Fall of Hades (15 page)

I know he was trying to make me feel better, but it wasn't working. I felt like defending her. I felt like crying. Mostly I just felt stupid. I'd been shot at, beaten, tortured, and fed to rats—and none of those things hurt as much as this. Why did I feel the same sense of panic I had in Cell 25? This was new territory for me and it sucked big-time.

“I'm not too good for her,” I said. “It's just a hard time.”

“When has it been otherwise?” Jack said.

I rolled over. I couldn't answer his question.

*  *  *

I spent most of the day in bed. I was twitching and sparking like crazy. I had no appetite. I wouldn't have eaten, anyway. I wouldn't have gone into the dining room. I didn't want to take the chance of seeing
her
. I couldn't stand the pain of that.
How could she just dump me like that?

That night my mother came and got me for dinner. I was still lying in my bunk staring mindlessly at the bottom of Ostin's bunk when she walked into my dorm.

“Hey,” she said.

I looked over. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

I didn't answer. I'm sure she already knew the answer. That's why she was there, right? She sat down at the foot of my bed. “Jack told me what happened.” She slightly grinned. “Then Ostin did, then Zeus and Nichelle and Tessa and Tanner . . .”

“Great,” I said. “Everyone knows I'm a loser.”

“You're not a loser. They just care about you.” She rubbed her hand along my leg. “I'm sorry, honey. There's nothing worse than a broken heart. Except maybe being eaten by rats. That would be pretty awful too.”

I knew she was trying to get me to smile, but it didn't work.

“I wish I could take your pain away.”

“How could she just drop me like that?” I said. “How does that even work? How do you just stop loving someone?”

My mother frowned. “Hearts are complicated machines.”

I closed my eyes.

“She still loves you, you know.”

“No, I don't know that.”

“She does.”

“She has a bizarre way of showing it.”

“Maybe. But she's hurting too.”

“How do you know?”

My mother hesitated. “Because I talked to her.”

I rose up on my elbow. “You talked to her? That's none of your business.”

“You're my business. I care about you. And I care about Taylor, too.”

I lay back down. Finally I asked, “What did she say?”

“Not a whole lot, really. She mostly just cried. She also told me that you're her best friend and how much she needs you.”

“Then why did she break up with me?”

“I think that's maybe why.
Because
she needs you so much.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“Who said that love is supposed to make sense?”

I breathed out heavily. After a full minute I said, “What should I do, Mom?”

“Have a little faith,” she said.

“In what?”

“In love.”

“You just said it doesn't make sense.”

“No, not always. But it does have a way of coming around to itself. You know I told your father that I wouldn't marry him for a million dollars?”

“When did you say that?”

“A month before we got engaged.” She leaned closer to me. “Just give her some time. It's when we feel desperate and try to force things that permanent damage is done. Just let go. Let her find her way back.”

“What if she doesn't come back?”

She smiled at me sadly, then said, “Then some other girl will thank her lucky stars.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, then sat back. “Now come eat. It's a broken heart, not a hunger strike.”

T
he next few days I didn't see Taylor at all. Not just because of us breaking up, but because her father had finally returned and she stayed at his side to take care of him.

In spite of my friends' efforts to the contrary, I kept to myself. I slept a lot. I told myself it was because I was storing up for the mission ahead, but I'm pretty sure that everyone knew the truth—I was seriously depressed. And nothing saps the energy out of you like depression. That and RESATs, I guess. RESATs, at least, can be turned off.

*  *  *

When I wasn't sleeping, I was looking for things to do by myself. Finally, one afternoon of my “post-Taylor” life, I took one of the golf carts and drove out to see Matthew, the guy who was in charge of running the ranch—the cattle, farming, all the ranching stuff. I had met him before but had never really talked to him. He was with the resistance, but he was also a real rancher, the kind who wears cowboy boots and a hat to church and is like sixty years old but can still wrestle a cow to the ground.

As I walked in, Matthew was fiddling with the black hoses on the back of a tractor. I cleared my throat and he looked up. “Mr. Vey,” he said slowly with a Western twang. “Didn't hear you come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was bored. Is there anything I can do to help out around here?”

“Well, I thought of puttin' you kids to work, but Mr. Simon said to let you get your rest. Lord knows you'll be needin' it.”

“I know. But I'm going crazy.”

He thought a moment, then said, “Well, you could cut some firewood. That's always good when you got a little excess energy to work out. It's as therapeutic as a punchin' bag. You ever use a chain saw?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you ever seen one?”

“Just in a horror movie.”

He laughed. “Well, it ain't horror and it ain't rocket science. It ain't even tractor science. I'll show you.” He walked to the side of the garage and brought down an orange-handled saw. He checked it for gas, then set it on the ground.

“You take it by this safety handle. To start, you put it on the ground, prime it by pushing this little bubble, then pull this rope.” He pulled the rope and the saw fired up. He lifted it, shouting over the sound of its whine.

“This lever right here engages the chain.” He pulled it back, and the chain started spinning. Then he released it and the motor stopped. “It's got this safety. If you drop it, it will turn off.” He handed me the saw. “Think you can handle it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I know you can. There's two ol' cedar trees just west of the RV shed that I cut down yesterday. Go ahead and cut them into two-foot logs and pile them up. I'll send someone by later to pick 'em up.”

