What Little Remains (The Fallout Trilogy Book 1) (18 page)

“How much pain are you in?” John asks, his eyebrows
coming together.

“I feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest,”
he says through gritted teeth. He is trying to breathe deeply through his nose,
but every now and then, he will open his mouth, panting like he’s running a
marathon. Sweat covers his body.

John nods his head and pulls out a syringe, this
one already full of a clear liquid. He puts it in Ricky’s arm before he can
even say anything.

“I didn’t want that,” Ricky says, his eyes
drooping.

As we all leave the room, I close the door quietly
behind me. Jack leaves right away, and from the look on his face, he’s going
straight home and going to bed.

“Daren, I’m going to take Charlie to get something
to eat,” John says, closing his medical bag with a snap. “If you need to get
some sleep, I can take her back to the medical cabin with me, and she can sleep
in my room for a while.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Daren says,
looking between John and I. “Did she put you up to this?”

John gives Daren a look like he’s mental. “No.
She’s eighteen years old and went through a severely traumatic experience last
night. She was locked up and beaten in this house. A man that she loves was
tortured in front of her right over there. I think that it would be good for
her to get out of this room. Don’t you?”

“You’re right,” Daren says, shaking his head. I’m
not the only one suffering from lack of sleep. “Just don’t let her out of your
sight.”

John nods and leads me out the door. The sunlight
is blinding, and the heat is not as soothing as I thought it would be. The air
is thick with smoke and the smell of burnt wood. I squint at the ground as my
eyes adjust.

John lets out a low whistle, and I realize he is
looking at my face. It’s hard to forget about since every time I blink, move my
mouth, or turn my head I receive a toe-clenching wave of pain.

“I guess this isn’t my lighting?” I joke, but then
I reach up and tenderly touch my face. “I haven’t seen it. How bad does it
look?”

“It looks like you got in a fight with a wall and
lost,” John says with a grimace, reaching out with his free hand to turn my
chin so he can get a better angle on my face. “Come on; let’s get you something
to eat.”

With his arm tight around me, he leads me to the
bunker. The doors are already propped open, and he moves at my pace down the
stairs, letting me lean on him heavily. Walking is painful, but stairs hurt
even worse. When we get into the kitchen, he helps me to a table before closing
the doors.

“How are you holding up with everything?” John
asks, rummaging around in the cabinets to find us something to eat.

“I’m handling it. It doesn’t seem real yet,” I
answer truthfully, but look around the kitchen wanting to change the subject
before he can push any more.

It’s hard to explain what’s going on in my head
now. When Daren fell asleep earlier, my mind went through everything that
happened. It went through everything Razor said and did
;
his movements, his words, his touch, the dead expression in his eyes after he
was shot. Everything came back to me. I remember the way he toyed with me, the
threat clear in every movement. I could see the sheer, controlled power that
was just waiting to be released.
 

The scariest thing was how many similarities there
were between him and Ricky. Both had this look in their eyes, like a tiger at
the zoo when it’s walking along the glass wall separating it from the humans.
That look that makes it seem like the tiger knows something that the human,
just inches away, doesn’t know.
That look
of
intelligence signaling that the animal is patient but dangerous.

It was like they were both chess players who knew
the move their opponents would make before they had even made their first move.
They had already played the whole game out in their head, and they knew that
they were going to win. I still couldn’t say which one was playing the other’s
game.

I guess it doesn’t matter whose game they were
playing. In the end, Ricky won.
 

John sets a plate down in front of me and slides
down into the chair across from me with his own plate.
 

“Thanks, John,” I say as I look down at my plate.
He got me what I believe is modified leftovers. Chicken with vegetables on one
side of my plate and canned apples with cinnamon sprinkled on them on the other
half.
 

“It’s nothing. You take care of us day and night;
it’s about time that someone did something for you,” John says, sinking into a
chair.

I eat my food not saying anything. John fidgets in
his chair, which squeaks under his weight. Some of his hair is coming out of
his ponytail and curling away from his head. The dark circles under his eyes
look darker today than normal.

“Charlie . . . I’m here if you want to talk about
what happened last night. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through,
and maybe it might be something that you’d rather talk about with Megan or
Nicole. But just know that it’s okay to talk about what happened. You shouldn’t
keep what happened to you bottled up.”

“I’m processing,” I say. “I appreciate the offer,
and when I’m ready, I will talk to you.”

John nods his head, pushing his plate away from
him. “Someone else will do the dishes. I’ll make sure that Daren gets it taken
care of. Let’s go back to my house. You can get some sleep while I take care of
a few more people.”

As we walk to his cabin, I can see a trail of black
smoke rising up in the sky a mile or so away. I shiver slightly. I know that
Razor’s body is among those being burned.

One of the few things that I remember from my high
school science classes is that matter is neither created nor destroyed. It just
changes form. The matter that made up Razor is now floating in the wind. I
wonder if the matter that his body was made of is different than other
people’s.
Will it make something else evil? Were those
specific matter particles combined together just evil? Or was it the soul
inside that made those particles turn evil? Will Razor’s ashes rebuild a world
he helped destroy, or will they do more harm than good? Will a tree grow out of
it, or will the ground be barren?

April 11

Razor’s hands
tighten around my throat. I look up at him, a hole appearing in his forehead.
Blood starts to drip from it, but he just smiles and leans down in my face.

“Your boyfriend
can’t kill me if he’s already dead,” he whispers and turns my face to the side.

In the distance, I
can see Ricky’s lifeless body. His face is towards me, his throat slit. I start
to scream, trying to get to him. His eyes are looking at me.

Razor laughs as I
scream.

My eyes go to the bloodstain on the wood. My
nightmares are haunting my days as well. I can’t get the image of Ricky’s dead
body out of my mind. The ghostly whiteness of his face, the dead look in his
eyes. I glance at my closed door, praying that I never have to see him look
like that.

