Free from Meza, free from the cops, free from everybody. As ever, it's man's pride that causes his fall. It's been that way since the beginning of time itself, and I was a fool to think I'd be the exception.
"Took you long enough to track me down," I shoot back. Bantering with the detective seems to be the only thing keeping me from a total breakdown. Thompson doesn't take the bait.
"You know, none of this had to happen," he goes on balefully. "If you would have just waited as I told you-"
I don't let him go any further. Not with that bogus argument. "You and I both know that the DA wouldn't have filed a charge after the way they closed that investigation. They've always been afraid to get their hands dirty."
"Yes, I suppose you're right..." Thompson concedes reluctantly as he lights up a cigarette. He's not supposed to do that here, but we both know we won't be disturbed. He offers me a light, which I accept, but I can't stop the feeling raging with me, the part of me that doesn't want to die just yet.
"You want the lowdown, Thompson? I did what I had to do. I swore to God, to myself, to James and Katie..." I pound my fist into the dingy hospital mattress as I fight back tears from springing to my eyes, "I swore that I wouldn't stop until that bastard got what was coming to him."
Thompson puts his firm hand over my arm. "Easy now, Nick, you're still hurt. You're no good to me dead. I'm sure your friends would say the same."
I shrug him off. I couldn't care less about the physical pain. My shoulder isn't what's aching me anyhow. The kind of pain I have can't be cured by a doctor or numbed by a medication. It's a burden that can never be lifted. I'm the reason my friends were killed. I may not have pulled the trigger, but I might as well have, the way things shook out. And in my attempt to right that wrong, I only went about digging my own grave. I don't expect the detective to understand. It would be simpler to give me the chair. Simpler for him, simpler for me. He plucks the cigarette from his maw and exhales.
"Look, why don't you just tell me what happened? Start from the beginning. We've got all the time we need."
I hesitate instinctively. I trusted the cops once, and they didn't do anything for me. I don't owe Meza or his boys anything, but that doesn't mean I feel any warm fuzzies for the DA's side either. Not after the way they wrote off the case. They knew who did the job, they just didn't want to ruffle any feathers, and look where that's got us. Thompson notes my lack of a response and goes on.
"I want to help you, Nick. I really do. And I'll do whatever I can to make sure you get a fair deal with the attorney's office. But I can't do it alone. I need you to trust me."
"Yeah? I trusted you and the cops once before."
"And we were wrong, Nick. I'll be the first to tell you. Everybody made mistakes, you, me, the chief, everybody. But dammit, the only way we can make it right is if you tell me your side of the story."
I shift in the bed, little more than a cot in actuality. I don't know how anybody can stay in these things for longer than a few minutes. Not that even a reclining chair could ease my nerves now. I still don't know why I should tell him, but all the same, I feel that the time is right. I'm tired of running. Tired of twisting in the wind against invisible enemies. Against a storm that can never be quenched. It's over. This lonely crusade is over, and all there is to do is spill...
"All right, Thompson. You want the whole story? I'll give it to you straight, no embellishments, no excuses. I'll tell you everything you want to know, from beginning to end. Then at least I can go with a clean conscience."
And as the memories come flooding back to me, vividly as though it had all happened yesterday, I find myself chuckling softly.
Thompson looks confused. "What is it?"
I feel unexpectedly light. It's been so long since I've been able to truly let this weight roll away from my back. For the first time since detective Thompson walked in, I'm at peace with whatever comes next. It'll be no more than I deserve.
"You were right about one thing. It was one hell of a ride."
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