“All right. Thank you.”

“No, thank you. And wear these.” He handed me some safety glasses. “Start by cuttin' the smaller branches off the trees, then cut the trunks. Just be careful. That saw will cut through your leg as slick as snot.”

I had never heard that phrase before. I hoped I'd never hear it again.

I drove the golf cart back around to the RV shed. The trees Matthew had told me about were on their sides next to the base of their freshly cut trunks.

I dragged one of the trees away from the other and put on my glasses and started the saw. I began cutting off the smaller branches at the top of the tree. I can see why Matthew thought it was therapy. It felt good just cutting, the air filling with the fresh smell of sap and sawdust.

It was hot work, and after twenty minutes I took off my shirt. I had completely stripped the first tree and was starting on its trunk when I noticed Mrs. Ridley standing about ten yards from me. I turned off the saw and took off my glasses.

“Sorry, I didn't hear you.”

“Hi, Michael. I'm sorry to interrupt you. When you get a chance, Chuck would like to talk to you.”

I couldn't imagine what he wanted. “Is he up walking already?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Let me finish cutting this tree; then I'll come up.”

“Thank you.” She turned and walked away. I watched her for a moment, then fired up the saw and went back to cutting up the trunk. I wondered what he wanted. Honestly, I didn't look forward to seeing him. He was almost always abrasive. Some guys are just gruff that way. Especially about their daughters. Not that that mattered anymore. I wondered if I would see Taylor. I hoped so because I still loved her; I hoped not for the exact same reason.

*  *  *

About twenty minutes later I put on my shirt, got into the golf cart, and drove down to the small house where Mr. Ridley was recovering.

Mrs. Ridley met me at the door. “Thank you for coming, Michael.”

I furtively glanced around for Taylor, but she wasn't there. I wondered where she was hiding. “No problem.”

“Chuck's in here,” she said, leading me to the main bedroom.

Mr. Ridley was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows. It was the first time I'd seen him since he'd been shot. Not surprisingly, he looked a lot better. “Michael, come in. Please.”

I stepped inside, and Mrs. Ridley stepped out and shut the door behind me.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

“It's what you already did. Simon told me how you saved my life.”

“It was nothing.”

“My life's nothing?”

Inside I groaned. This guy could even make thanking you for saving his life painful. “I didn't mean that.”

“You did something heroic. Accept it.”

“I was just trying to help.”

“Well, you did. Take a seat.” He motioned to a stool next to a small writing desk. I sat down facing him, waiting for what he was going to say. “Taylor said you two broke up.” He made it sound as if it had been a mutual decision.

“She dumped me.”

“Do you know why?”

“I guess she doesn't love me anymore.”

He just looked at me for a moment, then shook his head. “If she didn't love you, she wouldn't have been in her room crying for the last few days.”

“Then I guess I don't know why.”

“It's because she cares
too much
about you.”

I shook my head. I wondered if this was a line all adults used. “She didn't seem to care too much about breaking my heart.”

He frowned. “I know.” He carefully shifted his legs. “The first thing any police officer learns on duty is that people are strange animals. They often do the exact opposite of what you'd expect. For instance, they're so afraid of failure that they embrace it. Do you know what I mean?”

“No, sir.”

“Let's say you meet someone you think is attractive. You think to yourself,
I'd like to meet her
. But then that other voice in your head, you know the one, the voice that tells you how stupid or how ugly you are, says,
Are you crazy? She'd never be interested in you
. So you never introduce yourself, and the result is, you never meet her. You have embraced failure.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I owe you. Truth is, I owed you before you saved my life. And I've been a jerk.” He sat up a little more, grimacing with the action. “It's no secret that I love my daughter. And I know her. She's miserable. She's terrified of losing you. She's so afraid that she broke up with you.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“I know it doesn't. At least not to us. That's because you and I are straightforward kind of guys. We call a spade a spade, you know?” He paused. “I've had a lot of time to think over everything the last few days, and here's the truth of the situation. If you go on this harebrained mission—and I'm pretty sure you're going to—and you don't come back, Taylor will never forgive herself. She'll wonder if she could have saved you. The unknown will kill her.”

“And there's more on the line. She told me about her sister being fed to rats. I know there's not a lot of love there, but blood is blood. And they share the same DNA. I don't know how that will play out either, but I don't think Taylor can stay back and respect herself.

“Truth is, it's a crappy situation all around. You're a good kid, Michael. No, you're a good man. You've made choices fully grown men aren't strong enough to make. And Taylor is a good woman. She's made those same hard choices. Her experiences have put her way beyond her years. Way beyond me. She's experienced enough to make this decision by herself. That's a hard thing for a parent, to trust their children to make decisions that could have dangerous repercussions—perhaps more difficult than you can understand right now.” I noticed that his eyes were actually welling up. “I love Taylor more than I can say, and this is an awful dilemma for me to be in. But I'm not a fool. If I let her go, I could lose her. If I make her stay, I could lose her. So how do I choose? I suppose the bigger question is, is it even my decision to make?”

“I think she's already made her decision,” I said.

“It would appear so, but she didn't. I manipulated the situation. When your parent almost dies and then makes a request . . . well, that's more pressure than a child should have to face. Look at what you were willing to do to save your own mother, going to Peru and all that.