I drop my head on my hands, my head pounding.
Confusion doesn’t even begin to describe the jumble that’s going on inside my
head. I still don’t know what I’m going to do. The part of me that loves him no
matter what he does wants to forget all the horrors he committed. I want to
forget that look he gets in his eyes, that predatory look that blazes brightly.
The look in his eyes that made him and Razor so similar.

He has his moments, when his charm is on. He could
make me feel like the only girl in the world. I never had to worry about him
looking at other women or flirting behind my back. His faithfulness has never
been questioned. I know that he is in love with me, in the only way that he
knows how to love.
 

What Daren told me does change things. Ricky lost
touch with reality. The guy who put his fist through a wall next to my head
wasn’t the same guy who pulled me from the rubble. He isn’t the same little boy
who promised to never be like his father. When all this settles, I don’t know
who he will be.

John comes out of the bedroom, his mouth set in a
straight line. He meets my eyes, and I can’t help but smile. Ricky is being
difficult, and John got the brunt of it.

“He’s requested you,” John says, the peeved look
still upon his face. “He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s fine. He’s healing. I
gave him a shot of pain medication; he has about fifteen minutes before he
falls asleep. I’ll be back tonight.”

He gives me a quick kiss on the forehead before he
leaves, slamming the door behind him. I slide off the table and head into my
bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Ricky is propped up in bed, the sheets
pulled up to his chest. His eyes flutter open at the sound of the door
shutting, his eyes flitting around until they finally land on me.

“Where were you? When I woke up, you were gone,” he
asks, trying to keep his tone light, but I can hear the annoyance underlying
it.

“I had to get something to eat, and John wanted me
to be under his supervision the first time I slept,” I say, keeping my tone
neutral. I lean back against the door. If he is going to be like this, I’m
better off not staying.

He notices my irritation, like he notices
everything. His facial expression shifts from annoyance to concern, like
someone flipped a switch. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I say.

 
“Will
you come sit with me?”

I hesitate.

“I promise to be on my best behavior,” he says.

I sit down on the empty crate next to the bed. He
holds out his hand, broken fingers and all to me. I lean forward, encasing his
hand in both of mine. We look at each other. His face is even more bruised than
last night.

He grins after a minute of silence.

“Hi,” he says.

I smile. “Hi. How are you feeling?” I ask
,
his hand is burning against my skin. “How is your
pain?”
 
I ask, placing my hand
against his forehead. The skin is burning hot against mine. “Are you tired?”

“Not good, but at least I’m feeling something,” he
says, shifting, trying to lie comfortably again.

I smile, not really appreciating his humor, but
glad that he is feeling well enough to make bad jokes. I can tell the drugs are
starting to kick in, but he is fighting them to stay with me.

“Charlie,” he says, his voice soft. “Can you
promise me something?”

“What?” I ask.

“That you’ll be here when I wake up.”

“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” I answer
softly, rubbing my thumb along the outside of Ricky’s hand.

I watch his breathing even out as he stops fighting
the medication. I close my eyes, wanting to sleep, but terrible thoughts float
through my mind. What if Ricky doesn’t get better? Are you going to be happy or
relieved because now you don’t have to worry about him? Do I even want Ricky to
get better? If he died, it would be a lot easier for you. You wouldn’t have to
confront him or be disappointed by him again. He would never hurt you again.

My own thoughts appall me. Of course I want Ricky
to get better. Just because he did a few bad things doesn’t make him a bad
person. He says he’s going to change, and I decided I am going to believe him.
I don’t know if I will ever love him the way that I did before. Everyone does
something horrible in
their
life. Maybe not killing
innocent people, but the rules changed when the world did. I don’t like it, but
I am going to believe that he can change for the better. Maybe the fact that I
am giving him another chance means that I still love him. I don’t know anymore.

I believe in love. I grew up in a household where
my parents loved each other and had done so for many years. I just didn’t
believe that, at eighteen, someone could meet the love of
their
life. That was before everything happened. That was before Ricky came through
for me. He didn’t care that I was damaged from losing my parents and my
brother. He sat up with me night after night when I was having nightmares. I
knew that was love.

But what about the other times
;
the times when anger would flash across his face for no good reason? What about
when he would be irrational and controlling? What about the times Daren had to
step in to calm him down?

The doubts are pouring through my head. I close my
eyes, letting my mind wonder elsewhere.

This room has so many memories, good and bad. The
bed Ricky is lying on is the same bed where he would hold me, keeping my
nightmares away. The hands that were so crudely broken wiped away the tears
that those nightmares brought. Looking at him, knowing about this other side of
him, I wonder
which
was the real him.

In the back of my mind, I wonder how many people
have nightmares about the man who kept mine away.

Ricky stirs, his eyes flickering open. I smile at
him. He was strong for me. I need to be strong for him.

“Charlie,” he whispers my name so softly. “I know
that I don’t do this nearly often enough, and normally when I do, it’s after
I’ve treated you terribly. I just want you to know that I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything—”

“We both know that’s not true. I have so much to be
sorry about. And I know that,” he says, his eyes burning brightly. “I just want
you to know that I’m going to do better.
For you.
I’ll
spend the rest of my life trying to show you how sorry I am.”

I close my eyes, letting his words sink in. It’s
what I wanted to hear when I found out that he was scavenging and lied to me
about it. Somehow I thought hearing those words would make everything better.
Only time will do that now.

“Do you think that we could still make it work?” he
asks. “I’m going to change. For you, I’ll be a better man. Would you have me if
I could do that?”

I smile at him. “Maybe. You have to get better
before I’d consider anything.”

His grins and a look
comes
into his eyes. He’s accepted the challenge.