Logan’s gone, and I can’t get through the nights.
Hank could tell the sleeping pills hadn’t totally worn off by the way I came slumping down the stairs at noon. I had resisted taking them until I was finally so worn down that I knew I wasn’t any good to anyone, so I relented. Seven hours later, I’d stressed myself awake again, showered, and started my day still dulled and surly.
Three days, and still no sign of Logan. I’d kept my personal cell phone beside me every moment, even taking it in the shower with me, zip-locked in a plastic bag with the ringer cranked up on ‘wake the dead’ volume. I was never without it.
I eat a token something-on-a-plate, check my mail, lean against the window of the library, too fraught to read, and slump my way back to our bedroom without talking to anyone. Every time the phone rings I grab it and look at the screen, and if it isn’t Logan, I let the voice mail get it. I don’t want to actually converse with anyone -- I just listen and wait. No one else has anything important to say, and I won’t waste my time on them.
The hours roll past and I ignore any knocks on our bedroom door. They know I don’t want to mix with anyone, and they leave me alone, though I know that won’t last long. When they finally give up, they’ll make me rejoin society again.
Storm reported the lab to the federal government that very morning following our night raid. They swept the building and found nothing, no one. That was the day before yesterday.
Where is Logan? Did they keep his body? Did the paramilitary force that routed Storm’s team take him? Did he escape, and why hasn’t he called me? Did the feds take him and keep him for their own purposes? That makes me tremble with fear, but at least he’d still be alive and have a chance of escape. He got away from Stryker eventually, so he could get away from anyone else just as likely. These thoughts roll around and around in my head until I’m dizzy and exhausted, and I just want to sleep some more.
I’m drifting, and the phone rings. I reach for the cell and look at the caller ID screen.
Unavailable. Someone who’s either blocked, or a telemarketer, or someone I don’t care about. Unless...
Something tickles the inside of my head and I flip open the phone without saying a word, just listening. I hear someone breathing on the other end, noise like traffic in the background, and then...
“Marie? Kid?”
His name shudders from my lips, “Logan?” and before I start to hopelessly and incoherently sob, I choke it down and almost shout, “Where are you?!?”
“Some burg called Sweetwater, in Tennessee, at an A&W hotdog joint beside a railroad track.”
“What the hell happened to you?” I’m shaking from joy and relief, and my brain is trying to process everything at once, and failing miserably.
“It’s a long story. I’m out of cash and my cell’s dead, so come get me, okay? Get a car and hit the road. Stay somewhere overnight since it’s too far to drive straight through, and pick me up tomorrow.”
Grabbing for a pen and paper off our night stand, I get ready to write. “Tell me where to find you.”
“That’s all I know, darlin’ - Sweetwater, A&W, railroad track. Unless I roll a drunk or steal something to pawn, I got no more cash. I’ve got enough left for a hot dog and I’m starvin’, so just write that down, research it, and get here. I’ll hang out in the area all day tomorrow and find you when you drive down. I’m on the edge of the backwater part of town, like an old industrial area close by, and along the tracks. I borrowed a cell phone from a carhop, but she barely has enough English to take an order, and doesn’t know the address here. Just get here, okay? You’ll find me or I’ll find you.”
“Okay, baby, I’ll hit the road right now. I just need to get some cash and some keys and put some stuff in a bag. What do you need?”
He goes soft-voiced, “Just you, here.”
I start to cry then, and Logan hears me.
“Baby, it’s all right,” I hear him whisper over the phone, “I’m okay. I just wanna come home.” It makes me cry a little harder, then I gasp back the sobs and try to speak coherently again.
“I’m sorry, Logan, I just thought.... you were... you know,” I babble, still fighting the tears and the edge of hysteria.
“I know, you thought I was dead, and then you read the will and freaked out. That’s why I said not to freak out. I’m hard to kill, and you know it.”
I wipe my eyes and sniffle and nod my agreement before getting back to business, “I’ll be on the road within a half hour, so try to stay safe until I get there, okay? If anything goes wrong, meet me at the main Post Office as a secondary point of contact.”
“Good thinkin’, baby. Okay, I’ll see you sometime late tomorrow. I’ll hang around here during business hours, and loiter around the PO overnight, staying out of sight of the cops until you get here.”
“Okay, I’m on it. The cavalry is coming, sugar. I love you.”
“Love you, too, baby. Bring some plastic and some cash, and we’ll eat hot dogs together when you get here. I gotta go. See ya tomorrow, Marie.”
“I’ll be there,” I whisper as the line clicks off, then whisper again, “We’ll be there,” as I pat my belly.
He doesn’t know yet. The pregnancy test is still in the trash can in the bathroom.
It was an accident. A condom broke. We both sluffed it off and decided not to worry about it. It was only once, right?
And I wonder how he’ll handle it as I throw clothes and necessities into a bag and run full tilt downstairs to tell the others that he’s alive!
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I’d kept my personal cell phone beside me every moment, even taking it in the shower with me, zip-locked in a plastic bag with the ringer cranked up on ‘wake the dead’ volume.